Is This Too Hard for You, Ji-uk?

Is this hard for you, Ji-uk?

With Seong-muk's two-run homer, the score was now 3-1.

As the next batter, Seok Un-gang, stepped up to the plate, Cheon Ji-uk signaled to the dugout.

Cheon Ji-uk had requested a catcher change from the dugout. It bruised his pride a bit, but it was the best he could do right now.

'I hate that guy, but I need him now.'

Cheon Ji-uk wiped the sweat beading on his glasses. He hated to admit it, but his stats were better when syncing with Hwang Tae-gang.

As Hwang Tae-gang approached the mound in his catcher's gear, Cheon Ji-uk spoke in a serious tone.

"Hwang Tae-gang, I can't lose to a team like that."

"You're weird, man. Who said it's okay to lose?"

"Anyway, I need your help. Cooperate with me."

"...Damn, your mouth is something else."

Cold tension hung between them.

Hwang Tae-gang let out a deep sigh.

It was Cheon Ji-uk's way of trying, in his own stubborn fashion.

He nodded as if he had no choice.

"Fine, but follow my lead without backtalk, got it?"

"Yeah, we'll do it that way."

He was called an offensive catcher, but that was just because his bat was so strong—everyone in Busan knew his defense was top-tier in high school.

Sure enough, as soon as the catcher changed, Cheon Ji-uk's pitches sharpened.

Whoosh!

"Strike out!"

Thwack!!

"Strike out!!"

"Hoo."

Cheon Ji-uk wiped his sweat and stepped off the mound. After 92 pitches, he still had enough left for the 8th.

"Fielders! You trying to make hardworking Ji-uk the losing pitcher? Focus, got it!!"

"Yes, sir!!"

The Bujeon High dugout echoed with the players' spirited shouts.

But the Bujeon High players knew it wouldn't be easy.

Because he was still on the mound.

"...".

"...".

Seong-muk and Tae-gang exchanged grins.

Of course, they turned deadly serious right after.

Best friends or not, they were enemies on a single log bridge now, fully intent on crushing each other.

Ding!

'Impressive, for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sure.'

Tae-gang had grown tremendously from national team reps and Seong-muk's tips. He was easily one of the top catchers nationwide.

If he read it right, he could even handle Seong-muk's rising fastball.

Crack!!

The fielders' spines chilled, but Seong-muk remained calm.

He'd thrown knowing the bat flip was coming—and for good reason.

'Alright, next phase.'

The bigger the gap between pitch one and two, the more the batter felt it.

Seong-muk murmured low.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Switch."

Zero adjustment complete, Seong-muk's second pitch shot from his fingertips.

Thwack-!!

"...!"

"Strike!"

Hwang Tae-gang blinked in surprise.

He glanced at the scoreboard.

-164km

'Velocity's back!'

Tae-gang sweated bullets.

But he grinned and tapped his spikes with the bat.

'...Well, no point acting surprised now.'

Seong-muk's rollercoaster pitching peaked at unpredictable spots. That volatile style—in the best way—he'd experienced plenty catching for him on the national team.

Thump!

"Ball!"

Two straight balls followed.

Tae-gang laid off the high fastball and the 12-6 curve dropping low.

Seong-muk nodded as if he'd expected it, taking the return throw.

'Yeah, you're past getting fooled by this stuff, Tae-gang.'

Only that pitch would do, Seong-muk figured.

He took a deep breath and went into a big windup.

"Hup...!"

Whoosh!

Seong-muk's circle changeup left his hand.

'Inside the zone!'

Tae-gang swung on reflex at the strike—and regretted it instantly.

"Ah."

He knew this pitch.

The flicker of a lightbulb snapping on and off.

This insane deceleration that toyed with reflexes. As his bat turned, Tae-gang's lip curled.

"Damn, can't beat it."

Whoosh!

"Strike out!!"

"Woo-hyooo...!!"

A huge strikeout against the cleanup in a key spot.

Seong-muk let out his woo-hyoo loud—no exceptions for friends.

Hwang Tae-gang struck out and headed to the dugout with a not-so-bad expression.

But he spotted something odd.

"What the hell? What's with that guy?"

Wildly shaking pupils.

Fingers trembling as he bit them.

Hard to believe this was the refined Cheon Ji-uk.

"No way... How did that guy...!"

Cheon Ji-uk couldn't believe the situation.

He'd frequented ballparks with his dad since childhood, nurturing his dream as a pitcher.

His favorite? The circle changeup.

He fell hard for it, practicing endlessly from boyhood, even begging his dad for pricey private lessons.

Worth every penny. From Little League to middle and high school, top hitters flailed at it.

'Whoa, no wonder they call him Cheon Ji-uk.'

'That circle changeup's on another level...!'

Cheon Ji-uk swelled with pride each time.

He always thought:

'It's Ma Deok-su's circle changeup—of course it's elite.'

'I'll refine it further and dominate the pros.'

But progress stalled at some point.

He climbed ranks fast, but then hit a wall.

'What's wrong? What is it...?'

He'd scour Ma Deok-su's game footage.

There was Ma Deok-su ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turning hitters around with monstrous circle changeups.

Nearly 40 years old footage, but he'd thrashed to reach that ideal ultimate circle changeup.

Yet a massive wall blocked him. Then, in this game, he saw a pitcher shatter all his efforts.

Splash!

"Strike out!!"

"Woo-hyoo!!"

Gunnar Johansen helpless against Seong-muk.

That circle changeup was leagues beyond what Seong-muk had thrown earlier.

Closer to Ma Deok-su's ideal than anything Cheon Ji-uk had thrown thousands, tens of thousands of times.

Whoosh-

"Striiike out!!"

"Wooo-hyooo!!"

Ten straight strikeouts.

Seong-muk unleashed his second pattern: S+ circle changeup.

He melted the Bujeon High lineup.

"......"

"......"

Cheon Ji-uk locked eyes with Seong-muk descending the mound.

Seong-muk grinned at him and mouthed:

"Ji-uk-ah, is this hard for you?"

"......!!"

That moment crushed Cheon Ji-uk's mentality—the guy who'd always looked down on him had toyed with him.

"Damn, damn, damn!!!"

Top of the 8th arrived.

He'd shown some agitation in the dugout, but coaching staff deemed his stuff still live, so Cheon Ji-uk took the mound.

He pitched irritably, like venting frustration.

Crack!

"Out!"

Thump!

"Strike out!"

Seo Kyung-su and Lee Tae-kyung retired in a row.

But Choi Adam was no pushover.

Pop!

"Ball!"

Crack!

"Foul!"

Count 1-2.

Cheon Ji-uk gripped his circle changeup again.

'I won't kneel. I won't...!'

Splash!

Desperation muddled his release; the pitch sailed right down the middle.

Crack!

"Kuh...."

Another circle changeup tagged.

Hwang Tae-gang, sensing something off, visited the mound for a check.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"No, you don't look fine...."

"I said back off!"

".........!!"

Hwang Tae-gang flinched.

Cameras caught it all raw.

"Tsk tsk, lost his rhythm."

Ma Deok-su clicked his tongue at Cheon Ji-uk.

He'd pinpointed the familiarity in that circle changeup.

"...Hah, one of those copycats got tutored."

A copycat at heart, it had clear limits to break ceilings. Similar enough that Ma Deok-su could've tuned it up personally, but...

'Why would I bother with that punk?'

Cheon Ji-uk seemed to have bad blood with Seong-muk.

No coaching from Ma Deok-su in his lifetime.

'The problem's Munhyeok High's guys...'

Ringing in his ears.

Ma Deok-su felt his vision blurring.

'Thanks to Geum Seong-muk, no regrets...'

Seong-muk's insane circle changeup evoked his prime.

No lingering regrets—he'd leave proof of his existence through him.

Last wish: Watch Munhyeok High's pitchers win Sejong-ki.

But his body was at its limit.

Collapsing now would shake the team.

"Cough, cough!!"

He clung to consciousness desperately.

Solely to not drag down Munhyeok High's soaring flight.