Draft Day

"Aaah... I'm so bored I could die."

The line from some soccer manga I'd watched in my past life slipped out of me on its own, and Kang Min-hyuk, sitting beside me, stared at me like I'd lost my mind.

"Kim Yi-seon. Don't get carried away with yourself. It's a bad habit of yours."

"Excuse me?"

This punk pitched a shutout in every game he started and won the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whole thing undefeated, and he's lecturing me? Sure, saying stuff like that before you've actually accomplished something is arrogance — but once it's all over, it's just accurate self-awareness.

This was my third season at Wirye Jeil High. It was the climax arc even in the manga, and the rivals of our generation were the ones being hailed as the Golden Generation, so honestly, I'd been a little worried. Hyedang High, whom we'd faced at the Blue Dragon Tournament, had been a genuinely tricky opponent even though we beat them, and Gwangju Jeil High at the Golden Lions Tournament had shown the depth you'd expect from a storied program — for good reason, too.

Of course, once everything was said and done, Golden Generation or not, the full-power Kim Yi-seon–Kang Min-hyuk combo was simply the stronger force.

Truthfully, I'd figured it might turn out this way. If we'd already pulled off the Grand Slam in our second year, we were essentially playing through cleared content on a second playthrough — how much harder could it really get?

"So, Kang Min-hyuk. What are you going to do now?"

"You mean me? Well... I'll probably stay in Korea, I imagine."

"Korea? Didn't you get offers from MLB clubs too?"

For all his professed preference for staying home, he was actually being pursued harder overseas. A few MLB teams had made some fairly serious offers.

"The major league teams want me to pitch out of the bullpen. The bullpen is an important role for a team's victory, of course, but I want to be a starter."

He could refuse the majors, sure, but the reason is just so... him.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity, and some strange instinct prompted me to leave him with one parting remark.

"Yeah? Then I guess we'll be playing together in the pros, too."

As of his senior season of high school, Kim Yi-seon was in his second year since converting to pitcher. Kang Min-hyuk was in slightly better shape, but only barely — also two years into his conversion to a submarine delivery. Which is to say, the two of them had been clumsy novices just one year ago. The kind of novices who put up ERAs in the low single digits, mind you.

So what happens when a pair of novices like that stack up a full year of experience, then spend the winter reinforcing their games based on data collected over that entire year alongside the most medically and biomechanically knowledgeable instructor in all of Korea?

What happens is this: nothing short of insane growth and a systematic demolition of high school baseball.

The two of them performed so dominantly it was as if they were saying, "Ugh, high school baseball is so boring. No content at all." Naturally, Kim Yi-seon's evaluation skyrocketed to a point where there was simply nowhere left for it to climb.

Even in America, there simply are no high school starting pitching prospects who can throw a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠100-mile-per-hour fastball with command.

Every now and then a triple-digit arm does come along, but they're almost always wild things who struggle just to find the strike zone, or stamina-limited arms destined for bullpen duty and nothing more.

Kim Yi-seon, meanwhile, throws that ball with precision — a hundred pitches a start. Is there really anything left to discuss?

All thirty major league organizations want him, and the small-market clubs, already resigned to losing the bidding war, are busy scrambling to cash out whatever they can in trade value or bonus pool money.

And it isn't just the franchises even Korean fans know by name — the Yankees, the Dodgers — it's the new-money clubs like the Mets and Toronto, too, all shoving blank checks across the table.

The Seoul Twins could feel confident about keeping Kim Yi-seon only because their club president could communicate with him directly. To every other organization, the odds of Kim Yi-seon heading straight to the United States looked considerably high.

A draft class already being called the Golden Generation meant other clubs' picks were nearly impossible to predict and their own draft strategies difficult to formulate — and now this variable landed on top of everything. Several front offices were finding themselves thoroughly stuck.

The most prominent example was the Uiju Rangers of the Northern Division, holders of the third overall pick in this draft. The Rangers' general manager was, at this very moment, tearing out what remained of his hair.

"This is genuinely driving me insane, Team Leader. Is Kim Yi-seon really going to America?"

"Every time we try to contact his agent, they shut us down instantly citing tampering rules, so we have no idea what the kid himself wants. But when contract terms this specific are leaking out of the American side, you'd have to assume there's been meaningful progress, wouldn't you?"

The tight-lipped approach existed to eliminate any possibility of controversy — but paradoxically, that very secrecy was only fanning the flames of the going-to-America rumors.

And yet no one could say for certain he was MLB-bound, either, given how openly in sync he seemed with the Twins, the club holding the first overall pick...

"Either way, nothing's confirmed. We need multiple plans."

The general manager let out a long sigh after that very sensible observation.

"Let's say Kim Yi-seon stays. Then what happens to the picks?"

"In that case the Twins take Kim Yi-seon first overall, obviously, and the Tigers grab Lee Seung-kwon without question. Which leaves us choosing one of three — Lee Ji-hoon, Park Ye-chan, or Kang Min-hyuk..."

This was precisely why Han Seo-hee, president of the Twins, was tearing her hair out, and why every other front office was muttering that building a draft strategy this year was an absolute nightmare.

Kang Min-hyuk's growth trajectory was steep, but the Golden Generation tag meant there were simply too many good players to go around.

Through his sophomore year, for all his gaudy results, the whispers had been persistent — a true sidearmer has a ceiling. His projection topped out at the back end of the first round.

Then his senior year flipped that evaluation on its head.

His top velocity climbed to 145 km/h, and he awakened into a monster who was blowing through the Weekend League scoreless alongside Kim Yi-seon. Well, actually, he'd been wrecking the Weekend League last year too, if we're being honest.

But even for professional scouts — a breed that prizes visible measurables and performance over high school stat lines — a pitcher showing this level of performance with this profile could no longer be dismissed with a lazy "sidearm discount."

"Kang Min-hyuk, huh... The Twins haven't been whispering sweet nothings to him, have they?"

"Have you ever heard of a rule that says whoever contacts a player first gets to draft him? Besides, in this day and age, if you flee to college over tampering, you'll never get back into the baseball world. You're worrying over nothing."

Depending on who you asked, opinions varied, but Kang Min-hyuk had now reached the tier where his name was guaranteed to come up in any conversation about the top five picks of this draft.

If we ranked the board after Kim Yi-seon, the second overall slot belonged to Lee Seung-kwon, the hitter whose talent was being called generational. Despite playing shortstop, he was coasting past a .400 batting average in the Weekend League and launching home runs by the handful — a legitimate five-tool player.

So the first two picks were locked in stone, and behind them, picks three through five came down to pure taste. Thinking back to middle school, when Kang Min-hyuk couldn't even firmly claim his own school's ace spot, it was enough to make a man sigh about the passage of time.

"How on earth did it split into a picture-perfect race like this?"

"Tell me about it."

Lee Ji-hoon, the classic orthodox right-handed ace, now touching 156 km/h at his best.

Park Ye-chan, the left-hander with a 152 km/h peak who also showed genuine command of a game from the mound.

And Kang Min-hyuk — a submariner, yes, but with a jaw-dropping 145 km/h top velocity and the best breaking-ball arsenal in all of high school baseball.

In a lean year like last season's, any one of these three could have gone first overall. Front offices across the league spent yet another day bickering over which one to choose.

"Wirye Jeil High's momentum is ferocious right now, I know — but does a team's hot streak really come from just one or two guys playing well? The team as a whole is simply doing well."

"That momentum was built by Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk. Those two are genuinely off the charts."

"But he's still a submariner, isn't he? The velocity isn't bad, but next to the other two it leaves a lot to be desired... Honestly, I think sidearmers cap out in the bullpen. It's not the nineties anymore — you can't use them as starters."

"Oh, come on. He's been proving it, starting game after game at this level even as a high schooler — writing off a guy you haven't even seen pitch as starter-ineligible is premature."

"Name one kid who came into the pros having never started a game in high school. They all end up in the bullpen anyway once they turn pro. You need enough seasoning under your belt before anyone hands you a rotation spot."

"Zero earned runs his entire senior season. A core member of a Bonghwangdae-gi repeat. How much more does he need to prove? Has anyone in history come up to the pros with numbers like the ones he's already put up?"

The debate grew more heated by the minute.

It was complicated. Which of the three should be slotted highest in the priority order? Which one was the exception?

If Kim Yi-seon went to America, the Twins and the Tigers would each take Lee Seung-kwon and one of the three. If he chose to stay in Korea, the Twins would grab Kim Yi-seon and the Tigers Lee Seung-kwon, leaving the Rangers with the first pick among the remaining three.

Which meant the first and second priorities had to be settled in advance.

The general manager of the Uiju Rangers made his decision.

"We are elevating Kang Min-hyuk to the top of our priority list."

And so the day arrived. Draft day, 2020.

Cameras and reporters bustled about, straining to wring even one extra quote out of the draftees, while the front offices of every club sat gathered around their respective round tables, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Four people sat at the Seoul Twins' table: President Han Seo-hee, General Manager Jung Gi-hyuk, Scouting Team Leader Park Young-chul, and Team Operations Director Choi Sang-ho.

Under normal circumstances, a president-level executive wouldn't bother showing up to something like a draft. The proper configuration was the general manager — the highest authority on site — flanked by the scouting team, the analytics department, and perhaps a legal or contract specialist to advise on negotiations.

But Han Seo-hee had come to this seat personally. Because this was the table that would decide the future of the Seoul Twins.

"Madam President, there's no need to be nervous. Everything will fall into place."

Scouting Team Leader Park Young-chul flashed that famously amiable smile of his. Having survived his near-firing crisis and then ridden the president's good graces into the vacant scouting director's chair, one could certainly call this a blessing in disguise.

"You see, I happen to be on friendly terms with the front offices of quite a few clubs. So I asked around, casually, you know — 'So, are you boys drafting Kang Min-hyuk?' And they all said they're deliberating, of course, but he isn't particularly high on anyone's priority list."

Of course they'd say that. He's the player the Twins traded away their own closer to scrape together the draft rights for. What else were they going to tell you?

Han Seo-hee turned her gaze toward the draft-eligible players seated in the rows ahead, her anxiety only deepening.

Kim Yi-seon was joking around and chattering with Kang Min-hyuk like he didn't have a care in the world. What could possibly be so entertaining? The two of them might end up on different teams, and there he was, not a cloud in the sky.

It was so unfair it made her want to scream.

The Seoul Twins organization, simply put, had gone all-in on the Wirye Jeil High bandwagon. Fan complaints about results, backlash over the veterans the club had let go — every grievance had been steamrolled flat under the sheer weight of rebuilding expectations.

Which was why, even if it bordered on excess, the club had put its very foundation on the table — trading away their franchise closer — all to secure the draft rights needed to select both Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk. If it had been her own decision, she could at least have vented about it; this was the landmine her uncle had scattered on his way out the door.

Back then, mind you, Kang Min-hyuk's ceiling was the bottom of the first round. With the Royals — the original owners of those draft rights — sliding spectacularly down the standings, the pick had risen all the way to fifth overall, making the trade the equivalent of using a butcher's cleaver to swat a fly.

And then, what did they know. Kim Yi-seon had grown at a maniacal pace into an elite prospect who transcended KBO standards — fine, wonderful — but now Kang Min-hyuk was growing just as fast, and people were whispering he could go as high as third overall.

It had to be Kang Min-hyuk. The other prospects were fine players in their own right, but they carried none of the narrative. This was a rebuild that had chased out even its veterans. In a moment like this, things like hometown-boy appeal and team loyalty were worth something no amount of money or raw talent could buy.

"...The announcer presiding over the 2020 KBO Rookie Draft—"

The ceremony kicked off with the announcer's bright patter. The lights dimmed, a cascade of illuminations swept the venue, and the atmosphere climbed to a fever pitch.

"Who will be the very first player called at the 2020 KBO Rookie Draft? Seoul Twins, your selection, please."

And then Han Seo-hee read the prepared name aloud, as calmly and quietly as she could manage.

"...The Seoul Twins will make their selection. We select Kim Yi-seon of Wirye Jeil High School."

As far as that went, it was a foregone conclusion. But even this, apparently, struck the crowd as audacious enough — cheers and murmurs erupted all at once. Please, let this chaos work out in the Seoul Twins' favor, even a little...

They had noticed when Kim Yi-seon entered the venue, but the decision still came as a mild surprise. Had there really been that much of an understanding with the Twins? It wasn't unheard of for players to bolt after being drafted anyway, chasing the better contract stateside.

Regardless, the Seoul Twins' first overall pick had now been spent. The general manager of the Uiju Rangers promptly scrapped Plan A and went back over the Plan B he'd had waiting. If Kim Yi-seon at first overall was confirmed, the Rangers lost out.

One might argue: how is that a loss, when you're getting a better player who slid down the board because Kim Yi-seon stayed? But picks three through five belonged to three pitchers of nearly identical evaluation, separated only by personal taste.

The gap between the Twins taking Lee Seung-kwon and the Rangers settling for their second choice among the trio was smaller, the Rangers' GM judged, than the gap between the Twins walking away with a once-in-a-generation talent like Kim Yi-seon and the Rangers getting whichever pitcher they wanted out of three.

But look on the bright side. Under this scenario, the pick decided internally was Kang Min-hyuk. Narratively, he paired beautifully with Kim Yi-seon as a rival, and commercially his fanbase was rock-solid — a valuable player even beyond the baseball itself.

So he wiped the roughly finalized first round out of his head and turned his mind to strategy from the second round onward.

"...The Hamheung Tigers will make their selection. We select Park Ye-chan of Pyeongyang Future Technology High School."

"The Uiju Rangers declare their time!"

—right up until that lunatic announcement rang out.

The general manager of the Hamheung Tigers turned to his staff with the bearing of a conquering general and launched into his victory address.

"See? Baseball is, in the end, a game of pitchers. And look at our current lineup — everyone's in their prime already. A hitting prospect? Really? No, this is exactly the time to go grab a lefty, when we're short on them anyway. That's the obvious move."

"Sir, you don't even need to say it — we all know. Sure, the clueless fans online keep going on about a generational bat, but how many hitting prospects have you seen ride that hype and then vanish without a trace? Hitters you develop at a reasonable pace anyway; pitching is where raw talent truly shows."

"Exactly, exactly."

This was the newly appointed general manager of the Hamheung Tigers, elevated through the owner's line. A man who proudly claimed he'd been groomed for the front office from the start — rather than being a team legend turned coach — which meant his exposure to the outside world was limited, and his temperament still unknown to the other clubs.

"Every draft they start crowing about a Golden Generation. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Just you watch — it's never the hyped first or second overall guys who pan out. It's always the modest, substance-over-style picks at three or four who end up stars."

Nothing but confirmation bias built on a handful of cherry-picked examples. But to the Tigers' GM, lost deep inside his own private logic, it was a perfectly rational judgment.

"Alright. Next year, our Ye-chan and I are going to run this thing for real. We've got our left-handed starter — the rebuild's as good as done!"

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why they say modern baseball is a general manager's game.

Han Seo-hee sat there in a daze, unable to process what had just happened.

"The Uiju Rangers will make their selection. We select Lee Seung-kwon of Chongjin Jungang High School."

"The Busan Giants will make their selection. We select Lee Ji-hoon of Busan Daeseong High School."

Wait. Kang Min-hyuk actually slid all the way to our pick? Honestly, she'd expected the Giants to take Lee Ji-hoon — hometown kid and all — but the Rangers could have chosen Kang Min-hyuk. And it ended up like this?

Team Leader Park Young-chul just sat there beaming, wearing the smug face of a man who'd called it all along. Excuse me, sir — I'm fairly certain this was not the scenario you predicted.

Well. Whatever. It had landed in their laps through sheer luck, and that was good enough.

"The Seoul Twins will exercise their traded draft rights. We select Kang Min-hyuk of Wirye Jeil High School."