Ecosystem Destroyer (1)
The Contenders League—the second-string circuit—streamed every single game on video platforms.
In truth, second-string ball had an obvious substitute in the form of first-string games, and the level of play was lower to boot. Unless you were a hardcore diehard or a scout, almost nobody bothered to spend the time watching.
Pi Anta hated that fact.
The viewer count’s way too low.
Fifty-one people.
Even that number was padded by the opposing Gwangju Champions’ rabid fans who followed their club all the way down to the farm team. As for actual Goraniz fans, you could basically say there were none.
Of course she couldn’t see the chats they were having. Couldn’t hear them either. But the knowledge that only fifty-one people were paying attention to her still stung her pride no matter how she looked at it.
Gonna have to step it up.
After checking the pre-game broadcast numbers on her phone, Pi Anta pocketed the device and swept her gaze around the stadium for a moment.
As befitting a dedicated second-string park, the scale was a little modest. Since the games themselves took place in virtual reality, the basic layout felt closer to an e-sports stadium than a traditional ballpark.
In front of the long oval of spectator seats sat twenty sofa-style dive capsules—ten per side—ready for the starting players. On either flank, dugout-like depressions sank a level lower; that was apparently where the manager and coaching staff would jack in.
“Hmm… feels empty.”
With game time approaching, fans had begun trickling in by twos and threes, but they were few. When even the streaming platform—where you only had to twitch a finger to watch—had managed just fifty-one viewers, it was safe to assume almost nobody would haul themselves all the way to Daejeon just to see a second-string game…
“Pi Anta!”
…except there was one.
A girl came sprinting over, calling her name. Pi Anta’s face lit up as she stretched out a hand in welcome.
“I, um, thought you might be playing today, so I came all the way down from Seoul!”
She had an ordinary face behind her glasses, but that only made her look all the more pure-hearted. Her interest was exactly what Pi Anta had been craving.
“Thank you. Coming all this way must’ve taken a lot of time.”
“No, not at all! Just thinking I might get to see you in person made me so happy!”
“Aww, I’m nothing special.”
“Honestly, when I heard you were joining the team I was over the moon. I’ve been a pure-blood Goraniz fan since I was a baby—I grabbed a Goraniz uniform at my first birthday grab!”
Isn’t that more your parents’ fault?
The words nearly slipped out, but she clamped her mouth shut. A player on the team itself had no business joking like that to a fan, even lightly.
…Or rather, a safer topic immediately bubbled up to replace the urge to ramble.
“Did you come through Daejeon Station by any chance? There’s this bakery there that’s seriously good. I bought some of their famous fried soboro buns to try, only for my roommate to snatch them right out of my hands the second we met. Said she hates green onions so I should eat them for her or something. Unbelievable.”
“Oh! You like fried soboro?”
The girl’s eyes sparkled as she whipped out a notebook. Pi Anta hurriedly waved her off.
“N-no, I’m not asking you to buy me any, so don’t write that down. I was just saying it happened.”
“Huh? No… I just wanted to remember it. How would I even buy them for you?”
Suddenly looking like she’d counted her chickens before they hatched, Pi Anta felt her face heat up.
“Ahem. A-anyway, thank you so much for coming today. If it’s all right, would you like an autograph? Or a photo’s fine too. I’d love to give you something to show my gratitude…”
She tried to steer the conversation that way, only for the bespectacled girl to flash a bright, sunny smile and land a devastating blow.
“Give me a win.”
“I’ll ask for the autograph or photo next time we meet.”
Depending on how you heard it, the request could sound downright rude—but to Pi Anta it landed differently.
It meant Goraniz fans were that desperate for a victory.
What good was being good at everything except baseball?
When the baseball team couldn’t play baseball!
Pi Anta clasped the girl’s hands tightly and made her vow.
“We’ll win today. That victory you asked for—I’ll deliver it for sure.”
She’d planned on winning anyway.
Now she had one more reason she had to.
The game atmosphere was pure domination.
The Gwangju Champions pitchers had sauntered in with a light “Let’s see just how good this Pi Anta really is” attitude—
Crack!
A bullet through the 3-4 hole! Clutch hit! She brings the runner home and Pi Anta’s on second! Rounding second, heading for third…!!
Third looks like a stretch, doesn’t it?
Stretch? No stretch at all?! She slides in perfectly—safe at third! Pi Anta dismantles the Champions’ defense from her very first at-bat!
CRACK!!
A rocket of a ball! The left fielder freezes!! It’s going! Going! Going!!
Gone jet-black over the wall.
A three-run dagger starting in the third! Goraniz pulls way out in front!
In just two opportunities she had vacuumed up four RBIs; the Champions pitchers could only stick their tongues out at her clutch ability.
Once Pi Anta cracked the offensive dam, the pitcher seemed to catch the wave too, answering with a strikeout show.
Even when the occasional hit got through—
Whoa! Pi Anta snags it!! She spins, fires an easy throw, and he’s out at first~!
The batter’s face says “You’re catching that?”
Well, that was a guaranteed gap ball!
She was moving the instant the bat cracked. A split-second later and it would’ve skipped through. Jump, glove work, footwork, throw—nothing to criticize.
With uncanny positioning and machine-like defense she bailed out her pitcher and kept the energy high.
Then came her third at-bat.
It was only the bottom of the fifth, but the score already sat at 7–0—a healthy lead. Second-string games existed first and foremost to give developing players experience and to test new tactics, so Pi Anta was likely to be pulled soon.
Which meant this might be her last chance.
For the handful of fans who had still made the trip and carved out time to watch.
For these bodhisattvas who had stuck with the team through four straight last-place finishes without jumping ship.
She had to do something.
She had to repay them for waiting so long!
Pi Anta steeled herself and stepped into the box.
She stamped the dirt three times with her lead right foot—pak, pak, pak—then raised the bat vertically and pointed it at the pitcher in her trademark routine.
It looked a little cocky.
But in a situation like this, that was exactly the kind of motion that planted intimidation in a pitcher’s heart.
She would lace a hit, get on base, and treat the fans to a little celebration for some modest joy.
Getting ahead of yourself usually backfired, of course—
But if the other side digs in just to try and reverse-sweep me, isn’t that still a win?
Pi Anta tightened her grip and locked eyes with the pitcher.
The pitcher looked plenty nervous; he swallowed several times, shook his head over and over, finally settled on a pitch, and brought his hands together at his chest.
The first one would almost certainly be away. No second-stringer had the guts to challenge a batter who’d already mashed two extra-base hits right out of the gate.
He would nibble the outer edge, wait for her to bite, and if things got dicey just walk her—that would be the plan.
She would wait on one.
But eventually one would catch too much plate.
Any pitcher good enough to paint the outer edge of the zone over and over would already be in the big leagues.
It would catch.
One would slip out of his hand for sure.
One… two…
Come on!
Thud!
“Huh?”
“Ah—sorry…”
The pitcher doffed his cap in apology, and the words Hit by pitched ball floated up in front of Pi Anta’s eyes.
HIT BY PITCHED BALL
Batter awarded first base.
Hit by pitch.
She had to take her base.
The whole plan—smacking a hit, getting on, and treating the fans to a celebration in return for their love—had gone sideways.
“Haa, what the he—”
Anger flared for a second—then stopped.
Wait a second.
When a batter got plunked mid-game, how did the cameras usually move?
They caught the batter wincing, cut to the pitcher looking lost, then swung back to the batter expecting the “I’m okay” signal.
Right now Pi Anta had been hit.
The pitcher had apologized.
Which meant—
Every single camera is on me right this second!
The instincts of a born attention-seeker stirred.
She was getting far more eyes on her now than she ever would have from a simple base hit!
Goraniz fans, feast your eyes on my antics!!
Pi Anta deliberately slammed her bat into the dirt with extra force—
—and muttered as she strode straight toward the mound,
“Hey, you making pancakes?”
Her sudden move sent the opposing catcher and a swarm of other players scrambling in panic toward the mound.
“Wh-what the hell is that bitch doing?!”
“Pancakes out of nowhere?”
“You looking for a fight?!”
“Is she inviting us to her place or what?”
The pitcher, experiencing his first professional bench-clearing, stood frozen with a dazed expression, trembling and unsure what to do—
“I said… is tofu kimchi coming out…?”
“Sand ring bang-bang!!”
—when she let out a bizarre battle cry, lifted one leg, and
“Wazabup!!”
launched into a chicken fight!
The pitcher, who’d been watching carefully, locked eyes with Pi Anta and, as if possessed, lifted his own leg without thinking. That was the spark.
“What… what is this?”
“Is this the All-Star Game?!”
“Ah, screw it!”
The once-menacing bench-clearing instantly transformed into an All-Star chicken-fight free-for-all, and the whole thing wrapped up warmly with the pitcher and Pi Anta laughing as they hugged it out.
And there it is again—even in a second-string game we’re getting scenes like this.
Fans who caught this live just scored themselves one heck of a story for the day~
Just as the broadcasters said—
before the game even ended, baseball communities across the net were already ablaze with every possible “Pi Anta chicken-fight clip.”