Busan High's Collapse
"Yeah, the guy really didn't have anything besides that fastball. And even his fastball... it's pathetic compared to Seojun's."
"Ugh, this isn't even going to be decent practice."
After turning the very first pitch into a home run, those were Heo Kangmin's words as he jogged back to the dugout. The remark left Yang Uijin looking thoroughly bored and Oh Jihun already sensing that today's game was headed for a mercy-rule finish.
"......We're probably going to look like absolute villains to the Busan fans, huh?"
Oh Jihun, still loosening up in the on-deck circle, muttered the words. It seemed his instincts were already telling him he'd get his own chance to hit in the first inning.
"Well, that's just the fate of the bad guys."
The number-two hitter, Lee Hyunbin, followed with a laser triple that smacked off the wall, and number-three Yang Uijin drove him in with a clutch single. Then, facing number-four Lee Surin, the opposing starter must have received orders from his catcher to trust his fastball, because the idiot threw one right down the heart of the plate...
CRACK!
"Oh, there it goes. Home run."
Watching the broadcast, it seemed people were having a hard time accepting that last year's President's Cup champions, Busan High, could collapse this badly.
'Well, that's baseball for you.'
The last-place team can beat the first-place team on any given day. A game that's 15-1 can somehow tie. A 6-30 blowout can happen. That's baseball. There are no eternal kings. Personally, I think that's one of the most bone-deep truths in the sport.
Unlike soccer or basketball, where a few star players can sustain a dynasty, baseball is notoriously difficult when it comes to building a true "dynasty" and winning titles back-to-back. A single ace can drag a last-place team to the playoffs, but even then, winning it all is nearly impossible. Baseball is that unreasonable, devilish, thrilling sport that runs on probability and sheer chaos.
Of course, that only works when the talent level is somewhat comparable. Against Haneul High's lineup—which people say is already at the level of a pro team's second squad—there was no way a pure fastball pitcher fresh out of middle school was going to survive.
CRACK!
"......This is too easy."
After my solo shot, the bats kept exploding one after another.
Haneul High 9, Busan High 0. The score in the top of the first was already 9-0.
...
In the broadcast booth, Ain stroked her chin and muttered to herself.
"Whoa... Haneul High's lineup is insanely strong. Is this what happens when you win both the Blue Dragon and Phoenix Flags last year?"
Even though two members of Isegye Idol were from Busan, Ain herself had never been particularly interested in baseball.
But after watching Lira and JR constantly hype up the Oceans...
"Hmm... still, if you're going to cheer for a team, shouldn't you pick a strong one...?"
She had been so immersed in Busan baseball that, if forced to pick one team to root for, she would have chosen the local pro club, the LT Oceans. But watching the pride of Busan—the defending President's Cup champions—get absolutely pummeled like this... her heart was starting to waver.
"Ah, it's Lee Seojun. Haneul High's fifth batter and freshman captain... wait, what?! He's a designated hitter, but he's allowed to take the mound?"
Because she wasn't that familiar with the rules, the sight of the boy in the number 11 jersey stepping onto the mound hit her even harder. Number 11—the number that held special meaning for Busan fans, one of the two flags currently flying at Sajik Stadium.
Even from the broadcast booth, she could see it clearly.
THUMP!
138 km/h
A monstrous curveball that dropped like a waterfall.
"......Whoa."
She had gotten distracted for a second—very unprofessional for a streamer—but Ain quickly calmed the rapidly scrolling chat and turned her gaze back to the pitcher in the black uniform.
The short time it took me to throw three pitches was more than enough for one person who had been on the verge of falling in love with baseball to take the plunge.
...
"Hoo, the spin is really biting."
Yang Uijin's game-calling was incredibly smooth too.
'Fastball, outside corner of zone two.'
"Hup—!"
SMACK!
154 km/h
"Strike three! Batter out!"
A perfect, flawless inning in which the first three batters couldn't even swing. The Busan High hitters were completely helpless against the sudden natural disaster that had descended upon them.
CRACK!
CRACK!
In contrast, Haneul High's bats exploded in inverse proportion. The scoreboard told the story.
Haneul High 34, Busan High 0.
The gap was already so brutal it hurt to look at. When I glanced over at the Busan High dugout, the players looked completely defeated, their faces dark with resignation.
'Yeah... it's pretty miserable.'
Nearly half the Busan fans who had shown up had already disappeared from the stands, leaving mostly just the families of the Busan High players. A cold game. The rule that ends the match early when a comeback is deemed impossible. It rarely happens in official tournaments unless it's due to rain or extreme heat, but in practice games or weekend league matches, mercy rulings are common.
Practice games usually go six innings, but at this score...
It looked like the fifth would be the last.
Ain, who had originally planned to root for Busan High, seemed to have fallen completely for Haneul High. The sales pitch from JR and Lira had turned into shredded paper. But hey—if she had fallen in love with baseball, that was a good thing, right?
"Whoa, as expected from the ace."
"Hyung, your calling was perfect too."
After sharing a light high-five with Yang Uijin, I returned to the dugout to find Coach Kim looking like he was debating whether to let me say I wanted a shutout.
"I'll stop here for today."
"Good work. It felt like I was watching the late Choi Dong-il sunbae out there."
"I wouldn't go that far... but thank you. It makes me happy to hear that."
Through four innings I had thrown 36 pitches and recorded 12 strikeouts. At the plate, I was 5-for-5 with four home runs. It was the kind of performance where a perfect game was still on the table, but...
"Jeong Taehun."
"Yes!"
"Warm up. You're pitching the fifth."
I was looking forward to it—the debut of our promising new closer, coming in after the ace had done his job.
...
We quickly finished our fifth-inning at-bats. The Busan High coach must have been trying to punish his starter or something, because Jo Seong-hun stayed on the mound until the end. Thanks to that, we piled on even more runs. There was one person watching Jo Seong-hun with a truly pitiful expression... probably his parents.
'He's still only a freshman.'
Whether he endures it or breaks—that's ultimately up to him. They say the pro second-team lineup is made up entirely of guys who batted first or fourth in high school. Out of roughly two thousand players who try every year, only about 150 get drafted through regional priority and the fourteen-round draft. And only a handful of those survive. That's the pro world.
"Alright, let's go...!"
A new sprout was about to break through the soil. Looking a little nervous, Jeong Taehun muttered to himself as he grabbed a catcher's mitt instead of a pitcher's glove and started heading for the mound.
"Ah, take this."
"Isn't this your glove?"
Come to think of it, Jeong Taehun, who had been a backup catcher until recently, wouldn't have had a pitcher's glove.
"It'll be uncomfortable to pitch with a catcher's mitt. Use mine."
"Thanks."
Jeong Taehun took my glove and headed to the mound, still visibly tense.
"...Does he really have that much talent that you'd even give him your glove?"
"For now, yeah."
During his warm-up pitches, Jeong Taehun released the ball from an incredibly low release point—four to five centimeters off the ground. His velocity was nothing compared to mine or Kim Sihu's, but...
'Never underestimate a submarine pitcher.'
If a rising fastball looks like it's climbing thanks to aerodynamics and high RPM, then a ball thrown from such a low release point by a true underhand pitcher really does rise. Submarine pitchers only need a good four-seam, changeup, and slider to be effective. But Jeong Taehun also had a two-seam.
THUMP!
138 km/h
THUMP!
141 km/h
THUMP!
119 km/h
First pitch, two-seam. Second pitch, four-seam. Third pitch, changeup. For the hitters, it must have felt like torture. He cleanly retired the next two batters on ground balls. A perfect closer's performance befitting a future owner of the nation's best sinker.
Game over.
Haneul High 40, Busan High 0.