Uncle
I kind of thought the same thing.
Somehow I had been homering in every single postseason game. The question was how I felt about playing in Jamsil, which is noticeably bigger than other ballparks.
Huh…? What is this sudden pile-on?
No.
“You think I didn’t want to cause an incident in the interview either…”
The muttered complaint slipped out on its own from pure injustice.
PHOTO: We are the Wizards’ golden generation!
“Oh.”
The photo taken with my classmates after the game. It came out pretty—
“—well, actually.”
Personally, I was satisfied with it.
“But why is the comment vibe like this…”
It was vicious beyond belief.
“Hmm…”
I spent a moment searching.
“Ah…”
I finally understood why the fans’ reactions had no choice but to be so negative.
“There was something like this?”
I was a little ignorant when it came to baseball superstitions. I hadn’t exactly been a huge baseball fan from childhood, after all.
So that was why Lee Dae-beom and Park Ji-han had worn those subtly uneasy expressions when the reporter asked for a photo?
“No way a curse like that is actually real…”
The world’s one and only regressor decided to think that way.
“We’ve arrived.”
“Ah, how much is it?”
At the taxi driver’s quiet announcement that we had arrived, I shifted my gaze from my phone to the meter.
On the meter—
“Huh?”
—nothing was showing.
“It’s fine. You’re Gong Ji-hoo, right? I don’t take money from celebrities. Just give me an autograph and go.”
I had heard something like this from Kim Jae-sang once.
— “You’re good at baseball in Busan, right? Then your quality of life changes. You even ride taxis for free and stuff, you know?”
Was this the situation I had only heard about in words?
If so—
“Thank you! Are you a Wizards fan by any chance?”
“No? Original Irons fan.”
Ah.
“Um…”
“It’s fine. What’s wrong with a baseball player working hard at baseball?”
To the taxi driver who asked if I had ever considered the Irons in free agency—I was playing well, after all—I gave an awkward smile, signed, and opened the car door.
“Free agency…”
For me, it was still a story far too distant.
A path so familiar I could find it without looking. My feet moved naturally.
A brief holiday before the Korean Series began. I was in my hometown right now.
“You came to a live game?”
A familiar alley. The shop that was my destination still hadn’t opened. I leaned against a nearby wall and logged into the novel site.
The Genius Batter Regresses
The latest post on the novel I was serializing was still the “hiatus notice.” But—
The countless comments under it.
At some point, the comment section of that “hiatus notice” had started showing firepower on the level of a Suwon Wizards fan community. Of course—
“It’s because I’m performing that well, I guess.”
Even while the playoffs were going on, I would check the comments like this from time to time.
The comment section was a little too chaotic.
“Is there really no one else worth calling cool besides me…”
“Man… these people never change.”
Feeling a distant sort of mood for a moment, I closed the comment window and stretched. More importantly—
“She was a girl?”
SwallowsCantPlay. The very person who had turned me into the Swallows’ mortal enemy, and the reader who had greatly helped resolve my trauma. Mostly through shock therapy.
I had never seen her face even once, but I still considered her something of a benefactor. However—
“It’s hard to believe that easily…”
If SwallowsCantPlay really was a woman, then all the comments she left before the author Minor League Yeopo revealed himself as Gong Ji-hoo would also have been written by her.
Hmm.
“Could be, I guess. Whatever.”
It wasn’t really my business. We would never actually meet, after all.
Thud.
Finished stretching, I turned my head at the sound of footsteps behind me.
“Mister. Hi.”
A massive middle-aged man wearing only short sleeves despite the increasingly chilly weather. He raised an arm that boasted muscles ready to burst, beamed at me, then—
“Oh! Ji-hoo! How long has it been! No contact at all!”
—came running with thudding steps and pulled me into a hug.
“See, I was right! Didn’t I say you’d do well, Ji-hoo!”
The neighborhood uncle who had told young me I should become a baseball player, and who had volunteered as my training coach until his own retirement.
“When you hug someone it’s basically murder! More importantly, aren’t you opening the door? I’m starving to death.”
He was the owner of a hamburger shop.
Apparently kids these days call hamburgers “hambugi.” Real young people were hard to understand.
Pyeongtaek, Gyeonggi Province. There is an interestingly named handmade burger shop there.
A restaurant reasonably well-known among Pyeongtaek locals. Just as famous as its outstanding taste and friendly prices was—
—the owner sitting across from me.
The man who insisted on short sleeves even in winter. He had an appearance that made him hard to approach, but in reality he was an uncle who used a rather cute way of speaking. Of course—
“I watched the games. Tremendous performance.”
—to people he could talk comfortably with, he spoke normally.
“Ah, you saw? This is a little embarrassing…”
“Didn’t you come to brag?”
“That too, I guess.”
The Korean Series was soon. The reason I had deliberately sought this place out at a time when even a little free time felt insufficient was, of course—
—not solely because I wanted a triumphant homecoming.
“I wanted some advice.”
This handmade burger shop owner. He was a former baseball player.
There was already a former baseball player who became a web novel author, so a former baseball player who became a burger shop owner wasn’t that surprising.
I had heard there were even people who opened gopchang restaurants after retiring from baseball.
“Mister, you’ve got Korean Series experience, right?”
He even had Korean Series experience. And—
“You were on the same team as Do Jeong-hoo senior back when you played, so I’m curious about that too.”
He had shared a locker room with Do Jeong-hoo, the Seoul Wolves’ first starter.
“Hmm…”
Despite a fairly flashy career, the uncle always called himself a failed baseball player. He looked like he was silently thinking about something.
“Ji-hoo. Your team—the Suwon Wizards, was it? That team didn’t exist when I was playing in the KBO, so it feels awkward. Anyway, that team has teammates with Korean Series experience, doesn’t it? Why didn’t you ask them?”
“I did ask.”
Among the Suwon Wizards’ starters, I was the only one without Korean Series experience. They had—
—just said you only understand it by going through it.
“Hmm. I can only tell you the same thing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Tch.
“But one thing you must be careful of is not getting swallowed by the momentum. You know that better than anyone, Ji-hoo.”
“That’s true.”
And then—
“Jeong-hoo… why hasn’t he left for the big leagues yet?”
“Beats me…”
Do Jeong-hoo. A player who had reigned over the KBO for more than ten years by now. As a long-tenured famous player, he had countless nicknames.
One of the most famous among them, and a nickname coined specifically to tear him down, was—
“Domestic Only.”
Despite interest from numerous Major League teams, Do Jeong-hoo never applied for posting and instead chose to stay with the Seoul Wolves by shattering the all-time FA record with a four-year, 20-billion-won deal.
No one knew why he never challenged the majors. He had never explained it with his own mouth. But—
—judging from his usual behavior—
—He didn’t go because he can’t speak English.
—He didn’t go because he likes kimchi.
—He didn’t go because playing king in the KBO is comfortable.
And so on. Plenty of talk, nothing solid. And—
—He was scared of going to the majors, failing, and having to come back.
—was what fans said while calling Do Jeong-hoo “Domestic Only” and belittling him.
“I always thought Jeong-hoo’s stuff would play just fine in the majors.”
Most baseball people considered that nonsense, but—
“In short series he’s even dominated major league hitters, right? Exhibition games, but still.”
“Ah, last year. He became a pitcher on a completely different level from a mediocre one like me.”
For the uncle who had been there during Do Jeong-hoo’s rookie days, it must have been quite moving.
“Anyway! So no info on Do Jeong-hoo senior?”
“Hmm… that he’s a nicer guy than you’d think?”
“What did you just say?”
My mouth hung open and I lost my words for a moment.
“We’re talking about the Do Jeong-hoo senior who’s called the King of Media Day for saying whatever he wants in interviews, right?”
“Yeah.”
The uncle’s words were shocking, of course, but they weren’t particularly useful information.
“Any info that might help in games…?”
“Not really. We only played together for about two years. Even if I told you, it would just be outdated info.”
Hmm.
“As expected.”
“You don’t look disappointed.”
Actually, I was.
“Well, it’s been a while, so I came for that too.”
This was also a kind of mental management in its own way. To be honest—
At this point there’s nothing left to prepare for the Korean Series except mental management.
My hitting feel was climbing like it would pierce the sky. Defense wasn’t a big problem either.
The only thing that could become a problem for me was the mental side. Even that I didn’t think was a major issue, but—
“Ah.”
“What is it?”
I had forgotten the most important thing.
“Mister, do you know anyone who can look at batting form?”
A problem I had felt while going through the playoffs.
“Ji-hoo, is there something wrong with your hitting? It looked perfect from the broadcasts.”
“I want to raise my launch angle a bit.”
Modifying a swing was a delicate issue. Getting help from an expert was easier than fixing it yourself. And—
“Someone comes to mind… one person.”
This uncle. He called himself a failed baseball player, yet his connections were anything but ordinary.
“But his personality isn’t great, so you’ll have to put up with that.”
“As long as he doesn’t beat me with a bat, it’s fine.”
“I’ll connect you after the season. Preferably come back wearing a Korean Series ring.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Finished talking, the uncle stood and went into the kitchen.
“Are you telling me to leave now?”
“No way. Since you’re here, eat a burger after so long.”
Oh.
“I actually missed this quite a bit…”
It had been roughly five years. Before the regression I had been too sorry to even visit.
“Um… cola?”
“You forgot my words that condition management is life for a player. Is that why the injury happened?”
That was a bit of a stretch. What did drinking cola have to do with my back?
Hoo.
I let out a sigh and—
“Then an iced americano, please.”
—ordered the usual.
“Tsk!”
What about it.
And then—
The 2024 KBO Korean Series, which would decide the top of the league, raised its glamorous curtain in Seoul.