A Fresh Start (2)
“I’ve watched a few games.”
For now, that was the best excuse I could come up with.
Dad fished the ball out of his mitt and stared at me. “Baseball games?”
“Yeah. Whenever I was bored.”
“So you're saying you just watched and copied what they did?”
“Pretty much.”
I flexed the fingers inside my glove, opening and squeezing the leather shut. Dad fell silent for a beat, seemingly lost in thought, before giving a brisk nod.
“What you just did… want to try it again?”
The moment I nodded, the ball came whistling right back. This time, it flew straight down the middle.
I took a single step, caught the ball, and smoothly transferred it to my right hand as I pivoted and tossed it back with an effortless flick.
Thwack.
Once again, it was sucked cleanly into the pocket of his mitt.
Dad’s jaw dropped.
“Just one more time.”
The next throw drifted a bit to the left. Shifting my weight across, I fielded it and fired it back. My arm took a little more strain than before, but making the catch was hardly a challenge.
“Whoa…” A goofy, disbelieving grin began spreading across his face.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, hold on. Let’s do it just one more time.”
One more turned into another.
And then another after that.
Before long, Dad was firing the ball back without a word the instant it hit his leather.
“Is this really your first time playing catch?”
“Yes.”
“Then how on earth are your feet moving like that? Normally people catch it and have to reset their stance to throw. But you just flow right into the next motion without even thinking… Seo-jin?”
My hands were resting on my knees, glove dangling. Catching my breath, I barely managed to tilt my head up.
“Can this… really be the last one?”
Startled, Dad snapped back to reality and rushed over in a panic.
“Oh man, I’m so sorry! Dad got way too carried away.”
He ushered me over to a nearby bench, twisted off a water bottle cap, and thrust it into my hands. I tipped my head back and chugged.
Gulp, gulp.
“Phaaah.”
The cool water brought me back to life, but my legs were still trembling like wet noodles. I thought I’d been doing some decent conditioning since getting discharged from the hospital, but a few minutes of catch had laid my pathetic stamina bare.
Dad, on the other hand, couldn’t wipe that beaming smile off his face.
“Who knew my dainty little princess had this kind of talent? And look at you, chugging water like a burly lumberjack.”
“I just tossed a ball around a few times, that’s all.”
“Trust me, it's not just ‘a few times.’”
…Hmm.
Dad actually has a pretty good eye. A former pro through and through, huh?
Praise could make even a former KBO MVP dance with joy.
Things shifted a bit after that day.
Originally, I had planned to be the one to bring it up first. I was going to ask him to play catch with me more often and help me train in earnest. As it turned out, I never even had to ask.
“Seo-jin! If you’re not asleep, want to head out for a minute?”
Having closed up the restaurant for the night, Dad would stand in the entryway, waving a glove with an eager grin.
“Right now?”
“Yeah! I found a spot with the floodlights on. Let’s just toss a few light ones.”
The next day, he even called me from work.
“Dad might be able to wrap up a little early today.”
“I’ll go change right now.”
Of course, we couldn’t go out every single day. On days when my arm felt sore, we just went for walks together, and on days when orders flooded the restaurant, I worked out on my own. But even on our days off, baseball was the only topic on the table.
“I’ve seen plenty of players in my time, okay?”
It was during dinner with the whole family one evening. Dad set down his chopsticks and leaned eagerly toward Mom.
“A total beginner could never pull that off. Her feet were already moving toward where the ball was heading before it even got there! And nobody ever taught her that!”
“Eat your food, you hopeless man.”
“Just listen to me! In my experience, innate instinct is the single most important thing in baseball. And our Seo-jin definitely has it.”
Tuned out from their debate, I tore into a chicken leg. Tonight’s menu was samgyetang—ginseng chicken soup. Watching me eat with such gusto brought a contented smile to Mom’s lips.
“Isn’t it just because you threw the ball nicely right to her?”
“No, that’s not it at all! Ah, you really don’t get it. Hold on, look at this—”
Dad looked ready to jump out of his chair and act out a full demonstration right then and there. Seeing him gear up, Mom quietly slid his soup bowl back in front of him. Her gaze was not particularly impressed.
Dad sheepishly sank back into his seat.
“It’s only because you haven’t seen it yourself…”
Only after grumbling that under his breath did he finally pick up his spoon again. Holding back a chuckle, I set the clean chicken bone aside.
In my past life, plenty of people had been shocked and amazed by my plays. But having someone celebrate my progress as if it were their own personal triumph? That was a first.
About a month later, the date for my return to school was finally set.
Seventeen years old. A first-year in high school.
I had to return to the school I had barely attended before taking medical leave right after enrollment.
“Your homeroom teacher said to take things slow and focus on adjusting for now. Don’t worry too much about catching up on the missed schoolwork.” Mom hung my freshly laundered uniform on a hanger.
“Okay.”
Schoolwork was the least of my concerns.
Not like I plan on doing any anyway.
In my past life, I had defended my title at dead last in the entire school with absolute consistency.
Instead, I had a very different dilemma to mull over.
I glanced down at my smartphone on the dining table. On the screen was the game record for the baseball team of Yuseong High, the school I was returning to.
My immediate goal was the KBO.
The standard, legitimate path to getting drafted was joining a high school baseball team, and fortunately, Yuseong High had one. The problem was that, in my current physical condition, I stood zero chance of competing against high school boys. Before even considering skill, it was a fundamental issue of sheer body mass and strength.
For now, let's build up this body as much as possible before next year.
Right then, Dad took a seat across from me.
“Oh? You’re looking up the school baseball team?”
“Yeah.”
“Interested in it?”
I hesitated for a brief second before giving a firm nod. “I want to join.”
Mom’s hands, busy smoothing down my uniform, froze in place.
“The baseball team?”
“Not right now. Next year.”
“You mean… you want to play on the field as an actual player, not a manager?”
“Yes.” This time, I answered without a shred of hesitation.
Dad lapsed into silence. “It’s tough, Seo-jin. It’s completely different from playing catch with your dad in the park.”
“I know.”
“You’ll have to run and work out every single day. You’ll have to do tedious, exhausting drills. And after all that, you might never even get a chance to play in an official game.”
“I still want to try.”
“Seo-jin.” Mom walked over, her expression laced with worry. “You’re barely just heading back to school. What’s the rush? Isn’t exercising like you do now enough?”
“I want to do it properly.”
“What if you end up…” Mom trailed off.
I waited for the rest of her sentence, but she pressed her lips together, her fingers nervously fiddling with the hanger instead.
Dad was the one who broke the silence.
“How about letting her try for about a year?”
“Honey, why are you encouraging this too?”
“I’m not saying she should become a pro player right this second. She’ll go to school normally, and once classes are done, she can train just like we’ve been doing.” Dad turned his gaze to me. “Instead, if you’re going to do this, you do it right. When it’s time to work, you work. When it’s time to rest, you rest. And no skipping school.”
“Deal.”
“Only until you become a sophomore. If you stick it out until then and still want to do it, then you can try out for the baseball team.”
“Okay.”
Dad paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s one condition, though.”
“What is it?”
“If you can’t make the baseball team, you have to buckle down and study for real. Can you promise me that?”
“…I promise.” After a brief pause, I nodded.
Dad held my gaze for a moment, then turned to Mom. She still wore a hesitant, reluctant expression.
“She says she wants to try,” Dad urged gently. “All she’s ever known until now was acting—she’s never asked to do anything else for herself.”
“……”
“I’ll keep a close eye on her. Please?”
“Sigh…” Mom let out a deep, defeated sigh. “Eat properly. Get enough sleep.”
“I will.”
“And if you feel sick or hurt, don’t you dare hide it. The second you do, it’s over.”
“I won’t ever hide it, I swear.”
Mom studied my face for a long time before giving a reluctant nod. A warm smile broke across Dad’s face.
“Let’s take it one step at a time. If you ever change your mind and want to do something else, tell me right away, okay?”
From those words, I could tell roughly what they were thinking. They probably assumed that by next year, reality would catch up to me and I’d figure it out on my own. Until then, they were willing to indulge my whim.
It didn’t matter to me.
Even in a girl’s body, I was more than confident in my ability to prove them wrong.
The weekend before returning to school, Dad and I headed to a batting cage.
“You said you wanted to try hitting too, right?”
Looking up at the neon sign, I nodded. Throwing was great fun, but when it came to blowing off steam, nothing beat crushing a baseball.
Ping! Clang!
From inside, the sharp, rhythmic crack of metal bats striking balls echoed continuously.
Nice.
Hearing that familiar sound after so long sent a thrill humming through my veins.
Long batting cages were separated by heavy netting, with pitching machines nestled at the far end and bats and helmets hanging along the wall. A guy in one of the cages took a mighty swing and whiffed completely, earning a round of snickering from his buddies watching behind him.
I walked along the rack, testing the bats one by one before settling on one that felt moderately light in my hands.
“You think you can handle that one?”
“Yes.”
I tied my long hair into a ponytail and pulled on a helmet. Dad stood behind the net, watching as I took a few dry practice swings.
“Feels more comfortable batting left-handed?”
“Seems that way.”
Just like in my previous life, I stepped into the left-handed batter’s box. Standing relatively upright, I rested the bat lightly over my rear shoulder.
“Since it’s your first time, I’ll dial the speed down low for you,” the attendant said, checking the console before stepping out of the cage.
“You got this!” Dad cheered from beyond the netting.
The pitching machine whirred to life.
I tracked the first two pitches without swinging, getting my eyes accustomed to the ball’s velocity. As the third pitch wound through the release chute, I cocked my hands back and planted my front foot.
Crack!
Off the end of the bat.
The ball ricocheted weakly into the side netting.
“You made contact!” Dad shouted excitedly.
…Embarrassed, I pretended not to hear him.
Lacking strength, so the bat came around slower than I thought.
To speed up my swing timing, I choked up slightly on the grip.
Next pitch.
The moment my right foot planted into the turf, my hips whipped around. The bat followed on a clean, compact plane, meeting the ball dead center with absolute authority.
CLANG!
The ball shot off the barrel in a crisp, soaring trajectory. The bat carried naturally into a full follow-through, sweeping up high over my right shoulder.
Now that’s what I’m talking about.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I reset my stance. At steady intervals, the machine spat out another ball.
CLANG!
Even better contact this time. Even after barreling the ball, my balance remained rock-solid. The old rhythm was steadily flowing back into my muscle memory.
CLANG!
The next one came in low, but I sank my knees and adjusted seamlessly.
“Hey, look at the girl next to us.”
“Holy crap… look at that form…”
I could feel the stares from the guy who had whiffed earlier and his friends. Right then, another ball shot out.
Putting on a little show for the audience, I unleashed an even bigger, more fluid swing.
CLANG!
The onlookers edged closer to the net. Even the attendant, who had been dozing off in the corner, was now staring wide-eyed in my direction.
It was only a handful of spectators, but a warm rush of satisfaction crept up my spine. Once the timing locked in, even my finishing posture had an effortless grace to it.
CLANG!
Whipping the bat over my shoulder, I tracked the ball’s flight all the way to the back wall.
“Whoa…” A hushed murmur of awe drifted from the side.
Baseball really tasted sweetest when you had an audience watching.
That must have been the final ball, because the machine powered down with a quiet hum. I lowered the bat and caught my breath.
My forearms throbbed with a dull ache. Even though I had made solid contact, technique alone wasn’t enough to compensate for a severe lack of raw power. On a real diamond, most of those hits would have floated harmlessly into the outfield for routine flyouts.
Still, for an amateur batting cage, it must have looked like quite a spectacle.
The moment I took off my helmet and stepped outside, one of the guys who had been watching approached me.
“Um, excuse me… do you take baseball lessons somewhere?”
“Well… a little bit.”
“I knew it. Your swing was seriously incredible.”
“Thank you.”
On the inside, I was grinning ear to ear.
Please, that was nothing.
Outwardly, though, I kept up a cool, nonchalant demeanor and gave a polite nod.
Huh?
Yet the guy lingered, fidgeting as if he had something else to say. His cheeks were turning an awkward shade of red.
“Is there something else?”
“Uh… well, I was wondering… could I maybe get your phone number…?”
“…Excuse me?”
Caught completely off guard, my head snapped reflexively toward Dad.
Dad stepped between us with a mischievous grin, his broad, bear-like frame towering over the guy.
“I’m her father.”
Taking in the sheer bulk of the bearded mountain before him, the guy scrambled backward in sheer terror.
“Gah! I-I’m so sorry!”
I stared blankly at his rapidly retreating back. In my previous life, I had signed autographs for fans more times than I could count, but having a guy hit on me and ask for my number was a totally foreign experience. It hit me anew that I was, in fact, a girl.
And a pretty one at that.
“Look at our little girl, already breaking hearts,” Dad teased, practically bursting with laughter beside me.
Shaking my head in utter exasperation, I walked out of the batting cages.
On the walk home, Dad held out his phone to me.
“Sweetheart, take a look at this.”
On the screen, a video was playing—of me batting.
“Oh… you filmed all of that?”
“I missed the first two pitches. But Seo-jin… this really was your first time at a batting cage, right? Don’t you dare fib to your dad.”
“Of course it was. When would I have ever had time to come to a place like this?”
“Right… that makes sense. You were always swamped running around to auditions. But your swing today was just breathtaking. It looked like some Major League slugger… who was it again? Reminded me of him.”
“Cody Bellinger, maybe?”
“Ah! Right, Cody Bellinger! How do you even know who that is?”
“I watched his clips on NewTube and did image training on my own. I watch Major League games from time to time, too.”
Truth be told, back in my past life, I had modeled my own swing after Bellinger when teaching myself how to bat. Why Cody Bellinger out of all the legendary hitters out there?
No grand reason.
His swing just looked the coolest.
“Wait, you can pull that off just from image training? And you actually watch the Major Leagues? Is my daughter really this serious about baseball?”
Dad seemed suddenly lost in a whirlwind of thoughts.
As I replayed the video from the beginning, Dad chimed in again.
“I definitely have to show this to your mom.”
“Why?”
“She needs to experience this feeling too.”
“What feeling?”
“How do I put it… the feeling of being the parents of Olympic figure skater Kim Yuna?”
“…Huh?”
Dad didn’t answer, only chuckling to himself in pure bliss.
Olympic gold medalist Kim Yuna, really?
At this rate, he was going to expect me to make it all the way to the Major Leagues.