A month had already passed since the opening ceremony. During that time, I’d tried my hardest not to look at the team standings.
It was partly because of Coach An Chunghui’s advice as well.
He said that knowing the team standings right now wouldn’t do me any good, so I ought to pour all that attention into training instead.
However, I made sure to watch every single game.
I’d thought I could roughly guess the standings by watching the games, but since my focus was elsewhere, making predictions was difficult.
There was exactly one reason I watched the games.
Of course, the wins and losses mattered, but what I paid attention to was how the team played.
Where they were weak, where they were strong. I needed to analyze them in my own way.
It was all so that when I took the field a week from now, having officially been included in the first-team roster.
“Man. There’s only a week left already.”
I didn’t have time to think about how fast time was flying.
On days without games or before they started, I kept up the hellish training regimen Yun Donghyeok had designed for me.
Because Coach An Chunghui had squeezed in a few more training sessions on top of that, I had to start early in the morning just to finish before dinner.
During Hawks games, I’d watch the broadcast from my room while doing planks and squats.
Naturally, there were more losses than wins. Each time, I’d stay behind and train along with the senior players who remained.
After rushing through training without a moment to breathe, there was only a week left.
Until the day I entered the first-team roster.
“Ah. I’m nervous.”
Seeing me speak up in the middle of a meal, Ryu Jaeyul tilted his head.
“What?”
“There’s only a week left. I can finally play in a game!”
“Oh, right.”
Seeing him speak so indifferently, I got emotional.
“Hey, isn’t that too much? If I go out to play, you go out to play with me too!”
You should at least know how many days are left, even if the number is so small.
Your designated pitcher!
“Chae Gangu.”
“What, why are you lowering your voice?”
Ryu Jaeyul raised his head with a serious expression.
“If you get into a game, stay composed. It’ll be your first time in a stadium packed with spectators, so don’t get overly excited and make mistakes. And don’t get discouraged even if you throw a bad pitch.”
Ryu Jaeyul had never participated in a game, but he had sat on the first-team bench. So he would know the atmosphere better than me.
“And don’t needlessly burden yourself with the team’s record either.”
That probably meant the atmosphere around the ER Hawks wasn’t so great.
“Ryu Jaeyul.”
“Huh?”
“You sure are talking a lot. What, are you saying that because you’re worried about the ‘pitchers’ graveyard’ thing?”
Ryu Jaeyul closed his mouth. Seeing him waver, it seemed the ER Hawks pitching staff was struggling right now.
“Oh, Ryu Jaeyul. Are you worried about me because we’re a battery?”
“Shut up….”
“I like that kind of thing.”
At my sudden declaration that I liked it, Ryu Jaeyul furrowed his brow.
“What?”
“Things like jinxes.”
Any athlete has one or two jinxes.
They said the American baseball player Kershaw ate a turkey sandwich on days he pitched. Wade Boggs, who had the worst jinx of all, ate chicken before every game and avoided certain actions during games.
Everyone had similar jinxes. Stepping into the batter’s box and repeatedly adjusting their batting gloves, fidgeting with their equipment, and so on.
It wasn’t just baseball players either. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that most famous athletes had jinxes.
Watching them, I thought when I was young.
That I wouldn’t be swayed by silly jinxes.
Maybe it started then. Breaking jinxes out of spite as a kid had become fun.
In middle school, the coach said stepping on the foul line meant we’d lose that day, so I deliberately stepped on it.
Of course, we won that game.
Without even realizing it, I’d ended up breaking my teammates’ jinxes too.
“I like breaking that kind of thing, you know.”
Thinking back on it, it was quite a nasty hobby.
“It’s fun, right?”
“Breaking jinxes?”
“Yeah. So I’ll just break that saying about ER Hawks being a pitchers’ graveyard too.”
Ryu Jaeyul stared at me as if I were absurd, then quietly shook his head.
“You really seem crazy.”
“If that’s a compliment, thanks.”
“Hah.”
I asked Ryu Jaeyul, who was clicking his tongue.
“How’s training?”
“Training? Ah. Senior Yun Donghyeok is helping me a lot, but my shoulder still isn’t as good as yours.”
Ryu Jaeyul’s expression darkened.
A catcher needed a big frame and broad shoulders.
But Ryu Jaeyul didn’t have a catcher’s body. Frankly, it fell short even for a baseball player.
Only his shoulders were broad; he lacked shoulder muscles and was quite slender for a catcher.
“Your shoulder is one thing, but your body itself just….”
“You might as well just curse at me?”
“I was about to. Seriously.”
“Ha.”
I held out the meat on my tray toward Ryu Jaeyul, who set down his chopsticks.
“Hey. I don’t usually share meat, but I’m making a special exception for you.”
“Put it away, it’s dirty since you ate from it.”
Ryu Jaeyul grimaced.
“Fine, don’t eat it. Anyway, don’t stress. There are plenty of skinny catchers. Like Ryu Jaeyul… Ryu Jaeyul is one. Oh, and there’s Ryu Jaeyul too.”
“…You crazy bastard.”
“I’m joking.”
I racked my brain. Who was a skinny catcher?
“Ivan Rodriguez. Joe Mauer. They were all skinny but played great, right? What does it matter?”
Well, Ivan Rodriguez and Joe Mauer had good hitting and nimble movement, but.
“You have plenty of time ahead of you. You can bulk up, improve your hitting, strengthen your shoulder—you can do it all.”
I bobbed my head and continued proudly.
“In the meantime, I’m going to become a pitcher who dominates the KBO.”
No sooner had I finished speaking than a voice rang out.
“Right. To become a pitcher who dominates the KBO, you’ll need to train more.”
I looked up at the cold voice to see Yun Donghyeok standing there.
“Senior?!”
“Eat a lot. You’ll need it for training later.”
Watching Yun Donghyeok go get food without looking back, I quietly regretted running my mouth.
***
It was when I was heading to the training ground at the scheduled time to train with Yun Donghyeok.
“Hello! Sir!”
I turned toward the lively voice and saw Gim Seoyeon standing there.
“Hello.”
I bowed my head in greeting, and Gim Seoyeon bowed hers along with me.
“I was looking for you, Player Chae Gangu! I’m glad I ran into you!”
“Me?”
She was looking for me?
Gim Seoyeon nodded.
“You need to set your number, sir.”
“My number?”
“Your back number!”
Only then did an “ah” escape my lips.
Now that I thought about it, the number on my back was 111. Numbers over 100 were usually worn by developmental players.
When I was a developmental player, not only were my options limited, but I also figured my back number didn’t matter.
Since it was going to change anyway.
Getting called up to the first team meant changing my number was the natural thing to do.
“What number would you like?”
The moment she asked, only one number came to mind.
The number I’d worn continuously ever since I put on a baseball uniform in elementary, middle, and high school.
“Number 14, is that possible?”
“Number 14? One moment!”
Gim Seoyeon quickly checked the phone in her hand.
“Ah, it’s available! Number 14.”
“I’ll take that number, please.”
“Yes. Then, sir, I’ll see you on May 1st.”
“Thank you!”
Now that I even had a first-team back number, all that was left was getting my name on the first-team roster.
“Ah. I wish it would hurry up and be May 1st already.”
I was muttering to myself when Ryu Jaeyul’s voice came from beside me.
“14?”
“Yeah. It’s my birthday.”
When I first joined the elementary school baseball club, the coach told us to pick our back numbers.
Everyone called out the numbers of famous or respected players, but I didn’t.
My birthday. January 4th.
So, number 14.
That was how my back number was decided, and I used it until graduating elementary, middle, and high school.
To think I’d be lucky enough to wear it on a pro baseball first team too.
“That’s very much like you. Simple.”
Ryu Jaeyul looked at me as if I were pathetic.
As if to say, what amazing number did you pick?
“What about yours?”
“Mine is 27.”
“27?”
“My original number was 10, but Senior Jin Gangho is using it, so I couldn’t. I decided to use 27 instead.”
Given Ryu Jaeyul’s personality, it wouldn’t be his birthday. Was there a famous player who wore 27?
I wasn’t really curious, but I asked out of courtesy.
“What does it mean?”
“2.71828….”
I suddenly felt a chill.
“…What is that?”
“Euler’s number. 2.718281828. Since only two digits are possible, I just cut it off at 27. I was going to go with pi, but Euler appealed to me more.”
Euler? Pi? Wait. If it’s pi, it’s not the food.
If Ryu Jaeyul, who was crazy about math, was talking about pi.
“Hey. Is that the 3.14 whatever thing?”
The thing our middle school teacher made us memorize like crazy.
“Yeah. You know that?”
As if asking if I really knew it, I shouted proudly at Ryu Jaeyul.
“Of course! That, what, pi? I know that stuff. I can do math too.”
Right. Just that 3.14 whatever thing.
“But you said you used 10 before, right?”
Ah. This damned curiosity.
“What did that one mean?”
A smug smile seemed to flash across Ryu Jaeyul’s face.
“0 and 1. They’re the greatest numbers, aren’t they? I wanted to do 01, but that wasn’t allowed, so I went with 10.”
Ha.
“0 is the root of the empty set and the decimal system, and 1 is the starting point of all operations; without it, multiplication and functions….”
I left the chattering Ryu Jaeyul where he was and got up from my seat.
“Huh? Hey, Chae Gangu. If you asked, you should listen.”
“No. I don’t think I need to hear any more.”
Who the hell assigns mathematical meaning to a back number?
I was an idiot for asking a math-crazy bastard.
I could hear Ryu Jaeyul grumbling behind me, but I ignored him as I was stepping into the training ground.
“Chae Gangu, Ryu Jaeyul.”
I looked up at the familiar voice to see Yun Donghyeok standing with his arms crossed, looking at us.
“Where have you been to only show up now?”
“Sorry. I ran into Gim Seoyeon just now and we were talking about back numbers.”
“Back numbers?”
Yun Donghyeok spoke as if curious.
“What number did you pick?”
“I went with 14.”
“14?”
“For your information, it’s my birthday.”
When I said it cheekily, Yun Donghyeok burst out laughing.
“That’s so like you.”
“Ah. Senior. Do you know why Ryu Jaeyul’s back number is 27?”
“Ryu Jaeyul?”
Yun Donghyeok looked at Ryu Jaeyul and asked.
“Is it your birthday too?”
“No.”
Ryu Jaeyul continued with a disgusted expression.
“27 is Euler’s number rounded. I wanted 01 or 10, but couldn’t. You know, right, Senior? 0 is one of the greatest numbers, and 1 is the starting point of all operations….”
The moment Ryu Jaeyul’s explanation began, I could see Yun Donghyeok’s eyes waver.
It was a hundred percent certain. Yun Donghyeok wouldn’t understand either. Even the manager and coaches probably wouldn’t understand what Ryu Jaeyul was saying.
“Uh, uh? I know. Nice number.”
“I knew you’d understand, Senior. Chae Gangu can’t understand no matter how I explain it.”
Whether the awkwardly smiling Yun Donghyeok heard him or not, Ryu Jaeyul landed a clean hit.
“Because he’s ignorant.”
It was a home run.