Live Batting (1)
The morning after the general manager promised to set my pitching schedule, I was back at the weight room as usual, locked into my morning routine.
“Hup!”
I finished a short run and started squats. The weight that had begun at eighty kilos had climbed to a hundred twenty before I knew it. Hearing that they were going to put me on the mound again must have lit a fire under me, because the work felt sharper, more driven.
“Whoa, hyung. Aren’t you pushing it a little hard?”
I finished five clean full squats, racked the bar, and O Daesik came over with a towel.
“…How much do you lift?”
I caught my breath, took the towel he offered, and wiped the sweat off my face.
“Two-twenty, sir.”
“…Are you messing with me right now?”
O Daesik gave a small laugh and slung the towel over his shoulder.
“Come on, I’m a catcher. You’re a pitcher.”
“What do most pitchers lift?”
“Hmm… around a hundred forty?”
“Still a ways to go, then.”
“You’ve only been at it a month. It’ll come up fast. And it doesn’t even look that hard for you right now, does it?”
“True enough.”
I finished the short exchange with O Daesik and went back to squats.
“Hup!”
When the session was done I headed for the showers. Lukewarm water hit my back and the tight pull in the muscles I’d just worked started to ease. A month ago I hadn’t even been sure I’d ever throw again. Now I was waiting on a start date.
I finished showering and was walking back toward the dorm when someone called my name from the far end of the hallway.
“Han Doyoon!”
I looked up. A staff member in a team jacket was standing there.
“Operations. I’ve got a message for you.”
I came over, still toweling my hair.
“Yes, go ahead.”
He checked his clipboard once more, then looked up.
“This Friday in the Futures League, Daejeon Titans. You’re scheduled to start.”
“Already?”
“Yes. If we want to get you a first-team outing before the season ends, we need the Futures start locked in early. You’re not going to have any trouble with that, are you?”
I wiped the last of the water from my neck with the towel and answered short.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Starting today you’re on the second-team roster.”
He nodded and kept going.
“You’ll still train at the baseball park, but the second team mostly uses the outdoor practice fields. Full schedule’s up on the team app—check it when you can.”
“Understood.”
He tucked the clipboard under his arm and gave a light bow.
“Keep yourself in good shape.”
“Yes, sir.”
After breakfast and a short rest in the dorm, I headed out to the second-team field. In the developmental group I’d spent almost all my time indoors on individual work. The thought of training outside again after so long sent a small flutter through my chest.
I arrived at the practice field right on time. Plenty of players were already out there—guys doing tubing, short shuttle sprints, hip stretches, each loosening up in his own way.
“Good morning!”
I was only here for a short condition check before heading back to the first team, but a rookie was still a rookie. I put some real volume into the greeting.
And they answered right back.
“Good morning!”
A chorus of loud voices welcomed me.
I traded hellos and small talk with the second-team guys while we got loose. A little later the second-team manager made a circuit of the field and came my way. He clapped once.
“All right, everybody gather up for a second.”
The chatter died down. He pointed at me.
“New pitcher joining us today. Han Doyoon, up from the Wonju Flyers developmental group. He’s getting a condition check before first-team return—starts next week against the Daejeon Titans.”
I gave a short bow.
“Han Doyoon. Pleasure to meet you.”
The manager clapped his hands again.
“Looks like you’ve already said hello, so we’ll skip the introductions. Since Doyoon’s here, let’s add one more round of bunt defense to the usual routine, then pickoffs and steal prevention. Okay?”
He started to turn away, then stopped.
“Oh—and today we’re doing live batting too.”
Live batting was the real thing: pitcher against live hitters, not soft toss or machine work. Game-speed matchups. For a pitcher it was the best possible way to check live feel.
The manager called out the names of the hitters who would take their cuts, then the pitchers who would throw. One by one.
And then—
“Last one—Han Doyoon!”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded.
“You said it’s been a while since you faced hitters. Figure you ought to see a few before you go out there, right?”
He paused, thinking, probably checking whether he’d forgotten anything else.
“Okay. Meeting’s over. Let’s get to work!”
The players answered as one—“Yes, sir!”—and the sound of all those voices rolling through the air made something warm rise in my chest. Some guys grabbed gear; others went back to stretching.
All the familiar noise came flooding in at once.
I thought of the two months I’d spent training alone or with just a handful of developmental players. Back then it had felt like rehab—building a body in a clinic.
This was different.
The smell of the grass, the clean September air, the warmth of people moving around me.
For the first time in a long while I felt like I was breathing real ballpark air.
I worked bunt defense and pickoff drills with the second-team guys. What surprised me was how clean their timing was. A few of them were so good I couldn’t figure out why they were still down here.
One in particular—
Crack!
The guy taking live batting right now.
Name was… Kang Daegeun, I thought.
Second-round, first pick last year, and the talent was obvious. Even on infield fungoes his footwork and glove work had looked sharp, but the bat was something else. The sound of the barrel and the way the ball jumped off it—line drives that just kept carrying. Of course you wouldn’t see that every at-bat in a real game, but even in practice you could tell how high his ceiling sat.
I watched the second-team hitters and pitchers work for a while, and then it was my turn. I told the catcher the pitch mix, got the pitchcom, climbed the mound, and started my warm-up throws.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
The ball cut the air and smacked into the mitt.
Every so often the familiar alert popped up.
Wild Pitch Occurred!
But that alert had been showing up for two months now. It no longer broke my concentration.
I finished the warm-ups. The first hitter stepped in.
Oh—first up is Park Taejeong.
His center-field defense on the fungoes earlier had been impressive. The jump the instant the ball left the bat, the read, the acceleration. Defense like that would play in the first team right now—top-tier, even. But if a glove that good was still stuck in the second team—
Means the bat’s the problem.
Against a weak hitter you don’t have to be afraid of attacking with the fastball. I put down a confident sign for an outside four-seamer.
Still, it’s practice. First pitch inside would be a little much.
I gripped the seams and took one deep breath.
“Hoo…”
Practice or not, this was the first pitch I’d thrown to a live hitter in two months.
A clean, good kind of tension ran through my whole body.
I finished the breath and locked my eyes on the mitt.
Just off the middle, outside and down.
The lesson I’d taken from clearing the second journey—
Don’t overdo it. Only the force I can control.
I carved that sentence into my head one more time and set my feet.
Whoosh!
The ball cut the air.
The catcher didn’t move the mitt an inch. He just caught it.
Thwack!
A solid, heavy pop.
The hitter never even flinched until the ball was already in the glove. Then he twitched and looked my way.
Good. That one was in.
The catcher nodded and tossed the ball back. The nod told me he liked it too.
From where I stood the stuff and the location had both been perfect on the first pitch.
Next: high cutter, inside.
This time the catcher rose a little and set up tight to the body.
A pitch I’d just learned in the developmental group. Against a lefty it sinks just a hair and tunnels in on the hands, missing the sweet spot and inducing weak contact.
But then—
Wild Pitch Occurred!
The alert flashed the instant the ball left my hand. Facing a live hitter when a wild pitch triggered made me flinch without meaning to.
But the flinch didn’t matter.
Whooosh!
The ball was already on its way to the catcher.
Dead middle of the plate—a perfect cookie.
Thwack!
Luckily Park Taejeong’s contact was weak. The ball rolled foul with a dull sound.
Whew…
With my old stuff that might have been extra bases. But the cutter was sitting low-to-mid 150s with just enough late movement that he couldn’t square it. Weak contact.
Park Taejeong let out a breath and reset his grip. He knew he’d missed a pitch right down the middle; a little irritation sat in his eyes.
Time for the putaway.
I worked the pitchcom and called for another inside pitch—this time a low slider, the kind they call a back-foot slider, diving under the hitter’s feet and drawing the empty swing.
In the past I would have gone to the changeup as the lefty killer. With the changeup locked away for now, I needed to test this back-foot slider.
Just don’t trigger a wild pitch this time.
I said a quiet prayer in my head and lifted my lead leg.
Shook!
Nice!
No wild pitch this time. The ball rode into the hitter’s sight line, then slid and broke down toward the dirt.
Whoosh!
Park Taejeong’s bat cut empty air as the slider dove behind his back foot.
“Strike three!”
The coach’s call rang across the practice field.