One Man's Misfortune Is Another Man's Happiness

Some voices called the choice surprising, but it was hardly a pick so baffling as to defy comprehension. To be sure, there were plenty of fans wailing is the GM out of his mind? — though with twelve franchises in the league, Hamheung Tigers fans made up only one-twelfth of that "some." The overall consensus settled at roughly the level of well, I can see the logic. It was that kind of draft. Fittingly for a class dubbed the Golden Generation, even the fifth overall pick was a once-a-generation talent, and people were saying the tenth pick would have gone within the top four of any other year's class. That was how absurdly deep the Golden Farm ran.

Everyone welcomed the rookie pick — everyone, that is, except the Kaesong Royals fans: the only fanbase foolish enough to sell off a first-round pick in the middle of this Golden Farm in a desperate Win-Now gamble, and who then failed to play baseball in the fall anyway. But the real festival was being held over here.

At the very least, snagging a hometown kid — one who'd grown close to the franchise through the club's YouTube channel and the documentary — with the fifth overall pick made this a satisfying draft for Twins fans on its own merits. The gallery's Jjapboongis, however, had long since written Kim Yi-seon off, having read headlines like 'Dodgers prepare to trade BA Top 100 prospect Jordan Smith for bonus pool...' and 'Dodgers, bonus pool bolstered via trade, prepared to offer up to $7 million.'

The record KBO rookie signing bonus stood at 2.5 billion won. And the Dodgers were reportedly throwing down the equivalent of 7 billion won? Even if the Twins stretched to sweeten the pot a little, this was a fight no one could win. Nor was it just the Dodgers — word had it three more major league clubs were prepared to offer similar sums. That wasn't simply a question of money; it meant that much expectation riding on him from those organizations.

It meant a path to the majors was well within reach. The moment a prospect receives an offer like that, is he seriously going to entertain staying in Korea instead of playing in the majors? Plenty of first-overall picks have flown straight to the States for less than half that treatment.

And yet Kim Yi-seon stayed. According to his own interview, he stayed because of the club staff and the fans.

The Twins faithful were drowning in pure, uncut hopium. A fandom worn ragged by the slow exodus of longtime veterans and the team being stomped into dead last ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the standings had, for one shining moment, been restored completely.

A one-hundred-eighty-degree transformation from the fans who had spent the season raining every curse imaginable on the front office and setting the official SNS accounts and YouTube channel ablaze. Watching this, Han Seo-hee felt less pride than betrayal — how could such docile creatures have ever been so feral? — though then again, baseball fans are all manic-depressives by nature.

In any case, with every baseball fan except the Royals faithful setting aside the standings race to happily feast on draft speculation, the annual event tied to the draft naturally came up in conversation.

Right on schedule: the U-18 youth national team call-up. The roster itself had first been assembled before the Phoenix Flag Tournament even began, in an initial preliminary call-up. But that had been, at most, a preliminary list — a chance for the manager to eyeball the players' skills firsthand, with no games played and no team training conducted.

The real thing was the second call-up after the Phoenix Flag and the draft wrapped up, when a handful of replacement players joined the squad. That was precisely why last year's talk of promoting Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk had only surfaced around the second call-up.

Baseball fans, being creatures of wild emotional swings, couldn't wait more than a few days after a draft before demanding results. And the first stage that showcased those results most vividly was the youth national team. The public's gaze was already turning that way.

U-18 national team manager Han Min-hwa was in an excellent mood.

However principled a man he was, however fine his personal creed that a youth coach is an educator before ever being an athletic trainer, he was still human — and no human can resist comparing. Last year's 2018 squad had worked hard for him too, he would be the first to admit it. But when does the world ever run smoothly on effort alone?

Manager Han Min-hwa wrote out his starting lineup by hand, pen moving with quiet satisfaction. Let's see — Game 1, Puerto Rico? Latin American kids always struggle against submariners. Kang Min-hyuk. Game 2, Korea versus Japan? You bring your very best card for a game like that. Kim Yi-seon. Thinking about his 2019 squad ahead of the second call-up, he was so full he hardly needed to eat.

He remembered how much he had suffered last year. Public opinion had turned on him almost as if he were a traitor to the nation, and he had very nearly lost not just the youth team job but any hope of returning to a dugout at all. Only the bloody shield thrown up by the association and the powers that be in the baseball world had let him keep his seat.

But this time was different. Even on film the players had looked different, and the simple tests at the light first call-up had only confirmed it. The name Golden Generation was no empty boast. Confidence surged within him: this time, we can win it all. The chance to wash away the disgrace of the last Asian tournament with his own hands had finally arrived.

"Um... Manager? The association is on the line for you."

"Is it? One moment, please."

Just as he was happily scribbling out lineups, a youth team staffer had come in cautiously, carefully watching his mood. A faint sense of foreboding prickled, and he picked up the direct line to the association quickly. Anything ordinary would have come through his cell phone — what matter warranted the direct line?

"Yes, Manager Ban. But what brings you calling, of all people..."

That day, Han Min-hwa's world collapsed.

.

.

.

"I do feel a little sorry for Manager Han, but we're short on arms ourselves. There was nothing to be done."

"You're telling me. With the pennant race this tight, the bullpens must be getting eaten alive."

To Manager Han Min-hwa's misfortune, the international calendar of 2019 held more than just the WBSC U-18.

The Premier12. In the world Kim Yi-seon had originally lived in, it had been conceived as an international tournament to rival the WBC — a joint project between a Japanese baseball establishment chafing at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Major League Baseball's runaway dominance and the World Baseball Softball Confederation. In this world, however, it was no longer a Japan-led enterprise but a Korea–Japan co-production, and it had grown considerably larger in scale. Unlike his previous life, the Korean baseball industry had grown to quite a size of its own.

Which meant the Korean national team carried the weight of making the absolute best choice for all twenty-eight roster spots, without a single compromise.

"I don't know where all the southpaws and submarine arms have gone these days. Having to call up high schoolers at this point does not sit easy with me, I'll tell you that."

"The lefties all get run as starters the moment they show a shred of promise, so they're burnt out. And the submariners — well, what can anyone do about the way the times have changed?"

However sorry he felt, the plain truth was that Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk were competitive assets — too good to be quietly handed over to the youth national team — at a moment when quality left-handed relievers and submarine pitchers were nowhere to be found. If not for the injuries and the skill erosion of a few overworked players, there would have been no reason to reach all the way down to high schoolers... but baseball knows no what if.

Manager Ban Il-soo finalized his roster with reasonable satisfaction. Of course, when you're selecting fourteen pitchers, spots thirteen and fourteen allow for some compromise. The complaint about a missing lefty pen was a statement about quality; every roster in the league carries a lefty one-point reliever, so choosing one of them was always an option.

And if he absolutely had to take both boys, there was Manager Han Min-hwa's desperate plea — the tournament schedules didn't actually overlap, so let the kids play for both the youth team and the senior squad.

"Bah. Is feeding a kid into the big stage something to catch flak over? I'd be the only one getting hated on anyway for picking a U-18 kid for the senior team again — so no, not happening."

But Manager Ban Il-soo was a thoroughly selfish manager, with no consideration for anyone. The national team was urgent — who cared about the youth side. If you were that upset about it, you should have gone and managed the senior national team instead of the youth team.

Thrown by the whole absurd turn of events, Seo-hee noona was even more flustered than I was.

"This isn't some youth team — who pulls a stunt like this at the senior national team level?! They haven't had a single practice with the club yet... All that talk about them being the future of Korean baseball, and now they're dragging them out because they need results this instant? Isn't that going too far?"

Seo-hee noona was busily denouncing the Korea Baseball Association and the national team. When I simply watched without offering any answer, she demanded a response from me too.

"Yi-seon... you don't want to go, do you? If you don't want to, should noona refuse the call-up for you?"

Noona, when you say things like that, the community joke about you being the real power behind the throne starts sounding awfully believable.

I slowly coaxed her down, soothing the woman flustered by the sudden upheaval.

"Let's take a breath first, noona. And I'm not even a Twins player yet, remember? How could the club refuse a national team call-up?"

Considering that we were having this conversation inside the Twins' president's office, it sounded like nonsense — but it was the truth. Even after the draft, the club only holds exclusive rights over a player; it doesn't make him theirs outright. Between the Twins and me, the stage of actually signing a contract still remained.

And even once that contract was signed, it would only take effect from the 2020 season onward — in the year 2019, Kim Yi-seon was still a fresh, fully active high school student whose name sat comfortably on an official high school transcript.

Kang Min-hyuk, seated beside me, added his piece.

"I'm grateful for your concern, but a national team selection is not an opportunity that comes around often. I want to go."

See? Kang Min-hyuk's already made up his mind. There was no point trying to talk him out of it here.

Honestly, I felt the pull too. I couldn't explain it to anyone, but this Premier12 was going to be a tournament of real significance.

"You really want to go?"

"Yes."

At our resolute attitude, Seo-hee noona heaved a deep, deep sigh. And really, how was I supposed to refuse anyway? Neither Min-hyuk nor I were grizzled veterans — we were high school rookies on the very eve of our debuts.

Having apparently decided to let us go, Seo-hee noona settled an expression of resignation onto her face and opened her mouth.

"Fine. Go, national team. The agent's side will handle looking after you two, but the club will cooperate as much as it can."

The obvious answer. Min-hyuk and I both nodded. Then, as if delivering the single most important point of the entire conversation, Seo-hee noona drove her final instruction home with real force.

"And! Before you two join the national team — you go hear everything the club veterans know about international tournaments and national team duty. I'll set it up with the manager and the players myself."

Seo-hee noona's eyes were brimming with worry. Faced with that unmistakable I-won't-budge-on-this-one attitude, Min-hyuk and I had no choice but to nod.