Fire Attribute
The burger joint owner I call Mister—not a particularly kind man—Mike Fletcher is a failed baseball player.
He once won twenty games in a single KBO season and even took the win as the Korean Series pitcher of record.
Still, a failed pitcher.
Some people might call that nonsense, but what can you do? The man says so himself.
His standard for success is making the majors, so…
By that measure, Mike Fletcher really is a failed player.
A classic small-hexagon AAAA pitcher. The kind who chews up the lower minors and gets picked apart the moment he hits the big leagues. That was Mike Fletcher. In a way, you could call him the senior of Minor League Yeopo Gong Ji-hoo.
The idea of asking Mister to throw batting practice for the Home Run Derby had been sitting in my head for a long, long time. Since the day I signed my pro contract, actually.
Back then I was overflowing with confidence, a player whose talent everyone who knew me acknowledged. I figured the day I'd step into a Home Run Derby was right around the corner. Of course, as everyone knows, the ending I got was retirement.
So when my name finally went up on a Home Run Derby roster, thinking of Mister was the natural next step.
"What? I'm busy."
He turned me down at first. Said he was busy.
Even after I kept pushing.
"Do you have any idea how many years it's been since I retired?"
Mister was stubborn.
"Ask some other player. Ji-hoo, don't you have any friends?"
Only—
From where I'm standing, that was the least funny thing I'd ever heard.
The secret hobby of the burger-shop owner who claimed he'd been retired so long he'd forgotten how to throw a baseball was… throwing baseballs at the private training facility he'd built himself. And more than that—
His body wasn't even that far gone.
I call him Mister, but if I'm being honest, he's only three or four years older than Song Han-su, the guy I call hyung. Roughly. I don't know the exact number.
What can you do?
If there's a mistake here, it's that he met me when I was still a kid. Elementary schoolers call people my current age "Mister" too. Once you've done your military service, everyone's a Mister.
Of course, I got a legal exemption, but still.
Anyway. Talking Mister into it was hard work.
"Come on, Mister. There are still fans out there who miss you, you know?"
I stirred up the nostalgia of a former ballplayer who'd settled in Korea because his KBO memories were that good.
"Do you have any idea how many people I've turned down? This is the lifelong wish of baseball player Gong Ji-hoo."
I worked the heartstrings—the wish of a kid he'd known for years.
"Ha… so you're scared. Can't be helped. You're not the Mister you used to be."
And finally, I scraped raw at the pride of a man who'd once been the hottest pitcher in the KBO.
After all that long persuasion—
"Fine. I'll throw for you."
—I succeeded in putting the legendary Wolves mercenary, Fletcher, back on a mound. Succeeded, and then—
I gritted my teeth.
I never expected him to pay me back like this.
The KBO Home Run Derby preliminaries run on a seven-out system. Rankings are set by how many home runs you hit before seven outs go up on the board. Which means—
I've already lost one life.
And in a thoroughly humiliating way.
I gripped the fresh bat hard and glared at the foreigner in front of me.
Yeah. I've got plenty of complaints of my own, you know.
I think of him like a father deep down, but that doesn't mean I don't have grievances. Father-son relationships are just like that, aren't they? There's a reason the sons who inherit thrones are famous the world over.
That's a thoroughly orphan-coded way of thinking, of course.
"Tsk."
I understood him getting fired up over a uniform he hadn't worn in ages and a field he hadn't stepped on in ages. But I still didn't want to lose. Not the Home Run Derby, and not the duel with him.
The smile on Mister's face vanished into something serious, and then—
Whoosh!!
—he threw.
At least he's not throwing balls.
He was mixing in breaking pitches, but nothing that left the zone. So he still had a shred of conscience. Of course—
This kid's mood is already ruined.
CRACK!!!
I lifted the waterfall curve clean out of the park. A pure home-run swing, the one I'd built specifically for the Derby. The ball it produced—
—HOMERUN!!
—vanished into the stars on a ridiculous launch angle.
Mister started clapping. I raised a finger the way he had a moment earlier and fired back the provocation.
"One more."
I'll make this a retirement ceremony you'll remember until the day you die, Mister.
Filial sons like me are rare.
CRACK!!
One for the Italian blood that made him hate my drink preferences more than anyone alive.
CRACK!!
One for the hypocrisy of a man who still insisted that, being American, running a handmade burger joint suited him perfectly.
CRACK!!
I kept taking Mister's full-effort pitches—happily accepted provocations—and kept putting them over the wall. And then—
CRACK!!
—I put the same cutter as the first pitch over the fence too, and—
I flung the bat skyward.
"What the…"
Judging by the intensity of that exclamation, Mister was in a good mood too.
Well, watching a kid who's basically a son put on a show like this…
They say a master's happiness is being surpassed by his disciple, and a father's joy is a child greater than himself.
Or not. Whatever.
"…Honestly, in a Home Run Derby, how hittable the batting-practice pitcher makes the ball has a huge effect on the outcome."
"Right. That's why BP pitchers usually take something off—but Fletcher doesn't look like he has any intention of doing that."
"And yet Gong Ji-hoo is still lofting them over the wall like it's nothing. Incredible."
"Of course, it helps that Fletcher is keeping everything inside the strike zone."
A serious duel no one saw coming—between a past ace and the current batting champion. The broadcast booth, initially flustered, decided to just enjoy the moment. Overthinking it would only give them a headache, and besides—it was fun.
"Yes! Gong Ji-hoo puts another one over the wall!"
"That's four home runs in a row already. One more and he ties Lee Dae-beom."
"As I say it—Gong Ji-hoo takes the same cutter as the first pitch and drives it… over the fence!"
"Gong Ji-hoo ties Lee Dae-beom! And that is one spectacular bat flip."
The instant the ball left the yard, Gong Ji-hoo launched the bat high. It spun through the air and clattered to the ground.
"Hahaha! This is turning into a truly entertaining Home Run Derby. A surprise no one could have imagined!"
Just as the booth said—
"WAAAAAAAH!!!"
—the fans watching live, and—
"Whoa, look at that crazy bastard."
—the players in the Derby themselves, burst out laughing as they watched the two of them go at it.
"Ah, Fletcher! One sharp exclamation, and now he's giving a thumbs-up!"
"Gong Ji-hoo bows his head in return. A nice little display of the friendship between these two."
Feels like a generational handover or a throne succession lol
While the community was drowning in nostalgia—
CRACK!!
"The ball he went the other way with—over the wall! The Rhinos' Gong Ji-hoo! The league home run leader finally takes first in the Home Run Derby too! That's home run number nine!"
"After the bat flip, the two of them settled into a clean rhythm and started peppering every corner of the fence."
"Gong Ji-hoo and Fletcher are hugging it out. You really couldn't ask for a better picture."
"Tomorrow's Home Run Derby final will be a matchup between two players from the same draft class—the Rhinos' Gong Ji-hoo and the Swallows' Kim Jae-sang."
"And these two even came out of the same high school. Jeil High—a school that's produced only three pro players so far, but—"
"The underclassmen at Jeil High have nothing to be sad about. Two of those three are Gong Ji-hoo and Kim Jae-sang."
"That's right. Ah, and there's Kim Jae-sang on the screen—the other finalist who'll face Gong Ji-hoo tomorrow."
"Yes… he's making a… rather interesting face."
Kim Jae-sang's expression was pure disgust, like he'd just witnessed something he never wanted to see. His eyes were locked on the two men locked in what everyone else found a touching embrace.
"Disgusting humans. Image management right at the end, too?"
It wasn't that Kim Jae-sang was full of negative bias about Gong Ji-hoo and Fletcher. In reality, the two of them were having a conversation like this while they hugged:
"Mister. You were just scared. Easy. Too easy."
"Ji-hoo. I've known how great you were since you were little, but you've gotten way too mouthy. Stay humble."
"Look at you, fully Korean now."
"Humility isn't a Korean monopoly, you little bigot."
"White guy and Asian guy. So who exactly is the one being discriminated against here?"
Gong Ji-hoo was a fire-attribute filial son.
The natural close to the Home Run Derby preliminaries the day before the All-Star Game was, of course, interviews with the finalists.
"Kim Jae-sang made a rather peculiar face when Gong Ji-hoo and Fletcher hugged. Can you tell us why?"
"Ha… I've got a lot to say, but I'll hold it for their sake."
After Kim Jae-sang's loaded interview came Gong Ji-hoo's.
"Gong Ji-hoo! Congratulations on reaching the Home Run Derby final!"
"Thank you!"
"There are a lot of things I'd like to ask, but this has to come first, right? How do you know Fletcher?"
"He's been the owner of the neighborhood burger joint since I was a kid."
"And?"
"Uh… the cheeseburger there is really good."
Gong Ji-hoo had no intention of volunteering that he was an orphanage kid, or that he'd grown close to Fletcher because the man used to come by the orphanage to volunteer all the time.
He wasn't trying to hide it—but he wasn't going out of his way to announce it either. The people who knew already knew.
What good does a sympathy vote do a baseball player?
More than that, Gong Ji-hoo hated misery porn as much as anyone.
"I see. I'll have to stop by and try one myself sometime."
"Mister'll like that."
"Then shall we talk about the Home Run Derby? Both of you went all out—was that planned in advance?"
"Absolutely not."
Gong Ji-hoo shook his head firmly.
"I was just as surprised. But…"
"But?"
"I just treated it like Mister's retirement ceremony and gave it everything I had."
"A retirement ceremony?"
"He never got one when he retired. So I figured today was as good as it gets, and I went all out."
"You really care a lot about Fletcher."
"Yes. I think of him as a teacher, basically."
Gong Ji-hoo steered the interview smoothly along.
"Last question. Gong Ji-hoo gave us plenty of spectacle in today's Derby—can we expect a special performance in the All-Star Game as well?"
"Yes! I've been preparing pretty hard in my own way!"
The interview ended by cranking up the anticipation for the next day's All-Star Game.
The All-Star Game.
"Batting second, Gong Ji-hoo steps in. Despite saying he'd prepared hard, he's heading to the box looking completely ordinary… wait—?!"
Caster Lee Han-young, unable to hide his disappointment at the ordinary figure walking into the box, found himself speechless. And for good reason.
"Gong Ji-hoo is… Gong Ji-hoo just stepped into the right-handed batter's box!"
Left-handed hitter Gong Ji-hoo had become right-handed hitter Gong Ji-hoo.