Retaliation from the Mound
Damn, it pissed me off. I stepped on home plate first and turned around, waiting for senior Son Tae-ho.
“Waaaaaaaaah!”
“Son Tae-ho! Son Tae-ho!”
“Son Tae-ho! Son Tae-ho!”
The crowd chanted the name of Son Tae-ho, who had just crushed the home run. He strode in with his signature hearty gait. Spotting me, he broke into a wide grin, and we slapped a resounding high-five. The sharp sting of palm meeting palm shot through me, and he lightly gripped my shoulder.
“Nice read. Spot on.”
I smiled, letting out a relieved sigh. “Glad you caught it, hyung. I threw it together in a hurry, but it was a huge success.”
Son Tae-ho cracked a grin. “If I couldn't spot that, I'd have to cough up every penny they pay me. Captain, cleanup hitter, veteran—you know. Anyway, good job. Let's head in. We'll worry about the fallout later.”
The fallout? Gu Min-seok senior welcomed us back at the dugout. He looked shocked when he saw me.
“Hey, Hu-seong! You pulled that off right away? You're insane, man. Seriously. Thanks to you, we scored two in the first.”
“I just did what you taught me. So, maybe teach me one more trick now and then... not too many, though. I get confused.”
Gu Min-seok chuckled and flicked my forehead. “Got it, punk. But I told you to call me hyung.”
“Ah... yeah.”
The mood was lightening up when suddenly the crowd started buzzing. I glanced over. The Changwon Larus manager was marching toward the umpire, his face twisted in anger. He waved his arms emphatically, protesting fiercely.
“Uh... what's that about?”
I tilted my head, watching alongside the other players.
“What else? It's because of what you did.”
Soon, our own Kim Young-ho manager walked out slowly. He faced off against the opposing skipper, and voices rose as they argued heatedly. The field turned chaotic, like a soccer pitch protest.
I nudged Gu Min-seok's arm. “Hyung... is this because of what I did? The signal?”
He shrugged boredly. “Obviously. You gave it right out in the open. From their manager's perspective, he's gotta protest.”
I looked flustered. “Wait, isn't this a problem? Will I get suspended or something...?”
“Hey.”
Gu Min-seok cut me off, eyeing me sharply. “A protest is just a protest. No rule violation, so what can they do? Telling the pitcher’s tells during play is fine. He'll be pissed, sure—gave up a homer. He's just trying to steady his team. No big deal.”
Then, as if remembering something, he added casually, “Oh, right! Online, though? You'll get some haters. Whatever. Tough it out.”
Eh? Tough it out?
I tried to say something, but he headed back to the bench, leaving me stunned. Ah... shit...
I stood there blankly, cursing inwardly. Joy and anxiety twisted in my chest.
Bottom of the third, my at-bat came up again. One out, no runners. From the on-deck circle, I adjusted my helmet and stepped in.
Moon Bo-young breathed deep on the mound, his face stiffer than before.
Haa... this feels off.
Whiiiiiiz—
The first pitch screamed in. Instinctively, I jerked back. It whistled straight past my waist; the catcher barely snagged it. Trajectory told me instantly.
Ah... intentional.
The dugout erupted. Tension spiked; a few Turkeys leaped up. Kim Young-ho scowled fiercely, glaring daggers.
Second pitch prepped. I raised my bat lightly; he shot me a quick glare, wound up.
The ball flew—body high again.
Tsk... thwack. Ah...
It drilled my right side. Pain stabbed deep; I doubled over, gritting my teeth.
“Ah... fuck.”
The curse slipped out. It hurt, but this was blatant retaliation. Catcher Lee Nam-cheol jumped up, blocking me, face grim, hands out.
“Hey, hey. Take it easy. You did it first.”
What?
I stared, dumbfounded. “What're you saying? Least you can do is act sorry after plunking me.”
He bit his lip, then muttered, “Fine. Sorry. But no bench-clearing yet. Go to first.”
I trudged to first, irked by his tone. Back throbbed; brushing it off grated. Glancing at the mound, Moon Bo-young just gripped his glove. No gesture, no eye contact.
Wow? This...
Anger boiled inside. More than the hit—it was his attitude. Throwing retaliation openly, not even flinching? Crossing the line.
At first, the base coach approached. “Hu-seong, you okay?”
I clenched my jaw. “I'm fine.”
He saw my glare at the pitcher, face paling.
Damn... kid's eyes are murderous.
“So we don't need to step in?”
I'm pissed. Bench-clearing wouldn't cut it. These days, it's half spectacle anyway.
“Yeah. No need.”
“Got it.”
The coach patted my shoulder. Not enough. I widened my lead. Stared down the lefty.
Stealing on a southpaw? Dumb. But right now, I wanted that dumb play.
To mock that bastard.