First Complete Game Victory

It was pushing past 9 p.m., nearing 10 o'clock. The sun had long set, and the temperature had dropped since the game began. A gentle breeze rustled through Hana Eagles Stadium, but Oh Jae-i's body was drenched in sweat.

Damn it. I should've laid off that one.

He'd foolishly nicked a pitch that would've been a sure ball—100%—turning the count to 0-2. Tension had soaked him through.

Just one more.

The game wasn't over yet, just tougher. He still had a shot. He pulled off his helmet, wiping the sweat beading on his forehead with his uniform.

First pitch slider, second a four-seam fastball outside, then a breaking ball away, body-side straight heat.

His mind raced. What next? Fastball? Off-speed? Strike or ball?

And... can I even handle it?

He'd debuted in pro ball in 2005, and it'd been a full decade since he'd been a regular in the first team.

Getting worked by a guy who's barely been up half a year... Pathetic.

He glanced at the dugout, but it was just the expected sign: Confidence, swing away. His brain spun, but no answers came. He'd have to guess Tae-woong's pitch.

And if he was guessing, only one option.

Curve. He hasn't thrown a curve yet.

To see the ball longer, he shifted his hitting point back. Whoosh!Thwack!

"Ball!"

But the third was a 132 km/h four-seam fastball, low and away.

Lure pitch. Laying the groundwork before the curve.

He'd clawed back a ball, but the count was still 1-2—unfavorable. Curve for real now.

Whoosh!Thwack!

"Ball!"

The fourth was another four-seam, low inside. His bat nearly flew out this time, but he gripped hard with his left wrist, barely holding it back. Count evened to 2-2—not so bad for a hitter now.

Hana Eagles Stadium, roaring for Seo Tae-woong moments ago, quieted at the two straight balls. Even with Oh Jae-i's low average, his slugging was over .500—cluster a few good pitches, and he'd clear the fences.

Pitcher wants to put me away and end it. One more ball makes full count, and on full, he'll have to come over the plate... So his last chance for a setup pitch is now.

Plus, with two strikes and two straight balls, the pitcher would feel the pressure. Time to go for it.

Throwing their best pitch is instinct for those guys.

Tae-woong had upped his changeup usage lately, but as a lefty hitter, Jae-i's mind jumped straight to curve as the finisher.

This time, real curve!

He pictured the curve dropping low, then an uppercut swing launching it deep. Ready.

Whoosh!

Tae-woong fired the fifth pitch. High, arrowing straight toward the plate.

Jae-i's eyes lit up tracking it. Of course. It'll drop now.

Two strikes, hunting the big-breaking curve—no room for doubt.

Whoosh!Thwack!

A 131 km/h high fastball whiffed him clean.

Fans in Eagles uniforms leaped, roaring. Tae-woong, who'd just notched his first career complete game—a 9-inning, 1-run gem—threw his arms up without thinking. His first CG win after 18 pro seasons.

And it wasn't just the mental high.

He was about to read the rest when the catcher and infielders swarmed the mound, congratulating the CG winner.

"Tae-woong, great work!"

"The reward... Huh? Yeah! You too, hyung!"

Catcher Choi Ji-hoon, who'd snagged the final ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out, saved the ball as a memento of Tae-woong's debut CG.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

As a nationwide club, the Eagles guaranteed clicks for reporters with solid stories. And when the interview subject was a rookie pitcher who'd CG'd 9 IP 1 ER against the league-leading lineup—with tall stature, pale skin, and handsome looks? The rest wrote itself.

Not just good for press, either. When asked his favorite food and he said meat, the spot became a Daejeon joint famous for raw beef sushi.

"This the place?"

He opened the reserved room door; the reporter waiting inside greeted him smiling.

"Seo Tae-woong, nice to meet you. ST News, Oh Sang-hoon."

Tae-woong took the business card. "Yes, sir. First time. Sorry, no card on me..."

"No worries. Have a seat. I ordered ahead. Eat while we chat lightly?"

"Sounds good."

With Tae-woong's nod, the reporter fired up his phone's recorder.

"First... thoughts on the complete game?"

"I pitched okay, but the defense had my back..."

As the interview flowed, food piled up—no room left on the table. Raw beef, Hanwoo sashimi, galbi patties, Hanwoo raw beef sushi.

"Thanks for the grub, sir."

Tae-woong devoured it all. Bowls emptied fast; even mid-question, the reporter paused, stunned. Ballplayers were huge, always training, massive eaters—but this was next level.

"Suit your taste? You eat like a champ."

"Yeah, hits the spot. Thanks for bringing me here."

Chat continued through dessert, then wrapped.

"Thanks for your time, must be beat. That's it for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the interview."

"No, you worked hard too."

"Alright, head out."

"You too, careful."

Tae-woong strolled toward Hana Eagles Stadium for digestion.

"Tasty, but interview cut me short. Next time with the hyungs, eat free."

About two hours from Tae-woong's Daejeon, in a Seoul office, two middle-aged men sat across a table, silently watching a 75-inch TV.

The screen showed Tae-woong's back.

Whoosh!

Beep.

Game over on the pitcher's gem; commentary wrapped. One grabbed the remote, stopping the long footage.

Throat dry from silent focus, he downed water.

"Coach, thoughts?"

"That's all?"

"Yeah, five games total—gap from a month's injury."

"Latest yesterday?"

"Yep."

"Injury... Looks fully healed now."

"Asked around—100% recovered. No issues in practice or games."

"Velocity's low, though. Woo Hee-gang range. Early innings under 130 even."

"Word is he ramps up as he goes. Hotter weather bumps it more. Climbing bit by bit."

"Heh, Indonesia's 35°C baseline... Our August ain't far off."

"Among lefty starters we can grab, he's tops with Hyun-jung."

"Yeah, curve/change alone? Best lefty or righty, no contest."

"Curve way better than mine. Han-jin level. Wasn't there game one, but improved fast."

"C'mon, too generous? Eagles bias?"

"Haha... Nah. Anyway, at this rate, velocity or stuff jumps by August."

"Every so often, a freak shows up outta nowhere. Rare these days..."

"Priority list him?"

"First priority. Pitches Sunday—check again. Best stats is our goal."

"Got it."

"Jung Coach, late—grab chow? Starving."

"Bone soup hangover place? You loved it last."

"Yeah. Booze too—no broadcast tonight?"

"None. Let's go."

The fit duo left. The "director" was the Mt. Mudeung Bomber, National Treasure Pitcher, Nagoya Sun. The taller "Jung Coach": 1990s KBO righty ace, key to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Eagles' 1999 title, now their permanent retired number.

On the table: "2018 Asian Games Baseball National Team Final Roster" draft.