The National Team Call-Up [Complete]
Is this what they mean by a crucible of shock and terror? Every single gaze directed my way feels... off somehow.
I'd been watching recent Major League highlights when I stumbled across him completely by chance—the greatest closer in Yankees history, the man who made number 42 off-limits for the entire franchise forever. (Of course, the number was retired league-wide to honor Jackie Robinson, with the exception of the Rivera who actually wore it at the time. But since he eventually got his own permanent retirement ceremony, it's basically the same thing, right?)
Mariano Rivera's cutter.
Adding a new pitch to your arsenal is never easy. But since even Rivera himself had discovered his cutter by accident during a casual game of catch, I'd assumed it wouldn't be that difficult to learn. Turns out I was wrong.
'Epinel's help was absolutely crucial.'
I have no idea what a genius like her is doing at Haneul High, but she poured every ounce of effort into analyzing my delivery through the pitching analysis equipment and helping me integrate the cutter. I feel like I should bow to her in gratitude.
'That brings my total pitch count to seven.'
Four-seam fastball, high-spin four-seamer, sweeper, two-seamer, curveball, cutter, and changeup. An absolutely ridiculous repertoire.
'The reverse-rotation stuff is covered by the changeup and two-seamer... and for breaking balls that move away from my arm side, I've got the sweeper and cutter.'
Since I was primarily a right-handed pitcher, I needed a new weapon to attack left-handed batters. If I alternated between the cutter and sweeper, hitters would be in absolute hell.
Or maybe it was the catcher working with me who'd be dying of happiness.
I started with the fastballs—ten low-spin and ten high-spin. Kim Tae-gun handled the low-spin ones without much trouble, but the high-spin four-seamers clearly gave him some difficulty at first. Still, unlike Yang Eui-ji, he adapted within ten to twenty pitches and was now receiving my high-spin fastballs cleanly.
"Next up are the breaking balls. From the footage I saw, you had a two-seamer, changeup, slider, and curveball..."
"Ah, I can throw a cutter now too."
"A cutter as well?"
After demonstrating every pitch in my arsenal, they asked about my maximum pitch count in a single outing. When I answered three hundred, the entire pitching staff's faces froze in pure horror.
Were they feeling nostalgic for that old-school, one-man-show style of baseball from back in the day? The kind that couldn't be further from today's data-driven, specialized approach?
Manager Kim Kyung-moon looked like he had actual drool forming at the corner of his mouth. The coaching staff's eyes were practically sparkling like they'd just won the lottery.
'Whoa, let's not get carried away with the overwork.'
At this rate, I had a bad feeling I'd be pitching from the qualifiers all the way through the finals.
Fortunately, that particular disaster didn't materialize. It seemed my role would be in the bullpen for now.
'A bit disappointing, though.'
Starting or closing would have given me more impact and made winning MVP easier. Still, securing the designated hitter spot was a pretty significant advantage. Not as a starter, of course.
For some reason, there was an opening for a backup DH, and with my high school league batting average hovering near .800, I'd been given the role.
'That's strange.'
Shouldn't they just give the DH spot to whoever had the strongest bat on the team? When I asked, the answer was simple. My overwhelming batting average was paired with an on-base percentage that was even more impressive. Manager Kim Kyung-moon's instructions were clear: get on base as often as possible and use my speed to create runs.
On days I wasn't pitching, I'd apparently be sent to the outfield on defense as well.
'Of course, that only applies if I actually get into the starting lineup.'
The competition was fierce. Looking at the roster, the outfield was set to feature Lee Jung-hoo, Kim Hyun-soo, and Na Sung-bum. While Lee Jung-hoo was in his prime, the other two were getting up there in age. It seemed the plan was to bring me in if either of them ran into stamina issues.
Today's session had been nothing more than simple self-introductions and basic orientation. Since everyone else had already been through thick and thin together, this was probably just consideration for the new high school freshman in their midst.
'I was expecting some kind of fierce battle for the starting spots.'
But these guys had all already secured their big FA contracts. They didn't seem particularly desperate for more money. Honestly, if I had to choose between "I carried the whole team but we lost" versus "I didn't do much but rode the coattails to a championship," I'd obviously pick the latter.
Besides, this was the national team. Winning was all that mattered. And pushing too hard for individual stats could lead to injury, which would be disastrous.
No matter how prestigious the WBC, Premier12, or Baseball World Cup were—tournaments that brought immense honor on the global stage—each player's primary commitment was to their own team.
The Premier12 championship prize was around a billion won, but these players were already earning that much in annual salary. The real concern was probably the fear of getting injured during an international tournament and losing out on future free agency opportunities, potentially ending their careers prematurely.
Well, if that was the atmosphere, it meant there wouldn't be any backstabbing or jealousy even if I took a starting spot. That was actually a relief.
The first day's training ended just like that. The players all seemed to be heading off to drinking parties or other gatherings, but...
"Thanks, Seojun. You've given me the perfect excuse to slip away."
"Um... yes, sir."
I'd become a legitimate reason for players who disliked drinking parties to bow out. Given how catastrophic "that incident" could have been, I only felt relieved once I saw Manager Kim Kyung-moon heading out with them. I returned to the dorms, curious about who my roommate would be, and settled in to watch baseball highlights.
"Oh, so you're my roommate."
"Hello, sir."
"Nice to meet you. The age difference isn't that big, so just call me Baek-ho hyung."
My roommate was Kang Baek-ho. The one who'd done excessive celebrations during this WBC to boost team morale, only to get called out, and who was already a target of the media's harsh criticism. After "that incident," he'd become the media's complete obsession.
Personally, I'd always felt a bit sorry for him. Even before my possession, he'd been relentlessly criticized from all directions in the original world. I needed to make sure none of that happened here.
...
Second day of training. Nothing particularly eventful—just light workouts and occasional defensive drills. Everyone's average ability was in the 80-90 range, making the roster overwhelmingly luxurious compared to Haneul High. Still, when compared to the United States or Japan, there were some areas that left a bit to be desired.
The WBC was originally an eight-nation tournament. But thanks to baseball's globalization, the number of participating countries had grown to thirty-two for the WBC and forty-eight for the Premier12. South Korea had performed well enough in previous tournaments that, unlike soccer's World Cup, we didn't have to suffer through regional qualifiers.
With so many more teams participating than expected, we probably wouldn't face an emergency situation like meeting Japan or the United States right from the group stage. That was a relief.
The expected opponents were China, Cuba, and Australia. Looking at the top-seeded teams, it all made sense: Otani's Japan (2nd), the United States with its army of MLB monsters (1st), the Dominican Republic with several major leaguers (7th), Cuba (4th), Taiwan (8th), Mexico which had recently risen as a championship contender (6th), and Argentina (5th). Finally, there was South Korea (3rd), which had reached the semifinals in the WBC four years ago, finished as runner-up in the Premier12 three years ago, won the Asian Games two years ago, and taken third in last year's Baseball World Cup.
The U-18 team would win thanks to Lee Taehyun's legendary carry performance. I wasn't sure about U-20 and U-23, but the senior national team competing in the WBC would naturally receive all the attention.
I wasn't sure if we'd be able to achieve good results here, but...
'If we're going to do this, winning is best.'
With these players who would lead the golden age of Korean baseball, perhaps we could avoid recreating the national emergencies I'd experienced in the original world.
...
Final day of training. Something I'd learned while training was that the world of [3X3] differed from the baseball I knew in reality. Most pitchers maintained fastball velocities in the low 150 km/h range, and the batting lineup was incomparably more powerful than the national team I remembered.
It was probably because Kang Jung-ho firmly anchored the heart of the lineup.
"Alright, today's opponent is the Dominican Republic. Since they're a top seed in this WBC, this will be a chance to gauge the current South Korean national team's strength... and to show the world once again the prestige of Korean baseball!"
The final day featured a practice game with spectators. After this match, we'd have a short two-to-three-day break due to the group draw ceremony before heading straight to Japan for the WBC.
The Jamsil Dome was packed with fans. In the opposing dugout, players who appeared to be from the Dominican Republic were checking their equipment.
'.........I was a bit nervous after hearing it'd be full of foreigners and major leaguers, but...'
After roughly checking the Dominican players' abilities, I became certain.
"Today's starting pitcher is Lee Seojun. Go out there and etch your name into the fans' memories."
"Yes, sir!"
For today's game, securing the win was practically guaranteed.