Can't Even Catch That
"How was it?"
Rafael Anderson came over as Lee Gijun returned to the dugout, about to take the field on defense.
"Tough..."
"That bad?"
Rafael's eyes went round at the uncharacteristic answer. He'd asked the same kind of question a few times before, and every time Lee Gijun had come back with something like, I could hit it if I saw it once more.
Even that much was rare. Everyone else usually shrugged it off as nothing special.
So hearing "tough" out of Lee Gijun genuinely startled Rafael Anderson—and pulled a little more of his attention toward the opposing pitcher who'd just left the mound.
"Still, the contact wasn't bad, was it?"
"If I'd squared it up, it would've gone out. He's gotten trickier than I remembered."
Lee Gijun thought back to the pitch that had climbed harder and later than expected. He'd tried to wrench the barrel around at the last instant, but clean contact had been impossible. If the ball had been a little faster, pure reflex might have gotten him there—but the velocity hadn't been that high.
"Hmm... Too bad. Would've been fun if he'd pitched yesterday."
"You faced him yesterday, didn't you? Ended up walking him, right?"
Rafael Anderson scowled like he'd taken one flush on the chin. Leaving him behind, Lee Gijun headed out of the dugout.
I had no role as a hitter in today's game.
Part of me wanted to step into the box, but from the old man's—the manager's—point of view, that was out of the question. Even if I swore my stamina was fine and he believed me, he still had to care about how it looked from the outside.
Apparently my start alone had already drawn a fair amount of heat. If he put me in the lineup on top of that, the noise would get ugly fast.
And if I got hurt after that... ugh. Just thinking about it was nightmare fuel.
This whole mess was my own greed, so I honestly felt a little guilty. Which meant I should rest easy during our at-bats, the way I'd been told. I'd already agreed to every condition they'd set. Accepting that I was only pitching was only natural. If I ended up doing any interviews, I planned to pile on the gratitude. That should quiet things down a bit.
Our lineup had been pretty quiet yesterday, bottled up by the opposing starter. But today Eun-hyung came through with a timely hit and put us on the board first.
Scoring in the first inning of my start... I almost teared up.
Taking the mound with a one-run lead felt a lot more comfortable. The top of the second opened with their cleanup hitter, but I felt zero pressure. Was that because I'd already gotten Lee Gijun out?
As the second began and I took the first sign, I found myself tilting my head again. And a moment later—again. And again.
"...What are you thinking?"
I'd thrown three knuckleballs in the second inning alone. Of those, Gordon Perry cleanly caught exactly one. One he'd barely smothered with the mitt; the other had skipped clean past him to the backstop.
Of course, he'd only called for them in counts where a passed ball wouldn't hurt, so it wasn't a real problem. A ball that got past him didn't turn a strike into a ball, either.
What puzzled me was why Gordon Perry kept calling for knuckleballs he couldn't even catch properly...
He's not seriously trying to practice catching knuckleballs mid-game.
He wasn't that scatterbrained. And yet he kept flashing the knuckleball sign—even knowing he could get hurt.
Is this really about my stamina?
If that was it, I really wanted to stop him. Throwing knuckleballs didn't magically restore my energy... It just felt like he was burning his own stamina for my sake.
Then—after recording the second out, Gordon Perry called for another knuckleball, and I almost shook my head before catching myself.
Fine. Throw what he wants.
Crack.
A perfectly placed single snuck through the gap between first and second. It felt like a good pitch, but when they hit it like that, there was nothing you could do.
So what now?
First baserunner of the game. I was genuinely curious what kind of lead Gordon Perry would call here.
"Oh...?"
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
"Batter out!"
One hundred miles an hour. One-oh-two. One-oh-three.
Three consecutive four-seam fastballs. Three swinging strikes.
So in a jam, we go to the four-seamer?
This was frustrating. I could throw a hundred four-seamers if I wanted... I couldn't say anything, and even if I did, I had no way to prove it right now. That was the real problem...
He'd said he wanted me to go deep today. At least seven innings on the mound. Then the closer, still fresh because the team kept losing, would handle the last two. That seemed to be the calculation.
So I had to put up with this nonsense through the seventh?
Maybe I need to talk to him...
A breaking-ball-heavy mix was fine. But a game full of knuckleballs he couldn't even catch? That was just wrong. One inning of this was one thing, but if we kept it up through the seventh, Gordon Perry would be the one who collapsed first.
I'd agreed to follow his lead, but this was genuinely not okay.
"Hey."
At my call, Gordon Perry turned with his usual stone-faced expression.
"Why do you keep calling for knuckleballs? Is this about my stamina?"
"...I thought you said you'd follow my lead completely today."
"I did. And I have been. But when you keep asking me to throw pitches you can't even catch, I've got to say something, right?"
Did I come on too strong?
Gordon Perry's face twisted sharply. I hadn't meant to piss him off... It just came out that way.
"I'm not criticizing you. It seems like you're doing this for me... I don't know if you'll believe me, but I'm no different from usual. Honestly, if I pitch the way I normally do, I can go all nine."
"......"
He clearly didn't buy it.
I'd heard something like this from Ko Mandeok before. Pitchers are full of nothing but lies. So he always pretended to listen and made his own judgment.
But this guy didn't even pretend to listen?
"Haa... So you're going to keep doing this?"
"I'll think about it."
"Think about what—"
Gordon Perry was already gone. He had to bat.
"Damn it..."
I waited, figuring I'd talk to him again when he came back from his at-bat.
Crack.
A single put him on first. A productive out moved him to second. The next batter made an out, leaving him stranded there.
Inning over.
"Son of a..."
He never came back.
Damn. If I'd known this would happen, maybe I should've said something to the old man—the manager. I hadn't, because it seemed like he and Gordon Perry had already talked it over.
In the end, I headed back to the mound with nothing resolved.
I thought for a moment. I bounced the rosin bag in my palm, thinking, and came to a decision.
A few warm-up pitches before the batter stepped in. I held out my glove and signaled to Gordon Perry that I was throwing four-seamers.
Pop!
Gordon Perry caught the ball and froze right there in that position.
I'd thrown a four-seamer at full power during warm-ups. That frozen reaction was his response. Surprised? Or just baffled? Maybe angry.
From Gordon Perry's perspective, he might think I was breaking our agreement. I'd said I'd follow his lead, and now I was pushing my own opinion like this.
Right now, I was talking to Gordon Perry.
I'm fine. Stamina's full. So drop the useless knuckleballs and let's do this properly.
I was saying it with the ball. And Gordon Perry wasn't the type to miss the message.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
I kept firing four-seamers at full power, one after another. It was the kind of insane warm-up you never saw, and Gordon Perry just quietly took them.
Alright. Warm-ups are done. Your move. You going to keep hiding behind the stamina excuse, or are you going to trust me? Your choice.
The batter stepped in. And for the first time all game, Gordon Perry hesitated for a beat.
But then his hand slipped between his thighs—
Pop!
A 101-mph four-seam fastball bored in on the batter's hands.
I retired the side in order in the top of the third.
No more knuckleballs he couldn't catch.
Five four-seam fastballs, two each of two-seamers, sliders, and changeups, and one curve. Once he was back to a normal lead, Gordon Perry was aggressively sharp. Of the twelve pitches I threw, only two missed the zone.
A faster tempo than before. A pitch mix that crushed hitters clean and hard. The way he kept chirping something the whole time, I half wondered if he was shaking their mental game too.
And the moment the inning ended, he went straight into the dugout to the manager. Watching the two of them with serious faces, I quietly parked myself in a corner.
Times like this, the best move was to leave them to it. If I butted in with my own opinion and the conversation dragged on, it'd just wear me out.
A little later.
"We'll do it your way."
"Good."
I said it like it was obvious, but the fist hidden behind my back clenched tight.
"But the second we decide you're overdoing it, you're coming out."
"Anytime."
Well... wasn't that obvious? If a pitcher was gassed and limping, you pulled him.
"And he said he'll skip one of your starts."
"Huh?"
"Only if we decide there's a problem with your stamina."
"Then there's no issue."
I mean, resting was fine too...
"And if that happens, you won't be hitting for a while either."
"Come on, you don't have to go that far..."
"Still want to do it?"
What is this?
So let me get this straight—they'd let me pitch the way I normally did, but the moment I looked tired, they'd sit me for sure? Were they trying that hard to talk me out of it?
But both the manager and Gordon Perry seemed to be misunderstanding something.
I'd wanted to start today because I wanted a crack at Lee Gijun—not because I was some selfless team guy like the articles said. If it wasn't today's game, I'd have to wait a long time, so I just grabbed the chance when it came.
It was early in the season—what team crisis? We could lose another game. We could even get swept. And it wasn't like I was desperate to pitch every start... Skip a turn in the rotation? No big deal.
Hitting... sure, I'd rather hit, but if they told me to rest, I could rest. My contract had some hitter options, but missing a few at-bats wasn't going to kill me. I wasn't obsessed with personal stats either... Those things came along if you just kept playing.
In other words, they were attaching conditions based on a misunderstanding of me—conditions that didn't actually bother me at all.
"Deal!"
No reason to hesitate.