Let's Solve It Together
Let's solve it together. That dawdling thing is obviously a breaking ball. It's probably not going to tail off outside like the last two—it'll come right into the strike zone. This one's definitely testing me. They suspect I can't hit breaking balls. A pickoff right after that? Pro baseball really is on another level. They didn't adjust this fast before... Well, back then I was a rookie, and now I've got last season's track record, so I'm under the microscope. Plus, I homered off a major leaguer... Sigh. It's chilling. A dagger straight to the chest.
What I should say next is but don't worry, but I am worried. Because I really can't hit breaking balls. Honestly, when I was batting lefty, I didn't even think about this stuff—I just reacted somehow and made contact. But standing here right-handed now? No dice. I suddenly miss those lefty days. Still, I can't back down. Just watching in this spot means striking out. What kind of pro just stands there? Even if it's a whiff, I have to swing. The problem is Hwang Ui-chan throws two kinds of breaking balls. Curve and slider. Fifty-fifty odds. The worst case is them confirming I can't hit them at all. I have to do something.
In that split second, a torrent of thoughts raced through his mind as the pitcher began his delivery.
Shhhheeeek. Not a fastball. My pick: curve! Good, hold back a beat! Thankfully, the ball arced on a curve path. Tik! Ah... foul tip.
- Batter makes contact! Ball flying to right field!
The hit popped up high, but he knew the instant he connected: it wasn't solid. Eyes wide, he watched the right fielder. The guy took a step in at first, then backed up quick once he saw the ball hang. After two or three more steps, he raised his glove overhead and planted himself. Pop.
- Caught! Kim Hu-seong's out.
But right now mattered more. He jogged slowly toward first, then turned back. Regret etched his face—like he'd just missed a homer by a hair. Whoever was watching, please buy it... Buy it. Pleeease.
Hmm. Not quite? Im Jong-hyeon, pitcher for the Gwangju Pigeons, frowned. Just a mishit, but it could've carried if it connected right...? He second-guessed his read. No, I'll test it myself in tomorrow's game.
Top of the 9th, zero outs. The scoreboard's 3-3 glared down. Their closer, Lee Yong-chan, took the mound. Mid-150s velocity, fast and heavy stuff. Intimidating, sure—but Hu-seong stifled a short inward chuckle. Thank God. At a moment like this, not a breaking-ball wizard, but a fastball believer. The itch to do something tingled from his fingertips first.
The Gwangju Pigeons were onto him. Suspecting he only hunted fastballs. That scrutiny terrified him, forcing a new plan to hide it. Back to Plan A: lay off the first two pitches. But this time, not to run up the count—deliberately, blatantly whiff on fastballs to look like he was hunting breaking stuff. After all, their guy's got a killer fastball. It'd make sense to sit on offspeed. Proof he reacted to more than just heat.
Shhhheeeek. Pop. First pitch. Fastball as expected, splitting the zone. His bat handle twitched instinctively as it crossed his eyes, but he fought it down. The thud into the catcher's mitt synced with the ump's STRIKE call. 0-1.
Tsk... Bad start.
Shhhheeeek. Trajectory off from release. He stayed still again. Pop. Ball, luckily. 1-1. Right on plan. Hunt from here.
The pitcher wound up. Take back... Ball left his hand. Shhhheeeek. Stride... Spin visible. Fastball. Nice. Rotation... 153 kph heat incoming. Instinct took over, bat meeting ball. Crack! Follow through...!
- Batter pulls it!
A heavy, satisfying jolt shot up his arms on contact—that good pain you feel when you square it. The drive rocketed to left-center, clearing the fence.
- The ball's screaming... over the wall!
- Gocheok Turkeys take the lead!
Yes! The pent-up frustration from the whole game drained in one swing. Their pitchers hadn't challenged him properly all day, but this blast reset everything.
- Kim Hu-seong crushes another homer today!
He circled the bases leisurely. Nothing beat burying their closer. But...
As he rounded, his mood soured bit by bit. The day's nagging doubts resurfaced. Still, they'd see it clearer now. What about tomorrow? He'd baited them on purpose, but a homer off fastballs didn't change facts. He needed to smoke breaking balls quick, move past it... Could he?
"Nice one, Kim Hu-seong!"
At home, he high-fived waiting senior Son Tae-ho and headed to the dugout. For now, success—savor it.
His walk-off sealed the win. Closer Jo Seon-jae closed it out strong; Hu-seong, manning the outfield, exhaled long as the final out posted, trudging to the dugout. Relief first: it's over.
Packing up, the hitting coach approached. Congrats? Nah, his face was calm—not the recent bright grin, but steady. A pat on the shoulder, then straight to it.
"Kim Hu-seong. You... find fastballs easier, so you hunt 'em exclusively?"
His heart dropped a beat late. Half-right, and the positive spin. Reality was worse... But a first-team hitting coach notices.
He considered brushing it off with a laugh. Or agreeing: Yeah, fastballs suit me. Better homer odds, so I key on 'em. But words stuck. Hiding forever would blow up bigger. Besides, team coach—no need to hide. Might even help.
He averted his gaze briefly, met the coach's eyes, and came clean.
"Truth is... I can barely hit breaking balls right now."
The coach blinked, startled, then composed himself. Cautious probe:
"That's a huge hole. What's your plan?"
He bit his lip, ordering words to dodge excuses. Still facts.
"No choice. Swing change worked, but... no time to master everything. Fastballs I handle quick enough to hang on. Honestly, aces and number twos—especially imports—just pound heat, right? Nab 'em early innings for a W."
The coach listened, nodding through, eyed him, nodded again.
"Ah... yeah, makes sense. Can't turn perfect overnight."
Meeting his eyes:
"Plus, here, your batting practice got sidelined. Mostly fielding drills since coming back."
He nodded. True. Offense mattered, but solid D kept games alive. Outfield overhaul post-knee—unavoidable. Hitting? Personal sessions, tee work. Just enough maintenance tossing and smacking.
Why no more BP with the breaking-ball issue?
"Eh, get that too. Knee forced fielding tweaks..."
Coach's reaction surprised: brighter even.
"Good thing, though."
"Means I've got something to teach."
Like he'd struck gold, eyes lit up.
"If you'd shown up polished, what'm I here for? Fixable homework eases my mind."
Shoulder pat, tone firming.
"Alright. Amp up BP. Breaking balls focus. Tsk tsk—what if you can't hit 'em? Offspeed flies farther squared up. Counter before other teams wise up."
...Um, problem.
"Th-the Pigeons seemed onto it?"
Coach's face fell, baffled.
"What? Already?"
"Yeah. Threw breakers blatant..."
"...Straight tee work tomorrow. You're on your own schedule."
"But all BP? Won't they spot it? Not our park."
"Ah! Right. Scouts lurk. Dang... tsk."