What Are You Doing Here?

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Hahaha. You're quite the creative one. Now then, would you care to tell me how you actually trained?"

Even if I told the truth, who would believe me?

I picked a safe distance from the truth and tossed out an answer that was sensible and grounded in reality.

My creativity is on full display right now, Miss Reporter.

"After I got serious about baseball, my father had me practice throwing with my left hand. He always said left-handed pitchers tend to land big contracts when free agency rolls around."

"Hahaha. Well, he wasn't wrong."

"No, at the time I couldn't really understand what he meant by that. But once I joined the baseball team, I only threw right-handed. My left arm felt awkward, you see."

"So then..."

"Yes, like you said, I threw exclusively right-handed. It's all there in the records. The truth is, even during all that, I practiced pitching left-handed on my own whenever I found a spare moment. After I enlisted in the military, I was able to train it in earnest. When I got discharged, I threw a few practice sessions, and the coaches judged it was more than viable — so they decided I should pitch with both hands."

"Hmm. So it really was the fruit of backbreaking effort. I think that's more than enough. Thank you, Han-sae."

"Oh, not at all. Thank you for your hard work as well, Miss Reporter."

She flashed a bright smile, pulled a business card from her pocket, and handed it to me.

"I'd love to do more interviews like this down the road. And if you ever need an article written, feel free to reach out anytime."

"Ah, yes... I will."

"Well then, Han-sae's girlfriend over there has been glaring daggers at me for a while now, so I'll take my leave."

Girlfriend? Now what's that supposed to mean?

I followed where Reporter Shim Na-young was pointing — and there stood Myo A-rin.

Arms crossed, wearing an expression somewhere between annoyed and uncomfortable, staring dead at us.

"N-no, she's not my girlfriend."

"Hmm... really? Well, either way, I can't keep holding onto Han-sae when such a lovely woman is waiting for him. It was a pleasure today. See you next time."

"Thank you very much!"

"I'll be rooting for you!"

Reporter Shim Na-young shook my hand, turned on her heel, and vanished somewhere into the crowd.

The moment she was gone, Myo A-rin marched right up to me and demanded,

"Hey! Jang Han-sae! Who was that woman?"

"A reporter."

"Huh? A reporter?"

The discontent written all over her face dissolved in an instant.

"Oh, that's all? Here I was thinking some rabid fan was harassing you... I was keeping an eye out, ready to swoop in and rescue you the second anything looked off."

Thank God the interview ended at a reasonable time.

Rabid fan...

I wish I actually had rabid fans.

"I don't have fans."

"Why wouldn't you?"

Fwoop—

Myo A-rin pulled something out of her bag and thrust it right into my face.

The number 67... a massive figure in a strangely familiar shape filled my entire field of vision.

"Huh? Wait, isn't this..."

It was a jersey. With my number and my name marked on the back.

"Could I get an autograph, Mr. Jang Han-sae, sir?"

Myo A-rin peeked her face out from beside the spread-open jersey and grinned.

"Right here! Your fan."

"Well, I never—"

It was ridiculous, but somehow, it made me happy.

She fished a marker out of her pocket, pressed it into my hand, and said,

"I said autograph. Chop chop."

"Of course. And your name would be?"

"Myo A-rin."

"That's quite a distinctive name."

Embarrassing as it is to admit, I'd actually prepared a signature for exactly this occasion — practiced it even, so I could whip it out in one smooth, suave stroke.

With practiced, fluid motions, I scrawled my signature across the jersey Myo A-rin had brought.

"You... you practiced, didn't you..."

"Go to hell..."

"You did practice~ Wow, that's hilarious. You practiced your autograph~"

"Go to hell. Please."

And so Myo A-rin kept roasting me for a good while.

"So what brings you here, anyway?"

"Oh, my company's near here. I stopped by on my way home from work."

Right, she'd landed a job recently.

"Oh yeah? But do you usually work this late?"

"No, I finished a while ago. I figured I'd come out to the ballpark for the first time in ages, look around, buy a jersey... and by the time I was done, it was already this late. Then I thought, if I just waited a bit, you'd probably come out. So, I figured maybe we could... head home together."

Oh? Jackpot!

"Hey! Great thinking."

I whipped out my phone and booked a cab. The taxi arrived in no time, and we rode home together — quick, comfortable, and cheap.

"Splitting the fare! Total steal!"

A fifty-percent-off taxi promotion? Couldn't beat that.

Since Myo A-rin's place was closer, we stopped there first to drop her off.

"Thanks for today! Get home safe."

"...Get lost, idiot."

"Yep! You got it!"

A-rin must have been exhausted, because her complexion had grown noticeably pale. When that's the case, the kindest thing to do is get lost quickly.

"Driver, please hurry."

With a low vroom, the scenery beyond the window — Myo A-rin included — blurred past in a rush.

"Still, an article all about me, huh..."

After dropping off A-rin, I spent the two short minutes to our place quietly savoring the flutter in my chest.

The final game of the opening three-game series went the opposite way from yesterday — this time it was our team, riding a grand slam from our foreign slugger Carl Johnson to bury the Fighters by a wide margin.

Of our trio, only Ho-ji took the mound; me and Won-sik-hyung both got the night off.

Which meant I got to go home completely fresh and dry. Hahaha, absolute steal.

After the game, as I was changing in the locker room, Won-sik-hyung shoved his phone in my face from the next locker over.

"Han-sae. You made the news."

Oh, right! The article!

"Ah, seriously?"

"Wow..."

I was truly overcome.

Aside from the weeks right after I was drafted, my name had been nearly impossible to find in the news.

The last time my name made headlines was when the bus crash happened.

But now, here was an article about nothing but me — filled purely with baseball, nothing else.

Anyone could ask what the big deal was about a ballplayer getting an article written about him, but for me, it meant everything.

'I wish Dad could have read this.'

My father's face surfaced without warning, and my eyes stung hot before I could stop them.

"Hey, there are quite a few comments on it too."

"Hey. You crying?"

Somewhere along the way, tears had started sliding down my cheeks.

But honestly, I couldn't hold them back.

"Hyung... I'm really gohna ahhh... work so hard... hnggh..."

Won-sik-hyung snorted a laugh and patted me on the back.

Once I'd pulled myself together and was handing the phone back to Won-sik-hyung, a headline caught my eye.

'Oh? Is that so? How interesting.'

"What's this guy's deal, coming to Korea and running his mouth?"

Won-sik-hyung, who had been reading over my shoulder, scowled in disgust.

He had every right to. Edison had been a monster slugger in his prime, racking up 30 home runs in a single MLB season.

His career had gone downhill steadily since then, all the way to Korea — but you know what they say.

'Form is temporary, but class is permanent.'

True to form, he was showing off a class apart and bombing Korean baseball back into the stone age.

"When we face the Vanguards, I just hope we can avoid Edison."

"Nah, facing him would be great! Sounds like fun to me?"

"You're insane."

Actually, it's worth a shot.

That guy was quietly looking down on all of us.

Otherwise, he'd never have come out and openly broadcast his weakness in a public interview.

'Nobody in Korea throws knuckleballs, so KBO pitching is trash'? (paraphrasing slightly)

Oh, I was going to make him eat every word of it.

Just as I was stoking the fires of competitive spirit, the manager walked into the locker room.

"Hmm... anyone not finished ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠changing?"

"No, sir!"

The manager swept his eyes across the locker room, then turned his head toward the door and spoke to someone outside.

"You can come in now."

One after another, a stream of people who looked like front-office staff filed into the locker room behind the manager.

Among them, a bespectacled, scholarly-looking middle-aged man spoke up.

"Hello, players. I'm Lee Kang-woo, head of the club's Strategy and Data Analysis Team. Some of you may know me, and some of you may be meeting me for the first time today, but although this is a bit late, we've come by to introduce ourselves — along with our team members — as the season gets underway."

Applause rippled through the locker room.

"Ah, thank you very much. Hahaha. Now, as the analysis team, we'll be communicating with you all frequently throughout the season, and it's always best to put faces to names, isn't it? So today, I'd like to introduce our team members as well."

Lee Kang-woo introduced his staff one by one, calling out each name and role as they stepped forward.

With each introduction, fresh applause and cheers rolled through the locker room.

Every member had been introduced, and just as I thought the whole thing was wrapping up—

"Ah, and one more thing... This next person is probably new to everyone, since she just joined us this year. Come on in!"

The door opened, and a tall woman slowly walked into the locker room.

Huh? Huh!!!

"Please give a warm welcome to the newest member of our team — Myo A-rin."

What are you doing here?!