A New Daily Rhythm
As April passed, the high school weekend league kicked off. I'd become an official baseball team member, and my daily routine shifted a bit.
I tend to wake up pretty early in the mornings. Our school starts at 8 a.m., so I already had to hustle, but lately, I'd been arriving before 7 without even trying. Some schools supposedly start at 9, but that kind of leisure was a world away for me. Strangely, though, it never felt exhausting. The reason was simple. At that hour, Yoo Sera—the music prodigy—would be playing her violin. An empty classroom, hallways still half-asleep, filled with that violin melody. Starting my day with it wasn't half bad. If anything, it calmed my mind, sorting out the tangled thoughts for a moment. So, I started timing my arrival to match. Before, I'd roll in right at 8. Now, my days began differently from the very start.
Spending time with Yoo Sera like that was nice. We'd occasionally share our troubles. She'd talk about tricky parts in her pieces or the pressure of contest prep, and I'd cautiously bring up baseball or whatever was bugging me lately. We didn't need long chats; a word or two told us everything about each other's state. Most of the time, I'd just sit nearby, listening to the violin. I'd nap with my head on the desk to the sound, or film her playing if she asked. No need for anything special. Silence between us never felt awkward—it was comfortable. Honestly, that quiet time alone with her was the big reason I came early. Sure, we'd made a promise, but it wasn't an obligation. Still, I'd grown used to this naturally.
Getting up and heading to school used to be the worst part of my day. Now, it was my favorite—despite the much earlier wake-up.
From 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., I sat through classes like everyone else. Textbooks out, notes scribbled, bell rings, shuffle to the next room, rinse and repeat. On the surface, I might look like a diligent student, but honestly, I wasn't that great. My focus never lasted, and my mind wandered more than it listened. Most classes slipped by regrettably. But I didn't chat or disrupt. Stealing other kids' time felt wrong, and I wasn't on any teachers' bad side.
Switching to a sports special admissions track had its perks. Even if my grades weren't stellar, teachers who hate poor performers eased up. Special admits like us have more to worry about than just studies. School life got way more comfortable overall.
But lately, something soured my mood. Not classes. It was Lee Seung-min showing up every break to chat. No real purpose—just "How was practice? Feeling okay?" Nonsense like that. At first, I shrugged it off, but it kept happening, grating on me. Is he really checking on me, or what? It felt so perfunctory. What bugged me more: after a few words with me, he'd seamlessly pivot to talking with Yoo Sera.
Of course, they were close long before I knew. Anyone not an idiot could see it. So I didn't butt in or kill the vibe. I'd just stand there quietly, watching them talk. Acted nonchalant, but truthfully, it left a bad taste. Couldn't show it, though. What right did I have? Didn't want to come off weird. So I'd play dumb, pretend it didn't faze me. Maybe slump over my desk. A corner of my heart kept snagging, but I lacked the guts to bring it up. No desire to let emotions derail me further.
I'd shove the break-time unease aside, bell rings, open my book, sit quietly. That was my best for now.
At 4 p.m., I'd leave the classroom for baseball practice. No more provisional gear—I had my official uniform now, and it finally hit me: I was a real team member. Felt like I'd truly restarted baseball. That mattered.
Changing and stepping onto the field loosened the tension pent up from classes. Body tired, but my thoughts simplified here. As a pitcher, my training differed from the fielders'. They stayed late for endless defense and batting. Ours ran 4 to 7 p.m.: warm-ups, bullpen catch, balance drills, lower body work, form checks. Then team defense, followed by solo throwing. Boom—three hours gone. They say it's plenty for pitchers.
After dinner, others did night training: 8 to 10 p.m., post-meal break. I skipped it. Honestly, optics. I was the free-loader who hadn't earned my spot with results. Training longer than them? Nah, that'd rub salt in. They shell out millions monthly for coaching and game time, trying to impress. Then boom—me, rolling in gratis, getting gear, uniform, even innings? They'd hate it. Understandably.
So I stuck to the minimum: clean 4-to-7. League nearing might change that—they said I'd join nights then, based on condition and role. More throwing if needed. But not yet.
For now, 4-to-7 was my routine. Short or long depending on perspective, but I convinced myself it fit my current self, day by day.
And after a month of practice... I could finally throw a sinker.
Hahaha!
Back home, I didn't just crash. After showering, I'd sit at my desk, replaying the day's training, giving myself feedback. Ball control? How the release felt on strikes versus balls?
Then, naturally, YouTube. Not for fun—underhand pitcher vids, pitch breakdowns. Learning time. Dad's the quickest source, right there with near-perfect answers. But weirdly, I didn't crave his help. Used to ask plenty, but his level's so high now, advice often missed the mark. More than that... I wanted to figure it out solo. No dad crutches. Time to self-discover.
So I ignored him, relying on videos and myself. Honestly, when I asked about sinkers before, he goes, "Why throw that?" Like, is that normal? Couldn't he at least tip a pro trick via a contact? Damn. All he does is diligently prep baseball? Wish I were that type, but nah.
Starts with baseball vids... but after one or two, it shifts. Suddenly bingeing an anime episode, then the next, and the next. Ends with me in bed, phone in face, out cold before I know it.
Not ideal, sure. But c'mon, can't ditch the fun entirely. Classes, practice, self-study—done. This keeps me going. Rare time to laugh brainlessly or dive in. My sole indulgence.
Wait, no—Yoo Sera mornings count too. Not sole anymore.
Anyway, sans anime, I'd spiral into useless thoughts till sleep. Around midnight to 1 a.m.? Gotta crash for tomorrow. Up at 6.