3. A Man Hits a Grand Slam (2)
Baek Ha-rin stood staring at the spot where the ball had vanished, replaying the sensation in her fingertips over and over.
...What, exactly, went wrong.
The ball hadn't slipped out of her hand, and it hadn't drifted back over the heart of the plate, either.
Even after striking him out twice, she hadn't let her guard down — she kept turning over the fact that the pitch Kang Tae-oh had hammered a few days ago had been a mistake on her part. Relax for even a moment, and a home run could follow.
That was precisely why she had waved off Cha Seo-rin's sign again and again, selecting this pitch herself.
A sinker, low and in on the hands — a ball that arrived on an inviting arc from the very first offering, then dove downward at the last instant. Right up until it left her fingers, right up until the moment it flew toward Kang Tae-oh's batter's box, she had released it in total conviction.
"...How."
How could he have predicted that pitch perfectly and had his bat waiting there in advance? Even as the bat was being dragged out, she'd assumed he would mishit it clumsily and bleed a roller in front of the shortstop or the third baseman.
But no — he had laid the bat even lower than the ball's path and squared it up dead center.
—Thwaack.
...With that ball — one she could no longer excuse as a mistake pitch — clearing the fence, Baek Ha-rin's thoughts tangled into knots.
Long after the ball disappeared, the White Team's left fielder and center fielder still hadn't moved.
The same went for Baek Ha-rin on the mound. Her gloved hand hung limp at her side as she simply stared, dazed, in the direction the ball had sailed over.
By the time I started around first base, a voice that had been cheering from the dugout earlier rang out again.
"A grand slam! That's a grand slam!"
Min Do-hee was bouncing in front of the dugout as though the home run had been hers.
And with her reaction as the spark, the other players began to open up one after another.
"Holy shit, that actually went over?!"
"Hey, Kang Tae-oh! You crazy bastard!"
"Off Ha-rin's pitch, and... wow."
A game that had looked like a straight pitchers' duel the entire way had been flipped completely on its head by one swing.
When I stepped on home plate, the runners who'd rounded ahead of me smiled, patted my head, and each tossed a word or two my way.
"Man, Tae-oh. Same as last time — you've seriously got that one big swing in you."
"...Seriously, how does he hit Ha-rin's stuff? I've watched her all year and I still can't figure it out."
"It dropped right before the mitt, so I figured it was a dead whiff for sure."
My second home run.
And this time it was hardly a mistake pitch, either. This was a home run built on perfectly reading the ground-ball-inducing pitch that would die out of the zone, and crushing it.
"Oppa, oppa! A grand slam, a grand slam!"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Watching Min Do-hee bounce around, it finally began to sink in: for the first time, I'd homered off a genuinely well-made pitch — not one of Baek Ha-rin's mistakes.
The dugout split roughly in two — half of them delighted at my home run, the other half wearing blank, disbelieving expressions, as if they'd truly had no idea I could hit like that.
Even so, it was impact enough to burn the name Kang Tae-oh into their memories.
Not just the players'. The coach and director standing over there, too.
"Baek Ha-rin."
Director Yoon Gaeul's voice rang out across the field.
At the sound of it, my gaze from the Blue Team dugout drifted naturally toward the mound.
"That's enough. Come on down. Good work out there."
"I can still pitch."
"I told you — ninety-pitch limit. You can't finish the inning on what's left anyway, so this is where we stop."
"...Yes, ma'am."
In the end, Baek Ha-rin bowed her head to Yoon Gaeul's words and walked off the mound.
A new pitcher did come up after her, but the Blue Team added no more runs.
—Whooosh!
"Strike! Strikeout!"
"Aaargh..."
Whether they'd been fired up by my at-bat or not, the ninth batter Moon So-yul and the first batter Min Do-hee both went down on absurd, over-eager strikeouts.
Even so, the score stood at 4 to 0.
Thanks to the grand slam I'd wrung out of Baek Ha-rin, the momentum of the game had swung entirely to the Blue Team's side.
In the top of the seventh, the Blue Team brought in someone other than starter Han Yu-seul; they gave up a baserunner once but shut the door scoreless, and the flow of the game barely changed.
The bottom of the seventh produced a walk and a single, but the sixth batter, Oh Yu-ra, grounded out, and it was still 4 to 0.
In the top of the eighth, the bullpen gave up back-to-back hits and surrendered two runs, but the Blue Team still led 4 to 2 — and with the lead in hand, I stepped to the plate in the bottom of the eighth with the pressure lifted, choking up short on the bat.
—Crack!
"Safe!"
"Nice, Kang Tae-oh!"
"Wow... does that make it a multi-hit game for him today?"
With one out, I pushed an outside pitch the other way and lined a single into right field.
I'd already taken Baek Ha-rin deep once, so there was no need to force anything chasing extra bases.
What I needed was to catch Director Yoon Gaeul's eye just a little more.
I had to show her that I wasn't merely some guy with the occasional big swing — that I could also slap a disciplined, opposite-field hit when the situation demanded it.
—Pop!
"Safe!"
After that, a single from the pinch hitter Jung Min-ji and a sacrifice fly from the leadoff Min Do-hee brought another run home on top.
The bottom of the ninth never came around, the game ended 5 to 2, and my final line read: two for four, one home run, four RBIs, two runs scored.
There were two strikeouts in there, but with Baek Ha-rin as the opposition, it was a stat line even Yoon Gaeul could readily accept. All four of those RBIs, courtesy of that one swing, had come against Baek Ha-rin, no less.
"Hey, RBI king."
After the game, Cha Seo-rin came up to me, catcher's gear slung over her shoulder, bearing a brand-new nickname.
"Well, another title for the shelf."
"What, you don't like it? Want me to go back to 'home run king,' then?"
"Whatever you like."
Because right now, I felt like I could take even being teased as the strikeout king with a smile.
Four years since I'd possessed this body — four years in which I'd never once taken the field, forget starting, not even as a pinch hitter.
Still soaking in the feeling of playing real baseball, the same kind I'd played in my previous life, for the first time in ages — and into that reverie, Cha Seo-rin leaned in close and whispered.
"...That thing earlier. Did you hit it on purpose?"
What she was asking was obvious, so I answered with a small nod.
"The low sinker, in on the hands?"
"Yeah. You swung like you knew it was going to drop before you even started."
"Well — yes. I figured if it was Baek Ha-rin, she'd without question try to induce a double play there."
"Fair enough, but how did you know what she'd throw? It could've been a breaking ball instead of a sinker."
"If she'd planned a four-seamer down in the zone, I'd have seen the drop from the start, and she'd already used the forkball once, so I didn't think she'd open an at-bat with it. And if it was a slider..."
"..."
"...then I simply lose that at-bat to Baek Ha-rin, that's all. Even so, the pitch I judged most likely to show up there was the sinker."
"You've got guts, I'll give you that. Ground into a double play there and the whole mood of the game would've gone straight to shit."
"Couldn't be helped. It's not like I die tomorrow for going hitless in one at-bat."
"...Hah. Unbelievable. Crazy bastard..."
"Thank you for the compliment."
And, well — even if I'd failed, I didn't think things were as hopeless as they'd been up to now.
Director Yoon Gaeul was planning to remain at Chaewon University at least through next year, and just last season I'd seen her take a player who'd caught her eye right before the season started and grind him through reserve-squad training without pause.
Which meant that if I showed I could swing with conviction — grand slam or whatever else — I could earn my chance as early as next year.
And if things went well from there, I might even angle for a backup spot somewhere.
In other words: even if I'd failed to catch anyone's eye with this at-bat, I had my own quiet reasons for hope. Not that it mattered much — from the way that grand slam had felt leaving my bat, that chance was likely to arrive a whole lot sooner.
"Tae-oh, the director says to come to her office once you're done putting away your gear."
"...Yes!"
I answered the coach lingering on the field and hurried to stow the rest of my equipment.
Being singled out at this particular moment — it didn't feel like one of the usual summons for grunt work.
—Knock, knock.
"Who is it?"
"Kang Tae-oh."
"...Come in."
Having finished with the equipment, I stepped into the director's office to find Yoon Gaeul leaning back in the chair behind her desk.
She'd been idly skimming a stack of papers that looked like score sheets, and now she lifted an indifferent gaze to me.
"So. How was it out there today?"
"...In what sense?"
"Oh, anything. Like how it felt hitting that homer. That sort of thing."
"..."
It was a question I hadn't expected from Director Yoon Gaeul. I mulled it over briefly, then gave my answer.
"It felt good — like I was playing real baseball again."
"...Pfft. Right. As opposed to the fake baseball you males play?"
"Yes."
"Well, I can see why swinging your real skill against that lot of other males wouldn't be much fun."
Truthfully, since arriving in this world, I'd only actually played Male Baseball a handful of times anyway.
"How did you play your third at-bat?"
"Bases loaded, one out — I assumed a pitcher like Baek Ha-rin would go for a double-play grounder. So I anticipated the drop, started my swing early, and brought the bat through timed to meet it."
"And your fourth?"
"I could see the outfielders playing deep, wary of extra bases, so I choked up and pushed it the other way. We were holding a lead anyway, so I judged an insurance run or so would be plenty."
"...Hm. Your baseball brain turns over well enough."
Whether or not my answers had truly satisfied her, Director Yoon Gaeul nodded along with a faint smile.
"What position do you play?"
"Sorry?"
"You said you played Male Baseball. What was your defensive position?"
My Male Baseball experience in this world counted for nothing, so what came out of my mouth was, naturally, the position I'd defended in my past life.
"I mostly played third base."
"...Third base?"
"Yes."
"...No thought of moving to the outfield? Or first base, maybe?"
"If you assign me somewhere, I'll adjust to whatever you need. But speaking personally, third base is where I'm best."
It had been my position since high school in my past life, after all.
The last time I'd actually taken the field on defense was before the possession, so I couldn't promise I could manage on memory alone — but if I had to retrain regardless, my own wish was to start from familiar ground.
"Hmm. We do happen to be short a backup at third..."
Yoon Gaeul scrunched her face, turning the matter over — whether the idea of putting a male into her infield defense simply wouldn't sit right with her.
She set the score sheet down on the desk and tipped her chin toward the door.
"Grab a fungo bat and a box of training balls from the prep room and get out to the field. I want to check something for myself."
"Ah — yes, ma'am!"
Her words carried the unmistakable air of a test — of a woman deciding, once and for all, whether third base could truly be entrusted to me.