The Flow Tilts
It was just as the senior had said. From that point, the momentum shifted rapidly. Gwangju Pigeons' ace starter, the foreign pitcher Thompson, began to waver.
As they applied pressure on the bases, the fielders' errors piled up. Thompson lost faith in his defense and started trying to handle everything himself. That mindset threw off his control instead.
In that situation, Son Tae-ho stepped up to the plate. Thompson tried overpowering him from the first pitch, but the ball drifted too far inside. Son Tae-ho didn't miss it, cracking a clean hit that sailed deep into the outfield for extra bases.
The same scene repeated with the next batter, Jeong Yi-hoon. The pitch sequencing grew predictable, the ball kept tailing in, and the hitters kept connecting. The inning dragged on, and the Turkeys' runs started stacking up.
By the end of the third, Thompson had given up five. He trudged off the mound with his head down, and the sight of Gwangju Pigeons' ace entering the dugout seemed to foreshadow the game's outcome.
"What? They're pulling the pitcher already?"
In the bottom of the fourth, as the new pitcher took the mound after defense, the Turkeys dugout buzzed with a clear change in vibe. With the opponent's ace yanked early, the game was theirs.
"Nice. Let's coast from here."
The dugout brimmed with positivity. That's when Gu Min-seok sidled up and tapped my shoulder.
"See? Sharing ideas like that makes it work way better, right?"
I grinned and nodded. "Yeah, true. But sometimes playing it by feel without talking is more fun..."
Gu Min-seok scowled at my words. "You little punk."
"I'm serious. 'To fool the enemy, fool your own side first.' When no one knows what's coming, the quickest thinker wins that split-second battle. I think we're better at it—got that instinct."
"Still, the risk is huge."
"You take risks for big gains. It's calculated."
Gu Min-seok shook his head. "Nah, I'm all about precise calculation and exploiting gaps."
"We do both. But they prep for that too. Takes the thrill out. I'm aiming higher."
He looked like words weren't getting through. So I switched to a cocky tone. "Hey, if you can't keep up, no need to force it. I don't push people who can't handle the hard stuff."
"..."
His face hardened. "You punk—get over here."
He locked me in a headlock. From the end of the bench, Hong Yu-chan watched quietly. The dugout vibe was great, but as a guy who mostly warmed the bench, he didn't look thrilled. More like envious.
Meanwhile, the visitors' cheering section down the third-base line had noticeably deflated. The game had crumbled too fast from the start.
As the score gap widened, the stands grew darker, a funeral-like hush settling in. The Gwangju Pigeons cheer captain and cheerleaders tried pumping up the rhythm, but the fans' response was tepid. Claps were sporadic, sighs outnumbering cheers.
Kim Se-rin watched bitterly. Her premonition of doom had been spot-on. She'd sensed bad vibes before the game, but not that it'd unravel this quick. Still, as a cheerleader, she managed her expression and kept cheering, though her heart felt heavy.
Around then, I headed out for defense, sliding naturally to shortstop. Glancing idly at the third-base visitors' section, I caught the cheerleaders rising for our at-bat.
Our eyes locked. It was Kim Se-rin. She stared for a beat, puffing her cheeks in a pout, then mouthed silently:
'Hate you.'
My breath caught. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I nearly looked away in panic but forced nonchalance, turning my head. My conscience stung a bit, but this was pro ball. Gotta do what it takes. Pigeons would've won if they were better.
Gwangju Pigeons kept trailing and lost 8-2. Ceding early momentum hurt them to the end. Worst was their ace folding against our fifth starter—not just a loss, but a deeper blow.
Post-game, the Gwangju dugout was silent, the visitors' stands quietly emptying. Fans had trickled out from the seventh.
Turkeys, though? Sky-high. Near-perfect game and result. Interviews brimmed with positives, and first-base stands lingered, cheering till players finished.
Players packed quick for the next schedule—no reason to hang.
Meanwhile, benchwarmer Hong Yu-chan cornered Son Tae-ho for advice: how to play like the starters.
Son Tae-ho pondered, then said flatly, "Ask the junior who's grown the most."
Hong Yu-chan hesitated. Son Tae-ho smirked. "Guess you're not desperate enough to learn from a junior?"
Hong Yu-chan sighed softly. "Got it." Then, "Kim Hu-seong."
He sought me out as I was nearly packed to head home. Whoa, what's up with him?
"Yeah? What's up?"
Hong Yu-chan approached cautiously. "Uh... how'd you improve so much?"
How'd I improve? Easy to explain. I thought a sec, then straight-up: "Just worked hard, and it happened."
Too vague—he stared blankly. "Can you be more specific? That tells me nothing."
I paused. Yeah, that was like saying "I studied textbooks" in school. Seeing beats hearing. "Not much to learn from me, but if you wanna... meet at the stadium tomorrow, 6 a.m. sharp. Training gear, ready to go."
"What? That early?"
He looked shocked. I added, "Yeah. You'll see why. More like doing it together, really."
Hong Yu-chan barely made it by 7 a.m. After last night's game, he'd crashed briefly—woke at 6, having snoozed the alarm. Rushed half-asleep to the stadium.
Opening the training ground door, he froze. I was already deep in solo work: warmed up with running, drilling footwork nonstop.
No way... he really started this early?
I spotted him and looked up. "Oh, you're here. Bit late."
"Uh... sorry. Tough dragging myself this early."
"Good you made it. Personal training now. Oh, and..."
"Hm?"
"This is what you wanted."
Hong Yu-chan blinked blankly as we warmed up. Then the real grind hit.
"Uh... no breaks?"
No end in sight. "Nah? Keep moving to max the stimulus. Muscles pumping hard now, right?"
Defense drills, running, batting, back to defense. Zero rest.
"Man, you whined about mornings but keeping up fine. Great partner."
Is he messing with me?
"Break soon?"
"Nah, wasting time. Alternate batting?"
"Uh... sure."
I flowed to the next. "Nice hit. Damn, you're crushing today—ten times better than me. Learning tons."
Batted while he rested a tad, then defense again. His legs grew leaden, breath ragged. Mine? Steady.
Chasing my routine blindly, clock hit noon—lunch, team training soon.
Hong Yu-chan was gassed. How does he do this daily? I'm dying...
He recalled me vanishing mid-training once. Made sense now. I'd drop today and no one'd blink.
"Alright, lunch time."
We ate together. Barely rested before team drills. There, the gap widened: his steps tangled from dead legs, uncharacteristic errors earning a chewing from the defense coach. Body failing him.
As game time neared, he was fully drained—heavy limbs, scattered focus. Unsure if he'd even perform if subbed in. Lucky he was a defensive replacement—likely benched.
Yet I'd crushed the morning routine, hit leadoff, and manned short like nothing happened. Watching me, Hong Yu-chan knew: Guy's insane... how?
But Murphy's Law strikes. "Hong Yu-chan, prep for defensive sub."
"Huh?"
"Hurry up and get out there."
Bottom fifth: third baseman Edison jammed a finger sliding. Shit... I'm in.
Hong Yu-chan had to go.