Cracking Thompson's Code
Alright, let's give it a shot. I've got one clear strength: handling fastballs without much trouble. Kim Ho-seong, the senior who played in the majors, said that's a seriously rare talent. But I'm still an unfinished player. My weaknesses far outnumber my strengths. I can barely hit breaking balls, and if the fastball dips below mid-140s km/h, I don't have the power to clear the fence—it just gets caught.
What helps me resist breaking balls somewhat is my eye for distinguishing them from fastballs. That's why I've been swinging at fastballs and laying off breakers whenever possible. Fastballs usually come right down the strike zone, while breaking balls are often thrown to the edges or outside, so just being selective helps a ton. It's gotten me a few walks as a bonus.
But today felt different. Throwing strikes so blatantly like this? It put me in a real bind. First at-bat, and the opposing pitcher is coming at me like that? This was deliberate. The next pitch would probably be a slow fastball or a breaking ball right in the zone. So what do I do...?
Shhhheeeek— A breaking ball. Probably heading into the strike zone... Okay... wait for it.
Plop!
"Strike three!"
The umpire's call rang in my ears. Damn it! A looking strikeout. I had a hunch, and sure enough... I scowled, catching sight of the opposing pitcher with a faint smirk in his eyes. Thompson had gotten burned by me plenty last season, so his face was full of sweet revenge right now.
Damn bastard. Look at that smug grin. Something's definitely up... I trudged back to the dugout with a frustrated expression I couldn't fake away.
Once inside, I headed straight for the hitting coach. Helmet in hand, I stood before him and lowered my voice, speaking quickly.
"Coach, I... I think they've got my number. That last pitch from Thompson—it was so obvious. Feels like they confirmed those suspicions we had before."
The unease from the plate still lingered. I was desperate for any kind of lifeline right now.
"This is bad."
The hitting coach glanced at my face, shook his head slightly, and added flatly, like he'd already decided the answer.
"No real counter. Just gotta hit it well, right? We've done more bulking up and breaking-ball drills—what else is there? Hu-seong, it's on you now. Pick your spots and battle smart."
Aargh. It was spot-on advice, unfortunately. So spot-on it pissed me off even more. No different from "figure it out yourself," but with no clear solution, I knew it was the best he could offer. Couldn't argue there.
"Still... no tips or anything?"
I pressed once more, clinging to a sliver of hope.
"Gotta hit the breaking balls. Or... maybe put a slow fastball in play. If you connect right, you could tag the wall, sneak it between outfielders, or even drop it down the line for a survival hit? Better than looking at strike three."
Hmm... Try something short of disastrous? The coach wasn't wrong. Couldn't keep taking looking Ks forever. I nodded slightly and replied curtly.
"Got it. I'll give it a go."
My next at-bat came up. As expected, Thompson opened with a curve right into the zone.
Shhhheeeek— Plop!
Seeing the breaking ball dive straight in, I was certain. Exposed completely to Phoenix. Other teams were starting to suspect, but these guys—who sniffed it out first—were straight-up exploiting it... Grab one with that curve, then follow with a fastball? Maybe not. But all I could do was swing at whatever fastball came.
I let out a small sigh and glared at the mound. Thompson, the Phoenix starter, looked cocky as hell, fully aware he had the upper hand.
Fine. Enjoy it while it lasts. You've feasted on me long enough—one game won't break me. But I won't go down easy.
Thompson wound up for his second pitch, and I spotted the spin off his fingers. Fastball! The instant I clocked it, I cut my thoughts and unleashed the bat.
But of all the timing... A burp bubbled up from my gut, tickling my throat and breaking my rhythm for a split second.
"Urk—"
Shit! It was just a moment, but that moment was fatal. My balance wobbled, robbing the swing of power.
Thwack!
- Kim Hu-seong puts bat on ball.
A fly soaring deep!
The ball hung up.
- But... the left fielder settles under it. He steps in tentatively, then backpedals a couple steps. Raises his glove and snags it clean.
Fly out. Over in just two pitches.
Ha... fuck...
Meanwhile, the Phoenix manager leaned on the railing, watching the out all the way through before tilting his head toward his chief coach and murmuring low.
"Looks like we've finally cracked Kim Hu-seong."
The chief coach nodded with a thin smile, like he'd been waiting for it.
"Yes, sir. Should be easier from here."
I headed out to defense. Right field today, and that unsatisfying fly out had me fuming.
"Tch... a burp at the worst damn moment."
I grumbled nonstop. But right now, focus on the field. As Spencer delivered, I was already moving my feet. The grass underfoot felt more familiar now.
Thwack!
Hit my way! Good thing I'd anticipated—easy pivot. I read the landing spot and glided over. Not too far.
Plop
- Right fielder makes the catch.
I snagged the fly ball cleanly, exhaled, and rifled a light toss back in. But the next one dropped short for a single right in front. I charged, scooped on the run, spun, and fired to second.
The one after sailed to center as a pop fly, but I sprinted backup in case it got past. Then, mid-inning, a long burp finally escaped.
"Uuuuurrrp."
It came out so refreshingly loud I couldn't hold it in. My gut unclenched, the tightness in my chest vanishing in one big wave.
"Phew... feeling better now."
Bottom of the seventh, I stepped up scowling. Thompson still on the mound. Score was 2-0 against us—we needed something, but it wasn't looking easy.
Damn guy's lasting forever. All I could do was hang in there. Wait for a hittable fastball.
Thompson shook his head like a nod and fired.
Shhhheeeek— Plop!
"Strike."
Another curve taking count. Haa... He's straight-up advertising he's got me figured out, and I can't touch it. A sigh welled up inside.
He nodded again. What now? A... fastball? I swung through.
Whiff— Shhhheeeek!
Ah... damn it. That was a slider. Bat sliced empty air.
Empty swing.
"Swing and a miss. Strike."
Curses flew in my head, but I played it cool, nodding once and resetting.
Haa... this guy's torturing me. What if the next one's another breaker?
He nodded twice. Thompson reset.
Shhhiiiieeeek—
The pitch flew in. This was it—the one I wanted. A slow fastball jamming the corner.
Fuck... fine, bring it.
I gritted my teeth and swung. Late-inning conditioning helped; the bat whipped naturally.
Thwack!
- Batter connects!
Deep fly ball!
It hooked long toward right-field wall. I felt the push sap some oomph, but it was enough.
Run!
Thud-thud-thud! I bolted for first. Glancing back mid-stride.
- Right fielder... oh!
It ricochets off the wall top and trickles to the corner!
Lucky break? I gunned it past first, accelerating toward second. Spotted the right fielder scrambling back for it—no braking. Third-base coach windmilled his arm, same wavelength.
Here we go. Full throttle into third. I slid, felt the third baseman's glove tag.
"Safe!"
The call unclogged my gut like nothing else. A triple.
The caster ramped up immediately.
- Whoa~ Kim Hu-seong! Legs look electric out there. Seriously fast.
Lee Seo-jin, the commentator beside him, caught his breath late.
- Yeah. I wondered about that knee or hamstring, but that baserunning? Peak speed.
I caught my breath at third, flicking my wrist. "Kim Hu-seong! Kim Hu-seong!" Home crowd roared. No hits off Thompson till now—this triple meant something. Cleanup hitter Son Tae-ho followed. He fouled off the first, laced the next.
Thwack!
Deep to center. Center fielder backpedaled into position. I tagged up at third, bolting the instant he caught it. His throw home was sharp, but I hooked the plate just in time.
Got it...!
But Lee Seo-jin, watching, tilted his head.
Hmm... that tag-up felt a bit sluggish?