High Risk, High Return

He planted his foot again, fully aware. He knew all too well that if his knee got seriously messed up here, it could spell disaster. He might even come to regret this choice. But the potential payoff from attempting a steal right now was enormous too. A classic high-risk, high-return gamble. Sure, some might see it as offering little real gain, but not for him—not in this moment. His stats had been slipping, and this was a critical chance to heap massive pressure on an opponent who didn't view him as a threat.

He locked eyes straight on Im Jong-hyeon. True to his veteran status, the pitcher gave few openings. Normally, he'd clock the runner's movements, stay alert, mix in pickoffs to kill the rhythm—but not this time. No pickoff motion, catcher not positioned outside, infield in a standard shift. Maybe they were baiting a steal to nab him, but even the fielders' positioning felt off, confirming it beyond doubt. Fine then. Time to make the most of it.

He dipped his head slightly and coiled power into his toes. His heart hammered. Let's go.

Im Jong-hyeon dropped into his set position, shoulder twitching just a fraction. Hu-seong exploded off at that precise instant.

Tat-tat-tat. The first three steps lacked their old explosiveness. Definitely slower. But not so slow he'd be thrown out.

Midway there, he prepped for the slide. Glancing toward the catcher mid-stride. She'd snagged the pitch and was winding up to throw. Timing perfect. Conviction surging, he dove headlong for second.

The bag entered his view; he stretched out his hand as dirt sprayed his face. The catcher's throw sailed in, and the tag glove slapped his back—after his hand hit the bag.

Late. He gripped the base tight, heaving ragged breaths.

"Safe!"

A clear call. He rose slowly, brushing off the dust. In that instant, the Pigeons' infield vibe soured visibly. The second baseman and shortstop's faces stiffened, eyes darting between each other—like they were silently asking, 'It was real?' 'Now what the hell do we do?'

Up on the mound, Im Jong-hyeon was the same. He fought for a blank expression, but his clenched molars gave him away. Jawline rigid, glove hand squeezing harder than necessary.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Then it hit. A hot throb pulsing through his knee.

Regrettably, they didn't score that inning. The moment he hit the dugout, the fitness coach sidled up quietly. His face was grim from the start. He slung an arm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over Hu-seong's shoulder and locked him in a headlock.

"Kim Hu-seong, you lost your mind? Wanna quit baseball? Moving like that is gonna wreck your knee—I told you!"

Hu-seong wheezed, unable to even chuckle. He finally wriggled the hold loose a bit.

"It's... already throbbing."

"You idiot." The coach ground his teeth. "What now? You really okay?"

Hu-seong bent and straightened his knee, testing the feel. No searing agony, just a nagging sting that set his nerves on edge.

"Not bad enough to sit now... I'll check it after defense."

The coach let out a deep sigh and fully released him.

"We'll see after the game. No more pushing it."

Hu-seong grabbed his glove and headed to center. Even walking, the inner knee pulsed. At his spot, he casually stretched—side steps, backpedal, lunge forward. A light hop. No sharp pain or wobble. Just the persistent throb.

Good. Not so bad I can't field. But... if there was even a hint of real damage, overdoing it was suicide. Better get it checked ASAP.

He settled into his stance, mind racing through options. How to bail naturally without raising flags?

Thus began the top of the fourth. Starter Lee Dong-hyeon mowed down a few, keeping the momentum. One out. The Pigeons' cleanup platoon hitter stepped up.

Crack! True to his power profile, a massive swing arc, thunderous contact. The ball rocketed deep—straight at him.

Instinct kicked in; he backpedaled. Knee zinged once, but no time to dwell. Over the fence? Eyes on the wall, he took two bigger strides and dove.

Glove fully extended, chasing the drop point to the end. Pop. Solid catch in the pocket.

"Nice!"

"Way to go, Hu-seong!"

Right then—like a bolt from the blue—a thought struck.

Ah! Perfect. This is it!

Instead of firing the ball, he clutched his left shoulder and crumpled. As if the fence dive had jarred him. Face twisted just so.

Heroic catch turned injury—prime excuse to exit. Way cleaner than admitting a knee issue.

As he stayed down, playing coach Lee Gyu-yong hurried over.

"Hu-seong, you good?"

He shook his head limply.

Lee signaled the dugout for a sub.

A defensive replacement jogged out. Crowd murmurs swelled. Feeling the stares, he rose gingerly, hobbling step by cautious step back to the dugout.

The coaches mobbed him instantly—natural after a wall crash. One grabbed his shoulder to rotate it; another eyed his knee, face darkening.

"Hu-seong, you sure you're fine?"

He caught his breath, forcing casual calm.

"Ah! Shoulder is good."

Chief coach exhaled in relief.

"Phew..."

But he tacked on: "Knee's the issue... faked shoulder so it wouldn't scream knee injury."

The relief vanished. "What?"

Chief coach scowled. "Your knee's bad?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Not major, though. Just throbbing... Figured better safe and check it."

As chief coach opened his mouth, fitness coach cut in.

"Then let's check now. This is priority, right?"

"Yeah. Got it. I'll tell the manager check first. You report details later."

"Yes, sir."

The fitness coach practically dragged him by the arm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to the locker room.

Clear ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the dugout, his voice dropped.

"Hu-seong, really okay?"

He tested the knee again—bend, extend. Throb lingered, but no buckling. Not dire—yet.

"Yeah. Not so bad I can't move."

"Throbbing ain't normal. Did you have to steal? Could've skipped."

"Had my reasons. Showing I can go once? Opponents will have migraines facing me. Nailed it, so they'll sweat for a month. Now... just pray the knee holds."

The coach shook his head—annoyed, yet already plotting next steps.

"Shower quick, then hospital. Scans for peace of mind."

He nodded, prepping to rinse off.

"Oh! And if manager wants interview, steer it to 'shoulder precaution exit,' yeah?"

"Exactly."

In the shower, cool water hit his knee. Shhhh. The throb eased bit by bit.

Good work, knee. You okay... right?