The System Awakens – The Catcher Returns
After the 2021 season, the champion was the Gangnam Parrots! A franchise founded in 2014 had finally claimed its first V1.
“Shut up. I’m stressed enough as it is.”
Click.
At his boss’s words, Choi Seungtaek reached over and killed the television.
Envy. Real, bone-deep envy. We never even got to taste victory.
“Why envy?”
Ha Seok-jin, team leader of the Busan Seagulls’ data-analytics unit, kept flipping through papers.
“Obviously. Every new team now has a championship under its belt….”
The Seagulls had finished eighth again this year. At least the consolation prize of watching Gwangju Pigeons in ninth and Daejeon Magpies in tenth remained intact—teams fans always claimed were “truly happy.”
“With a roster like this, eighth place is actually respectable. If you want to climb higher, you’d better suit up and play again.”
“Aigoo… The day they offered me retirement was bad enough. How the hell am I supposed to come back now?”
“We could still send you down to the third squad. You’ve missed the entire fall baseball window, so the possibilities are endless.”
“If I could have made the lineup and won a title back then, I would have been there from the start.”
“Enough. Go back to work.”
Choi Seungtaek was still at the Seagulls, four long years since their last playoff appearance.
And now Baek Du-san, the franchise’s heartbeat, had announced his retirement at the end of next season. The outlook had grown even darker.
“Oh, right. Seungtaek-ah, round up the players everyone’s sorry to see go. You know what I mean?”
At the manager’s words, Seungtaek’s shoulders tightened.
Even if he’s softening it, that means he’s ordering cuts. No choice here.
“You’re already preparing releases?”
“Exactly. The front office wants to start rebuilding as fast as possible.”
Ha Seok-jin sighed deeply. He knew exactly what the front office wanted—remodeling, not just rebuilding.
The cruel part of the year was about to begin.
And the blade wouldn’t stop at the first-stringers. It would slice straight through the lower-league roster, the guys who barely scraped a salary.
Choi Seungtaek, member of the Seagulls’ strategy-analysis team, stared at his employee badge and felt the weight of the day settle.
I’ve grown used to this, but the actual cuts never get easier. One day it was me on the outside looking in.
New arrivals had to come, and at least the same number had to leave. Anyone not chosen would walk out the door.
He pulled up the finalized list.
These days it was all sabermetrics.
Batting average, slugging percentage, on-base percentage, OPS, wRC+, WAR, wins, losses, holds, saves, ERA, strikeouts—every stat the game could measure.
The numbers only grew sharper as the season progressed, but since the season had ended, the real work was already done.
Seungtaek carried the neatly organized roster to his boss.
This is now your problem, senior…
“All the sorting is finished.”
“What? Already done?”
“Evaluations were complete. We just culled the list.”
“Yeah, you’ve been grinding hard. This isn’t even real work.”
Ha Seok-jin took the papers, glanced at them, and nodded.
“Well done. Nothing else for you to handle today.”
Seungtaek returned to his desk.
The Seagulls were a strange team. They would charge through April and May like kings, only to land right back in the eighth-place mire by the end of the league.
The most fatal reason they had been stuck there for years was failing to sign a starting catcher in free agency in 2018 and never filling the hole.
If I had still been a player back then, I would have been in the big leagues for real.
Of course he hadn’t been starting catcher material. He was a backup who held his own, but not quite ready for the opening day gloves.
During his playing days the Seagulls had carried two strong catchers, so Seungtaek bounced between first and second squad every season.
Eventually the front office stopped needing him and put him on the release list.
Thankfully they didn’t just cut him—they offered him a front-office job instead of full retirement.
With his elderly mother to support, Seungtaek had chosen retirement immediately. Money was tight; taking a risk on another team was out of the question.
I do regret it a little. Could I still do it if I tried right now?
He had no complaints now. The Seagulls had sent him to study in America to strengthen the analytics department, and the results had been good.
Over the year he had absorbed every advanced technique, then brought it back and improved the club’s overall performance.
Until, while he was overseas, his mother’s health in Korea had taken a sudden turn for the worse.
When he returned, she was already in advanced cancer.
He rushed her into the hospital and stayed by her side every night.
***
Ha Seok-jin poked his head in.
“Seungtaek-ah, how about one drink after work?”
“Sorry, team leader. I’m going to see my mom today.”
“Oh. All right, then. Go on.”
Ha Seok-jin looked genuinely sorry.
***
Choi Seungtaek walked out of the dim office building and straight toward the hospital where his mother lay.
“Mom. I’m here.”
“Son?”
Her voice was warm, but it lacked strength. Every day it grew weaker. Seeing her pain made his own chest tighten.
“Work treating you okay?”
“Of course. I hear people say I’m doing great now.”
Seungtaek kept the melancholy off his face. If he looked too sad, she would worry.
His mother would do the same.
He smiled faintly and massaged her hands while recounting every ridiculous story from the past week.
“Is staying here any good?”
“The sea keeps coming into view. I should have come years ago.”
“I should have brought you earlier. I didn’t know you loved the ocean.”
He spent the entire evening at her bedside, then headed home. Along the way he stopped at a beachside snack bar, ordered a beer, and drank until the old weight in his chest finally washed away.
After a long while the time grew late. He stepped outside and walked. The dark water reflected the bright streetlights in a strange mirror image.
“Huuu….”
“I could have turned baseball into my career and made millions for you.”
Every time he tried to forget the words, something inside him whispered back: Could he still play well if he started today? Or if he returned to the past?
A thousand regrets whipped in the sea wind.
“Can I really do it well?”
A child’s voice drifted through the dark.
“Eh? What?”
He spun around. Nothing.
“What the—?”
“Then test me. I’ll help.”
The voice came again. Seungtaek turned—still nothing.
“Who the hell—?”
He felt strong hands pushing him toward the water.
“Aaaah!”
Splash. The cold sea rose around him. He sank. The light from the streetlamps grew smaller and smaller until it vanished.
* * *
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hurry up! Stop saying you don’t know!”
Outside, someone was shouting his name.
Who? Hurry. Shut up.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Footsteps poured down the hallway.
Creak.
The door opened.
“Hey! You’re here!”
Tap. Tap.
“Senior! Wake up!”
Seungtaek felt gentle fingers on his shoulder and tried to move, but his body felt like stone.
“Huh?”
“Senior! We have the Cheongryonggi quarterfinals tomorrow! You have to wake up!”
The voice grew urgent.
Oh… so I’m the one they’re looking for. But what is this Cheongryonggi? I don’t even scout anymore. Are they short-staffed and desperate?
It didn’t make sense. Cheongryonggi wasn’t held in November.
What the… Is it even November now?
“Senior, the coach is really angry.”
That voice… who was it?
Seungtaek finally opened his eyes.
Where am I?
The ceiling was wrong. The room wasn’t the office and it wasn’t home.
But something felt familiar.
“Senior!”
He turned toward the voice and saw a face he knew instantly.
Before him stood a high-school junior in the exact uniform from his playing days.
“Eh? Minsik?”
“Senior, are you still half asleep? Everyone’s been looking for you. We’re already late.”
Whoa, this dream is so vivid. But he said we’re late—okay, I have to answer.
“Got it. I’m coming right now. Don’t worry!”
“You have to come immediately. I’ll tell the coach you were in the dorm.”
First-year outfielder Kim Minsik rushed out.
At that exact moment, text appeared in front of Seungtaek’s eyes.
You have returned.
“Eh?”
Choi Seungtaek blinked. The words wouldn’t disappear. He was starting to think it was all still a dream.
Goal: Draft into a high round.
📍 Location: 2014 Gwangju
🎁 Reward: ??
“What a joke.”
Important information: Today is July 22, 2014.
“What?”
Cheongryonggi quarterfinals begin in two hours.
Suddenly every word felt too real. His heart slammed against his ribs.
“That’s seven years ago…”
You have returned. Please achieve every goal and turn the dream into reality.
The glowing text vanished.
“Dream? Yeah… this is a dream.”
Tap. Tap.
He pinched his own cheek hard enough to feel the sting.
Why isn’t there any pain?
Slap.
He slapped his own cheek again—harder this time. The burn was unmistakable.
“No way…”
Seungtaek looked around. He knew the room. This was the high-school dorm where he had lived during his playing days.
If it’s this familiar… there’s no way it’s not real.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Someone was running down the hallway outside.
“Choi Seungtaek! Come out right now, you little shit!”
The coach’s furious voice echoed down the hall.