Take This Reinforcement!

The North-South Exchange Series was finally over.

For the first time in ages, the head-to-head record between North and South had landed within a razor-thin two-game margin — a perfectly balanced split that had kept everyone guessing right down to the wire. The All-Star Race, which had replaced the traditional exhibition game, had been equally nail-biting, so close that no one could call the outcome until the very end.

But in the end, the South claimed the advantage on both counts, and home-field priority for the Korean Series now belonged to the Southern Division.

Of course, all of that meant nothing to teams that weren't going to make the Korean Series anyway. For the majority of clubs whose division title wasn't even in sight, it simply meant having to trudge out and play yet another round of games against those insufferable Southern teams.

"Incheon again? Yep. Same old familiar friends I'm sick of seeing."

"The Exchange Series is over, so it's back to the daily grind. Besides, why are you looking this up when you can't even play?"

"Hey, what, I can't even watch?"

That was exactly the situation the Seoul Twins found themselves in.

They'd come roaring out of the gate early in the Exchange Series, snatched second place, and were shrieking that first place wasn't a dream. Then the middle of the season rolled around, the atmosphere soured slightly, and they slid down to third. After starting shortstop Ha Joong-yeon went down, the losses piled up fast — so fast that they nearly grazed fourth place.

Thankfully, the heroes who emerged in this time of chaos had let the team catch its breath again, but the gap Ha Joong-yeon left behind remained the central talking point. On top of that, the starters' accumulating fatigue was becoming painfully obvious, and it was clear the current roster wasn't built to chase a division title.

And so the Seoul Twins had collectively decided the Korean Series was somebody else's problem, settling comfortably into a lighthearted philosophy of let's just hold on to third and get to play some fall baseball~.

In a clubhouse with this kind of mood, a hot-blooded shounen protagonist would normally step up and shout something like 'I cannot accept such half-hearted goals!' to reignite everyone's fighting spirit —

"I cannot accept such half-hearted goals!"

"Yeah, yeah, Min-hyuk. Still, you have to admit, cracking the postseason would be pretty impressive too, right?"

"Huh? Well... I mean, yeah, definitely."

The wall of reality is always high. No matter how much fighting spirit a guy screams into the air, it might fly in a short series, but over a long, grinding season, that kind of pep-talk mentality simply doesn't hold up.

Kim Yi-seon, who had come to terms with this truth long ago, was comfortably riding the mood, saying things to the bench players like 'Seniors, just put up a modest number of runs and I'll pitch a shutout, so don't stress about it' and enjoying baseball at an easy pace.

No matter how much I love baseball, I can't enjoy every single moment of it. Even in my past life, this stretch of the season was when my interest bottomed out.

The team was playing decently but not great, the hope of early season was gone, the cutthroat pennant race of the late season hadn't arrived yet — it was that awkward, loose middling stretch where nothing in particular happens.

Still, I'm a professional, so I'll do my job with professional dedication. But compared to Min-ah, who has to go take the GED in a little while, my focus was inevitably slipping. Well, nothing much going on, right?

"Take this reinforcement!"

Oh, there it is. Something big.

It was roughly mid-August. In the baseball world, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this was the time when the North-South Exchange Series wrapped up —

but it was also when the flower of high school baseball came into bloom, because the Bonghwangdae-gi was reaching its conclusion.

More news came in: our dear juniors had, heartbreakingly, been forced to settle for runner-up at the Bonghwangdae-gi.

Popularity really does count for something. Quite a few of my underclassmen from one year below are guys who appeared in the original manga, so the roster wasn't lacking — but even so, that group alone wouldn't make them a national title contender. Apparently the new kids had helped quite a bit.

Well, it makes sense. They'd pulled off the Grand Slam, produced not one but two first-round draft picks who each donated hundreds of millions of won to the baseball program and padded out the facilities, and plenty of players were lining up wanting to be coached by Choi Sang-ho, 'the devoted saint and master tactician of high school baseball.' (Public opinion genuinely says that. Unbelievable.)

Anyway, with kids like that arriving as transfers and freshmen, the wretched punching-bag era of old Wirye Jeil High was a thing of the past. Still, seeing my alma mater thriving did make me a little proud.

And with high school baseball now wrapped up through the Bonghwangdae-gi —

— the rookie draft had arrived.

I briefly considered attending the draft in person this year too, but there was no real need to go, and Seo-hee, who'd been uncomfortable with all the attention, had left it in the director-general's hands this time. She was sitting right next to me now, getting her healing in.

To be fair, she hadn't exactly slacked off. She'd received plenty of briefings on draft strategy, and she was the one who'd dragged me into watching the proceedings together right now, so she was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still working hard.

"Heheh... nice. You never listen to a word I say normally, but you'll go along with this?"

"I always go along with whatever you offer to do for me, Nuna. Although... is it really that good?"

"Yes."

Her workload hadn't lightened at all, and the stress of a woman who insists on suffering at work was considerable. In my opinion she should just rest and relax, but what can you do about someone with a strong sense of responsibility?

It's not exactly compensation, but I do my best to grant every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠request she asks of me. She gets this happy about it — of course I have to.

...Though I still don't understand why, after training, I'm allowed to shower but told to rinse with water only. I don't know if she was always like this, but this woman's tastes are seriously twisted.

The woman who, until I'd said something, had been hugging me with her face buried in my chest breathing me in grew a little sheepish and peeled herself away, putting distance between us.

Then, apparently deciding she needed to change the subject fast, she hastily brought up something else.

"Now that I think about it, Yi-seon, you're not the baby of the team anymore, are you?"

"Not yet. Those guys don't officially join until next year."

"But they're participating in rookie camp starting this year, aren't they? And I heard this year's rookie camp is being held at the Futures training facility — at that point they're basically our babies, no?"

Nuna seemed genuinely fascinated by the idea of me gaining more little brothers below me, muttering things like 'good grief.' She looked exactly like a fossilized university professor discovering a fresh class number.

"But you were really okay with it? I heard the organization makes a big deal about high school lineage and all that..."

"Nuna, do I look like the kind of guy who'd tank the franchise just to play politics? Besides, I don't have any juniors or seniors above me in that sense — what good would players joining under me actually do?"

That said, I flatly refused when she had — yet again, and none too subtly — suggested something very nasty to me.

"I'm a player. A player's job is to give their best on the field. I have no intention of sticking my hands in team operations."

"Still... wouldn't it be nice if the guy actually playing had an easier time of it?"

"The director-general and the scouting team leader can handle it just fine."

For weeks now, Seo-hee had kept dropping hints like 'This is our draft strategy — could you look it over and give me your take?' and 'Wouldn't it be nice if a few more of your Jeil High juniors joined us?' And no matter how you sliced it, that crossed a line, so I'd cut it all off without mercy.

She's genuinely serious about this, this woman. If she'd met a bad man, she'd be the type to rip the beam out from under the house for me.

Apparently she took my answer as a scolding, because she went slightly sulky and pouty. And this is supposed to be a woman years older than me.

"Instead, come on a drive with me sometime."

"...When?"

"Hmm, whenever's good? When do you want to go? That tent and camping gear you bought me turned out great, by the way. Looks like it'll hold up even as it gets colder, so just pick a time that works for you."

Seo-hee melted right back into a puddle of relief. As I watched her pondering when to go, the emcee's cheerful voice came through the screen.

"Nuna, I'm just asking out of curiosity, so you absolutely cannot tell or contact anyone on that side about this, got it?"

"Yes, yes, I know."

"So, who exactly are we planning to pick?"

Even if players getting involved crosses a line, a guy's still allowed to be curious, isn't he? The draft was already underway, and if all I was doing was hearing about a plan, well.

"Hold on... ah! Someone you'd know — Jun-soo! We're thinking of drafting Jun-soo around the second or third round."

Jun-soo... It hasn't even been that long since he graduated, and yet the name already makes me nostalgic.

I'd heard that the timid kid somehow managed to fix his bizarre mental fragility, and that Coach Choi Sang-ho had put him to excellent use as the closer.

Even back when I was there, his velocity had climbed considerably from his first year, and I heard he'd been visiting Director Cho's research institute since I went pro — he'd gotten scientific training across the board, so he's probably even faster now.

Considering his uniqueness as a left-handed sidearmer, he's a solid pick. He's also a core player of Wirye Jeil High, which counts as a powerhouse these days.

Still, if Jun-soo might slip to the third round... we do pick early, so he'd be landing in a slightly awkward spot for us.

For the record, the Seoul Twins also hold the first overall pick in this 2021 draft. We earned it by finishing dead last overall the year I joined, but now that we're already running in third place in the division and visibly nearing the end of our rebuild, the pick feels a bit awkward.

The teams in truly desperate straits are the ones grumbling about being pushed down the order while a team on the rise like ours snags the first pick. Well, tough luck — if it bothers you, go pull off a successful rebuild yourselves.

"And the first-rounder we've got our eyes on is..."

And here was the crux of the whole story.

Who was the first overall pick — the player the Twins would be drafting to build the franchise's next ten, twenty years around?

I'd been too busy going pro to pay much attention to high school baseball, but a few names had drifted my way from time to time.

So, who would it be?

He swept his gaze across the draft venue.

Various garments that looked like team uniforms. Half of the shirts bore writing he couldn't read — he was poor with hanja — and the other half were covered in strings of letters whose abbreviations meant nothing to him.

Having no uniform of his own to wear, he'd squeezed into an ill-fitting suit his agent had picked up for him. Judging by the look of it, it came from some cheap rental shop: the shoulders fit, but the torso billowed out yards of excess fabric, giving him an oddly bloated silhouette.

Truthfully, he still wasn't sure he'd made the right choice. The Seoul Twins? Considering the love letters Major League clubs had been sending him, would joining a team like this really benefit him?

But then there was this organization's scout, who had somehow dug up everything about him and come all the way out to pay his respects. And the director-general, who had tried to win him over with such burning passion.

Yes — his heart had wavered at this enormous challenge. Perhaps, deep down, this was exactly the kind of opportunity he'd wanted.

Draftees at other tables stared at him as if he were some strange creature. They'd murmured among themselves at first, then the camera flashes began raining down on him.

But even their reactions read more as bewilderment than anticipation. No faces in the crowd looked at him with genuine expectation. In fact, his agent had told him that hardly anyone here even knew who he was.

That would end today. Once today was over, everyone would know his name. And soon after, that name would ring out far louder still.

"The Seoul Twins will select — first overall."

The director-general who had come to persuade him spoke words he could barely follow. But from context, he understood exactly what they meant.

"The Seoul Twins select Henry Dwight Irwin of Westfield High School."

"The Hamheung Tigers declare their time!"

In an instant, the draft hall descended into total pandemonium.

Henry Dwight Irwin — who had only learned this very year that his maternal grandmother was Korean — stood there, proudly savoring the chaos.

"Henry... I'm sorry, what?"

"Henry Dwight Irwin. American, for now."

Hold on — Americans can be drafted in the KBO? What on earth is...

"And it turns out his maternal grandmother is Korean. So he was eligible to file for nationality restoration. Which means he currently holds dual American and Korean citizenship. He's a high school senior, so he fully qualifies to apply for the draft."

Never mind that it's an American high school.

Even after hearing Seo-hee's explanation, I couldn't make sense of the situation at all.

"If it's that unusual a case, why am I only hearing about it now? The media should've been all over it."

"Henry's case is on the extreme end, but draftees of overseas-Korean heritage applying for the draft isn't unheard of. The year we drafted you, 2020, there was one too. He just didn't get picked."

The KBO draft is fundamentally nationality-based, Nuna explained. As long as you qualify to be treated as a domestic player, anyone can apply.

"Okay, fine, I'll grant that. But a guy good enough for us to proudly take first overall, who's also draft-eligible domestically — and nobody knew about him? Until now?"

"Amazing, right? Even we didn't know until Team Leader Park found him."

Team Leader Park Young-chul — formerly Section Chief. Seriously, how on earth did he manage this...

"Team Leader Park has been putting in regular hours at a volunteer organization, you know. Apparently it happened to be a nonprofit foundation that helps Korean adoptees abroad trace their roots."

That's where Team Leader Park witnessed an elderly Korean-American woman finally locating her family registry and her parents, weeping as she offered her thanks. The man barely speaks a word of English, but apparently his confidence carried him — he marched right up and struck up a conversation.

"So the conversation wandered here and there... and that's how he heard that the woman's grandson plays baseball. A remarkable kid, apparently, one even big-league scouts have their eyes on."

At first, it was just casual interest. Overseas scouting teams tend to keep long-term watchlists of players worth bringing over as mercenaries anyway, so he quietly slid the kid onto an extended-observation list. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was the first time a high schooler had ever made the list, after all.

But the more he watched, the more it became clear: this one was a monster catch.

"I'm not exaggerating — the Major League scouts were swarming all over him. The domestic scouting team that observed him in person said that even in Korea, you'd have a hard time finding talent like that."

Given America's preference for college players, he might not go in a very high round right away, but he was a mammoth talent who could realistically expect to hear his name around the fourth or fifth round.

You might ask what kind of talent a mere fifth-rounder is — but that's America we're talking about. Especially considering that players taken in low rounds routinely see their draft stock skyrocket after a stint in college, the ceiling might be far higher. He'd only escaped being scraped off the board by luck.

"So how did you sweet-talk a kid like that into coming here...?"

I mean, wouldn't the rational move be to go to the big leagues, or go through college and chase a first-round pick? Even if the Twins maxed out the signing bonus, twenty billion won is about our ceiling — while in America, first-round bonuses sometimes exceed a hundred billion.

Me, I was born and raised in Korea, Korea was comfortable, and I knew the future held COVID, so I stayed. But that kid is just an American. His grandmother being Korean is his only connection, and even she lived her whole life as an American until just recently, when she went looking for her roots.

"True. Which is why Team Leader Park worked so hard."

He convinced the front office it was doable, then went in person and somehow managed to persuade the kid himself, throwing every hand gesture and scrap of broken English he had into the effort.

And then he came armed with every resource imaginable — the stories of Korean stars who'd left for the majors via posting, the charms of the KBO, Korea's advantages amid the current COVID situation — and after all that earnest persuasion, it just... worked.

"The other clubs never had him on their radar to begin with — foreign high schoolers aren't observation targets for them, and the American high school leagues are hard to track anyway. So we ended up with a hidden gem that only we knew about. Nobody found out until he filed his domestic draft application."

Which made sense. Most foreign players of Korean descent apply for the draft out of a desperate grasp at the last straw, and the ones who do get picked have almost always gone in the lower rounds.

Seeing me sitting there stunned, Seo-hee let out a smug little hehe~ through her nose.

Now that I thought about it, there was a reason she'd been talking draft strategy with me — sure, partly to get my input, but mostly she'd just wanted to see this exact reaction.

If I'm this shocked, with the boss sitting right here having explained every last detail to me, I can't even imagine how hard this will hit ordinary fans. If this had happened in my past life, I'd have spent the entire day refreshing baseball community forums, glued to every media announcement.