The All-Star Race

Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk wobbled for a spell before roaring back to life in late June.

Someone out there would no doubt be furious, insisting that if their earlier numbers (roughly thirty-plus innings with an ERA in the low threes) counted as a slump, then the KBO must be a league stuffed full of corpses. But the two men's revived performances were so dramatically reborn that there was simply nothing left to say.

And on top of that, they were already popular. A pair of franchise-cornerstone high school graduates putting up numbers like these?

"Hello, and welcome to Twins TV! Today, drumroll please~ we've got the two players who'll be representing our Twins in this year's All-Star Race — Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk! Wow!"

And that was how it all came to pass.

Ugh, the MiTube energy is relentless.

The KBO of this world is a twelve-team league split into two divisions of six apiece. But while the NPB — likewise two leagues, likewise twelve teams — plays a 143-game season, why does the KBO play 156?

For that, you have to dig into the history of the KBO's divisional restructuring.

Unlike America and Japan, which each operated as two separate leagues from the very beginning, the KBO started out as a single league under a single front office.

But with the expansion of teams and the conflicts spawned by various baseball-related and non-baseball incidents, talk of the southern clubs and the northern clubs founding their own separate leagues ran on for days without end.

To keep the league itself from splintering apart, they managed to paper over the conflict through a compromise: maintain a single league, but split it geographically into north and south divisions. That was the beginning.

As a result, not only the clubs from the central capital region — which had never been party to the original feud — but the league office itself was under pressure to expand interdivision games, precisely to hammer home the message that this was, above all, one league.

MLB's own interleague play had only just been introduced, and NPB's crossover series wouldn't even exist until after 2002 — yet back then, the KBO assigned each team four two-game interdivision series, a genuinely heavy interdivisional slate.

These days criticism that the schedule had grown too bloated trimmed it down to two three-game series, but that's still a lot of games. And that's how a season merely six games shorter than MLB's came to be.

And the league office, having gone to the trouble of dividing things up this way, decided that for the sake of the box office, they would lean into the north-south framing as hard as they possibly could.

All the interdivision games get crammed into the mid-season window from mid-June to mid-July, and right in the middle of it, on July 1st, they slot in the All-Star Game, where the star players of the northern and southern divisions face off.

Officially, after every single game the league tallies whether the north or the south has racked up more wins, and even the home/away assignment order for the Korean Series — where the champions of the two divisions meet — is decided by which side wins the All-Star Game.

An absolutely devilish bit of scheme: in a baseball world where the feud had already boiled over, they channeled that animosity into an official outlet, letting it express itself in a healthy(ish) way while simultaneously cranking up fan engagement on the back of the very same rivalry.

"So if you take the All-Star too lightly, you're gonna get burned, big time... Hey, blockhead. You listening?"

Kang Hyun-seok's history lecture, rambling enough to summon sleep on the spot. I glanced sideways to find Kang Min-hyuk listening to every word with perfect focus.

I answered in a crisp, polite voice, doing my very best impression of a fully-conscious human being.

"Yes, sir. So the idea is that we've got to stomp the northern boys flat if we don't want fallout later."

The Seoul Twins, as it happens, stand one step removed from the north-south feud. I mean, the capital region was always neutral ground, and as the baby franchise founded in 2002, we've got nothing to do with those old men's leagues-splitting tantrums of the eighties and nineties.

But that's a story for recent fans and for players who debuted here. The old guard who founded the club seem to be a different breed entirely.

"Loose as a mud pie going in, sharp as a tack coming out. Right — if we lose to the northern crowd in the crossover series or the All-Star, do you know how much our GM rips into us... Ah, GM Jeon Bong-su. He was the GM back when I debuted, and he's still got plenty to say to me these days."

Even a brand-new franchise gets its upper brass from the existing baseball establishment, after all. The managers and GMs from that era were all southern baseball men, or had deep ties to that side — so if you lay an egg in the All-Star Game, you catch an earful.

"I still don't get why we can't just enjoy the All-Star Game. That's how they do it in Japan and America, right?"

"Tell me about it. But you think it works that way just because we want it to?"

In my past life too, an All-Star Game was supposed to be an event that prioritized showmanship and fan service. But for some reason, the KBO All-Star in this world — while not quite a regular-season game — was a full-throttle, maximum-effort bloodbath.

"Still, count your blessings. Given the state of the world, they scrapped the All-Star Game itself and switched to a points system — you heard that, right? Just do what you always do in league play, and do it hard."

And here was the silver lining in the misfortune: because of COVID, they'd select the All-Stars but not actually play the game. With the season opener itself delayed to May and the crossover series pushed back to July, how exactly were they supposed to stage an All-Star Game?

Instead, the selected All-Stars would earn points based on their league performance over a set period, and the winner would be decided that way. It happened to coincide with crossover season, so the justification ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was right there.

"You're repping the Twins, so give it everything! At the very least, outperform the Dragons players! Got it? Walk out there with your head high."

That's not to say the Twins are less invested than anyone — it just means they don't hyperfixate on the All-Star. Obviously they don't take it lightly either.

Honestly. This is exactly why I didn't want to deal with any of this.

In my past life as well, fan voting carried enormous weight in All-Star selection. But player and expert votes existed to a degree, and when assembling the All-Star squad a handful of picks went to the managers directly — so it was never one hundred percent fan vote.

But this year was a special circumstance. This one time, the All-Star selection went forward as a pure, absolute 100 percent fan vote — no expert votes, no player votes at all.

Thanks to all this, All-Star season had always been an active campaign season, but this year it was the most ferocious in history. The clubs themselves started manufacturing All-Star pledges for fans on behalf of their leading candidates, cranking up the buzz.

The fans, in turn, formed alliances not just with particular idol groups and teams from other sports, but some even ran events demanding votes in exchange for in-game currency from certain games — the All-Star vote had become an all-out war effort in every sense.

If it's one hundred percent fan vote, then surely there's a chance my boy — clearly the more talented one — could miss the All-Star team based on pure popularity alone. Naturally, such a horrifying scenario could not be allowed to stand, so the fans went all in, dead serious.

Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk, meanwhile, looked about as moved by any of it as a pair of rocks.

"You two really don't need to make any pledges? Your classmate put up a cosplay pledge, you know."

"Dunno. Do we even have to go to the All-Star thing?"

Because frankly, neither of us had any intention of going.

Sure, making the All-Star team is an honor and all that, but this world's All-Star has none of the soft, festive atmosphere of my past life. I'd rather sit comfortable than earn abuse for nothing.

So I skipped the pledges entirely, and I even told Ye-eun not to run any SNS vote drives on my behalf. I actually told her to pass the word to our acquaintances not to vote for me, and she looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

Kang Min-hyuk wasn't as aggressively indifferent as I was, but he wasn't exactly invested either. That's why I figured I wouldn't get voted in. Who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠votes for a guy who flat-out tells you not to vote for him?

And yet they voted me in anyway.

As far as I could tell, the fans didn't even run one of those "vote for him and we'll give you something" events. I got voted in on the strength of my fandom alone, with a record-shattering vote count. Is this right?

Thanks to that, I got dragged through a mind-numbing history lecture cum mental-preparation session from senior Kang Hyun-seok, the most All-Star-experienced man on our team, filmed a full MiTube segment, sat through multiple press interviews — absolute chaos.

And if we lose to the north in any of this — especially if the Seoul Dragons players rack up more All-Star points than we do — we're getting cursed out six ways to Sunday. That's the deal, right?

As I sprawled there under the weight of it all, Seo-hee noona started stealing glances at me and apologizing with her whole posture.

"Maybe I should've just told them at the owners' meeting to scrap the All-Star altogether? Grandfather controls the main sponsor this year — if I'd asked nicely, he might have let it slide..."

"No, noona. What's meant to be done must be done."

...How does the idea of torpedoing the entire All-Star event because one person is having a rough time even come into someone's head? And casually calling Park Hyun-koo, chairman of Sehan Group — South Korea's largest automotive conglomerate — "Grandfather" is no small thing either.

"Still, if it ever gets to be too much, tell me. If anyone gives you grief, tell me that too. You're already handling your agent work brilliantly, but the club and the group will back you unconditionally."

This is a woman who would cause an international incident if she caught the wrong man's eye. I haven't done a single thing to deserve it, but somehow getting tangled up with me short-circuits her judgment.

"I'm fine, noona. The moment I play well, it all takes care of itself — why worry about any of it? Have you ever once seen me bad at baseball?"

"True. Yi-seon, when it comes to baseball, you're always the best."

"Only at baseball?"

"...I don't know. Judge by what you see."

See, she's doing it right now. Pretending it's nothing while slyly begging me to keep flattering her. Where has the ice-cold career woman — the overworked, wrinkled-suit office worker Han Seo-hee — gone, leaving behind only this girlish Miss Seo-hee?

Well, she's cute, so no complaints. But I intended to prove I'm the best as a man too, so I reached for Seo-hee noona, seated in the CEO's chair, ready to scoop her up and carry her to the sofa—

"Hm? What's this?"

As I moved to lift her, the CEO's computer monitor came into view — an All-Star announcement posted on screen. And the image attached at the bottom of that notice was anything but ordinary.

Screeech. I scrolled down through the entire poster, and out came a single exhale of awe.

"Whoa."

"What? You didn't know? Sehan Group is the main sponsor of this year's All-Star, so they picked the All-Star MVP prize too."

I hadn't known, because I'd never cared.

The poster attached to the announcement said the MVP would be awarded a certain vehicle produced by Sehan Motors.

"If you need a car, just say so. I offered you the car I used ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to drive before, and you turned me down."

That's because you kept trying to hand me expensive sports cars and foreign imports, noona. How am I supposed to accept that? I'm not exactly the pillar-husband son-in-law of a chaebol family.

And when I kept refusing the new-car gifts, she tried to give me her "old" car — with 300 kilometers on the odometer. Delivery drive from the factory alone racks up that kind of mileage. The new-car smell hadn't even faded yet.

Anyway. A gift from noona is a gift, but this was a car I could earn with my own ability. And moreover, it was a car I'd already decided would be the very first thing I'd buy once money started coming in.

"The Sehan Travel."

A foreign import? A sports car? Nice to look at, sure — utterly impractical. Sturdy and spacious, with roomy nine-passenger seating that could carry not just my three girlfriends but, once children came along, every one of them too.

Being a domestic model, service centers were close by, and with maintenance and repairs being easy and cheap, it was a car you could drive every day without a flicker of guilt. Yes — this was exactly the car I'd planned to buy first.

"Noona."

"What is it, Yi-seon?"

"I think I might actually go win that All-Star MVP."

And hey, if it's free, all the better.

"Seung-kwon. You confident?"

"Yes, sir! I'll come back with a home run in every single game!"

"Good answer. I had no idea our baby was this fired up."

The Uiju Rangers were riding high, clawing their way up to third in the division of late, as if to wash away last year's ignominy of a fifth-place finish.

Amid it all, Sung Yeon-joon — one of the team's veterans and its acting captain — put the question to Lee Seung-kwon, who had joined the team this year and was already cementing his grip on the starting shortstop job.

Lee Seung-kwon's eyes were practically ablaze. Normally a calm, level-headed kid, but the moment Kim Yi-seon got involved, this was always his reaction.

"What's this, the All-Stars having their own little private conversation? A perennial non-vote peasant like me will just have to live with standing over here."

"Come on, hyung, our baby's heading out and you can't even cheer for him? What a tragedy, truly."

"Someone who's never made an All-Star team wouldn't understand."

"Hey? There you go hanging that over my head again?"

Usually, when position players tossed banter his way like this, the high school grad rookie would stiffen up and get flustered — but right now, all he projected was fierce fighting spirit.

"Whoa, our baby has really sharpened the blade for this one. Getting voted into the All-Star has you that happy?"

To Rangers fans and players alike, Lee Seung-kwon was a godsend. A high school grad rookie already starting at shortstop in the first team, delivering the long-suffering Uiju Rangers from their years of shortstop famine.

His errors were still a bit frequent, but even accounting for that, he was already performing at a genuinely excellent level as a shortstop — which only made his future upside something to dream about.

On top of that came blazing speed and real power; he'd already piled up a considerable number of home runs and stolen bases, with talk of a 20-20 pace in his debut season. The ultimate five-tool prospect — hit for average, hit for power, run, field, throw.

No wonder the Rangers fans poured their souls into the campaign to send Lee Seung-kwon — if nobody else — to the All-Star Game.

And so, a breezy All-Star selection. He and Sung Yeon-joon, the national team's first-choice catcher, were the two players representing the Uiju Rangers.

"No, sir. Frankly, I'm disappointed."

But Lee Seung-kwon was never one to be satisfied — always gazing somewhere beyond, convinced he was being left behind.

"In a normal year, I could have faced him directly in the All-Star Game itself... With the points system, based on records, I'm truly disappointed."

"Ha! Our baby's mental preparation is in tip-top shape. That's right — you've got to smash those southern punks with your own two hands!"

"Hyung, that's not quite—"

"Hm?"

"You know that guy Seung-kwon hates? Word is the south's two starting pitchers are both Twins rookies."

"...Ah."

It stung, being denied the chance to face him head-on. But at the end of the day, the All-Star Race was a competition where he could still settle things against his rival, score for score.

Just you wait, Kim Yi-seon. I'll contribute to the north's victory with a performance so overwhelming you won't be able to look away.