Restrain Yourselves
Six innings. No walks. Five hits allowed.
That was the line of the pitcher who would take the loss today.
On the other hand, the pitcher who would take the win…
“Hmm.”
If you could surrender more than ten baserunners and still escape with just a single run allowed, that was impressive in an entirely different way, wasn’t it?
“…Hah.”
In the dugout, Lee Dae-beom’s face was set like stone as he drained an entire bottle of sports drink in one go.
Bottom of the sixth.
Do Jeong-hoo had just surrendered the lead on my two-run homer. He looked ready to unravel completely when the next batter, Park Ji-han, ripped a single—
But then:
Crack!
“Out!”
Thud!
“Out!”
Lee Dae-beom’s double-play ball erased two outs in a blink. After that—
Tick.
“Out!”
—Lee Se-ho flied out to second, and the inning was over.
“Haa…”
Lee Dae-beom’s endless sighing was equal parts frustration that the old nemesis relationship with Do Jeong-hoo had been proven yet again, and regret that they hadn’t pushed across any extra runs.
What am I even supposed to say here…
Comfort only works when it comes from someone qualified to give it. If I tried to console Lee Dae-beom with some half-baked line right now, it would just be pure condescension.
Fortunately:
“Hoo… Next time I’ll get him for sure.”
Lee Dae-beom wasn’t the fragile-minded type I’d once been.
“That senior’s not coming back out next inning anyway.”
“Ah.”
“He might show up again in the Korean Series, though.”
“…”
The results of that solemn vow would probably have to wait until next year.
“Then I’ll just hit a homer in my next at-bat. I swear!”
He said it like settling for second-best, but the truth was:
Winning the game matters more than beating Do Jeong-hoo one-on-one.
If this were a game, taking Game 4 would be the main quest. Beating Do Jeong-hoo would just be a side quest.
Of course, when I play games I can’t stand leaving any quests unfinished—so I beat Do Jeong-hoo too.
Yes. I’m bragging.
CRACK!!
The moment Do Jeong-hoo left the mound, the Wizards’ lineup started reaching base nonstop. Lee Dae-beom didn’t manage a home run, but he did smash a double that caromed off the wall.
And then:
Thud!!
“Strikeout!”
One Wizard reliever after another came in and pitched lights-out. Even so, by the end of the eighth the score was still 2–1. No additional runs.
My final at-bat ended in a routine groundout.
Only three outs left until the final out of the game.
Once again, there would be no bottom of the ninth in Suwon tonight.
“Man… you really never help me out even once.”
“Huh?”
I was heading out to the outfield for defense when Bae Jeong-ho’s random comment floated over.
“Ah.”
I rewound my memory for a second, then answered:
“I paid you back at the plate.”
Of course:
“Yeah, thanks a lot.”
It was a joke. A little sincerity mixed in, sure, but still.
Besides:
“And there haven’t been that many balls hit to left-center anyway…”
“True enough.”
“Every one of them was an easy play for a senior with your ridiculous range.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’m still lacking on defense, so I’m leaving it all to you, hyung.”
“Come on… your defense is pretty solid already.”
I’d never really talked with him much before, but this guy was completely transparent.
His mouth’s about to split open any second…
“Great! Leave everything to me till the end!”
Bae Jeong-ho strutted off with his shoulders hiked up to his ears.
Well, his range really is absurd, so…
And then:
CRAAAACK!!
Bae Jeong-ho kept his word.
“Mine!”
Thock.
“Out!”
The pinch-hitter who’d replaced the Wolves’ ninth batter, Park Jeong-woo, had squared one up perfectly into left-center. Bae called it before I even moved and snagged it clean—even though the ball had been shaded a little more toward left.
He grinned.
Honestly it looked cool… but that final smile was a little much. Why were his teeth so blindingly white?
Anyway.
Beep.
That ball was the final out.
We won.
“Hey.”
I’d finished the now-familiar Player of the Game interview and was walking out of the stadium when the voice called out.
I looked around, but no one was there—just a single bright-red sports car.
Whirr.
The window slid down, and the face inside belonged to:
“You.”
Do Jeong-hoo.
“…Me?”
“Yeah, you. You’ve got something to say to me, don’t you?”
“I do?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You little—”
Okay, enough teasing. Our names were similar, and I’d heard he knew the old man, so I felt this weird internal sense of closeness for no good reason.
Click.
I sank into the expensive leather seat of what was clearly a very expensive car.
“Hey.”
“Yeah.”
Something to say to Do Jeong-hoo…
“Why’d you call me and then immediately roll the window back up at first? Was that a prank?”
“What?!”
He yelled like he couldn’t believe the kind of guy I was, but I’d already seen it.
The tips of Do Jeong-hoo’s ears had gone bright red.
Do Jeong-hoo snuck a sidelong glance at Gong Ji-hoo sitting in the passenger seat.
This is the first time we’ve actually talked face-to-face… so why is he so calm?
At the very least, when a senior of his caliber personally struck up a conversation, the kid should tense up a little even if he didn’t start shaking, right?
Or maybe:
“I’m already the winner so I can just ignore you?”
“…Huh?”
Gong Ji-hoo’s expression said that was the most ridiculous nonsense he’d ever heard. In that case:
“Why aren’t you nervous?”
“Nervous…? Because I want to get along?”
“Ha. You know what kind of personality I have, right?”
“Ah… I heard you’re actually a pretty nice guy.”
“Who the hell said that?”
Do Jeong-hoo was well aware that his public image wasn’t exactly glowing. He even enjoyed it. That was why he trash-talked in interviews and got rough on the mound whenever something rubbed him the wrong way—he deliberately exaggerated the “genius bad-boy” persona of “baseball player Do Jeong-hoo.” Star power didn’t just appear out of thin air, after all.
Of course:
It’s only possible because I’m not actually that nice to begin with.
But there was no way Gong Ji-hoo could know that.
Which meant:
“Who exactly told you that?”
Unless someone had specifically filled him in—
“Ah…”
Gong Ji-hoo smacked his lips, then lowered his voice like he was sharing a secret.
“They told me not to say this, but…”
“Actually, there’s this older guy I’ve known for a while…”
And then:
“…so when I asked what kind of person Senior Do Jeong-hoo was, that’s what he said.”
Gong Ji-hoo’s words were genuinely surprising.
“Why is that guy even in Korea?”
“Huh…? If the old man’s not in Korea, where else would he be?”
“Well…”
The “old man” Gong Ji-hoo was talking about was someone special to Do Jeong-hoo as well.
The moment Do Jeong-hoo had debuted and immediately claimed a rotation spot with his talent, plenty of Wolves players had resented him. His own attitude hadn’t exactly been humble, which only made it worse.
— “Oh, nice pitch. Jeong-hoo, you’re definitely going to be a great player.”
And that guy had been one of the very few who actually encouraged him.
His time on the team had been short, but he’d been a reliable teammate—especially for rookie Do Jeong-hoo.
And now:
This kid knew him?
“You asked if I had something to say, so I figured maybe you’d heard about it from the old man, but I guess not?”
“Uh… first time I’m hearing any of this.”
“Hmm.”
Gong Ji-hoo nodded to himself, then asked:
“Then what am I supposed to have to say to you, Senior?”
He answered his own question.
“Was it the part where I told you to wash your neck and wait? That’s just light trash talk, right? Right?”
“What?! You said that?!”
“Ah… Senior Lee Mun-woo told me you said it…”
“Yo, you met Do Jeong-hoo yesterday?”
We were back in Seoul, chasing the clincher. I was mid-sip of an iced americano when Lee Dae-beom asked, so I just nodded.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“You underestimate the community’s intel network. It’s already everywhere.”
Figures.
“So what’d you two talk about? Did he give you crap for hitting that homer off him?”
Lee Dae-beom clenched his fist like seniority wouldn’t matter if that were the case.
“Nothing special. Jeong-hoo hyung’s not some thug—why would he say something like that?”
“What?”
“That hyung’s nicer than you’d think.”
Yeah. Just like the old man had said—he was a good guy. More or less.
He just seemed to enjoy having a bad image. If I used my novelist’s imagination:
The whole “bad boys are popular” thing feels pretty outdated these days…
When I asked him about it he’d just told me to shut up. But those bright-red ears had confirmed my read was correct.
“Playing baseball for popularity…”
“Huh?”
“What do you think about someone who plays baseball because they want to be popular?”
Lee Dae-beom answered:
“That’s why I started too.”
“Oh, for real?”
“When I was a kid, yeah. The athletic teams looked cool. So I joined.”
I’d just been suckered in by free meals.
“Then what about managing your image for that?”
“Could happen, right? Hard for a star like you to understand, though.”
Do Jeong-hoo had said something similar yesterday.
“That so…”
“What’s with the random questions? Don’t tell me Do Jeong-hoo’s that kind of attention whore?”
“Nah. Just suddenly curious.”
I was starting to get a vague idea why Do Jeong-hoo had never gone to the majors.
After all:
Distance makes the heart grow distant. Koreans root for Korean major leaguers, sure, but they don’t go crazy over them the way they do for KBO stars.
Guess he doesn’t need American attention.
Anyway.
“He really didn’t say much. Just…”
“Just?”
“That he’d be out there in Game 7, so look forward to it.”
For the record, the thing I was supposedly supposed to say to him was that I hoped for a good matchup in Game 7.
In other words:
He just wanted to get closer and forced the whole thing, didn’t he…
“So I told hyung we weren’t planning on going to Game 7.”
“Right… we’re ending it tomorrow. What’s he talking about?”
“Exactly.”
We nodded at each other.
“But why do you keep calling Do Jeong-hoo ‘hyung’?”
“He told me to.”
He’d said I’d better, or else.
“Haa…”
“What?”
Lee Dae-beom’s expression turned complicated. I could already predict the next words out of his mouth, so I cut him off.
“Geniuses just get each other…”
“I guess so.”
“You’ve really changed a lot, huh?”
“I know.”
The postseason had become the moment that cemented my confidence in myself.
“I figure I’m good enough to call him that now.”
Series score: 3–1.
The Suwon Wizards were one win away from their first championship in franchise history.
If we win just one more time
Right?
Even the fans couldn’t hide their excitement.
“Is it really going to be that hard?”
“Yes… it seems impossible no matter how you look at it.”
Manager Kim Tae-sik’s crumpled expression showed no signs of smoothing out.
“Huh? Who’s getting hurt?”
— “In Game 7 I’m definitely beating you, so wash your neck and wait. Nobody knows how things’ll turn out.”
Do Jeong-hoo, this guy…
Did he take one of those regression pills or something?