What the Hell Did They Give Me?
"What the hell? What's going on here?"
The moment practice pitches ended, Eric came up to the mound. He had caught the balls himself and felt that something was different today.
"I don't know. My condition's insane right now?"
"Yeah? Up until a little while ago…"
"About that… something happened to me earlier."
I casually dropped the story of what Yua had gone through not long ago, making it sound like the anger from that incident was fueling me to throw harder. Anyone with half a brain—or even just listening carefully—should have known it was complete nonsense.
"That happened? What the hell…"
Why was he buying it?
"If anyone steps in thinking about the stuff you usually throw, there's no way they're touching you today. You're just straight-up crazy."
"Good."
"But the breaking balls… are they gonna be like this too?"
"W-well…?"
I hadn't thrown any yet, so how would I know? But if they showed the same insane spin rates as the four-seam… that might actually be terrifying. Was I about to get arrested?
Eric headed back down, and the first batter stepped into the box. I had studied the scouting reports pretty thoroughly to face this San Francisco Giants team, but after taking that pill and ending up in this situation, I had to wonder if any of it even mattered.
The first sign was, of course, for a four-seam. The batter would be expecting it—most people would. I had started almost every game with a four-seam. Usually I worked the edges of the zone on the first pitch, spots that were tough to hit, but today Eric wanted one right down the middle of the upper zone. Not inside, not outside—just high and central.
I put a little more into it than I had during warm-ups, but nowhere near full strength, and let the first pitch fly.
PAAAAANG!
"Strike!"
The second the ball hit Eric's mitt I spun around to check the scoreboard.
102 mph.
Even with a decent amount of power held back, it still clocked 102.
"Shit… I absolutely cannot throw at full strength today."
I had figured the velocity would be a little higher, but now that I had actually thrown one, it looked like it was going to come out even harder than I expected.
"Gotta regulate the power so it doesn't get too ridiculous… pfft."
It was so absurd I had to laugh. The same guy who used to squeeze every last drop out of his body just to barely crack 140 km/h now had to dial it back because the velocity might come out too high.
The batter's face was priceless. He looked pretty shocked. Even from my angle the ball seemed to rise, so I could only imagine what it looked like from right in front of it.
For the second pitch Eric called for a power curve. Honestly, I was curious myself. What kind of movement would a curve show in this state?
The ball left my hand with a rougher feel than usual, and somehow the signature curve action was missing. That little hop as it left the fingers wasn't there. It looked less like a curve and more like some other pitch entirely…
The ball flew along almost ordinarily until it was nearly on top of the batter—then it plummeted. Violently. Massively.
"…… Is this a forkball?"
No. This was worse than a forkball. It just dropped. Straight down. Like a forkball, or rather like a knuckleball that suddenly decided to fall off a cliff.
"A controllable knuckleball…?"
The pitch was pure insanity. An impossible ball had just gone into the books. Except…
"Ball."
The batter never even thought about swinging. The pitch had landed a little too far out of the zone, and there was nothing I could do about that. How was I supposed to know it would drop like that?
One ball, one strike. Eric put down the four-seam sign again.
"Ah… I really want to try the other stuff."
After seeing the crazy movement on that curve, I was dying to throw everything else. I was too curious. But Eric wanted the four-seam.
PAAANG!
A 103 mph four-seam bored in on the hands. The batter still couldn't offer, and it was called a strike. Then came the changeup sign.
PAAANG.
"Batter out!"
The home-plate umpire barked the out call in an excited voice. Even I had to admit that last pitch was something else.
"If I threw a screwball, would it move like that? No… it never went this far."
The batter finally swung—at a changeup heading outside. But the changeup showed an insane reverse-spin trajectory and just ran away from him. Even after striking out, the guy stayed in the box and started saying something to Eric. Of course he was stunned. I was the one who threw it and I still couldn't believe it. If this wasn't a magic pitch, what the hell was?
"Am I actually going to get arrested for this?"
I had no idea how I was supposed to throw anymore…
"What the hell is that?"
Ko Mandeok, watching the game on TV, finally managed to close his gaping mouth and asked Jeong Jong-seong beside him.
"I-I have no idea?"
"You think you can catch that?"
"I-I guess? W-we have to, right?"
"You're in big trouble now. You're gonna have to catch that stuff at the Asian Games… if you drop one in a big game…"
Jeong Jong-seong's face crumpled.
"Haa… why does that senior always have to make things so hard… I finally got to where I could handle the knuckleball and he leaves, and now this?"
While Jeong Jong-seong was sighing like the ground might swallow him, Hyeon-bin, who had been listening quietly, tossed out a casual remark.
"But if he keeps throwing stuff like that, isn't he gonna pull something off again today?"
"…… You're right. How is anyone supposed to hit that?"
"That senior's gonna rack up a lot of watch money this year."
"……"
A brief silence. Then Hyeon-bin's voice broke it.
"But if he does it twice, do they give him two watches?"
"How would I know? I never even got a watch. And the only pitcher in our country who's ever done that is that bastard, so it's up to him."
Something that sounded like "That's why you shouldn't have asked him to buy you a car" drifted over from the side, but Ko Mandeok deliberately ignored it.
"Batter out!"
Three straight strikeouts ended the top of the first. The cutter I threw to the second batter was one Eric couldn't handle. It showed a completely different path from my usual cutter, so I couldn't blame him. After that I finished the inning using only the four-seam, curve, and changeup I had already tested.
"Let's not throw any sliders today. Especially nothing that breaks sideways."
"… Got it."
I understood. Even I was wondering what the hell was going on. If he told me to throw nothing but four-seams until the game ended, I would have been fine with it.
When I walked into the dugout, the expressions of the guys who had been watching the game were a little strange. Normally when you shut a team down like that they cheered and clapped, but right now… how to put it… they all looked like they had a lot on their minds.
And I had a pretty good idea what those thoughts were.
"Don't worry about it. You can test me after the game today—I don't mind at all."
"Ahem."
"Cough."
I said it with a smile, and everyone quickly looked away. These bastards really had been suspicious. Well… I probably would have been too, so I didn't care.
"…… For real?"
Buxton sidled up and muttered under his breath.
"Pfft…"
"No. I believe you."
"Sure."
Believe, my ass. Come to think of it, had this guy gotten some kind of hunch? He had even followed me to the bathroom earlier.
"More importantly, you okay? Doesn't look like they'll hit it easily, but dropping one like earlier is still a problem."
The words weren't aimed at me. Gordon Perry was looking at Eric when he said them. A glance showed Eric's expression was a little dark. He had looked rattled when he missed the cutter earlier; he must have been stewing on it.
"It's fine. Anyone can miss one pitch."
I deliberately acted like it was nothing, but his face didn't lighten. Gordon Perry watched that, then clapped Eric on the shoulder and led him away. Going to give him a little pep talk?
While I was chatting, two outs had already been recorded. Eun-hyung was waiting in the box.
Crack.
Eun-hyung's short single.
Crack.
And the second I stepped into the on-deck circle, Greg ripped a first-pitch single. Runners on first and third with two outs.
"Hi~"
I greeted the home-plate umpire as I walked to the box, even giving a slight Korean-style bow. The umpire gave the tiniest nod back. Lately a few umps had started responding like that. All those consistent greetings must have been paying off.
Standing in the box and looking at the pitcher, I could see shortstop Shoda Hiroki standing behind him.
"Rude little bastard."
He was batting seventh today, so I hadn't faced him yet… Should I throw one at full strength at that guy? Everyone already knew my stuff was crazy today—would a little extra velocity even make much difference?
I was pretty sure the second this game ended I was getting a doping test. Of course nothing would show up. So throwing at full power against that bastard should be fine, right?
The first two pitches both missed badly. He was trying to lure me with outside stuff, but they were way too far out. Two balls, favorable count, runners on first and third. The pitcher couldn't afford to waste another one.
And then the next pitch came.
CRACK!
I turned on the pitch that was coming in on my hands. The ball stayed down, a low line drive. It came off the bat with serious velocity, but unfortunately it was headed straight at the shortstop.
"Damn it… of all people, that bastard."
I spat out the surge of irritation and sprinted toward first like a madman.
"Ugh!"
"Huh?"
A scream that had no business being audible reached my ears. And by the time I stepped on first, the ball still hadn't arrived. I checked second, thinking maybe he had thrown there first, but Greg was standing on the bag. Eun-hyung had already touched home and was heading for the dugout.
"What is this? What just happened?"
"… Looks like the ball pushed the glove off."
I had asked the base coach, but the answer came from the opposing first baseman. What was this guy talking about?
"He did what?"
"Shoda caught it, but the glove came off. Hope his fingers are okay."
The ball pushed the glove off? That didn't even make sense…
The drug effect is insane. What the hell did they give me?
This was going way too far, no matter how you looked at it. Shoda Hiroki kept shaking out his hand. Must have hurt. From the way he was shaking it, it didn't look like anything serious, but it clearly hurt.
"He's fine, I guess."
The first baseman said it so casually that something felt off.
"Your teammate just got hurt and that's your reaction?"
I prodded a little. He just shrugged. I could roughly figure it out. The way that bastard had treated Yua must have been his usual self… apparently he didn't leave a great impression on his own teammates either. Hurt enough that they just went "oh well"?
"This changes things a little."
I might need to adjust the plan.