Breaking 130km/h!
Buzzz! A fastball inside on the seventh pitch—empty swing, strikeout!
Seo Tae-woong has just fanned the leadoff hitter in the top of the sixth with a whiff!
Standing on the mound himself, he's proving exactly why the Eagles wanted him so badly. Great command paired with quality breaking stuff—this guy's a real pitcher!
Coming out of the gate with this kind of performance in his first start after switching teams? The fans are gonna love it.
Absolutely. You can hear the cheers for Seo Tae-woong echoing all the way up to the broadcast booth right now.
Beyond his skill, his mental toughness stands out. When catcher Choi Ji-hoon called for a fastball, he didn't hesitate—just fired it right in.
Take a look at the slow-mo replay: it was threading right in front of the right-handed hitter's knee, a perfect spot. And that four-seam fastball he induced the whiff on clocked 129km/h!
Viewers just tuning in or fans seeing Seo Tae-woong pitch for the first time might misunderstand. But 129km/h isn't just fast for today—it's the quickest pitch he's thrown in any game since stepping on the mound.
Back when we first met him at spring training, his fastball topped out around 124-125km/h. Not even half a year later, he's up by about 4km/h already.
In my memory, even then, his continuous motion, body condition—all aspects showed a solid pitching mechanism. I expect his velocity to climb even higher from here.
Could psychological factors have played a role in that velocity bump too?
I think so. He stepped away briefly due to injury, but in those two starts before that, he realized firsthand that his stuff plays against first-team hitters!
Seo Tae-woong's showing a gradual velocity increase as the innings pile up. This outing should ease Eagles fans' worries about any lingering injury issues.
"Finally! 130km/h! God! Buddha! Holy Mother Mary! Amen! Namu Amida Butsu! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost…."
Hey, that's straight-up a skill proc. And it'll drop right back after the game's over.
"Even with a skill, if I can't execute, it's over. And a strikeout? I can always get the next one."
They all strike out just 'cause you throw? You got a contract with the other team's hitters or something? This crap-baller's getting cocky.
"Ah, just watch for once."
Tae-woong fired the changeup called for by Choi Ji-hoon with confident swagger.
Whoosh! Crack!
The hitter who attacked the first pitch sent it rolling out to shallow left, stepping on first base safely.
Called it—smashed right away? First pitch, no less? How long do I gotta watch this?
"Th-this time's different!"
Tae-woong unleashed the inside four-seam fastball demanded by the catcher.
Whoosh! Crack!
Another hit. Right fielder Hoy, positioned forward in the defensive shift, scooped up the ball dropping in front of him and fired to third.
Whoooosh! Thwack!
The ball sailed exactly as intended, and third baseman Song Kang-min stretched out from atop the bag to snag it. A laser throw, straight out of a textbook.
With plenty of season left and Hoy leading the league with nine assists already, the runner—clearly spooked by that cannon arm—froze at second. Small mercies.
"Phew, at least we didn't let the runner to third with one out. A fly to the outfield from the next guy scores a run easy, right?"
Back-to-back first-pitch hits... And what kinda pitcher's worse than his right fielder at throwing? Maybe put the outfielder on the mound instead of this useless crap-ball artist?
"Just once! Trust me one more time."
No way you'll get out of this, but fine—I'll play along even knowing better.
"Got it. This time it's really different!"
Buzzz!
—Empty swing, strikeout!
Seo Tae-woong allowed two hits to put runners on in the sixth, but he shut down the Heroes' lineup with two strikeouts and a grounder to short, keeping the scoreless streak alive! We'll return for the bottom of the sixth with the Eagles' offense. From Daejeon!
Max velocity increases by 0.5km/h.
Current max velocity: 130.5km/h
"See that?"
...L-luck! Pure luck! You're burning through a lifetime's worth today!
"Ah, sure. Keep thinking that."
Tae-woong sauntered back to the dugout with a relaxed grin, whistling a little tune. He'd thrown just 96 pitches through six innings.
"I could probably go another inning or so? Awesome! Seventh, I'll fan the side on nine pitches flat! Nine total! Straight to the pen!"
Ladies and gentlemen, you're witnessing a terminal case of delusional grandeur.
"Who're you talking to, yelling at thin air?"
Don't ask. You'll only hurt yourself.
"That guy's bullshit never ends."
He could've pushed for the seventh if he got greedy—the pitch count allowed it—but as always, the coaches saw it differently.
Manager Han Young-deok and the staff watched approvingly as the pitchers filed back into the dugout after a scoreless sixth.
Leading in a slugfest wasn't bad either. Ultimately, ending the day even one run ahead was the biggest goal.
But the coaching staff's ideal? Ace goes 6-7 innings with minimal damage while the fielders stay fresh and the game moves quick.
A rookie's six scoreless? Perfect pitching. Yeah, no complaints. No need to push it.
Tae-woong nodded to himself, sorting his thoughts. He didn't notice Manager Han's gaze fixed on him.
Self-hypnosis or something? His way of staying locked in, huh. With results like this, you'd expect him to get cocky—but he's prepping for the next inning already. Glad we brought him over….
Han checked the scoreboard for Tae-woong's pitch count again, then turned to the pitching coach beside him.
"Coach Song, how're the bullpen guys looking today?"
The pitching coach—who'd synced with the Eagles for years—caught the subtext immediately.
"They're good. Sinking low... Tae-woong handled six strong, so we can stagger three for an inning each."
"Yeah? Get 'em loose then. No point overworking him in a return start, even if he's cruising. It's not like we're pitching him for a month straight."
"Got it."
Manager Han Young-deok and Coach Song had no intention of overusing Tae-woong in his first start back. His command, velocity, and stuff all looked pristine, sure—but still.
So Han advised him to call it after this frame.
Hmm? Pitch count's fine, but...
Tae-woong weighed it: rather than risk the injury spot, his body wasn't at 100% anyway. He accepted readily.
"Understood, Manager."
With the win pitcher criteria met, Tae-woong came out after the inning.
Tae-woong greeted his teammates and coaches, then headed out of the dugout.
"Man, didn't feel it on the mound, but now that it's over, my body's heating up. Hot, damn hot."
May was turning warmer without a breeze. Tae-woong peeled off his sweat-soaked undershirt, loosened his shoulders, and moved for icing.
What's up with you today? Not pushing for more? Our boy Tae-woong almost got neutered once, stamina lagging now?
"Return start—no need to force it. Sure, I'd love another inning... but six scoreless with a win? Solid."
I figured with your 130km/h heat, you'd go nine with 150 pitches.
"Hey, you think I'm that reckless…."
The training coach, who'd stepped away briefly, returned.
"Oh, Tae-woong's here? Sorry, had to hit the john."
"Coach, you're back?"
"You on the phone? Heard voices outside."
Tae-woong stammered, caught off-guard.
"N-no, uh... right! Practicing for the player-of-the-game interview if we win."
"Haha, love the confidence. Six scoreless today, yeah?"
"Yes."
"Good—play ball well, act bold! You're going places, kid."
"Thanks, Coach."
"Alright, lie back. Shoulders first."
"Yes, sir. Please take care of me!"
After a thorough massage and icing his left arm, Tae-woong returned to the dugout. His teammates, oblivious, leaned against the wall, eyes glued to the field.
Two runners already? With two outs?
Top of the eighth, two outs, runners on first and second—the scoreboard still read 2-0, same as when he'd left the mound. Reliever Lee Tae-young was on now.
Handsome fella. Total idol. Unlike some people.
Why compare to Tae-young hyung of all people...? Next time, hope Chan-sik hyung or Man-jae hyung's up. I can at least dominate them with my lush locks.
Tae-woong was decent-looking himself, but even he admitted Lee Tae-young was a cut above. He let it slide, pretending not to hear.
So Tae-young hyung was in the pen back then, huh.
Upon his own pre-regression return from five crappy minor league years, the Hana Eagles boasted league-best rotation led by fireballer Simpson—still their ace—and another foreigner. Among them, Lee Tae-young had shone as a righty fireballer alongside Simpson, nodding now to Choi Ji-hoon's sign.
They were monsters then. Four-seamers over 150km/h, dropping splitters, curves—three pitches, 15 wins three years straight.
Thwack!
Huh? Wild pitch here?
While Tae-woong reminisced, Lee Tae-young's splitter dove into the dirt, letting the runners advance to second and third.
Command's not quite there yet, huh?
The board lit up another green—3-2 count, full. If Tae-young escaped here, they kept the two-run lead into the ninth for league-best closer Jung Ah-ram. Manager Han's perfect script.
But one single ties it. And something even bigger loomed.
Wait... does this mean my win's in jeopardy?