Of Course They All Love Kim Yi-seon!

It's official — everyone loves Kim Yi-seon!

Kim Yi-seon's aggressive 'fan service' naturally provoked an enormous response.

The community was overflowing with praise. "The Wirye Jeil High fan service is better than most actual idols." "Even requests that made me wince a little — he pretty much granted all of them."

Of course, whether all this praise had only positive effects was a question that made me tilt my head. But thanks to my ever-watchful agent with eyes peeled wide open, and Lee Ye-eun's personal network surveillance unit, any posts that crossed the line got taken down immediately, so for now I'm enjoying nothing but the perks.

And the pinnacle of all this fan service was...

It was a selfie. As long as it wasn't skinship that seriously crossed the line, he granted every single request — any concept, any type, exactly as asked — and even threw in custom lines of dialogue. That's a service even bottom-tier boy groups rarely provide. Money-back guarantee, no refunds needed.

As word of this absurdly generous deal spread far and wide, every Jeil High game packed the stadium to bursting, and the school started imposing a first-come-first-served cap on visitors — which led to the bizarre phenomenon of fans camping out overnight in line.

And once his fame reached its absolute peak...

"Hi there..."

"Oh, hello. Hmm, are you from overseas by any chance?"

"Yes, I came from Japan."

"Whoa, you're my first international fan. You really came to see me?"

"Yes, I saw your photos on SNS?"

"Ah, I see~"

Some of the photos taken with fans had reached the level of going viral abroad. Who knows — maybe my pre-baseball life plan of 'ride a handsome face into an idol career' and 'snag a beautiful rich wife, become a kept man, coast through life' wasn't such a difficult path ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after all.

Minatogawa Eita, the Asian regional scout for the Los Angeles Dodgers. Though Japanese, his job covered Asian baseball as a whole, Korea included, and his understanding of Korean high school baseball was considerable.

That was precisely why Kim Yi-seon, despite all the recent buzz, had only ever made it onto his list — he'd never observed him with any serious interest.

A second-year who'd shone briefly during the weekend league season? Never mind next year — there was no guarantee he'd even perform well in the second half's national tournaments. Without the unusual factor of being a switch pitcher, and a profile claiming he'd broken 153 km/h with his four-seamer on both arms, the kid wouldn't have made Minatogawa's list at all.

But orders from above had dragged him all the way to Korea to observe the boy in person.

'Player shows potential for penetrating the Asian market. Additional scouting requested.'

"Potential for the Asian market," his rear end. A young kid was already drawing popularity, and the message clearly boiled down to: keep an eye on him in case he starts moving jerseys.

Having his professional territory encroached upon already left a sour taste, and that promising prospect — drawing attention with popularity that had nothing to do with baseball — rubbed him the wrong way too.

Nursing those grievances, he was setting up several pieces of measuring equipment around this flimsy little high school ball field together with an equipment specialist the club had sent along.

"Um... hello? No wait — konnichiwa?"

At which point a middle-aged man poked his face in from out of nowhere. He'd already notified the school and the player's side, so who was this? A local club's scout?

"I speak Korean."

"Ah, I see! Wonderful to meet you. Park Young-chul, section chief with the Seoul Twins."

The man extended a hand, so they exchanged a light handshake and business cards.

"My, I'd heard the rumors, but I never expected the Dodgers to come all this way?"

The man spoke with a chuckle, but there was steel beneath the words. Touch a top prospect in Japan or Korea alike, and the local clubs bristle like this. It was only natural.

Just how phenomenal a player could he be, to earn this much wariness before Minatogawa had even shown real interest? The profile was certainly unusual, but at the end of the day, wasn't this a kid who'd converted from hitter less than a year ago?

Velocity and every other measurable aside, minus the gimmick of switch pitching, this caliber of prospect was a dime a dozen in the States.

Without any real interest to begin with, he casually brushed off the local scout pointlessly trying to guard his turf and took his seat. Then he pulled out the scouting notebook he carried to every game without fail.

Call it old-fashioned — what's a paper notebook in the age of smartphones? — but this particular aspect of the craft belonged to the realm of feeling. He began reviewing the records he'd logged on other players in previous scouting trips.

Admittedly, the Asian farm system overall hadn't been great this year. It made sense that attention was drifting away from this year's graduating class toward the second-years, whose value owed more to off-field buzz than to actual skill.

Still — I made a difficult trip all the way to Korea for this kid. He'd better be worth it. With that thought, Minatogawa fixed his gaze on Kim Yi-seon, who was loosening up on the mound. Let's see just how impressive this ball really is.

"Hm?"

At the Los Angeles Dodgers' regular scouting team meeting, a somewhat unusual report landed on the table.

"Timmy, so this is the report Mister Mina sent in?"

"That's right, Ben."

"Huh. First time I've ever seen that stone-faced man this worked up."

It was a scouting report from Minatogawa Eita, the club's Asian scouting officer.

He was a man who normally tore down prospects with brutally cynical evaluations — players from other Asian countries, and even from his own Japan. Yet this time, for some reason, he'd enthusiastically and emphatically recommended a single player.

"I heard the front office only asked for light, additional observation as a marketing exercise."

It wasn't one game — it was observations across multiple games. He'd apparently even attended practices; the report was crammed full. For a bit of extra marketing surveillance, this was remarkably serious scouting and analysis.

"So what did Mister Mina request, Timmy?"

"Top priority in international amateur free agency. And a signing bonus of at least four million dollars."

"...Timmy? What's our bonus pool for next year, roughly?"

"Estimates put it at around five million."

"So he's telling us to spend virtually the entire bonus pool on this one player?"

The man called Timmy nodded. The other scouts couldn't wrap their heads around what caliber of player warranted an offer like that.

That kind of money could sign four decent Latin American prospects. Was this Asian pitcher really worth it?

Harboring that doubt, they unfolded the scouting report to its first page — and from that moment on, the Dodgers' scouts were struck speechless.

"Did Mister Mina start taking drugs recently?"

These were impossible numbers. Fine — prospect evaluations are supposed to judge future value — but these figures were flat-out strange.

"This Kim fellow — wasn't his listed top velocity around 95 miles per hour? He's only seventeen, sure, but 70 on the fastball scale? That's an absurd exaggeration."

"Calm down and keep reading. Slowly."

"Fine. Let's see just how great this player is."

The sound of paper fluttering page by page filled the room. And from there, a steady stream of "Hmm..." and "Mmm..." never once stopped flowing through the meeting room.

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"Boss, can we trust the data in here?"

"It's not proper lab-grade equipment. They measured informally, adapted to local conditions. But the numbers themselves are no lie."

"Damn it. If this is real, then five million instead of four, and nobody could say a word."

Doubts about the report's accuracy still lingered — but the mood in the room was that if the report was accurate, it more or less made sense.

Tim Royson, leader of the Dodgers' scouting team, judged that a rough consensus had formed, and put the question to the entire scouting team one final time.

"All right. Any objections to pursuing additional scouting on this kid and ranking him at the top of our international amateur priority board?"

No one raised a hand. No one opened their mouth.

Tim Royson gave a light nod, and with a flourish, signed the additional paperwork in full view of everyone. Then he handed it to the administrative assistant standing beside him, instructing her to deliver it to the general manager.

This scene was playing out simultaneously at every MLB club with an Asian scouting network — not just one. No, even NPB teams with some interest in Korea had begun seriously weighing their offers.

Having barely recovered her composure, Han Seo-hee decided it would be best to keep her distance from Kim Yi-seon for a while. Right now, she had zero confidence she could look at his face without wandering into inappropriate imaginings.

The Jeil High coverage didn't actually require her personally — she could send any other staff member. Up until now she'd handled it herself out of a sense of ownership, since it was a project she'd started, but anyone promoted to team leader and above running around in the field would be the stranger choice, really.

Granted, staying in the office meant constant friction with the PR team's resident social butterflies, which would be a serious psychological strain — but surely that would hurt less than facing Kim Yi-seon right now.

The moment she returned to the office, having steeled herself...

"Seo-hee. You need to go yourself. You're the closest to him, aren't you?"

"That is — you're saying an MLB scout has approached Kim Yi-seon, sir?"

"Yes. If we can get that kid to come to us, it'll be much easier to wrap up the roster restructuring. I don't trust the scouting team one bit, so you handling it is the best option. Hmm? It's nothing major. Just build some rapport, give the club a slightly more positive image, that sort of thing."

Her hard-won resolve was obliterated on the spot by a single remark from her uncle.

And so, with no other choice, Han Seo-hee dutifully showed up at Jeil High yet again. Keeping her distance: failed before it even started. Whining about personal circumstances wouldn't do — this, too, was business. And Han Seo-hee could never be that kind of irresponsible person.

So how should she act? If distance was off the table, what options remained?

She racked her brain for a good approach, drawing on the wealth of experience stored in her mind (almost none of it firsthand — all of it absorbed through dramas and manga).

Right. If he really joins our club, I'll be seeing plenty of him for a long time. Simply avoiding him now won't solve anything.

In situations like this, the answer was to get close — but draw a clear, unambiguous line around the relationship. Nail it down firmly: you and I are noona and dongsaeng, period. Stay friendly, certainly, but with the boundary fixed, there'd be no trouble.

Of course, in every drama and manga Han Seo-hee had ever consumed, pairs who declared themselves noona-and-dongsaeng invariably ended with the noona-noona turning into honey-darling. She chose to ignore that fact for now.

Her hands trembled slightly. What if she asked him to call her noona and he said, 'Were we ever that close?' Or worse — what if he said, 'I don't want to do the noona-dongsaeng thing. Want to be my girlfriend instead?'

Erasing the wild fantasies bubbling up in her head, she very, very carefully approached Kim Yi-seon, who was resting after finishing training.

"Oh? Team Leader, you haven't left yet? You usually clock out around now. Must be a busy day for you."

Even in this situation, Kim Yi-seon noticed her worry and spoke first. How was she supposed to bring it up now? But she had to.

"Um... Yi-seon. No — Yi-seon-ah. It's been over half a year since we met, hasn't it? 'Team Leader' this and 'Kim Yi-seon' that — it's getting a bit ridiculous, don't you think? Shall we just... do the noona-dongsaeng thing?"

Ah. That was way too abrupt. No buildup whatsoever. Can I just blurt it out like that? Isn't he going to be weirded out?

"Hmm, sure? So I just call you Seo-hee noona?"

"Oh? Yes. Call me whatever's comfortable."

She'd worked herself into knots working up to it, and it had gone over anticlimactically smoothly. What? That's it? That was nothing.

Right. Being a comfortable noona-dongsaeng pair is the most ordinary relationship in the world. Who cares. I've just never had male friends, so I'm overreacting. Once I get used to it, all this blushing and fluttering will fade away.

So occupied was she with that self-hypnosis — I am merely Kim Yi-seon's noona, nothing more — that she didn't notice him speaking up until he did.

"By the way, noona — are you feeling unwell today?"

"No? I'm perfectly fine. Why?"

"Hmm... you've been zoning out a lot today, and looking at you now you seem a little feverish. Hold on a sec."

"No, I'm not! I told you, I'm fine!"

Even as she said it, Kim Yi-seon placed his hand flat on her forehead. She couldn't bring herself to swat it away and just stood there.

"Fine? What part of this is fine? You're burning up. The filming for today's game is done anyway — go rest."

And with that, he swept her up into his arms.

"Yi-seon-ah? Kim Yi-seon! Put me down! I can walk there myself!"

"If I put you down, you'll just go back to work. I know how you operate. Sit still."

No, seriously, I'm not sick. My head feels hot because you made my face flush, you idiot.

But she couldn't bring herself to say it, so she just squirmed feebly all the way to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the school infirmary.

In my past life I'd only ever been a fresh new hire, but I'd survived enough office life to know one thing for certain: for someone who just joined, taking sick leave is anything but easy.

It's not that anyone around you gives you dirty looks. You crush yourself. The guilt of calling in sick when you've barely started is simply that crushing.

"You've taken your meds, so stop worrying about work and get some sleep. It's Friday and it's only four in the afternoon — you can sleep till tomorrow morning and nobody will blink."

"But that's the thing — I'm not actually sick..."

"Hush! How long are you going to put on this pathetic brave face, noona?"

The funny part was this: she'd come in to work of her own accord, and now that she was actually ill, she felt gloomy and sorry for herself about it. The human heart is a tangled thing.

Tucked away in some corner of her was the whimpering, childlike wish that someone would notice, someone would take care of her, someone would worry about her.

The PR team leader — Seo-hee noona, that is — was probably much the same. At first I'd misread her because of the title and the polished air, but once we got to know each other, she turned out to be a lot like me.

She was far younger than my past-life self, and hadn't she spent her whole life buried in schoolwork, only now landing her first real job? Granted, starting out with "team leader" already attached to her name suggested she was some kind of school-obsessed genius with a terrifying pedigree.

"Um... Yi-seon-ah? Can I ask you one thing?"

See? The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠second I try to leave, she speaks up. Deny it all you want, noona — you're sick and lonely right now. You just want someone beside you.

"Sure. Ask away."

I answered with the magnanimous air of a man ready to grant any request. Whereupon Seo-hee noona opened her mouth slowly, with great caution.

"Word is the American scouts have been swarming you too. Are you thinking of going straight to the States?"

Oh. Not quite the question I expected. Still, it's not a hard one to answer.

"That? I'm weighing it a little, but I'm planning to stay in Korea."

Seo-hee noona looked startled at how easily I answered.

"Why — did the club tell you to ask?"

"Oh? I, uh..."

She can't lie to save her life.

After sitting beside me for about thirty minutes, Kim Yi-seon had quietly risen and slipped away once he thought my eyes had drifted shut.

She cracked her eyes open into slits to make sure he'd really left. Only after confirming he was truly gone did she slowly sit up.

In any case, she had the confirmation her uncle demanded — that Kim Yi-seon intended to stay in Korea. Granted, it was hard to put much stock in an answer given so casually.

He'd achieved her original objective so effortlessly that it left her feeling strangely hollow. She had wound herself up so tight and labored over her words. She'd even carried a load of guilt, since she was shamelessly asking for a favor under the pretense of being close. It could all be settled this easily?

More than that — now that the tension had drained away, it turned out her body really did ache. Her head throbbed hot, and her whole body felt heavy and listless. So it hadn't been embarrassment or anxiety heating her face after all. Yi-seon hadn't been talking nonsense. Which meant he'd been watching her that closely — and she felt grateful for it.

"Honestly, that lunatic Kim Yi-seon. At this rate the man needs a woman to slap him hard across the face at least once before he comes to his senses."

But gratitude was gratitude. According to Ye-eun, this sort of behavior wasn't romantic interest at all — just plain kindness. Sorry, what? How is scooping women up into your arms and carrying them to bed an action performed without a single thought?

Kim Yi-seon's huge hands lifting her by the waist. The broad, solid chest that had made her think, ah, so that's what it takes to hit home runs like that. The deep voice resonating right beside her ear.

Even now, just remembering, she could feel every one of those sensations. And he does that to any woman without a second thought? And then claims he wasn't thinking anything at all?