Sometimes Ho-min Is Right, Too

"Leave it for me."

I had just stepped out of the on-deck circle and was heading for the empty batter's box when Jeong Jong-seong's voice came from behind me.

Leave it, huh…

"You mean don't hit a home run?"

"Yes."

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"But can I even hit one? Something hittable has to come in first."

"Bases loaded, nobody out. Won't he throw at least one decent pitch?"

This kid still didn't know Na Hong-gi at all.

Na Hong-gi didn't simply refuse to throw good pitches.

"That guy's control is a knuckleball."

"What?"

"Nobody knows where the ball's going."

"……"

His face said there was no way it could be that bad.

Why didn't he get it? He'd been a pro long enough that he should have started noticing these things by now.

I took a couple of practice swings in front of the box, then glanced up at the scoreboard. "Home Runs: 17" was lit up clear as day.

What place was that again? Seventh in the league home-run race?

Second on our team.

Shane led us with twenty-one. I was next. Below me came the captain, Go Young-soo, Park Jeonghun, and the rest.

Honestly it was a little disappointing, but there was nothing I could do about it.

For one thing I simply didn't get as many at-bats as the pure hitters… and lately they hadn't been giving me much to hit either.

Still, seventeen home runs was seventeen home runs, and the completely rebuilt swing I'd ground out in the off-season had clearly played its part.

Compared to last year the swing was cleaner and shorter, yet for some reason the ball was jumping off the bat even better.

The hitting coach kept talking about impact this and impact that…

I was never much for theory…

During the All-Star break one of the second-half preview shows had spent a segment analyzing my hitting.

One of the expert commentators called me a clutch hitter.

What was the line… especially dangerous with runners on? The more baserunners there were, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more I seemed to rise to the moment. Something like that.

Watching it, I'd nodded along.

Even I had to admit that in scoring situations the ball just seemed to find the barrel more often.

There had been more than a few times when I mishit one, thought damn, and then watched it sneak through a lucky gap anyway.

Riding that confidence, I stepped into the box feeling good…

"Time."

"Time!"

The pitcher and catcher were exchanging signs like they had all day.

Na Hong-gi must have shaken his head at least four times…

Did he even have four pitches? It felt like it. Most days he just threw four-seamers until the cows came home.

The endless stalling by the opposing battery had brought the game to a halt; it only resumed once I stepped back into the box.

And then the head-shaking started all over again.

Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

"Time."

"Time!"

"……"

After calling time I stood in the box and just stared at catcher Lee Gi-ho.

The look basically said What the hell are you two doing? and he seemed to catch the meaning.

"Just a second."

"Make it quick."

"Yes."

He asked the umpire for a moment and sprinted out to the mound.

Out there the opposing battery covered their mouths with their gloves and talked, and Na Hong-gi's expression looked anything but calm.

I watched without much thought, then suddenly a nasty feeling crawled up my spine.

Fuck… no way, right?

Come to think of it, the last time I'd been ejected it had also been the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first inning.

One out, bases loaded that time, wasn't it?

The Dragons and I had never gotten along, but lately things had been relatively quiet.

And the one real difference between that ejection and now was the catcher's personality…

Lee Gi-ho was a pretty decent guy. From the years we'd been teammates I knew he wasn't the type to start drilling people with baseballs for no reason in the first inning.

He also knew that if I lost it I'd grab a bat and charge the mound.

So Na Hong-gi? Absolutely not. The man could barely hang on to a starting job in the first team; he wasn't about to go looking for trouble.

Even if someone ordered him to, he wouldn't do it.

So that left nobody…

And unlike that other game, the pitcher wasn't some kid either.

My eyes drifted over to the Dragons' dugout. An old man sat there with a deeply sour look on his face.

"……Fuck."

That old bastard was more than capable of manufacturing an incident.

Come to think of it, something similar had happened last year when that same old man was managing the national team.

The pitcher that time had been Ki Chan-su, right?

"Ah… if I get tossed again the suspension's going to be pretty heavy…"

"What?"

Ah… I'd meant to keep that inside and it had slipped out of my mouth.

"Nothing, sir."

"……"

Fortunately the home-plate umpire let it go without comment.

A moment later Lee Gi-ho returned to his spot.

I stared at him for a beat, then couldn't hold it in.

"Sunbae. I won't hold back."

"Huh? What are you—"

"I still remember the national team."

Only then did he understand what I was talking about.

"It's not like that, you idiot. Had me wondering what the hell you were on about."

"Then that's a relief."

The way he flinched told me I'd probably been overthinking it.

And finally! Na Hong-gi set himself.

No head shake this time—straight into the set position and the windup.

I raised the bat beside my ear and waited for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the pitch that was finally coming.

And then…

"Ball."

"……"

A pitch that missed the zone by about ten balls' worth.

Any farther and the catcher wouldn't have been able to glove it; the thing was headed for the next zip code.

If he'd aimed for that, I had to give him credit.

"Ball."

Another one to the exact same spot.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Na Hong-gi suddenly had command? On pitches that far off the plate?

"Ball."

"Boooooooo~"

Three consecutive balls way outside, and the boos started raining down from the stands.

Bases loaded, nobody out, and pitches that were obviously intentional walks—yeah, the fans had every right.

What I couldn't figure out was why, if they were going to do this, they didn't just issue the automatic intentional walk instead of throwing these.

I was already planning to take the fourth one and stroll down to first.

"Stri~ke!"

A fastball that painted the outside corner with surgical precision.

"……"

What the hell was that?

I hadn't been looking to swing at anything that actually found the zone, so all I could do was stand there and watch it go by.

Three balls, one strike.

My head was spinning.

A sudden strike after three balls—I couldn't begin to guess what this battery was thinking.

Had all three balls just been pure wildness? Had they been trying to nibble and simply lost the strike zone completely?

But they'd been too far outside for that.

The fourth-pitch strike had clearly been a mistake. Even Na Hong-gi had looked startled when it left his hand.

So what was coming next?

Nibble again? Or challenge me?

Na Hong-gi was hard to read. You couldn't tell what he was thinking just from the pitches that came in.

And I wasn't the only one. The fact that he still racked up ten wins every season with that kind of control said plenty.

For Na Hong-gi, control itself might be the ultimate weapon…

The opposing battery finished their signs. All that was left was to wait and see where the ball would go.

I decided that if it came anywhere near the zone I was swinging.

Timing wouldn't be an issue—Na Hong-gi was a pure fastball guy, so I'd just sit on the heater.

The fifth pitch arrived.

"……"

A swing… and a miss?

"Changeup?"

You've got to be kidding me.

I'd sat on the fastball, seen it coming in near the zone, and committed.

The problem was the timing was completely off.

A changeup that dropped just a hair from the heart of the plate had made a complete fool of me.

A deep sigh drifted up from behind me.

Whether it was relief or pure frustration, I couldn't tell.

But the fact that they'd thrown it meant they were ready to compete.

Besides the fastball, Na Hong-gi's repertoire was sinker, changeup, slider… right?

What's he going to throw for the putaway…

Then, out of nowhere, something Ho-min had said about a month before the All-Star break while we were watching one of Na Hong-gi's starts floated back into my head.

"Does that old man only throw fastball-type pitches for every single offering?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That last one wasn't a cutter?"

"Huh? Was it?"

"He'd been throwing four-seamers and sinkers all day, but that one looked like a cutter to me."

"…Really?"

"Guy's obsessed with velocity…"

Right. That had happened.

He'd thrown a couple of cutters sitting in the mid-140s that day.

Na Hong-gi's slider break was so tiny that most people just called it a slider. Ho-min and I had both seen a cutter.

The score was already 2–0 in the bottom of the first. Bases loaded, nobody out. Even if I failed here the chance would still be alive.

So I decided to go for it.

Sit on the cutter.

Huh? Inside?

The pitch left Na Hong-gi's fingertips.

Instead of the outside corner he'd been living on all day, the ball came screaming toward the heart of the plate.

I opened my front foot and prepared to meet whatever came inside.

If it broke in front of me now, it would catch the bat I'd already started.

Crack.

"Huh?"

A heavy sensation traveled down from the upper half of the barrel.

I'd caught it out near the end of the bat.

I flung the bat aside and took off for first. The first baseman leaped, and I saw the ball just clear his glove.

"Waaaaaaaaah!!!!"

"Nice one, Hajin!"

The first-base coach held out a fist as I arrived.

I bumped it roughly and looked back at the mound, where Na Hong-gi stood with his head hanging.

That crazy bastard… full count, bases loaded, and he'd thrown a four-seamer almost down the middle.

My cutter prediction had been completely wrong, sure—but a four-seamer right down the pipe…

Then my eyes drifted toward home plate, where Lee Gi-ho was staring at the sky and heaving one long sigh after another.

"Ah…"

I got it. The control…

What the hell had I been thinking?

Against a guy whose command was knuckleball-level, I'd sat there waiting for a razor-sharp cutter on the inner half.

Ho-min was always ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠telling me: stop trying to analyze people yourself and just hit whatever your gut says. Like an animal.

Sometimes Ho-min was right. This was one of those times.

"I got ridiculously lucky…"

If that pitch had missed the middle just a little the other way instead of drifting slightly in, I would have swung clean through it.

Lucky was the only word for it…

Crack!

"……What the hell are they talking about?"

People seemed to be under a massive misunderstanding.