He had been born a math prodigy.
He solved equations at age four. He solved calculus at five. In elementary school, he won the International Mathematical Olympiad, and at thirteen, admission offers came pouring in from prestigious universities in America and Korea.
But Ryu Jae-yul himself found it uninteresting. Solving math problems was enjoyable, but the deluge of surrounding expectations it brought was burdensome.
His parents, too, who naturally believed he would follow that path.
It happened then.
He became enthralled with a baseball game he watched by chance.
He felt the exhilaration he’d forgotten, the surge of excitement from when he first solved a math problem, in that baseball game.
Bat angles, the pitcher’s elbow angles. Derived output values that came about naturally.
People elated and dejected with every movement of the ball, alongside situations that clicked perfectly into place.
It was more fun than math. Because a moving ball was more unpredictable than any problem.
That very unpredictability set Ryu Jae-yul’s blood boiling, blood he’d thought had run cold.
So he started. Baseball.
His outstanding abilities meant he could have taken the middle and high school equivalency exams, could have graduated early. He could have entered university.
But he didn’t. To play baseball.
That was how sincere he was about baseball—Ryu Jae-yul.
But opposition from his family was fierce. His parents, who had believed their son would accomplish great things, were apoplectic at the mere idea of him becoming a baseball player.
He left home right then. Fortunately, ER Hawks had offered Ryu Jae-yul—a natural at pitch-calling, leading, and mind games—a place on their second team.
Naturally, Ryu Jae-yul accepted.
As an ER Hawks second-team player, Ryu Jae-yul’s days flowed like meticulously calculated mathematical formulas.
Since he had been born a math prodigy, mathematics was an existence inseparable from Ryu Jae-yul.
Therefore, every action was as precise as the answer to an equation combining variables and constants.
To Ryu Jae-yul, a variable was uncontrollable chaos itself.
That day was no exception.
Waking at 6 AM was aligned with the optimal value of his biorhythm function, and the math problems he solved until 6:30 were a computational process to warm up his brain.
His shower lasted exactly twelve minutes. As he ate breakfast, he envisioned the training that would continue until 8 PM, sketching the day’s coordinate system in his mind.
On that day, which he had never doubted would be the same as always,
a variable called Chae Gang-u appeared.
Throwing a ball that was aerodynamically impossible, yet not even knowing how he threw it.
Ryu Jae-yul found it absurd.
If there is a cause, there is a result; if there is a problem, there is a solution.
But Chae Gang-u was nothing less than an unsolvable conundrum for Ryu Jae-yul.
Perhaps he had felt it from the very first time he caught his pitch.
Other pitchers’ balls were boring.
“Release point tilt, 42 degrees. Wrist snap angle, 17 degrees. Radius of curvature, 2.7 meters. Mitt at the 11:10 position. 4.1 centimeters below eye level.”
Just from their form, he could sense where the ball would go. The same went for batters. Calculating their body movements, the answer of whether it would be a fly ball or a hit came instantly.
But Chae Gang-u’s pitches allowed no room to relax.
Irregular trajectory, zero spin, high velocity.
Every time he caught those absurd pitches, Ryu Jae-yul felt his limits.
During the time the ball traveled from Chae Gang-u’s hand to his mitt, Ryu Jae-yul had to calculate.
He had to approximate the irregular trajectory based on air resistance.
Calculating the point where the ball’s velocity and air resistance transitioned into turbulence, then simplifying the ball’s trajectory using equations of motion.
It was madness, no matter how he looked at it.
He had never performed calculations this extreme, not even once.
But strangely, he boiled over. Watching Chae Gang-u burn with determination right before him, his own blood grew hot in kind.
Seeing Chae Gang-u’s efforts, he couldn’t remain idle. So he tried harder. To fill in his gaps.
He even began obsessively working on controlling the running game, something he hadn’t practiced before.
The fact that he was going to the first team not because of his own ability, but as a “dedicated catcher,” made Ryu Jae-yul feel impatience and anxiety for the first time.
If there was a catcher who could catch Chae Gang-u’s pitches.
That hypothesis drove Ryu Jae-yul on even more.
His throws lacked distance, and his control of the running game was weak. He was good at calling pitches, but that was something all first-team catchers did.
He was desperate. It was the path of baseball he had chosen, defying his parents’ opposition.
He didn’t want to be a “dedicated” catcher who could be swapped out at any time.
Never.
He had to become an irreplaceable catcher. Catching Chae Gang-u’s pitches, his blocking and throwing, and even his hitting.
He wanted to prove that he hadn’t become a starter solely because of Chae Gang-u.
He drove himself to the limit. He gritted his teeth and got through catching drills. The same went for hitting practice.
If Chae Gang-u threw 130, he wanted to catch that ball; if he threw 135, he wanted to catch that, too.
Pushing to the extreme. And solving it—that was the electrifying catharsis of solving a difficult problem.
“Ah. I went five minutes over.”
Ryu Jae-yul, seeing that practice had run over while catching for Chae Gang-u, picked up his mitt again.
In the past, he would have been up and moving already. No, he wouldn’t have gone over his training time to begin with.
“Ryu Jae-yul! Just ten more?!”
Is he too stupid to get tired?
Ryu Jae-yul let out a hollow laugh as he looked at Chae Gang-u, whose eyes blazed with heat even though he should have been exhausted.
Variables were, to Ryu Jae-yul, tantamount to terrible situations.
But perhaps the variable called Chae Gang-u was, conversely, a powerful stimulus for Ryu Jae-yul.
Because it was the only stimulus that could whip him into action.
“Exactly ten?”
Ryu Jae-yul gripped his mitt tight. Determined to catch this next one perfectly, too.
Swish—!
And from afar, Coach An Chung-hui, who had been watching the two exchange throws, let out a hollow laugh.
“The first team is going to see a lot of changes.”
Scout Lee Jong-hwa, standing beside Coach An Chung-hui, spoke while keeping his eyes fixed on Chae Gang-u and Ryu Jae-yul.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Then Scout Lee Jong-hwa turned toward Coach An Chung-hui.
“I’ve reported to Manager Yun Seong-geun that Chae Gang-u and Ryu Jae-yul will join the first team starting tomorrow.”
“What did the manager say?”
“‘Some interesting fellows are coming, so it should be fun.’ That’s what he said.”
It was a statement befitting Manager Yun Seong-geun, so Coach An Chung-hui smiled and nodded.
“And.”
It was as Coach An Chung-hui raised his head absently at Scout Lee Jong-hwa’s next words.
“You’ve also been asked to join us as a first-team coach.”
Coach An Chung-hui put on a surprised expression.
Cases of second-team coaches moving up to the first team and first-team coaches moving down to the second team were not uncommon.
However, he seemed surprised that Manager Yun Seong-geun had called him to the first team so suddenly, without any warning.
“So suddenly, what—?”
Then Scout Lee Jong-hwa spoke slowly, his face serious.
“There’s some friction between the front office and the manager.”
“Front office” referred to everyone responsible for running the club, but when Scout Lee Jong-hwa said “front office,” he meant the general manager and the club owner.
And then Scout Lee Jong-hwa quietly added.
“We need you to come help.”
***
Tomorrow was the KBO Opening Day.
The opponent was the Busan Fire Hunters, a traditional powerhouse that played offensive baseball.
Of course, I couldn’t participate. I had only been moved up to the first team early; I wasn’t yet on the roster.
Besides, developmental players could only be registered starting in May.
It was a shame I couldn’t jump straight into a game, but I focused only on the positive as I looked at the Hawks Park Dome before me.
“Wow, Ryu Jae-yul. My heart’s pounding.”
Ryu Jae-yul didn’t say anything in reply, but his expression made it obvious he was nervous just like me.
My heart had raced just seeing the sign when I first went to the second-team Hawks Park.
But seeing the Park Dome, which looked even larger, an uncontrollable emotion welled up.
The ER Hawks first team. A team that hadn’t escaped the cellar in ten years.
The individual abilities of the players weren’t lacking. The atmosphere wasn’t bad, either.
But the team had been permeated by a sense of helplessness due to the pitchers’ struggles and continuous defeats, and couldn’t even think of climbing up.
Fans who had initially vented their anger were now resigned. They were satisfied just to win a game.
But after Manager Yun Seong-geun took over last year, the ER Hawks began to change.
Players who used to openly throw in the towel when the score got out of hand no longer gave up, even if they lost.
Still, they were in last place.
“Things will be different this year.”
Because I’ve joined the ER Hawks.
“Ryu Jae-yul.”
He shouted confidently to Ryu Jae-yul, who was looking at him as if to say, “What nonsense now?”
“This year’s championship goes to the ER Hawks.”
Ryu Jae-yul, whom he’d expected to scoff, nodded lightly.
“Let’s do it.”
He took a deep breath. It was as he moved his feet, trembling with exhilaration and nervous excitement.
“Oh? You really came?”
A man walking toward them in training gear.
Wondering where he’d seen him before—it was Coach Lee Gwang-gi.
“Seo-yeon, these are the new first-team call-ups.”
The woman standing next to Coach Lee Gwang-gi smiled brightly and spoke.
“Ah, so you’re the players who’ve been called up. Hello, I’m Kim Seo-yeon.”
Short hair and a cute face. She was clearly the same age as us. The staff badge around her neck suggested she was a front office employee.
“Hello!”
I bowed my head to greet her. Ryu Jae-yul, standing next to me, just gave a slight nod.
“Hello.”
Kim Seo-yeon smiled and spoke again.
“First, which of you is Player Chae Gang-u?”
“Ah, that’s me!”
I raised my hand high, and Coach Lee Gwang-gi burst out laughing.
“I felt it during the last game, but you really are something else, huh?”
“Ah, thank you!”
I wasn’t sure if being called “peculiar” was a compliment, but in this situation, I was grateful for anything.
“Player Chae Gang-u, since you’ve joined as a developmental player, you can’t be registered straight away. You’ll be officially registered with the first team starting May 1st.”
Kim Seo-yeon, explaining calmly, turned toward Ryu Jae-yul.
“Player Ryu Jae-yul, your first-team registration is complete as of today, so once it’s approved, you’ll be able to play in first-team games immediately.”
At that, Ryu Jae-yul’s eyes widened.
“My first-team registration is already complete?”
“Yes. Congratulations.”
He looked dazed, but Ryu Jae-yul’s mouth was curved in a smile.
“Oh, Ryu Jae-yul! First team already?”
“Player Chae Gang-u, while your player registration is in May, the club will provide first-team lodging starting today. For now, just say hello today and attend orientation tomorrow.”
“Yes!”
As soon as I answered, Coach Lee Gwang-gi spoke.
“Chae Gang-u, Ryu Jae-yul. Come with me. We need to greet the manager first.”
By “the manager,” he meant Manager Yun Seong-geun.
“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Players.”
“Ah, I’ll be in your care going forward!”
After saying goodbye to Kim Seo-yeon, Ryu Jae-yul and I immediately followed Coach Lee Gwang-gi to where Manager Yun Seong-geun was.
“If you want to see the manager, no need to go to his room. Just go to the training ground.”
Coach Lee Gwang-gi continued with a smile.
“Because that’s where he lives.”