Diamond Girls (Part 2)
“The five of you, please line up over here.”
I took my spot along the taped markers on the turf. I was positioned at the very end of the row.
Across from us, a long table sat atop a raised platform.
The man seated in the center adjusted his cap and looked our way. He had short-cropped hair, sun-tanned skin, and deep laugh lines framing his eyes.
Jang Tae-oh.
A legendary slugger who had captured two KBO batting titles before crossing the Pacific to play nine full seasons in Major League Baseball. And he was certainly no singles-slapping contact hitter either; he had racked up 168 career home runs and an MLB All-Star selection.
I had watched plenty of his games from my hospital bed back in the day. From a pitcher’s perspective, he was the absolute most irritating kind of hitter to face.
His bat-to-ball contact instincts were unreal.
Beside him sat Yoon Jae-wook. He was a fifteen-year KBO veteran shortstop who had even taken home a Golden Glove.
Both men wore jerseys bearing the exact same logo across the chest.
Red Phoenix.
The very team I intended to join today.
“Welcome, everyone. I’m Jang Tae-oh, and I’ll be managing the Red Phoenix again this season.”
He gestured with an open hand to the man beside him.
“And here is our coach, Yoon Jae-wook.”
Coach Yoon dipped his head in a polite bow toward the applicants.
Applause broke out from the returning Red Phoenix players seated on the bench behind them.
Once the clapping died down, Manager Jang turned his gaze back to our line.
“Shall we start with brief self-introductions?”
The first applicant stepped forward.
“Hello. I’m Oh Hye-rim, and I used to play handball.”
When she mentioned having represented the country at the Asian Games on the national team, cheers erupted from the dugout. It seemed someone on the current roster shared her background.
“Then you must be confident in your throwing arm?”
“I’m confident in throwing, but I still have a bad habit of spiking it low like I’m aiming for the bottom corners of a handball goal.”
“Well, around here, if you bury it in the dirt, our catcher will love you to death.”
Laughter rippled across the field. Oh Hye-rim chuckled and bowed her head.
Second up was Moon So-hee, who had played semi-pro tennis.
“A tennis racket and a baseball bat feel pretty different, don’t they?”
“Yes. But I’m confident when it comes to squaring up contact.”
“Good. I’ll look forward to seeing that later.”
The third participant, Kang Yu-ra, was a track-and-field sprinter. When she mentioned medaling at the National Sports Festival, the manager immediately asked about her speed around the bases.
“I just need to sprint all the way through the base, right?”
“Just make sure you step on it as you blow past. No hurdling over it.”
Someone shouted from the dugout that she was the exact kind of weapon their lineup desperately needed.
After the fourth applicant, former badminton player Jeong Da-bin, wrapped up her introduction, it was finally my turn.
The manager flipped a page on his clipboard.
“And lastly, Han Seo-jin.”
“Hello. I’m Han Seo-jin.”
“Seeing you in person, you’ve really grown up. My daughter used to love the dramas you starred in back in the day.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what brings you here? To be frank, I was a little surprised to see an actress standing among former elite athletes.”
I recited the line from the script I had been handed beforehand.
“My father used to play baseball, so I’ve dreamed of playing ever since I was little.”
“Aha... It says here your father was a catcher?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you learn baseball from him growing up, then?”
“No. It’s only been about three months since I actually started.”
The manager glanced down at his notes, then looked back up at me.
“Have you ever played any other sports?”
“No, sir.”
“I see...”
His tone remained gentle, but his questions were noticeably briefer compared to the others.
Instead, Coach Yoon Jae-wook uncapped his pen and chimed in.
“What position are you hoping to play?”
“Pitcher.”
“Oh. Pitcher, huh?”
The coach jotted something down in the margin of his evaluation sheet.
“Don’t feel pressured today. Just show us what you’ve been doing with your dad.”
“Understood.”
“Just think of it as coming out to have some fun and enjoy yourself.”
I understood the underlying message perfectly well.
You're just here for the cameras.
Still, I hadn’t hauled myself all the way out here just to toss a couple of token pitches and pack my bags.
Catching sight of the overflowing buckets of baseballs stacked beside the dugout only fueled my competitive itch.
“We’ll start with catchball. After that, we’ll move on to outfield fly balls, fielding grounders at shortstop with throws to first, and then wrap up with pitching and batting.”
Coach Yoon Jae-wook pointed across the diamond as he outlined the schedule.
Small cones had been placed in the outfield. It looked like we would take turns fielding out there one by one.
“For the defensive drills, we’ll start with balls hit right at you, then work both sides. If a ball looks difficult, it’s completely fine to just block it with your body. Don’t overexert yourselves trying to make heroic catches.”
Beside me, Jeong Da-bin fidgeted nervously with her glove laces.
“I’m so anxious. I got the call two months ago and went to a private baseball academy every single weekend.”
In front of us, Moon So-hee nodded in commiseration.
“Same here. Fly balls are strangely brutal. The second the bat makes contact, you think it’s going to drop right in front of you, but by the time you sprint over, it’s sailed over your head.” She turned to me. “Did you prepare separately too, Seo-jin?”
“No.”
Jeong Da-bin’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Even with a fielding test on the schedule?”
“I only got the call this week.”
Both of them stared at me simultaneously.
“This week?”
“Yes.”
“……”
Their expressions instantly melted into pitying gazes.
Hmph.
Ignoring their looks, I slipped my hand deep into the pocket of my glove.
Listening to their chatter, it was clear the other candidates had spent months getting coached for this tryout.
The bigger picture was glaringly obvious.
The production crew wanted to exploit my old Nation’s Little Sister title for cheap publicity and viral buzz. Whether I crashed and burned or miraculously scraped by, it guaranteed easy screen time.
Of course, whatever their motives were, it didn’t matter to me in the slightest.
If the ball comes your way, you catch it. Once you catch it, you throw it.
What was so complicated about defense?
Our catchball partners were assistant coaches helping run the drills.
The five of us lined up in a row, playing catch from a short distance to start. We kept the throws light to warm up our shoulders before gradually backing away.
A crisp, heavy thud echoed from beside me.
It was Oh Hye-rim, the former handball player. The ball exploded out of her fingers with impressive zip. However, her control was all over the map, forcing her partner to reach high above his head again and again just to corral it.
“Hye-rim, great power, but bring it down a bit!” Coach Yoon shouted.
The throw coming my way arrived slightly below chest height.
Shifting my feet, I snared the ball and squared my hips the instant it cleared the leather. Planting my left foot toward my target, I released a smooth, effortless flick.
Pop.
My partner caught it cleanly right in front of his chest without moving an inch.
The next throw sailed slightly to my right. Shifting over with a light shuffle, I gathered it in and fired it right back to the exact same spot.
After a few more exchanges, my partner backed up further. I matched his distance step for step.
This time, I drove a little more power through my lower half.
Smack!
“Oh,” the assistant coach let out a brief grunt of appreciation. “That’s a great ball to catch.”
“Thank you.”
Keeping my reply brief, I locked eyes with him again.
His return throw sailed in on the higher side. Drifting back a pace, I gathered it smoothly, then transferred my weight forward as I released.
There was no need to force extra arm strength to compensate for giving ground. You simply let the natural momentum of your forward footwork carry the ball.
Pop!
Once again, my partner didn’t have to adjust his glove by a millimeter.
Right around then, Coach Yoon Jae-wook, who had been pacing along the line, wandered over.
“Seo-jin.”
“Yes, Coach?”
“Did your dad teach you that footwork too?”
“It just kind of comes naturally.”
“Oho.”
He nodded, his curiosity piqued, and moved directly behind me. I could feel his gaze boring into my back.
You’re surprised already?
We were only playing catch.
Feigning complete nonchalance, I raised my glove once more.
For the outfield defensive drill, Manager Jang Tae-oh hit fungo himself.
One by one, we stood at the designated outfield marker, tracked down the fly ball, and fired a throw into second base.
Crack!
The first fungo vaulted high into the sky.
Oh Hye-rim took two tentative steps forward, froze in confusion, and panicked. Scrambling backward with her arm stretched high, she grazed the ball with the tip of her glove, only for it to spill out onto the turf.
“It’s fine! Let’s see the next one!”
The manager immediately lofted another ball.
Crack!
This time she caught it. But because she had barely snagged it over her head while tumbling backward, she couldn't transition into a throw.
Next was Kang Yu-ra.
True to her sprint background, her wheels were exceptional. Even after misjudging the initial trajectory, she closed the gap in a flash. Making the running catch on a full sprint drew enthusiastic applause from the dugout.
Unfortunately, that was where the highlights ended.
During Moon So-hee and Jeong Da-bin’s turns, groans of disappointment echoed across the field.
Even when they read the landing zone correctly, they hesitated at the final moment, unsure of how to position their gloves, or became so hyper-focused on merely making the catch that they froze solid with the ball in hand, forgetting to throw.
And then, my turn came.
“Seo-jin, you’re up.”
Stepping onto the marker, home plate opened up cleanly before my eyes.
I widened my stance slightly and locked my focus onto the manager’s bat.
Crack!
The first fungo soared high into the air.
Tilting my head back, I drifted diagonally backward. Backpedaling past the projected drop zone, I chopped my feet to dial in my position.
As I waited, a light breeze brushed against my right cheek.
The baseball descended precisely where I anticipated.
Thwack.
Squeezing the ball on a forward glide, I transferred it to my throwing hand, stepped through, and fired.
The assistant coach standing at second base received it cleanly at chest level.
Applause rippled from the dugout.
“Nice! Here comes another one!”
The next ball sliced out toward my left.
The instant it struck wood, I opened my hips and turned. Instead of backpedaling while staring up at the sky, I sprinted hard toward the target spot first. Once I cut off the angle, I gathered my stride and settled under it.
Another crisp throw back into the infield.
The assistant coach dipped his glove slightly, but it arrived on a line without a bounce.
Manager Jang tapped another ball against his bat and studied me for a brief second.
Going shallow this time, are we?
Having tested straight-on and to the side, it was the obvious next move.
Crack!
Right on cue.
The moment the ball left the bat, I knew it was looping shallow.
By pure reflex, I charged forward.
The ball dropped faster than expected, but getting an explosive first step paid off. Taking a long lunge on my left foot at the final split-second, I thrust my glove below my knee.
Snap!
I snagged it bent low, but never lost my balance. Tightening my core to stabilize my posture, I uncorked the throw.
Once again, the throw laser-beamed right into second base.
“Did she really catch that?”
“Holy crap... that was insane.”
“Did it bounce?”
“No way, she caught it clean on the fly!”
“How did she throw a strike from that awkward posture?”
Listening to the murmurs of awe buzzing all around me, a warm swell of pride bubbled up in my chest.
I had always hated defensive drills back in my past life, but it was moments like this that had kept me staying late for extra reps after practice.
Clap, clap, clap, clap.
Brushing the dirt off my uniform pants, I looked toward the sound.
Manager Jang Tae-oh had tucked the fungo bat under his armpit, applauding enthusiastically.
Beside him, Coach Yoon Jae-wook was animatedly pointing in my direction, whispering something in his ear.
Afraid a smug grin might crack across my face, I reached up and adjusted my cap brim.
Heh.
Yeah, they had to be shocked.
Because honestly, even from my own perspective, that play just now was pretty damn magnificent.