National Team Call-Up
Late October, with the Korean Series still unfinished. But with the tournament looming in November, the call-up could not be postponed any longer.
So the national team summoned twenty players first — everyone except the eight men whose clubs had made the Korean Series — and gathered them at the Jamsil Dome to begin training.
Since the training site was Jamsil, the team's designated lodging was a hotel right nearby. Honestly, it was close enough to walk from my house. Which meant I could leave home light-hearted, with no need for a car ride or my parents' help.
"Okay, there's a shaker in this side of the bag, so don't forget to drink it after practice. Your toiletries are in the waterproof pouch inside, so don't use the flimsy junk the hotel gives you."
"And you know as well as I do, oppa — if you cut back on your meals once you get to the national team, they'll chew you out. I'll text you asking whether you've eaten, so you answer every single time."
Correction: I was the one who left home light-hearted.
Since the day before, the two of them had been locked in earnest debate over what to pack and how little they trusted the national team staff to take proper care of me. No matter how many times I insisted I was a national team player and the staff would handle everything, they simply refused to listen.
In the end, from early that morning they had stuffed a shopping bag into my hand on top of my luggage and spent ten full minutes reciting precautions and worries. It was only when they finally ran out of items to pack and warnings to deliver that they stood there watching me with anxious eyes — Ye-eun and Min-ah, the both of them.
I hugged each of them once, firmly, and declared with all the confidence I could muster.
"Don't worry. I'll do great and come back."
"You don't need to do great. Just come back safe, with nothing wrong with you."
"Right. And don't go crying because you miss me."
Well, if the tournament ran all the way to the final, it would be about a month, wouldn't it? Maybe I'd actually miss them that much.
Ah. It was the very first day of the call-up, and I already missed Ye-eun and Min-ah.
"Baby bear! Over here!"
"Hey, quit picking on the rookies."
Since it was the first day of the call-up, there was to be no training — just a session for everyone to get acquainted and communicate with the manager and coaches.
And the result was... this.
"Hey, how do you throw with both arms? My coach kept nagging me to balance out my left and right sides, so I practiced pitching left-handed too, but I only hit 120."
"That's about the same as me. You could be a switch pitcher too, y'know."
"Aw c'mon, Dong-ho hyung! I hit at least 150 at my best!"
"150, my foot. You need a month of rest and a Spirit Bomb just to throw once in a game, and you call that pitching? The rest of the time you're tossing 130sand meatballs."
"Rookie. Forget those clowns and come play catch with your hyungs. Pitchers bond by catching each other's balls — that's just how it works."
Chaos, pure and simple. Even before the formal introductions, from the moment we'd arrived at the hotel where the call-up was being held, the veterans had been sidling up to strike up conversations, and it was clear they were all very interested in us.
But the moment the manager laid out the floor, telling everyone to exchange greetings and get to know each other, the senior players swarmed me and Kang Min-hyuk like starving hyenas.
"Hey, rookie. Do you seriously throw 100 miles an hour? I've never actually seen a 100-mile pitch myself — can't you show me just once?"
"Training doesn't start until tomorrow, so today's supposed to be a rest day. Wait, you've never seen a 100-mile pitch? Didn't you watch Hyun-woo pitch in games?"
"When Hyun-woo hyung was pitching, I was watching, not pitching."
"Wow, that's a straight-up rookie thing to say. Bae Hyun-woo touched 100 miles five or six times a season, and you never saw it once?"
"I'm not a rookie! I'm a legit five-year veteran, for your information. Hyun-woo hyung just couldn't throw 100 while I was on the roster, that's all."
"That's exactly what makes you a rookie, you punk."
They all came rushing at me, questions pouring down like a barrage — but I couldn't find a single opening to answer. It wasn't just one or two of them, either; more than ten veterans were hammering me and Kang Min-hyuk without a pause, and honestly it didn't even feel like they were asking to hear a reply.
Just as I was standing there flustered, one man approached and barked out a shout.
"Pitchers! Stop tormenting the rookies and get to the seminar room!"
A man built like a boulder. At his words, a chorus of deflated "Aww, come on~"s rose up, and the crowd began shuffling off in a pack.
Then he came over to the two of us, unhurried.
"So, you're Kang Min-hyuk, and you're Kim Yi-seon. Good to meet you. I'm Gu Hyeok — pitching captain for this national team."
"Yes sir! It's an honor, sunbae-nim."
If I went pro, this was a man I'd face often. Gu Hyeok sunbae-nim — the ace of the Daegu Eagles.
"Those guys act like that because they find you two fascinating, that's all. There's no bad blood in it or anything."
"I know, sunbae-nim."
He'd sent the other seniors on ahead to the seminar room and was walking slowly alongside us, talking with me and Min-hyuk. His face was hard as stone, but underneath, he was surprisingly considerate.
"I don't really know what the Twins' clubhouse is like, so I can't compare — but compared to the Eagles, the national team is a free atmosphere. Pulling rank or seniority doesn't fly here, because everyone here was the backbone or the ace of their own club. Nobody's easily pushed around."
In other words, his advice was that we didn't need to be overly formal about seniority or intimidated by the coaching staff. Which was exactly what Kang Hyun-seok sunbae-nim had already told me.
"So feel free. Call me Hyuk-ie hyung."
Hyung?
"I couldn't possibly. You're fourteen years older than me, Gu Hyeok sunbae-nim. How could I be so disrespectful?"
Out it came, Kang Min-hyuk's instant, textbook-formal refusal.
At that, Gu Hyeok sunbae-nim went "Huh? You two and my age, that would make..." and started doing mental math before his face fell into a sulk. Seeing that boulder of a face show something soft for a moment reminded me a little of Kang Hyun-seok hyung.
The moment our group walked through the door, every gaze in the room swung back to us.
"Hyuk-ie hyung, what's with the face? Did the rookies give you grief? Want me to scold them for you?"
"We went easy on these baby bears, but fine — seems they need a taste of the spicy stuff. Time to show 'em what veterans are made of, hm?"
"Quiet, all of you."
The teasing voices rose for a moment, then died back down under Gu Hyeok sunbae-nim's low growl. But the stares kept flying our way all the same.
Ducking those gleeful, curious eyes, Min-hyuk and I quietly took empty seats, and at last the pitching coach and bullpen coach entered.
"All right, I trust you've all gotten your hellos in?"
"The babies ran off before they could even say hello, sir."
The room erupted in laughter. The coach clicked his tongue and launched into it.
"Ugh, you stale old relics. Seriously? We need a full-on generational overhaul. How does the same tired lineup keep showing up year after year? You lot are the reason Korean baseball never advances."
"Aw c'mon, Coach, two high school rookies came in this time. How much fresher can it get?"
The coach wasn't wrong — the national baseball team really was a parade of grizzled veterans. It wasn't that there were no new faces besides me and Min-hyuk, maybe one or two, but the core players went back at least six years to the second-round WBC, and some of the roster had even played in the 2009 WBC a full decade ago.
No wonder the veterans were practically feral with novelty and came charging at us.
"Anyway, thank you all for answering the call. Some of the Pyongyang and Gwangju boys couldn't make it yet with the Korean Series still going, but public team training starts in earnest tomorrow. Everyone's condition fine?"
"""Yes, sir."""
"Good. With a few exceptions, this isn't anyone's first national team, so I'll keep the speech short. This seat exists to produce results representing the country. Name value, careers, records — I don't care about any of it. I look at exactly one thing: your condition and your ability on that given day."
The atmosphere shifted. Even through my skin I could feel the players — everyone loose and slack after a long season — ratcheting up their excitement and tension.
"The media can talk all they want about who's a starter candidate, who's the national team closer. None of that's been decided. Whoever the coaching staff thinks will perform best takes the mound."
With that, the pitching coach looked straight at me and Min-hyuk.
"Same goes for the rookies here. If they look in the best shape on the day, then no — no veteran clause, no former-MVP clause. The rookies start that day. So nobody lets their guard down; everyone gives everything right up to the end. Dismissed!"
Now I definitely understood why Kang Hyun-seok sunbae-nim had given me that advice. Get swept up in an atmosphere like this, and you'd push yourself straight into an early grave. Yeah. This was going to require careful handling.
After that came a rough rundown of the training schedule starting tomorrow, and we were dismissed. But even as the players dispersed, the veterans' energy and edge stayed noticeably sharp.
So this is where the gap between the high school level and the adult level begins — in mind control like this. I reined in the part of me that wanted to slack, and reminded myself once more: don't overdo it. As always.
Day two of the national team call-up. The first open practice.
Jung Eon-young, the national team's pitching coach, clicked his tongue as he scanned the stands.
"Manager, I'd only heard about the popularity, but seeing it in person — this is no joke."
"Takes me back. That's what a high school baseball star should draw, at minimum."
A massive crowd packed an entire stand of the Jamsil Dome to bursting. Even a rough glance put it in the thousands.
The national team had always held open practices, but a thousand-ish attendees was the usual ceiling. A crowd this size turning out to watch a practice was a first.
It wasn't even a game. If practice alone drew this much, surely every exhibition match would be a sellout.
"Well, good for us either way. So — how are the pitchers looking?"
At Manager Ban Il-soo's question, Coach Jung Eon-young answered with visible reluctance.
"Hard to say for certain until the Fighters and Phoenix players arrive, but we're short on starter material. Hyuk-ie and Dong-ho look decent, but Yeong-il and Ju-hyun are both in ambiguous shape... I'd say you should stick to the original plan and go one-plus-one, sir."
"No, not them."
The manager's reply made it clear he hadn't been asking about any of those veterans.
Coach Jung Eon-young's eyes went wide.
"You don't mean the rookies? Absolutely not, sir! It's not a matter of talent — they've never pitched anything but high school starts, and making their adult-stage debut as the national team's starter? Unthinkable!"
"Condition matters on the day" was all well and good as a talking point, but actually handing the rookie an international start? This wasn't about talent at all.
"That's why I'm asking about their condition. If they weren't exceptional, I wouldn't dream of starting them."
"No, that's exactly the thing—"
At those words, Coach Jung Eon-young let out a long sigh and answered.
"You should see for yourself, sir."
When a coach says that, it means one of two things. Either the player is terrible — or extraordinary.
The corner of Manager Ban Il-soo's mouth curled up crookedly, and he began walking slowly toward the pitchers, who were in the middle of group pitching drills.
The closer he got, the louder rang the cheers of the crowd and the battery catchers. The bullpen coach and battery coach were pulling players aside one by one, speaking with them.
And once he'd come within a certain distance, the first thing he saw was the pitching of Choi Dong-ho and Gu Hyeok — the two men currently holding down the national team's starting slots.
POW—!!
"Nice pitch!"
It being a practice session, he surely wasn't throwing at full capacity out of consideration for his body. Even so, he pitched with a crisp authority that seemed to declare this seat hadn't come easy.
But the greater pull on everyone's attention wasn't there — it was on the two youngsters behind them, warming up with a game of catch.
THWAP—!!
THWAP—!!
It was only catch, so the pitches were incomparably slower than the live throwing, and the movement was subtle. Yet the delivery alone seized the eye.
Kang Min-hyuk in particular threw even his warm-up tosses from a submarine angle — the ball would look like it was flying off in some utterly wrong direction before snapping viciously and getting sucked straight into his partner's glove. It was practically a magic trick.
Well, well. Look at that.
Manager Ban Il-soo was beginning to understand why Coach Jung had dodged the question about condition.
The manager beckoned over the battery coach, who was working with players off to one side.
"You called, sir?"
"Yeah, Cheol-su. Go bring Yeon-joon and Mu-jin over here."
"...Sir?"
"Tell them to come catch these kids' pitches."
Summoning the national team's first and second options at catcher. Considering that practice pitching was normally caught by the battery's own catchers or the coaches, it was an extraordinary instruction.
And so the two catchers came sprinting over, with no idea what was happening.
"Grab your gear. Let's have a look at these kids' arms."
Both of Manager Ban Il-soo's eyes were gleaming.
There were eight veterans ahead of us, so I figured it would be ages before our turn came.
Which was why I was casually playing catch with the national team staff when the bullpen coach suddenly told me to get ready to pitch. When I waved the seniors aside and stepped into the pitching zone, the men crouched in as catchers were Sung Yeon-joon and Kim Mu-jin.
Both were catchers who defined the league — the men who held the national team's number one and two slots behind the plate.
The cutting in line I could accept, since the coach ordered it. But for players like these to catch a mere practice session — and from rookies, no less? When my eyes demanded an explanation, the bullpen coach answered with his eyes too, pointing off in one direction.
There stood Ban Il-soo, manager of the national team. Apparently the order had come directly from the top.
Was he planning to use the rookies to stoke the veterans' competitive fire, since they all seemed too relaxed? But if so, the catcher receiving the ball was far too much of a veteran — wouldn't that bruise the old guard's pride?
I couldn't make sense of the situation. As I stood there bewildered, Sung Yeon-joon walked up close to me.
"So you're Kim Yi-seon. Good. The coach says we watch exactly twenty pitches today. What's your repertoire?"
"Four-seam, changeup, and curve. Three pitches."
"Breaking ball first, or fastball first?"
"Uh... fastball first."
"Then eight fastballs to open, four breaking and four fastball through the middle, and four fastballs to close. Let's do that."
He rattled off the plan in clipped, businesslike fashion and headed straight back to his spot. Evidently being stationed as catcher for a bunch of rookies' practice pitches had rubbed him the wrong way a little.
Eh, whatever. Would thinking about the reason change anything? Either way, I'd be throwing the same ball.
Nobody had told me what he wanted to see, so I decided to simply go full throttle. I'd loosened up thoroughly before catch play anyway, so there was no problem there.
And so, from the very first pitch, I shifted into as high a gear as I could.
The catcher just planted his mitt in the middle of the zone and demanded the ball dead center. I had no reason to overthink it either — I planted my foot on the rubber and settled into my set position.
"Fastball coming!!"
Calling it out loud before the pitch, as one does in practice. The ball left my hand.
CRACK——!!!!!
A roar erupted from the crowd, who had been watching my pitching with bated breath.
"Holy crap! Our rookies' arms are no joke?!"
"Man, kids these days are scary. I hear they're all going to private training academies since middle school, doing all that science-y whatever."
"Did that kid's curve really clock 137? Isn't that your fastball speed?"
"Dong-ho hyung, my fastball tops 140 too, thank you very much."
"Big talk, punk."
The pitchers bantered lightly enough, but you could see the tension climbing among them. That was how savage the pitching of Kim Yi-seon and Kang Min-hyuk had been.
They were high schoolers still bursting with energy, so this clearly wasn't them pacing themselves — this was full throttle. And even accounting for that, their stuff was far better than what Gu Hyeok or Choi Dong-ho had shown just before.
If what we'd just witnessed was a level they could reach on any given day, then Kim Yi-seon's stuff and Kang Min-hyuk's breaking-ball movement — forget everything else, those two things alone belonged at the very top of the national team.
Part of me thought the young kids were genuinely impressive, but another part felt a creeping sense of crisis: these two were not to be taken lightly.
Manager Ban Il-soo, however, had never intended any of these side effects. He had simply wanted to evaluate the two players' arms properly. Nothing more.
"Coach Jung. Where are our exhibition games?"
"One against the Futures All-Stars, and two against Puerto Rico, sir."
"Good. Kim Yi-seon starts the Futures game, and Kang Min-hyuk gets the first Puerto Rico game."
"Manager!"
The pitching coach was stunned by the sudden call. And who could blame him? Exhibition or not, making your adult-stage debut as a national team starting pitcher?
The problem was that Manager Ban showed zero intention of hearing the pitching coach's protest.
"Weren't you the one saying it yourself when we picked the roster? There's no material for a fifth starter this time around, so take four and hand one preliminary-round game over to a one-plus-one approach."
It was true — the pitching staff's condition this year had been poor enough to demand exactly that.
Saying that the veterans had mostly made the squad was another way of saying everyone else was either past their prime and drained, or the newly rising young faces had tumbled off the list through injuries.
"That's why we called up Yeong-il, Ju-hyun, Dae-hee, and Myeong-su on top of it all, wasn't it? Otherwise we've got plenty of bullpen arms."
Which was why the final fifth-starter spot had been meant for open competition or the one-plus-one system. They'd summoned several pitchers who had good stuff but lacked innings-eating stamina, with long relief in mind.
"Exactly. But look around — can't you see it now? If we were asking them to go six-plus innings as true starters, maybe not. But splitting games into two or three innings apiece? Is there a single pitcher on this roster who looks better than those two right now?"
That was what Ban Il-soo believed. If that was how they intended to use the role, then as of today, those two kids looked like the best options. That they were high schoolers, that they were young — none of it figured into his calculus.
Manager Ban Il-soo had already made up his mind.
"Let's decide after the exhibitions. I'm not saying we hand them the ball right away. But if they look good there too... who knows. Whether it ends up being the Netherlands game or the Dominican Republic game — those two are getting their national team debut."