It had been a year since Kang Junho had last put on his soccer cleats.
For the first few months, time passed painfully slowly.
When he opened his eyes in the morning, the first thing he thought about was whether it was a practice day. A moment later, he would remember that he had already quit the team. As the end of the school day approached, he would instinctively look toward the field. Whenever kids wearing blue uniforms passed by, he would turn his head for no reason.
Whenever a soccer game came on television, he changed the channel.
When his friends talked about the World Cup, he pretended not to care.
Whenever he saw a soccer ball rolling toward him, the urge to stop it with his foot came first, but he deliberately moved out of the way.
That was how Junho slowly erased the parts of himself he knew best.
After he quit soccer, his friends from the Blue Hawks contacted him several times.
For the first few weeks, Taeyoon sent him messages almost every day.
‘Junho, we played a practice game today. I think we would’ve won if you’d been there.’
‘Is your knee okay?’
‘Pick up the phone.’
Doyoon didn’t say much.
‘I’ll wait.’
That short sentence shook Junho more than anything else.
Hyunwoo came all the way to his house.
When Junho refused to see him, he left a drink and a small note by the gate before he left.
‘Nobody passes me the ball when you’re gone. Come back soon.’
Minseok contacted him the most.
He called, texted, and even waited outside Junho’s school.
But Junho never gave him a proper answer.
The more Minseok tried to explain, the angrier Junho became.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear the truth.
If anything, he wanted to hear it too badly.
He was simply afraid that he would be told he had misunderstood everything.
He felt as if he would have to admit that every choice he had made—getting angry, doubting his friends, and giving up soccer—had been wrong.
Junho was still only twelve.
He was too young to set aside his pride and reach out first.
As time passed, the messages gradually became less frequent.
The Blue Hawks made it to the quarterfinals of the national tournament, but were eliminated. Junho heard that Minseok had been injured during the game and that Hyunwoo had missed a crucial scoring opportunity.
Even after hearing about it, Junho pretended he didn’t care.
But that night, he could hardly fall asleep.
What would have changed if he had been there?
He couldn’t get the thought out of his head.
By the time he entered middle school, Junho had become an ordinary student on the outside.
He didn’t join a sports team, and he didn’t try too hard in physical education class. Whenever he ran, he always slowed down around the middle of the pack, and during classes that used a ball, he tried not to stand out.
But his body couldn’t forget the past as easily as his mind wanted to.
Even without anyone teaching him, Junho read his opponents’ movements first. When playing dodgeball, he avoided the direction the ball was going to fly before it came. When playing basketball, he sent the ball accurately to a friend standing in open space.
The harder he tried not to play soccer, the more the instincts he had learned from soccer revealed themselves in other movements.
“Kang Junho.”
Physical education teacher Oh Seongjin looked down at the attendance book and spoke.
“You’ve played a sport before, haven’t you?”
“No.”
Junho answered immediately.
“But you don’t move like an ordinary kid.”
“I’m just a little fast.”
“You seem like more than just a little fast.”
Mr. Oh studied Junho closely.
Junho avoided his gaze.
The school didn’t have a soccer team.
It did have a baseball team.
It wasn’t a large program, but it had posted good results in regional tournaments several times. On one side of the field stood a baseball field enclosed by green fencing, and around the end of the school day, the sounds of bats striking balls and players shouting echoed throughout the school.
Junho wasn’t interested in baseball.
More precisely, he was trying not to become interested in it.
After quitting soccer, starting another sport felt like betraying his dream.
One afternoon after school, Junho stayed in the classroom to do his homework.
All his friends had gone home, and the hallway was quiet.
That was when Oh Seongjin opened the classroom door and came in.
“Kang Junho, you haven’t gone home yet?”
“I’m going to leave after I finish my homework.”
“Perfect timing. Give me a hand.”
Junho had a bad feeling about this.
Mr. Oh was a physical education teacher and also served as the baseball team’s assistant coach.
“What do you need help with?”
“We’re short on people to pick up the balls for the baseball team. You only need to help for an hour.”
“I can’t play baseball.”
“Why would you need baseball skills to pick up balls?”
Junho was about to refuse, but Mr. Oh was already holding his backpack.
“Let’s go.”
“Coach, I really—”
“You can do your homework at the baseball field.”
In the end, Junho followed his teacher to the baseball field.
The baseball field was larger than he had expected.
The infield dirt had been packed smooth, and the outfield grass gleamed green. It looked completely different from a soccer field.
Square bases were set at regular intervals, and the mound in the center rose slightly higher than the ground around it. The players wore white uniforms and tossed the ball back and forth from their positions.
Short, sharp sounds continued one after another.
“Whap!”
It was the sound of a ball sinking into a catcher’s mitt.
Junho stopped walking without realizing it.
It was different from the dull sensation of a soccer ball touching his foot. A baseball was small and hard. After leaving a player’s hand, it flew quickly in a straight line before disappearing into the mitt.
“Coach, who’s that student?”
One of the baseball players asked.
“He’s here to pick up balls today.”
“Is he a first-year?”
“Yeah. Don’t give him a hard time.”
Mr. Oh handed Junho a large basket.
“Pick up the balls that land in the outfield and put them in here.”
Reluctantly, Junho walked toward the outfield.
Batting practice began.
Every time a batter swung the bat, the ball flew in a different direction. Junho picked up the balls that landed and put them in the basket.
At first, it was boring.
But after chasing a few balls, he noticed something strange.
The moment the batter moved, he could roughly tell which way the ball would fly.
If the bat came through a little late, the ball was pushed toward the right. If it came around quickly, the ball was pulled hard to the left. Looking at the batter’s shoulders and the angle of the bat let him predict the ball’s direction.
Junho started moving before the ball was even hit.
One batter sent a ball deep into the outfield.
The other players watched the ball, but Junho started running backward first.
The ball dropped exactly where he had expected it to.
Junho stretched out both arms.
He didn’t have a glove and tried to catch it barehanded, but he missed. The ball landed right in front of him.
“Hey, how’d you know where that was going?” a nearby player asked in surprise.
“Know what?”
“You ran before it landed, like you already knew where the ball would drop.”
Junho didn’t answer.
It had been similar in soccer.
When a long pass came flying, he looked at the ball’s spin and the opposing player’s body direction to predict where it would land. A baseball was smaller and faster, but the instinct for reading the principles behind movement wasn’t all that different.
As practice continued, Junho began to enjoy it a little.
When the ball rose high into the air, he calculated where it would fall. When a ground ball came rolling, he watched how high it bounced.
Without realizing it, he started moving faster.
“Mr. Oh.”
Someone called to Oh Seongjin.
It was Moon Jaechul, the baseball team’s head coach.
He looked to be around fifty. With his arms folded, he watched Junho in the outfield.
“Who’s that kid?”
“He’s a first-year.”
“Has he played baseball before?”
“No. I think today’s his first time here.”
Coach Moon watched Junho for a moment.
“He’s got a decent eye for the ball.”
Mr. Oh smiled.
“That’s why I brought him over.”
“You brought him here on purpose?”
“Half coincidence, half intentional.”
A problem came up near the end of batting practice.
One of the baseball players sprained his ankle while moving the balls.
It wasn’t a serious injury, but he couldn’t continue practicing.
Mr. Oh waved Junho over.
“Junho, can you throw some balls for us?”
“Me?”
“You just have to toss them lightly to that player over there.”
Junho hesitated.
He had never thrown a baseball properly.
He had played with balls with his friends when he was younger, but he had never worn a glove and thrown one over a long distance.
One of the players handed Junho a glove.
“Put it on your left hand.”
Junho awkwardly put on the glove.
It smelled like leather.
When he gripped the ball, it was smaller and harder than he had expected.
“Just throw it comfortably,” Mr. Oh said.
Junho threw the ball from the outfield to the player standing in the infield.
His first throw went far wide.
The baseball was lighter than Junho had expected, and it felt different slipping from his fingertips.
The players laughed.
Junho’s face turned red.
“Take it slow,” Mr. Oh said.
Junho picked up a second ball.
This time, he looked at the other player’s chest as he threw.
The ball was a little high, but it reached him fairly accurately.
The third throw.
The fourth.
Junho quickly learned the feel of it.
As he gradually changed the direction of his stride and the angle of his arm swing, the ball began flying straighter and straighter.
Coach Moon’s expression changed.
“Tell him to throw from a little farther away.”
Mr. Oh sent Junho deep into the outfield.
Junho gripped the ball and looked at the other player.
The distance was fairly long.
In soccer, the plant foot and the rotation of the hips were important when making a long pass with the foot. Without realizing it, Junho applied that same feeling to the motion of throwing.
He stepped forward with his left foot.
He twisted his waist and swung his right arm with all his strength.
The ball flew low and fast.
“Whap!”
It landed perfectly in the other player’s mitt.
Everyone at the baseball field fell silent for a moment.
The player who caught the ball shook his glove.
“Whoa. What was that?”
Mr. Oh looked surprised too.
Coach Moon unfolded his arms.
“Again.”
Junho threw the ball again.
This time, it missed a little to the side, but it still had plenty of power.
“Nice arm,” Coach Moon muttered.
Junho felt awkward hearing that.
When he played soccer, he had often been told that he was small and lacked strength.
But on the baseball field, it was the first time anyone had told him he had a strong arm.
After practice ended that day, Coach Moon called Junho over.
“What’s your name?”
“Kang Junho.”
“You’ve never played baseball?”
“No.”
“What about other sports?”
Junho hesitated for a moment.
“None.”
It was a lie.
Mr. Oh looked at Junho but said nothing.
Coach Moon looked at Junho’s hands.
“You’ve got long fingers and decent wrists. You see the ball well, too.”
Junho didn’t answer.
“Want to try holding a bat?”
“I only came to help.”
“I know. Just hit one.”
Coach Moon pointed toward home plate.
The players who had finished practice had been gathering their bags, but one by one they stopped again. Apparently, the idea of a new student taking a turn at bat had piqued their curiosity.
Junho felt pressured.
But with everyone watching him, it was difficult to refuse.
One of the players handed him a bat.
Junho gripped it with both hands.
It was heavier than he had expected.
He didn’t even know how to stand.
“You’re right-handed, aren’t you?” Coach Moon asked.
“Yes.”
“Turn your left shoulder toward the pitcher, and keep your feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t try to hit too hard. Just watch the ball.”
Mr. Oh decided to toss the ball lightly.
The first pitch came flying.
Junho swung the bat.
“Whoosh!”
The ball hit the net behind the catcher.
He had swung and missed.
Several players tried to hold back their laughter.
Junho bit his lip.
The second pitch.
His bat was late again.
The ball barely clipped the end of the bat and rolled to the side.
“For your first time, that’s not bad,” Mr. Oh said.
But Junho wasn’t satisfied.
He had clearly seen the ball coming.
Yet his body hadn’t moved the way he wanted it to.
In soccer, he prepared his next movement before the ball reached his foot. He thought baseball should be the same.
Junho raised the bat again.
This time, he didn’t watch only the ball.
He watched Mr. Oh’s hand.
The angle of his arm as it came forward.
The moment the ball slipped from his fingertips.
The ball’s spin.
Junho focused on the moment the ball started, rather than on the ball as it flew toward him.
The third pitch was thrown.
Junho stepped forward a little early.
He twisted his waist.
The bat met the ball.
“Crack!”
A clear sound rang across the baseball field.
The ball flew quickly past the infield and toward the outfield.
Junho watched it without realizing it.
After landing on the outfield grass, the ball kept rolling for a long way.
The smiles disappeared from the players’ faces.
Coach Moon slowly lifted his head.
“Again.”
The fourth pitch.
This time, too, the ball struck the center of the bat.
It flew high toward left field.
It didn’t make it to the fence, but it traveled so far that it was hard to believe it had been hit by a student holding a bat for the first time.
Junho’s palm tingled.
His heart was beating fast.
The feeling was similar to the rush he experienced after scoring with a powerful shot in soccer, but it was different too.
When he kicked a soccer ball, power spread out from the tip of his foot.
When he hit a baseball, all his strength concentrated in the brief instant when the bat collided with the ball.
“Having fun?” Coach Moon asked.
Junho couldn’t answer right away.
He was having fun.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he was definitely having fun.
The moment he hit the ball, his mind went completely clear.
It was the first feeling he had experienced since leaving soccer.
“No.”
Junho answered the opposite of what he felt.
“Really?” Coach Moon smiled.
“I only hit it once.”
“Then come hit one more tomorrow.”
“I’m not joining the baseball team.”
“I didn’t tell you to. I’m just saying you should come and hit one more.”
Junho lowered the bat.
“I’m not coming.”
He quickly picked up his backpack and left the baseball field.
Mr. Oh called after him, but Junho didn’t look back.
After leaving through the school gate, Junho walked quickly.
He wanted to deny the excitement he had just felt.
He was afraid of liking sports again.
He was afraid that he would join a team again, trust people, and dream again—only to get hurt.
There was a small park on the way home.
Some children were playing soccer.
A ball rolled toward Junho.
“Hey, mister! Kick it back!” one of the children shouted.
Junho looked at the soccer ball.
Normally, he would have stopped it naturally with his foot.
But this time too, he moved out of the way.
The ball rolled all the way to the edge of the road.
One of the children ran over and retrieved it.
Junho continued walking as if nothing had happened.
But after only a few steps, he stopped.
The palm of his right hand was still tingling.
The sound of the bat striking the ball remained in his ears.
‘Crack.’
For some reason, that short, clear sound kept pounding at his heart.
When he got home, Junho set down his backpack.
His mother was preparing dinner in the kitchen.
“You’re late today.”
“I helped a teacher with something.”
“With what?”
“The baseball team.”
His mother’s hands stopped for a moment.
“The baseball team?”
“I only picked up balls.”
Junho went into his room and closed the door.
He sat down at his desk, but he couldn’t focus on his homework.
He looked at his right hand.
His palm was red and warm.
Inside his desk drawer was an old soccer wristband he used to wear. Junho took it out, then put it back.
Outside the window, he could hear children kicking a ball.
The dull sound of a soccer ball striking a wall.
And in his mind, it overlapped with the clear sound of a baseball hitting a bat.
Junho covered his ears.
But neither sound disappeared.
The next afternoon after school.
Junho was planning to go straight home.
He walked several steps toward the school gate.
Practice had started at the baseball field.
“Whap!”
He heard the sound of the ball sinking into a mitt.
Junho stopped walking.
‘Just one more time.’
He said it to himself.
He wasn’t going to start playing baseball.
He only wanted to find out whether yesterday’s solid hit had been a fluke.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Junho slowly changed direction.
Coach Moon was standing at the entrance to the baseball field.
He wore a calm expression, as if he had known Junho would come.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming.”
Junho avoided his gaze.
“I came to pick up balls.”
Coach Moon smiled.
“Fine. Today, pick up balls and pick up a bat.”
“I’m only hitting once.”
“Do whatever you want.”
Junho entered the baseball field.
One of the players handed him the glove he had used the day before.
Junho accepted it.
The smell of leather returned.
It was an unfamiliar ball.
A ball much smaller and harder than a soccer ball.
A ball that had to be handled with his hands instead of his feet.
A ball that required him to stand alone at home plate instead of running alongside others.
Junho slowly rolled the baseball around in his hand.
He didn’t know it then.
He didn’t know that this small ball would completely change his life.
He didn’t know that the ball he picked up to forget soccer would instead lead him back to it.
And that was how Kang Junho’s second dream began.