Scouted in PE Class
Joining the baseball team felt like a stretch... Time flew by until just before lunch, when PE class rolled around. I quickly changed into my gym clothes and headed out to the field.
No. That was a dumb thought. As I walked, I revisited my baseball dilemma. After cooling off a bit, I realized my earlier impulse had been wrong. 'You've still got plenty of time before high school ends—give it another shot.''The problems bugging you now might all sort out.' That's what Dad had said when I quit baseball. But back then, I figured nothing would change, so I walked away. And now, out of nowhere, I was supposed to just say I wanted back in? No way I could face my parents with that. Plus, would this school even take me? The rumors might be bogus anyway.
Waiting for the PE teacher on the field, I figured since it was the first class, he'd give us free time to mess around. But the teacher who showed up had other plans.
"Bet you thought it'd be free time today? Sorry, but we're diving right in. This PE performance eval is on baseball—specifically, how well you can do catchball."
Catchball? The teacher led us through warm-ups, handed out gloves, and had us pair off to toss the ball back and forth. First PE class of second year on baseball... I couldn't shake the weird vibe.
We grabbed balls, paired up, and started. I teamed with some kid I barely knew and we tossed casually. After a couple exchanges, someone approached our spot.
"Hey, heads up, everyone."
The class turned at the PE teacher's call.
"Our school's Baseball Coach is here to help out with class. So throw with confidence—he'll fix your form."
"Yes, sir~!"
"Alright, back to it!"
The smack of balls hitting gloves resumed. The Baseball Coach helping regular students? That was odd. He loved slacking off more than anyone. With the baseball team in morning classes, this was prime nap time... Hmm. With the club on the brink of disbanding, was he angling for a PE teacher gig by assisting? Or... was he scouting among us normies?
"Ooh, ever played baseball before?"
As catchball went on, the coach noticed some kids' form and wandered over. The questioned kid rattled off his creds.
"Middle school intramurals and pickup games with neighborhood friends, huh? Not bad at all."
He pulled those standouts aside, widened the distance, and tossed with them. A few lit up with excitement; others shot envious glances.
Hmm... Should've let them see me play for the club? That "experience" was just casual normie stuff—miles from elite ball. What level were they desperate for to get hyped over amateur throws? Or were they really that starved for anyone?
Ooh, that one's solid. I snuck peeks while tossing. Some were decent. Nail this catchball, and I'd probably join that group. But...
When the ball hit my palm, my mind tangled. The leather felt familiar. Grip locked in naturally; I fired it right to my partner's glove.
... Thwack.
"Ooh..."
My partner flinched in surprise as it smacked dead center. He threw back.
... Thwack.
I stretched up and snagged it. Not bad. Catchball's trickier than it looks for most. And he'd aimed perfectly for me to catch without moving—kid was good.
My turn again. But then the other reason I quit baseball crept in.
Ugh... Suddenly, my throws went haywire. Fine for a bit, like now, but...
"Whoa..."
The ball sailed high over his head. Way off.
"Sorry."
He chased it down and jogged it back. Damn, same old problem. Still no clue what caused it—slump stress? Dad's shadow? Or just the yips?
...
"Short break?"
"Yes, sir~!"
Whew. Saved before another wild pitch.
"Gather round?"
The Baseball Coach beamed, calling us over.
"Got an announcement. We're recruiting reserve baseball club members—close to the real team. Class 5 has some talent, so if you're interested, apply. We'll train reserves like the team. Sound fun?"
Reserve club? Yeah, that tracked—lots of schools build clubs from regular kids. So my suspicions were off-base?
"And if a reserve really shines... we might add you to the official roster for games."
"Ooooh~!"
A few kids perked up. Figures. The club talk was smoke; they wanted official players. But... was that bad for me?
It hit me: Club, not the team proper. Foot in the door, though. No need for heavy parent convos... Could play it casual if it came up. Sounded pretty good.
So first... catch the coach's eye.
Break over. Back to catchball. Alright...
I pondered, then hatched a plan.
"Ah!"
I "missed" my partner's toss—on purpose, though I could've caught it. The ball bounced away, rolling to the field's edge.
Perfect. I hustled over, then yelled loud:
"Ball coming! Catch!"
Aimed at my partner, sure—but really for the coach. All eyes snapped my way.
Yes—now! I gripped, steadied my breath. Control shaky, but power? Still had it. I wound up full-body and unleashed from deep.
The ball rocketed, streaking straight like a line drive.
"Wha— whoa— huh?!"
My partner flailed, thrust out his glove in shock. It smacked the pocket but ricocheted off.
Ooh... almost caught it? Even off-target. Better for me—looked like I nailed it and he flubbed.
Then I saw the Baseball Coach heading over. He asked about it. No way he missed that flight path.
Standing before me, he sized me up.
"Hucking it that fast from way out there..."
Good—far enough from the group; they wouldn't hear.
"Played baseball before?"
His eyes sharpened—different now. I hesitated, then came clean.
"Up till middle school."
His gaze shifted instantly—from scanning the crowd to zeroing in, like he'd found treasure.
"Ahem. Name?"
"Kim Jeong-ui."
"Right. Kim Jeong-ui... Know where baseball practice is after classes? Swing by before heading home."
"Sure thing."
* * *
The Baseball Coach headed to the second-year staff room and asked Class 5's homeroom teacher to pull Kim Jeong-ui's file.
"Kim Jeong-ui?"
"Yeah, need to check a few things."
"Oh, right... now that you mention it..."
The homeroom teacher nodded like something clicked, flipping to the file.
"Hmm... average middle school... solid baseball club there. And smart enough for arts admission—tough for a regular kid... Huh?"
The coach blinked in shock. In the notes: 'If he wants back in baseball, accept unconditionally.'
Kim Jeong-ui was basically arts-track admitted.
"How... wait, what?"
Then the parents' names jumped out—a familiar one.
"No way—Kim Jeong-seok's son?"
Kim Jeong-seok. A legend no baseball person forgot.
"Ah yeah, heard rumors he was at a normal school. Guess it's legit."
After school, I made my way to the baseball field. Fewer guys than expected. One catcher waited; behind him, the coach from PE.
As I approached, he nodded knowingly, jerking his chin at the mound. Go ahead and pitch.
Aigoo... Misjudged me. Probably peeked at my record. Dad the underhand legend? Figures he'd assume pitcher.
But reality? I couldn't even field cleanly now. Never truly pitched underhand in middle school—tried, but control always failed. Ball went rogue; couldn't risk it.
Too late to back out now. I climbed the mound. Dirt crunched familiar underfoot.
Catcher settled silently, mitt out center.
Alright, show him it ain't happening. Underhand mastery? Wrong, coach.
I gripped sloppy on purpose, slung it underhand raw. Body obeyed—fluid, natural release.
The ball dipped low, then sucked straight to the mitt.
Thwack!
Silence hung.
...Huh?
"That's it!"
The coach whooped from behind.
Why'd it work?