Hidden Camera

There was a time when fan service meant signing autographs well, returning greetings properly, and posing for photos without complaint.

Of course, the greatest fan service of all had always been repaying the fans with good results on the field.

But these days, when people watched more YouTube than television, a new item had been added to the list: throwing yourself wholeheartedly into the team's YouTube content.

And the Daegu Rhinos were one of the teams in the KBO that used YouTube better than almost anyone else.

Among all their content, the most popular series was Heading Home — a format common not only in the KBO but across other sports leagues as well. After the game, the camera crew would catch players on their way out, handing them missions or firing off questions. Fans got to see the athletes in street clothes instead of uniforms, the chemistry between teammates, and — the ultimate view-count cheat code — their kids. For anyone curious about what the players were like away from the diamond, Heading Home was a complete gift set.

The catch was that the series only went up after a win. During a losing streak, fans sometimes went more than a week without a single episode.

Today the Rhinos had just locked down their eighth straight victory. That meant another Heading Home ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shoot was mandatory. The Rhinos YouTube team was starting to feel the creative well run dry.

Even winning too much is a problem... Ugh, I shouldn't even be thinking that!

Coming up with fresh questions only worked so many times. Mining the comments for ideas only worked so many times. In the end, the topic for the day was decided:

A question so ordinary it felt almost humiliating from the production team's point of view.

Hope they give us something fun...

The PD waiting behind the camera chewed his lip. He knew full well that fans left sharp feedback not only for the players but for the crew as well.

When a video bombs, the comments get downright vicious...

The memory of borderline hate comments made him shudder from head to toe. Fortunately, help arrived early.

"Worry? Hmm... kid. Kindergarten. Hard."

"Daddy~"

Howard answered in natural Korean without any interpreter, and in that moment he became the PD's savior. Big round blue eyes, chubby cheeks, porcelain skin, and natural blond hair you almost never saw in Korea — Howard's five-year-old was nestled in his arms, waving at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠camera. The PD silently cheered.

Babies were always right.

We're safe for now.

At least no one would call the video boring. But human greed knows no bounds. The PD was already thirsty for one more hit of entertainment.

The next man to step in front of the camera was...

"..."

Oh Jin-muk.

Undisputed most popular player on the Rhinos — yet that popularity meant almost nothing on YouTube. Because when a massive man wearing a familiar-looking gold chain stood there expressionless and silent, staring straight into the lens...

Scary.

Even though he had a reputation for excellent fan service, the moment a camera appeared Oh Jin-muk simply stopped talking.

"..."

He chewed on his words for a second, gave a short bow, and walked away.

Ah...

The PD felt a twinge of disappointment, but still —

Oh Jin-muk is Oh Jin-muk.

It wasn't bad. A franchise star's appearance always guaranteed at least a solid middle-of-the-road result.

And then —

"...I never said that!"

"Sure you didn't~ We all heard it. Ho-san hyung heard it too."

"Yep, yep. I heard it."

A noisy racket came rolling in from outside the camera frame.

They're here!

The trio the PD currently loved most: Kang Ho-san, Jang Tae-wook, and Gong Ji-hoo. Different ages, different hometowns, yet they somehow ended up on camera together all the time — and this season they had become the Rhinos YouTube channel's number-one view-count factory.

"Oh, what's this..."

"Still not used to it? Ji-hoo, you're a member of the Great Rhinos now — a prestigious franchise."

"I never said that."

"But if it's the Great Rhinos, does that make the full name the Great Daegu Rhinos? That's kinda funny, actually."

Listening to their banter already filling the audio track, the PD thought to himself, I almost want to give them a round of applause.

"Biggest worry? A junior who lies is my biggest worry."

"I did not lie!"

"This kid. He clearly said that if he didn't hit a home run he'd hold the bat upside down next at-bat. And then he didn't keep his word?"

"I never said that!"

Jang Tae-wook delivered the line with a theatrical face while Gong Ji-hoo pounded his own chest in frustration. Watching them, Kang Ho-san chimed in:

"My worry is these two noisy guys. They're like this even in the dugout — I'm worried they're bothering the other players."

"Wow... why the sudden good-guy act?"

"It's not an act, Ji-hoo. I really am a good guy."

"Hyung, if we ever held a public reading of the things you say behind home plate, you'd have to shut down your entire SNS that same day. Just the stuff you said to me last year alone..."

"Hey! We agreed never to talk about that!"

"Ah. Right."

The PD was dying to know what those words had been, but the odds they were pure trash talk were high, so he wisely didn't ask.

"Then what about you, Gong Ji-hoo? What's your biggest worry?"

He simply prodded the last remaining member of the trio for an answer.

"Me..."

Gong Ji-hoo thought for a moment.

"I've got a huge worry these days."

"What is it...?"

"It's... what exactly is 'chivalry'?"

"...Come again?"

"Chivalry."

What on earth was he talking about?

"Is doing good deeds chivalry? Or if you have your own code even while doing evil, does that still count as chivalry? It's really hard..."

"...Right."

Thwack.

"Ow!"

"I can see the PD's eyes shaking from all the way over here."

Jang Tae-wook flicked Gong Ji-hoo on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forehead for being too serious.

"He's just talking about his next novel."

"Next novel...?"

The conversation was getting stranger by the second.

"He said his next one's going to be a martial-arts novel. He failed at one before and really wants to try again."

"Ah."

Only then did the PD remember Gong Ji-hoo's other job and let out a small sound of realization.

"You write novels, right?"

"Yeah? I'm a writer of sorts, at least for now."

Gong Ji-hoo finished by saying he was still only in the planning stage, then the three of them bickered their way out of frame. The PD stared at the empty camera feed.

So he was talking about his next book just now. This is huge.

Maybe the thumbnail should be "Gong Ji-hoo Announces Next Work."

Martial arts.

It was a genre I had always wanted to write. Because —

I failed at it spectacularly.

That was before the regression. The first genre I ever tried was martial arts, and it crashed and burned cleanly.

Ever since then I've just been thinking that someday I'd write one for real.

Before regressing, failure terrified me. Writing was my only way to make money. If I challenged a genre I wasn't confident in and it flopped, I'd go from web-novel author to unemployed overnight. But now —

It doesn't matter if I fail...

I no longer had to stake my life on a novel's success the way I did before. Web-novel serialization was strictly a side hustle. My real job was being a baseball player.

"Still, it's hard..."

In a way, martial arts was a lot like baseball. From the outside it looked easy. Actually doing it was anything but.

"Is this an occupational disease too?"

Lately, no matter what else I was doing, my mind would somehow drift back to baseball.

I let out a small laugh and stretched.

It was an off day, so I had planned to sit down properly and outline the next book. Today that just wasn't happening.

"Huuuum..."

Honestly, on days without baseball I had no idea what to do with myself. Ever since the regression, my life had been completely filled with the game.

"Maybe I should play a game..."

I remembered the one Kim Jae-sang had recommended. Ironically, it was a baseball game.

"Come to think of it."

Our next series was against the Gamers. The company that made that game was the parent company of the Changwon Gamers. There was a reason the team was called the Gamers, after all.

Until the Wizards were founded, they had been called the baby of the KBO. They were the ones who opened the door to the chaotic nine-team era. By choosing Changwon as their home they earned the humiliating nickname "the Swallows' illegitimate child." And yet —

They were the powerhouse that, with overwhelming support from a baseball-loving owner, overtook their regional rivals the Swallows — an original KBO franchise — and won the integrated championship just eight years after being founded. That was the Changwon Gamers.

"This is something else..."

I still couldn't decide which was more impressive: the original franchise that still hadn't won a single integrated title, or the team that won one in only eight years. Either way —

"They're definitely a strong team..."

Especially that foreign hitter who took the home-run crown...

I was thinking about baseball again. The coach's advice to force myself away from the game on off days still felt impossibly hard.

"Tch."

Fine. I'd just read novels. Not as a hobby — as research.

I bulk-purchased a famous martial-arts series that had recently finished and started from chapter one.

This is actually good.

Famous works were famous for a reason. I had no idea how much time had passed when —

Brrring!

The sudden ringtone snapped me back to reality. I checked the clock.

"What? Four hours already?"

Brrring!

Instead of marveling at the vanished time, I needed to answer the phone that kept ringing.

Who was it?

Kim Jae-sang? Lee Dae-beom? Or Jin-ah?

I was pretty sure all of them were busy today.

"Huh..."

An unexpected name lit up the screen. Someone I had never really talked to outside of official settings. After an awkward number exchange we had never once called each other.

— Rhinos Song Han-su Sunbaenim

It was Song Han-su.

"Yes! Sunbaenim. This is Gong Ji-hoo! Sorry for picking up late!"

"Not at all."

Late thirties, same generation as the Irons' Han Seong-gon. Most of his peers had already retired and started second careers; the tiny handful still playing were shadows of their former selves. Song Han-su was living through that twilight of a baseball career.

In other words —

From my perspective he was such a senior that I couldn't help tensing up, even knowing he had a good personality.

After a short pause, the words that came out of Song Han-su's mouth were —

"Sorry, sunbaenim. I think I misheard you?"

— shocking.

A twenty-year veteran. A player who had won MVP in his prime and carried a career full of glittering achievements... was asking a guy who had only just managed to drop the "minor league" from the title Minor League Yeopo to teach him baseball.

Is this a hidden camera?

I genuinely thought so.