The Fox's First Experience

Thirty minutes slipped by before I knew it, and the game began.

Things started with the visiting Kium Lions taking the field first, which meant Hwana's lineup came up to bat in the top of the first.

As the inning got underway, a familiar commentator's voice filled the air, chatting away in that relaxed, bantering tone as the two announcers traded stories about the teams and their players.

"Hwana's really playing a crucial game today, aren't they?"

"That's right. They're on a thirteen-game losing streak."

"Haha. Hearing you say it like that, it feels awfully long."

"It is long."

"Fair point."

"As far as I know, they're closing in on the longest losing streak in the history of the entire league."

"And the truly sad part is that Hwana also happens to hold that all-time record for the longest losing streak... haha."

While the commentators traded their idle banter, the warmed-up pitcher finished his throws, and the batter stepped into the box.

"Going into yesterday, Kium had won two straight against Hwana."

"Which means Hwana absolutely has to stop the bleeding today."

"Their starter today looks pretty good, though."

"Indeed — Kim Tae-sung."

"He's wobbled a bit in his recent outings, but looking at the season as a whole, he's been solid."

"He's especially strong in the early innings."

"Yes. His first-inning ERA is excellent."

Listening to the broadcast drift out of the television, I kept my eyes fixed on the screen.

On the mound stood Hwana's starter.

Kim Tae-sung.

"Hm. Kim Tae-sung favors grabbing a strike with his very first pitch, so he'll surely come inside with a well-located fastball. And if the batter knows it, he'll surely swing," I declared.

The moment those words left my mouth —

The first pitch bored in deep toward the batter's hands, and the batter, anticipating exactly that, whipped his bat through the zone.

Crack!

With the sharp report of ash meeting leather, the white sphere sailed high into foul territory and dropped harmlessly away.

"Foul on the first pitch!"

"Nice. He wasn't afraid to come right after the hands."

I found myself nodding along.

"So his stuff is sharp from the very ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first pitch."

"...Huh?"

The chat window stirred.

I pointed a finger at the screen.

"Watch that pitch again. The velocity itself is hardly any different from his usual."

"Then what is different?"

"Then look at where the ball lands in the catcher's mitt."

As if on cue, a replay of the pitch played, and the viewers fixed their eyes on the catcher's mitt just as I'd told them.

"Did you notice? The catcher barely moved his glove at all."

"That means his command is locked in. Considerably so."

The fact that the mitt wasn't chasing after the ball — that the ball was being pulled into the glove — was an excellent sign this early in a game.

Getting hit was one thing, but there was a world of difference between being beaten by a pitch thrown exactly where the pitcher intended, and giving up a hit on a ball that strayed from its intended spot.

"And above all, the ball ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stays alive all the way to the end."

"What do you mean, 'alive'?"

"Hmm..."

I paused to think for a moment.

"I mean the ball hasn't died."

At the sarcasm dripping from the chat, I let out a small sigh.

"You all know less about baseball than I expected. A man ought to follow at least one sport..."

I calmly ignored the chat and turned my attention to the next pitch.

The second pitch — a slider diving low and away.

The batter's bat came around again to meet it.

But it missed by a hair's breadth.

"Swing and a miss!"

"Ooh, that slider was nasty."

"Kim Tae-sung's slider looks really sharp today."

Hearing that, I narrowed my eyes.

"Well, now..."

"Yes?"

"Today, the fastball is better than the slider."

The chat went quiet for a moment.

"It's not that the slider is bad. It's simply that his fastball has more life on it than usual."

I studied the screen intently.

"That pitcher has a habit of opening up his body a little early after releasing the ball. When that happens, pitches tend to leak back over the middle or sail away out of the zone."

Another pitch followed, delivered from the same consistent motion, and the batter chopped it foul — holding the count at no balls, two strikes.

"But today, his lower half is holding up beautifully."

"Which means his release point stays consistent."

"And as a result, the spin axis on his fastball is rock solid."

"To a batter, that same velocity will feel considerably faster."

When a fastball is stable, the biggest change shows up in its drop.

A fastball lacking power or a clean spin axis dies like a lobbed arc, losing its legs as it approaches the plate — the kind of hittable pitch that earns the nickname batting practice.

But what if the fastball carries elite spin and raw force behind it? What if the batter has just watched a pitch in that very spot drop off sharply and bite away at the last instant?

"Strrrrike three!"

The batter, who had flinched expecting the ball to break away again, froze in place — and went down on strikes without so much as a swing.

Right on cue, the broadcast picked up the thread.

"Kim Tae-sung's fastball has real life on it today."

"Yes. The gun reads about 152 kilometers an hour, but with the way he's throwing today, it'll feel even faster to the hitters."

"He buries the slider, then finishes with his best fastball of the day! Look at this! The batter just saw a slider in that spot break away at the last second — and this time it wasn't a slider at all, it was a fastball! Haha!"

At the commentators' voices, replaying the sequence and saying much the same thing I had, I allowed myself a small smile.

"Exactly. That is Kim Tae-sung's greatest weapon today. He's in fine form, no doubt about it."

"How would I know that?"

I shot back without a moment's hesitation.

"Baseball is not a game a pitcher plays alone. And above all, that was only the first batter."

Just then, the commentators' banter picked up again.

"There sure are a lot of Hwana fans here today."

"Thirteen-game losing streak and all, the stands are packed."

"At this point, I'd say the fans are angrier than Hwana itself, wouldn't you?"

"Hahahaha."

Funny, is it? Well, I suppose it is — if you're watching from the sidelines, that is.

"Word is, if they win today, the club has prepared something special for the fans."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Apparently the details will be announced during the game."

I snorted quietly.

"So the club is desperate too, it seems."

At the sudden accusation of favoritism, I flashed back to the time I'd been burned by exactly this — and my voice rose.

Who ever said anything about which team?!

"Absolutely! Not! I would die first! Hmph!"

"Sigh..."

Somewhere along the way, my viewer count had crept up to twenty.

All I was doing was pulling up a single live-score website and watching the game alongside whoever wandered in, yet a fair crowd had gathered, tapping away in the chat.

I never planned on running a full-blown sports analysis broadcast, you know.

Somehow, spurred by the urge to prove my words to those who doubted my analysis, the stream had drifted into this — watching baseball together.

So, was this actually a decent broadcast?

When I sneakily opened my status window, my faith had climbed to 4, and my divine power had increased by 40.

Is faith just a count of my believers?

Matching it against my subscriber count — exactly four — it seemed that the will of anyone who kept watching me counted as worship.

So what exactly has changed—

Still tilting my head, unable to feel any real difference, I looked up to find another batter already retired and the final hitter of the inning settling into the box.

The catcher, recognizing the man at the plate, flashed a sign to his pitcher: bury a slider off the outside corner to bait the swing —

CRACK —!!

In that instant, a vision of the hulking batter crushing the ball with tremendous force superimposed itself over reality in my mind, and I froze, utterly bewildered.

A hallucination?

I rubbed my eyes, forgetting I was live on stream, and the viewers voiced their confusion — but I had no spare attention to answer them, because like a replay playing before my eyes, the slider sprayed toward the outside corner —

"A ROCKET off the bat!!! It's climbing, climbing high~? The wall! Off the waaaall~~! It's going!! It's GONE!!"

"Kim Gun-woo's 31st home run of the season — a solo shot!"

"Kim Tae-sung, who had stifled the first two batters, can only watch helplessly as Kim Gun-woo rounds the bases!"

Against the roar of the crowd, Kim Gun-woo circled the bases and vanished into the dugout to a hero's welcome, the image filling the screen.

The viewers chattered among themselves, but I had no room in my eyes for the chat.

For there, floating before my eyes, was Shiroha's message — congratulating me on my first experience with divine power.