A Blessing in Disguise
Seo Ha-yoon gripped the cheer section railing lightly, catching her breath. Just moments ago, she'd been leading the cheers as a cheerleader, but now no one could raise their voice. Both teams' cheering squads had fallen silent, simply watching the unfolding drama.
Tick!
“Ooooh!”
“Whoa… insane. For real.”
The stands and players alike were frozen in tension, and Seo Ha-yoon was no exception. Around her, fans whispered encouragements for Kim Hu-seong in voices barely audible.
“Hope he wins this one…”
“Hu-seong, hang in there just a bit longer…”
“Fighting, fighting…!”
Someone clasped their hands in prayer; another gripped their seat, the tension palpable even to Seo Ha-yoon. Countless Gocheok Turkeys fans desperately wished for it: Kim Hu-seong to prevail.
Ah… the fans really love him now.
Seo Ha-yoon recalled yesterday's events. There had been a real reason behind Kim Hu-seong's bizarre hitting, and just as he'd said, he'd become a player the fans cheered for. Of course, even he hadn't expected this level of support so soon, but right now, his words were coming true.
Kim Hu-seong, looking a bit fatigued, slowly stepped back into the batter's box. But showing no intention of letting it slide, he settled into his composed stance once more, facing the pitcher.
Ah… so cool.
“Alright! Everyone, cheer loud for Kim Hu-seong! Giiim Hooo-seoooong! Kim Hu-seong!”
As Seo Ha-yoon stared blankly at him, the cheer captain bellowed.
“Kim Hu-seong! Kim Hu-seoooong!”
At the cheer captain's call, the fans in the first-base cheering section erupted.
The sixteenth battle. The pitcher went into his windup again, the catcher dropping low and calling for an inside sinker. Kim Hu-seong readied his swing, but his body swayed oddly. With every eye in the stadium fixed on that movement, the pitcher unleashed the ball.
Shieeeek!
A sharply breaking changeup diving hard. Kim Hu-seong's bat whipped through viciously.
Whoosh!
A big-breaking changeup. Kim Hu-seong whiffed, the ball trickling under the mitt.
Pfft!
“Wild pitch!”
The ball rolled fast between the catcher's legs.
“Not out! Run!”
At the dugout's shout, Kim Hu-seong bolted straight for first.
The catcher scrambled up, spun, snatched the ball, and fired to first. The instant Kim Hu-seong's foot hit the bag, the umpire's arm shot out wide.
“Safe!”
The stadium exploded.
“Waaaaaaah!!”
Fans leaped from their seats screaming, cheer squads pounding drums and waving flags in unison. Seo Ha-yoon gasped, then clutched her face with both hands, unable to hold back her cry.
“He did it…! He won…!”
Ah… I'm seriously gonna die from exhaustion.
I panted raggedly as I jogged back to first base. Words wouldn't come; I was that spent. Might as well die… Not out, my ass. Sure, I'd reached first, so technically a win, but after that endless at-bat, I was utterly drained.
I stood on the bag, heaving for breath.
“Good job. Whoa… you hung in there like a champ.”
The first-base coach said to me. Exhausted, I just bumped fists in reply. Then I glanced at the dugout.
Please… sub me out.
Ridiculous request. I prayed silently, but obviously couldn't voice it. I just waited for the next sign.
Please. No sign. Let me swing free. I don't want anything else. Like always, let me handle it. I'll rest this time.
Ah… but the sign from the bench? Steal.
I closed my eyes, swallowed a curse.
Ah, do they think I'm a robot? I'm dying here and they want me to run? Crazy! Two straight at-bats over ten pitches…
But reality didn't bend. Tch… not running's a problem too… Fine. Fake it. Take a lead, fake a go, then bail. Just show the motion, right?
I executed immediately. Took a decent lead, faked a run convincingly. No real intent or energy left. Just enough motion to rattle the pitcher's focus—perfect.
But then, our cleanup hitter Son Tae-ho swung.
Crack!
Clean contact. Ah… I had no choice but to dash to second.
The ball sailed like a line drive, threading the narrow gap between center and left field, rolling perfectly.
“…Shit.”
Confirming the direction, I cursed under my breath as I ran. Fatigue, plans—meaningless now.
Hitting second, I spotted the third-base coach waving his arms like lightning.
“Go! Go! Go! Keep going!”
His face screamed certainty: Your speed's enough for third!
But inside, I screamed: Coach… my speed's gone today… I'll die…!
No stopping now. Sign was given; halting wasn't an option. Fuck… Cursing inwardly, I bolted for third.
Outfield relay in motion; center fed it to short. Just shy of third, the third baseman prepped to receive.
Real or fake? Everything slowed to slo-mo.
No… tagged?
I dropped low, stretched full out. Headfirst slide into third.
That instant, the third baseman's glove tagged my back. I looked up at the ump.
“Safe!!”
His safe call hit; sprawled on third, I gasped for air. Lungs bursting, every muscle from shoulders to legs screaming, but the tension crashed out as survival sank in.
Then… an explosive roar from the first-base stands.
“Waaaaaaah!!!”
“Kim Hu-seong's insane!!!”
“How'd he survive!!”
Fans surged up, slapping backs, waving arms, thrusting both up toward me. Some chanted my name; drums and cheers merged into a massive wave shaking the stadium.
I lay prone on third, panting, soaking it in.
Ha… nearly died… But… I survived.
…Huh?
As the cheers registered and I thought to rise, propping on my arms… my body wouldn't move. Arms powerless, legs numb like someone else's. Summer stadium heat plus that final sprint had sapped everything.
Breath rasped brokenly from my throat; dizziness hit.
…Trouble. Dizzy. Body won't obey…
I tilted my helmet slightly, barely opening my mouth.
“Coach… I… can't get up…”
Too quiet, a whisper. The third-base coach eyed the field, missing it.
I mustered again.
“…Coach… I… can't… stand…”
Still unheard. Cheers drowned my faint voice.
Third. Fourth. Like drifting to sleep, I murmured.
“Coach… my… body… won't move.”
Fifth, barely a breath.
“Huh? Why isn't Hu-seong getting up?”
Coach noticed, approached. His eyes locked on my face and prone form—expression shifted instantly. Eyes widened; he flipped me over.
“Hu-seong? Hey, Hu-seong! You okay? What's wrong?”
I tried to answer, but no voice.
“Ah… can't move.”
Seeing that, he knew it was serious.
“Time! Time!!!! Stop the game!!!”
His shout rang; ump called time. Medical staff bolted from the dugout.
Fans murmured uncertainly at first—“Huh?”—then anxiously.
“Hu-seong, hear me? Move your hand.”
“Heat exhaustion. He's burning up.”
“Water! Ice! Stretcher!”
Hands shook my shoulder; someone removed my helmet, cool air hitting.
Haa… better.
Medics arrived with the stretcher, easing me onto it. Stands buzzed worriedly.
“He okay…?”
“Ran like that just now…”
“Heatstroke…?”
The coach jogged alongside.
“Hu-seong, you're fine. Cool place soon, recover quick. Hang on.”
But I couldn't reply. Body heavy, scorching; vision darkening, sounds fading.