Curveball Closer
Tae-woong, who had induced a whiff from the left-handed batter with a curve dropping into his body, took the ball back from catcher Choi Ji-hoon. He then pressed his ball-gripping left hand against his right shoulder and made a fist. The signal he was requesting from the catcher meant "one more just like that."
Choi Ji-hoon thumped his glove once and extended the catcher's mitt straight out toward Oh Jae-wan's knees, just like the first pitch, signaling his agreement to Tae-woong's request.
Whoosh! The second pitch, thrown before the batter could even think, was another curve.
Crack! Perhaps thinking he could hit it since it looked similar, the bat came around at the same angle, making contact. But the ball's direction wasn't great.
As Tae-woong entered the dugout, his teammates greeted him with praise. Even though he'd given up one homer, among the Eagles' starting pitchers, only ace Cy Young winner Simpson could match his stuff right now—so they were grateful instead.
While exchanging greetings with his teammates and wiping the sweat from his face with a towel on the bench, pitching coach Song Jun-woo approached and asked, "Tae-woong, you good?"
"Ah, yes, Coach. Still feeling fine."
"Yeah? You've thrown over 100 pitches now. If you want, I'll pull you for the ninth. Aram's looking sharp in the pen today."
Song Jun-woo wasn't about to force the young pitcher out. Being pushy with rookies just bred rebellion or killed their spirit. In the worst case, he'd start second-guessing every pitch.
'He bounced back strong after that homer.'
Tae-woong spoke up. "Coach, since it's the bottom of the order starting with the seventh hitter, how about I go until one more guy gets on base?"
And Song Jun-woo wasn't the type to shut down a rookie brimming with confidence. If anything, he craved that fire from his players more than anyone.
He grinned. "Alright! But don't push too hard. Aram's ready to go anytime behind you."
"Of course."
Whoosh! Thwack!
If he could just hold this one-run lead through the top of the ninth, the bottom would be irrelevant—this was his last real shot to pad it.
'If the top of the order scores just one more, perfect... but if not, nothing I can do.'
Starting with the seventh, but even the bottom of the order had guys who could go deep if they connected. No room for complacency.
Ace: You ain't choking, right? A mid-level rook like him won't rattle you?
Tae-woong fired back lightly at Ace's mild taunt.
Seo Tae-woong: Nah, of course not.
At that moment, Song Kang-min—nicknamed "first-pitch fanatic" for his love of attacking the initial offering—didn't miss the inside fastball and yanked it.
Crack! The ball soared deep toward the left-field wall. But the launch angle was a hair too high, and it settled into the glove of left fielder Kim Jae-hwang right in front.
In the end, Song Kang-min's fly out to the outfield padded the out count to three, ending the inning on a deflating note. Watching from the dugout, even Tae-woong clicked his tongue in regret.
"Damn, that didn't carry over."
For a pitcher, finishing the inning like that was a bummer, but his teammates had already done their part—scratching two runs off Bears ace Lindbrall. Now it was his turn to repay them.
"Tae-woong, last one!"
"We've got your back—pitch easy!"
"You didn't even play today."
"I'm backing you up now."
"Joking, right?"
"What, not funny?"
"A few years ago you weren't cracking dad jokes like this."
Standing on the mound, Tae-woong gazed briefly at home plate. Hana Eagles Park roared with home crowd cheers, but to him—laser-focused on pitching—nothing penetrated. It felt like he was alone atop a towering peak. His body moved on instinct, no overthinking.
Signs exchanged, now facing No. 7 hitter Paregis in the box. His mind held one thought: put this batter away.
'First, shove this plate-hugging guy back with an inside four-seam.'
Over 100 pitches in, but no arm fatigue, no drop-off.
Whoosh! Thwack!
"Suh-triiiike!"
A bit higher than intended, but tight inside—no solid contact possible. Even a good hitter like Paregis couldn't chase that first-pitch depth.
As the Eagles battery planned, Paregis stepped back to handle the inside heat.
Next: away slider drifting off.
Whoosh! Crack!
He couldn't resist the low-middle lure drifting out—the bat followed. The weak roller scooted to third baseman Song Kang-min, who barehanded it and fired to first as Paregis sprinted desperately.
Up next: No. 8, righty Kim Jae-hong.
'No-brainer.'
First pitch: deep away curve. From a righty's view, it breaks in wickedly from afar—and even if touched, no solid hit.
Whoosh! Thwack!
"Suh-triiiike!"
The ball sailed through the zone into the mitt.
'One down. 0-1... reverse it next.'
Second: low-away four-seam!
Whoosh! Thwack!
The bat half-swung and froze—but the pitch was already through.
"Suh-triiiike!"
Overwhelmingly batter-unfriendly count now.
Kim Jae-hong raised one hand for time. Tae-woong nodded stone-faced, but inside he was thrilled.
'Changeup's working its magic...'
Kim Jae-hong wasn't a league-top slugger, but a solid contact guy: early .300s average, late .300s OBP. In a less power-heavy lineup, he'd be table-setter material. For him to whiff so badly on a sub-130 km/h four-seam? Impossible unless...
His head was haunted by the changeup's unpredictable drop.
'Those changeups earlier are paying off now.'
Short timeout over.
'0-2. Now...'
Tae-woong eyed Choi Ji-hoon's fingers intently. When the catcher fisted up, Tae-woong nodded agreement.
Four-seam: grip snug. Changeup: looser. This ball fit snug in his left hand.
Third pitch: away four-seam again!
Whoosh! Crack!
'Gotcha!'
Kim Jae-hong's bat grazed the bottom—fishing for changeup. The pop-up settled in the first baseman's glove.
One out left.
The fate of this three-hour marathon hung on No. 9 hitter Oh Jae-i stepping in.
'Curve's been his kryptonite all day.'
Oh Jae-i: lefty weak to low-inside drops. Mild curiosity why no pinch-hitter yet, but it vanished. Easier matchup for Tae-woong—good enough.
'Keeps whiffing on curves. Final PA, he'll be hunting it.'
Deeper in the box, arms tight to body—he was geared for low-inside.
'Then... start away.'
Eagles battery calls slider.
Whoosh! Crack!
The ball sailed past the third-base line into the stands.
'Power's there. Connects clean, it's gone.'
Unlike earlier whiffs, this final PA showed laser focus—nearly squared up, foul or not.
'No need for that timing again.'
Slider erased from Tae-woong's mind. His wasn't elite anyway—no point forcing it.
'Left with four-seam, two-seam, curve, changeup.'
Two-seam out—Oh Jae-i handled it ok, and Tae-woong's wasn't sharp.
'Down to my big three.'
Choi Ji-hoon hesitated on straight curve, calling inside four-seam instead.
'Four-seam...'
The catcher had seen over 100 of his pitches today—knew them cold. Tae-woong trusted it.
Doubt gone.
Whoosh! Crack!
Low and off the zone, but the bat chased. Weak contact, foul off the line.
Two fouls. Top ninth, two outs, no balls, two strikes.
Ace: Buy a lotto ticket after this? Every hack's fouling off. Guess the universe helps if you want it bad enough.