Wanting to Convey Love
Over the first two weeks after opening day, Wirye Jeil High had gone 4-1, sitting tied for second in the southern region of the weekend league.
The two games I started alongside Kang Min-hyuk, we'd won without fail — so why the loss, you ask?
"Senior! Good afternoon, sir!"
"How many times do I have to tell you to quit that. Is this the army?"
It was because of this kid, and the game he'd started.
The bristling, rigid-military-posture kid in question was Seo Jun-soo, a first-year pitcher who'd just joined the team. When Coach said he'd picked players off looks alone, I'd braced myself for all kinds of weirdos, but honestly? About half of the manga's first-years actually showed up. And this guy was one of the protagonist's junior supporting characters, no less.
"I'm sorry, sir!"
"No, I mean... forget it. You here for catch play too?"
"Yes, sir! I learned that catch play is a pitcher's foundation!"
Seeing him this stiff and formal, you'd never guess it, but this kid was the owner of a truly peculiar case of stage fright. Yep, the very same one from the original work whose heart would shrink the moment he passed the sixth inning.
Last week I'd taken the mound on the third, and Kang Min-hyuk had pitched Saturday's game — but come Sunday, nobody was left to throw. Since the third fell on a Thursday, me going again was out of the question, so this kid ended up starting.
Even then, he'd held things down through five innings, giving up around three runs — and then promptly coughed up seven more in the sixth before coming out. Ha Kyung-woo, who came in after him, had a brutal time scraping through three innings on a gas tank that was never exactly full to begin with.
Seo Jun-soo had scurried over the moment I mentioned it, glove in hand. He clearly worked hard, that much was certain. And if his potential ever bloomed, he'd be genuinely good.
He came back suspiciously fast, too. Except — wasn't that two gloves? And one of them had a shape that was both distinctive and oddly familiar.
"Isn't that mine?"
"Weren't you going to play catch with me, sir?"
He held it out like it was the most obvious thing in the world, eyes sparkling. Expectant. He'd originally been waiting for one of the coaches, but in this situation, turning him down was easier said than done. Nothing for it, then.
"Fine, come on. I've been working on my breaking balls lately, so catch whatever comes."
"Yes, sir! I'm ready!"
According to the coaches and the manager, catch play is a bigger help than you'd think when you're trying to reacquaint yourself with a breaking ball's feel. The shape of the break and the sensation in your grip — those you can drill through catch alone. Full-power throwing is for learning command and fine-tuning your touch in real game conditions. That was the theory, anyway.
So these days I was throwing everything lightly — my most-worked pitch, the circle changeup, along with the other offerings I'd only dabbled in — easing them out one by one.
"I've never seen a ball break like that in catch play before, sir!"
"Go find Kang Min-hyuk. He throws those like he's breathing."
That lunatic only throws underhand during catch play these days. Not to the degree of folding himself in half like when he actually pitches, but his arm slot's gotten high enough that when he throws a slider in catch, you have to sprint sideways just to receive it.
Anyway, if you wanted pitching lessons, Kang Min-hyuk would be a far better teacher than some guy like me.
"Even so, I like you better, Senior Kim!"
"Is that right."
Silence followed. We just tossed the ball back and forth.
Hm. Isn't this the part where a good senior says something? What should I ask about? Anything stressing him out lately? Need any baseball advice? School life, maybe?
Truthfully, whether in my past life or this one, I'd never really had close juniors, so I had no idea what to say. Still, shackled by the compulsion that I had to say something, I carefully broached a topic.
"Settling in okay with the club?"
"Yes! Everyone's kind, and the training atmosphere seems really good!"
"Good to hear. If you need anything, don't hesitate — just speak up."
"Yes, sir! The managers are kind too, so they look out for me well!"
"..."
"Whoa! What was that pitch just now? It broke sideways by like a full meter!"
It was the sweeper, which I'd thrown on a whim just to mess around. That one's banned from my repertoire since its very mechanics start with torquing the wrist, but damn if it didn't come out crisp when I threw it.
Ah, great. One throw and my elbow's already giving me a subtle complaint. The original Kim Yi-seon somehow made this thing his signature pitch.
"Aigoo~ so that's why our Yi-seonie's been sulking?"
"Knock it off. I'm serious — not a joke. You need to tone it down."
Normally Ye-eun would be the one draped over my lap, but today the tables were turned: my head was resting on her lap.
"You pretend it's nothing, but you get jealous like crazy. Did it really bother you that much?"
"It's not jealousy, it's that the fans and the paparazzi won't leave you alone these days. Make the PR staff or the teachers handle the kids. Why are you personally fussing over every single one of them? What if you run into some weirdo doing that."
"There, there~ Noona understands~"
I was being dead serious, and she'd been getting on my nerves about it for a while now.
When I shot her a look full of protest, she just burst out laughing, openly this time.
"Are you planning to sulk for a whole week again like back in the day?"
"When did I ever do that."
"Middle school. Senior Choi Sang-joon."
"Why is that bastard coming up now?"
That sun-kissed delinquent straight out of a manga had just been an unpleasant human being, plain and simple. What kind of middle schooler runs an online shopping mall and hangs around with grown adults, calling himself everyone's friendly junior? He'd smiled and played nice with me too, but my eyes aren't so easily fooled.
"When Senior Choi asked you to model for his shopping mall photos, you threw a fit — sulking and angry for days."
"I wasn't sulking. I was worried something would happen if you got tangled up with a guy like that."
"Sure, sure, whatever you say. In Kim Yi-seon's eyes, every man around me is a villain."
That guy was genuinely sleazy, from his face down to every word out of his mouth!
And she had no idea I was just practicing basic self-preservation.
Then, still smirking, Ye-eun seemed to suddenly remember something and spoke up.
"Hey, Kim Yi-seon. Thinking about it more, this really ticks me off. You liked me back then too, didn't you?"
"Huh? I... did, didn't I...?"
Back then I'd convinced myself my feelings were ambiguous, but looking back now, that was total nonsense. I'd never dated anyone, so I couldn't be sure of anything — and besides, no matter how you sliced it, my mind was an adult's. Feeling something for a middle schooler made me uncomfortable enough that I'd unconsciously held myself back.
"Then why didn't you ever confess? Think about it — you played boyfriend in every way that counted. You controlled who I hung out with, you held my hand and hugged me and accepted it all, you gave me presents on every anniversary."
"Hey, the presents were because you'd mope around all day if I didn't remember an anniversary. How was I supposed to look the other way on that?"
"Now that's a boyfriend."
Ye-eun grabbed both my cheeks, fixing my gaze on hers, clearly determined to wring an answer out of me.
Admitting it out loud was a little embarrassing... but I couldn't just let the moment slide past either. Should I really say it?
"...Don't get mad when you hear this."
"Just say it first."
"Well... I figured you only saw me as a friend. So I was going to wait until I was more certain, and later, when..."
By then we'd be older, too, and I'd feel less guilty about it. Not something the current me should be saying, but a middle schooler is a middle schooler, you know...
"Why did you think that?"
"You're kind of rough with me. Most girls act all cutesy and demure around the guy they like."
That was a lightly dramatized version. The truth was that the Lee Ye-eun in the manga and the Lee Ye-eun beside me behaved completely differently.
In the manga, she was a character who worshipped the ground Kim Yi-seon walked on — unable to muster a single outburst, clinging to him constantly. But with me, there was plenty of skinship, sure, yet day in and day out it was nothing but nagging and yelling.
So I'd concluded: she's just comfortable around me, and she must act differently with someone she actually loves.
Of course, I've repented since then. Manga is reference material, not a rulebook that applies to every human being. I myself have been working hard to diverge from the manga's script — wouldn't it be stranger if I stayed identical?
While I was busy with this bout of self-reflection, Ye-eun's expression turned ominous. Ah. That Lee Ye-eun looks about one second away from a full detonation.
"Haaah... Fine. My fault for getting tangled up with a dummy like you."
But Ye-eun swallowed it down with a single sigh.
"So, Kim Yi-seon. Do you still think that way?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"Then say you love me that much going forward."
"I love you."
"Not right now, I mean."
Huh? So now's not the time either? This is hard.
Ever since the season began, I'd been joining the baseball club's team practices in stretches like the time with Ye-eun, or that catch session with my junior. You could ask what kind of training that even is, but a pitcher is supposed to rest a day or two after every outing, period.
This wasn't like before, when I had to rebuild my entire mechanics from the ground up at the lab. These days the focus was fine-tuning and balance checks, so I'd scaled the lab work down and shifted more time into group training instead.
Still, even now, once team practice ended — however late — Kang Min-hyuk and I made our regular pilgrimage to the lab, where the director ran us through a full workup including muscle fatigue analysis and prescribed various recovery protocols.
"Oppa, your tape's peeling off here."
"Oh? Thanks. I'll fix it."
"Don't move. You'll just rub the half-detached tape back down and call it done. I'm putting on a fresh strip, so hold still."
And every single time, Min-ah tagged along.
Ye-eun and Lim Song-ah were club managers, so during baseball club hours they had to be with the baseball club. But Kang Min-hyuk and I had spent last semester doing individual training here instead of club practice, which left the two of us unattended.
That was when Min-ah had started coming along after school to support our training. Towels and water, obviously — but down to finer details like the taping she was doing now, and in winter, things like moisturizing cream. The kind of care that never crosses a boy's mind.
So Min-ah, who'd shadowed us all last semester, still made the trip to the lab with us even now that we'd returned to team practices.
"There, all done. You're only throwing thirty practice pitches today, right?"
"Yeah, that's the plan."
And just like that, she was managing my routines and my body's condition more meticulously than I was.
'Why didn't you confess?'
Watching Min-ah attend to my every need like it was her own business, Ye-eun's words from earlier suddenly surfaced in my mind.
Honestly, even by my own accounting, I was a bastard. I'd let it all slide back then, vague and noncommittal, and still hadn't given Min-ah an answer about her confession to this day.
A confession is a declaration of a relationship, sure, and the two of us already treated what we had as half-established fact — but hadn't I crossed way too many lines?
Right. Put things like this off and you only suffer later. Look how spectacularly it blew up with Ye-eun before we finally got it sorted. Min-ah still being in middle school nagged at me a little, but my body was a high schooler's either way.
I put a hand on Min-ah's shoulder as she packed her bag and met her eyes.
"What's this all of a sudden?"
"Min-ah."
Even if it embarrassed me, I said it as sincerely and seriously as I could.
"Thank you. Always. And I love you."
A moment of silence.
"Whew... Do people usually say that kind of thing while someone's packing their bag?"
That was a pretty underwhelming reaction?
Was it too out of nowhere? Should I have set the mood first? Was it going to fizzle out into nothing again? Was my sincerity lacking?
"You don't really need to force it into words, you know. I already know."
Min-ah's voice was flat, stripped of any feeling. Whether I was holding her shoulder or not, she'd dropped her gaze back to her bag and was quietly packing, business as usual.
...Nope. Not acceptable. Physically I'm the older one, and mentally I'm practically middle-aged — and I'm getting treated like a kid here?
Alright then. Time to show her how frightening an adult can be.
I tossed my earlier good intentions straight out the window and decided on a bit of mischief. First, I took Min-ah's face in my hands and stole a light kiss.
"Mmph! Pwah—! What was that?!"
Ooh, this one actually rattled her. Come to think of it, was that a first on the lips?
Seeing perpetually deadpan Min-ah flustered, visibly written across her face... this might actually be fun?
As she grew more and more embarrassed, I spread both arms wide this time, trapping her against my chest, and buried my face into the nape of her neck.
Min-ah was on the tall side for a girl, but still considerably smaller than me. The way she fit perfectly into my embrace — looking at it like this, it really was cute.
"I just said I love you, Min-ah. And you're not going to say it back?"
The first move was embarrassing, but once it's done, what's left to be shy about? I leaned into it — as greasy and mortifying as humanly possible.
I kept whispering by her ear, pressing little kisses along her ear and the back of her neck. Gradually, Min-ah's ears went red, then redder, until her whole face was flushed enough that I could see it plain as day.
I'd never seen her like this. Whenever she initiated skinship, she never looked the least bit embarrassed — so she's the type who folds the moment she's on the defensive, huh?
Emboldened, I moved in even more aggressively, while Min-ah put up light, halfhearted resistance, telling me to stop. You cling to me all the time. Is it only off-limits when I do it?
"Oppa is angry right now."
"Hm? Are you mad at me, Min-ah? Can't I make it up to you?"
"No. That's not it — our oppa is angry at you."
What?
At those words, I obediently turned my head — and there stood Kang Min-hyuk behind me.
Oh.
Thankfully, that day produced no long-term casualties.
Han Seo-hee found this entire situation utterly absurd.
"So what you're saying is... you're agonizing over how to express your affection sincerely to your girlfriends?"
"Yes, ma'am. Aside from physical affection, nothing really comes to mind."
How would I know that, you insane social butterflies?
For Han Seo-hee — a lifelong room-dwelling shut-in with roughly zero interest in romance — this was a subject she could scarcely answer in her imagination, let alone reality.
Her every instinct screamed to just shout do whatever you already do, bite and lick and be done with it — but she couldn't. Because the person asking for counsel was Kim Yi-seon, the ace of Wirye Jeil High. An important asset who required careful management.
At first, when he'd hesitantly asked whether she might be open to hearing his worries — saying there was no one else he could think of to talk to — she'd assumed it was something serious. The kind of weighty matter that needed discussing with the club, perhaps.
But Han Seo-hee had a fundamental flaw: she couldn't refuse when people asked her for things, and she secretly preened whenever they flattered her, no matter how hard she pretended otherwise. Faced with Kim Yi-seon's compliment about what an excellent career woman she was, she had — without quite realizing it — granted the counseling session.
And this was the unexpected topic that emerged.
"I'm grateful that they're always taking care of me, but love isn't something you should only receive, right? Skinship feels like crossing a line since they're still young, and gifts are a burden on a student's budget. Isn't there a better way?"
From that question alone, Han Seo-hee could tell his maturity ran leagues past her own. At this level, did he really need to consult her? The earnestness of the contemplation itself was already admirable, honestly.
"It's not just about my girlfriends, either. I'm a bit clumsy with relationships in general. I want to convey my feelings to people without distortion, and it's harder than I expected."
That's a topic I'd like counseling on myself, Han Seo-hee thought. I'm the one struggling here — who's counseling whom?
Kim Yi-seon, for his part, had assumed that anyone holding the title of Team Leader, radiating that much executive presence, would have a wealth of experience navigating human relationships. In reality, she'd parachuted into the team leader seat from somewhere else entirely, and before that had spent her years holed up at home with nothing but her studies.
In other words: zero experience with either workplace relationships or romance. And a person like that was expected to advise an alpha-tier social butterfly on interpersonal matters? Wasn't that exactly like some unemployed forum dweller lecturing a professional ballplayer about training?
But just as forum dwellers lecture ballplayers all the time in practice, the mood and circumstances left Han Seo-hee with no choice but to deliver her advice to Kim Yi-seon.
"Hmm... Well, Yi-seon, you're a baseball player. What about conveying it through baseball?"
"Through baseball?"
"Yes. We always run interviews with the MVP after games, don't we? If you spoke your heart honestly in those moments, wouldn't the message get through to them without being distorted by circumstance?"
And that was the brilliant idea she'd managed to produce. She'd seen it in the materials she'd combed through while working in PR — players frequently using interview time to send messages to their wives, families, and teammates, no?
Of course, those were exceptional cases that the PR team had specifically compiled as touching highlight moments. They only seemed frequent because someone had gathered them in one place. It was obviously not an everyday occurrence.
But inside the head of Han Seo-hee — who didn't even watch baseball regularly, let alone sports in general — the information had already warped beyond repair.
"Are you sure that's really okay, though? It feels a little embarrassing."
He'd asked for the counseling himself, yet Kim Yi-seon tilted his head, apparently unimpressed with her opinion. Then why did you bother asking?
Her pride needled, Han Seo-hee doubled down.
"A little embarrassment only makes the sincerity come through that much stronger. Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"
"Well, that's certainly true..."
At first Kim Yi-seon had wondered if this was like some dramatic public confession in the middle of a university lecture — but under Han Seo-hee's persuasion, his resolve wavered toward maybe she's right. Naturally. Through Kim Yi-seon's eyes, Han Seo-hee was a seasoned, accomplished career woman.
I guess that's just how the socially gifted feel things, he decided, and adopted the plan.
And thus was born the horrifying interview habit of Kim Yi-seon, who, from that day forward, devoted every single postgame interview exclusively to his girlfriends.