Spring Camp (1)

I stepped out of the hotel for a few minutes to grab breakfast for Yu Suhyeon and myself.

I picked up hot coffee from a franchise café and a few freshly baked pastries from a shop nearby. I didn't forget the hangover remedy for Suhyeon, either.

It had been a long time since I'd had a morning this good. Unlike Suhyeon, I hadn't exactly overdone it the night before — and with a body that operated on an entirely different level, I didn't feel so much as a hint of a hangover.

It was going to be a useful ability down the line, especially when I was still feeling things out with a woman. If I hadn't been stone-cold sober last night while Suhyeon was completely wasted, we would have either just passed out as we were or I would have said something I couldn't take back.

I'd worked hard enough in my own way, but I never imagined my first time would be with a woman like Yu Suhyeon. Before I met the Baseball Immortal, I couldn't even have dreamed of it.

Of course, I had no intention of being satisfied with just this. The reason I'd moved so fast in the first place was largely because I wanted this thing with Suhyeon to last.

There was still so much more I wanted to enjoy with her — and plenty of other attractive women I wanted to meet down the line. For any of that to happen, what I had with Suhyeon would need to run a lot deeper than it did now.

I headed back to the hotel.

She'd been dead to the world when I left. Was she up yet?

I opened ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the door and our eyes met. Suhyeon was watching me come in, still in her robe, her hair a mess. Had she just woken up?

"You're up?"

I set the bag of food down beside the bed and climbed onto the mattress.

"…"

Was she cold? The room was on the warm side, but Suhyeon had her arms wrapped around her own torso.

"Where did you go?"

"Just ran out to grab something to eat. I was hungry, and I figured noona could use a hangover cure."

I started unpacking the bag.

"You could've at least sent me a text saying you were stepping out…"

"I'll do that next time. I didn't think you'd be up so soon."

Had she thought I'd walked out on her? Honestly… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she was high-maintenance. But she was gorgeous, so I'd let it slide. And if I was being honest, this side of her was kind of cute.

Suhyeon kept staring down at nothing in particular. If I left her like that, she was only going to start thinking strange things.

"Ah—!"

I quietly wrapped my arms around her from behind.

"Noona. Do you still not trust me?"

"It's not that, but…"

She seemed to accept this much contact as natural now.

"I'm still surprised I can like someone this much. So I know it's greedy of me to want you to feel the same way I do."

"…"

"I'll wait. However long it takes, until you're ready to let me in."

"Junseong. I…"

"But don't push me away. Call me selfish if you want. I just want to stay by your side."

I pulled her in tighter.

I didn't need to hear it out loud. Suhyeon was the kind of woman who spoke with her body more than her words.

"You're hungry, right? I got coffee and bread. Not sure if they'll be to your taste."

"Why did you buy so much? And why three coffees?"

I pulled the pastries and the cups from the bag.

"I don't know what you drink. So I got one of each. They're still warm."

"You could've just grabbed whatever, honestly…"

Suhyeon took a sip of coffee and bit into a piece of bread. It must have hit the spot, because the corners of her mouth lifted on their own.

It was so cute I reached out and stroked her hair. She didn't stop me. Even calling her noona was starting to feel strange.

The new year arrived, January slipped by, and then it was February. Just like that, my easy days were over.

We landed in Arizona. It was my first time on a plane — a long-haul flight, no less — and my body didn't know what to do with itself. But this blessed physique, or rather the blessing itself, had me recovered in no time.

We weren't the only team there, of course. There were Major League clubs, Japanese pro teams, and the clubs we'd be competing against this season.

My real competition, though, wasn't other teams' players. Not yet. It was the guys on my own roster. One way or another, I was going to force my way onto the first team through spring camp and the exhibition games — in the starting rotation if I could, in the bullpen if I had to.

I believed I'd make the first team eventually. But starting out in the second team and getting shipped off to Icheon was something I wanted no part of.

I'd been sure Suhyeon and I would keep seeing each other, so I hadn't pushed things any further after that night. Once the season started, though, if we were physically apart on top of everything else, I wasn't going to be able to hold back. I didn't even have a driver's license, let alone a car.

Camp got underway, and a fair amount of time passed.

"Not much further! Hang in there!"

The coach was pushing the whole group, myself included. Today, apparently in the name of building team chemistry, every player was out running together.

My stamina was already on another plane of existence, but even before the blessing, running had been my specialty, thank you very much.

"First place — Lee Junseong!"

I'd been pacing myself to match the others, then couldn't hold back. I opened up a gap and came in first.

"Hah… hah…"

Everything else was fine. The problem was the heat. Going from Seoul under a cold-wave advisory to a place this warm overnight was something my body had not signed up for.

It was the same loop every day — running, weights, running, weights. We threw in the bullpen too, but the sessions were far too limited. There was no way to stand out like this. They weren't scouting for marathon runners, after all.

"Lee Junseong, you came in first! Any words for us?"

"Sorry?"

An interviewer from Yongtube, the Seoul Dragons' in-house channel, had shoved a mic in my face.

Filming was club business, so I could live with that. But I wasn't a celebrity, and having a camera thrust at me out of nowhere made it hard to come up with anything coherent. Besides, I wasn't even a first-round pick. I was a third-rounder. Would the fans even care?

"I've still got a lot to learn about baseball from the veterans. But when it comes to running, I won't lose to anyone."

"Hahaha! Lee Junseong's got a way with words, too."

An over-the-top reaction. Who knew what ridiculous subtitles they'd slap on in editing. I had no intention of watching it.

While I was doing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the interview, my teammates started trickling across the finish line, and we finally got a break.

"Next up, Lee Junseong!"

It was my turn to throw. I grabbed my glove and headed into the practice area.

"Hm?"

It wasn't the pitching coach waiting inside the bullpen today. It was the manager.

Park Duseong, skipper of the Seoul Dragons.

As a player, he'd been a legend — over two thousand hits. As a manager, he was the textbook "play the guys you trust" type, a man who might as well have been the walking embodiment of the Seoul Dragons themselves.

To the fans, he was famous as a prospect suppressor and a bullpen grinder. Setting his tendencies aside, though, the club had never had many prospects worth developing, and the rotation had rarely been good enough to keep the bullpen from getting chewed up. From where I stood, he looked a little more sympathetic than the reputation suggested.

"Ten fastballs. Ten curves. Think you can handle that?"

"Of course."

I was already loose, so I went straight to work.

The ball exploded into the catcher's mitt.

I hadn't been paying much attention to command, but on my seventh fastball I set a new personal high. I'd finally broken the 150 wall.

I finished out the ten fastballs, then threw ten curves. One slipped out of my hand, but the other nine found the strike zone.

"Why did you put every curve in the zone?"

"Sir?"

"You need to be able to throw it as a chase pitch that drops out of the zone. That's how you survive."

If I bury it on the outside corner, they're not hitting it anyway, old man. Still… the manager's word was the manager's word.

"I can do that."

I snapped off a curve that plummeted straight down and one-hopped in the dirt in front of the batter.

"…Excellent."

He had an eye, I'd give him that.

"So that's why the pitching coach has been singing your praises. I hear you throw a slider, too?"

"Yes. I'll show you."

If I was going to crack the starting rotation, I'd need the slider.

I'd been putting real work into the slider. The blessing didn't just hand you pitches you'd never thrown.

"Haha. What planet did you even come from?"

"…Thank you."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you on the mound in tomorrow's intrasquad game. Don't get too down about not starting."

"Not at all! I won't let the opportunity slip."

"Good, good. That arm of yours is too valuable to risk. That's enough for today. Rest."

The manager stepped away. There were still other pitchers waiting to throw. Had he come out here just to watch me?

Pro coaches, through and through. I'd been an idiot for worrying I wouldn't get a real look just because I couldn't throw a high pitch count.

I left the practice field myself and headed straight back to the dorms.

The intrasquad game was underway. The channel covering it was putting real effort into the broadcast, even cutting to the dugout.

I'd been assigned to the White team. Blue's starter was Albert, our ace. White's starter was Kim Junhyeok, locked in as the number-three.

The club's two marquee hitters, Gang Daeho and Kim Junsu, had been split up — Daeho to White, Junsu to Blue — so they were at least trying to even things out. The starting pitcher matchup, of course, was a completely different story.

Right… an intrasquad game wasn't supposed to be about winning.

It wasn't supposed to matter. But this was getting ugly.

There was a reason the Yongtube commentator calling the game from the dugout sounded so flat, even after a star player had just gone deep.

A little damage was one thing. Kim Junhyeok had already given up eight runs, and they weren't even out of the second inning.

It was an intrasquad game, not even an exhibition, and the pile-on against Kim Junhyeok was arguably a little much. Yongtube's comment section was always a war zone, but the live chat for this scrimmage had tilted entirely in one direction.

The channel's commentator, who was clearly not used to hosting, stumbled over the words. Just as Dragons fans had been trying to put last year's playoff disaster behind them and get excited for a new season the way they always did, Kim Junhyeok had gone and poked the bruise.

Kim Junhyeok barely survived the bottom of the second. In the top of the third, our at-bat, the import Guriel took one deep, and the score sat at White 1, Blue 8 as the bottom of the third began.

And the third was mine. Today's game would wrap up after six innings, so I'd probably only throw this one frame.

"Hah…"

I drew a long breath. I wasn't nervous. But thinking about how I was going to make this inning count had my heart pounding.

Striking out Kim Junsu would have made for a nice picture. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be coming up this inning.

A batter stepped into the box. Didn't matter who. I was punching out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the side. Three K's, and done.