The Backup Yeopo

At this moment, the best hitter in the game was Gong Ji-hoo.

If his current run of form held all the way to the end, the 2025 version of Gong Ji-hoo would go down as the greatest player in more than forty years of KBO history.

Kim Young-su knew that fact all too well. That was why he had reached the point of practically worshipping Gong Ji-hoo. It wasn't just the numbers — up close, Gong Ji-hoo was nothing short of a living role model for every hitter on the roster.

But.

Gong Ji-hoo was also the worst coach imaginable.

Kim Young-su agreed with that statement just as fiercely. After all, everyone already knew what the team's best hitter had once said to the team's oldest hitter.

"Man, I seriously want to smash ChamssiTV to pieces."

"Ji-hoo, ChamssiTV is a person…"

"I know!"

Back when Song Han-su had been drowning in a massive slump, he had once asked Gong Ji-hoo for the secret to hitting.

"Hitting? I just hit it to match the breaking-ball trajectory if it's a breaking ball, and to match the fastball trajectory if it's a fastball…?"

That answer of Gong Ji-hoo's had become legendary in more ways than one.

"Anyway, the problem got solved, right?"

In the end, Song Han-su had taken Gong Ji-hoo's advice and launched straight into a second prime. So his coaching must have meant something, right? That was how Gong Ji-hoo saw it.

But—

"Are you about to hit me with something like 'Nobody expects anything from you' too?"

"Uh…"

Kim Young-su — no, the majority of the players — flatly rejected the idea. The consensus was that Gong Ji-hoo's advice, which had already become a full-blown meme, only carried weight because the recipient had been Song Han-su.

"Aren't you and Han-su hyung in a pretty similar situation?"

"…It's a little different."

No matter how I look at it, it seems the same…

Gong Ji-hoo tilted his head.

"Song Han-su sunbaenim wasn't taking anyone's job."

"I'm telling you, you're not taking my job either!"

Gong Ji-hoo shouted in frustration, but Kim Young-su did not budge.

"The fans will think that way."

"Ugh…"

Gong Ji-hoo's greatest obstacle was standing right in front of him.

"Fine then! What if I give you advice that actually helps?"

"Advice that helps?"

"Not the mental stuff — real hitting advice."

"Is that… even possible?"

What the hell does he think I am?

"Of course it is!"

Watching Gong Ji-hoo make that bold declaration, a faint flicker of expectation rose on Kim Young-su's face.

"Then… please. I believe in you."

"Good. Believe in the me who believes in you."

However.

"First, the pitcher throws the ball, right?"

"Right."

Kim Young-su's expectations—

"Then you can tell whether it's a ball or a strike, right?"

"What is that supposed to mean."

"You can tell ball from strike, can't you?"

"How exactly do you do that."

—shattered from the very first sentence.

"Uh… I just read the trajectory, but doesn't everyone else have their own way of doing it?"

"…"

Kim Young-su's face went blank with despair.

"Ji-hoo, how accurate is that trajectory you see?"

"How accurate?"

Gong Ji-hoo's expression turned puzzled, the look of a man thinking What on earth is he talking about?

"There's a little variance by ballpark, but the ABS zone is basically consistent. And you're asking how accurate?"

"Seriously…"

When judging balls and strikes, hitters naturally develop their own methods. But none of them possessed the absolute confidence in their own eyes the way Gong Ji-hoo did, nor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the razor-precise plate discipline to match it.

"Did the ABS zone get tweaked a bit this season so it's confusing? Still, if you can take a clean swing at it, it's a strike just the same, right?"

"…"

With a hollow expression, Kim Young-su met Gong Ji-hoo's eyes, half-suspecting he was being mocked. But—

"You're serious."

"Huh?"

Gong Ji-hoo's eyes were far too sincere. If this performance was acting, the man should have quit his day job as a baseball player and his side hustle as a novelist and gone straight into acting.

"I'm sorry… Ji-hoo. I don't think this is going to work."

"Why not?"

Because staring at this incomprehensible mass of talent had simply broken him. If baseball had a protagonist, wouldn't it be a guy exactly like this?

"I don't think I can become you."

"Tsk."

Gong Ji-hoo clicked his tongue.

"So you don't need the coaching either?"

"Yeah."

He hadn't even finished Chapter One. What was the point of starting Chapter Two?

"Hitting is the part that actually matters, though…"

I'd seen it coming for a while, but I really seemed to have zero talent for teaching other people.

Just focus hard on my own playing career…

I'd tried to coach him with genuine seriousness, yet my disciple lost all motivation before we even got started. And that was probably my fault.

The fact that I have no idea what I did wrong only proves it.

I was disqualified as a teacher. I had felt enormous rage at Kim Young-su's "You're terrible at this" remark, but in the end I had no choice but to admit he was right.

I'll just keep playing the fake mental specialist like always.

"First thing I want to tell you is this: you don't need to become me."

I wasn't entirely sure what "wanting to become me" even meant, but climbing to the same level as baseball player Gong Ji-hoo was an extremely hard thing to do. Even I — who now possessed generational talent I could neither deny nor wanted to deny — would never have managed it without the life cheat called regression.

"But like I said earlier, I believe in you."

That part was real. The performance Kim Young-su had shown as a backup this season had been pretty damn impressive.

Maybe Kim Young-su is another victim of the regressed Gong Ji-hoo.

There were people I had unintentionally hurt since coming back. The Wolves players and Manager Dong Sang-guk, who would almost certainly have won the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠championship in the pre-regression timeline. Or Lee Min-ho, who at least if he'd stayed with the Rhinos would never have so easily exposed his true bottom under the team's internal discipline. Ah — and there was that Stars pitcher I had accidentally buried, too.

It occurred to me that Kim Young-su might also be a player who had been hurt by my presence. Without me, there was no other candidate who could have taken over as the Rhinos' starting third baseman after Song Han-su.

Before I regressed, Kim Young-su might have stepped up his game and been called Song Han-su's successor by the Rhinos fans — the same way they talked about me now.

Of course, that was pure speculation. I really knew nothing about the pre-regression KBO. But knowing the possibility was fairly high, I couldn't help feeling a little guilty for no good reason.

Still—

"Thanks. I'll keep working hard as your backup from here on."

"What? What are you talking about."

"…Didn't we just settle that I won't be starting?"

"No way in hell."

I could not accept those words from Kim Young-su.

"Young-su. The truth is, this wasn't a request from the manager — it was an order. If he says dig, you dig, right?"

"Ah."

Especially because I felt sorry for him.

What kind of backup just hands over the starting job?

The next day.

A three-game home series against the Wolves.

Rhinos fans could not hide their surprise when they saw the starting lineup before first pitch.

My return to the outfield. And Super Backup Kim Young-su in the starting lineup.

"This is absolutely not the kind of tactical move you'd expect from a manager nicknamed Spectator Guk."

That was the kind of line I found when I took a quick look at the news articles. It wasn't even that revolutionary a lineup change, honestly. From Manager Dong Sang-guk's perspective it had to feel pretty unfair. Back when he earned the nickname Spectator Guk with the Seoul Wolves, that team had been one that could literally just stand still and still win.

Soccer is supposed to be heavily influenced by the manager — I don't actually know for sure — but in baseball? The manager's impact is… well.

Hmm. About that much?

I wasn't denying the manager's role. I just couldn't bring myself to claim it was enormous. More precisely: a manager can ruin a team, but the reverse is hard.

Overworking players until the roster turns into an injury ward. Stubbornly running a clearly under-skilled guy out of pure pride. There are plenty of ways a manager can destroy a club. But taking a roster that simply lacks the talent and elevating it several tiers on managerial genius alone? In baseball, that felt close to impossible.

Which meant a manager who could simply maintain the status quo was already impressive. People trash Dong Sang-guk as Spectator Guk, but there was a reason the baseball world still called him a master.

And the first game under the brand-new starting lineup that master had finally put his brain to work on—

CRAAACK!!

It had been a while since the mound and home plate felt so far apart. From out there came the clean, satisfying crack of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bat. I roughly gauged the distance from the sound alone, then started moving while tracking the ball with my eyes. Probably—

A ball that would hit the wall.

Hmm… borderline.

Top of the ninth. Score 9–7. The Rhinos' lineup was still as free-swinging and dangerous as ever, but the stopgap starter who had been thrown in until the foreign pitcher's replacement arrived — the previous one having already been released — had trusted that free-swinging lineup a little too much and set the mound on fire right alongside them.

Two-run lead. Razor-thin. And Oh Jin-muk, who had already thrown three straight days, wasn't even available. He had apparently argued hard to come in, but Manager Dong Sang-guk had shut him down.

Something about how if a guy about to go to the majors got hurt, he'd be the one catching the heat.

He said it that way, but really it was just him protecting his player.

Anyway. If the pitcher on the mound had been Oh Jin-muk, I would have just laughed it off with a Oh, so even Jin-muk gives up doubles sometimes. But the current situation was the kind where complacency was more dangerous than anything.

I broke into a full sprint.

At the last second I launched myself near the fence, glove hand stretched high—

And felt the ball settle cleanly into the leather.

After rolling once on the warning track, I raised the glove so everyone could see that the sensation in my hand had been exactly right.

—WAAAAAAAH!!

Outfield defense after a long break was still pretty fun.

On the back of my highlight-reel catch — not entirely, but still — the Rhinos took the win.

But.

Kim Young-su, who had drawn huge expectations starting at third base, went 0-for-4. He had even stared blankly at pitches through his first two at-bats and struck out looking both times.

"At this rate he's really going to pull a full 'Gong Ji-hoo.'"

The Minor League Yeopo Gong Ji-hoo, of course.

Hmm…

The Rhinos' — no, the KBO's — greatest mental specialist. The guardian of the Rhinos players' hearts. It was Gong Ji-hoo's turn to step in.

Unlike hitting coaching, this was my actual specialty.

"Young-su."

After the game I walked over to Kim Young-su, who was sitting in the locker room looking completely empty, and spoke.

"Want to make a bet with me?"