Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Seo Tae-woong wound up and fired his first pitch at Park Geon-woong.
Park Geon-woong could see Tae-woong's pitch—that ridiculously slow fastball—bearing down right on him.
What the hell? Did the ball slip out of his hand at the last second?
Both the batter at the plate and the home plate umpire behind the catcher could instantly tell if a pitcher had intentionally thrown at the hitter with malicious intent or if it was just a wild pitch from the ball slipping at release. Having been plunked multiple times by retaliatory beanballs since his debut, Park Geon-woong immediately read the purpose behind Tae-woong's throw.
It's gonna hit me. Doesn't feel intentional... just one bad pitch?
If that rookie pitcher had deliberately aimed to hit him with a ball breaking in like that, there was no way he'd back down.
Well, sure, given that guy's size, I'd probably have to take my sweet time strolling to the dugout until my teammates came charging out... But I'm his senior by ten years—I've got pride!
Park Geon-woong stood at a solid 184cm—tall by normal standards—and as an athlete, he boasted muscles honed by years of relentless training. Still, he looked like a child next to the pitcher who seemed nearly 2 meters tall.
Is it because he's on the mound? He looks even bigger. Like some giant from a fantasy tale.
But in his judgment, this was just the bottom of the first—way too early for beanballs.
Take it for now. Can't risk getting hurt this early in the season.
When he saw Tae-woong's pitch grazing deep toward his knee, Park Geon-woong pulled back.
They say his control's good, but even the best rookies are rookies. Once the command starts wobbling, it snowballs. So the next one's probably outer half?
It was textbook for pitchers struggling with one side to favor the opposite. In that split second, Park Geon-woong decided to attack the outer half from here on out as he waited for the ump's call.
Obviously a ball. No one's calling that a...
"Strike!"
Huh? What? Strike? Not a ball?
Contrary to his expectations, the strike call boomed right in his ear. He grimaced like he'd stepped in dog shit mid-stride.
Shit! That's in the zone? No way! If I'd stayed put, it'd have nailed my left knee. So how much further does it have to miss to be a ball? Gotta hit me first? Did they change the rulebook today or what?
Saying nothing, Park Geon-woong stared down at home plate with utter disgust.
Did he take a bribe?
He wanted to yell at the ump—did you leave your eyes at home this morning, or maybe get some damn reading glasses if you're half-blind? But he'd be ejected before he finished, so he swallowed it, no matter how dirty it felt. These days, umps wielded godlike authority—more like "ump-gods" than umpires—swinging their power without restraint.
Just a few games ago, Oh Jae-wan—the gutsy captain who'd volunteered for the role—had been tossed for something ridiculous. Not even raising his voice in protest, just politely asking, "Was that a strike?" and boom, ejected.
And then there was the recent incident with starting catcher Yang Ui-jin, who, fed up with a strike call, let a passed ball happen on purpose. Right after the game, Bears manager Kim Tae-hyun called an emergency team meeting and laid down the law: no more provoking umps, period. Protests over unfair calls were the manager's job, not the players'. Any player arguing with umps—starter or bench, position irrelevant—would be demoted to the second team for ten days, no exceptions.
In this atmosphere, a mid-tier vet like him couldn't lead the charge and defy the skipper.
Hoo... hold it together. Don't get rattled. It's just 0-1. Focus. Focus.
Park Geon-woong steadied his nerves and stepped back in.
The pitcher he faced, Seo Tae-woong, threw about 5km/h slower than his own teammate Woo Hee-gang and was a fresh rookie to boot. Even at 0-2, if he ditched the homer dreams, he was confident he could slap a hit anywhere.
Bring it. Zone's huge now—I'll foul off everything in and hunt mistakes.
The moment Park Geon-woong settled, his most hated pitch came screaming in: high outer half.
No way—he's going high fastball right away because that's my weakness?
His pride ignited. Whether the rookie got cocky off the first strike or was underestimating him, Park Geon-woong felt this kid needed a harsh lesson.
Arrogant punk... Can't leave it to the other guys. I'll school him myself.
He timed the four-seam's trajectory perfectly, swinging in a near-straight line.
Whoosh.
But no crack of the bat reached Park Geon-woong's ears despite his mighty swing.
Huh? No contact sound?
And no telltale vibration in his palms from even a glancing blow.
Damn it, what now?
His confusion cleared with the ump's booming call.
"Striiike!"
Falling for that...
Regardless, the count was now 0-2.
Whoosh!
- Ah, the second pitch is a swing and a miss.
Park Geon-woong looked like he was hunting his weakness, the high fastball, but Seo Tae-woong countered perfectly.
He went with a curve—Park's bread-and-butter—right in the same spot, and it fooled him bad.
- Seo Tae-woong's winning the mental battle and pitch sequencing. Sure, the catcher called for it, but executing the sign is all pitcher skill.
- Exactly! Best sequence in the world is useless if the ball doesn't go there.
- Check the slow-mo: the bat whiffed, then the curve dives hard low. Timings completely off.
- Tae-woong's four-seams today are clocking 122 to 125km/h, and that curve was over 50km/h slower.
- Let's confirm the speed... Whoa, 71km/h on that curve. 71! Definitely a slurve territory.
- Throwing a curve that good with velocity separation? Huge edge. Bump the fastball a bit, and the synergy will be killer.
- With command like that, he can thrive in the first team even under 130km/h.
- Isn't Seo Tae-woong known for the best curve in the KBO this season, despite the slowest velo?
- Yep. That bite? Number one, no question.
- Alright, count's 0-2. How does Park Geon-woong respond?
- His average against lefties is .340—elite. Key is plate discipline, don't chase bad ones. But... ahem.
- But what? Don't leave us hanging, analyst!
- Sorry, choked up there... Hmm. If that curve comes again same spot, not sure Park holds off.
- High praise from you—that's saying something.
- Precisely how nasty Tae-woong's curve is. Oh! While we chat, he tries a fading changeup outer half—Park lays off.
- Smart. Hitters adapt over multiple looks.
- Tough count, but he battles it off.
- Ball! Now 1-2. Still Tae-woong's edge.
- Tae-woong off today? He's usually super aggressive, pounding the zone.
- Yeah, early on, some pitches meant for corners leaking out a ball or two.
- Pitchers aren't always 100%.
- True. Can he keep dealing through this?
- He's the next-gen lefty after Ryu Han-jin, Kim Kang-hyun, Yang Hyun-jung—Korea's big three. Gotta grow through spots like this.
- Agreed. Haha! We got chatty. Back to Tae-woong!
Make the sign to Tae-woong natural, so the batter doesn't catch on.
Catcher Haetch'an smoothly signaled from the mound, then shifted a step left while seated, extending his mitt-covered left arm right by righty Park Geon-woong's knee.
Exactly the same spot as the first pitch.
Outer changeup worked great, so now low-inside four-seam to lure him.
This wasn't a putaway strike—more of a chase pitch. Without framing, it'd be a ball. But after seeing it called strike up close, a 2-strike hitter swings at repeats 90% of the time.
Stuff's sharp—should fool him once more.
His framing felt smoother than usual today. Even if it leaked a bit outside his target, Haetch'an was confident he'd frame it into a strike. That's why he called for low-inside again.
Curious to see the result.
Whoosh!
Tae-woong's four-seam dove half a ball inside the zone's edge.
A bit more in than planned, but workable. Not jammed.
Haetch'an had anticipated and opened his mitt, but the pitch never arrived. At 0-2, Park Geon-woong choked up and chopped down nearly vertically.
Damn! He made contact?
Crack!
The ball exploded with a splitting sound that echoed through the stadium. It rocketed past the infield dirt straight toward the wall.
"Whoa!"
"Yeah!"
"Is it gone?"
"Homer!"
The crowd leaped up, roaring.
Haetch'an stood to track it. The drive closed in on the left-field pole.
Sure, just one run with bases empty—but he'd been sure that solid pitch wouldn't get squared up. Mood soured.
Over the fence? Please be foul...
Like a answered prayer amid the gasps, the would-be homer hooked just foul by a razor-thin margin.
This massive foul gave the Wiz luck and another chance—heartbreak for the Bears.
Yes!