The Seoul Series (3)

"Invincible Seoul Twins, we shall win~!!"

Following the sound of the Seoul Twins fight song echoing from a household in Wirye City, one would find a grandfather and granddaughter sitting side by side, watching a baseball game. Well — a game that had just ended, to be precise.

"Grandpa, the Twins are seriously different this year! And I hear the Dragons aren't doing so hot themselves."

"Bah, you don't just switch teams like changing your socks! And look here — a matchup's not something that resolves itself so easily, girl."

Grandfather Lee Young-gil and his granddaughter, Miss Lee Ju-yeon. A domestic civil war, of all things, because the two of them had somehow ended up rooting for rival teams.

They had once promised to go see Kim Yi-seon's game together at the Twins' stadium, but given the state of the world, they hadn't been able to make the trip — so here they were, watching baseball together on TV instead.

Back in the old days, whenever a Dragons game overlapped with a Twins game, Ju-yeon would smugly flip the channel with a "Grandpa, you promised!" — so should they count themselves lucky that today they could at least both watch the game?

"Still, I suppose this really is an off year for them. Tsk tsk. What are we going to do with a team that can't even put up a fight like that."

Then again, part of him thought they'd have been better off not watching at all. Ever since the Seoul Twins' founding, the Dragons had been a vending machine of a team, dispensing sweet victories to the Twins in every interleague series — but this year, the mood was a little different.

That foreign pitcher — Paulo, was it? When he'd pitched at Jamsil, he hadn't seemed like much. Yet put him in front of the Dragons players and he went wild like a fish returned to water, which struck the old man as deeply strange.

"See? Even you admitted they're off their game, Grandpa. Yi-seon and Min-hyuk are starting next, so this series sweep is as good as locked in."

"Good grief, child. Baseball isn't a game one pitcher plays all by himself."

"Those two do play it by themselves, though?"

His youngest granddaughter's eyes sparkled with anticipation. Lately, with the pandemic and all, it was hard for an old man to even get outside, so she did the shopping in his place — a sweet, clever girl, truly. But the way she kept poking at him about baseball rather rubbed him the wrong way.

Now, it was true that Kim Yi-seon was a fine pitcher. But the way she assumed that his mere appearance meant automatic victory reminded him of his own middle school and college days.

Carrying that complicated tangle of feelings, Grandfather Lee Young-gil went and proposed the one wager he should never have proposed.

"Fine then. If those two really do come up and sweep the series, this old man will buy you both of their jerseys."

"Really? Those are supposed to be really hard to get."

"Who do you think this old Lee Young-gil is? You doubt I can manage that much?"

The two jerseys his granddaughter had been begging for. Apparently they were selling at a pace on an entirely different level from before, and the existing Twins uniform supply line couldn't keep up with demand.

Because of that, she'd lamented to him before — an order from the official store meant a four-month wait, and even secondhand listings carried a monstrous markup.

"I am Lee Young-gil, your grandfather. Worry instead about what you'll do if they fail to sweep."

"Wait, what? You weren't just giving them to me?"

"You little rascal. A wager's only fun when both sides put something up."

That said, Grandfather Lee Young-gil had no intention of demanding anything too outrageous. Partly because it was his own granddaughter — but also because the odds simply didn't justify it. A sweep, after all, was the kind of result that almost never happened.

The Seoul Twins fandom's reaction was not much different from that grandfather-granddaughter pair.

New fans, seeing a team with great vibes and a one-two punch in Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk who dominated every time they took the mound, couldn't understand why anyone was anxious. Old fans, meanwhile, kept insisting that the accumulated history of this matchup rendered all such rational analysis meaningless.

The Seoul Dragons' side wasn't all that different, either.

True to form for a community of mostly doom-saying core baseball fans, the Dragons' defeat got slightly more weight than the Twins' victory overall — but the prevailing mood was: yes, things are royally screwed, no, a sweep isn't exactly locked in, so all this hype is premature.

Which meant a great deal of attention was bearing down on Kang Min-hyuk and Kim Yi-seon. As for the men themselves?

But he couldn't have cared less about any of that.

It was one of those famous Seoul restaurants with a waiting list normally backed up half a year. But given the state of the world, the reservation book had cleared out and people had shut their wallets, so business was evidently slow.

Thanks to which, they'd booked only a few days earlier — right after his start had been announced — and gotten a table immediately.

"Are you really going to be okay?"

"Being with you is how I rest."

Ye-eun still managed his SNS accounts on his behalf and kept an eye on public sentiment, so she seemed a little uneasy, worried about how the fans would react. But there was nothing to worry about.

If he sat cooped up at home for his pre-start rest, the most he'd get done by this hour was reading manga and lurking the forums. Given the choice, going out and having fun with Ye-eun was far better.

She was about to say something more when the waiter's arrival cut the conversation short. Perhaps out of consideration for the pitcher in their party, he'd brought sparkling water instead of the wine pairing, and Yi-seon thanked him warmly as he accepted it.

"Anyway, there's a more pressing issue at hand. Did you tell her about what I told you about Paulo?"

"I heard about it," Min-ah said. "About how he can't move to Korea because of his kids' school and medical care, right?"

Unlike Ye-eun, who still looked a bit put out, Min-ah reacted exactly as usual. Satisfied with her composure, I carried on.

"Right. So I told Kang Hyun-seok sunbae and our captain, we pooled money from the team, and we've been sending it over for the kids' tuition and hospital bills. I even recorded a video message myself."

"I remember that," she said.

"And apparently, since their dad plays for the team I'm on, they've been watching our games faithfully from the States. Which is why their eldest daughter ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠told Paulo she's taken a liking to me, and asked if he couldn't introduce us."

Up to there, I understood completely. A girl in the thick of adolescence falling for a man like me was just the way of the world. But Paulo taking it so seriously, actually being wary of me — wasn't that going too far?

I'm hardly a criminal, and there's no way I'd do anything to a kid who's barely entering middle school.

"Yi-seon, oppa. We started dating in second year of middle school, didn't we?"

"Huh? I guess we did...?"

Running the numbers... yeah, the gap really isn't that big, is it?

"Uh... still, you were two years younger than that. And, uh, well, Min-ah was exceptionally mature and gorgeous back then. Yeah."

"Oh, so as long as that girl's mature-looking too, it's fine?"

"You know that's not what I mean. You two are all I have."

I knew it was teasing, but every single jab landed like a knife. Laugh this off carelessly and the reckoning afterward would be brutal.

Defusing each remark one careful word at a time like a bomb technician, I watched Ye-eun snort and jump into the fray.

"Good thing we got the marriage registered. Who knows what state you'd be in if we'd just left you to go around sweeping women off their feet across all four corners of the earth."

"It's not like that, I'm telling you!"

But Ye-eun and Min-ah just kept giggling away, clearly enjoying the sport of teasing me.

The evening had drifted somewhere entirely different from what I'd planned — toward them laughing and razzing me — so the ring I'd so carefully brought along never made it out of my breast pocket.

"Honestly, I have no idea what to do about this."

The sunbaes stared back at me with distinctly unimpressed eyes. To be precise, the only people gathered around me were sunbaes who were married men.

Ji Ha-seob sunbae had listened to my whole story and offered a single remark dripping with disbelief.

"And you had to bring this up three hours before your start... no, never mind."

We were gathered in the waiting room at Seodaemun Baseball Stadium — the last meeting before game preparation. Some people might find my behavior absurd right now, but this was a matter of the utmost importance.

"So if I'm hearing our baby boy right," Ji Ha-seob sunbae went on, "you don't want to let this fizzle out — you want to do a proper proposal, but nothing feels right?"

"That's right."

Why else would I have gone and booked an expensive restaurant? I'd wanted to set the mood, even a little.

But what experience did a guy have who, in his previous life, never managed a real relationship, let alone a marriage? It was always the same cycle: almost sure, try, chicken out; almost sure, try, chicken out.

Just yesterday the atmosphere hadn't felt right either, so I'd chickened out even with the ring already in my pocket.

If this kept up, my wedding with Ye-eun might end up going through with no proposal at all, and the same might happen with Min-ah and Seo-hee noona.

They all said they didn't mind, of course. But in my previous life I'd watched men who never managed a proper proposal get raked over the coals by their wives for the rest of their days, and I couldn't let that be my future.

So in the end I'd given up on planning it myself and gathered the married men to hear them out, only to discover:

"Honestly, I never did it either. My wife brings it up to this day every time she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wants to nag me. You think a guy like that knows what a good proposal looks like?"

"Mine didn't go over well at all, either. Something like, 'If you've got money to waste on that nonsense, buy me more gear instead' — was it?"

— that these men were no different at all. No wonder they all lived under their wives' thumbs. It gave me yet another reminder of why the real power in the Seoul Twins organization isn't the team captains, but the players' wives' association.

God, damn it. I blew it again yesterday, and if no good idea comes to me before I take the mound today, I'll be so distracted I won't be able to pitch at all.

Just as that thought was circling my head, another man poked his face into our little gathering.

"Hey, rookie. What's got you so tied up in knots? There's a dead-simple way to handle this."

It was Walker.

"Haah... Walker. Let me be perfectly clear — if you say something disrespectful, I don't care that it's right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before my start, I will not hold back. You'd do well to remember that."

Walker, chattering away as always, riding that fine line somewhere between cheerfulness and lunacy.

"So what you're after is a guaranteed, picture-perfect moment to pop the question, yeah? Easy. The gallant knights and true men of old, boy, they dedicated the glory of their victories to their ladies."

And what came out of his mouth next, while not exactly disrespectful, was thoroughly deranged.

"So you're saying propose on the day of a big win?"

"Nah. For something as big as the playoffs, maybe, but short of that it's a little bland. And the playoffs are too far off anyway."

Which basically means do it on the day of a win in a big game. This guy is a genuine lunatic.

"But see, there's a glory sitting right close by that's plenty important. The All-Star MVP!"

"The MVP?"

"That's right. Last I heard, the All-Star awards get handed out online once this idiotic points race wraps up. Over a webcam, from your own living room."

"...True?"

"So get right up in front of that camera, lay a big kiss on her, and slide the ring on her finger! You tell me a proposal that beats that."

Absolute madman. This is the kind of idea no sane human being could come up with.

"...Actually, that sounds pretty good?"

"See? I guess you Americans really do understand this stuff. What do you think, Yi-seon? Speaking for your hyungs here, it's not bad."

"...It's definitely kind of spectacular, I'll give it that."

An idea bursting with a coolness that made me want to do it right now.

I thought I saw the interpreter hesitate for a moment, as if he wanted to say something — but presumably Walker had tacked on some other nonsense he'd rather not relay.

The moment the game began and the Dragons launched their first attack in the bottom of the first, Jeong Min-byeong, the Dragons' leadoff hitter, found himself thinking:

Wow. The Twins really drill mental preparation into their guys, huh.

The Seoul Dragons were a franchise famous for its discipline. Whether benchmarking the Yankees or not, the club meddled in everything from its players' hairstyles to their fashion. And with that came a strong tradition of fighting spirit and outright hostility toward rivals.

But the Kim Yi-seon standing on the mound right now was radiating a fighting spirit far more intense than that of the Dragons' young players — guys who'd been schooled in the club's bitter history with the Twins and pumped full of their seniors' fiery motivation.

Like a general marching onto a battlefield, you might say.

As far as Min-byeong knew, the Twins were supposed to be the opposite of the Dragons — a famously relaxed, freewheeling club. But clearly, seeing their results rebound this year, something had changed internally as well.

Right. All this talk about the new generation lately — they'd been going too easy on the youngsters. That's the kind of fire you're supposed to have. Cradling that admiration in his chest, Min-byeong greeted Baek Joo-seon sunbae, who was settled in behind home plate.

"Sunbae. Sounds like the Twins' whole atmosphere has really changed, huh? That kid is drilled to the nines."

The word from the national team sunbaes and the surrounding gossip had been that the kid worked hard enough but had a somewhat lackadaisical personality — nothing about him looked that way now. Just look at the drive and ferocity pouring off him.

But Baek Joo-seon sunbae only answered with a short reply and a slightly troubled expression.

"Hmm... I suppose?"

So it embarrassed him to receive praise from the opposing team. Well, he'd always been a sunbae who led with a gentle charisma rather than cracking down hard on the younger players. Maybe Kim Yi-seon had been influenced by exactly that side of him.

"No, really. If he didn't have a great catcher like you behind the plate, how would a genius like that keep his head on straight? I just hope our own rookies learn even half of that fighting spirit."

Jeong Min-byeong, a young kkondae who'd lately been lamenting the erosion of the Dragons' spirit, genuinely meant every word.

But admirable was admirable — and the man standing across from him now was the opposing team's starting pitcher. A pitcher that young was winding himself up like that; there was no way Min-byeong could afford to be outdone.

He hardened his eyes and emptied his mind. Then filled it with nothing but the will to beat the man in front of him.

He refused to flinch from the staring contest with Kim Yi-seon, who was glaring back at him with eyes every bit as hardened. On the contrary, he pressed back, stamping into his opponent's mind the message that he was not an easy out.

Baseball is momentum. Each of these small battles of will might seem like nothing, but they shape the outcome more than anyone admits.

The moment the staring contest ended, the signs started flying between pitcher and catcher. And the exchange was over in barely three seconds. Sure enough, Baek Joo-seon sunbae's gentle charisma seemed to be steering Kim Yi-seon. To be in sync with his catcher that fast — remarkable.

Ratchet up the tension. Going by the numbers and going by today's fire, this was not an opponent to take lightly.

Here it comes. First pitch. Carrying a ferocity that matched that smooth, flowing delivery not at all.

"Striiike!"

[149 km/h]

...He couldn't even manage a reaction. He had fully intended to swing if a hittable pitch came in — but that changeup, darting in toward his body from the very first pitch with such aggressive conviction, made his bat so much as twitch and nothing more.

He'd heard Kim Yi-seon threw the circle changeup even to same-handed batters and had factored that in, but experiencing it firsthand, the pitch was even madder than advertised. A pitch that rivaled the best sinkerballers in the entire KBO.

Above all, what was astounding was how un-rookie-like his aggression was — attacking the inside border from pitch one. Even if Baek Joo-seon sunbae had called it, targeting a location like that takes nerve most pitchers would balk at.

Min-byeong turned his head to pass that admiration along — and looked at Baek Joo-seon sunbae's face.

"..."

Behind the catcher's mask, the sunbae's expression had frozen rock solid, visibly struggling to contain his bewilderment.