The Catcher’s Grim Return and the Forgotten Anniversary
Whoa! The corpse is talking!
The next day, Choi Seungtaek still saw his name nowhere on the training roster.
‘Hmm… no training? Must be because I’m the starter today. Wonder what happened… I didn’t get to hear the details.’
Seungtaek felt uneasy.
The previous evening he had returned home feeling light-hearted, but the moment he stepped inside and turned on the television, his stomach dropped.
He usually grabbed a midnight snack and settled in for Baseball Together, yet tonight the show tasted like ash.
Somehow the Children’s Day curse had followed him. Bench-clearing brawls erupted at three different stadiums that day, and every single one of them was broadcast on the cable sports channel.
Even Baseball Together, the baseball-friendly highlight show, tore into the incident with harsh commentary. When Seungtaek switched to the news channels, the coverage turned into outright outrage.
The league’s sports bulletin devoted an entire segment to the Children’s Day brawls, delivering nothing but scathing analysis.
That alone was enough to make today feel like a cold bucket of water.
“Ugh… still, I’ll just do what I always do. No special instructions, so…”
Seungtaek headed straight for the routine that had kept him sane through every slump: shaking up his protein drink, stepping into the Train for a quick sandwich, and finally arriving at the field with plenty of time to spare. He stowed his gear in the locker room, showered, and changed, the whole process carried out with mechanical calm.
Just as he finished packing, the 1st-team manager spotted him.
“Seungtaek, you’re here already?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You’re all clear for training today.”
“Ah… I see.”
“Did you watch the news last night?”
“Yes…”
“Then you’ll understand. That’s why the association has been holding disciplinary hearings all morning.”
Seungtaek scratched his head.
“If it comes to that, I might be suspended starting today. We’ll have to adjust the training load just in case.”
‘Adjust the training load? There’s a way, then.’
Seungtaek’s mind flashed to his favorite Pitch Framing drill.
Throwing a ball every five to ten seconds against the machine burned almost no energy, and sitting most of the time only helped his legs and back. Perfect.
“Doesn’t the indoor facility already have its own schedule?” he asked.
“Go ahead if you want. Just don’t burn yourself out.”
“Got it.”
Seungtaek headed straight for the indoor facility. Because most of today’s ground sessions were canceled, the room was empty. He set up the pitching machine and his phone, then began the drill again.
“All right… let’s try it.”
Thwack!
Thud!
For the entire morning he drilled, every pitch caught on the opposite side of the plate. The Pitch Clock had already changed everything, but his hands remembered the old rhythm.
Just as the manager walked in, Seungtaek was still going.
“What are you doing now? I thought you were doing batting practice.”
“Oh! I wanted to try something new, so I started.”
Seungtaek lifted the catcher’s mask and stood up.
“And, Seungtaek—disciplinary results are in.”
“Disciplinary results?”
He killed the machine and hurried over.
The manager’s face was grim.
“It’s pretty harsh. Five-game suspension starting today.”
“Ahh…”
A long sigh escaped Seungtaek. Five games was brutal.
“They thought you swung at the kids in front of them. And it was Children’s Day, so…”
‘Damn… I’m finished.’
The suspension would wreck everything.
First, Jo Oosoo’s knee would take the full hit. The veteran had played the starter yesterday; if Seungtaek missed five straight, Jo would be forced to throw every single game for a week. The man had only recently returned from injury—seventeen days total—and suddenly being thrown into a seven-game stretch would be devastating for his knee.
Second, the pitchers’ arms would burn. Seungtaek’s Pitch Framing and ground-ball inducing off-speed pitches let the staff work at maximum efficiency. Jo, on the other hand, loved aggressive leads and made pitchers throw more just to keep up. Even if the run totals stayed the same, the arms would drop off a cliff—especially the relief pitchers and the foreign aces like Russell.
‘Tsk. At least this week we’re facing the bottom-feeders. That’s the only silver lining.’
Eventually they’d face the good teams, then the weak teams, then the good teams again. This week’s schedule against the cellar-dwelling Gangnam Parrots and mid-lower Gangseo Turkeys was the only mercy.
“Anyway, that’s how it is.”
“Understood.”
Seungtaek headed back to the indoor facility to keep his hands loose.
“Seungtaek.”
“Yes?”
“Blocking drills are still on the schedule, right?”
‘Oh crap… of course.’
That was the final blow. He couldn’t play, so every morning, afternoon, and night session would be Pitch Blocking—thousands of repetitions with no relief. The manager’s chart was filled wall-to-wall with nothing but blocking.
‘This is insane. I have to do this every single day for a week? They want me dead.’
Seungtaek walked to the blocking area with a stone face.
***
After the long afternoon of blocking, Seungtaek returned to the indoor facility. Even through the walls he could hear the fans cheering from the field. Because he was suspended, he wouldn’t be allowed in the dugout during actual games anyway; he might as well use the extra time for extra work.
‘Still, we’ll win. The Parrots got wrecked because of me.’
Surprisingly, the suspension had backfired in their favor. The bench-clearing had started with Tae Pyung-yang, but Seungtaek’s ferocity had ended the fight too quickly for Tae to be penalized. Then the one-on-one brawl drew in three Parrots players who got hit with suspensions too. Gangnam Parrots lost five of their regular-season core players for three days.
“We won anyway. Worst case we still sweep. I’m just going to keep my hands fresh with framing drills.”
Seungtaek tried to stay calm. He set his phone on the machine and sat down.
Thwack!
Thud!
Because he had blocked so much, the ball felt slower than usual.
Thwack!
Thud!
Now he could see the seam perfectly.
Thwack!
Thud!
“Almost… a little more and I’ll have it.”
His hand reached for the opposite side—exactly the way Benjamin had taught him back in the minor leagues.
“Good! That’s the one. I’m not missing anymore!”
Thwack!
Seam spinning… spinning… spinning…
Seungtaek’s left hand shot out at the last possible second.
[The System assists you.]
A faint hand appeared above his wrist on the slow-motion replay. The ball’s path shifted just enough for the perfect catch.
‘Like this? Really?’
He copied the motion.
Thud!
The ball settled into his glove like it had been glued there.
“What the… you helped me?”
The machine was empty; it was the last pitch. He pulled up the video. His framing had still looked a little desperate, but the final one was textbook perfect.
‘The System finally showed me the path.’
The interface never gave anything for free, but a small smile tugged at Seungtaek’s lips.
‘I know the technique now. Time to grind it.’
He kept feeding the machine until the game was over, catching every pitch twice.
***
The next morning Seungtaek arrived early. The blocking schedule was posted again.
“Ugh, more blocking. How many hours am I going to do this? Makes me sick.”
He muttered as he changed clothes and checked his phone.
Ding
Locker-room screen lit up.
“Who is this? Gayoung?”
Park Gayoung’s message had already arrived.
Gayeong: Seungtaek, you’re my boyfriend, right?
“Eh?”
Seungtaek tilted his head.
“I’m your boyfriend?”
He typed back immediately.
Seungtaek: Correct. Then who else’s boyfriend am I?
Gayeong: Yeah.
“What the—?”
The reply felt off.
“Hey, Seungtaek’s here!”
“Senior!”
Jeong-geun and Gun-taek walked in.
“Why the serious face?”
“Stress from the suspension, man. Yo, Seungtaek, you’re good, right?”
Jeong-geun clapped him on the shoulder.
“It’s not that. A message from my girlfriend feels weird.”
“What? Show me.”
Jeong-geun demanded. Seungtaek slid the phone over. Gun-taek leaned in too.
“Hmm… that’s definitely shady.”
“A sudden ‘are you my boyfriend’ text is dangerous. We don’t have full context yet. Let me see the whole thread.”
“Sure!”
Seungtaek handed it over. The boys scrolled back to the previous night’s messages.
“Even yesterday and the day before, the tone was sweet. But today this?”
“There’s something wrong.”
Both married men sensed trouble immediately.
“This usually means they forgot something.”
“Yeah… our anniversary. How many days have you been dating, Seungtaek? Hundred days already?”
Seungtaek rubbed his temple.
“I don’t keep count, but it’s been a while—more than a hundred.”
“You didn’t even track it?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I’m impressed. You guys are the same. I forget everything.”
Jeong-geun glanced at Seungtaek.
“But girls remember, right? Not you two?”
“I don’t know.”
Seungtaek looked down.
“Actually… one day has already passed.”
“One day?!”
Gun-taek’s voice cracked.
“Think about it. They always forget when it’s close.”
Gun-taek grabbed Seungtaek’s shoulder.
“Wait… what did I forget?”
Seungtaek’s mind flashed to the shaman in Daejeon.
“Sokri Sinnyeo…”
“Why her?”
“Park Gayoung mentioned her.”
“Ah…”
Everything clicked. He remembered the exact date.
“May sixth—Children’s Day, the day after. Yesterday was Gayoung’s birthday.”