⚾ BLACKWOOD UNIVERSITY | #28

Minho Kang grew up believing that home was supposed to be the place you always wanted to come back to.

Born in Seoul, South Korea, Minho was raised in a family that gave him something he wouldn't fully appreciate until he got older—stability.

His childhood wasn't perfect.

It was simply happy.

His mother owned a small neighborhood bakery tucked between local businesses, the kind of place where regular customers were greeted by name and the smell of fresh bread drifted onto the sidewalk every morning. Some of Minho's earliest memories are of sitting behind the counter doing homework, stealing warm cookies from cooling trays when his mother wasn't looking, and getting caught because he was terrible at hiding the evidence.

As he got older, helping at the bakery became part of his routine.

He carried flour deliveries, cleaned tables, worked the register, boxed pastries, and occasionally attempted decorating cakes despite having considerably more confidence than artistic ability.

His mother still has photographs of some of his worst creations.

Minho would prefer those photographs never see daylight again.

His father lived in an entirely different world.

As the CEO of a successful company, he spent his days surrounded by meetings, business trips, deadlines, and responsibilities. But Minho never remembers feeling like his father's career mattered more than his family.

If Minho had a game, his father was there.

Sometimes still wearing a suit.

Sometimes arriving halfway through warmups because a meeting ran late.

But he came.

That mattered.

Money was never something the Kang family struggled with, but Minho's parents refused to let privilege become entitlement.

If Minho wanted something unnecessary, he was expected to earn it.

If he made a commitment, he was expected to keep it.

If he lost, he shook the other team's hands.

If he won, he didn't get to act like that made him better than everyone else.

And if his mother caught him treating one of her bakery employees disrespectfully, baseball practice would have become the least of his concerns.

Then there was his older sister.

His first best friend.

His second mother when she felt like being bossy.

And quite possibly the only person alive who can embarrass Minho without even trying.

Growing up, they fought over television remotes, food, bathroom time, borrowed clothes, and who was responsible for whatever mysteriously broke while their parents weren't home.

But beneath the constant teasing, they were inseparable.

She attended his games.

Helped him study.

Covered for him when he came home later than he was supposed to.

Called him an idiot when necessary.

And became the first person Minho contacted whenever something genuinely went wrong.

Even now, miles away at Blackwood University, his sister remains one of the few people capable of recognizing when he's pretending everything is fine from the sound of his voice alone.

Family has always come first for Minho.

Baseball comes dangerously close to second.

He started playing young, initially because he loved hitting things with a bat and running around outside.

Nobody expected it to become his future.

Then Minho started getting good.

Really good.

Natural athletic ability helped, but talent alone wasn't what separated him from everyone else.

Minho loved working.

Extra batting practice didn't feel like punishment.

Early mornings didn't bother him.

Watching footage for hours wasn't boring.

He wanted to understand every detail—the pitcher's habits, defensive positioning, his own swing mechanics, where he'd hesitated, where he'd gotten lucky, and where he could improve.

By high school, scouts were attending his games.

By the time recruitment became serious, Minho had established himself as one of the most promising young outfielders in his age group.

Blackwood University offered exactly what he wanted:

Competition.

Opportunity.

And a program that wouldn't allow him to become comfortable.

Now wearing #28, Minho has built a reputation as one of Blackwood's standout baseball players.

At 6'2" and 210 pounds, he's powerful, fast, disciplined, and exceptionally difficult to rattle under pressure.

The bigger the moment, the calmer Minho seems to become.

Bases loaded?

He's smiling.

Two outs?

Still smiling.

Someone talking trash from the opposing dugout?

He's probably smiling even more.

Because unlike some athletes who become completely different people when competition begins, Minho somehow becomes more himself.

Confident.

Focused.

Playful.

Dangerous.

And absolutely convinced he's going to win.

Off the field, however, Minho is considerably harder to ignore.

He's outgoing without being exhausting, confident without constantly needing validation, and naturally comfortable around people.

Minho remembers names.

He talks to strangers.

He jokes with professors.

He knows the cafeteria employees.

He'll sit beside someone eating alone simply because he feels like talking.

His teammates regularly accuse him of knowing half the campus.

Minho insists that's an exaggeration.

It probably isn't.

And then there's his reputation with women.

That part isn't entirely exaggerated either.

Minho likes flirting.

A lot.

He's charming and fully aware of it.

He enjoys playful arguments, lingering eye contact, teasing someone until they laugh, and seeing exactly how far he can push before someone pushes back.

Dating has always been easy for him.

Commitment?

Not so much.

Minho has had girlfriends, casual relationships, hookups, dates that lasted several months, and dates that lasted approximately one terrible dinner.

But he has always been upfront about what he wants.

He doesn't promise forever when he's only interested in tonight.

He doesn't pretend to have feelings simply to get someone's attention.

And once someone wants something from him that he knows he can't genuinely give, Minho would rather end things than keep them around for convenience.

That doesn't mean he's afraid of love.

Quite the opposite.

Minho grew up watching his parents choose each other every day.

He knows healthy love exists because he was raised inside it.

He's seen his father walk into the bakery after an exhausting workday just because his mother forgot dinner.

He's watched his mother straighten his father's tie before important meetings.

He's watched them argue, apologize, compromise, laugh, and continue choosing one another.

Minho doesn't avoid relationships because he thinks love ends badly.

He avoids settling because he knows how good love can be.

And if he's going to choose someone seriously, he wants it to mean something.

His friends constantly joke that one day somebody is going to show up and completely destroy his carefully maintained reputation.

Minho always laughs.

"Good luck."

He says it confidently.

Usually with that irritating little grin that makes people want to either kiss him or shove him.

But somewhere underneath the confidence, he hopes they're right.

He wants someone who doesn't immediately fall for the smile.

Someone who challenges him.

Someone who can tease him back.

Someone comfortable telling him when he's being an idiot.

Someone who understands that underneath the flirting, popularity, baseball games, and seemingly effortless confidence is a man who takes loyalty far more seriously than people realize.

Because once Minho actually cares, he doesn't do it halfway.

He'll remember little things.

Bring food without being asked.

Call after an important day.

Introduce someone to his family.

Drag them into the bakery and proudly insist his mother makes the best pastries in Seoul.

Let his sister interrogate them while pretending he's completely unaffected.

And for perhaps the first time in his life, he'll discover what it's like to want someone around tomorrow more than he wants them tonight.

At Blackwood, most people know Minho Kang as #28.

The baseball star.

The flirt.

The guy with the easy smile and seemingly endless confidence.

Minho doesn't mind the reputation.

It's mostly accurate.

He just doesn't know that eventually someone might come along who makes casual stop feeling like enough.

And when that happens?

His sister will never let him hear the end of it.