Let's Not Become a World-Class Lunatic
"Hey… buddy…"
I'd just shut down the top of the fifth and walked into the dugout. One hit allowed across five innings. Nine strikeouts out of fifteen outs. All those Ks had inevitably driven up my pitch count, but I'd worked as fast as I could and still sat at seventy.
Even by my own standards, I couldn't have been pitching any better.
And yet the reason I called for Ho-min with a mix of disbelief and pure absurdity was…
"What?"
"Does any of this look normal to you?"
"Pffft. Yeah, it's pretty ridiculous."
This genuinely made no sense. This was just wrong…
"That Japanese pitcher over there has thrown thirty-five pitches total. What the hell is this…"
In the second inning, Greg Mathis had worked a ten-pitch at-bat against their starter. I'd made him throw five more myself. The rest of the lineup had completely shit the bed, but still — nineteen pitches in the second alone…
Then five in the third. Seven in the fourth.
These lunatics were swinging at anything the second they thought they saw the ball. If you're going to swing, at least get on base. Hell, forget reaching base — just foul one off!
Our entire offense so far: two hits and one walk.
The bottom of the fourth had ended with the sixth hitter — right in front of me. And in that same inning, Greg Mathis had managed one more hit.
So let's review.
Second inning: Greg Mathis draws a walk, I hit a home run. Fourth inning: Greg Mathis singles again. Two hits, one walk, two runs — all produced by me and Greg Mathis.
Which meant…
"Fuck… why are only two of us playing baseball…"
For four full innings, it had been a two-man show between me and Greg Mathis.
"No kidding…"
"Are these assholes doing this on purpose? Feels like they're trying to screw me over."
"I doubt they'd go that far."
"If you can't hit, at least stand there and make him throw three pitches… Ha! For fuck's sake."
I wasn't pissed that the other hitters couldn't get hits. If these miserable bastards had half a brain, they'd at least give the pitcher some rest time, right? Especially when that pitcher was also hitting.
You finish an entire half-inning in five minutes and then what am I supposed to do?
"…Just go out there. You're up next."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Fine. I'll go die real quick and come back. At least that way I get a break."
"S-sure, whatever."
I jammed a helmet on my head, grabbed a bat, and trudged toward the box. Took a couple of half-hearted practice swings, then looked at the opposing pitcher waiting on the mound — and the irritation surged all over again.
That guy… looked completely fresh. Anyone watching would think the game had just started. I'd thrown seventy pitches with barely any rest, and this bastard comes out, throws for five minutes, and sits back down…
"Piece of shit."
Come to think of it, nothing had gone my way since joining this team. I'd trusted Gordon Perry and signed on, and the bastard had started picking fights from day one. The fans had been screaming that I was overpriced from the moment I arrived, and today they were out with picket signs, booing me. The team's offense was supposedly the best in the league — and every hitter was shitting the bed.
"Ah, fuck it."
I'm not swinging. I'm standing here and walking back. I'm resting.
That was the only thought in my head as I waited for the first pitch — no plan, no intention, just the dugout and a seat.
"Ah… you piece of…"
Why did I know? When I'd been glaring at him earlier I couldn't read a thing — so why now? Why two pitches in a row?
The ball coming in on my hands was a four-seamer. I felt it with absolute certainty. And completely against my will, my body was already opening up to meet it.
Crack!
I tossed the bat aside without thinking. Ran for first. Wait — they still haven't fielded it? Rounded first and headed for second. Now they grab it and throw…
That's far enough.
"Ah! Right."
The crowd was on its feet, clapping. The roar that came with it snapped me back to reality.
"You idiot…"
Now I can't rest.
Eric stepped into the box. He'd been right there listening to me bitch at Ho-min the whole time. He wouldn't have understood the Korean, but if he had any sense of reading a room…
Tick.
"Goddamn it!"
Eric swung at the first pitch and got a piece of it — a weak dribbler rolling toward third. The third baseman charged, scooped, and fired to first.
"Out."
But the runner advanced to third. That runner was me.
"Augh… I'm exhausted."
Confirmed: Eric had zero situational awareness.
"Ah… whatever."
While waiting for the next batter, I crouched on the base and took a short breather.
And then…
"Ohh…"
The next hitter stepped in, said something to the umpire, stepped back out, and switched bats. No idea why — whether he actually needed a different bat or was stalling on purpose — but either way, it bought me a little more time.
Then the first pitch.
"Ball."
He took it! Holy shit, one of our hitters actually took a pitch. And it wasn't even Greg Mathis!! Why did that feel so moving?
Second pitch.
"Strike."
A borderline strike just nicking the zone. The batter watched that one too. Two pitches taken. From this day forward, I was going to treat this guy well.
Third pitch. A forkball diving low. The batter's bat came around. The ball glanced off the bat and skipped past the catcher—
"That wasn't a foul?"
Apparently it hadn't made contact. The batter was waving me home like a maniac. I took off at the same time the pitcher charged the plate. The catcher scrambled after the ball, scooped it, and spun to throw to the pitcher covering.
The batter's arm was windmilling wildly — telling me to slide…
"Goddamn it!! Pitchers don't slide!!"
Shhhhk.
"Safe! Safe!"
The batter looked happier about the safe call than I did. And right on cue came the inevitable slap on the ass.
I walked into the dugout and everyone stood up to greet me—
My blood boiled.
"Hey. Don't. I mean it. Seriously, don't."
Ho-min was desperately holding me back. The bastard had seen my hand go up toward my helmet and predicted the next move. I'd been about to throw it.
"Fine. Fine, I got it."
"Good. Let's not become a world-class lunatic. Domestic-level crazy is plenty."
"……"
Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.
Fuck… these ass-fetish bastards.
On the screen, they were replaying the player who'd just ripped a double.
"He's pissed."
"He looks furious."
"The swearing never stops, does it?"
"Must be really worn out."
The four men gathered at Ko Mandeok's place could tell just from the face and the shape of the mouth. The guy on screen was boiling over.
"Even I think it's a bit much. Do those guys not know what a cut is?"
"Right?"
"But hyung… he almost looks like he's hitting better because of it."
"That last pitch looked completely intentional. The second it left the hand he opened up and yanked it."
"…The kid's always been able to guess-hit. That's probably all it is."
The screen cut back to the runner who'd gone all the way to third on a ground ball.
"Whoa… that guy is properly heated."
"At least he didn't sit on him completely like he does back home."
Then the play at the plate. Safe. Then the walk back into the dugout.
"He's gonna throw it! He's gonna throw it!"
"Huh? Huh? Huh?"
"Looks like Ho-min hyung stopped him?"
"Ah… damn. So close."
All four faces filled with the pure disappointment of a missed highlight.
Time passed. Top of the seventh.
"Our commentator doesn't know him that well. That kid gets greedy when he wants to. But yeah — not today."
"Why not?"
"Look at his face. He looks like he'd rather die than throw another pitch."
"Ah…"
Everyone nodded at Ko Mandeok's assessment. The man on TV had his brow furrowed so hard it was impossible to disagree.
Eric was pounding his mitt with his fist like he was having the time of his life. Being the primary catcher for the first time and getting through the game cleanly clearly meant a lot to him.
"Yeah. As long as you're happy, that's enough."
Thanks to Ho-min desperately running interference, I hadn't said a single word to the rest of the team today. Hadn't been allowed to. I'd wanted to ask if someone was paying them to swing at the first pitch.
Before I took the mound this inning, a coach had quietly let me know — if I wanted, I could go the distance.
So I'd told him.
"No!!!"
Done. Stop torturing me.
I got the first out, then gave up a single. Trying to finish fast, I'd just pumped it into the zone and got tagged. Next batter got a changeup and bounced into a shortstop grounder.
"Out."
"Out."
Double play. End of the top of the seventh.
My work for the day was done.
Top of the eighth.
"……Should I have just kept throwing?"
The bullpen arm who took my spot immediately served up a two-run shot. Score: 3–2. The next reliever, thankfully, shut it down without further damage.
Top of the ninth.
"……Didn't you say the closer was reliable?"
"……"
Two outs, runners on second and third.
Crack!
"……"
From way out in the distance came the sound I'd been waiting for.
"Out!"
"Haaah~ fuck. Thought that was gone."
Somehow, I still got the win.
Of course the postgame interview was mine. First MLB start, winning pitcher, two RBIs including a homer, two runs scored as a hitter. Honestly, who else was there?
The interview itself was nothing special. Pretty much like Korea. They asked the usual questions, Ho-min listened and relayed them, I gave the usual answers, and he relayed those back.
Then, near the end, one last question.
"They're asking how you get along with your teammates."
"How do I get along? Today I was seriously gonna kill every last—"
"Ah… @#%^@$%^@%^@4^@$%$&#%"
Ho-min cut me off mid-sentence and rattled something off on his own. From what I could catch, it was something about my teammates being a big help and so on and so forth…
This bastard… he'd jumped the gun because he thought I was about to go off the rails.
"They're asking why Gordon Perry assigned Eric as your personal catcher instead of someone else… Hey. Don't you dare make something up."
For the first time in my life, I felt killing intent coming off Ho-min. He really, truly did not want me becoming a world-class lunatic.
"……You. You can catch a knuckleball."
"Perfect."
Looking satisfied, he calmly relayed my answer with a leisurely expression.
Fuck… I was a little scared there for a second…