The Bet
Let's be honest.
"Hmm… a trade, huh."
Trades were pretty common.
"So what? For a baseball player, it's only natural. Even superstars get shipped off without a second thought. That's the pros for you."
It was still a shock. The coach said it so casually, but—
"That's Major League talk."
"Is that so?"
"In our league, franchise stars and superstars almost never get traded. We can't. The fans wouldn't allow it."
"Then why are you so shocked?"
"…"
"You're neither a franchise star nor a superstar."
A coach who, when his disciple needed comfort, just drove a dagger straight through his heart.
"That's why I'm asking. What do I need to do so this never happens again?"
"Hit well. Put up numbers so good the team can't afford to let you go."
"That's obvious. Anything else?"
"…Tsk. Asking about useless things."
The coach scrunched up his face and clicked his tongue.
"In that case, change your position."
He offered his own solution after all. Quietly tsundere, this old man.
"Change positions?"
"Yeah. You said you can play infield defense, right?"
"I can, yeah."
His reasoning went like this.
"No matter how well you hit, an outfielder has a ceiling."
"A ceiling…"
"An outfielder and an infielder putting up the same numbers. Which one is more valuable?"
"Obviously—"
The infielder.
"So switching to the infield is your best bet. Or try going two-way."
"That's a bit…"
Pitching and hitting at the same time was something no ordinary person could pull off. The coach couldn't have been serious about that.
"If you become a batter who dominates the league, position won't matter much."
"That's the plan, but…"
The more insurance, the better.
"If I become an infielder, won't my hitting numbers drop?"
"You?"
Unbelievable. The coach muttered under his breath.
"Don't worry about that. My coaching is perfect."
He put his self-love on full display.
"Of course, you also…"
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
Truth was, I'd heard the rest of it.
He's not the kind of guy who'd struggle with something like that—pretty high praise.
"Then I should practice third base too. Can you help me?"
"Why me? I only handle hitting. For defense, ask someone else."
"Hmm… who should I ask, then?"
I trailed off, glancing sideways at the coach—not subtly, either. Pretty much out in the open.
"Haa… you useless brat. Wait here. I'll bring someone who can get you results as efficiently as possible in a short time."
From that day on, until the meeting in the GM's office, infield defense practice was added to my schedule.
Crack!
The most important thing in infield defense—
Tap-tap-tap.
—was footwork.
I repeated the words that had been drilled into my ears and moved my feet toward the ball.
Thud.
"Good!"
A clean catch in a stable stance. But a play wasn't complete until—
Whap!!
"Nice!"
—you caught the ball and threw it to first.
"You sure you're an outfielder? Your infield defense is solid!"
The defensive coach nodded, then—
Crack!
"Nice!"
He seemed to be getting into it.
Craaack!
"That was good!"
He kept hitting fungoes.
Ugh… this is exhausting.
He'd said this was just an evaluation fungo session. So why wasn't it ending? Still—
Craaack!
"Really good!"
It was kind of fun, in its own way.
Crack!
"This one's a tough course!"
A ball that lost its power before leaving the infield grass.
Tap-tap-tap.
I charged forward and snagged it barehanded. Then—
Whap!
A running throw without breaking stride.
"Showing off a little flair, huh! Feeling confident?"
Apparently that was the move that lit the coach's fungo passion on fire. And so—
How long did it go on?
Craaaack!
"Oh!"
A hard line drive rocketing toward me. Probably a mishit by the coach.
The kind of ball no one would blame you for missing. But—
Thwack.
"Oh… he actually caught that."
I launched my whole body and snared it before it could leave the infield. Part of it was to show off my defensive skills, but—
"Great. That level is fine."
I also pushed a little harder because I desperately wanted out of fungo hell. The result was a success.
"Alright, we'll do this again next time."
Ah.
"Defense is effort! Put in the work and you'll improve!"
Just another ordinary day of spring camp.
The thing I'd worried about most—fitting in with the team—turned out, absurdly enough,
"Ji-hoo, this kid's face is half the size it used to be. That rough on you?"
"I feel like I'm dying…"
—to be no problem at all.
I made friends with the team easily, too. And it was all thanks to—
"I asked the Wolves guys, and apparently Manager Dong's style has always been like this."
—Kang Ho-san, sitting next to me and handing over a sports drink.
Behind the plate he was a player who couldn't open his mouth without trash-talking, but off the field he was a total social butterfly with a great reputation.
"Doesn't it wear you out, sunbae?"
"Sunbae? Come on… just call me hyung."
No.
"The age gap between us—"
"You wanna die?"
"No. Hyung."
Right. An eight-year gap and I could still call him hyung.
"Good, little bro…"
Kang Ho-san playfully clapped my shoulder.
"Well, with a career like mine, you learn how to sneak rest here and there. I don't just mindlessly do everything I'm told like you."
"Wow…"
"Don't tell the manager."
He already knows, I bet. Kang Ho-san said it with a booming laugh.
"More importantly—are we finally going to see what a Korean Series MVP can do?"
"Ah, live batting soon, right?"
No need to say it twice.
"Look forward to it. I'm confident."
"Whoa… that confidence is great."
And then—
"Live batting! I want to face Gong Ji-hoo sunbae!"
What is this. Hazing?
Live batting. A drill where batter and pitcher face each other like a real game. Training to check game-ready instincts. That's right.
It was training.
So normally neither side goes all-out…
Looking at those burning eyes, that wasn't going to be the case.
"Ji-hoo. Cut him some slack. That kid's got a grudge against you."
"Who is he…?"
I wasn't particularly offended. I genuinely didn't know.
"The one who hits never remembers, huh."
"Huh? I hit him?"
Honestly—
"There weren't just one or two players I'd taken down…"
Still—
"I only played a few games against the Rhinos, so you'd think I'd remember, but I've got nothing."
"Hmm. I heard he was your comeback game opponent?"
"Comeback game opponent?"
That was Oh Jin-muk.
"No, not the first team. The second team."
"Ah."
It came back to me.
The pitcher I'd faced the moment I stepped into the box after regressing. Gong Ji-hoo's first opponent as a regressor—and the last opponent of Gong Ji-hoo, the Minor League Yeopo.
The Rhinos' young starter. His name was—
"Sim… something, I think."
"Sim Ji-hwan, sunbae!"
"Ah, right. Nice to meet you."
He bowed his head the moment we met. Thankfully, it didn't seem like hazing after all.
If it had been hazing, fragile little me might have taken it so hard I'd have gone dark.
"But why specifically me?"
"I want to show you how much I've changed! I won't go down helplessly like last time!"
"I see."
A pitcher's pride, maybe. First things first—
"The manager would have to approve, right?"
"Good. Just doing it plain is boring—how about we make a bet?"
Manager Dong Sang-guk, who'd been watching our conversation, took it a step further.
"Then… let's bet dinner."
"Sounds good!"
Okinawa soba, was it? I'd heard it was good. Looks like I was getting a free meal today.
Hoo.
I took a deep breath in the batter's box for the first time in a long while.
"Since there's a bet on the line, let's make the rules clear!"
Manager Dong Sang-guk's voice carried from a distance. I could feel the eyes behind the batter's box watching this with keen interest.
Three strikes and you're out. Three or more fouls and you're out.
No fielders. So the coaches would decide on their own whether a ball was a hit.
My win condition—
"Still, Gong Ji-hoo needs a penalty. Gong Ji-hoo only wins if he hits for extra bases! No problem with that, right?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Then—begin!"
Game feel was critically important for a baseball player. If your game instincts were dull, you couldn't perform at your true level.
That was why players returning from long injuries struggled. Why so many players started the season in poor form.
It all came down to dulled game feel. But—
In this case, both of us are equally rusty.
Just as it had been months since I'd faced a pitcher from the box, it had been months since he'd faced a batter from the mound. That being the case—
There's no way I lose.
Whap!!
"Strike!"
I let the first pitch go.
"That kid's really throwing with everything he's got?"
Memories of the pitcher on the mound started coming back. Right—
"His fastball was ridiculously fast…"
"Exactly. Team policy kept him stuck in the second team, but people said he had more than enough stuff to pitch in the first team."
Kang Ho-san, crouched behind the plate, spoke up.
"That's probably part of why they traded Min-ho and you. Upper management figured he could lock down a rotation spot this season."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah… you scared?"
As if.
"No chance."
Whoooosh!
Ball. Off the plate.
"Ball."
A changeup with a big drop. His arm slot stayed consistent all the way through the delivery—a good off-speed pitch—but it couldn't fool my eyes.
One ball, one strike.
Whoooosh!!
A fastball carrying a young pitcher's fire came boring in, aimed precisely at the inner edge of the strike zone.
I had no intention of letting this one go like the first pitch.
Low course…
A location designed to minimize damage even if I made contact.
He's got a crafty side to him.
For someone who'd talked so big about competing, it was a pretty careful pitch selection. No—
The crafty one is probably Kang Ho-san hyung.
That didn't really matter. What mattered was—
CRAAAAACK!!!
"It's gone."
Just like someone said behind me. The me of now could clear the wall on low pitches more easily than before.
At a glance, the swing looked no different from before. But the angle of the bat path had shifted by a hair. How much effort had gone into that microscopic adjustment? And baseball was a sport where those microscopic differences produced entirely different results.
Whoosh.
I casually flipped the bat.
The coaches were going to look at the ball and decide if it was a hit?
How could a new hire like me put the higher-ups through that kind of trouble? Better to let them rest easy.
I started rounding the bases out of habit—then stopped.
"Ah."
This was live batting practice.
"Kh-hup! As expected, Gong Ji-hoo sunbae is incredible!"
Maybe betting dinner was a mistake…
This Sim Ji-hwan guy talked more than I'd expected. More than anything—
"The moment I gave up that home run, I knew! Sunbae was going to be a player who left his mark on the baseball world!"
"…You gave up two home runs to me."
"After the second one, I felt destiny!"
He was making a huge fuss.
"A Korean Series MVP sunbae and me, a Rookie of the Year contender. With the two strongest players added to the roster, isn't it finally time for the Rhinos to chase the championship? Rhinos! We shall be victorious!"
"Ha… just eat first."
"Yes, sir!"
The old me would have been driven up the wall by this type. Not that the current me particularly liked it either.
"Um, sunbae…"
"Yeah?"
"Can I call you hyung?"
"Do whatever you want."
"Yes, hyung!"
The Okinawa soba was good, so I decided to let it slide.