Show of Force from the Very First Game!?
Heavy tension hung over Jongmyo Stadium.
The stands were packed with fans from across the nation, and every player from the 64 high schools that had qualified for the Sejong Tournament had gathered here for the opening match.
"Play ball…!"
With the umpire's signal, the Sejong Tournament kicked off.
Taking the mound was Pungroe High's ace, Taiwan national team ace Chen Wei-yan.
Blazing fastballs in the late 150s.
A devilish changeup.
A delivery infamous for messing with hitters' timing.
"Ah, right here and now—the curtain rises on this year's Sejong Tournament!"
"On the mound, Taiwan's pride, Chen Wei-yan. He's a tremendous pitcher."
"Whoa, it's been ages since we heard praise from commentator Go Hoon-seok. We can pin our hopes on Chen Wei-yan."
Go Hoon-seok, the color commentator.
He was famous for his brutally straightforward style—saying whatever needed saying, no filter. It polarized fans, but plenty loved his refreshing honesty.
He usually tore everyone apart without mercy, but today, he had no intention of doing that.
'Hmph, a bunch of flukes riding Geum Seong-muk's coattails to get here.'
He hated Munhyeok High.
Back in his high school days, he'd been on a weak team.
Every spring tournament, they'd crash out in the first or second round.
Yet his pride stayed sky-high, and he'd always mutter excuses like:
'I did great, but my school sucked.'
'This is why weak teams can't win.'
'Knew it'd end like this, tsk tsk.'
Those defense mechanisms shielded him from the pain.
That's how he'd lived for over twenty years.
When he heard about Munhyeok High, it hit him like a truck.
A brand-new team with even worse odds than his old weaklings.
Yet they'd made Sejong in their first year—an absurd feat. Jealousy was inevitable.
So, true to form, he hyped up Munhyeok's opponent, Pungroe High.
"Chen Wei-yan has incredible balance somewhere between a double-kick and standard delivery—super centered. Tough for first-time hitters to figure out!"
"Munhyeok's leadoff, Choi Adam—check his stats. On-base percentage is dismal, barely above his batting average. His plate discipline is sorely lacking! He's only leading off due to team needs; on any other squad, he'd be ninth or a pinch-runner."
This was the birth of "Choi9Tak"—a savage dig that Munhyeok players would summon to roast Choi Adam for generations.
He'd have screamed something like "Fuck off, what do you know?!" if he'd heard it.
Whoosh!
"Strike!!"
"Whoa, first pitch whiff by Choi Adam!"
"That one's a take. His weak eye just won't hide!"
Go Hoon-seok gleefully piled on.
But he didn't know one thing.
Choi Adam had escaped "plate vision impotence" through hellish special training.
Thwack!
"Ball!"
Crack!
"Foul!"
Thwack!
"Ball!"
The count piled up steadily.
Choi Adam filtered strikes in the zone and ignored anything outside.
Thwack!
"Take your base on balls…!!"
Choi Adam worked the walk and trotted to first.
Go Hoon-seok was stunned.
"Ah, a meatball. Flat-breaking ball. Even a kid could've laid off that one!"
Couldn't credit Choi Adam, so he trashed the pitcher instead.
Next up: No. 2 hitter Do Dojin.
Go Hoon-seok slammed him too.
"Do Dojin struggles against heat. Mid-to-late 150s turns him into an idiot—seen it plenty. Classic mid-to-lower lineup guy…"
Crack!
Dojin smoked Chen Wei-yan's 157 km/h heater.
The ball split cleanly between first and second.
Runner Choi Adam flew around to third.
No outs, runners on first and third.
"Ah, Do Dojin's single—runners on first and third, no outs! Up next, No. 3 hitter Takahina Ryuji!"
The caster's call made Go Hoon-seok panic at the plate.
He could trash the others freely, but Munhyeok's cleanup trio terrified him.
Luck was still on his side, though.
Crack!
"Out…!"
Thwack!
"Out!"
Ryuji popped up to the infield for one out. Seong-muk's liner was robbed by a insane leap from short for two outs.
Outs piled up in a flash.
'Yes! That's it!!'
Go Hoon-seok secretly pumped his fist.
Chen Wei-yan walked No. 5 Seok Un-gang, loading the bases with two outs.
Up came No. 6 Ji Suyong.
The dark-skinned Ji spun his bat entering the box, and Go Hoon-seok cheered inwardly.
"Chen Wei-yan walks Seok Un-gang and challenges Ji Suyong! Smart play."
"Why?"
"Ji Suyong's BQ isn't great. Lure him with sinkers, and he'll chase. Odds favor Chen here…"
Crack!
"Gasp…!!"
Ji Suyong lifted the sinking pitch perfectly.
The drive rocketed to center.
The outfielder chased desperately, but it caromed off the wall—untouchable.
"Wall double by Ji Suyong! Third, second, first all score! Batter to third!"
"Safe!!"
"Kiyaaahou!!"
Ji Suyong flopped like a fresh-caught tuna in joy.
Go Hoon-seok, who'd trashed Munhyeok nonstop, looked flustered.
'What the—why are they hitting so well?!'
Top of the first ended 3-0 Munhyeok.
Munhyeok's opening starter: Pakistan's treasure, Hassan Iqbal.
"Munhyeok holds back ace Geum Seong-muk!"
The broadcast camera caught coach Myeong Sinu.
His stance on Game 1 was crystal clear.
'Are we idiots? Throw Seong-muk out there?'
Pungroe wasn't strong enough to force it, and flashing Seong-muk to all these rivals would be stupid.
Coach Myeong's plan: Hassan-Park Chan-jun duo to close it out.
He trusted Hassan's massive leap in skill, but Go Hoon-seok ripped him.
"Hassan Iqbal is a strict downgrade from Geum Seong-muk everywhere—especially control and mentality. Sure, he flashed in the international tourney, but every pitcher's got one pretty game, right?"
"You think Hassan's stuff won't play against Pungroe?"
"Yep. Pungroe's hitters are pros at tormenting pitchers. They pounce on any edge, and with Hassan's control? He'll get shredded. Coach Myeong better prep the next arm…"
Thwack!
“Strike three!!”
Thwack!!
"Strike three!!"
Thwack-!!
"Strike thhhree!!"
Just nine pitches.
Hassan fired heat, fanning the side in the first.
With Apostle of Allah activated, he was untouchable.
He stepped off the mound with murder in his eyes.
Goya Gallery users raved over Hassan's transformation.
They didn't forget to gripe about Go Hoon-seok's grating commentary.
Fans hoped he'd pay for his trash talk soon—and it didn't take long.
One out, runner on second.
Ryuji laced a wall double, then Geum Seong-muk stepped up.
“Tch, what kinda contact is this?”
Prior at-bat had runners on second and third, so he'd aimed for a cheap RBI single.
Against Chen Wei-yan, only meds worked—so he'd dumped a stat point into contact.
Insane defense killed it.
Seong-muk went back to basics.
“Switch.”
Stat changes reset!
Power stat enhanced: A+ → S
Seong-muk exuded menace.
Chen Wei-yan tried an inside changeup despite his nerves—with disastrous results.
CRACK!!
"It's gone!! GONE!! Geum Seong-muk clears the wall! 5-0! Chen Wei-yan's head drops!"
"……."
Seong-muk tossed his bat skyward and circled the bases leisurely.
Go Hoon-seok shut up. Taiwan fans on camera teared up.
Their hero, who'd carried them to Sejong with swagger, was getting shelled early.
But it wasn't over yet.
Hassan dominated, but by the fifth, weirdness emerged.
“Hoo, haa…”
Hassan looked gassed.
Like Seong-muk's Solar Divine Vein, his double-stat-boost skill had limits.
Bottom fifth, two outs, runners on first and third.
Up: Pungroe's No. 4, Yoo Han-gil.
'The textbook five-tool stud, Yoo Han-gil.'
A high-end hitter with buzz.
Like Ji Suyong, all stats awakened.
Plus freak speed unfit for cleanup—he'd reached base twice against Hassan's gem and even stole.
Pungroe's offensive core. Hassan, possessed, thought:
Just break it.
THWACK!!
“Arghhh!!”
Hassan's 160 km/h heater drilled the hitter's knee. Yoo crumpled.
Knee clutched, shaking—he was done.
Carted off; pinch-runner incoming.
“Ah…!!”
Skill ended. Hassan snapped to, mortified.
“Sorry! So sorry!”
He bowed repeatedly.
Pungroe suspected intent at first, but Hassan's innocent panic disarmed them.
'Gotta fix that possessed personality later.'
Boosted stats and mentality were great.
But smashing hitters with dead balls when pissed? Bad news.
He gave up a hit and two after, but escaped the inning.
Score: 5-2.
Sixth onward: Park Chan-jun took over.
"Munhyeok brings in Park Chan-jun! Famous for learning the knuckleball from Sergei."
Park dusted rosin and blew on the mound. With Pungroe closing to three runs, Go Hoon-seok saw hope in the knuckler.
"Knucklers hate steals, right? Pungroe can swipe from 1 through 9—Park won't last the remaining innings!"
Go smelled Pungroe comeback.
Steals require reaching first, though.
Crack!
“Out…!”
Thwack!
“Out!”
Crack!
“Out!!”
Three groundouts, side retired.
Park's A+ knuckler danced.
They knew knuckleballs were coming—but not this. Pungroe frothed.
Munhyeok's mound wouldn't budge. Now Pungroe ate heat.
Crack!
"Gone! Takahina Ryuji clears the wall!! 8-2!"
Thwack!
"Again!! Geum Seong-muk back-to-back!! Consecutive jacks after last at-bat!!"
Munhyeok's lineup pulverized Pungroe pitching with bombs. Bottom order spiced it up—their bats stayed hot.
Thwack!
“Strike three!!”
Park locked it down on the mound. Seven-run gap held. Pungroe staffers slipped out.
Top eighth.
Munhyeok bats ablaze again.
Two more from the bottom order. Pungroe coach panicked.
'No cold game, anything but…!'
Chungnam powerhouse Pungroe.
First cold loss in school history—unthinkable shame.
“Lee Jin-jae up.”
“Yes, sir!!”
No. 2 starter after Chen—saved for next game, now deployed.
Disaster.
Two outs, bases loaded? No—runners first and third, batter Geum Seong-muk.
'…Insane momentum. He's locked in for the dagger.'
Pungroe coach knew the clutch demon's rep. He signaled the mound.
"Intentional walk! Lee Jin-jae puts Geum on, loads 'em!"
"Next: Seok Un-gang, two walks no hits today. Rational vs. Seong-muk's form."
Go Hoon-seok, deflated after endless misses and upper brass warnings, dialed it back.
“...Hmph.”
Seong-muk shed gear and strolled to first, smirking.
'Hmph, not a great pick.'
Seok Un-gang entered grim-faced, Demon Ride active, aura feral.
His bat ignited first pitch.
CRACK!!
"Huge! HUGE!! Seok Un-gang strolls like it's gone!!"
CLANG!
Off the center screen.
Walk Seong-muk, greet Seok's grand slam—cold game sealed.
“Nice bomb…!!”
“Damn, you cleared that?”
Teammates mobbed Un-gang at the plate.
Thirteen-run gap met cold criteria, but Pungroe got bottom eighth anyway. Park Chan-jun remounted.
Thwack!
“Strike three…!”
Cleanup retired in order. Game over.
Final: 15-2.
Total domination.
Pungroe—mid-to-upper among qualifiers—utterly crushed.
Seong-muk walked in from outfield, scanning the stands.
“……….”
Other schools' players watched gravely.
They felt it: No more one-man Munhyeok. Pitching and hitting now national level.
'Wait up— you're next.'
Seong-muk dashed to his celebrating teammates. Munhyeok's rise was just beginning.