Emulating the Lone Wolf
I still felt at ease modeling myself after Julia, the protagonist guitarist from that anime. Referencing her life as a somewhat solitary wolf made my own problems feel like they'd resolve quickly. The first issue I tackled was, of course, the baseball team.
This one was straightforward: just like Julia devoted herself to the guitar, I'd pull myself together and focus properly on baseball. More precisely, I'd concentrate solely on what I could do—pitching. Julia hammered away at the guitar, after all.
I pondered what that entailed, and surprisingly, pitchers don't train for long stretches. The afternoon sessions from 4 to 7 p.m. were plenty. I could add morning runs and some strength training. Keep up the morning jogs and carve out separate time for weights—that should do it.
Next up: Yoo Sera. Honestly, imagining her dating Lee Seung-min was still gut-wrenching. Seeing her face every time was torture. So, keeping my distance by sleeping seemed like the best strategy moving forward. Completely ignoring her wasn't feasible in our situation. And truthfully, I didn't want to skip seeing her in the mornings altogether. It sounded pathetic, but losing those moments alone with her still stung.
So, I'd stick to arriving at the classroom by 7 a.m., like always. But no more long conversations. Those fleeting moments were too agonizing.
What had lingered in my head was Lee Seung-min's jab calling me a loner. The more I thought about being dismissed like that, the more ridiculous it felt. Could I just go back to blending in normally? I toyed with the idea briefly, but soon realized it wouldn't be easy.
Frankly, it was a hassle. Building good relationships was more exhausting than I'd expected. Best to live like Julia, then. A voluntary loner? Spend that time focusing on my own stuff. But project an aura no one could ignore. Don't scramble to fit in with the group—just pour everything into making my own sound on stage.
And honestly, if you've got real skill, people don't dismiss you. I'd already established myself as a capable pitcher at school, so I was somewhat there. Rumors would spread on their own, earning me respect without effort.
That thought lightened my heart. Julia really is the best.
The director and coach of Seoul Jeon-san High School were double-checking the roster ahead of the weekend league. The director's expression looked far more relaxed than before as he scanned the names on the paper.
The strengthened pitching staff had the biggest impact. He twirled his pen briefly before outlining the rotation. "Lee Seok-hyeon as the starter, same-year pitcher Lee Min-gyu for middle relief, and Kim Jeong-ui to close. Sound good?"
The coach nodded. "We used to overload our ace and live in constant anxiety, but now the back end is solid. Even with two games a week, we should be fine."
"Exactly. One game with Seok-hyeon starting, the other with Min-gyu, and Jeong-ui closes both. That should cover pitching without issues."
The director paused at that, then naturally asked about Kim Jeong-ui's condition. "How's Jeong-ui's stuff lately?"
"Not quite back to mid-130s km/h like in the tournament, but he's holding steady in the low 130s. Seems like the type who gets stronger in games. Might even hit higher speeds in big matches."
"Got it. Keep tabs on him—he's key now."
Just then, the coach's phone rang. "Huh? What's the reporter want?"
He checked the screen and answered casually. But his face subtly hardened shortly after the call began.
"What is it?"
The coach hesitated before hanging up. "The reporter wants to interview us about the Golden Lion Tournament. Asked if we had time."
The director was caught off guard. "…We got knocked out in the first round?"
"Probably because the champs, Suseok High, mentioned us."
"Tell him yes. Can't hurt to get some press."
"Got it."
The coach redialed right away to confirm.
Yoo Sera had clearly noticed Kim Jeong-ui acting different lately. He still showed up at 7 a.m. every morning, but he wasn't chatting like before—instead, he buried his head on the desk and slept.
It stung a little, but she didn't say anything. She'd seen him running to school several times on her way in, out at dawn, silently pounding the pavement. It gave her a strange sense of kinship; she started her days practicing violin in the classroom, after all.
Knowing how grueling that was, she couldn't voice her petty grievance. But she worried about him during class. He'd been sleeping through breaks for days now—was that okay?
She edged closer during one break, debating waking him, when Lee Seung-min walked in. He glanced at Kim Jeong-ui. "Jeong-ui's sleeping again today?"
Perfect timing, Yoo Sera thought. Time to ask. "Is it really fine for him to sleep like that? Even the baseball guys don't crash out during class much."
Lee Seung-min shrugged. "Yeah, but I have no idea why he's so wiped."
"Overtraining?"
He shook his head. "Nah, he only does afternoons."
That confused her more. "Then why's he sleeping so much at school?"
She racked her brain for reasons, but nothing clicked. "Probably messing around late at night. But we've been talking about Jeong-ui non-stop, huh?"
Yoo Sera froze briefly, then shot back casually. "What else? Didn't you come because of him?"
"…"
The sports reporter visited the school right away. His reason was simple: Suseok High's coach Kim Ik-hyeon, fresh off their Golden Lion win, had singled out Seoul Jeon-san High as the toughest opponent.
"Ah, so that's what Suseok's coach mentioned."
"Yes. So, about your team setup…"
The reporter started with strategy. The director thought briefly before responding evenly. "We're not a powerhouse—more like a team on the decline. But our players fought to the end against Suseok, never giving up. That's what made it so close."
"All credit to the players, then."
"Yes. We lost, but it was valuable experience. Grateful Suseok sees it that way too."
With the mood set, the reporter got to the point. "Suseok's Kim Ik-hyeon was more impressed by your pitching than your hitters."
The director flinched. "Especially the last pitcher—he said it felt like facing Maddux."
"Maddux? That's a stretch."
"No, really. He said his hitters rarely felt so helpless striking out. And those are guys trained by major leaguer Choi Seung-taek. Punching out six of them justifies the hype."
The director hesitated, weighing his words. No mention of Kim Jeong-seok yet—they hadn't dug that deep. Hide this. His name carries too much weight; even a hint draws excess attention. Jeong-ui's great, but not that level yet. Too soon.
He composed himself. "Our second-year just had one of those days where everything clicked. He struggled earlier with hits and walks, but caught a hot streak late. Happens sometimes. I'd rather praise Suseok's hitters and ours."
"I see."
The reporter nodded, a trace of doubt lingering. He didn't press further, wrapping up with another pitch. "Mind if I join for dinner and watch night practice? I'd love to see those near-upset pitchers."
The director pondered, then agreed. No big deal. Good—he's not at night training. If asked, say he's out with an injury.