The Dignity of the High School's Strongest Closer

"………."

Silence hung in the air as Seong-muk stepped into the batter's box, methodically adjusting his batting gloves with sharp snaps. An unmistakable aura emanated from him now—one that only true power hitters possessed.

Gulp—

No Jin-su swallowed hard under the mounting tension.

He'd been sent in with a special mission: follow up the lefty Ji Su-yong by retiring Geum Seong-muk. But he was terrified.

'Damn it, this guy's scary…!!'

Game footage showed it clear as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠day: in clutch situations, this monster unfailingly crushed home runs.

This was a spot where Ryu Taek-jin should've taken the mound from the start. No Jin-su wanted no part of getting caught between the director and that whale of a closer—shrimp shells bursting in a fight between giants.

'Fuck, I don't wanna be etched in history footage forever…!'

He had zero interest in being forever labeled the "Munhyeok High pitcher who let them advance to Sejong."

Thwack—!

"Base on balls…!!"

No Jin-su slyly threw a pitch that strayed just enough from the catcher's call, walking Seong-muk to first. Seong-muk shot him a puzzled look.

'Huh…?'

One big swing could've ended it right there, so he'd been toying with using that after a couple pitches. But the opposing pitcher clearly had no intention of challenging him.

You had to make contact for a double or homer, right? With the guy blatantly dodging a showdown, there was nothing Seong-muk could do.

"…Tch."

All he could do was smack his lips and trot to first. Coach Cha Kang-hun exploded at the pitcher's timid display.

"That, that bastard…!!"

Cha knew No Jin-su's pinpoint control wouldn't intentionally serve up a straight walk like that.

Fuming, he yanked No Jin-su immediately.

Hancheong High fans gripped their hearts in suspense.

But the coach's stubbornness was ironclad.

Fans had held their tongues so far, figuring there was a plan. But after three pitcher changes without Ryu Taek-jin, they erupted.

"You fucking asshole, Cha Kang-hun…!!"

"You think we came to watch your damn tasting menu?! Quit screwing around and bring in Ryu Taek-jin…!!"

The crowd sensed Munhyeok High's momentum turning ominous. Yet Cha clung to his strategy.

'Munhyeok's bottom order is no match for even Se-yun.'

Cha brimmed with confidence.

No matter how Ryu Taek-jin seethed, he wouldn't yield the mound unless the ace bowed first.

Crack!

"Out…!"

'Yeah, that's right.'

Cha nodded as Ri Dong-hyuk flied to left, vindicated. But chills soon ran down his spine.

Crack!

"Safe…!!"

"Wooooaaahhh………!!!"

Munhyeok's side plunged into ecstatic frenzy.

Seo Kyung-su, ex-basketball ace, raised his right arm blankly toward the stands—probably his first clutch hit like this, feeling surreal.

Cameras panned to Hancheong's dugout.

Cha sat stone-faced, but inside, he trembled more than anyone, deep in turmoil.

'Damn it…!! How'd it come to this…?'

He'd underestimated Munhyeok's grit.

Their ace bullpen should've sealed it, but they'd been backed into this corner.

Taming Ryu for Sejong had nearly burned his own house down.

'Call up Taek-jin now…?'

But he'd blocked the self-nominated ace himself. Reversing now would shatter his coaching cred.

'Screw my pride—if we lose here, I'm done…!'

Ever-calculating Cha.

Losing meant handing Munhyeok a historic debut-year Sejong berth—Hancheong eternally shamed as the opponent.

The blame? Obvious: Cha's botched pitching changes.

'Put out the fire first…! Apologize later!'

"Coach."

"Y-yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I was arrogant."

"……!!"

"Let me pitch. From now on, I'll take the mound whenever you say, any situation."

Ryu bowed at a perfect ninety degrees.

Cha's eyes widened in shock, then glee surged inwardly.

'Perfect timing!!'

He cleared his throat sternly.

"Good. Ever heard 'no player greater than the team'?"

"Yes."

"Burn it into your soul. High school hotshots who run wild? Pros bury 'em all. You're my prized pupil—I don't want that for you. Get it?"

"…Yes, I think so."

"Then prep. You're our closer."

"Yes, sir!"

Ryu tugged his cap low and strode into the rain. The Jongmyo Stadium vibe shifted instantly.

"Ryu… Ryu Taek-jin…!!"

"He's out! Ryu Taek-jin!!"

The absolute guardian descended.

Never once disappointing Hancheong students in three years, his entrance buzzed their stands.

Thoom-thoom-thoom, thoom-thoom—!!

Massive drums rolled a prelude.

Brass club kids blared triumphant trumpets. Even high schoolers had a custom walk-up for Ryu—raw faith on display.

"Ryu Taek-jin! Ryu Taek-jin! Ryu Taek-jin!!"

Hancheong chanted, begging him to end the crisis. From second, Seong-muk snuck a peek at his stats.

'The nation's top closer, as expected.'

Seong-muk's pitching potential topped the country, but excluding stamina, Ryu's raw power was close. Pure current stats? Ryu lapped him embarrassingly.

A finished product versus Seong-muk mid-growth post-possession—unavoidable. One out, runners on first and third. No. 9 batter Lee Tae-kyung stepped up.

"Huuuuh!!"

One out, runner on third.

Lee Tae-kyung's mind raced.

'Squeeze? No way—that's doomed…!'

Third baseman Choi Hyuk-su and infielders pressed like a vice—daring a bunt.

'Lift it to the outfield…!'

With Seong-muk's wheels, a fly could score him. Game over, Munhyeok to Sejong. Vowing to atone for defensive errors, Tae-kyung steeled himself.

Smirk—

Ryu grinned at his resolve, lifting his right leg.

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

"Dream big."

His waist coiled dynamically.

Power surged through his back leg—then exploded like cannon fire.

"Waking up hurts more!"

BOOM—!!!

"S-strike!!"

"……!!"

".......!!"

Thunderclap explosion rocked Jongmyo. Some fans startled skyward at the blast. Ryu's fastball was brutal. Even umps hesitated before calling strike.

'I gotta hit this?'

The overwhelming fastball crushed the batter's spirit.

Perfectly. Ryu's heat stomped the kid's will flat.

BOOM—!!

"Strike…!!"

"Urk…!!"

Tae-kyung whiffed wildly.

Timing way off.

'Still gotta swing. Get Seong-muk hyung home…!!'

Skill gap too vast.

On the third pitch, swinging, he saw it: splitter diving under his bat.

Thwack—!!

"Strike three…!!"

"Waaaaah…!!!"

"That's Ryu Taek-jin!!"

Three pitches, three strikes.

Tae-kyung flailed at the dropping splitter. Crushing the foe on debut—pure dominance. Exactly what Hancheong fans craved.

"Tiny strike zone—gonna be narrow."

Ryu muttered at Choi Adam.

Short kid meant tough strikes, but no issue for him.

BOOM—!!

"Strike…!"

"What…!"

Choi Adam jolted.

He'd faced national aces like Seong-muk, Ma Cho-won, Jang Tae-san up close—but this was another level. Lefty arm made it hellish. He gripped tight, steadying breath.

"Fuck, bring it…!"

"Oh ho?"

Ryu intrigued.

Second pitch fired.

Crack—!

"Foul…!!"

"Argh!"

Choi hopped from stinging vibrations. Ryu grabbed a fresh ball, smirking.

"Hmm, spicy little pepper, huh."

Sensing Choi's solid contact, Ryu honored him—unleashing his signature.

"Bye, friend."

Kick, third pitch.

Choi swung at the heart-high offering.

'Dead center! I can—!?'

Whoosh!

Straight in, then razor-sharp break at the plate. Not center—tip of the bat. Snap!!

Bat shards flew toward the mound.

Ryu sidestepped casually, strolling down like it was over.

"Out…!!"

Ump's hand up—tenth-inning bottom done.

The golden chance vanished.

Now, high school's strongest closer Ryu Taek-jin ruled the mound.

Career ERA under 1.00.

As a senior? Zero runs allowed.

Runners piled up? Now they needed to score solely against him.

"Block one more inning, score later…!"

"We got this!"

Yet no fear.

Battle-hardened to reach here. They believed.

Then it happened.

Crack—!!

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

Hassan gawked backward in disbelief.

His two-seamer, thrown full gas, soared skyward.

Thwack!

"…Too easy. Compared to Geum Seong-muk, anyway."

"Park Tae-je! Park Tae-je! Park Tae-je!!"

Park rounded bases amid deafening cheers. Hancheong fans figured the game was toast.

"…Good work, Hassan."

Coach Myeong Sin-u climbed for the change.

Park Chan-jun took the baton.

Hassan descended, tears barely held, as Ma Deok-su tsked from stands.

"Tch, solid pitch—but bad matchup."

Park Tae-je, elite hitter now.

Trust your stuff, sure—but more caution, even walking him, Ma thought.

"Cha Ham-gu's grown a ton, but rain sucks."

Knucklers rely on spin—rain nerfs 'em. Next at-bats proved tough.

Crack!

"Yammy (delicious)!!"

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Back-to-back extra-bases, cheers erupted.

Chan-jun battled: grounded out No. 6 Ko Eun-chan, flied No. 7 Han I-an.

Tap—!

"Safe…!!"

Couldn't stop Carlos tagging up from third—another run.

"Uwoooaaah…!!"

Hancheong stands roared louder.

Chan-jun nabbed No. 8 to end, but cheers raged on.

Two-run lead, Ryu on mound.

One run? Legs stretched. Two? Unshakable. No Hancheong kid doubted.

Goya Gallery users agreed.

Shwaaa—

"It's over."

"Yeah, done."

Young woman and middle-aged man under umbrellas in the rear aisle.

Busan Cups owner's granddaughter and scout Yoon Ji-na, plus Changwon Fire Rits senior scout Yoon Ju-hun.

"Why do I feel like something's gonna happen…?"

"…Pardon?"

Ji-na stared incredulously at her uncle.

"You saying Ryu's gonna blow it?"

"Not impossible."

"Zero runs above one in three high school years. Need three against that? Insane."

"Insane? Think he'll keep that in pros?"

"…Overreach."

"Not denying Hancheong's favored. Just watch."

Yoon Ju-hun eyed Munhyeok's dugout—especially Seong-muk.

'If something flips, it's that guy.'

His eye for talent was razor-sharp. As scouts watched quietly, Munhyeok's dugout mood soured.

“……….”

“……….”

No one in high school ball ignored Ryu's terror. Overwhelming, top national rep closer.

Eleventh start? Hopeful. After spotting two more? Dread.

Even "We can do it!" stuck in throats. Victory odds neared zero—they knew.

Coach Myeong broke the silence.

"Listen up, one word."

He stood tall before eleventh bottom. His speech fired.

"Scared? Defeat's shadow looms, foe's ultimate closer. Zero blown saves in three years, right?"

“……….”

"But you forget: you're blazing uncharted paths. No debut-year team reached here—search nationwide."

"Breaking records? First's toughest! High school no-blow? Pampered powerhouse stat. Your records dwarf it…!!"

Bang!!

Fist slammed desk. He gripped through stinging pain.

"Spot two? Score 'em back! You have the power! Recall those national aces who made you cry en route!"

Gulp—

Players remembered: Im Tae-yul, Iwasaki Shunsuke, Jang Tae-san, Sergei Rasputin, Ma Cho-won, Ryu Han-ul…

All "We beat that?" monsters. Yet Munhyeok conquered, reached here.

"Game ain't over! Claw to the end! Rip any gap…!! Sejong's ours. Etch it deep—no doubt…!!"

"…Yes, sir!!"

Munhyeok roared ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back. Leadoff Do Do-jin led serious-eyed batters out.

'Devil's editor, true to form.'

Seong-muk smirked, eyeing the board, simulating eleventh bottom.

'Need three to win….'

Order from No. 2 Do Do-jin: Ryu Ji, Seok Un-gang, Ji Su-yong, then Seong-muk.

Drip-drip—

Seong-muk exited dugout.

Rain pelted as eyes locked with mound-bound Ryu.

"Too bad, Geum Seong-muk. Wanted you myself."

Ryu smirked, betting no at-bat for him.

Seong-muk didn't doubt.

A gut hunch.

'My chance comes. Definitely.'

His hand-picked crew would force it against Ryu.

Sag—

But limp lower body.

Current state? No match. One option surfaced.

"…Hoo, what choice? We're here."

Untapped "final secret weapon" from last at-bat.

Use it? Back to F-grade flailing sans Solar Divine Vein. But loss ended everything anyway.

Seong-muk resolved.

His turn? Unleash it.

'…I end this. My hands.'

Quiet fire burned.

Eleventh bottom dawned.

Munhyeok's final rally to decide it all—began.