Rural Ace

Episode 9. Spring Ghost (2)

Director Song Moon-jung usually leaves most of the training to the coaches, but he always pays close attention to physical fitness.

“Oh, look who it is—Seo Tae-seong’s son.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“You’re doing well.”
“Thank you.”

He patted my shoulder and walked past me.

The pitchers had just finished their group running session.

I was the first to finish and wasn’t even out of breath. Since returning to the past, I had been training non-stop with that bearded muscle monster, so this was nothing.

Some players couldn’t finish the run and fell behind. The coach stood in front of them and said,

“Take a short break, then run again. You need to complete your quota, okay?”

A veteran bullpen pitcher, senior Yuk Kang-oh, hesitated and looked around nervously.

“Coach…”
“Oh, Kang-oh. Don’t you think you need to lose some weight?”
“I’m sorry, Coach… My knee hurts…”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.”
“If your knee hurts, you shouldn’t run, right?”
“Haha…”

He laughed awkwardly, and the coach loudly called the training coach.

“Coach Lee! Coach Lee Cheol-won!”
“Yes, Coach!”
“Kang-oh says his knee isn’t good.”

Senior Kang-oh’s expression changed.

Some players were sent back to Korea from spring training if they weren’t in shape for the first team. That was a big setback for any player.

But the coach said something different.

“The swimming pool is available, right?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Woo Hyun-geun’s knees aren’t good either. Send Kang-oh and Hyun-geun to the pool instead of running.”
“Understood.”
“You know what to do, right?”
“Yes, Coach.”

In my previous life, the first spring camp was the same.

Players with real injuries and those pretending to be injured were sent to the swimming pool together.

A few days later, some players miraculously recovered and returned. I don’t remember exactly who, but someone called the pool a ‘water hell.’

“If your knee gets better, come back. If not, continue your physical training there.”

The coach patted senior Kang-oh’s shoulder kindly.

Was he really injured? Or was he faking it?

I guess we’ll find out in a few days.

“Anyone else having trouble running because of their knees?”

Two players hesitated, then raised their hands.

“Coach, me too…”
“My knee feels a little bad too.”

Goodbye.

—

Spring training wasn’t difficult for me. Some seniors felt awkward around me because I was Seo Tae-seong’s son, but I was used to it.

Now that my father was a coach, it was even more noticeable than before.

There was a time when I thought people treated me differently because I was a genius.

Looking back, I was just a crazy kid.

Anyway, I didn’t need to rush to solve every problem immediately.

I could wait and see if things got better on their own. And if they didn’t, that was fine too.

I wasn’t perfect. A few problems wouldn’t kill me.

A few days passed.

Some players returned from the swimming pool.

The one who called it ‘water hell’ was senior Bang Min-soo, a left-handed pitcher who later signed an FA contract with another team.

“Damn, it’s a water hell. I’d rather die on the ground.”

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

Even though he was from the Dominican Republic, he spoke English well.

Graham Donald Porter, a fan of my father, followed him around like a baby duck, and veteran Bradshaw was getting in shape quickly, unusual for a foreign pitcher.

—

During a break in training, I was pulled aside by senior Jung Han-seung, a former wins leader.

“You’re lucky, Yae seong.”

The players gathered here were senior Jung Han-seung, team captain and starting catcher senior Yoon Bong-wan, two newly joined FA players, me, and Byeong-ju—six of us.

This wasn’t a special meeting. It was just senior Yoon Bong-wan and senior Jung Han-seung taking care of the new members.

“Me?”

When I asked, senior Yoon Bong-wan grinned.

“You were born as Seo Tae-seong’s son and even inherited his talent? That’s just…”

In the past, I would’ve gotten annoyed by that.

I used to overreact to those comments.

But this time, I answered calmly.

“Well, it’s the same for your son, senior. He was born as Yoon Bong-wan’s son.”

“Wow, hey. My son plays baseball, too. I keep telling him to be a pitcher, but he insists on being a catcher. Says he wants to be like his dad.”

Senior Yoon Bong-wan smiled proudly.

He was known for loving his son.

Even though he complained, he was clearly proud that his son wanted to follow in his footsteps.

“If only my father was senior Yoon Bong-wan…”

Byeong-ju, trying to join the conversation, made an awkward joke.

The mood became a little strange.

It kind of sounded like he was insulting his own parents.

FA players Hwang Seung-tae and Kim Jae-beom chuckled.

Kim Jae-beom looked at me and said,

“Did you know? Coach Seo Tae-seong—no, your father—insisted that the team sign me and Seong-tae.”

I pretended not to know.

“So, I asked Coach Seo why he did that.”

Kim Jae-beom was famous for his discipline.

Even at 34, he could stay a starting center fielder and play until his 40s.

Though he had a slump last year, he was still a top player.

He looked at me strangely and said,

“He told me, ‘My son said we must sign you two.’”

“What?”

“Oh, really?”
“For real?”

I quickly changed my words so I wouldn’t sound arrogant.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. I only said I was a fan of you two.”

Kim Jae-beom smirked.

“Do you know who the team originally wanted?”

“I heard a little.”

The original targets were Park Seong-hoo and Yoon Dae-yoon.

One was a .300 hitter with 20 home runs and 20 steals.

The other was a pitcher with a 3.50 ERA and 16 wins.

Compared to them, these two probably felt out of place.

Kim Jae-beom laughed and said,

“I thought signing with this team meant I could relax at the end of my career.”

I knew that wasn’t true.

He was just saying that.

“But now, because of you, I feel pressured to train hard. Right, Seong-tae?”

“When they called me, I thought it was a scam. I was ready to retire because no one wanted me. I kept thinking, ‘Why me? Why would they pay me this much?’”

Everyone except me burst out laughing.

Byeong-ju, who had laughed the hardest, saw my expression and quickly stopped.

“I did say that, but I don’t think that’s the only reason they signed you. Also, my father is just a pitching coach…”

Kim Jae-beom grinned.

“I know, I know. You’re not the owner’s grandson, and they wouldn’t have brought me in just because you said so, right? I just feel motivated, that’s all.”

Break time was over. We stood up, chatting lightly, and senior Kim Jae beom put his arm around my shoulders, speaking in a meaningful tone.

“By the way, you’re going to have a tough time. You’ll have to work harder than anyone else.”

“I understand. Thank you for the advice.”

I fully understood what he meant. Not only was I in my father’s shadow, but he was also the pitching coach of our team.

Senior Kim Jae beom smiled, creating wrinkles around his eyes, and said, “Anyway, thanks.”

Then, he ran toward the outfield for defense practice.

—

Players who had been away from baseball during the winter needed time to get back in shape. When the pitchers had regained some of their strength, my father made an announcement.

“Let’s throw some balls. All pitchers, gather up.”

Everyone had been throwing a little, but most of them hadn’t regained their speed. This was just a mid-point check.

That didn’t mean we had to take it easy. Since I was preparing to be in the starting rotation from the beginning of the season, I planned to show my strength.

We took turns throwing in order of experience, so I was the last one.

The first to throw was senior Jung Hanseung, and his pitch was 128 km/h.

Veteran players usually don’t rush to get in shape because their spots on the team are secure, but his expression showed disappointment—it wasn’t as good as he expected.

I remembered that he never managed to throw over 140 km/h by the end of the season.

One by one, the pitchers checked their fastball speed and breaking ball control.

The foreign pitcher, Graham Donald Porter, threw at 150 km/h and received applause.

My father took notes every time a pitcher threw.

One second-year pitcher was so nervous that his hands shook, and he threw the ball straight into the ground.

It only happened on the first pitch, but his shoulders were too tense, so his control was completely off.

After he finished throwing, my father had a serious expression as he took notes and discussed with another coach.

Seeing this, the pitcher hung his head in frustration instead of throwing the ball again.

Before my turn, another pitcher stepped up. His name was Joe Terry.

He played baseball in America, then returned to Korea, passed the GED, and joined the tryouts. He was then drafted by the Gangwon Miners. His background was unique.

“Hmm.”

The people watching had mixed reactions.

He was two years older than me and had an impressive physique—195 cm with a muscular build.

Bang!

The ball hit the glove with a loud sound.

The manager’s face brightened, and my father nodded.

“Wow! That was amazing!”

Byeongju, our rookie catcher, reacted excitedly.

Most people found his enthusiasm cute, but the previous battery coach believed that catchers should always remain calm.

Anyway, the speed gun showed 150 km/h.

Surprisingly, this pitcher had never played in a first-division game last year.

And as far as I knew, he wouldn’t play this year either.

The problem was that he barely had any breaking balls, and his pitching form was inconsistent.

Most importantly, he was almost like an American and didn’t fit well into Korean baseball culture.

Because of this, the previous pitching coach completely ignored him.

His fastball got good reactions, but his breaking balls had no movement at all.

To put it nicely, they were weak. But honestly, they were just slow fastballs.

I vaguely remembered that by the end of training camp, the old pitching coach had told him, “You and I will never see each other again.”

Joe Terry was very stubborn and never listened to advice.

Now, all the pitchers had thrown except for me.

It was finally my turn to step onto the mound.

You can’t judge a pitcher’s full ability just from one practice session in spring training.

But people were curious about what kind of pitcher I was.

Being the number one overall draft pick was one reason, but the biggest reason was that I was Seo Tae seong’s son.

If I didn’t meet expectations, people would say, “I thought he was a genius, but he’s nothing special.”

Or, “He’ll never be as good as his father.”

In the past, I hated hearing things like that.

That was one of the reasons my relationship with my father became strained.

I still didn’t like hearing those words, but now, the reason was different.

It wasn’t just about my pride.

If I thought too much while pitching, my shoulders would tense up.

Then, my balance would break, and I wouldn’t be able to throw properly.

I cleared my mind and focused on Byeongju, who was sitting behind the plate with his catcher’s mask on.

Over time, I had naturally learned how to push away distractions.

I took a deep breath and adjusted my breathing to sharpen my concentration.

I threw my first pitch.

I was so focused that I immediately threw the second one.

Then the third, fourth, and fifth.

Three two-seam fastballs.

Three sliders.

Three changeups.

I thought my four-seam fastball was pretty good.

Top speed: 153 km/h.

Maybe my training had paid off because my velocity had increased slightly from a few months ago.

My two-seam fastball was a little weak, but if I polished it, it would be fine.

Top speed: 148 km/h.

I had good control, so I was satisfied.

My slider and changeup could still improve, but I was confident in those pitches.

After taking a deep breath, I looked around.

Everyone had surprised expressions.

My father’s face was emotionless, but I could see the slight smile hidden underneath.

The manager, who had been watching silently, suddenly raised his voice so that everyone could hear.

“Wow. Our starting pitchers better stay sharp! If he throws like this in real games, he can go straight into the starting rotation!”

“Thank you, Coach.”

“A tiger has raised a tiger cub.”

It seemed like the manager was impressed.

“Thank you!”

I bowed my head politely and stepped down from the mound.

After all, I was a rookie, and rookies should act like rookies.