One Step Back, Two Steps Forward
Choi Seungtaek stood alone in the locker room, the silence pressing in like a weight he could no longer ignore. He muttered under his breath, the words slipping out with a bitterness that tasted far too familiar.
“Goddamn… this is bullshit.”
Few people alive could truly understand the knot tightening in his chest right then—the frustration of a man whose world had been turned upside down by the one thing he could never truly outrun.
The leather of his catcher’s gear creaked as he began unstrapping each piece, one after another, the sharp smell of sweat and rubber filling the air.
“Ugh… Seungtaek-ah.”
“Sir.”
Behind him, the manager appeared, his expression a careful mix of caution and empathy.
“Listen… Seungtaek-ah. Our futures squad is based in Seosan right now.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Tomorrow you’ll head home to Daejeon to rest. After that, you’ll report to Seosan.”
*Is the front office finally trying to show some consideration?*
“Understood.”
“But the thing is, Manager Han wants you to stick to strictly personal training even after you get there. No team sessions. No getting involved with the group workouts.”
“Strictly personal training? Not even the training ground?”
“Not exactly forbidden, but they’re making sure you don’t participate in anything the futures team does.”
Sigh. “Got it.”
*Great. Just what I needed.*
His blood was already boiling, but he forced himself to swallow the anger. The heavy glove had struck the fence with a resounding clang earlier, but he kept his mouth shut anyway.
Without another word, Seungtaek zipped up the last of his bags and gave the manager a respectful bow.
“I’ll head out then.”
“Take care on the road.”
The manager watched him go with a complicated look, and Seungtaek stepped out into the bustling atmosphere of the Munhak stadium, where games were still underway. He slid behind the wheel of his car and drove back toward the hotel.
---
The next morning, the drive to Seosan felt endless. When he finally stepped onto the futures field, the familiar faces of the young players greeted him.
“Good morning! Manager. It’s been a while.”
“Ah… how do you even say this. You really shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just train on my own. Last year’s camp was similar—knew what to expect.”
The futures manager knew the situation all too well. With the main roster depleted and Seungtaek dropped to the minors, the whole thing was tense. Still, he couldn’t argue with the head coach’s direct orders. When the returned catcher simply said he was all right, the manager let it go.
*Still… it sucks.*
On the surface he played it cool, but inside Seungtaek felt hollow. The future squad’s schedule for the day was simple: running or gym work. No contact, no pitching, no real team drills. Yet even that small reprieve felt like a bandage on a much deeper wound.
After a few days of forced isolation, the futures team headed out for a three-game home stand against the Incheon Cranes. Seungtaek sat on the bench, watching the new facility rise around him—clean, modern, far better than anything he remembered from his time with the Magpies.
“Wow… the facilities are actually impressive.”
*Should I just go sightseeing?*
The futures manager’s words echoed in his mind. No team activities. No involvement. So he wandered the grounds alone, hands in his pockets, trying to clear his head.
“Hey! Isn’t that the Magpies’ Choi Seungtaek?”
A voice called out from across the field. Seungtaek turned, surprised.
The man approaching was none other than the legendary catcher and current futures manager of the Incheon Cranes—Park Wangyu.
“What brings you here all by yourself?”
“Just looking around.”
“Looking around? Why come all the way to the Cranes’ new field?”
Haha.
When Seungtaek’s awkward expression appeared, Park Wangyu chuckled softly.
“Just kidding. I already know the whole story.”
“Huh? You know already?”
“I do. And I want to hear it from the person involved. How exactly did you end up here? I love stories like this.”
Seungtaek hesitated. The veteran had been a catcher himself—someone who understood the pressure of calling pitches under fire.
“It was just after the game. A small disagreement with Senior Song Geumho.”
“Sign issue? That’s pretty common between pitchers and catchers.”
“Yeah… the problem was…”
“So you said something, and the manager took your side and you got benched?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Exactly what you deserved. With Goldho in the lineup and Manager Han on his side… there was never any chance you’d win.”
The veteran’s eyes crinkled with amusement.
“Still, I’m curious. Why didn’t you fix the misunderstanding? One inning, right? Just a sign thing. What exactly happened?”
“I told him to stop throwing fastballs. Asked him to go changeup only. But he didn’t listen.”
“Why not?”
Seungtaek had no good answer. He could think of nothing but the growing frustration.
“Just… I thought I knew.”
“That’s not a very convincing answer. Pitchers don’t like being told what to do. Try again. What did you actually think was wrong?”
Back to square one.
“Honestly? I don’t know. His fastballs weren’t bad, and there was no obvious tell I could point out. My gut just said something was off.”
Seungtaek spoke without mentioning the System at all.
“Really? Goldho doesn’t have any tells. That’s why the Cranes’ scouting team is so good—they read every pitcher’s habits.”
*That’s common knowledge.*
The Cranes’ analytics department was the best at spotting tells. So naturally they trained their pitchers to hide them.
“Exactly. That’s why it’s so hard to find. If a pitcher does have one, it’s probably a new signing or someone who’s been with the team for a while.”
“So how did you spot it?”
“What do you mean?”
Seungtaek’s face went blank.
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t remember? After you got pulled, Goldho started getting shelled on fastballs—every single one of them.”
Seungtaek had never watched the Magpies games after that.
“Honestly? I didn’t even see the games.”
“Why?”
“…”
“Cluck. What a weird guy.”
Park Wangyu studied him for a moment.
“Goldho called me yesterday. Said he wanted to talk about what happened. He told me he didn’t want to throw fastballs, but the manager jumped down his throat. So he fought back. But you know what? He was right all along!”
“…”
“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Anyway, he started digging for answers. No new tells. Then he asked me. I checked, but nothing. The scouts didn’t know either. So I went straight to the batters. You won’t believe what they said.”
“I don’t know.”
“They said the fastballs were coming in hard—high-140s to low-150s—and they just swung and missed. Straight down the middle. Like it was a mistake. What a joke, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“So if it had been a tell, it would’ve been easy to fix. But no. They just got hit. Kya~. That’s some story, huh? But the real question is… how did you know?”
Seungtaek had no comeback.
“My instincts just told me something was wrong.”
“So you were right. And you’re a starter. You need to tell the pitcher, and tell him confidently.”
“But how…?”
“Exactly. So you have to convince him gently. This is an art, not some fixed method. You’ll have to find your own way.”
*Can it really be like that? Not even a senior…*
“Because I’m older than most pitchers, I guess I can say that.”
“Huh!”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Most catchers wait until they’re a little older before they can do it, but that’s not how it has to be. Just like you proved you belonged in the majors—now prove it again. Make them trust your lead.”
“Even if it’s a garbage sign?”
“Especially then. Honestly, you have talent. Real sensory talent. And that’s a catcher’s gift—knowing what the pitcher is about to do before he does. That’s the path to becoming a great one.”
The veteran’s voice dropped, direct and honest.
“The catcher position is the busiest one in baseball. Pitchers are the stars, but catchers make the game possible. We give them wings.”
“But…”
“When you go back up, will Goldho listen? Maybe not right away. Maybe he’ll stay a little distant after the fight. But if you’re right… he’ll follow you more. Because you’re right.”
“That’s right.”
“So that’s settled.”
Park Wangyu glanced around.
“But the players are all training right now. You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”
“Yeah… the manager said I couldn’t participate at all…”
“Ah… Young Master. You really know how to keep it rough. That kind of argument happens sometimes when the team’s tight. Haha.”
Seungtaek felt a little embarrassed by the words.
“So… are you coming to train with us today?”
“Huh? What do you mean…?”
“I know you’re talented. I also want to see your physical strength. So how about joining us for some training?”
“Even if it’s not allowed?”
“What are you talking about? Manager Han said no training with the Magpies, not no training with anyone.”
“Still…”
“It’s fine. That’s what we do—train together with local high schools or independent clubs. Just like that.”
*Insane… this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance?*
“Training starts in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you. But I’m not sure this is okay…”
“What’s there to worry about? We’re just teammates.”
“It’s another team…”
“Relax. We’re not bad either. Seeing a rookie who’s already in the majors will motivate the younger guys. And I bet they’ll like it even more because one of their spots will open up because of you.”
A rare opportunity had arrived.
For the first time in days, Seungtaek’s heart beat strongly again.
He stepped onto the field with the futures squad, bat in hand, ready to swing.