Championship Race (3)
CRACK!! Contrary to my expectations, Choi Tae-won gave up a hit to the leadoff hitter.
Choi Tae-won's potential ability was 58—not bad at all. But his current ability was a measly 31. His potential hadn't bloomed yet. Even though I was training him exactly as noted in the details, his stats weren't climbing. Still, I hadn't given up on him and put him on the first-team stage. I figured gaining experience in real games might help him improve bit by bit.
But watching today's game, I realized I needed to rethink that. I'd seen it in his mental stat: "Afraid to take the mound." He was worried about shoving himself into the lion's mouth when he wasn't fully prepared. It hit me then—some people awaken their potential in extreme pressure, while others crumble. And some only shine once the environment is perfectly set up. Choi Tae-won seemed to be the latter type.
After the leadoff hitter, Jeong Woo-geun, singled, Choi Tae-won started spraying balls everywhere, walking Lee Gyu-yong too. That's when I told pitching coach Son Hyeok-su to warm up the bullpen.
"Huh? Already?"
"Tae-won's crumbling right now. We need to get ready fast."
Coach Son Hyeok-su, who had been watching Choi Tae-won, nodded at my words.
"Got it. We'll prep right away."
Things could turn into a blowout if we weren't careful. I signaled catcher Park Won-dong to slow the game's tempo. Park Won-dong acknowledged and dragged things out.
When No. 3 hitter Kim Tae-hoon stepped up, Choi Tae-won's face drained of color. He couldn't even throw strikes anymore. I was starting to worry he'd develop the yips. After two straight balls, Park Won-dong climbed the mound, buying time while calming him down. Some color returned to Choi Tae-won's face at the catcher's encouragement.
Thankfully, the third pitch caught the zone for a strike. Kim Tae-hoon, after six straight balls, probably wasn't even thinking about swinging. Choi Tae-won's fourth pitch floated high before diving into the strike zone. Park Won-dong was managing smartly—using a slow curve to mess with timing and snag the strike. Suddenly, the count was 2-2. The batter was on the defensive now.
But to my eyes, Choi Tae-won still looked shaky. I signaled the catcher not to challenge the hitter. Park Won-dong looked puzzled but nodded. Choi Tae-won's fifth pitch was a fastball tailing off the outer corner—Kim Tae-hoon reached for it and whiffed. He'd expected a strike and swung aggressively, only for the ball to run away.
Next up was Kim Eun-kyung, who'd notched the only multi-hit game against Lee Ji-seung yesterday and was batting cleanup today. He looked in rhythm, good enough to handle Ji-seung's stuff. I'd thought about walking Kim Tae-hoon anyway, but since we'd fanned him, a free pass here was fine.
I signaled again: no challenge, slow tempo. With pickoffs to first and all, we dragged it out until cleanup hitter Kim Eun-kyung walked too.
"Manager, he's ready."
"Alright, make the change."
Coach Son Hyeok-su approached me. He'd prepped fast.
"Yeah, sending him in."
Coach Son Hyeok-su took the ball from the ump and headed to the mound.
It pissed me off hearing clueless chatter, but it was time. Our next guy was Jo Sang-hoon, the best-conditioned reliever outside our closer Son Seung-hyuk. We couldn't drop this game, so I made the call. Plus, I trusted our bats to cover a few runs if needed.
Jo Sang-hoon looked steady even with bases loaded and one out—a must for any lockdown pen. Facing him was No. 5, Fox. Low average but a monster slugger—24 homers in 28 games. Deadly with the bags full. But Jo Sang-hoon didn't flinch. First pitch: a tight fastball inside. Fox's face said, What the hell?
Jo ignored it. Another heater inside—Fox pulled hard, but...
Tick! It wasn't a four-seam. Jo's signature high-velocity slider fooled him, sending a weak grounder to first. Kim Kang-jun's elite plate vision shone on D too. He fielded calmly, fired to second, then took the relay from Kim Seong-ha back at first. Fox wasn't fast, so the routine 3-6-3 double play ended the threat.
Kim Kang-jun's glove work at first since rejoining the majors stood out. Jo Sang-hoon escaped the jam untouched.
But we weren't out of the woods. Early starter meltdown meant bullpen roulette ahead. I glanced at Choi Tae-won, slumped with a towel over his head—no sweat from so few pitches, head down.
"Tae-won."
"Y-yes? Manager?"
He looked shocked it was me.
"How'd it feel when I yanked you so quick?"
"Uh... well..."
"Be honest."
He fidgeted.
"H-ha... um..."
"Relieved, right?"
"Wha—?! N-no, not..."
"No confidence on the mound?"
"Sorry..."
I already knew from his status window. More relief than anger at the hook. It lingered there now.
"To me, you've got the talent."
"M-me? Th-thank you."
He perked up, braced for a scolding but got praise instead.
"Toughen up, work harder—you can make it. Confidence is the issue. Too young for the bigs, huh? Pressure's crushing you."
"But... Ji-seung's my age and already chasing wins leader."
Lee Ji-seung (1996), Choi Tae-won (1997 Jan, same grade). Drafted same year—first-round Hero vs. 10th-round Eagle. Worlds apart at start. But now? Polar opposites. That explained his bruised ego and fragility. Ji-seung's explosion, the guy I'd brought in, wrecked him. Felt like his golden-boy spot was stolen.
Genius's inferiority complex? Not my wheelhouse—I wasn't one, and even geniuses have superiors. But Choi Tae-won shone in high school, sky-high self-esteem. Now shattered into insecurity.
I paused mid-comfort, pondering the right tack.
"Tae-won, world's full of geniuses, yeah?"
"Y-yeah, I know..."
"In my world, you're one."
"Me? No way..."
"Never touched the bigs myself. You're the genius. Everyone starts different, ends different. You'll succeed—I see players right. You know that."
My scouting eye was legendary—even players said I picked winners.
"Y-yeah."
"So quit overthinking, grind harder, kid. You'll make it. And quit hanging your head—study the vets, fix your holes. Train!"
Started soft, but spotting that complex fired me up. I barked. He looked... refreshed?
"Haha, got it. I'll grind."
"Good. Do it."
After pep-talking Choi Tae-won, I checked the field—top second already done. Our 4-5-6 hitless. Talbot must be sharp today.