You're Terrible at Coaching
Everyone is the protagonist of their own life.
Kim Young-su had loved that saying ever since he was a kid.
But.
Only after time passed and he became an adult did he learn the truth: he was, at best, nothing more than the protagonist of his own life—and that his life was nothing but an unpopular story no one ever watched.
A six-year baseball player.
That single line was all that would ever be written on Kim Young-su's career.
No, wait—is there one more line?
The 2020 KBO Draft had been called a once-in-a-generation draft, but of course not every player taken was a standout.
Players drafted in the fourth round or later were often selected for just one or two tools, or simply because of regional ties. Even the legendary 2020 draft was no different.
2020 Draft, Daegu Rhinos, fourth-round pick.
The biggest reason Kim Young-su had been chosen by the Rhinos was, after all, that he was from Daegu.
High school numbers? Not bad. Middling, sure, but solid enough that a fourth-round selection made sense.
From the Rhinos' perspective it hadn't been a bad call either. When talent was roughly equal, taking a local kid was better for the organization. The KBO was a hometown sport, after all.
Kim Young-su hadn't minded. He was a Daegu Rhinos fan himself, and he was certain his ceiling was high.
By the time he hit his fifth year, he could say it with confidence:
Among my draft classmates, I'm one of the successful ones.
In the crowd of also-rans, Kim Young-su had come out on top. He was a backup who had never once been sent down to the second team since the day he signed—the kind of player everyone called a "super backup."
If he got a little greedy, he was the one who would inherit the starting third-base job once Song Han-su retired. Even in the 2024 season he had already played a fair number of games at third while Song Han-su half-timed it as the DH.
At the very least he had done better than "that classmate" drafted right after him—Gong Ji-hoo, who had shown nothing of note in the first team, been stashed in the minors, and then gotten hurt on top of it.
There was a time I used to think that, too.
After the 2024 season ended, one more sentence was added to Kim Young-su's career:
Skip Gong Ji-hoo, take Kim Young-su.
Honestly?
It stung.
He had laughed at Gong Ji-hoo when people mocked him as a Minor League Yeopo. Now even Rhinos fans were chanting "Gong-skip-Kim" and sighing with regret.
From that day on, Gong Ji-hoo became his rival.
Of course, the brief flash of brilliance Gong Ji-hoo had shown in the first team was so overwhelming that everything Kim Young-su had produced in his entire career couldn't even come close.
Still, Kim Young-su had a few things going for him. Gong Ji-hoo's hot streak had been painfully short. Kim Young-su played for one of the most popular teams in the KBO, and he was an infielder.
At least I don't lose on team or position.
That was how he stoked his rivalry. And then—
The day he saw that shocking headline and then watched Gong Ji-hoo practicing third-base defense at spring training, Kim Young-su's world collapsed.
The Gong Ji-hoo that Kim Young-su saw was, quite simply, the protagonist of the baseball world.
A long minor-league exile. Overcoming trauma. Explosive first-team production—the star power that came with that story alone was immense.
And the talent itself needed no further comment. Everything Gong Ji-hoo showed throughout spring training proved he was no flash in the pan. Even third-base defense, which he was learning for the first time, looked polished in his hands.
On top of it all, he had a good personality. Jang Tae-wook and Kang Ho-san—both famously selective about who they let close despite their outgoing natures—were already stuck to Gong Ji-hoo like glue. That said everything.
In the end Kim Young-su admitted defeat. Gong Ji-hoo never even knew a contest had taken place, but Kim Young-su's heart felt lighter for it.
Yeah. Even as a backup, getting into games is something.
Looking at Gong Ji-hoo's numbers, any player who came in would only ever be his backup. This was, if anything, an honorable death.
And so, once again, with a comfortable lead and Gong Ji-hoo coming out for a defensive replacement, Kim Young-su smiled.
"Young-su, take care of it."
"Leave it to me."
Gong Ji-hoo had spoken to him.
Ji-hoo hyung looked at me!
Somewhere along the way the man he had once called a rival had completely captivated him, and Kim Young-su now treated him with something close to worship.
It had already been well over two months since I put on a Rhinos uniform. With about a month left until the All-Star break, I could finally say with confidence that I had gotten close to most of the guys. The old loner Gong Ji-hoo had come a long way.
A few of them, though, still made me a little uncomfortable. My draft classmate and fellow third baseman Kim Young-su was one of them.
At first I tried to get close because we were classmates…
The competitive fire that used to burn in Young-su's eyes had, over time, turned into something that went beyond mere trust.
Honestly? It was a little scary.
Anyway, with the first half almost over, the Rhinos ran into the annual tradition of every team that was actually winning: injuries.
"Ji-hoo… Su-hyeon's hamstring doesn't look good. He'll probably be out at least two weeks."
"I see."
But why are you telling me? Shouldn't you be telling the captain, Kang Ho-san?
"Ho-san already knows."
"Ah… right."
Must have shown on my face again. I rubbed my cheek and decided to just ask outright.
"So why are you telling me this, Skip?"
"Hmm… Ji-hoo."
After a brief hesitation, Manager Dong Sang-guk opened his mouth.
"Think you could play the outfield for a while?"
"Ah…"
Is that all?
"Sure."
"Sure?"
"Yeah. I mean, I was an outfielder until last year. Not center, though, right?"
"Uh… yeah, of course not. Hyun-woo's been in left, so he'll shift to center. You'll take left."
"Got it."
"We figured you hated playing the outfield. Guess we were wrong?"
Huh?
"Come on, Skip. Every position matters."
The only reason I had converted to the infield was simple.
I wanted to become an irreplaceable piece on this team.
The Rhinos hadn't had a real third baseman since Song Han-su. Of course—
Young-su can actually hit a little…
Anyway, I agreed to go back to the outfield for pretty much the same reason. Once the bench had decided something, it wasn't easy to change, and while people said any warm body could play outfield at a basic level, players who could handle both infield and outfield above average were rare. Add my bat on top of that?
Absolutely irreplaceable.
"And the reason you're moving me out there is…"
"Exactly. Among the backups, Young-su's the best pure hitter we've got."
"Yeah…"
"Honestly, if it weren't for you, he would've been a real contender for the starting job. He's clearly taken another step this year."
That had surprised me too.
Last year he was just an ordinary backup…
Then this year he suddenly leveled up. Made me feel a little guilty for taking the third-base job.
Did competing with me push him to grow?
Or maybe not.
"You and Young-su are classmates, right? Tell him for me. For the rest of the first half at least, you're the starting third baseman."
"Isn't this the kind of thing the manager or coaches should say themselves?"
"If we go, he'll just get more nervous. Hearing it from a classmate will sit better."
"…Yes, sir."
I doubted he'd take it any easier coming from me, but what choice did I have? When the skipper says jump, you jump.
.
.
.
"I'm… I'm the third baseman? Taking your place?"
"No, more precisely I'm taking Su-hyeon hyung's place—"
"That's impossible! How am I supposed to replace you?!"
See?
Watching Kim Young-su flush red while insisting that starting at third was absolutely impossible, Gong Ji-hoo clutched his head.
This is exactly why the manager should've said it himself…
Kim Young-su was supposed to start at third tomorrow. Seeing him have a full-blown meltdown right before a game only reinforced that the skipper should have handled it personally.
Haa…
Still, Manager Dong Sang-guk had asked him, so Gong Ji-hoo resolved to give persuasion his best shot. Of course—
If he won't listen, I'll just have to tell the skipper.
What kind of player ignores his manager? It wasn't even unfair; it made perfect sense. And this was a backup, no less.
…Does Ji-hoo even have any talent for leading guys?
In truth, Kim Young-su starting at third was already decided. The current situation was nothing more than a small curiosity of Dong Sang-guk's that had gotten out of hand.
"You're good, aren't you? It's the starting job—why is it impossible?"
Gong Ji-hoo was simply doing his best because the manager had asked.
"No matter how good I get, I still can't beat you."
Kim Young-su, crushed under the pressure of taking Gong Ji-hoo's spot, only dug in harder. The argument grew fiercer.
"I'm not saying you have to hit like me. I'm still in the lineup too."
"But third base is your position…"
Gong Ji-hoo the hitter and Gong Ji-hoo the fielder were two very different animals.
As a hitter he was the best in the KBO. As a fielder he was merely a slightly-above-average third baseman. So—
"You taking third isn't stealing my job. If anything, I'm the one stealing an outfield backup's job."
"But… what if your hitting drops because you moved to the outfield?"
A sudden position change could tank a guy's bat; Young-su's worry made sense. But—
"Me? I'm Gong Ji-hoo."
To a guy who had been an outfielder until last year, the concern was meaningless.
"How about I go to the outfield instead? You keep third."
And that suggestion thoroughly scraped the nerves of the former outfielder Gong Ji-hoo.
"You think the outfield is easy?"
"That's not what I—"
"You've got two choices. Quietly start at third, or hand the starting job to an outfield backup."
Gong Ji-hoo already knew the third-base start was locked in. He was only pushing hard to jolt Young-su out of his passive attitude. But—
"That's…"
Young-su still wanted to start, just not at third.
Gong Ji-hoo couldn't hide his frustration.
Everyone else is dying to lock down a starting job, so why is this guy…
Athletes were creatures who all wanted to be the main character. There were a few weirdly self-sacrificing ones, sure, but Kim Young-su had never been one of them.
Back in spring training he was all fire about the starting competition…
And now he had turned this passive?
Did he regress or something?
Gong Ji-hoo seriously considered the possibility. Of course, Kim Young-su was no regressor. He had simply been so captivated by Gong Ji-hoo's protagonist aura that he had decided to remain a supporting character—and a supporting character invading the protagonist's spot was simply unthinkable.
So the two of them kept running on parallel tracks. In the end—
"Hoo… Fine. From now on I'll personally coach your hitting. So no one can ever say you stole my job."
Gong Ji-hoo played what he considered his ultimate card.
Young-su, I know you think I'm amazing. And that amazing guy is offering to teach you. You're taking this, right?
But—
"No. I'm good."
Kim Young-su shut it down with unprecedented firmness.
"You suck at coaching."
Snap.
Gong Ji-hoo felt something break inside his head.