Innings 1, 2, 3... and 4

"Strike three! You're out!"

The final batter swung through an outside slider, and the first inning closed out with a clean three-up, three-down. There was none of the explosive roar you felt in a first-team game.

But still—

"Nice work. Ball looks good."

"I just trusted you and threw, hyung."

Catcher Kim Gyeongmo came jogging over as I stepped off the mound, offering encouragement.

"Hyung-nim. How was my defense?"

"That was a routine play. Of course you had to make it."

Kang Daegeun, swaggering after fielding a perfectly ordinary grounder to short from the second batter.

"Nice ball!"

"That pitch was filthy!"

And the rest of my teammates, all of them celebrating together.

With guys like these—willing to accept someone who might be headed to the first team any day now as one of their own—I didn't feel empty at all.

Back in the dugout, I ran back through the first inning. At this second-team level, the hitters simply couldn't handle my fastball. A heater down the middle either drew no real reaction, or they flailed just to make contact.

And it wasn't only the fastball family. They had no real answer for the off-speed stuff either.

Aside from the four-seam and cutter in the fastball family, my only real breaking ball was the slider. I hadn't thrown it often—the risk of a miss was too high—but at a solid 60, even a slider that drifted over the heart of the plate still drew empty swings with ease.

"Hyung-nim. I'm going to go score some runs."

Kang Daegeun, swaggering again—apparently a week had been enough for him to get comfortable around me. Maybe it was the shared bond of being Seoul Wales fans. He'd warmed up to me faster than I'd expected.

Before I knew it, he was already geared up for his at-bat, still full of that cocky energy. Whether it was the Wales connection or something else, he treated me like an old friend surprisingly quickly.

Is this kid just weird?

A few days ago, he'd taken one of my middle-middle sliders and driven it into foul territory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for what looked like a home run. I'd worried for a second—what if the Daejeon Titans had a whole lineup of hitters ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like that?

That worry had been unfounded.

Crack!

"Whoa. Look at that ball."

Leading off the bottom of the first, Kang Daegeun took the second pitch and ripped a clean double into the left-center gap.

Yeah. This kid's just a freak.

In the week since I'd joined the second team, I'd watched plenty of games from the dugout against a lot of clubs. I had never seen a hitter at this level.

And on top of that—

"Safe!"

His baserunning was almost unfairly terrifying. In the blink of an eye, while someone looked away, Kang Daegeun was already dusting the dirt off his uniform at third.

Riding Kang Daegeun's early heroics, I got two runs of support in the first and three more in the third—five runs total—and worked through three innings without much trouble.

Three innings. One hit. Five strikeouts.

On paper, it was nearly perfect. And even that one hit had been on a pitch so well-located I couldn't really fault myself.

Yeah, they made contact… but it was pure luck.

A soft grounder rolling toward third. I'd prayed for it to dribble foul, but the ball stayed fair and became an infield single.

Without that one hit, my outing would have been essentially flawless.

Alright. Just finish this last inning clean.

I settled my breathing on the mound and muttered it to myself.

The plan had been four innings. At this pace, if I got through the fourth cleanly, a first-team call-up might come almost immediately.

The second batter, Lee Jeongtae, stepped in.

Last time up, he'd managed a few foul tips off my four-seam, but that was as far as it went. He never found the timing against my velocity, kept fouling, and finally went down swinging on a slider.

Kim Gyeongmo set his mitt low and away. The pitchcom crackled in my ear.

— Four-seam.

Righty, so four-seam.

I drove the first pitch in on the same pattern that had been carving up hitters all day.

"Ball."

It missed just off the edge. Frustrating.

And the next sign—

— Four-seam.

Another four-seam, low and away.

I lifted my front leg with full confidence and threw.

Even with the miss, I didn't flinch. Everything I'd seen so far said that at this level, they couldn't hit it even if it floated over the middle.

And then—

Crack!

A clean, ringing contact, and the ball screamed past me in a blur.

…What?

I was stunned.

Sure, it had drifted middle, but the feel off my hand hadn't been bad, and the stuff itself had looked fine.

I turned and checked the scoreboard. Velocity: 154 km/h.

That first solid barrel left me a little foggy.

…Fine. Whatever. One hit happens.

I forced the rationalization and locked back in on the next hitter. Third batter: Kang Seungcheol. Another righty.

The pitchcom chirped again.

— Four-seam.

Still the pregame plan—open with a four-seam.

Kim Gyeongmo set the mitt low and away again. I threw toward that target.

Whoosh—

After getting squared up, I put a little extra into the first pitch. Too much, maybe—the ball ran the opposite way of what I'd intended, diving in on the hands.

Tick!

"Foul."

Thankfully, the hitter got overpowered and managed only a weak foul.

"Hooo."

I let out a breath, still rattled by the reverse miss.

It's not like I'm running out of gas, though.

Watching myself still overpower the hitter even on a pitch that went the wrong way was oddly reassuring.

I kept working.

— Four-seam.

"Ball!"

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

— Four-seam.

"Foul."

— Four-seam.

"Foul."

Three more four-seams in a row, and the count sat at two-and-two.

…Maybe I should stop leaning on the four-seam.

Four straight heaters made me hesitant to throw another. And even if the hitter was losing the battle of strength, he kept making contact.

— Slider.

As if reading my mind, Kim Gyeongmo called for a slider this time.

He's got to be sitting on the four-seam by now.

Plan B for when Plan A—overpowering them with pure four-seam stuff—stopped working. When a hitter had been staring at 150-plus heaters all at-bat, you suddenly dropped a 130-range slider and stole his timing.

I hadn't used it much this game, because Plan A had been working. But every time I had, it had succeeded.

Holding onto that, I threw the fifth pitch with confidence.

And then—

Crack!

A sharp crack of the bat, and the ball shot toward shortstop Kang Daegeun.

"Hup!"

Kang Daegeun leapt as high as he could for the ball sailing over his head, but—

Thup.

It glanced off the tip of his glove and dropped in front of the left fielder for a hit.

The second solid barrel I'd allowed all game.

Something was wrong.

Daejeon Titans second-team dugout.

Before the bottom of the fourth, Manager Jang Yunseok called his players into the center of the dugout. The atmosphere was already ice-cold.

"What the hell are you doing out there? Get your heads on straight!"

Jang Yunseok's voice cracked through the dugout.

For three full innings, the Titans lineup had been locked down by Han Doyoon, completely helpless. That frustrating stretch of baseball had left a thick anger on Jang Yunseok's face.

"I get that his velocity jumped and it threw you off, but this is ridiculous. How many pitches have been right down the middle, and you're just waving at all of them?"

Clang!

With that, Jang Yunseok kicked the dugout trash can. Metal rang out, and empty plastic bottles spilled across the floor, clattering as they rolled.

"Is baseball a joke to you? You don't want to go to the first team?"

"No, sir!"

Even under that murderous pressure, the players didn't shrink. They answered loud and clear. That unflinching response ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠softened Jang Yunseok's expression just a little.

"Good. That's what I want to hear."

He adjusted his cap and kept going.

"Don't get scared just because the ball is fast. Right now he's hanging almost everything on that one fastball. And that's the problem. That pitch is not something you can just go up there and hit clean."

He paused, meeting each player's eyes one by one.

"So lock in your approach. If you're hunting the fastball, hunt only that. If you're looking for the breaking ball, look only for that. Drop the idea of covering both."

A few of the players started nodding, focusing in. Jang Yunseok pressed on.

"That kid keeps leaving pitches over the middle. That's your opening. Don't try to hit everything—wait for the one you want and punish it."

He put weight on every word.

"Alright. From the fourth on, we flip this. We've been taking the punches. Now it's our turn to throw them. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

The short, sharp answer filled the dugout.

And the stagnant air began to change.

Frozen faces found life again. Someone gripped a bat and clenched his teeth.

Eyes ready to fight once more.

The Titans dugout—cold and dead only moments before—was heating back up, ready to burn.