Conditions for Taking the Mound
Two days of outright brilliance.
In our series against the Angels, Lee Gijun had been flying. Those home runs he casually launched whenever the team needed them most looked no different from the ones I used to watch back in Korea.
A two-game losing streak.
Honestly, those happen anytime, and I don't lose much sleep over them. The second game was one we could have won, so it stung a little, but that was all. Over a long season, how many walk-off losses do you really take?
The real problem was how many pitchers we'd burned through across those two days. It might have been cleaner if we'd just lost outright. Instead, on day one we chased hard the whole way. On day two we were winning when rain forced a starter change, the game turned into a slugfest, and once again the bullpen got emptied.
And today—game three. Why would today be any different? Today's starter was our fifth starter, which meant he wasn't built to go deep. Sure, every now and then a guy feels so good he suddenly throws a complete game… but you can't hang an entire plan on a long shot like that.
This four-game set was turning into a real grind.
"Haa…"
It wasn't that I was looking down on our starter. Who was I to look down on anyone? Only a few years ago plenty of our own fans still didn't even know my name. If I hadn't met that hooded woman—something that still only made sense as a miracle—I might still be stuck as that same nobody.
But watching him throw in the bullpen, his stuff just didn't look sharp, and a sigh of pity slipped out before I could stop it. Some pitchers flip a switch the moment the game starts… still, against Angels hitters riding a full head of steam, I wasn't sure.
Honestly, my hands were itching. If it were up to me I'd walk right up and say I wanted the ball today.
Only two days of rest since my last start? One good night and the legs come back. Early season or not, the fatigue from starts seemed to be clearing faster than usual. And I wanted another crack at that flying Lee Gijun. I never expected to get this greedy, but the pure electricity of striking him out kept replaying in my head.
"No chance they'll let me."
They wouldn't green-light it. The criticism alone would be brutal. If it were a must-win or some massive game, maybe—but the season was barely two weeks old. Even after two losses our name still sat alone at the top of the division. No real urgency.
"Ugh…"
I cleanly let the idea go and prepared hard for today's game—loosened everything up, checked the swing one more time. I was just waiting for first pitch when the clubhouse suddenly got noisy.
And the words floating around:
"Back? Is it his back? How bad? Just a few days' rest, right?"
Why the chaos… I was still wondering if someone had gotten hurt when Eric, who should have been in the bullpen, came trudging over.
"Rondo's not feeling right."
Ah…
The second Eric said it, the thought hit me clean: Is the sky actually pushing me right now?
Back when I wanted to quit baseball, the hooded woman had appeared out of nowhere. Ever since, my life had kept sliding into good situations like the universe itself was telling me to just play ball. I get a little greedy about facing that hitter again after so long, and boom—the next starter's body suddenly acts up?
You want it? Then go take it. It felt exactly like someone shoving me from behind.
"Where's the manager?"
I left Eric and went looking for Grandfather Manager right away. Kirk Scurby was deep in conversation with the pitching coach, both of them wearing the same grim face. Didn't need to hear a word—pitcher usage, obviously. Already short-staffed from burning arms, and now the most reliable first starter drops out. Of course they looked miserable.
"Manager."
He turned late, still locked on the conversation—then his expression twisted hard the moment he saw me. This old man… he already knew why I'd come, didn't he?
"I'll take the ball tomorrow."
"Hoo… You already know what my answer is."
"I can pitch. And the situation's already ugly, isn't it?"
I said it almost like a challenge. Ho-min would have softened the edges in translation, but the manager would have felt the force in my tone—that I was pushing hard. And the pitching coach standing silent beside him, eyes twitching while he listened? That man was tempted. I could see it.
From what I'd heard, Rondo's issue wasn't serious—just simple muscle soreness. Still enough that he had to skip a turn. Arms were already thin, and one more bad day could mean a sweep. In that mess, the next starter was volunteering to take the mound on short rest. And not just any starter—the guy who'd thrown three straight scoreless outings since Opening Day. How could they not get greedy?
Grandfather Manager wanted to shut it down cold, but the pitching coach's face said it might actually fly. Better to stop arguing and leave it with him.
"I'm only saying this because I really can do it. I'd like the two of you to talk it over."
I gave a full Korean bow—not a casual nod, but a deep, deliberate one, as polite as I could make it. When I straightened I caught Grandfather Manager's eyes gone wide. He must have felt it: this kid is dead serious.
A little more time passed. The game started. Bottom of the second, one out, I stepped into the box. I fouled off a few, hung in, and worked a walk. The second my foot hit first base the dugout moved.
Pinch runner.
"Shit… it worked."
The runner came in for me.
"No, Commissioner. Hajin's only out there today because he wants another crack at striking out Lee Gijun."
"Heh. He really said that on the phone yesterday?"
"I'm telling you. After watching the guy mash, he said he wanted to go at him one more time."
Ko Mandeok retold yesterday's call and finally pulled Hyeon-bin's eyes away from the monitor.
"Something looks different today. Have you spotted it?"
"Oh? What is it?"
"The starting catcher. It's not Eric Danson, Kang's usual battery mate."
"You're right—Gordon Perry is wearing the mask today."
"Exactly. No injury involved, they say. For whatever reason, Gordon Perry is catching Kang Hajin this afternoon."
"I heard the manager put conditions on it."
"What kind? The catcher?"
"Yeah. If you really want to start, you do it with Gordon Perry this time."
"Why?"
"How should I know? There's got to be a reason."
"Kang looks bright out there. His whole body language is loose and confident. Makes you proud just watching."
"Isn't he tired?"
"Have you ever seen that guy have a stamina problem?"
"…No."
"Kid's a freak. Watch—he'll open the game by planting a hundred-mile fastball right away."
Kang Hajin, volunteering to pull the team out of crisis—first pitch! 102 miles! A 102-mph four-seamer digs into the hitter's hands!
"……See? Told you."
Today's start came with a whole list of conditions. Since I was the one who wanted the ball, the message was basically: swallow these or stay on the bench.
First condition: Gordon Perry starts behind the plate.
"Fine by me."
I figured they just wanted his bat in the lineup—stack the offense for a sure win. That was all I thought at first.
Second: the second Gordon Perry felt it wasn't working, I came out of the game without a word of argument.
That one finally made Grandfather Manager's real reason click. Eric would have let me talk him into staying even if he disagreed. Gordon wouldn't.
Third: follow Gordon Perry's game-calling completely.
That one I didn't get. Following the catcher's lead was normal—I already did that. And Gordon wasn't some random guy; he was widely respected for how he ran a game. No problem there. But the word "completely" stuck. Basically: don't shake him off. Like I was just a pitching machine.
"If you can't accept it, you don't start."
Whatever showed on my face, Grandfather Manager cut it off clean. I was beaten. No winning this one.
"Understood."
Even then I still didn't know why he had insisted I follow Gordon Perry's lead without question.