Buff or Nerf? (4)

By the time the game rolled into the fifth inning—

Considering the state the Twins were in—players hurling themselves into the game with burning fighting spirit—a one-run margin was tighter than anyone might have expected.

Not that the Twins' momentum today wasn't terrifying in its own right. The hitters refused to give ground, the runners were sprinting like dogs off a leash, and the fielders were throwing their bodies around to the point of literally rolling across the dirt.

It was the monstrous output born from fathers' determination to finally show their kids how cool Dad could be—something the COVID season had denied them for far too long—layered with the added fire of younger players determined to back up their hyungs' pride.

Surviving this kind of relentless onslaught took a fair share of luck, sure, but the Eagles' players were running hot themselves. Forget fighting spirit-as-fathers—on this side, plenty of guys had their very livelihoods hanging by a thread if they dropped to dead last.

In other words: over there, it was pride as breadwinners. Over here, it was breadwinners fighting for survival.

And above all, Gu Hyeok had stolen their hearts. He'd given up the run, sure, but the way he insisted—through sheer mental fortitude and stamina—that he could easily go several more innings lit a fire in every Eagle on that bench.

After all, even if the team tanked and declared a rebuild, Gu Hyeok was the one core piece they absolutely had to keep. When a senior like that led by example, how could anyone else slack off?

And to their eyes, the game still looked winnable.

"Take one look at him and you can tell—that Kim Yi-seon kid, that's not his usual condition."

"Right. Not that his 'bad' condition isn't still terrifying, but... how do I put it? It's like the edge has gone out of him. My gut says they'll pull him at the end of this inning."

The opposing starter, Kim Yi-seon, was inexplicably off his game.

Some might scoff—these are guys in the middle of being shut out for five innings, and they're complaining about the other pitcher being off his game? But then, the opponent was Kim Yi-seon.

This was a guy who'd been throwing hitters' fastballs right down the middle even at two strikes and no balls, and yet today the misses were oddly piling up. A Kim Yi-seon walk was something you might see once in a blue moon—and here he was, with two already by the fifth inning.

Add to that the fact that today's outs were skewing more toward fly balls than strikeouts, and if the defense behind him had been struggling, or if home field had been some hitter-friendly park instead of Jamsil, this game could easily have turned into a blowout.

"..."

And look at that—Kim Yi-seon up on the mound, brow slightly furrowed, clearly displeased, taking his sweet time thinking things over. At this point, it was a legitimate case of bad form for Kim Yi-seon.

His pitch count was already creeping up, so letting him labor through more innings like this only benefited the Eagles—and even if he came out and their bullpen took over, they'd more or less accomplished what they'd set out to do before first pitch.

"Alright, boys! I'm going the full nine today. I know I said one run was all we needed before the game, and I'm sorry to walk that back, but just get me two. Two's enough."

Gu Hyeok's declaration slammed the exclamation point into the whole mood, and every head around him nodded hard.

The fifth inning somehow ended scoreless, and the mid-game cleanup arrived. On any ordinary day, this was when the manager and coaches would be huddled with the analysts while the medical support team rushed around checking on players' bodies.

And for me, pitching as the starter, it was always the moment someone came over with the same question: "Yi-seon, how are you feeling? Should we call it here?" The front office was clearly paranoid about the reputation they'd earn for grinding a high school rookie into paste his debut season, more than the manager himself let on.

Anyway. Into the Twins' dugout room—which should have been all noise and baseball talk—a group of very unusual visitors appeared.

"I honestly can't live with that man. Every single day at home it's 'my knee hurts, my knee hurts.'"

"But our daughter worries about me, so it doesn't hurt anymore."

The faces around the room were looser and softer than usual. So this is what Lee Hae-ryong hyung looks like when he smiles for his daughter, I thought.

And it wasn't just his daughter—every kid who'd come to the stadium today had marched into the dugout hand in hand with their mothers, mobbing the players. It was good for morale, and heartwarming and all, but teams didn't usually go this far.

I was still musing on how unusual it all was when something came barreling straight at me.

"Lee Ji-chan! Stand still over there!"

"Hyung! Hyung! Are you the pitcher hyung?"

I turned toward the voice and found a boy with cheeks delightfully plump with baby fat. Between the person chasing after him and the kid's unmistakable face, I could tell exactly who this was at a glance.

"I'm so sorry. He hasn't learned his manners yet—Lee Ji-chan! Mommy told you to stop, didn't she!"

"Hyung! If you're pitching, do we really win every time? Then you should come out every day, right?"

Lee Hae-ryong hyung's youngest son clung to my knee, eyes sparkling up at me, while his mother—horror-stricken—tried to peel him off me.

I just smiled and waved it off.

"No, really, it's fine. It's just a quick chat with a kid."

"Still, this is a sensitive timing for you... I don't know how to apologize enough."

"Having Ji-chan cheer me on is actually helping."

I'd always been on the relaxed side for a starting pitcher anyway—I barely thought about maintaining focus between innings. Honestly, protecting a child's innocent enthusiasm felt like the more important job.

"Do we win every time I pitch, huh? Well... if Ji-chan's dad comes out to play too, I'd say we win for sure."

"Really? Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we're winning today too!"

"Obviously."

So yes—playing along with a little kid-flattering banter wasn't exactly hard. For the record, I wasn't lying. Statistically, every game where Hae-ryong hyung started ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the field and I pitched, we'd won. As far as I'm concerned, that's just the truth.

My answer apparently delighted him, because Ji-chan started bouncing up and down, showering me with wow! wow! exclamations.

His mother, watching from behind, let out one long sigh, then quietly scooped the boy up to calm him down.

"Are you really that happy?"

"Yeah! Dad never loses!"

"Well then, you've talked with hyung enough—want to go say hi to the other ajussis now?"

"Yeah!"

The moment his mother set him down, Ji-chan sprinted off toward the next player. Watching him go, his mother wore a smile that looked somewhere between exhausted and genuinely moved.

"Thank you, Yi-seon-ssi."

"Not at all. All I did was play along for a minute."

"No—it's more than that. Thanks to you, Yi-seon-ssi, our kids have been in such wonderful spirits lately."

Because of me?

I searched her face for the meaning, and found nothing but warmth looking back at me.

"Even when they pretend not to care, kids watch their father's game results obsessively."

"They sound like good kids."

"They are. But the way they worry over their dad's wins and losses isn't only out of affection, you know."

She shook her head gently at my words.

"Did you ever see your father at work when you were young?"

"Yes... a few times, here and there."

Past life and present life both, I did have that kind of experience. Not a lot of it, but some.

"That's something that usually only happens when family visits the workplace, right? No matter how ruthless a company is, people only show their best side in front of their families."

"That's true."

"But being a baseball player isn't like that. Every game is broadcast live, and if you miss one, the results are right there in the paper or online a moment later. Children don't just watch their dad at his coolest—they watch him struggle, too."

By the time she finished, I felt an uncomfortable prickle in my chest.

"That's a bit..."

"A bit frightening, isn't it? I understand. My husband used to struggle with it too, once the kids started really understanding baseball."

The moment she said that, a thought leapt into my head: wait—is our Haet-nim going to be shocked someday, watching her dad lose games on TV? And here I was worrying about showing her enough good plays.

But as if to push back on that very thought, she kept going.

"That said—children are smarter than we give them credit for. When they see their dad lose or struggle, they don't just feel let down."

They understand his hardships, they empathize, they root for the next victory, and they celebrate the wins together.

"Honestly, being a ballplayer, my husband never had much time with the kids, much less a real bond with them. But once they started watching his games? They've grown so much closer."

She gestured toward the other side of the room, and there were Kang Hyun-seok hyung and his daughter Kang Soo-hyun, going at it hammer and tongs.

"Dad, you're supposed to be resting for the next game—why do you keep doing weird stuff!"

"Come on, the kids finally came to visit, doesn't Uncle need to entertain them..."

"I seriously can't live with you! You did this last time too, threw out your back, and then suffered through your next start—when are you going to learn?!"

Wait, that's not bickering—that's just her unloading on him one-sidedly, isn't it?

Watching the pair of them, his mother chuckled warmly.

"Aren't they adorable?"

"Yes. A very close father and daughter."

"Our family was the same way. There was a time Soo-hyun's mom actually came to me for advice because her daughter found her own father so awkward to be around. And now? Soo-hyun's the kid who comes to the ballpark more than anyone else."

With that, she brushed off her skirt, stood, and left me with one final thought ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before walking away.

"That's why I wanted to say thank you, Yi-seon-ssi. Not just from my family—from every household with a Twin in it."

Because the kids love and root for their dads not just as fathers at home, but as baseball players—fathers who keep daring and trying their hardest.

I stood there blankly watching her sprint off after her runaway son, and that was when Paulo came over.

"How about it, young friend. Do you see it now?"

Without even turning my head, I murmured my answer.

"Yes. Now I really do see it."

Honestly, when all the dads with visiting kids had flared up with fighting spirit earlier, I'd understood it intellectually, but it hadn't touched my heart.

But watching the children light up like that with my own eyes...

"I'm starting to think being a professional baseball player might not be such a bad job after all."

"It's not the job of being a ballplayer that's good. Sure, it has its perks, but the real point is that the bond between parent and child is sturdier than you'd think."

Paulo gazed off into the distance for a moment, as if rummaging through old memories, then began rattling off stories that sounded suspiciously like personal experience.

"The man who forgot a promised trip to the amusement park with his kids. The man who let his competitive streak get the better of him and started throwing breaking balls to his own son during a game of catch. The man who childishly kept up the same silly prank for ten straight days until his kid sulked so hard they didn't speak for three. Even men like that managed to build perfectly fine relationships with their children while playing ball."

"Those are stories you've heard, right, Paulo?"

"Of course, friend."

And Paulo roared with laughter.

"And if you add our captain, or that old relic Kang, I needn't say more. Listen, young friend—being a father isn't nearly as hard a post as you imagine."

"...Do you really think so?"

"But of course! A good father needs exactly three things."

Grinning, Paulo held up three fingers and folded them down one by one.

"Money. Baseball skill. And genuine love for the child."

"Somehow the first two sound a little too worldly to me."

"That's the world for you."

By now he was howling with laughter, slapping the interpreter on the back—and the interpreter, evidently in partial agreement, gave me a contented smile and offered a story of his own in a similar vein.

"Kim Yi-seon-ssi. As one father myself, I relate to what you're feeling right now more than you know. But life goes on—you find a way to make it all work. If you asked whether I was the best father to my kids... probably not. But I did my best, and I believe that."

I fell deep into thought. Even when I wanted to answer, the words wouldn't quite come together.

I'd been sitting there in silence, wrestling with it all, when a shout rang out.

"Alright! Let's start getting ready to play!"

The cleanup time was nearly over, apparently. Paulo and the interpreter rose from their seats, and Paulo left me with one last remark.

"Oho, look how late it's gotten. Well then, young friend—go show them. Show them all that you have what it takes to be a great father."

Top of the sixth. The score stood at one to nothing.

On paper, Kim Yi-seon had done more than his share—a very solid outing. Holding an opponent scoreless through five innings and coming back out for the sixth was no small feat.

And yet the numbers he'd put up today were hard to wave off with a simple he pitched well. Two walks surrendered. Five hits allowed. One towering ball that might have left the yard anywhere other than Jamsil.

His pitch count had already blown past eighty just to get through five innings. All things considered, the scoreless line so far owed less to the pitcher's skill than to good fortune and defense bending over backwards. That was the kind of pitching he'd delivered.

And there, Kim Yi-seon felt his own inadequacy all over again.

Right. Here he'd been fretting about the weight of becoming a father—and then gone and pitched like something his future Haet-nim would be embarrassed to watch.

This was unworthy of Kim Yi-seon. Unworthy of Lee Ye-eun's husband. Unworthy of Haet-nim's dad.

So on the walk back to the mound, Kim Yi-seon delivered his resolve to Min-su hyung.

"Min-su hyung. From this moment on, I promise I will never mess with your name again."

"...Is that so? What brought this on?"

The statement was so utterly out of left field yet delivered with such confidence that Bang Min-su momentarily had no idea how to respond.

His first thought was that the kid's condition had deteriorated even further. But one look into those eyes and he swallowed that idea whole. That was the beast he knew so well—the same feral look Kim Yi-seon had always had. If anything, it seemed like he'd finally steeled the mental game that had been wobbling lately.

While Min-su was still puzzling over what could possibly have changed in the kid's heart, Kim Yi-seon went on as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You've gotten used to it lately, so it stopped being fun, you know? The reactions got boring, so I'm switching things up. You have to give everything your all—but if you slip into a rut like this, what face would I have to show the kids?"

...

Bang Min-su couldn't even muster a reply. He simply sent the kid off toward the mound with a bright, silent smile.

And he thought to himself:

That guy just got even crazier, didn't he?

Whatever Bang Min-su thought of it, Kim Yi-seon strode onto the mound with his chest out.

Sure enough—the kids' visit really had been a buff, because Baek Joo-seon hyung, usually the one griping that catching both Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wore his body down too fast for a full game, looked positively fresh behind the plate today.

I turned my head toward the batter's box and found a young face waiting there.

Young, admittedly—but by my reckoning he was about two years older than me. Then again, by longstanding Korean tradition, the line between child and adult has always been marriage.

He may have only filed the paperwork, but he was an undisputed married man—and soon to have a child on top of it. A rookie still eligible for the Rookie of the Year award, mind you, married and a father. The social gulf between us was, one could argue, an abyss.

So what was I to do?

Changeup, in on the hands.

Even though his changeup had been scraping through the zone poorly today and he'd dialed its usage way down, Baek Joo-seon hyung boldly called for one, painted right in on the batter's body.

Truly a demand that defied common sense—a call no sane catcher makes. And yet—

"That's the one. Mm-hm."

I nodded firmly and approved the sign.

What had to be done had to be done. As a man with more life experience banked than anyone here—and as the proud future father of a child soon to be born—wasn't it obvious that clean, honest, head-on confrontation beat any fancy trickery?

I took the changeup grip. The opposing batter had a spark of motivation too, riding his own goal of cracking the first-team roster and dragging his cellar-dwelling team out of last place. But no matter.

Compared to my goal—showing Haet-nim, watching from inside Ye-eun's belly, what her daddy was made of—it was nothing. A hierarchy so absolute it might as well be written in stone.

I came set, thought only of my catcher's lead, and let it fly. Whether my command inside was shaky, whether the changeup hadn't been biting today—none of it worried me in the slightest.

"Striiike!"

Of course it was going in. Obviously.

Gu Hyeok was starting to doubt whether his own eyes were working.

"...What did Joo-seon say about this?"

"He says the kid's a gentleman, sure, but he's not exactly the type to explain everything neatly. Just that some motivation suddenly welled up in him and this is the result."

"That's genuine nonsense."

Gu Hyeok wasn't one for coarse language, but it came pouring out anyway.

How on earth could motivation produce any of this?

"Striiike!"

There stood Kim Yi-seon in the top of the eighth, having just sat down the Eagles' final hope on strikes. Gu Hyeok had pitched a valiant game himself—two runs over seven innings—but Kim Yi-seon had simply risen above him.

"Whatever this motivation is, I want some of it. Seriously—what kind of motivation lets a guy blow past 120 pitches in the eighth and still gun his top velocity like that?"

Having faced Kim Yi-seon back in national team days, Gu Hyeok simply could not compute. Yes, the kid had always been a monster—but even setting that aside, he'd never struck him as the hot-blooded, fist-pumping type.

He didn't know what had happened, but today the kid's eyes had straight-up gone feral.

The younger teammate beside him nodded along in agreement, then added, offhand:

"Well, he's not like the rest of us—he doesn't have kids. Did his whole extended clan show up for a group viewing or something?"

"Uh... I only heard this secondhand, so I can't swear to it, but apparently Kim Yi-seon's girlfriend is pregnant..."

"Well that tracks. NOW I get why the kid looked so fired up today."

He should have reached for the tinfoil right then and there.

But by the time Gu Hyeok had pieced this much together, all that came out was a long sigh.

Of all the ridiculous slanders in the world, this had to be the most ridiculous.