Chapter 34 - Ah, the Ball Sailed Just Past the Pole

Ah, the batted ball sailed just outside the foul pole. That's called a foul now, right? If it had come in just 1 or 2 meters from the right, it would've been a clear home run—a massive fly ball. Park Geon-woong must be feeling gutted.

'Damn, I thought it was gone for sure. It went out?'

Park Geon-woong let out a deep sigh after confirming the foul. He'd been sprinting toward first base, then second, just in case it clipped the edge of the wall and stayed fair, but now he trudged back to the plate.

Squeak! Squeeeak!

Back at the plate, he tightened his loosened batting gloves—probably from that near-home-run foul. 'Letting this one slip... what rotten luck.'

And unbeknownst to him, from the moment he'd fouled that would-be homer, singles and walks had started fading from his mind.

'Alright, keep hitting it like that, and the next one's definitely going out. Even if it doesn't clear, that's at least second base—third if the path's right...'

His head was now filled solely with thoughts of extra-base hits.

Crack!

As a result, his grip tightened unconsciously on the bat, power surging into both hands.

Because the fly ball had sailed past the pole for a foul, the count remained 1-2. Tae-woong, who'd already anticipated extra bases the moment he heard the crack, turned to check and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whoa, thought we'd give up a homer and runs in the first. Ace! Hey! You damn cheater!"

Ace played innocent, but Tae-woong had heard it all. The ecstatic voice yelling, 'Is it gone? Is it gone? How far we talkin'?'

"You made me even more nervous. Why pull that on me?"

"What nonsense you spouting now? Hey, I served too. Army sergeant, full term."

"More bullshit?"

"...Your bullshit’s so elaborate and needlessly wordy."

'Two strikes. Normally I'd jam him right here... but if it comes inside the zone now, he'll swing for sure. Show him outside first.'

Whoosh.

Crack!

'What? He swings at that? With the count stacked, he's chasing anything on the edge.'

A curve dropping at chest height, just off the outer edge—he somehow pulled it foul down the first-base line.

'No need to battle head-on in the zone if I can do this.'

Next pitch: a high outside four-seam fastball to induce a whiff. But ball! No swing this time.

'He lays off that?'

The ump was generous on outside strikes, but he was holding off high ones.

Ha-chan caught on to the batter's zone and signaled a curve, shifting outside.

'Pull it even further outside. Just a tad more. It'll work.'

No runners on, only one ball so far—even if control slipped inward, it'd just be another fringe pitch.

'Curve again. Try cutting this one.'

Whoosh!

'Even further out? Same spot as last? No... can't square it up, but he might nick it.'

Park Geon-woong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gauged the pitch's path and hesitated on the swing, but trusted his hands in the end.

Whiff!

And the message popped up before his eyes.

Momentum surging, Tae-woong flashed the grip of his curve at Ace.

"Ace, see that? My out pitch: the curve. Super curve! Power curve! Ultra curve!"

"Think of it as pure-hearted."

Crack.

Top of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the second. Woo Hee-gang attacked aggressively from a pitcher-unfriendly 2-1 count to leadoff hitter Yoon Sung-min but let a fastball leak middle-left for a blooper single.

Not the start he wanted, but his mentality held firm. 'Eh, bundle the next guy and induce a double play. Clean slate.'

He challenged the next batter, righty Yoo Ha-jun, at 1-1.

Whoosh.

A low-outside changeup, begging for a grounder into a DP.

Crack.

Cleanup hitter No. 6 Lee Ha-chan fared the same as Yoo Ha-jun.

Whiff.

Unable to resist the temptation of the fading outside changeup, he whiffed for three strikes, ending the threat.

Bottom of the second. Tae-woong took the mound again. Up was No. 4 hitter Kim Jae-hwang.

"Lefty batter but .320 against southpaws. Strong on fastballs, weak to vertical breakers..."

"Nah, beat it. Go away."

"Shut up."

Kim Jae-hwang was a lefty bomber. His strength was raw power, launching low pitches over the wall with an uppercut swing. And typical of uppercut swingers, his weakness was textbook.

'Low-inside and high... So start teasing outside gently?'

Batters aren't dummies—they know their holes. 'Doesn't mean they fix 'em overnight, though...'

Pitchers struggle to exploit those spots consistently. Force it, and you sail outside for balls or yank it middle with effort.

'Go reverse. Reverse psychology.'

Ha-chan signaled. 'Yeah, close to optimal.'

Lefty pitcher Seo Tae-woong vs. lefty hitter Kim Jae-hwang. The perfect pitch? A slider—the southpaw's ultimate weapon against same-side bats, give or take a little hyperbole.

'Not much velocity needed if it drops low. Good plane means grounder even on solid contact.'

Crack.

Tae-woong nodded sharply, fiddling the ball in his glove—curve grip, adjusting the seams, pressing his index finger harder. 'Throwing so many curves lately, every ball feels like one.'

The mitt flashed forward, and he fired.

Whoosh.

Kim Jae-hwang swung. But it was aimed outside. The ball's path veered sharper outside than expected, whiffing through empty air.

Whiff.

"That's me."

"How's a pitcher 'fooled'?"

"Oh yeah. Hey, who remembers every detail from ten years ago? I'd have ditched sports for Seoul U otherwise."

Second pitch from 0-1: safe deep-inside high fastball.

Whoosh.

Ball! Kim Jae-hwang half-committed but pulled back seeing the height.

"Hoping he'd chase that high was greedy...?"

"Too perceptive. Just a chase pitch."

"Game system reading faces? Glitch."

"Told you not to talk to me."

Crack!

"Got him! Flow's mine! Next up... damn. Another jam."

"Yang Ui-jin. .450 against lefties so far? Hits one outta every two at-bats."

"Wow, miracle math. Where'd you learn that?"

"Tch... dropping it. Plus, Yang Ui-jin's best against changeups and curves—worst luck."