Unhittable Curve
Tae-woong breezed through the second and third innings without allowing a run.
Ace: Honestly, that wasn't breezing through at all. Where was the breeze?
"Hey, can't you just let it slide for once?"
The second went smoothly without incident, but the third didn't.
Ace: Can't memorize signs? Why didn't the second baseman and shortstop cover the base?
"I don't even know anymore. I really don't."
With one out recorded, a throwing error by the third baseman let the batter reach base. Then, trying to gun down the speedy runner stealing second, the catcher's throw rocketed toward the bag—but no one was there to snag it. It squirted through for a center-field hit, putting runners on third. Just like that, it was one out, runner on third in scoring position.
The runner capitalized on the defensive miscue without hesitation.
"Woooaaah!"
This time, cheers erupted from the Eagles' dugout.
With a runner that fast, even a shallow fly to the outfield could plate the run. But Tae-woong refused to let any ball get past the infield.
Crack!
The ball leaped off the bat, soaring high before dropping. Straight into the first baseman's glove. No mistake this time—they handled the pop fly cleanly.
Ace: First pitch, luring him into a fly to first. Unreal. Just unreal.
One out, runner on third became two outs, runner on third in a flash.
With two outs, a sac fly was off the table—only a hit or homer would score now. The next batter stepped up, a lefty.
Whoosh.
First pitch: inside fastball. Playing it cautious, he watched it right into the zone for a strike.
Second: a curve sailing wide outside. He whiffed.
"Striiike!"
Third: a curve diving down the middle. Looking strike three!
"Easy. Too easy."
Ace: Struggling against these guys would be a problem in itself.
The Wiz second-team lineup looked solid enough. Leadoff walk. Next batter popped to right, but the one after crushed a homer, adding two more runs.
Ace: Playing it dirty with nothing but curves, huh?
As Ace said, from the third inning on, Tae-woong had been curveball-only. Aside from the occasional four-seam to keep them honest, that is.
The problem? His big-breaking curve, with velocity tweaks for pinpoint control—no one could touch it. It'd tease the zone before dropping out, or sneak in for a free strike if they laid off. The Eagles hadn't gotten a single hit off his curve.
Once the Eagles' lineup turned over, Ace posed a question to Tae-woong.
Excluding the righty power bats in the four and five holes, seven of the other nine were lefties. Sure, it was only a handful of games, but Tae-woong was a lefty with solid first-team results and low batting average against lefties. Even if the Eagles loaded up on righties, it'd be thin.
Ace was puzzled.
Ace: But why does that team have so many lefties? No R in sight?
As he pronounced "R," Ace jabbed a finger toward Tae-woong's crotch.
"You psycho, pull that finger away. Where are you pointing? Point at the scoreboard, not my pants. Either move it or quit rattling your balls in front of me. Still kinda freaks me out."
Ace lowered his finger.
Ace: Fine, just answer. Why's that?
"Dunno? Every coach I've had since middle school insisted on raising hitters as righty-throwing lefty batters."
Ace looked baffled, but to Tae-woong, a lineup full of lefties wasn't weird. It was standard for his era.
In recent years, the trend in Korean high school and middle school baseball was mass-producing righty-throwing lefty hitters. Tae-woong had feasted on lefties far more than righties, making outs a breeze.
"I got some mileage out of lefties, that's for sure."
Back in high school, his 199cm lefty overhand delivery—plunging four-seam fastballs and sliders—was hell for lefties. Even when his command wobbled, batters dreaded a fastball to the head more than anything.
Maybe that's why he could dominate high school as one of the top aces, even throwing down the middle.
'Man, those days were fun. Just rearing back—whiffs, looking Ks...'
Lost in thought, Tae-woong heard Ace.
Ace: Is that trend just to chase more infield hits? Plus, it messes with catchers trying to hold runners at second.
"Not a coach, so who knows? Probably."
As they chatted, the Wiz wrapped the bottom of the third.
His final inning: top of the fourth.
'This level? No need to mix fastballs. Deceive with the curve alone.'
Tae-woong fired nothing but curves to the leadoff hitter—and the next two after.
Shwooo.
Two outs, one-two count: another curve. The leadoff guy fell to back-to-back curves. Now the Eagles smelled it—pure curves. But knowing didn't help.
Whiff again.
"Strike three!"
Eleven pitches, final out. Mission accomplished in one clean inning.
Back in the dugout, teammates swarmed.
"That curve drop is insane."
"First-team level shows."
"Changeup command is no joke."
Hitters just praised, but pitchers grilled him—same age, curious how a rookie a few months out of intrasquads was fooling guys with slower stuff.
'How do I even explain...'
Ace: Answer's obvious. 'Grind mobile baseball games, snag some game-system powers, regress to the past.' Boom. Problem solved.
Yeah, right. Get labeled a psycho, clear the room. Thanks.
"Hey, it's me. Head to Seo-san now. Seo Tae-woong's starting—don't be late. Pack all your gear."
"Yes, sir."
"And if Tae-woong gets pulled, film a few others too. Gotta run—busy."
"Yes, see you tomorrow."
A quick 30-second call from the team leader, and the rookie scout was off to Seo-san without complaint. Fate of the newbie.
"Barely made it before start. Whew. If you're sending me, give more heads-up."
Grumbling under his breath.
"Even if Wiz is desperate, trading a first-rounder right after drafting? They'd have to be nuts."
Sunglasses on, he slung a heavy bag over his shoulder, dashed from the car into Seo-san Stadium. Panting from the sprint, he scanned for prime seats.
"Hmm... yeah, over there."
Best mound view. He unpacked a portable table, set up camera and laptop, caught his breath.
"Seo Tae-woong, huh... Threw well twice in first team before injury, but rookies like that? Plenty vanish after a month. Hope we don't get scammed."
As he griped, plenty of rookies—pitchers and hitters—flashed bright then faded. Scouted weaknesses, outmuscled, then crushed by the pro grind: six games a week.
To him, Tae-woong was just another.
Famous super high school prospect, sure—but first watch since the draft.
"Hyped as fireballer lefty pre-draft, but today's stuff looks off..."
Sub-150kph fastballs, 100+ pitches, shaky command. Minus the slider for curve, it screamed rookie Clayton Kershaw—praised by MLB scouts.
Yet this 18-year-old "second Kershaw" dropped from elite velocity to 125kph max in months. Unthinkable for baseball folks.
'They deny injury, but come on.'
Rumor: Pre-draft, Tae-woong told Wiz scout Lee Jun-beom he'd ditch velocity for command and movement.
Nobody bought it. Hiding injury? Mental issue? Consensus among rival scouts.
"No way a guy who can touch 150 after pro training drops to 125 for command. Who's the sucker...?"
No coach tells a 150kph arm to lose 20-30kph for control. Sure, Bears' Woo Hee-gang thrived slow-ish early—but only he survived to first team now.
'How many innings? Skipped lunch rushing here—hope it ends quick for food.'
But watching Tae-woong through four innings vaporized that thought.
Shocked by composure amid errors in first and third. Blown away by command and bite despite velocity in second and fourth.
Especially the all-curve fourth? Eye-opening. Team leader's "snake eyes" rep earned.
Tae-woong exited after four. Scout eyed the list, watched to the end.
Final: 13-5 Wiz. No other standouts sans Tae-woong.
But rediscovering him? Huge win.
'Max ticked up a kph, average too. With that command and bite on the curve... Explains the first-team success.'
Rookie slotted Tae-woong top of trade targets, saved the file, headed out.