Heading Home
"Han-sae! You were insane out there!"
As we filed back into the dugout during the pitching change, Ho-ji came sprinting over and clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"Kim Han-su looked completely rattled, didn't he? He was muttering to himself, something or other, and kept letting out these hollow laughs."
"Hoo-rah, nailed it. Let the world see me crack Kim Han-su's mental game wide open."
"You do realize that's two strikeouts against Kim Han-su now, right?"
"How could I not? Honestly, I can barely believe it myself."
And so, trading pleasant banter with Ho-ji, I made my way back to the dugout in high spirits.
The first to greet us was the Manager, applauding as we arrived.
"Rookie battery! Great work out there. Han-sae, go change and get ready to head home. Ho-ji, you're up to bat next."
Ah, so I'm being used as a one-point reliever this game.
One-third of an inning. One strikeout.
Just like yesterday, another spotless line on the scoresheet.
"Yes, sir."
Retire one batter and clock out. For me, that's a sweet deal — I'd already earned my dinner today, so all that remained was to sit back and watch the game in peace.
After that, I cheered my heart out as if possessed by the spirit of the cheer squad, but the game, alas, ended without incident in our team's defeat.
One consolation, though: Yang Ho-ji had blasted his first career home run.
It was only a solo shot with nobody on base, but it was the kind of performance that showcased his potential.
Ho-ji looked so joyful rounding the bases that I felt as if I'd hit the home run myself.
With that, two of the three opening-series games against our Jamsil rivals, the Fighters, were in the books.
The players and coaching staff all took the field together to bow to the fans who'd come to watch in person — gratitude mixed with apology for failing to deliver the win they'd hoped for.
"It's okay! Win tomorrow!"
"Geum Byeong-hyun, oppa! Look over here!!"
"Just disband the team! Right now!"
Fans offering encouragement, fans who seemed devoted to one particular player, fans simply ticked off that the team had lost.
All kinds of reactions came pouring down from the stands.
"The rookies looked great! Keep working hard!"
"Yang Ho-ji! Congratulations on the home run!!"
"Kim Won-sik! Let's make it stick this time!"
"Our secret weapon!! Jang Han-sae!! Fighting!!!"
The cheers rang out especially loud for the three of us call-ups standing shoulder to shoulder.
My heart swelled, and I felt the sting of tears threatening to well up.
Apparently I wasn't the only one — I glanced over to find Won-sik hyung already crying his eyes out.
That's right. Without the fans, this whole little ballgame would be nothing.
I vowed deep in my heart to throw like an absolute bastard and repay them for their support.
I should look into what kinds of fakes I can pull off without getting called for a balk.
"Hkk... hhhhk..."
Whoa, hyung, you're crying that hard?
Drunk on the surging wave of emotion, I grabbed his hand and said,
"Hyung, let's really give this everything we've got."
"Yeah, man... hkhhk..."
Damn it... now I'm tearing up too. Truth be told, Won-sik hyung had every reason to be crying such bitter tears.
He was already in his seventh year as a pro.
Drafted by no one out of high school, he'd gone straight into active military service.
Afterward he enrolled in university, and in the draft that followed he was finally selected by the Gwangju Haitais, making it into professional baseball at last.
But his career was a heartbreaking one, with barely any real time on the first-team stage.
He bounced around the minor leagues until he was ultimately released — though fortunately, the Urbans, who were short on pitching depth at the time, extended him a free-agent offer, and he joined the team.
Then, in his first year with the club, after quietly grinding his way back into form in the minors and stringing together some genuinely strong performances, he took a batted ball off himself during a game and went down with an injury.
He spent all of last year focused on recovery, and this year, finally back on the mound, he at long last set foot on the big-league stage he'd only ever dreamed of.
The team may have lost, but for Kim Won-sik the individual, how exhilarating must this moment be?
He'd come in after the starter collapsed early and eaten up nearly four full innings.
Sure, he'd given up two runs, but with the score gap already blown wide open, it hardly mattered.
When you come in for mop-up duty, the more innings you eat, the better. Full stop.
So Won-sik hyung had more than done his job today.
When someone you'd written off as useless finally earns recognition for their worth and gets called on to do their part —
If you've never felt it, you could never understand.
And so our trio of call-ups achieved something meaningful amid the loss.
Heading home.
Fans hoping to catch the players up close had waited outside the stadium late into the night.
"Byeong-hyun, oppa!! Please sign this!!"
"Song Gyeong-seok! Great work out there today!"
Despite the poor result, watching them encourage the players was a genuinely beautiful sight.
Naturally, the attention gravitated toward the big-name players.
"Ahh, man... sorry about the loss!"
Geum Byeong-hyun approached the female fan asking for his autograph and, with his trademark roguish charm, offered an apology along with the signature.
The man had gone completely hitless today and must have been in a rotten mood, yet he answered an endless parade of selfie requests one by one. It really was something to behold.
Even that lowlife thug turns into an angel in front of the fans.
Song Gyeong-seok hyung's fan service was every bit the veteran's, too.
"I apologize for tonight's loss. We'll win the next one, I promise."
Crisp apology, swift autograph, quick photo, done.
Impeccably efficient.
All around them, the other players were tending to fans in their own ways.
"Yang Ho-ji!!!"
Quite a few fans were looking for Ho-ji after his home run today.
Watching it all unfold, I found myself genuinely envious of them.
I wished I had fans like that too.
Well, fair enough — I hadn't shown them much yet.
But I had no doubt whatsoever that if I kept putting up consistent numbers, my moment would come too.
"Time to work even harder."
Having made up my mind, I moved to head home quickly —
"Jang Han-sae!"
"Huh?"
Did I hear that wrong?
"Han-sae! Over here!"
I turned toward the voice to find a petite woman holding her hand up high, looking straight at me.
"Wh-who, me?"
"Yes! Jang Han-sae!"
I walked over to her with a dazed expression.
"Your performance yesterday and today was just wonderful!"
"Th-thank you... so, um, what, what can I do for you?"
Should I offer an autograph? I wasn't in uniform, so did she have something to sign? Did she bring her own pen? Ah! Was I supposed to have prepared one? I'm terrible in photos... is she planning to take one herself...?
Having never experienced anything like this, my mind went completely blank.
"Hm? Do for me? What do you mean?"
Oh, whoops. I'd gotten way ahead of myself.
"Ah... I figured I should at least offer you an autograph..."
Am I being way too flustered right now?
Unlike me, worried she might just walk away, she let out a booming laugh that defied her delicate appearance.
"You have a cute side to you, Jang Han-sae. I'm Shim Na-young, a sports reporter with Chuchuk Ilbo."
Ah... a reporter. And here I thought I'd picked up a fan...
Wait a second.
A reporter?
"You're a, a reporter?"
"Yes! You made Korean pro baseball history today, didn't you? Passing over someone like that without an interview would be dereliction of duty."
A reporter... My heart started pounding like crazy.
What was she going to ask me?
What if I misspoke?
A thousand scattered thoughts flooded my head.
Wait, more importantly — what record? All I did today was face one batter, didn't I?
"Wh-what, what record?"
"Why are you so surprised?"
"N-no, I really have no idea."
She laughed heartily once more.
"You threw with your left hand today, didn't you? When yesterday you threw right-handed."
"Yes... I did."
"It's a first in the history of Korean pro baseball. No pitcher has ever thrown with both hands in a game. You're the very first, Jang Han-sae."
The first? Me?
Come to think of it, I'd never actually seen a switch pitcher in the domestic leagues before.
I'd heard there were a few cases in Major League Baseball, though.
Since it had nothing to do with actual pitching ability, it was a detail I'd never given a moment's thought until now.
"Ah... is, is that so?"
"Yes! If that isn't news, what is? You'll grant me an interview, won't you?"
"Ah, yes... yes..."
And so I answered her questions, one after another.
How did I get started in baseball?
How did it feel to debut in the first team?
Standard fare, question after question like that.
At first the interview format felt so awkward that I agonized over every answer, but I decided to just speak plainly.
The life I'd lived, the things I'd been through, the emotions I'd felt.
The more I did it, the more natural it became, and by the time the interview was winding down, the answers were flowing out of me effortlessly.
"Then I simply can't let this question go. How exactly did you become a switch pitcher? There's no record of you ever throwing left-handed through your amateur career or since joining the pros. I'm curious — what kind of work went into it?"
Possibly the most important question of all.
"While I was lying in that hospital bed, my consciousness left my body and entered a surreal space where the flow of time had stopped. I practiced in there for hundreds of thousands of hours, until I could throw perfectly with my left hand too."
"I'm sorry — what?"
At my answer, Reporter Shim Na-young's eyes went round as saucers.