The Last At-Bat Becomes the First

It was the time when Minor League Yeopo Gong Ji-hoo couldn't even manage to be a Minor League Yeopo.

The sudden lower-back pain had ended in a long-term injury.

Rehab itself hadn't been all that hard, but the mockery from the people around him had eaten away at him.

Even if he rehabs, he's still just a second-team scrub, right? Why's he working so hard?

That was the sort of thing people had said, as far as he remembered.

It was so long ago now that it stirred no emotion at all, but back then it had cut him pretty deep. Deep enough that, at the young age of twenty-four, he had decided to retire.

After somehow clawing his way back from the injury, he had resolved to look at the result of his first at-bat and decide for real whether to hang it up or not.

The opposing team was the Daegu Rhinos. Naturally, it was a Futures League game.

Was it a fly to right? Yeah, that sounds right.

The result had been an utterly ordinary fly ball to right field—ordinary enough that he could retire without a single regret.

And yet.

"So I've really come back to that moment…"

Watching the umpire's face grow redder and redder behind the mask, the reality that he had returned to the past began to sink in.

"Hey! You—"

Bang!

"Sorry for stalling! First at-bat back from injury—I must've gotten nervous!"

He smacked his helmet hard with the hand still gripping the bat, then bowed his head.

"R-right… as long as you know."

The umpire who had been about to yell looked visibly flustered.

You never really get mad at a crazy person.

He stepped into the box and set his stance.

An extreme open stance. Weight planted on the back foot.

Even though it had been four years since he last took a swing, the posture felt completely natural.

"Minor League Yeopo~ long time no see."

Even the opposing catcher's greeting felt warmly familiar.

"It really has been a long time."

He answered with a bright, sunny smile.

"Uh…"

"Something wrong?"

"No, I guess you really were hurting. Gong Ji-hoo actually talking in the batter's box."

"The old Gong Ji-hoo died just a moment ago."

He meant it.

The old Gong Ji-hoo had always been deadly serious. At the plate, in the field, everywhere.

He had never bantered in the dugout, never traded jokes with a catcher during an at-bat.

That, he figured, had probably been the problem.

Whether that was really true or not, I'd only find out once I made the first team. But right now I need to focus on the present, not the near future.

He could feel the catcher exchanging signs with the pitcher. The baby-faced pitcher shook his head once, twice, three times, as if nothing quite satisfied him.

Only then did he give a satisfied nod and set into his delivery.

Top of the first. Count: one strike. No runners on.

Best possible situation for a comeback.

He timed the pitcher's kick.

Whooosh.

The ball left the pitcher's right hand. Even for the Futures League, it was a pretty quick pitch, and it was on him in a blink.

In the split second before it arrived, he tracked it all the way for the perfect swing.

This one was coming into the zone for sure. No—that understated it.

"Hah…"

A fastball right down the middle. Whether ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was a mistake or pure disrespect, he didn't know. He simply crushed it on perfect timing.

CRAAAACK!!!

The ball rocketed off the bat like a bullet. There was nothing left to watch.

He tossed the bat casually and began his slow trot around the bases.

The pitcher's scrunched-up face was a beautiful sight.

After circling the bases and touching home, he spoke to the catcher.

"Baseball's fucking fun."

The first at-bat that had once been his last. As if blessing his new life, the result was a home run.

The top of the first ended.

Aside from his solo shot, there had been no runs. No—they hadn't even managed a baserunner.

Surprisingly solid pitcher…

It was a face he had never seen before. Judging by the baby face, the kid might even have been a junior.

Well, I don't know a thing about the players who came after me.

After retiring, he hadn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠watched a single baseball game.

For all he knew, in some future he had never lived, that young-looking pitcher might have become one of the faces of the KBO.

The Futures League had always been that kind of place. A forge where prospects tempered themselves before climbing to the first team.

A familiar face in the Futures League meant one of two things.

Either a perennial prospect like the old him, clawing desperately for the thinnest scrap of opportunity… or a guy who had already decided that simply playing in the Futures League was enough to end his career on.

And most of the second-team players on his own club, the Suwon Wizards, belonged to the latter group.

Team policy is to develop the talented prospects on the first team, after all…

While the gifted, hungry kids racked up experience upstairs, the second team was left to run itself into the ground.

Manager half-assing it. Coaches half-assing it. Players half-assing it.

A big part of why he had lost interest in baseball had been the second team itself.

Just make the first team, right?

If he could have done that, he never would have been called Minor League Yeopo.

As the designated hitter, he chewed gum and watched his team's defense in the bottom of the first. The second-team manager wasn't about to stick a guy fresh off injury right into the field.

A hit. A walk.

Is the pitcher nervous?

In his hazy memory, the guy on the mound hadn't been the type to get rattled.

Lee Eun-soo… he used to stay up all night drinking and trash his condition more often than not, didn't he?

Today looked like just another ordinary hangover. One look at the face that seemed ready to puke right there on the rubber told the story.

"Haa… that bastard."

The manager shook his head. Even so, he didn't get angry or start warming up a reliever.

That senior is still the only one who can even finish five innings…

The Suwon Wizards were a strong team. More precisely, the Suwon Wizards first team was a strong team.

They were still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fighting for second place this late in the season. The one weakness everyone pointed to was depth…

Watching today's game, he was reminded once again that the criticism hadn't been exaggerated at all.

A pitcher with a green face throwing something that might have been pitching or might have been just throwing. A catcher who couldn't even glove it cleanly and kept dropping the ball.

"…What a shitshow."

"Gong Ji-hoo. You hit a home run, that it? One injury and suddenly this kid's got a mouth on him?"

The batting coach sitting next to him said it with a grin.

Back when he had been a serious, humorless grind, his social skills hadn't exactly been stellar.

He had few friends.

Only one person, really.

The man beside him—batting coach Kim Phil-jung—was the only one he had any real connection with.

"Still a shitshow though, right?"

School ties, hometown ties, blood ties—they all mattered in baseball. If anything, baseball was worse about it.

The main reason he and Kim Phil-jung had gotten close was that they were high-school seniors and juniors.

"If you say it like that, how sad do you think the defense coach is going to be?"

"Is hitting any different?"

"You just mashed a home run."

"Coach—no, hyung. That was just me hitting well."

He was close with Coach Kim Phil-jung, but he could state with absolute certainty that the man had never influenced his swing. Honestly, the guy worked hard enough at coaching, but like any coach on a dumpster-fire team, he was pretty incompetent.

"Wow… Ji-hoo's changed a lot."

"Coach. Defense inning's over. Time to go to work."

"Huh? Right… these amazing guys already gave up four runs in the first? All right, everybody, let's put some runs on the board~ Gather up!"

Whatever Kim Phil-jung was doing—cheering or coaching—it didn't mean much to the players.

Top of the second: three up, three down.

Bottom of the second: bases loaded, one out, then a miraculous double play for a scoreless frame.

Top of the third: three up, three down.

Bottom of the third: a bases-clearing double, three runs allowed.

Even for a team that lost as a matter of daily routine, watching a game get flushed this smoothly from the jump was enough to suck the life out of the dugout.

"Hyung."

Before the top of the fourth began, he walked over to Kim Phil-jung. The man's face—usually locked in a permanent smile—had stiffened a little, the look of someone whose game wasn't going his way.

"Oh, Ji-hoo. You said you hit just fine on your own, so this coach is just gonna cheer."

Kim Phil-jung was an incompetent man. And yet.

To Gong Ji-hoo, Kim Phil-jung was practically a benefactor.

"I've been writing lately. It's fucking fire, right?"

"…For real?"

He was the one who had first suggested Ji-hoo try writing a novel.

"Thanks to you I even got called 'Author-nim,' so I'll make sure people start calling you a legendary coach too."

Leaving his laughing senior behind, he walked once more toward the batter's box.

To Daegu Rhinos second-team catcher Kim Kang-tae, Gong Ji-hoo was a perfect player. So perfect it made no sense why he couldn't cut it on the first team.

I don't think even the first team has anyone who does it at that level…

It wasn't just Kim Kang-tae's opinion. Most guys who played in the Futures League felt the same way.

Plate discipline? In the second team, at least, the saying was true: if Gong Ji-hoo doesn't swing, it's a ball.

Swing? The raw power that came off that insane bat speed was downright terrifying.

Baserunning? For a giant standing 190 cm, he was solid.

So why the hell is he only good in the second team…

Gong Ji-hoo being called Minor League Yeopo wasn't just his personal tragedy.

Tsk. That's why I told him not to throw a middle-middle fastball the first time he faces the guy.

At least for the first-year rookie pitcher he was working with today, that had been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the case.

To a kid drafted in the glorious first round, Gong Ji-hoo must have looked like easy meat.

Club policy had kept him off the first team so far, but all through the first half he had confirmed that his stuff was way above second-team level. That only made him hungrier.

He had probably wanted to punch his Futures League graduation ticket by striking Gong Ji-hoo out. Except.

Even if it was middle-middle, he still took a 155 km/h pitch over the wall…

That had been Kim Kang-tae's mistake. Thinking that, first at-bat back from injury, maybe the guy would be manageable. That had been wrong.

Especially after watching the usually stone-faced, silent Gong Ji-hoo grin like an idiot and do that weird helmet-smacking performance with the bat. It had only reinforced the idea.

"Appreciate the hard work~"

Just like right now.

Gong Ji-hoo stepped in and set up. Out of the corner of his eye, Kim Kang-tae saw the guy smiling.

"I thought that I~ was a shining star~"

This bastard's singing now too?

Unlike the smiling batter, the pitcher had gone rigid, clearly replaying that first at-bat in his head.

"Ji-hoo."

"Yeah?"

"Just go to the first team already, please."

Kim Kang-tae's small attempt to get under Gong Ji-hoo's skin. But.

"Yes~ time for me to go up."

"Ha. And turn into a revolving door up there, or what?"

"Who knows. The me standing here is a completely different Gong Ji-hoo from the past, you know?"

"Different how?"

"…"

This bastard finally starts talking and then clams up on the important part.

With Gong Ji-hoo humming to himself and offering no further answer, Kim Kang-tae quickly ran through signs with the pitcher.

Another fastball? That's not courage, Ji-hwan. That's pure recklessness.

The pitcher wanted another heater in the zone. Kim Kang-tae put down the off-speed sign again. The pitcher sighed and nodded.

A circle changeup. The most effective pitch a right-hander could throw against a lefty like Gong Ji-hoo. One of the out pitches for the rookie on the mound, Sim Ji-hwan.

Whooosh.

It was a perfect changeup—the kind that would fool most hitters. Except.

"It's out."

The Gong Ji-hoo of the second team was not most hitters.

"Ball."

Hearing the umpire's flat call, Kim Kang-tae put down the changeup sign again.

"Ball."

Another perfect pitch, and Gong Ji-hoo still didn't so much as twitch.

Even from a distance you could see the pitcher on the mound starting to feel the weight of the rising ball count.

Just gonna throw the fastball, huh?

After a brief hesitation, Kim Kang-tae looked at Sim Ji-hwan and nodded.

Fine. We're already up six. Throw whatever you want. Even if he hits it, it's only one run.

On the mound, Sim Ji-hwan clenched his teeth. He was going to put everything into this pitch, as if it were the last one he would throw all day.

Whooosh!

Everything he had.

The moment it left his hand, Sim Ji-hwan knew it was the most perfect pitch he had ever thrown. Kim Kang-tae, mitt open and waiting, thought the same thing. Except.

"Oh, thanks for the heater."

CRAAAAACK—!!

To Gong Ji-hoo it had simply been a delicious pitch.

Watching the ball disappear over the wall at a speed the eye couldn't even track, Gong Ji-hoo tossed the bat again and began another leisurely tour of the bases.

The scoreboard flashed 159 km/h. The pitch that had vanished beyond the fence was the fastest Sim Ji-hwan had ever thrown.