The Bet (2)

Over the past week, we won four out of six games. We were now just half a game behind the sixth-place Seoul Bears, and only two and a half games out from the fifth-place Incheon Wyverns. With only sixteen games left including today's, this was a crucial moment. We were four games back from the fourth-place Seoul Twins, so the players were buzzing with excitement at the thought that we could make the playoffs if things went well. We'd gone from dead last to suddenly having postseason baseball within reach.

In this pivotal stretch, today's starting pitcher was Lim Young-gi. I approached him as he did his final warm-ups before taking the mound.

Lim Young-gi's stats had risen by 4 points in just a week. His overall ability hadn't changed much, but his control and breaking ball had noticeably improved. His velocity ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hadn't dropped much from his original either.

Despite his strong mental fortitude, Young-gi was breathing unevenly at the thought of his first start.

"Young-gi. I put you in the rotation because I know you can do this. Go out there and show 'em what you've got."

"Yes, sir! I'll give it everything I've got, Manager!"

Life sparked in his eyes at my encouragement. He'd bounced around the second team, but I'd believed in him enough to hand him a 1st-team start—he wanted to repay that faith.

"That's the spirit. Fight on!"

As I turned to head back after firing him up, Pitching Coach Jeong Cheol-min was standing there behind me. He looked at me, approached, and spoke.

"Ahem! Just like you said, Manager, we tried dropping Young-gi all the way to underhand. Er-hem! Looks like you were right. Velocity didn't drop much, and his control and breaking stuff improved."

Jeong Cheol-min cleared his throat awkwardly, as if embarrassed.

"Is that so? Glad to hear it."

"Ahem! Even if he gives up more than three runs today, that's on me—not you. That's what I came to say."

I was stunned by the unexpected words from Jeong Cheol-min's mouth. I hadn't thought he'd admit it so straightforwardly. Truth be told, this was a big gamble. Throwing an unfinished player like Young-gi out there for a start and expecting under three runs was no easy feat. But I'd pushed for it because I saw the potential for him to grow in the right direction.

Jeong Cheol-min must have realized I was right after coaching him himself. But instead of hiding behind pride and yelling if things went south, he'd come to apologize first.

He cared about the team, after all—he wouldn't sabotage us just to spite me. He'd spoken from conviction and experience, but the results showed he'd already lost that argument. So he'd swallowed his pride and apologized.

"Really...? Hearing you say that, Coach, makes me even more sure Young-gi will crush it today."

"Hahaha. Exactly. He'll do great. Forgive my rudeness up till now. Let's make this work together from here on out!"

Jeong Cheol-min, who was much older than me, bowed deeply in respect. This wasn't just us—other players and coaches were watching. For him to set aside his pride like this in front of everyone was a huge deal. The others looked shocked too.

Feeling awkward myself, I hurried over and helped him straighten up.

"No, no—don't do that. We'll all pull together and make it happen."

"Hahaha. Got it."

The players already trusted me to a degree, but the coaches had been the issue. This could unite the Eagles even more.

Today's home game at Daejeon Eagles Stadium meant Young-gi took the mound first. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as he climbed up. Fans who'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shown up lately were riding high—our record had improved since I'd taken over as manager.

Still, some distrust toward me lingered. In this critical stretch, starting Young-gi had them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠worried. He hadn't proven himself with the Eagles yet, so doubts about him spilled over into questions about my managerial chops.

They'd have ripped me apart for starting Young-gi before, but our recent hot streak had them tiptoeing around it.

Young-gi took a deep breath on the mound and fired his first pitch. It hugged the inside corner against leadoff hitter Lee Jong-hoon, slicing through the strike zone.

To support his debut start, I'd loaded up on defense over offense. That's why veterans like Lee Dae-seon and Jo Sung-in were in early, along with sure-handed No Kwang-su to lock down the back end.

Experienced catcher Jo Sung-in led Young-gi well. He started aggressive, pounding the batter's inside corner to build his confidence. Clocking around 140 ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠km/h, the pitch jammed into a tough spot—lefty Lee Jong-hoon backed off, thinking it was coming right at him. Even straight heat from that lower-than-sidearm slot had a natural bend to it. His ball really had improved.

Lee Jong-hoon flailed and missed the rest, going down swinging for the first K.

Young-gi's face relaxed after striking out the leadoff guy. Next up was young second baseman Park Min-hoo, a prodigy who'd locked down the position despite his age. Same age as Young-gi, but worlds apart in careers.

Young-gi's pitch rose from down low into the mitt with bite. Even the prodigy hitter shook his head in frustration—he hadn't seen many like it. Youth meant limited experience.

The second pitch tailed off the outside corner for another strike. Down 0-2, fire lit in Park Min-hoo's eyes.

The third looked belt-high and hittable. He unloaded... but whiffed hard. A perfect changeup had dropped off the table, freezing him for strike three.

The Dinosaurs weren't rolling over. Cleanup hitter Na Beom-seong asked Park Min-hoo about the pitches, trying to adjust. But hearing's no substitute for facing it.

Na went down swinging too. Young-gi KKK'd the side in the first, striding off the mound beaming. We high-fived—confidence surged after a flawless opening frame.

Now it was our hitters' turn to build on his momentum.