Countryside Ace

Chapter 9 : Spring Ghost (2)

Spring Ghost (2)

Head Coach Song Moon-jung, by default, leaves most of the training to the coaches, but when it comes to stamina, he checks everything meticulously.

"Hey, Seo Tae-seung's son."

"Yes, head coach."

"You're doing well."

"Thank you."

After saying that, he tapped my shoulder and walked past me.

The pitchers had just finished their group running, and not only had I come in first, but my breathing barely faltered.

Ever since I returned to the past, I had been working out solely with that bearded muscle freak, so this was nothing to me.

Some players failed to finish the group run and fell behind. The coach stood in front of those players and said,

"Take a short break and get back out there. You have to meet your quota, right?"

At that, veteran bullpen pitcher Yuk Kang-oh hesitated, casting anxious glances around.

"Head Coach."

"Yeah, Kang-oh. Don't you think you need to lose some weight?"

"I'm sorry. My knee hurts..."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"If your knee hurts, you shouldn't be running, should you?"

"Haha..."

When he laughed awkwardly, coach called out loudly to the training coach.

"Coach Lee! Coach Lee Chul-won!"

"Yes, head coach!"

"Kang-oh says his knee's not in good shape."

Yuk Kang-oh's expression turned subtle.

Sometimes, if a player's physical condition isn't up to par for first-team spring training, they get sent back to Korea.

That's a big blow to a player in many ways.

But Head Coach said something else.

"We have a pool reserved, right?"

"Yes."

"Woo Hyun-geun's knee isn't good either. Have Kang-oh and Hyun-geun swim instead of running."

"Understood."

"Make sure... you get as much out of them as if they were running, got it?"

"Yes, coach."

It was the same in my first spring camp before returning to the past.

Really injured guys and those pretending all headed off to the pool together.

A few days later, there was even a magical moment when some of those sent to the pool came back completely healed.

I don't remember exactly who, but someone called the pool a water hell.

"If your knee feels better, come back. If it's really no good, just keep doing your stamina training there."

Head Coach spoke as he kindly patted Yuk Kang-oh's shoulder. Was that senior really hurt, or was he just faking it?

I'd find out in a few days.

"Anyone else struggling to run because of their knees, raise your hand."

Two players who were weighing their chances raised their hands.

"Head Coach, me too..."

"I'm not feeling great either."

Farewell.

* * *

There wasn't much that was difficult at spring camp.

A few seniors acted awkwardly toward me just because I was Seo Tae-seung's son, but that's something I've always experienced.

Of course, it's even more so now, since my father is a coach.

There was a time when I mistakenly thought people acted distant because I was a genius.

When I was young, I think I was always kind of crazy.

Anyway, just because there was a problem didn't mean I had to solve it right away.

Sometimes it's fine to watch, let it be, and see if it works itself out.

I'm not a perfect person. No one died from having one or two problems.

A few days passed like that.

Some of the players who'd gone to the pool had come back, and the one who'd called it water hell was Bang Min-soo, a lefty who'd joined the Miners two years ago as a free agent.

"Damn, it's water hell, man. I'd rather just die on land."

The foreign hitter Domingo Batista was following battery coach Timothy Goldberg around for hitting advice.

He's from the Dominican Republic but speaks English pretty well.

Graham Donald Porter, who's a fan of my father, was trailing behind him like a duckling, and veteran Bradshaw was building up his body quicker than most foreign pitchers.

And during a break in training.

I was pulled aside to sit with wins leader Jung Han-seung.

"You're lucky, Ye-sung."

Those gathered here were Jung Han-seung, team captain and main catcher Yoon Bong-wan, two newcomers who'd joined as free agents, Byeong-ju, and me—six people altogether.

It wasn't a special meeting, just a routine where the captain and senior pitcher looked out for the rookies.

"Me?"

When I asked back at Yoon Bong-wan's words, he chuckled and said,

"You're born to Seo Tae-seung and inherited his talent too? Come on..."

In the past, I would have gotten prickly... In fact, I always overreacted to comments like that.

"I think it's the same for your son, too, senior. He was born to Yoon Bong-wan."

"Man, you're right. My kid is playing baseball too. I keep telling him, 'Don't be a catcher, be a pitcher,' but he insists on catching. Wants to be like me."

Yoon Bong-wan's grin split his face.

He's famous for loving his son and is well-known for his character in the baseball world.

No matter what he said, he was really proud that his son wanted to follow in his footsteps as a catcher.

"I wish my dad was you, senior..."

Byeong-ju, perhaps wanting to get in on the conversation, jumped in, but it got a little awkward.

In a way, it was like dissing your own parents.

FA signings Hwang Seung-tae and Kim Jae-beom just laughed, and then Kim Jae-beom addressed me.

"Did you know it was Head Coach Seo—no, Tae-seung hyung himself who insisted to the general manager that they had to bring me and Seung-tae in?"

I gave a noncommittal response.

"So I actually asked Head Coach Seo why he did that."

Kim Jae-beom is the embodiment of self-management.

He's 34 in Korean age but is expected to play as a starter past 40, in his original position of center fielder.

He slumped a bit last year instead of benefiting from FA steroids.

He looked at me a bit oddly, then said,

"Our nephew here apparently said, 'If you bring in me and Seung-tae, it'll be a huge success?'"

"Huh?"

"Really?"

"No way?"

Worried I'd come off as bragging, I changed my words a bit.

"I think that's a bit exaggerated. I just said I was a fan of you two."

Kim Jae-beom gave a half-exasperated smile and said,

"Do you know who they were originally targeting?"

"I've heard."

The players Gangwon Miners originally aimed for were Park Seong-hoo and Yoon Dae-yoon.

Both are on another level—a 0.300, 20-20 hitter and a pitcher with a mid-3.00 ERA and 16 wins.

It was obvious we didn't measure up.

Kim Jae-beom snorted and continued.

"Honestly, when the Miners proposed a contract, I thought, 'Guess I can take it easy to the end here as I wind down my career.'"

But I know for a fact he's not that kind of person. He's just saying it.

"But thanks to our 'nephew' here, I feel pressure to keep working out. Isn't that right, Seung-tae?"

"Honestly, when I first got their call, I thought it had to be a scam. I was preparing for retirement, thinking I'd be another FA nobody. 'Why me? Why this money?'"

Everyone except me burst out laughing at Hwang Seung-tae's self-deprecating humor.

Byeong-ju, seeing my expression after laughing too loudly, quickly tried to rein it in.

"I did say something like that, but I doubt that's why you were signed. And my father's just the pitching coach..."

At my words, Kim Jae-beom smiled.

"I know, I know. No one would sign washed-up me just on your word—it just motivates me, you know?"

Break time ended.

We stood up, chatting lightly, and Kim Jae-beom slung his arm over my shoulders, half-joking, half-sincere.

"By the way, you're going to have it rough. You'll have to work harder than anyone else."

"Understood. Thank you for the advice."

I knew exactly what he meant. With my father as both my shadow and the team's pitching coach, that reputation followed me everywhere.

Kim Jae-beom smiled, wrinkling his face, said, "Anyway, thanks," and ran off to outfield defense practice.

* * *

It takes time for players, who spent the winter away from baseball, to regain their form.

Once the pitchers got up to a certain level of fitness, my father announced,

"Let's throw a few. All pitchers assemble."

Everyone had been tossing a little, but their velocity wasn't there yet.

So, this was just a mid-camp check.

Still, there was no point in holding back.

I was planning on making the opening day rotation, so I intended to show off a bit now, building on what I'd prepared.

Since we went in order of seniority, I was last.

Jung Han-seung, who threw first, clocked 128 km/h.

Veteran starters don't feel the need to push themselves in preseason, but his expression looked worse than I expected.

From what I recall, he never threw over 140 km/h for the entire season.

One by one, we checked fastball velocity and breaking ball command.

Foreign pitcher Graham Donald Porter was already throwing 150 km/h and got applause, and my father was making notes on every pitcher.

One second-year pitcher was so nervous he was trembling and spiked the ball into the ground on his first pitch. That only made his control worse—his arm was way too tight.

After he finished, my father, looking worried, was making notes and consulting another coach.

The pitcher dropped his head in defeat.

Then came the turn of a pitcher just before mine.

His name was Terry.

He'd played baseball in the U. S., returned to Korea, passed the GED, entered the tryout, and was picked by Gangwon Miners in the draft—a pretty unusual background.

"Hm."

Everyone's reaction was odd. He's two years older than me, and with a great build, standing 195 cm packed with muscle.

Bang!

His four-seam exploded with a loud noise. The coach brightened, and my father nodded.

"Wow! Amazing!"

Byeong-ju made a big fuss.

Most people would find a rookie catcher's brashness cute, but the original battery coach's philosophy was "A catcher has to be calm."

Anyway, the speed gun showed 150 km/h.

Surprisingly, that pitcher wasn't in a single first-team game last season.

And, as far as I know, not this year either.

The problem is, he hardly throws any breaking balls and his pitching form changes every time.

In essence, he's pretty much an American, so he totally fails at Korean social life.

That's why the original pitching coach completely shunned him.

His fastball was impressive, but his breaking ball had almost no movement—a "slow fastball," as you might call it.

I vaguely remember the previous pitching coach telling him at the end of camp, "You and I won't ever work together again."

He was extremely stubborn, never listened to advice.

Anyway, every pitcher but me had thrown.

Now it was my turn on the mound.

You can't judge a pitcher's full ability based on their first spring training bullpen.

Still, everyone seemed curious about what kind of pitcher I was.

I was the team's first overall draft pick, but the biggest reason for their curiosity was probably that I was Seo Tae-seung's son.

If I didn't live up to the hype, there'd be talk like, "So much for the genius—they're nothing special," or "He'll never match his father."

I used to hate those comments with a passion. It was definitely one of the reasons my relationship with my father broke down.

I still hate hearing that, but now the reason is different.

It's not just about my pride anymore.

Overthinking makes your shoulder tense. That ruins your balance, making you unable to pitch right.

I emptied my mind and looked straight at Byeong-ju, crouching behind the catcher's mask.

With age, I naturally learned how to clear my mind. Focusing by controlling the depth of my breath, I expanded my concentration.

I threw the first pitch. I was focused enough to throw my second right away.

Third pitch. Fourth. Fifth.

Two-seam—three pitches.

Slider—three pitches.

Changeup—three pitches.

I thought my four-seam was pretty good.

Topped out at 153 km/h.

Maybe it's the training, but I've gained a bit of velocity since a few months ago.

My two-seamer was a bit flat, but I think it'll be fine once I refine it.

Its top speed was 148 km/h, and it landed right where I wanted it.

Slider and changeup—both seemed to be coming along well. I'm confident in those since I've practiced them for so long.

Drawing in a deep breath and looking around, I saw everyone's faces were surprised.

My father's face was blank, but I caught a hidden smile there.

Head Coach, who had been watching from his chair, raised his voice so everyone could hear.

"Well, well. The starters better watch out, huh? If he throws like that in a real game, we could put him right in the starting rotation!"

"Thank you, head coach."

"A tiger raised a tiger cub."

Seems like the head coach liked it too.

"Thank you!"

I bowed my head and stepped off the mound. After all, a rookie should act like a rookie.