Chaebol

The reason for questioning Baker's life was simple.

He said he wished this painting would rot in the warehouse like himself.

In other words, did Baker think he was rotting away?

Why would someone enjoying a middle-class life think that way?

He needed clues.

So, he sent Professor Jo Soo-deok and gathered quite a bit of information.

The baseball gear he treasured like a shrine.

His obsession with watching the Boston Red Sox games.

It wasn't hard to deduce that his dream was to be a baseball player.

He aspired to go pro, but his dream was shattered early.

He must have felt that his life was completely ruined.

'But why? Why must the painting rot in the warehouse?'

At this point, I thought of one possibility.

The fierce opposition from his parents.

'Yeah.'

The warehouse was filled with an immense collection of artworks.

The kind of collection only achievable with a lifetime of absolute admiration for art.

But it was hard to expect such affection from Baker.

So, there was only one remaining option.

'Of course, he must have inherited them from his parents.'

Parents with a significant eye for art.

A son who had enough artistic talent to become an architect but preferred baseball more.

'He ultimately gave up baseball due to his parents' opposition.'

His anger towards his parents must have led him to stow away the paintings in the warehouse.

However, one question remained unresolved…

Why did he stop playing the baseball he loved so much?

Because he didn't go pro?

Did he grow to hate baseball so much that he couldn't stand the sight of it?

No.

If he hated baseball, why was he so absorbed in the Red Sox games?

He enjoys watching the games but ignores amateur and community baseball.

The only plausible reason I could think of was this:

He might have felt he reached the limits of his talent and gave up baseball, blaming his parents instead of accepting it himself, creating a vicious cycle of blaming them.

Why didn't he stick it out until the end?

Even if he was surrounded by exceptional players, if he had kept swinging the bat until the end, he wouldn't have any regrets.

The regret of someone who ran away too early.

He pretended to ignore it, but ultimately, the arrow of his anger was pointed at himself.

"Was the opposition from your parents just an excuse? Did you give up because you realized your talent was limited?"

I asked, thinking along these lines.

"What do you know to say that!"

Baker responded with a desperate shout.

Seeing his extremely shaky eyes, I was sure my deduction was correct.

If I weren't an eleven-year-old kid…

Baker might have grabbed me by the collar.

His anger, having no place to go, soon found another target.

"You bastard professor! What did you tell the kid to make him say that! Or is this all your doing? Otherwise…"

"Calm down."

Baker didn't listen to me.

He seemed determined to unleash all his anger on Professor Jo Soo-deok.

But I intervened first.

"You said you wished the painting would rot in the warehouse, right?"

"Shut up!"

"No! Why should the painting rot? Because you're projecting yourself onto it?"

"Professor, you idiot, make the kid shut up! Or at least interpret properly!"

"Instead of letting the painting rot, why don't you come out of the warehouse?"

"How! How, exactly!"

Baker shouted so loudly his throat was visible.

"By riding a time machine back to the past? Would that do?"

"No. You can start now, with baseball."

"What nonsense is that!"

"You have affection for it, that's why you watch games and take notes every day."

"So what!"

Though he said that, his shoulders, which had been shaking with anger, started to settle down.

Even his eyes, which had been burning with rage, showed signs of calming.

This much was enough to have a normal conversation.

"You don't have to play to be involved in baseball. There are so many things to do off the field."

"I only held a bat for a short time when I was young. What can I do with that little experience?"

"When do you plan to use those college notebooks filled with notes?"

"They're just some stats I organized."

That couldn't be true.

With official recorders already in place, why would he bother to organize them himself?

He must have added detailed tactical opinions.

"Statistical analysis or scouting reports… you don't need to be a former player to do those."

"..."

"You still care… that's why you take notes while watching the games, right? You don't want to miss out on the last possibility?"

Baker avoided my gaze, trying to act calm but clearly revealing his startled heart.

***

"Let's watch this video and talk more."

As soon as I finished speaking, the butler brought in a large box.

Inside the box were about 20 videotapes.

"What's this?"

"There's a city called Gwangju, famous for baseball."

Baker tilted his head in confusion.

"There's a highly regarded pitcher from there."

"So what?"

"Explaining is a waste of breath, let's just watch it."

These were materials the butler personally fetched from Gwangju High School.

That might be why.

The butler holding the videotapes looked quite reverent.

"Young master, the first tape is the oldest. The rest are recorded in chronological order."

"Did you hear that? This is footage from his first year of high school."

Baker didn't seem very interested.

His reaction suggested that an Asian pitcher wouldn't throw anything impressive.

Of course, he'd watch since we brought 20 tapes.

Bang!

At the first pitch, Baker shook his head.

"His windup is so slow. He'd allow ten stolen bases per game."

Bang!

"Why is he standing like that on the pitching rubber?"

"Why? Is there a problem?"

"You should stand in front. Standing on top… never mind."

Initially critical, his evaluation began to change while watching the footage from the player's second year of high school.

"Is the speed gun broken?"

"What's wrong?"

"No way his speed could increase this much in one year."

"He's growing."

"No matter how much…"

Finally, when he played the third-year footage.

"...!"

Baker quickly lost his words.

Instead, he pulled out a thick college notebook.

Then he began to busily jot down notes in cursive.

About 15 minutes passed.

During a brief pause to switch tapes, Baker turned to me and asked.

"What's this kid's name?"

"Sun Dong-Yeol."

"What?"

"Sun. Dong. Yeol."

"Too hard."

"Just call him Sun."

"Sun?"

"Yes."

Baker wrote that down very seriously in his notebook.

"What do you think? Is he no good because he's Asian?"

"Hmm, well, uh, judging by skin color is such an outdated way of thinking."

"Really?"

"Of course. What's important is not which continent he's from. Everyone's equal on the baseball field."

Heh.

I chuckled and asked.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Ah, right… I'm definitely surprised. His lower body strength is incredible."

"What happens with a strong lower body?"

"You can push your balance forward and throw the ball closer to the batter. It means you're throwing from a more advantageous position."

"It's favorable for the pitcher?"

"Absolutely!"

The lecture continued.

"Usually, your shoulder tenses up, but this kid knows how to use his waist. So… he distributes the load from the shoulder to the waist."

"What's the benefit?"

"It spares the shoulder. He can last longer."

"You're quite the expert."

"Expert, no…"

"No, you identified what makes him excellent and explained it right away."

"..."

"How about it?"

"What?"

"Why don't you get yourself out of the warehouse?"

Baker's Adam's apple bobbed noticeably.

"Go to the Red Sox front office. Show them this video. Tell them you discovered this player and ask to be hired as their Asia-Pacific scout. They'll make you a business card immediately."

"Ridiculous. Even if he's a top player from a remote area… Boston must have been secretly checking him. How could one piece of information make me a scout…?"

"You just need to handle the player's contract."

"How? He's an elite high school pitcher… he'd expect a signing bonus of $50,000… would Boston invest that money in an unknown Asian player?"

"I'll make the investment."

"...?"

"I'll cover Sun Dong-Yeol's signing bonus."

"$50,000… from you?"

"Did you forget? I'm rich."

Baker was speechless for a moment.

His face showed he was considering many possibilities.

"Spending $50,000 for a painting…?"

"Are you worried about me now?"

"Hmph."

As Baker's hesitation continued, I looked at Jo Soo-deok.

'Do you have what I asked for?'

With a signal from my eyes, Jo Soo-deok took out a shopping bag from the car.

"Mr. Baker, I prepared a gift for you."

"A gift?"

"Take it out."

Inside the shopping bag was a vintage Red Sox uniform from the 1960s.

It had "Baker" marked on it.

The number was 51, which he used during his youth.

"You dreamed of playing during this era, didn't you?"

Baker unfolded the uniform with both hands.

Then he saw the numerous signatures on it.

Jerry Adair, Mike Andrews, Gary Bell, Ken Brett, Joe Foy, and more.

These were the Boston players he admired as a kid.

"Where did you get this?"

"Where do you think? I went around and got all the signatures myself."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"For me?"

I pointed to the center of the uniform instead of answering.

"See that unsigned spot?"

"...?"

"It's deliberately left blank. For you to have the players you discover sign it."

"Who am I supposed to discover?"

"Are you going to stop with Sun Dong-Yeol? You need to keep finding more players."

Was it a dreamlike story?

Baker stared at the uniform in a daze for a long time.

TL/n - 

You can read up to Chapter 50 by supporting me at [email protected]/inkbound

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