He Said I Looked Cool, Hehe
Top of the fourth. My second matchup with Lee Gijun had arrived.
Before stepping into the box, he took a few smooth, whistling practice swings—then suddenly planted the bat upright and thrust it forward, just like that famous Japanese hitter from years back.
Gordon Perry glanced at the pose, then looked away. Clearly he thought it was nothing.
So why did it feel like that bat was pointed straight at me?
Pointing a bat at a pitcher outright is basically picking a fight, so maybe this was his quieter way of doing the same. The thought hit me out of nowhere.
"That senior of mine…"
If a senior is going to throw down a challenge, a junior's job is to take it. Gordon Perry would still call the pitches, of course—but I was going to throw them a little more carefully, a little harder. That was the idea.
Crack!
"Foul."
Before this inning, I'd had a quick word with Gordon Perry. I was worried he might not know Lee Gijun had a real strength against high fastballs.
Turns out he knew perfectly well.
So why send that sign? I asked.
"Still plenty of life on the ball. Figured we could beat him with it."
Really? Even the pitch I'd taken something off of had gotten squared up. If I'd left one in the zone, wouldn't it have gone over?
Anyway, we wrapped it up agreeing to be more careful. Just because he likes high heat doesn't mean you can live exclusively down in the zone—you've got to mix it properly.
First pitch: a splitter that dropped out of the zone.
A splitter sign I almost never got, because of the stamina concern. Lee Gijun clearly hadn't been expecting it either; he barely nicked it foul.
The fact that it was a foul instead of a clean whiff, though…
"Ball."
Splitter again. This time the bat came out and stopped just in time—called a ball.
Gordon Perry immediately checked with the third-base umpire, but both arms spread wide. No overturn.
Shame. A swing call there and the rest of the at-bat would have been a lot easier.
Gordon Perry went to a two-seamer for the third pitch—one that would run hard in on the hands.
Tick.
"Foul."
Another slightly late swing, a soft roller down the third-base line for a foul.
I'd been here before. Back in Korea, the next time I faced him after he'd taken me deep.
Two strikes with the inside two-seamer, and then—
Back then I probably threw a splitter to the same spot.
Did Lee Gijun even remember that?
For me that strikeout had been huge; I still carried it. Did he?
If he did… this pitch would end him.
And Gordon Perry sent exactly the right sign.
The arm rose slowly over my head. A windup that looked just a shade deliberate. Then the smooth delivery.
My twisted body uncoiled forward, and that force whipped the arm through from behind.
And—bang!
The ball drove toward the low inside corner.
It arrived in Gordon Perry's waiting mitt without a single obstacle in its path.
Pop!
"Batter out!"
Lee Gijun stared at me with a look of pure disbelief.
He hadn't even thought about offering at it.
He glanced back and forth between me and the scoreboard behind me, then let out a short laugh and headed for the dugout.
Ninety-three miles an hour. The velocity on the four-seamer I'd just thrown.
Gordon Perry chewed me out.
The reason: that last four-seamer, the one I'd taken velocity off of.
I'd wanted Lee Gijun to mistake it for a splitter.
I'd heard somewhere that some hitters judge pitch type by the velocity they feel. So I figured—someone at Lee Gijun's level might do exactly that.
If that was true, dialing the four-seamer down from my usual velocity might make him read it as a splitter.
And it worked.
Whether he truly thought it was a splitter or had some other reason not to swing, I couldn't say. But the ball went where I wanted and I got the strikeout.
Gordon Perry, who had no idea what I was doing, nearly had a heart attack. He was dead serious about it: if you're going to try something like that, tell me first.
Technically I hadn't broken any promise. He called for a four-seamer, I threw a four-seamer. He wanted it low and inside, I put it right there. I just took a little off.
I mumbled something agreeable and left it at that.
The look on Gordon Perry's face as he sighed and turned away was pure what the hell is wrong with this kid?
Time to actually listen. That old man was going to give himself an ulcer.
In the fifth I gave up another hit.
Had I gotten too comfortable with everyone who wasn't Lee Gijun?
The five-hole hitter absolutely crushed one—a double that smashed off the wall.
I settled down after that and got out of the inning with the runner stranded at third. No runs.
While I kept them scoreless through five, our offense scratched across two more. Score: 3–0.
Then the sixth.
Crack!
"……"
I didn't even turn around. Didn't need to.
Leading off, the nine-hole hitter. The changeup slipped just a little out of my hand and floated in almost straight—slow, barely any break. Might as well have said "hit me." He did. Gone.
I'd gotten too casual. Bottom of the order, my stuff still decent today—I'd been thinking about getting through them quick, and my focus had slipped a notch.
I looked at Gordon Perry with his mask off, half-expecting him to come out to the mound.
If it had been Ko Mandeok, he would have jogged out, spouted some nonsense, and headed back—probably with a "don't worry about the homer" on the way.
Gordon Perry just adjusted the defense for the next hitter, then walked straight back to his spot like nothing had happened.
"At least he doesn't make a production out of it. I'll take that."
Tick.
"Out."
Tick.
"Out."
I retired the next two hitters on four pitches total.
Maybe they were hoping I'd still be rattled after the homer—they came out swinging aggressively. Fine by me. Saved me pitches.
Then the third matchup with Lee Gijun.
He'd seen enough of me by now.
An already terrifying hitter who now had a decent read on my style. How do you attack that?
Gordon Perry seemed to think a straight challenge was still worth a shot.
First pitch: four-seamer on the outer edge.
Pop!
"Strike."
Lee Gijun took it, gave a small nod, and reset his feet.
Just taking the first pitch? Or waiting for something specific?
"Ball."
A sharp-breaking slider. No reaction at all.
He was definitely waiting for something.
"Strike."
Another four-seamer, almost the same location as the first, drew the second strike call.
Three pitches, zero swings.
"What the hell is he…"
I was baffled. Gordon Perry was not. The second he flipped the ball back, the next sign was already coming.
Then he punched his mitt with a solid thwack and set up—like he was saying, stop thinking and throw it here.
Tick.
"Foul."
A changeup that broke just off the third-pitch location finally got a bat on it—first swing of the at-bat. Fouled off the end, early, down the third-base line.
He tossed me the ball from the umpire and the next sign came immediately.
I had to double-check. That sign made me doubt my eyes.
It was correct.
Gordon Perry just held out the mitt in silence, as if to say don't worry about it.
I re-gripped hard inside the glove. My throwing hand clenched on its own.
Even through the windup, the thought wouldn't leave: this is insane.
Which was exactly why I wanted to throw it. I needed to know what would happen.
Worst case it was one run, and we were up by two—the pressure wasn't crushing.
My front foot landed in its usual spot. I wrung every ounce of force out of my body and fired it at the mitt.
The ball was gone. All that was left was the result.
It left my hand and arrived in the mitt in an instant.
And, surprisingly, Lee Gijun's bat only twitched. It never came through.
POP!!
"Batter~ out!!"
Did my full-effort pitch do something to the umpire too? That out call was unusually cheerful.
Lee Gijun stood there blankly, staring at Gordon Perry's mitt, then at me—the face of a man who could not believe what had just been thrown at him.
Gordon Perry and I didn't look back. We headed straight for the dugout.
I deliberately kept my eyes forward the whole way. Later I heard Lee Gijun had stayed in the box a little longer.
Couldn't blame him. Who expects a pitcher to throw a four-seamer right down the middle—especially in a count that favored the pitcher?
Of course, it was a 105-mile-an-hour four-seamer. My absolute best. When you're throwing that hard, you can afford to put one down the pipe.
And with that, the day's ledger against Lee Gijun read 0-for-3. Complete victory.
How do you even describe this feeling? The one that makes your shoulders want to lift on their own…
"Korea's going to be loud tonight."
Ho-min, muttering to himself.
Yeah. Real loud. Heh.
Bottom of the sixth, our hitters pushed across two more. A slightly nervous two-run game became a comfortable four-run lead in a blink.
Maybe because the margin finally felt safe—
"This is your last inning."
The old man himself, the manager, came over to confirm I'd go through the seventh.
"Understood."
"…You did well."
I hadn't even thrown the seventh yet…
"Thank you."
Our manager looked like he was already certain I'd shut them down in the seventh too.
They were counting on me. Time to deliver.
"Batter out!"
Just as expected, I retired the side in order in the seventh and ended my day.
Coming off the mound after the seventh, I tipped my cap toward the stands that had been clapping for me all game—a little wave that said, that's all from me, thanks for the support.
Whether they understood or not, the whole section rose again and gave me another round of applause, plus a roar that hit like a wall.
A shiver of pure electricity ran through my whole body.
By the time I came back from icing, the bottom of the eighth was underway. The score held. The game rolled on without drama.
Then the top of the ninth.
Crack!
"Ugh… the second you leave, they give one up."
Lee Gijun finally got his first hit of the day—a home run—and trotted around the bases.
But it was only a solo shot. A four-run game became a three-run game, and that was all they got. We took the win and avoided the sweep.
"Would've been nice if you'd come to our team."
After the game I got to exchange greetings with Lee Gijun again. Out of nowhere, he said that.
"Ah… yes."
What else was I supposed to say? Just yes.
"Yeah. You looked cool today. Let's grab a meal next time."
"Ah… thank you."
He said I looked cool. Hehe.