The Race
"Nobody expected us to be doing this well before the season even started."
Game one against the Gamers. The star of the postgame hero interview was Song Han-su.
"Except for us."
Under normal circumstances, Gong Ji-hoo — who'd just gone deep in consecutive at-bats — would have been the one behind the mic. But what could you do?
"The Daegu Rhinos are a powerhouse. We have always been a powerhouse."
Song Han-su's resurgence carried more weight than Gong Ji-hoo's back-to-back homers. And then:
"Our goal this season is the championship. We've never considered anything else."
A declaration from the man who had represented the Rhinos for nearly long enough to see mountains rise and fall twice over. Rhinos fans everywhere felt that familiar rush of pride swell in their chests.
"Kh-hhk… How can anything be this moving?"
Jang Tae-wook — Rhinos player and lifelong Rhinos fan from the cradle — wiped at his eyes as he listened to the interview.
Tap-tap-tap.
I stretched, fingers still hovering over the keyboard, and closed the document window.
"Dooone!"
I'd finally started writing the martial-arts novel I'd been outlining. A fallen great house rebuilt from the ashes — the kind of premise you trip over every other page in the web-novel scene. But clichés are like a good bowl of soup. They fill you up. They keep you going.
"A great house, huh…"
Song Han-su's interview had left me with a lot to think about. The way he spoke of his team as if it were his own personal pride — that was something I still wasn't used to.
So that's why Jang Tae-wook can't open his mouth without calling us a prestigious franchise.
Honestly, I'd never thought that way myself.
It wasn't that I lacked affection for the team. It was just that I'd always seen the relationship between a player and a club as something closer to a contract. You give the team as much loyalty as the team gives you respect. At least, that was how a lot of the guys on my original club — the Suwon Wizards — had looked at it.
"Tch… So this is why a team's history matters."
That was why, even when the trade notice came, I'd been shocked — but never despairing.
Will there come a day when I feel proud just to be a Daegu Rhinos player?
I snorted.
"Better to flip that around."
Fans taking pride in the fact that Gong Ji-hoo was a Daegu Rhinos player. If you were going to call yourself a ballplayer, that was the kind of goal you ought to set.
There is no player greater than his team. I believed that completely. And yet — even if no player is greater than his team, there are absolutely players who make a team great.
After living through the miracle of regression, after tasting the pure ecstasy of a Korean Series championship, the regressor who had simply loved baseball found himself with a clear purpose.
To become the kind of player who makes a team great.
"I only thought that to myself, but damn, that was cringey."
Suddenly embarrassed, I lifted my coffee and hid my flushed face behind the cup — even though there was nobody around to see.
Jang Tae-wook, the ultimate Rhinos stan, called the Rhinos the most prestigious franchise in the KBO every time he opened his mouth — and he wasn't wrong.
One of only two original KBO clubs that had never changed its name, and a track record to match the pedigree. That was the Daegu Rhinos.
The Swallows? Sure, if you were talking pure roots, you couldn't leave them out. But still—
"How do you go more than forty years without a single unified championship?"
And yet they had fiercely loyal fans scattered across every corner of the country. One of the great mysteries of the KBO.
"Swallows fans aren't made. You're just born that way."
That was what an acquaintance of mine — not even from Busan — had told me while cheering for the Swallows.
Anyway. As a prestigious franchise, the Rhinos also held a number of records that would live on in KBO history. One of them was the most consecutive wins to open a season: a ten-game streak set in 2003.
A win today would tie that mark. Which was why the 2025 Rhinos, determined to surpass the 2003 Rhinos, had shown razor-sharp focus from the moment the game began.
Of course—
CRAAAAACK!!!
"There it goes."
It wasn't going to be easy.
The Changwon Gamers knew how to spend money. They signed big free agents regularly, and more than anything else, they drafted foreign talent better than any other team in the KBO — by a landslide.
CRAAAAACK!!!
The home run that left the yard in the top of the first belonged to their foreign hitter — the guy who'd cleared fifty bombs last year, taken the home-run crown, and walked away with the Golden Glove at first base.
You could call him a table-tennis-bat swinger all you wanted, but fifty home runs was still fifty home runs. That guy was a monster in his own right.
As if taking out yesterday's frustration in a single swing, the Gamers' import crushed a moonshot on his first pitch of the day.
"Why hasn't that guy gone to the big leagues? He must've gotten offers."
"I heard there's a Korean proverb for that. Better to be the head of a snake than the tail of a dragon?"
Three years in a village school and even a dog can recite poetry. Three years as a foreign worker and you start quoting proverbs. The faint Gyeongsang accent creeping into his Korean was kind of funny, though.
"Garcia, you close with that guy?"
"Well, we're both from Venezuela."
"Ah… meet a hometown face in a faraway country and of course you get close."
Garcia was a solid player, but compared to that guy, he came up a little short.
"I've still got things I do better, my friend."
"I wasn't saying you were lacking."
"Hmm. Your eyes said otherwise."
According to Garcia:
"Jose doesn't speak English."
Which was why he had no interest in forcing his way into the big leagues.
"Korea's a long way from home, but the money's decent enough, and more importantly—"
In the big leagues, there was always the chance you'd fail.
"Yeah, that's fair."
The KBO had come a long way, but you still couldn't put it next to Major League Baseball. So—
"Head of a snake, huh…"
"But why compare a snake to a dragon? Isn't a dragon more like a lizard?"
I ignored Garcia's philosophical question.
"Anyway, we've got to beat that snake-head if we want the ten-game streak, right?"
Our pitchers would handle it. Probably.
The starter on the mound did his job. Jose had tagged him for one run, sure — but he'd cleaned up the rest of the inning without further damage.
Which meant it was the hitters' turn.
THWACK!!
"Strike three! He's out!"
Still didn't look easy, though.
"Hah… that ball is absolute garbage."
Jang Tae-wook shook his head after staring blankly through a strikeout.
"That bad?"
"Yeah. Lefties are gonna have a real hard time with this guy."
I traded a few words with him as we crossed paths, then stepped into the box.
"Appreciate the hard work."
I settled in and took a long breath.
"…"
Jang Seo-yul's mouth twitched like he wanted to say something — then he seemed to remember what Kang Ho-san had told me yesterday, and quietly exchanged signs instead.
THWACK!!
"Strike!"
The release point is ridiculously high…
A lefty overhander pumping mid-nineties heat. The usual description applied: like the ball was being dropped from the top floor of an apartment building. But—
I can hit this.
Fastballs were the pitch I trusted most. On top of that—
My condition's been absurdly good since yesterday.
More precisely, ever since the at-bat after that boneheaded infield fly I'd hit in a panic, my swing had felt perfect.
WHOOOOSH!!!
A nasty high fastball.
CRAAAAACK!!
And I turned on it like it was nothing.
The ball sailed. Score tied, one to one.
CRAAAAACK!!
The balance Gong Ji-hoo had restored tilted toward the Rhinos on consecutive hits from Kang Ho-san and Song Han-su — only for Jose, the Gamers' foreign slugger, to snatch it right back with a three-run homer.
Score: 2–4.
Back-to-back home runs that announced, loud and clear, that the first home-run race of the 2025 season had officially begun.
This is just my personal theory, but pitchers with elite stuff — the so-called fly-ball power arms — usually carry an enormous amount of pride in their fastball.
Take the Rhinos' own closer, Oh Jin-muk. According to catcher Kang Ho-san, if you put down a breaking-ball sign, he wouldn't just nod. He'd stare at you in silence.
My old teammate Charlie had been the same way.
Come to think of it, I wonder how Charlie's doing.
The Suwon Wizards seemed to be playing well enough. We hadn't been particularly close, though, so I'd never reached out. Didn't even have his number.
Anyway. Another trademark of these prideful pitchers:
WHOOOOSH!!
Once you take them deep, they come right back with the exact same pitch in the exact same spot, looking for revenge. It's a pride thing. Even the catcher can't talk them out of it.
No matter what signs the catcher puts down, the one throwing the ball is still the pitcher. Why would a walking ego listen to a glorified ball-receiver?
Of course—
CRAAAAACK!!
Get hit twice and then, supposedly, they start listening. That was Kang Ho-san's take.
The pitch was identical to the first at-bat. So was the result.
So now will that guy finally listen to Jang Seo-yul?
Shame.
The other disappointment: no baserunners ahead of me in either at-bat.
"Hey! You think I stayed off base because I wanted to?"
Jang Tae-wook was a good shortstop. Solid defense, respectable bat. But he wasn't Ryu Hyun-seo, currently making noise in Cincinnati. And he wasn't Park Ji-han, either — the guy people called the king whenever Ryu Hyun-seo wasn't around. So—
"It happens."
"Ji-hoo. I'm your senior…"
This was just karma. Did he ever stop to think about all the times he'd messed with me?
Top of the fifth.
CRAAAAACK!!!
"He's going deep again?"
Today was going to be hell for pitchers. Getting beat by one guy over and over always stung worse than getting beat by a whole lineup.
Jose's third consecutive home run. Thank God the bases were empty — but the score was still 3–5.
A stubborn two-run deficit. Manager Dong Sang-guk walked out to the mound with the ball in hand, and the starter — who'd pitched well enough aside from the Jose problem — hung his head as he was pulled with two outs still left in the inning.
"You're quiet today?"
Jang Seo-yul's random comment.
"Weren't you the quiet one, hyung?"
Honestly, it came out of nowhere.
"Shit, that wasn't it."
"…Excuse me?"
Wait a second.
"Did you get coached yesterday? Tips on how to mess with hitters at the plate? From who, exactly?"
"…Hey."
"Don't tell me it was Ho-san hyung?"
"…No."
"Why would that guy help the enemy?"
"I said no, damn it!"
Seemed like a hit. People who get angry usually have something to hide.
"Yes, sir. Understood."
The truth was, I'd already heard it from Kang Ho-san himself.
"I gave Seo-yul a few pointers. A guy like you could flip them right back on him, yeah?"
Just keep doing what I always do and turn catchers inside out… What does he think I am?
I liked to think genuine human beings of my caliber were rare among ballplayers.
"…Hah."
Jang Seo-yul let out a long sigh, face drained of energy, and put down a sign.
The pitcher shook his head.
Hm?
Shook it again.
No way.
He kept shaking him off until, finally, the pitcher put down his own sign.
It can't be…
"Son of a—"
Jang Seo-yul clenched his teeth. The pitcher, by contrast, nodded with deep satisfaction.
WHOOOOSH!!!
The first pitch — one hundred percent the pitcher's call — was, of course—
Same exact pitch…
CRAAAAACK!!!
Three in a row. I genuinely had not seen that coming.
.
.
.
"You grabbed the personal record before the ten-game streak. Congratulations, Ji-hoo."
In the dugout, Song Han-su offered his congratulations. I tilted my head.
"Record?"