“Good morning… Assistant Manager Son?”
Senior Staff Kim Seung-min, entering the office, started his greeting but trailed off in a hushed tone as he eyed the room, then sidled over to me.
“Senpai, was something going on in the office today?”
“No, why?”
“It’s just—today the atmosphere feels off.”
“It’s autumn now.”
“…Why’s that?”
“You must be new here. At HR Group, they always warn us to watch out for falling leaves in early autumn.”
“Huh? What does autumn have to do with anything? A performance report or something?”
“No—it’s because the Chairman gets really sensitive this time of year.”
“…The Chairman gets seasonal affective?”
“It’s because of our baseball team.”
“You mean the baseball team?”
“Yeah, the KBO team.”
HR Group’s own club, the HR Phœnix.
“Our Phœnix haven’t made the playoffs.”
“Oh…but isn’t that the usual sight?”
True enough—the Phœnix are practically perennial cellar-dwellers.
Ninth, tenth, eighth, tenth, ninth.
That’s where our Phœnix finished over the past five seasons.
And this year…
“Tenth.”
Dead last.
“That bad?”
“You don’t know how much the Chairman loves sports.”
“How much are we talking?”
Manager Oh, who’d been listening quietly, couldn’t hold back.
“Chairman Yoo’s a total sports fanatic.”
Within HR Group, sponsoring every kind of sport is legendary: from F1 and K League soccer to wingsuit flying and high diving. Most of it makes no marketing sense—it’s purely for Chairman Yoo’s vicarious thrill.
“But of all sports, his favorite is…”
“Baseball.”
“Exactly.”
People joke that he’s a “baseball stan.”
“I’ve even seen news articles when he attended games.”
“Yeah. Back when we had star players or did well, he went all the time.”
Five years ago, though, he stopped coming. Our ace signed to MLB, other top players left in free agency, and trades flopped—ever since we stopped contending for the playoffs.
“He used to bring his grandkids and great-grandkids to games…”
“But at least he didn’t disband the team?”
“He’s a fanatic. He still watches every game—but when you remind him we’re hopeless in autumn, he snaps.”
“So the upper echelons start breathing down our necks.”
“Exactly.”
That pressure trickles down to us.
Ring—ring—ring—!
Just then, Department Head Ma’s extension phone buzzed.
“Yes, Planning Team 2, Ma Won-ho speaking… To the Chairman’s office? Understood.”
His face went stone-cold. With a heavy sigh, he headed to the executive suite—no doubt to be scolded for our baseball failures.
“This is brutal… How long will this last?”
“Until the playoffs end.”
“A month of Arctic cold, then.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
Kim Seung-min shuddered and returned to his desk.
Vrrr—.
My phone buzzed:
[Ms. Yoo: Assistant Manager Son! Since we mentioned it, want to catch the game together?]
Despite the bleak office vibe, I couldn’t help smiling.
[Son Jin-seong: Count me in!]
Honestly, playoffs pressure or not, we were head over heels—thinking only of our next date.
“I haven’t been to a ballpark in ages!”
Sia’s eyes lit up.
“I came with Grandfather a lot as a kid, but after studying abroad, I barely came.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“Me? It’s been a while for me, too…”
Since my injury ended my career, I’d never returned to a stadium. It felt both strange and heartwarming.
During job-hunting, I avoided baseball news—it hurt too much. But after joining HR Media, I could even watch national team games without pain. Domestic league games, though—I only caught them when a friend debuted or a junior pitched.
“I feel guilty you came for me…”
“Not at all. It’s even better in person.”
Maybe because I’d found my footing at work, the old ache was gone.
“I’m excited too. Should be fun.”
“Thank goodness. I don’t know the rules well—teach me?”
“Sure.”
Hand in hand, we entered the stadium. The crowd was huge.
“Looks sold out.”
“I heard the tickets were snapped up.”
Today was the Phœnix’s final regular-season game at Jamsil, our home field. A de facto last-place playoff against the Heroes (ninth place) versus us (tenth).
If we win, we finish ninth. Draw or loss, we stay tenth.
No wonder the stands were packed—a surprisingly large, devoted fandom for a last-place team.
“How’d you get tickets on game day?”
“Heh—family connections helped!”
It seemed Sia had pulled strings.
“No crazy suite or anything, right?”
“No, you hate that.”
“I don’t hate it…”
It just feels weird.
“Want to upgrade to VIP?”
“No need. As long as there’s a seat.”
“We got a table spot.”
“That’s perfect.”
Baseball is best enjoyed with snacks—and a table elevates the experience.
“What’s good at Jamsil…”
“They say kimchi broth noodles are great.”
“Then let’s get that and some chicken and beer.”
“Sounds good!”
We hurried to grab food as the game was about to start.
Then…
A cluster of security guards escorted someone in the distance.
‘Not a player—too late for them to arrive.’
‘And the first-pitch celebrity would have practiced in the bullpen.’
‘Celebrity fan?’
I rose on tiptoes, scanning, and for a moment met the gaze of the guards’ charge.
“Whoa!”
I ducked instinctively.
“Who was that?” Sia asked.
“…Chairman Yoo.”
“Huh?”
“Chairman Yoo’s here.”
Sia’s pupils widened.
“I think he saw us.”
“…Really?”
She stamped her foot.
“We need to get out of sight.”
But the crowd was too thick. We couldn’t fight through.
And more problematically, the Chairman’s guards were heading this way.
“Hide!”
I dashed into a concession stand.
Chairman Yoo had come to the ballpark to soothe his vexed spirit—grandsons churning out only boys, his precious granddaughter in love, all causing him distress.
On entering, something caught his eye.
“…I thought I saw someone over there.”
“Do you know them?”
“Not sure. Let’s check.”
A few steps later, he saw her.
“Is that my granddaughter?!”
His gloom lifted at the sight of Yoo Sia. She stood alone—odd, since she wasn’t known to be a baseball fan.
“Here by yourself?”
“Yes. I thought I’d try the experience.”
“Is someone else with you?”
“No, Grandfather. I’m alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then watch with your old grandpa.”
“…Yes.”
[Ms. Yoo: Assistant Manager Son, I’m so sorry 😢]
[Ms. Yoo: I can’t refuse Grandfather…]
[Son Jin-seong: It’s fine—enjoy the game. We’ll meet at home later.]
[Ms. Yoo: Ah, I didn’t plan this 😢]
[Ms. Yoo: Should I tell him I’m with my boyfriend? I’ve already said I’m dating…]
[Son Jin-seong: No.]
[Son Jin-seong: I’d be dead meat.]
If I did, the next day’s headlines might read: “HR Media staff found cemented in a hillside”—and everyone would chalk it up to natural causes.
[Ms. Yoo: Okay, I’ll head home right after!]
[Ms. Yoo: Let’s have late-night snacks!]
[Son Jin-seong: Sounds good 😊]
“How commendable.”
“Huh?”
“My Sia’s all grown up, coming to the game alone.”
Chairman Yoo’s face beamed.
“Heh…”
Sia forced a shy smile.
We were in the VIP private suite—transparent from inside, opaque from outside. Chairman Yoo had it custom-built for his games.
Though not publicized, he still attended games from time to time despite five straight seasons at the bottom. “They may be lousy, but they’re mine…”
“If only we could escape last place today…”
“I hope so too.”
“By the way, Sia, aren’t you hungry? You skipped dinner to come.”
“I’m okay…”
“You shouldn’t be.” He turned to his aide, “Chief Choi, fetch every food item available nearby.”
“Yes, sir.”
In under thirty minutes, a feast arrived: chicken, pizza, tteokbokki, wheat noodles, kimchi broth noodles, fries, thin-skinned dumplings, calamari—every concession made its way in.
“I can’t eat all this…”
“Try a little of everything.”
Chairman Yoo handed Sia chopsticks.
She took them but couldn’t bring herself to eat.
Why? ‘I don’t feel like it…’ These were foods I loved with Son, but today the mix of smells repulsed her.
She gagged.
“Ugh.”
“…!?”
“Blegh!”
“S-Sia?”
“Bleh!”
She rushed to the restroom.
“…Hm.”
Chairman Yoo watched closely, then turned toward her exit, his expression wavering.
“…Could it be?”