Test Results, New Pitch
"By the way, what the hell is the exact effect of this medicine supposed to be?"
It seemed clear enough that the stuff boosted my strength. Even I had to admit I'd cleared the fence way too easily for it to make any sense.
Sure, I'd squared it up clean, but the contact still felt nothing like the swing I knew.
Just raw power, though? That didn't add up either. Pitching wasn't as simple as "more muscle equals more velocity."
Shoulder reinforcement? A stronger shoulder could definitely fire a heavy ball, but the same problem applied—shoulder alone never guaranteed higher velocity.
So maybe it was a combination of everything…
"Well, sleeping better is great, and the overall body condition that comes with it is great too… all of it is great, but…"
I'd been dealing with mild insomnia for a while. I'd chalked it up to stress, yet ever since I started taking the medicine I could fall asleep the moment I decided to. Deep, dreamless sleep that left me completely restored.
As a result my physical condition stayed near peak almost every single day.
"Our team has zero chance of making the fall classic this year anyway, so the rest of the season is just about holding down my current role."
That thought actually settled me. Regardless of the team's record, all I had to do was my own job.
"Still, when are those test results from the other day supposed to come back?"
That evening the call finally arrived. The results were in.
"Negative."
I set the phone down and felt a tiny tear slip free. I must have been more anxious than I'd realized.
But with the results confirmed…
"That's it! Just like that woman said, this medicine is clean. No more distractions—I can just throw."
The knot of worry that had been clenched in my chest melted away.
He wasn't on anything.
Turns out his real stuff is just casually throwing 150+ km/h and crushing homers too lmao
"Saw the article."
Tuesday. I'd arrived at the park early and was loosening up when Ko Mandeok drifted over.
"Ah. Yeah."
"So you really were holding back on purpose at your old team?"
"Huh? Not exactly on purpose, more like…"
"But can you actually control velocity that precisely?"
"What?"
"I mean… when you're out there, crisis situations come up, right? Moments where you'd naturally cut loose. Yet you never once did."
"Ah…"
Why was this guy grilling me so thoroughly today?
I'd managed to dodge the questions with half-answers until now, but when he locked in like this I didn't really have a good reply. Saying I'd been pissed at the manager and just phoned it in would land about the same way.
"Anyway, congrats."
"Huh? For what…"
Was passing a doping test really something to celebrate?
"People had been talking about you, you know? Yesterday's article should shut most of that up. Keep throwing a few more games like this and the attention's going to explode."
Was that how it worked? I hadn't even thought that far ahead.
"Anyway, see you in a bit."
"Yes, sir. Take care."
"Yeah~"
Ko Mandeok waved and disappeared. One by one the rest of the players filtered onto the field.
And every single one of them who looked my way had something to say about yesterday's article.
"Glad it worked out," or "I knew it all along"… yet somehow their faces felt a little awkward.
These bastards… they'd been half-suspecting me after all.
Today's starter Michael Len and a few others finished their bullpen sessions and cleared out. Jo Sangjun and I took their place and started throwing.
I checked that nothing felt off, then started to step away when I sensed someone behind me.
"Kang Hajin. I hear you're learning a splitter?"
Manager Park Donghoon and pitching coach Choi Sangyun had walked up.
Wait—when had I learned a splitter? I'd only tried the grip once.
"Throw one."
"…Right now? I've never actually thrown it."
"Exactly why you should throw it now."
"Ah…"
"The manager isn't planning to use it in a game today, so just relax and fire. We need to see it before we can give advice."
I'd planned to work on it properly once the season ended. Someone must have mentioned it to Manager Park, and now the whole thing was moving completely outside my intentions.
Coach Choi clapped my shoulder and steered me onto the mound, telling me to just throw freely.
What did Jo Sangjun say again? Dig like you're shoveling dirt?
His explanation had been pretty vague. Dig like you're shoveling dirt? How often does anyone dig bare-handed anyway?
"Here I go."
I started the windup carefully. Whatever pitch I threw, the delivery had to look identical.
A slightly high kick, then the same stride as always. I kept every part of the motion as consistent as possible. Then the release.
The ball slipped out between fingers spread along the seams and shot toward the catcher.
Thud.
"Huh…"
"W-what the…"
No satisfying pop of leather. Of course not—the ball had simply dropped onto the dirt right in front of the catcher.
"What the hell is that guy?"
Even Jo Sangjun, watching from the side, stood there with his mouth open in pure disbelief.
"One more."
"Yes."
"Focus on the location."
"Yes, sir."
Manager Park wanted a strike this time, not a bounce.
I locked in on the mechanics again and threw with the splitter grip. The ball flew toward the catcher's face, then suddenly lost all life and dropped into the mitt—barely nicking the bottom of the strike zone.
"Another."
Thwack!
"Again!"
Thwack!
Thwack!
I threw eight splitters. To my eye the break looked sharper than expected.
"Forget location. Full effort."
"…Yes."
"Check the velocity."
"Got it."
Coach Choi moved off with the radar gun. I wound up exactly like I would in a real game and poured everything into the pitch.
THWACK!
"One-forty-three!"
One-forty-three… faster than my old four-seamer. In my current condition it sat right around the same speed as my slider—and it still dropped like a rock.
"…We could use this right now."
"…"
"Okay. That's enough. Wrap it up and rest."
"Yes, sir."
I bowed to Manager Park and Coach Choi, then turned to find Jo Sangjun staring at me like I was some kind of monster.
"What are you?"
"…Excuse me?"
"You said you couldn't throw it. You've never thrown one before?"
"No. I've always been terrible with anything that drops."
"…Are you kidding me? Ha… this is ridiculous…"
Jo Sangjun shook his head and walked off the field.
"It's because your ball is better than his."
Ko Mandeok murmured beside me.
"Huh?"
"He only showed you the grip, and the first time you throw it you already look better than him. Of course he's stunned. Probably feels empty too."
"Come on, it's not that big a deal…"
"No. With just this one pitch you might not even need the others."
"What?"
What the hell was he talking about?
That hooded woman… just what kind of medicine did she give me?
Today's starter Michael Len faced the fifth-place SG Dolphins. He struggled a bit in the first inning, then settled into his usual self. Seven innings, two runs—both scored in that opening frame. After that he was nearly perfect.
While he held the line, our hitters finally woke up. By the top of the eighth we led 4-2 when Jo Sangjun took the mound.
The first batter ripped a two-seamer that looked like it would sneak past the pitcher for a hit, but shortstop Choi Min-gi made an absurd diving stop and threw him out at first. Even Choi looked stunned that he'd actually caught it.
A clean first out put Jo in a good mood—until trouble arrived.
Crack!
The next batter doubled. Then leadoff man Oh Ju-yeong worked a nine-pitch walk. One out, runners on first and second. The Dolphins called for a sacrifice bunt.
The ball rolled slowly toward the mound. Jo fielded it quickly but too late to get the lead runner; he settled for the out at first. Runners on second and third, two outs.
Next up: the Dolphins' three-hole hitter, current league home-run leader and RBI runner-up Park Kang-su.
One single ties it. One big swing and they take the lead.
Manager Park's choice was to fill the empty first base. Intentional walk before Park even stepped in. He strolled down to first.
Then the manager stepped out of the dugout.
"Hajin, how do you feel?"
Ah. They're pulling him.
The bullpen coach's urgent voice had already told me.
"I can throw right now."
"Good."
Manager Park spoke briefly with Jo Sangjun, took the ball, and the bullpen catcher pointed me toward the mound.
"That splitter… looked good."
Those were the only words he left for Ko Mandeok and me before he walked off.
Warm-up pitches finished. The batter who stepped in was cleanup hitter Kim Hyeong-gu—thirty-three this year, a lefty power bat who once hit forty-plus homers three seasons in a row. Age had cut the home-run totals, but he still hit .320–.330 and thrived in big spots. Right now that veteran was staring me down like he planned to crush whatever I threw.
Ko Mandeok called for a splitter on the first pitch.
This guy has zero fear. Bases loaded, two outs, and he wants a pitch I've never thrown in a real game?
He was basically saying he'd block anything, so just fire it.
"Heh. Yes sir, whatever you say~"
I spread my fingers into the splitter grip.
Throw it hard, just don't miss by a mile. The hitters wouldn't even be looking for a splitter from me yet.
"Hup!"
I put everything into it. The ball flew belt-high—perfect height to crush—and dead center.
Kim Hyeong-gu's bat came around hard, looking to destroy it.
But the ball simply dropped out of the zone, nowhere near the barrel.
Whoosh—
"Stri~ke!"
He'd swung so hard his helmet flew off and hit the dirt. He didn't even bother to pick it up; he just stared at me blankly.
"Good ball!"
I could almost see the huge grin stretching across Ko Mandeok's face as he tossed the ball back.