Too Ruthless
"Too ruthless..."
The caster let out a sigh. "We're on the 15th pitch now—another foul. Wiley's velocity seems to be dropping off continuously, doesn't it?"
Lee Seo-jin the commentator jumped right in. "That's right. Wiley's average four-seam fastball sits around 147 kph, but right now it's dipping into the low 140s. And it's not just that—his slider and changeup are sailing into the zone too..."
As his voice trailed off, the caster filled in the blank. "But... Kim Hu-seong is fouling every single one of them off, isn't he?"
"Yes. He could be gunning for a hit, but given how extreme a player Kim Hu-seong is, it looks like he's playing it safe."
"It kinda feels like he's toying with the pitcher. Payback for that earlier brushback pitch, maybe?"
"Could be."
"So, what should the pitcher do here?"
"Obviously, the best move is to strike him out and handle it himself. But if it were me..."
Lee Seo-jin paused for a beat.
"I'd think about putting him on with a walk. Letting the pitch count balloon like this against Kim Hu-seong is just too draining. But... sigh... the guy's got wheels. You put him on first, and he'll be dancing into second before you know it. He's a nightmare all around."
At that moment, I was hanging my head, catching my breath. My focus was locked solely on the pitcher.
That damn bastard who'd thrown at me earlier. Seeing his rotten expression now felt pretty damn good.
But it wasn't over yet. I needed a hit. I'd promised to hit .300, after all.
So I had to concentrate even harder.
Foul. Foul. Foul again.
It was a long, grueling battle. And amid that endless repetition, I started to spot the tiniest crack.
The fielders' eyes were slackening, bit by bit. What had started as everyone tensed up in unison had faded into something looser.
Finally... my chance for a hit had arrived.
Wiley's pitch was a fastball away. It looked weaker, easier to pick up.
I didn't swing all the way through. Just hacked at it half-heartedly.
As long as I make contact, I thought.
Tick!
"- The batter connected!?"
"- A grounder bouncing high off the dirt. Almost like a bunt."
The ball rolled weakly, dropping in front of the catcher. This was a spot where the catcher had to charge or the pitcher had to come off the mound quick to field and throw.
But the fatigued pitcher didn't react fast enough, forcing the catcher to lunge forward.
He flinched!
The catcher hesitated mid-charge.
'Damn...'
Busan Siguls' catcher, Jang Jun-young, grimaced. His knee wasn't cooperating after the unfamiliar movement—it'd been a while.
What the...? Why isn't he throwing?
I'd reached first and turned my head when I didn't hear the first baseman's mitt pop.
There was my answer. Irritation and exhaustion mixed on the catcher's face.
Something was wrong. And as I glanced around, I saw it on everyone's faces now—the "it's finally over" look.
They were all fried from the endless tension. From this marathon at-bat, these infinite fouls.
The fielders looked beat.
Hmm... but it's not over yet.
I widened my lead off first naturally.
Wiley was bent over, heaving for breath. Staring at his back, I prepped for the steal.
The next play was already playing out in my head. I'd timed it perfectly from the previous inning.
"- Runner going! Kim Hu-seong slides into second safely!"
The catcher scrambled up and fired to second, but the ball arrived late.
Busan Siguls' catcher Jang Jun-young looked utterly deflated. His shoulders slumped, a deep sigh leaking out from behind the mask.
But I wasn't stopping here. I still had more torment in store.
I immediately flashed a sign to the leadoff hitter, Gu Min-seok.
The problem? It wasn't a real sign.
'Huh? What the hell?'
Gu Min-seok frowned slightly at me.
'What're you up to? That's not even a sign. But he's making it obvious without being obvious.' He casually glanced around, fiddling with his helmet.
That's when another heavy sigh puffed from the catcher.
'Ah... he's pulling some shit again. Sigh... Warn a guy before you do this crap. Whatever, I'll play along.'
I scanned the reactions. The infielders were shifting subtly. Especially the second baseman—his positioning had changed.
Gu Min-seok was a righty, so less pressure on second normally. The guy had crept closer to the bag.
The third baseman had inched in too, to block a steal to third. But with shortstop covering wide, it was tougher to lure a hit through the 5-6 hole like before.
Sure enough... my antics were getting to them.
I could feel their eyes on me. Time to twist the knife a turn or two more carefully...
But the pitcher cracked first.
Shieeeek! Wiley, hyper-focused on me, lost control at release. The changeup didn't take shape, and Gu Min-seok pounced.
Thwack!
"- Batter pulled it!"
The fat pitch right down the middle met bat perfectly, sailing cleanly in front of the left fielder.
I didn't hesitate. Two outs. No need to check third base coach—I bolted straight for home.
Lungs burning to my throat, but I charged the plate.
"- Kim Hu-seong racing home untouched. Gocheok Turkeys add on, now leading 2-0!"
Legs buckled the second I hit the dugout. I'd done the job, but hey, I'm human—tired as hell.
I yanked open the fridge, grabbed a drink, and chugged it mindlessly. Just one hit so far, but that cool liquid sliding down my throat made me feel alive.
"- Kim Hu-seong downing that drink like a champ."
"- After grinding that at-bat from the start, his throat's gotta be parched. Turkeys players don't seem to drink much, but he's going to town."
"- Is that a thing?"
"- Rumors say even drinks are performance-based... but he got a hit, so one-shotting it... nah, probably not. Haha. No way they'd do that."
My uniform was soaked through. The sweat clinging it to my skin felt gross.
I headed to the clubhouse to change.
Time passed, and it was the bottom of the seventh.
"- Kim Hu-seong steps in again."
The opposing pitcher tensed up the moment I entered the box. Starter Wiley had gone five innings on 110 pitches.
Bullpen had to fire up from the sixth. Now on the mound: closer Kim Kyung-min.
Thanks to my run-scoring at-bat earlier, it was 2-1. They needed the fireman to protect the lead.
Kim Kyung-min was a sidearmer. Tricky trajectory from the box.
But as a runner? Different story. Weak pickoff move—easy sail if I go.
Question was how to get on...
"- In the box now: Kim Hu-seong, who's 2-for-3 with a walk, a steal, and two runs scored today."
The caster paused, then rattled off stats.
"- Fourth time up. Pitchers have thrown 30 pitches to him in the first three."
"- Minimum 10 per at-bat. That second one against Wiley with all the fouls was huge."
And Kim Kyung-min threw a curveball—literally.
Shiiiiiik!
"- Ball. Sails way outside."
Plan A: foul off until strikes came. But this messed me up.
First pitch: ball. Second: ball. Third: ball. Count stacked to 3-0 quick.
Huh? This isn't right...
"- Three balls. Control looks shaky."
No way—he's doing this?
His command was so wild I didn't even think about swinging.
But that was the problem. This was heading straight to an easy walk.
I needed a hit. Switched gears fast.
Next pitch, I'd chase with a meaningless swing.
Ball came—I flailed.
Whiff.
The caster blurted immediately.
"- Oh! Kim Hu-seong swings and misses...?"
But Lee Seo-jin sounded different entirely.
"Kim Hu-seong's ruthless. Did he have to swing at that? He knew exactly what he was doing."
"- Stretching the count? Even with no control?"
"Exactly. Ruthless player."
He caught his breath, then continued.
"He'll swing at the next one too. Force a 2-2 count, make the pitcher come into the zone eventually. But here's the key."
"What?"
"Then he fouls it off."
"Ah... even if it's a strike..."
The caster nodded, looking horrified at Lee Seo-jin's words.
"Yes. Ruthless. Very ruthless."