Chapter 43 - A Low Blow on the Mound
8th inning, top half—the Wiz's offense had wrapped up. The score remained 3-1! The Wiz leading the Bears by two. The Bears had already burned through two relievers. Yet in the bottom of the 8th, today's starter, rookie Seo Tae-woong, was still holding down the mound for the Wiz!
Bottom of the 8th. The Bears' leadoff hitter was their hottest bat lately, cleanup hitter Yang Ui-jin.
-If Yang doesn't get a hit this at-bat, his average is gonna take a serious dive by game's end.
-High-average guys like him always see big swings from just one hitless game. He's already gone hitless in his first two looks today. Bet he's locked in this time. After seeing a pitch twice, changeups and stuff start looking familiar.
-Seo Tae-woong faces Yang Ui-jin for the third time today and fires the first pitch! A changeup dropping right down the middle! Whoosh.
Following catcher Hae-chan's sign, Tae-woong had unleashed a 73 km/h curve—his slowest of the day—to disrupt Yang's timing right out of the gate. Crack! Yang twisted his wrists on the sinking trajectory and made contact. The ball bounded right in front of the mound where Tae-woong stood.
Up to that point, no big deal. But the problem was the ball ricocheting straight at him. Before Tae-woong could even think about where to field it, instinct took over. His gloved right hand shot up to shield his face. His bare left hand scrambled to protect the one organ uniquely exposed on the human body—the man's crown jewels.
But he was a second—no, 0.1 seconds—too slow.
Shit! I'm fucked!
If he'd had the breath to curse, he'd have bellowed it loud enough for the full house or the hundred thousand watching on TV and streaming, consequences be damned.
But Tae-woong didn't even have that 0.1 second for profanity.
Damn it! No! Not there—not there!
Senior teammates' pre-inning banter echoed in his head.
"Cut the bullshit. A guy taking one to the nuts is the fourth-worst pain a human can feel? You buy that?"
"I was so curious I memorized the top five. Number one: burning alive. Two: chopping off a finger or toe. Three: childbirth. Four: nut shot. Five: chronic back pain. Then cancer and muscle tears or whatever. Anyway."
And just as Tae-woong feared, the bouncing ball pierced his left hand's upper guard and nailed him dead center.
"Guhhh... Grroooaaahhh!"
His agonized groan rippled faintly through the air—a sound so alien even he didn't recognize it as his own. But as the pain intensified, Tae-woong lost track of his own noises, his own movements. It radiated from the impact site, flooding his entire body. Half-lidded eyes saw his vision shift from yellow to deepening purple. Despite those half-open lids, the escalating agony blurred whether he was staring ahead or squeezing them shut.
Recognized that pitcher Seo Tae-woong has lost consciousness.
Unable to continue pitching. Mission ends at this point.
Final Line: 7 IP, 2 H (1 HR), 1 R
Successfully induced groundouts from 10 consecutive batters.
Successfully induced groundouts from 15 consecutive batters.
Failed to induce groundouts from 20 consecutive batters.
Rewards will be distributed after the game ends.
-Ace: Fourth-worst or not, that shit hurts. Your eyes are glazing over, kid.
Ace's voice—usually good for a quip or scolding—brushed past Tae-woong's ears like white noise. Cheers chanting his name swelled from the stands.
"Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong!"
"Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong!"
"Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong!"
He wanted to rally, stand tall, keep dealing. But the chants in his ears, the fading violet haze in his vision—they all blurred into darkness.
"Grrrh..."
Overwhelmed, Tae-woong blacked out completely.
Normally, those stats would've had him over the moon. Right now, he just felt like he was dying. Hell, with froth bubbling at his lips, maybe he was.
-Ace: Hey! What the hell? You actually passed out? Snap out of it! You're not... dead, right? No way a busted nut kills you. Right? Wait—if this guy's toast, what happens to me? Do I vanish? Hey! Say something! Dead or alive?!
Ace's panic was less about Tae-woong and more about his own existential glitch.
-And right as I say it, Yang Ui-jin jumps the first pitch! Liner straight at the pitcher! Oh—one bounce and it kicks up... looks like it nailed him!
-Seo Tae-woong goes down, gets up, tries throwing to first... but drops the ball.
-Damn, he looks in serious pain. Belly or thigh would've been survivable, but it clipped his wrist or something. He's clutching both hands.
-Slow-mo replay confirms... yeah, low blow.
-He's down on the mound, can't get up.
-Tough call, but looks like Seo Tae-woong won't last.
-Pitching coach Jeong Myeong-eon checks on him and sprints to the dugout. Gotta alert manager Kim Jin-woong and warm the pen ASAP.
-Talk about salt in the wound... Seo's been grinding since spring training, lights-out today too. Heartbreaker.
-Over two minutes since he went down. Here comes the stretcher.
-Pain must've knocked him out cold. Ambulance ride incoming.
-Club says he's headed straight to the ER.
-Prayers for a full recovery. That spot...
-Agreed. Hope he's unscathed down there.
-Back to you. With Seo Tae-woong out injured, Wiz reliever Eom Seong-baek takes the hill. Inherits no outs, runner on first, up two runs.
...What? Where am I?
Tae-woong, who'd passed out from the agony, felt himself sunk into something soft. Minutes later, his foggy mind sharpened.
No feeling... in my lower body.
Eyes still shut, awareness brought unease about his condition. He cracked them open, scanning the empty room. An IV dripped into his arm. Just him on the bed.
"Hospital... room? All alone."
The other bed was bare, impeccably made—no belongings. Definitely transported here. He hunted for Ace to recap what happened post-blackout.
"Where am I? Ace, you around?"
Ace phased through the door—not in his usual white uniform, but a doctor's white coat, stethoscope dangling.
"Ah, patient awake? Good."
"What? Not Ace—a doctor? What's with the getup?"
Sure enough, classic MD attire.
"Consciousness restored. You're in the hospital. Relax... Lower body numbed with spinal block for emergency surgery. Lost a ton of blood—nearly bought it."
"What the hell? Why can't I feel my legs? What happened?"
Ace shook his head, ignoring him.
"...That liner caught you in the worst spot."
Tae-woong, who'd normally brush off Ace's dramatics, flashed back to the numbness. Ace's stone-cold face amped his dread.
"Wh-what? Ace, you bastard! What're you saying?!"
"Was gonna wait till you're stable, but... Seo Tae-woong, no kids in your future. No sex, either. Liner pulverized the goods."
"What?! Hey! Doc—no, Ace! What the fu— Aaaargh!"
"Rest easy. Agitation risks more bleeding. Could get ugly."
"Can't stay down like this... My phone! Where's my smartphone?!"
As Tae-woong screamed, the door rattled open. Ace clammed up. In rushed pitching coach Jeong Myeong-eon and a Wiz support staffer.
Jeong soothed him, calling for the doc. "Tae-woong, why the yelling? Still hurting bad? Hey, No, grab the doctor quick. Tell 'em he's awake."
"Yes, Coach. On it."
Jeong figured it might be mental trauma, not physical. Tae-woong stammered, "C-Coach... why no feeling... down there..."
"Ah, that."
"Tell me straight."
"Truth is, you kinda got..."
The 'goh' from Jeong's lips froze Tae-woong's brain in shock. His mind raced to complete it. Numb legs? Only one fear fit.
Eunuch?! Me?! No way! Eunuch?! Not me!
He bellowed. "I'm a eunuch?! No! Can't be! Nooo!"
"Whoa, Tae-woong—not that! Calm down, seriously."
"If it were you, Coach, could you calm down hearing you're a eunuch?! Aaaargh!"
Weeeeng. Door swung wide—sweaty doctor and nurse rushed in, fresh from a sprint.
"Sir? Where's the pain?"
"Doc, no feeling... lower body. What's going on?!"
"Mr. Seo, you jumped back dodging the ball—hip dislocation."
Tae-woong gawked. "Hip... dislo—like, goh-hip?!"
"Yes. Balls took a hit too, but no major pain left."
"F-for real? So not eunuch'd? Nothing else wrong down there?"
"Positive. Acute nut pain can knock guys out cold—fainted on us. Full scan: all clear."
"Then the numbness..."
"Spinal for the procedure. Sensation's lagging. Manual reduction—popped the hip socket back in. Mild case, quick transport, no fracture—just a simple dislocation. As a ballplayer, you know the drill."
"Oh... Thought it was worse."
Not castrated. Not a career-ender.
"Phew."
Tae-woong finally exhaled, tension melting away.