A Warm Welcome from the Hometown Fans
Although less than a year had passed since his nomination, Wiz could rightfully be called Seo Tae-woong's hometown team after his regression.
'Of course, even before regressing, I was with Wiz when I returned to the KBO... but strictly speaking, my real hometown team back then was the minor leagues.'
And this wasn't just Tae-woong's personal sentiment. Fans who loved and cherished Wiz, cheering for them fervently, felt a pang of regret at having to let him go—but they accepted it.
This was possible because of Seo Tae-woong thriving with the Eagles, and in exchange, the three players now starring for Wiz.
As seen in the flood of comments on news articles, the massive 3:1 trade between Wiz and the Eagles—including Tae-woong—had proven to be a resounding win-win so far.
Thus, fans of both teams harbored not a shred of resentment toward the players they lost or the new ones they gained.
Losing Tae-woong was heartbreaking, but the three acquired from the Eagles were more than pulling their weight. Wiz's standings, which had plummeted from first place to the lower ranks, were steadily climbing back up.
And today, Wiz welcomed back Seo Tae-woong—their sudden trade departure just over a month ago—with open arms, even as strategy demanded it.
After the top of the first, now the Eagles' starting pitcher, Seo Tae-woong, took the mound to face Wiz's lineup.
The ten thousand fans packing Wiz Park rose as one, regardless of allegiance.
Wiz uniform or Eagles uniform, they all smiled and chanted the name of the first pitcher to grace the mound today.
"Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong!"
"Seo Tae-woong! Seo Tae-woong!"
Tae-woong felt his heart swell as countless fans—too many to take in at a glance—shouted his name.
'I've gotta do even better. Give it my all from here on out. For these people cheering me on like this, no matter what.'
It was a feeling entirely new to Tae-woong.
He'd switched teams countless times, but never before had fans from his former and current squads united in support like this.
'Gotta show my gratitude. They're welcoming me so warmly.'
Tae-woong doffed his cap, bowing politely to the fans chanting his name all around.
The brief ceremony ended.
Now it was time to play ball and throw the first pitch of the day.
Until now, he'd basked in everyone's encouragement, but he was here as the Eagles' ace, ready to lead his team to victory.
Now it was the Eagles fans' turn to roar.
'Let's get it started.'
Gazing ahead, he saw Kang Baek-ho in the batter's box, stepping back a bit to readjust his glove.
Once ready, Baek-ho turned, locking eyes with the mound.
A grin came unbidden.
Creak.
Their eyes met, and they both smiled.
'I knew the day would come when we'd face off... but I never dreamed it'd be this soon.'
After the eye contact with Kang Baek-ho, Tae-woong glanced down right to exchange signs with catcher Choi Ji-hoon.
He spotted the fluorescent manicure on Choi Ji-hoon's nails.
His fingers folded and unfolded in a complex sequence, ending in a tight fist.
Nod.
Tae-woong nodded back, accepting the sign.
He felt the baseball's seams against his left hand inside the glove.
No longer awkward like his first time, he swiftly gripped it, set his stance, and fired.
Whoosh!
The battery's choice for the first pitch: an inside curve aimed at grabbing a count.
Especially tailored for lefty Kang Baek-ho, who was deathly allergic to curves.
But no matter his weakness, Kang Baek-ho was still Kang Baek-ho.
He was hitting .250 against curves—meaning one out of every four became a hit.
Plus, for days now, he'd studied Tae-woong's footage with the hitting coach, scheming his approach.
The instant Tae-woong released, Baek-ho's eyes—laser-focused on the incoming trajectory—flashed sharp.
He didn't say it aloud, but his gleaming gaze screamed it.
Without a hint of doubt, Baek-ho unleashed a smooth yet devastating uppercut swing, perfectly timing the knee-high drooping curve right in his wheelhouse.
Crack!
The pulled ball rocketed high toward right field.
'What the—?'
The moment it connected, Tae-woong sensed something off—Baek-ho whipping the bat like he'd called his shot.
Pitchers know a mistake the instant the ball leaves their hand, but this curve wasn't flat or centered.
It had broken sharply from in front of the lefty batter's face down to knee height—a beauty.
The hitter had just hit it better.
Right fielder Hoyt, tracking the liner off Baek-ho's black bat, backpedaled then froze.
It cleared the wall with ease.
Baek-ho flipped his bat stylishly, circled the bases, and touched home.
Tae-woong could only chuckle wryly.
No need to turn and watch; the Wiz fans' roar told the tale.
"Heh, gonna lose my mind. First pitch of the bottom of the first to the leadoff hitter... a homer?"
"What kinda nonsense is that?"
"Hold up. I've thrown one pitch. What system gets more antsy than a chill Korean dude? Calm down, man."
"I know, I got it."
Lately, pure rookies were injecting fresh excitement into the KBO.
Just last season in 2017, Heroes' Lee Jung-ho—dubbed the Wind's Grandson—debuted amid sky-high expectations and dazzled.
He lived up to the hype, carrying on the legend of KBO's Wind's Son.
Sure, his slim frame limited power, but it barely showed.
As a high school grad rookie, he played all 144 games, proving durable. He hit .324, with an elite .395 OBP nearing .400 thanks to his natural plate discipline, locking down leadoff and center field for the Heroes.
Lee Jung-ho shattered rookie hits and runs records, claiming Rookie of the Year.
'In a hitter-friendly league, any pure rookie pitcher shining in debut year is a miracle from the start. And this season...'
Before Lee Jung-ho's storm faded, 2018 birthed another super rookie.
A monster trading bombs with vets—a high school phenom once called Korea's Shohei Ohtani—Kang Baek-ho arrived like a comet.
But while monster-hitter rookies kept coming, pitchers lagged.
'2017 with Lee Jung-ho kicked it off. Even up to the season I returned to KBO pre-regression, hitters owned Rookie of the Year.'
As Tae-woong said, the next few years would see only hitters taking Rookie honors.
The last pure rookie pitcher outshining vets? 2006's Ryu Han-jin, the monster who swept Rookie and MVP in KBO history's first.
Reasons abounded, but simply: rookies paled against pros.
Unfinished bodies meant weaker velocity and command—often stuck at high school level.
But the killer? Lacking pro-level mental toughness.
Plunk a batter, string hits, or a BS ump call leading to a walk-off full count... what happens to a lone rookie on the mound?
Tae-woong knew the answer better than anyone—he'd lived it.
'Cold sweat everywhere first. Especially the pitching hand—pouring, so you wipe it on the uni, fidget with the rosin bag nonstop. Ears ring, crowd noise fades.'
Mental training, psych sessions, coach advice from countless seniors? Blank. Mind goes white.
But the ultimate panic? A well-placed pitch crushed over the wall—like what just hit him.
'A perfect pitch turning homer... and suddenly, in that roaring stadium, only your heartbeat echoes.'
So, how was Tae-woong feeling after that beauty curve to leadoff Baek-ho—his closest buddy—went yard in the first?
Flustered? Anxious? Unsettled? Praying for the pitching coach to sprint up with a new ball and yank him?
"Nah, doesn't apply to me. How many homers did I eat before release? One solo ain't shaking me."
"Embarrassing—shut it."
Tae-woong was a grizzled vet in failures, leagues beyond a typical rookie's psyche.
Creak.
"Nah, doesn't apply to me."
He flashed a grin, signaled the approaching Choi Ji-hoon it was fine, and kept dealing.