Crisis?
Lately our team has been putting on some pretty entertaining shows.
And all of it started catching my eye right after a certain pitcher named Jared Barnet joined the roster.
There was one guy whose eyes lit up watching Barnet go the distance for a complete-game win — Hyeon-bin.
From that day on, Hyeon-bin latched onto Barnet and started peppering him with questions, hands and feet flying as he tried to get everything across. Before long the two of them were standing side by side, teaching and learning with the kind of intensity that looked like they were about to overhaul an entire delivery.
"Whoa… now that's a picture," Kang Chanjung said, snickering as he watched Barnet and Hyeon-bin lined up together.
I'd been barely holding it in myself. Two potbellied guys standing shoulder to shoulder, striking the exact same pose — it was quite the sight.
"Does the body just get more flexible once you hit that kind of shape?"
Not a chance. They were both just flexible people to begin with.
"Barnet's delivery is clean. It might actually suit Hyeon-bin pretty well."
"He's not seriously changing it overnight, is he?"
"No way. From what I overheard earlier, he's just passing along a few tips."
"Ah…"
Back then, Chanjung and I had no idea how desperate Hyeon-bin really was.
Anyway, after that whole thing with Hyeon-bin… it wasn't long before another strange scene turned up.
"What's that guy doing over there now…"
Ko Mandeok, whose spot had gotten a little shaky after Barnet arrived, had at some point started hanging around with him. When Barnet picked Jeong Jong-seong, I'd figured things between the two of them had gone a little awkward — but looking at them now, they might as well have been best friends.
Not that anything had gone wrong with Jong-seong either. He was still catching Barnet during practice. Barnet and Mandeok were just laughing and talking nonstop.
"I seriously have no idea what's going on anymore…"
Barnet came at me without hesitation too.
Two days after his first start, he sidled up beside me while I was jogging at an easy pace and fell into stride. Matching my tempo, he started asking me this and that…
"Uh… wh-what did you say?"
I'd been thinking my English was getting pretty decent lately — but the man spoke with zero consideration for anyone listening, so every single question meant asking him to repeat himself several times before I could finally piece it together and answer.
"So you're saying you're curious about my curveball?"
At first he was all over the curve I threw, asking about it, comparing it to his own. Then the slider. Then the two-seamer. The sinker…
"I told you I don't throw a sinker. Two-seamer and changeup are enough…"
"He still wants you to show him, though?"
"Why, though?"
Eventually he stuck so close I started dodging him out of sheer annoyance.
In the meantime, after that complete-game win, Barnet took a loss in his next start — six innings, four runs — then bounced back with seven innings and two runs allowed to pick up another win, locking himself in as a pillar of the rotation.
Time flew, and before I knew it we were into early June.
"This is basically a Kang Hajin revival meeting. Is this a religion or what?"
Monday evening. Ho-min, watching TV with me, grumbled for no good reason.
The broadcast was introducing a few of the players racking up the most All-Star votes, and of course I came up. Highest vote-getter so far, so…
I was half embarrassed and half awkward about the whole thing, so I kept my mouth shut.
"Did your wife write that script or something?"
"…Does that even make sense?"
"Why not? She's about to retire — they could let her write one for old times' sake."
"It's a real broadcast, not a joke."
"Looking at her right now, your wife seems like the joke. She's loving every second of this."
"……Are you jealous?"
"What did you just say, you little—"
Yeah. He was jealous. The way curses kept tumbling out of his mouth made it pretty obvious.
Even from where I sat, Han Song-yi was beaming the entire time she said my name as the host. So openly bright it almost felt like it shouldn't be allowed on air…
"She's just pretty, that's all."
"Haa… Wait, aren't you supposed to go out today? To meet that Jack guy? You see him every Monday, right?"
"Ah…! I completely forgot, damn it… Yeah. I'm losing my mind over this too."
"Why?"
"It's just…"
"What is it?"
"Never mind. It's nothing."
There were circumstances I couldn't explain.
Today was Monday. Under normal circumstances I was supposed to meet Jack briefly — to pick up the pills that had passed from the Hooded Woman to him.
Around lunchtime, I'd headed out, stopped by the ballpark for a bit, and called Jack on the way back to arrange the meet-up…
"Uh… I don't think we can meet today."
"……"
For a second I thought I'd dialed the wrong number. I yanked the phone from my ear and checked the screen — name, number, everything. It was definitely Jack.
It was Jack, all right. But we can't meet today…
"Then what about the—"
"About that. She said it's fine to skip this time."
"What the hell kind of nonsense is that?"
I barked at Jack before I could stop myself. But his voice and tone didn't change one bit.
"She says you don't need to worry about a thing."
That was all he kept repeating. Then the call ended.
I dug up the Hooded Woman's number — the one I hadn't used once since the day she'd first introduced me to Jack as a "gift" — and fired off a frantic message, asking what she meant by skipping this time.
That was the entire reply — no explanation, nothing. And after that, no answer came to any of my follow-up questions.
There was no way I could train in that state of mind, so I stopped where I was and turned back home.
"What? Did you forget something?"
"…No. I'm gonna be in my room for a bit."
"Huh? Uh…"
I went into my room, locked the door, lay down on the bed, and replayed the call with Jack over and over.
He'd said it clearly. It was fine to skip this time.
"So… that means they'll give it next time?"
Not that they couldn't give it anymore, or that I wouldn't need it — just that they were skipping this time. Meaning they'd still give it, just not on the same schedule. Stretching out the interval…
"…Did I build up a tolerance or something, even though it's a pill? Or does that mean I don't need it as much anymore? What the hell is this?"
Nothing else came to mind.
"If I stop taking it, I won't just go back to how I used to be, right? I've been training like a maniac lately…"
In the end, after blaming my simple brain for failing to come up with any other explanation, I left the room a few hours later. And once I was out, joking around with Ho-min over dinner, that same simple brain managed to forget about the pills entirely.
Which is how I'd ended up laughing and watching TV with him — until he had to go and bring it up again, and it all came flooding back. That was how it happened.
"Oh right. You've got six starts left before the All-Star break, yeah?"
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Win all of them and you tie the first-half record for most wins."
"……The first-half record is fifteen wins?"
"Yep. From ten years ago, I think."
"Holy shit. How did anyone even do that?"
"Like twenty starts or something? That's what I heard."
"……"
"What? Not feeling confident?"
Yeah. I wasn't.
They weren't giving me the pills.
Today's game.
Honestly, I'd even thought about postponing it. In the end I couldn't.
I hadn't taken the pill I was supposed to take yesterday… and Song-yi was so busy with her final stretch before leaving the job that we hadn't even been able to spend time together.
Both of my buffs gone, and I was taking the mound like this.
According to Ko Mandeok, who'd caught my warm-up pitches before the game, nothing felt different from usual… but you can never really trust what catchers say. Especially before a game — all they ever do is praise you.
My expression must have been pretty bad, because before first pitch—
"Hey. Your stuff is seriously good today, okay? I'm not just saying that. It's really good."
—Mandeok told me that several times. And his repeated reassurances must have worked, because by the time I climbed the mound and faced the first batter, I was feeling a little better.
Even so, the nerves wouldn't go away.
First pitch. No need for a sign — just throw what Mandeok and I had already talked about before the game.
I set my feet on the rubber, brought my legs together… then opened them again. My hand felt a little slippery, so I slapped the rosin bag a couple of times.
Ready again.
"Hoo…"
A deep breath in.
Windup.
Leg kick.
Arms separating.
Stride.
"Hup!!"
With a shout, I drove every ounce of force I had toward the mitt Mandeok held open dead center.
WHAP!
"…Stri~ke!"
"Uh… what is this."
No pill. No flower scent either… so what the hell was this?