Guitar to the Head
I woke up at 1 a.m. with the urge to smash their heads. "A guitarist has to know how to bring out their own unique color." Hmm... note to self.
Lately, I'd developed a new habit from staying up late watching anime instead of sleeping. Whenever something caught my eye in an anime, I'd jot it down in my notes. The reason was simple. Ever since I'd started idolizing guitarist Julia as my role model, I'd realized that twisting even a little bit of the content from animations could offer tons of insights for my own life. On a broad level, they were all in the performing arts realm, so it gave me plenty to chew on anyway.
This one was no different. A guitarist has to bring out their own unique color. Applying that to me... what color should I bring out as a pitcher?
It naturally led me to think about my strengths. I'm an underhand pitcher. My velocity isn't blazing at 130 km/h, but it's not slow enough to dismiss either. And including this weekend's league games, I'd racked up 8 strikeouts. Not a huge sample size, but it meant I had a high strikeout rate. In other words, I'm a strikeout pitcher. Was this something I inherited from Dad? He was a legend called the KB—Strikeout by the Book—with sky-high K-rates. Most underhand pitchers induce ground balls, so I'm a bit of an odd case. Of course, at the pro level, who knows what type I'd be, but for now, that's me.
Hmm? Note to self again... secret weapons. Should I develop a new finishing pitch? Nah, not the time. I need to focus on mastering the sinker first.
Then another thought hit me. Wait, no. What if I play it differently—throw up a smokescreen? Most underhand pitchers go for ground balls, so I could pretend to be that type too. But in the really crucial moments, go for strikeouts. Precise and quick when it counts. Casual enough to induce grounders when there's room to breathe. Not a bad idea.
But to pull that off, one prerequisite: I had to nail the sinker for those ground balls.
Hmm... starting tomorrow, sinker practice only.
Morning came. I arrived at Seoul Jeon-san High School, finished my usual run, and headed to the classroom. But as I approached, no violin sounds. Huh? Something up with Sera again?
I opened the door. Yoo Sera was sitting quietly at her desk, violin case still closed. Surprising. No violin out for once.
I slipped into my seat quietly. As soon as I sat, she stood in front of me, frowning slightly, eyes sad as she looked down.
What the...?
She stared for a moment, then spoke. "Kim Jeong-ui. Are you avoiding me?"
Here it comes, I thought. It'd been over two weeks since I'd properly talked to her in the mornings. No helping it.
Ever since that day, seeing Yoo Sera made my chest tighten. Spotting her with Lee Seung-min in class made my stomach churn. Luckily, anime had toughened me up a bit—no more freezing up like before. Though the characters were all band types, so the advice skewed extreme. One archetype ditched girls when they got boring. The other treated them like stones and focused solely on music. I couldn't be the first kind, so I went with the second. From now on, Yoo Sera was a rock. Or rather, I'd turn my heart to stone.
"Nah. If I was avoiding you, I wouldn't show up this early."
Good. Even facing her, it didn't feel so suffocating.
She looked a bit shocked. "Right? Do you know how many weeks it's been since I heard a proper sentence from you?"
"Huh?"
Yoo Sera shot back immediately. "You haven't talked to me properly. At school, I mean. Not even in this time when it's just us."
I felt a pang of guilt, averted my eyes briefly, then met hers again. No lies, but I couldn't spill everything either.
"Just tired. Haven't been sleeping well at home."
Her eyes widened. "Huh? That's why you sleep at school?"
"Yeah."
She pondered, then blurted something random. "Hold on. Let me sort this out. Oh, so you can only sleep if you hear my violin? You were sleeping thanks to me?"
I couldn't laugh or deny it. After a brief silence, I muttered, "Think what you want."
Then I face-planted on the desk. To sleep. How could I tell her it's because of you that I can't sleep?}
But she seemed pleased, beaming brightly. Oblivious to my turmoil. "You should've said so. I was misunderstanding for nothing."
I stayed silent.
"Didn't sleep last night either?"
"Yeah."
"Poor thing. I'll play violin quick then."
Scrape. Violin case opening. Soon, the notes filled the classroom again.
First period ended; I woke up. I wanted to keep sleeping through breaks, but that was damn near impossible. Chairs scraping, footsteps to the bathroom, books rustling for next class, kids heading to other rooms—breaks meant getting up a lot.
This time too. Noise pulled me awake. But then a thought struck: was wasting these breaks right?
Guitarist Julia popped into my head. She spent nearly every hour with her guitar. Air-guitaring on the subway, pondering killer riffs till bedtime—even short gaps, she'd grab it and practice. No break went to waste.
So what could I do here? Limited classroom space, short time. Exercise came to mind. Squats, specifically. No equipment, minimal space, solo-friendly. And pitchers need strong legs—perfect.
I stood and tried bodyweight squats. But nada. No burn. My trained body shrugged it off—no stimulus in quads or glutes.
What now...?
Then I spotted a quiet kid sitting still. Barely talks, stays put during breaks. I approached low-key. "Mind helping me out?"
He looked flustered. "Uh... with what?"
"Sweet, thanks." No time to explain—I hoisted him horizontally at shoulder height and started squats.
One... two... three...
"Oh... yeah, feeling it now."
Added weight woke my thighs. More reps, clearer feedback. Power surging from the legs. Two minutes in, burning like fire—I stopped, set him down, caught my breath.
"Thanks, man. Big help."
"Uh... sure?" He nodded, still baffled.
Classmates' eyes on us. I'd just squatted a dude out of nowhere. But weirdly, no embarrassment. Instead: Hold up... if I ask nicely, I could strategize this. Heaviest classmate first thing, lighten up as breaks progress? Suddenly, the room looked like a rack of dumbbells.
Post-lunch break. As expected, Lee Seung-min showed up. I was face-down, eyes shut. Maybe I can handle them together now? Progress with early-morning Sera—maybe here too.
"Hey, Sera."
But that hope died quick.
"Oh, Seung-min?"
Their chat cracked the stone in my heart ever so slightly. Not okay at all! Sera wasn't just any rock to me.
"I've been pitching every other week lately."
She nodded. "Nice. Thought it was mostly third-years."
Then curiously: "What about Jeong-ui? He pitching regularly?"
Lee Seung-min hesitated, smirked vaguely. "Yeah... now he is."
"Impressive. Hasn't been back long."
"He's a pitcher, so. And school's giving him some favoritism."
Something snapped inside me. Talking me down on purpose. It grated—straight-up pissed me off. Flashes of him dismissing me before. Then Julia's words slammed home.
Not literally, of course. Face the haters with that mindset.
I lifted my head, sat up slow.
"I pitch because I'm not just any pitcher."
He flinched at my voice. "What? You were awake? Faking sleep?"
I ignored him, eyes locked. "I go out there because I'm an outstanding player. Yeah, school's considerate. But they do it 'cause I'm outstanding."
I got serious; his face hardened.
"Stop barging into other classes. Worry about getting better at baseball instead. Maybe you'll get some consideration too."
With my shattered stone heart, I forged a guitar. And smashed it over Lee Seung-min's head.