First Taegeuk Mark (5)
“Safe!”
“Whew.”
It had been razor-thin timing. If his center of gravity had shifted even a fraction the other way, he would have been dead out by a comfortable margin.
Scrambling back in a flash, Lee Hajun protected the out count from Ryu Pei’s pickoff throw.
Of course, it did not end with a single attempt.
“Safe!”
“·····”
Stubborn bastard.
Whether he was still smarting from failing to pick him off just now, or simply irritated by a runner who kept his lead even after nearly dying, Ryu Pei fired another pickoff.
If this had been Daejeon Hawks Park, a torrent of boos would already have been raining down.
With contact hitter and excellent situational player Woo Jaechun standing in the second spot, and Lee Hajun—owner of the league’s premier baserunning tools—on first, the stage was set.
Against a starting pitcher from whom big innings were hard to expect, a manager found it nearly impossible to sit on his hands.
A coach in the Korean dugout flashed the sign. The hitters and runners prepared to execute their assignments.
The pitcher delivered, and the runner broke.
Until that very moment Woo Jaechun had been showing bunt. The instant Ryu Pei released the ball, he snapped into a full swing.
Crack!
A slider drifting away. Woo Jaechun threw the bat at it and somehow managed to put a fair ball in play.
With Lee Hajun already fracturing the opposing infield’s alignment, everyone moved as one.
“Out!”
Yet the play did not unfold exactly as the Korean bench had drawn it up. They had wanted the ball to roll toward the shortstop covering second; instead it never escaped the defensive range of the pitcher himself, Ryu Pei, who had become an extra infielder.
Ryu Pei glided over, bare-handed the grounder, never even glanced at the already-late second base, and calmly threw to first to retire the batter-runner.
Taiwan’s steady, unflappable defense was enough to harden the faces of every Korean baseball official watching.
So this is how it is······
Hajun studied the pitcher’s back and the batter’s face. Cleanup hitter Kim Jongbeom stepped into the box.
Now it was time for the heart of the order to bring home the runner in scoring position. By the book, you trusted the hitters the manager had chosen—especially when that lineup wore the national colors.
In Hajun’s eyes, the most trustworthy bat in the lineup was now at the plate.
Pop!
“Strike!”
The catcher looked briefly startled. The silver lining was that it had been a high fastball. Knowing that, Kim Jongbeom swung through it deliberately to protect the runner, and the throw home arrived a fraction late.
“Safe!”
Hajun was never the type to let a game simply follow the textbook. He knew his own special gifts and used them to create chaos. The aggressive strike at the heart of the defense had paid off beautifully: a chance that needed a hit had become a chance that needed only a decently struck ball.
“·····”
The Taiwanese infield crept in. Hajun, for his part, had no intention of simply watching a ball find the outfield grass. Unless a hard grounder was softly smothered by an infielder, he would try for home and manufacture the first run by any means necessary.
Pop!
“Ball!”
A curveball that bounced once. Even Kim Jongbeom nearly checked his swing on that low pitch—the break was that sharp. Hajun, too, began to lean a little more toward luck than pure faith.
Pop!
“Strike three!”
Damn it!
The trusted bat of Kim Jongbeom had struck out. A fastball painted on the outer edge, followed by a changeup in the same lane. The pitch sequence was textbook perfection; Kim Jongbeom never stood a chance.
Two outs on a weak result from the man considered the most reliable of the three-four-five hitters. There was no time to dwell on the disappointment—cleanup hitter Park Jinhyeok was already stepping in.
Failing to cash in a one-out, runner-on-third situation would hurt badly. And today’s Ryu Pei looked, by every measure, to be in peak form. More and more throats in the Korean dugout were going dry.
Crack!
Baseball, of course, always finds a way to defy expectation, and the baseball gods care little who ends up laughing or crying at the result.
Against Park Jinhyeok the Taiwanese battery had planned a first-pitch curve away, hoping to induce a chase. The pitch came in higher than intended and caught the end of Park Jinhyeok’s compact swing.
Hajun, who had fretted about becoming the leftover runner, jogged home smiling as if he were out for a stroll. For a man billed as a home-run threat the contact was almost embarrassing, yet Park Jinhyeok still recorded the crucial RBI single and flashed a T-pose celebration from first base.
Pop!
“Strike three!”
A slider that a left-handed batter simply had to swing at. Fifth hitter An Eunwoo went down on strikes, and Ryu Pei showed the Korean side that even after surrendering a run he remained very much alive.
Crack!
Tch.
Lee Hajun started toward first, then stopped. Almost the same instant he felt the pure contact, he saw the ball vanish into the second baseman’s glove.
Two consecutive three-up, three-down innings after Park Jinhyeok’s RBI single. The Korean offense remained stuck in a frustrating groove.
Starter Oh Yeongju, for his part, was matching the shutout. Yet every inning he allowed baserunners, and the tension never left anyone’s shoulders.
Top of the fourth. Oh Yeongju, under pressure, delivered the pitch.
“Strike three!”
Oh Yeongju’s command was all over the place today. Yet the combination of a lively fastball and a big-breaking curve kept Taiwanese bats from squaring anything up; in plain language, he was gutting his way through a pure “grind-it-out” outing.
The pattern held. Whether chasing or protecting a lead, the game remained a nerve-shredding affair.
Then came the top of the fifth.
Pop!
“Ball!”
Oh Yeongju’s free pass only made Japan’s humid air feel more oppressive. Having issued his sixth walk of the day, he stood on the mound pouring sweat. The starter had not yet finished the fifth, yet the Korean manager was already stirring the bullpen.
Slap! Slap!
Get your head on straight!
Hajun smacked both cheeks with his palms. Watching the bases fill with two outs already on the board, he had nearly let his mind drift for a dangerous second. But even in this situation his duty was to hold down shortstop—what else could he do?
Crack!
The Taiwanese batter jumped on Oh Yeongju’s first pitch. The ball took a huge hop and sailed over the pitcher’s head. In the Taiwanese dugout they were already roaring at what looked like a perfect grounder through the hole.
But shortstop Lee Hajun, fully locked in, charged hard, bare-handed the ball without using the glove, and fired to first in one motion.
“Out!”
“Woooah! Nice!”
“I told you he’s insane.”
It was still only the middle innings, yet the teammates exploded at the dazzling play that snapped everyone back to life.
“We survived, ha.”
“Hang in there.”
Hajun gave Oh Yeongju a light tap on the back. Five innings, zero runs allowed. Six free passes, nine strikeouts. Even on a day when his command deserted him, he possessed the sheer force to survive—a terrifying ace. Still, he was only a man in his early twenties.
The score remained 1–0. They had just crossed the halfway point, yet the fatigue already felt like a full game’s worth of battle.
Pop!
“Strike three!”
Pop!
“Strike three!”
The ironclad bullpen so many Korean fans had been waiting for finally took the mound. After Park Sihye in the sixth, Im Ohyeok blanked the seventh as well.
Crack!
“Out!”
Gwangju Kings closer Park Haein locked down the eighth. The shutout streak glittered under the lights.
Pop!
“Ball!”
A chance in the bottom of the eighth. Now the offense had to answer.
Seven innings, one run allowed, twelve strikeouts, zero free passes. Taiwan’s ace Ryu Pei—who looked destined to torment Korean baseball for years—had already left the mound.
“Hoo······”
And still not rated as highly by Korea’s rival nations as he was by Korean fans themselves, leadoff hitter Lee Hajun stepped in for his fourth plate appearance of the night.