Peaceful Bullpen Life [EN]: Chapter 135

※ 135. Direction

If an average office worker, Mr. A, suddenly had to change jobs, how would he feel? Especially if that job change wasn’t something he wanted.

Emotions like ‘The company abandoned me’ might be important, but for modern people for whom making a living is more crucial, wouldn’t the sense of duty to quickly adapt to a new environment come first?

Atmosphere?

The atmosphere of Wonha Challengers can be described in one word: laid-back. Not just relaxed, but truly laid-back.

As you can guess from the pronunciation, our team aims for a comfortable atmosphere, even in my opinion.

Perhaps it’s because the core players are of a similar age, but I think this atmosphere was created by focusing on horizontal rather than vertical relationships.

Of course, it’s still an organizational culture, and there’s a hierarchy between seniors and juniors, so a minimum level of order exists.

“Hey, throw me a water bottle!”

“Get it yourself.”

“Wow, such injustice!”

…Of course, a hierarchy exists.

“Hmph, can’t even give a water bottle to your younger teammate, and it’s not even yours, it’s the club’s!”

You rotten bastards.

“Get lost.”

I threw a bottle of water at Ki-sung to shut him up.

Yeah, this isn’t reverse injustice, but generosity and mercy from a senior, or a *hyung* [older brother or male mentor figure].

“As expected of our captain!”

“Get lost!”

…I can’t survive unless I think like that.

“Wonha’s atmosphere is really interesting.”

Seok-min, who recently joined the team, gradually adapted to this team atmosphere.

Juniors joke with seniors without hesitation, and seniors cozy up to the coaching staff without hesitation.

In fact, when thrown into a new environment, the first thing you get used to is surprisingly the people who were already there.

Getting used to something doesn’t necessarily mean becoming close. It’s easier than you think to figure out how nice someone is or how awful someone is.

But what’s a little more difficult than that is the atmosphere those people create.

We lump it together under the word ‘atmosphere,’ but this atmosphere includes,

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice… but do the kids listen?”

“They listen well. They know how hard the seniors worked to create this atmosphere. So I think they try even harder.”

the unspoken rules they’ve created, the unwritten contracts they fulfill.

Here, the unspoken rules refer to the autonomous atmosphere they want, and the unwritten contracts refer to the results they produce.

“Interesting…”

“How was Hanseong?”

“Hanseong… was…”

Seok-min smiled bitterly when the story of his previous team came up.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where the team went wrong.”

Hanseong Winners has consistently been in last place for so long that it’s embarrassing to even use the word ‘recent years’.

“But doesn’t Hanseong also train really hard?”

“They train incredibly hard. But the results don’t show.”

“Hmm…”

“As you know, in the old days, it was all about training. Just training.”

“Because there was nothing else.”

“But these days, it’s not like that anymore.”

“Right? Rest is also important, and the quality of training is important too.”

“Hanseong players know it too. The coaches, the manager, and the front office all know it. They all know…”

The era of simple-minded training supremacy, where training was everything and the best, is over. It’s not just about training, but about why we need to do this training now.

Even ordinary people who aren’t involved in baseball know that. Would a professional team not know that?

Hanseong Winners seemed to have put a lot of thought into it, which was evident in many areas.

They tried changing the team logo, changing the team uniform, changing the team manager, completely changing the farm system, and throwing in a bunch of free agent (FA) players.

In addition to those external changes, they also underwent several internal reforms.

They invited instructors from Major League Baseball, introduced Hanseong Winners’ own salary system, and changed the training cycle itself.

But still…….

“It just didn’t work.”

It doesn’t work.

They can’t escape the bottom of the league, they can’t even escape last place.

“Well… Hanseong used to be a really strong team. Maybe there’s just a cycle.”

“When was Hanseong a strong team?”

“About… 10 years ago?”

It’s absurd even to say it.

“It’s just that there’s something about it. Like, you think this year is it, but for some reason, it doesn’t work out. That’s exactly what Hanseong is like.”

I thought this was almost like badmouthing my former team, but,

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone there thinks so, even the front office staff,” Seok-min said, making me chuckle.

“In that sense, Wonha will probably maintain its top ranking for quite a while.”

“Do you believe in that kind of thing, *sunbae* [senior colleague or mentor]? Like a long-term reign? Once you get the momentum, you just keep going.”

“It’s not wrong, is it? Unless something really huge happens, it’s rare for things to fall from the top down, and it’s hard to see things rise vertically from the bottom up.”

That’s right.

Whether it’s an individual or a group, inertia is a more powerful force than you think, so it doesn’t go off course easily.

“So there are still times when I think, ‘Wow, we can be number one even if we do this.'”

“It must be hard to adjust to that in some ways.”

“Of course. Moving from a team where losing is natural to a team where winning is natural may look good on the outside, but it’s a lot of pressure for the person involved.”

“But you still want to win a championship, right?”

“What baseball player doesn’t want to win a championship? There’s that saying, ‘I’d burn my body to ashes if it meant the team would win the championship.'”

After hearing Seok-min’s answer, I realized how ignorant my question was.

“Um… *sunbae*, what about that common question?”

“What?”

“Which is better, the team’s performance or your individual performance?”

“Of course…”

This may also seem like a somewhat foolish question, but Seok-min smiled lightly and said,

“Team championship, isn’t it?”

“Hmm…”

“That’s a somewhat dissatisfied expression?”

“*Sunbae*, would you like to ask me the same question?”

“Okay, then… which is more important to you, the team or the individual?”

The same question. But the answer was completely different.

No,

“Both.”

It would be an answer that no one expected.

* * *

If I had to choose between the individual and the team, I would choose the team.

A good statement of intent.

It’s a statement that would earn a standing ovation from the team’s fans, the team’s manager, and the team’s other juniors.

And most likely, the team’s captain would also be standing next to them, applauding.

But I thought differently.

Why bother choosing just one?

“*Sunbae*, fighting!” [cheering phrase]

“Seok-min *hyung*, let’s go!” [older brother or male friend]

Why can’t we have both team performance and individual performance?

“Play!”

If everyone performs at their best, wouldn’t that make the best team?

Bang!

“Strike!”

Let’s be careful not to be mistaken or confused.

It’s not the idealistic story that the best team is naturally formed when people with the best skills come together.

It’s much more obvious and simple than that kind of idealism.

Boom—

“Strike two!”

It’s a very universal logic that everyone gets the appropriate reward if they work hard.

Whoosh—

Bang!

“Strike, out!”

Clap clap clap-!

“*Sunbae*, good ball, keep going!”

“Nice ball!”

But this logic is unfortunately the same as disparaging other teams.

So, are you saying that the teams that didn’t win didn’t work hard?

And this arrow comes back around to us, the Wonha Challengers. Even our team from last year, which finished the regular season in first place, can’t avoid it.

“The team definitely feels lighter.”

“Lighter? I feel like it’s heavier.”

“It’s not heavy, it’s light. Everyone’s moving with less pressure, so look how lighthearted they are.”

“No, each of those steps is very serious.”

“Well… whether *sunbae* is right or I’m right.”

I admit it. Or, I admit part of it.

Every team and every player works hard. There are no players who don’t work hard, and there are no teams that don’t work hard.

So what separates the winners?

“Everyone knows for sure now. How to win.”

Direction.

Isn’t it a matter of direction, of which direction to go to win, and which direction will inevitably lead to defeat?

“That’s right. You’re right about that one thing.”

Kyung-seok nodded at what I said.

Tap!

“It’s up, it’s up!”

“Call! Who’s calling it!”

“Mine, mine!!”

Yang Jin-woo, the 7th batter for Gaya Perfectors, lightly touched Seok-min’s curveball that was floating upwards, popping it up into the infield.

In that brief moment between floating upwards and plummeting towards the ground, Wonha’s infielders automatically discussed who would catch the ball,

Tap!

“Out!”

And they caught it on their own.

After Sung-moon took the ball out of his glove, he smiled brightly and threw the ball towards Sung-hoon *hyung*.

From 2nd base to 3rd base, from 3rd base to 1st base, from 1st base to shortstop, from shortstop back to 2nd base.

“Two! Two outs!”

Sung-moon, who received the ball back, spread his index and pinky fingers to let everyone know that they had reached 2 outs.

Seok-min, after checking Sung-moon’s promotional message, smiled and nodded before receiving the ball again and standing on the plate.

And then the 8th batter, Park Se-hoon, appeared. Facing the right-handed pitcher and left-handed batter, Seok-min, from the first pitch,

Bang-!

“Strike!”

Aggressively dug into the inside.

Aggressively…….

“Let’s get Han-wool up in the 8th.”

“Yep.”

As I was muttering the word ‘aggressively’ to myself, the order to prepare to enter the game came down. It felt a little later than usual, so I quickly got up.

“Ugh, chaa….”

“*Hyung’s* play style seems to have changed quite a bit.”

“Really?”

“He wasn’t the type to throw like that. He’s famous for subtly luring hitters.”

Kyung-seok, who was next to me, said as I watched Seok-min and did some quick stretches.

“But he throws really comfortably since coming to Wonha. Without pressure.”

“Hmm…”

Tap—

“Foul, foul!”

This time, he aggressively induced a foul with a curveball that dug into the top of the zone.

Aggressively…….

The highest velocity Seok-min has recorded this season is 131km. Even considering that he’s an extreme underhand pitcher, it’s very slow.

You know that feeling when a fastball flutters? That’s exactly it.

Seok-min takes that fastball that can look ridiculous,

Tap!

And throws it in really aggressively. Without any fear.

Park Se-hoon managed to make a well-hit ball. But Sung-hyun waited in place without moving much,

“Out-.”

And ended Gaya Perfectors’ 7th inning attack with just a flick of his glove.

“Eeeeei!”

“*Sunbae*, good ball!”

“Everyone, good defense!”

Seok-min, who secured a two-run hold, smiled brightly and returned to the bullpen. Then, he found me, the only one standing in the bullpen, and said,

“Han-wool, are you going out in the 8th?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Wow, if I’m next, it’ll be hard for the hitters to adapt.”

“They probably know that I’ll be out in the 8th when Wonha is winning.”

“Still, knowing it and facing it are different, right?”

That’s true.

“But *sunbae*. This might be a bit… much to say. Aren’t you scared?”

“Of what?”

“Of getting hit… I guess.”

“Of course I’m scared. I’m a person too.”

Seok-min smiled.

“I was really scared when I was in Hanseong. Because they wouldn’t hit it and would make errors. But that’s all gone since I came to Wonha.”

“I guess. That has an effect.”

“Right. Besides, you have better control and better stuff than me. Sometimes, just throw it all in without thinking.”

Aggressively.

“Hmm.”

I’ll go ice it, he said, leaving those words behind and heading inside the dugout.

After watching Seok-min’s back for a moment,

“Gun-young, fastball.”

“Aye!”

“No, not there. Aim for the middle.”

“Huh?”

“The middle.”

“Ah… aye, fastball!”

The bullpen pitching started.

Gun-young showed his mitt where the center of the left and right and the center of the top and bottom overlapped.

The middle.

“Ugh!”

Boom-!

“Oh, good, good!”

It was a zone that would be considered a mistake, although it was slightly off from the perfect center, but if you widened the range to mean the center of the zone.

“Hehe.”

This is it for today.

Every single ball in the bullpen pitching didn’t deviate from the normal strike zone. No, they all stayed in the center of the zone.

Because I have such good control, the people around me were just watching, thinking that I was adjusting my aim on my own, that I had a plan.

“Han-wool, let’s slowly go up.”

“Ah, yes.”

When I had a sense of it, the bullpen door opened.

This is going to be fun.

Thinking that, I went up to the mound and looked at the scoreboard.

Ding-!

[Aggressiveness]

– Throw only strikes and allow no runs in 1 inning. (However, fouls and hits are recognized as strikes) (0/1)

– Reward – Four-seam fastball +2

It was because a quest came up that matched the concept of this appearance very accurately.

After simply finishing the mound session, I stepped on the plate. It was quite difficult to erase the laughter that was trying to leak out without me knowing.

“Play!”

With that laughter covered with a frame of confidence, I sent a sign to Gyu-hak from my side.

Gyu-hak’s eyes widened slightly after checking the sign I sent. Still, it seems like he’s much more used to it than when I first started doing crazy things.

“Ugh!”

Boom-!

“Strike!”

Seeing him holding the fastball that was stuck in the center of the zone without any reaction shows that.