Clutch Dive Seals the Victory
The familiar silhouette of Chief Coach Gu Sang-cheol cautiously approached Manager Kim Young-ho. “Manager, but what the pitching coach said earlier… it actually makes a lot of sense. No matter how I look at it, isn't three straight days of pitching a bit too much?”
Manager Kim Young-ho kept his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the field. His face was expressionless, but his eyes wavered. A brief silence fell.
“Lee Tae-sin has pitched two days in a row right now. You can see his stuff dropping off bit by bit. Even for the fireman, stamina has its limits… If we keep using him like this, he might break down in a truly crucial game.”
Kim Young-ho let out a short sigh and scratched his chin. Finally, he spoke. “I know. I'm well aware this isn't normal bullpen management.” He shook his head as if displeased. “But do we have any margin for error right now? If the whole team wasn't completely collapsed, we wouldn't be doing this. We'd keep cycling the chase crew like always, giving the young guys game experience. That's the right direction when you're losing most games anyway.”
Then Manager Kim Young-ho glanced toward where the opposing starter was warming up. The foreign pitcher Wailly was loosening his arm.
“But look at that. Against their ace starter Wailly, we scored a run today. The guy's got an ERA in the 1-point range. He barely gives up runs even against top teams. And our lineup scraped together points against a pitcher like that… You know how hard that is.”
The chief coach nodded slowly. Kim Young-ho continued. “In a situation like this, there are no choices. If we've scored, we have to hold it. The fielders have been holding up, but if the pitchers can't shut it down? We'd get shredded. No answer then. So when do we use the fireman if not now? If Lee Tae-sin and Jo Seon-jae can't go tomorrow, we'll find another way. But today, we hold. No other option.”
“…Understood, Manager. So when do you plan the next pitching change?”
“If we don't give up runs until the 8th, bring in Seon-jae. Otherwise, whoever.”
The chief coach nodded. “Yes, Manager. Got it.”
Sweat trickled down Jo Seon-jae's back. His hands kept getting slick with sweat, forcing him to wipe them on his uniform repeatedly. On the mound, his hand trembled slightly as he readjusted his grip on the glove.
“Hoo…”
His third straight outing. The bottom of the 8th had passed somehow since it was the lower lineup. But the lead was still a razor-thin one run. And now, with the Busan Siguls' top of the order coming up—desperate to avoid a sweep—the situation looked grim.
Thwack!
“Waaaaah!”
The crowd's cheers erupted.
> No. 3 hitter Kim Jong-su rips a single. Runner from first advances to third. Batter to first.
> As expected… Siguls' Nos. 2, 3, and 4 lefty hitters are a powerhouse trio. Even Jo Seon-jae looks shaken this time.
Damn it…
Bottom of the 9th. Zero outs. Runners on first and third. The opponents were on the verge of a potential go-ahead run.
Jo Seon-jae forced himself to steady his breathing and glanced at the catcher's mitt. “Kim Jong-su! Kim Jong-su! Kim Jong-su!” “Waaaaah!” The Siguls' cheering section boiled over with fans' chants. With the bottom of the 9th tying game in play, Sajik Stadium was electric.
Hoo… This won't be easy.
Jo Seon-jae was the team's closer. No one backed him up. Knowing the pressure of that role, he shook off the burden and steeled himself.
One out at a time.
He muttered low to himself. But his fingertips felt heavy. Each pitch was like throwing with sandbags on his arm.
> No. 4 hitter Yoo Min steps in.
The Turkeys' bench held its collective breath. The batter stepping up was cleanup hitter Yoo Min, the heart of the Busan Siguls' lineup. He'd already notched two hits today, his eyes alive with fire.
Jo Seon-jae carefully took the sign and nodded. Whoosh—the ball exploded from his fingertips, sinking low. It slid over the edge of the strike zone, and Siguls' No. 4 Yoo Min's bat came half a beat late.
“Strike!”
At the umpire's call, Jo Seon-jae caught his breath. But from the next pitch, things got tough. Pitch 2: cutter, ball. Pitch 3: fastball foul. Pitch 4: changeup ball. Pitch 5: curve foul. Pitch 6: sinker ball. Pitch 7: cutter foul. And the eighth and final pitch.
Jo Seon-jae eyed the catcher's mitt. The sign was low-away changeup. He drew a deep breath and unleashed it.
Shrieeeek—thwack! Boom!
Yoo Min's bat whipped around big, but couldn't catch up. “Swing, strike three!” The home plate ump's right arm shot up. Jo Seon-jae's shoulders sagged in relief.
“Hoo… dodged a big one…”
But he couldn't smile. The next batter was the problem. No. 5, Jang Jun-young. Famous slugger who'd homered in the previous game.
What to do…
Jo Seon-jae sank into thought. Facing a power hitter while exhausted himself—the odds of giving up a hit were high.
Intentional walk…?
Sending Jang Jun-young to first wasn't a bad call. But it carried risk. A hit to Jang might mean just one run, but a hit to the next guy with a runner on second could mean reversal.
What now… “Hoo…”
Jo Seon-jae panted and scanned around. What's this? The vibe?
Bottom of the 9th, when everyone should be gassed. Yet the fielders maintained peak tension in their defense.
Tsk… damn it…
Jo Seon-jae gave up overthinking. Closers had to shut it down no matter what.
Hoo… no walk.
Whoosh—thwack!
> Batter pulls it! That's a solid contact sound.
Oh no.
Jo Seon-jae's face hardened at the swing. The ball looked headed deep down the left-field line along third—pure hit territory. The runner on third was tagging up; the first runner might score too.
The ball rocketed toward the third-base bag. But then—
Third baseman Kim Hu-seong reacted in a flash. What…?
Kim Hu-seong tracked the ball's path and dove on instinct. His body floated in the air, dirt kicking up. Did he get it?
The ball seemed to nestle in his glove—but it popped out with a thud.
> Kim Hu-seong drops it.
But Kim Hu-seong didn't stop. The instant it hit dirt, he popped up, snatched it barehanded, and fired to second.
“Out!”
“First!”
The second baseman snagged it and whipped to first without hesitation. The ball sliced through the air.
Thud! The first baseman closed his glove. The stadium froze.
“Out!”
> What a play~! Double play turned!
> Ballgame over! Gocheok Turkeys win with that lone run from the first!
Jo Seon-jae let out a massive sigh. His body was soaked in sweat. Gasping, he looked to the sky. Hoo… I survived… That was his first thought.
But he glanced toward third. Kim Hu-seong was caked in dirt from elbow to knee on his uniform. His gloved hand still trembled faintly. At third, Kim Hu-seong panted heavily, head bowed.
Jo Seon-jae slowly rose and walked over. “Good work.”
Short words. Kim Hu-seong didn't lift his head, just panted back. “Ah… I'm dying… Yeah! Thanks.”
The game ended. From the swept Siguls' stands, boos rained on their players, while the Turkeys quickly enjoyed the postgame fireworks show.
Meanwhile, Jo Seon-jae tugged his cap low with a complicated expression and headed to the dugout. Behind him, the Siguls fans' despairing cries lingered, but so did that final hit—and Kim Hu-seong's diving grab—vividly in his mind.
Right after the game, we headed straight back to Seoul. The bus was buzzing from our first three-game win streak in ages. Everyone traded jokes in high spirits, but I couldn't join in.
Because I'd driven my own car. But this wasn't bad. No, it was great. Getting praise gets tiring too. Sometimes riding solo is best—and this was one of those times.
A bit worn out, I gripped the wheel and pointed toward Seoul. Heh heh heh. Straight home advantage. Pure honey!
My body weighed a ton, but tonight fatigue felt good. Because I could finally crash properly at my Seoul place after so long.
Cleaving night air on the highway, the car entered familiar city streets. I let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally home.
Grabbing my bag, I shut the door and headed to the entrance—when I felt eyes on me. Someone stood there in long clothes, hat, and mask, unseasonably bundled for summer night. Hmm… not hot?
I moved to enter the house. Wait. That silhouette—didn't I know it?
The figure slowly approached. “Long time no see?”
A familiar voice.