It's All Because of Homin
The Hawks scrambled their winning setup relief onto the mound and barely scraped through the sixth. Their whole calculation had fallen apart. They must have figured on shutting us down in the sixth so their strong bullpen could lock down the seventh and eighth…
The deficit was down to four. With three innings left, one real chance would be enough to climb all the way back.
The only thing that made me a little uneasy was how early our starter had collapsed, forcing the bullpen into action sooner than planned—and the fact that our most reliable setup man, Jo Sangjun, was sitting this one out.
Bottom of the sixth. Manager Park brought in the submarine pitcher Oh Gyu-shin and got the outs he needed. Top of the seventh, our lineup went down in order against the Hawks’ bullpen. Bottom of the seventh, Oh Gyu-shin came back out, only to walk and hit lefties into a one-out, first-and-third jam.
Manager Park decided any more runs would make the climb impossible, so he called on the most trustworthy arm left in the middle relief, Kim Seok-hwan. Kim answered the call with a double play and snuffed out the dangerous bottom of the seventh.
Top of the eighth. Our lineup started from the nine-hole, strung together consecutive hits, and then Rick Sanchez—looking sharp all day—drove in two more with a timely single. Suddenly it was 8–6. One swing now and the whole game could flip.
The Hawks changed pitchers again, and we stranded the rest of the inning without adding on.
Truth was, Kim Seok-hwan’s stuff wasn’t great today. In the middle of a three-game midweek set he had already worked Wednesday and Thursday; today made three straight appearances. The pitch counts themselves hadn’t been high, but just taking the ball three days in a row still eats a pitcher alive. He should have been resting. Jo Sangjun’s unexpected injury had left him no choice.
Maybe that was why.
Bottom of the eighth, Kim Seok-hwan climbed the mound again, retired the first batter cleanly, then watched consecutive hits and a hit-by-pitch load the bases in a blink.
I watched him sweating and grinding on the rubber, then locked eyes with the bullpen coach.
"······"
The moment our gazes met, the coach nodded and picked up the phone.
"He’s ready."
One short sentence. Manager Park was already walking out to the mound.
"Don’t feel the pressure. Just throw free and easy."
That was all Manager Park said before he trudged back down the hill.
What the hell? Bases loaded, one out, and he tells me not to feel pressure…
He was always the type to say only what was necessary, but this felt extreme even for him.
"He always talks like that, you know. Heh."
"Still. I figured he’d at least give me some idea how to attack the guy…"
"Means he’s trusting you with it. So how do we get him?"
"Pinch hitter’s coming, right?"
"Probably…"
The Hawks’ nine-hole was due up. High odds they would pinch-hit.
"We’ll decide once we see who walks out."
"Tsk. Fine."
Exactly as expected, the Hawks sent up a pinch hitter—thirty-six-year-old veteran Seok In-jun.
In his prime he had been one of the faces of the league, but age and a string of injuries had stolen most of his bat speed. These days he was used almost exclusively off the bench. He never got greedy; he just took the team at-bat the situation called for, which made him plenty annoying for any pitcher.
But not against me. The weakness is too clear.
Even if he could read a battery’s intentions with all that experience… as long as the hole was that big, there was no reason to lose to him. Slow bat speed already made him vulnerable to anything above a certain velocity, and on top of that—
"Kang Hajin’s real weapon is the four-seamer that looks like it’s rising from the batter’s eye level. It travels on the opposite path from every other pitcher’s fastball. Even if you know it’s coming, the first time you see it you have almost no chance of squaring it up."
Just like that commentator had said on the review show. Seok In-jun had never faced me. Nothing to fear.
Ko Mandeok must have thought the same thing; he put down the four-seam sign—inside, boring in on the lefty.
I decided even a ball was fine and threw it with everything I had. As long as it didn’t hit him, I didn’t care.
Whoosh—
"Stri—ke!"
A hundred fifty-four kilometers an hour.
Seok In-jun’s bat swung clean under the ball; his mouth formed a perfect “Oh!” I almost laughed out loud and had to cover my face with the glove.
Next sign was four-seam again—still inside, but a touch higher. Whiff or pop-up, either was fine.
"Foul."
Another hundred fifty-four.
It caught the very tip of the bat and sailed back. A little disappointing. A hair earlier and it would have been an easy infield fly.
Next sign: splitter, low and diving. He wanted a ground ball.
I shook him off.
No need to go there, and the old man still tracked breaking stuff pretty well with the bat. One unlucky tip and the run would score instantly.
Ko Mandeok quietly put the four-seam down again.
Bases loaded, so I took my time and wound up cleanly.
The ball left my hand and drifted toward the middle instead of the inside corner he had wanted.
The second it was gone I thought oh crap—
Whoosh—
He must have been sitting on the breaking ball. The swing came late and weak; Seok In-jun walked back to the dugout with nothing.
Then the leadoff man. He fouled off pitch after pitch and hung in there, but finally lifted a soft fly to first. Bases-loaded, one-out jam in the eighth—retired with zero damage.
"Yes!"
"Good ball! Clean work."
The guys streaming into the dugout each gave me a word and a slap on the ass. Most of them used the glove; one bastard used his bare palm.
"······"
The whole bench was buzzing, ready to finish the comeback in the last inning.
Problem was, the Hawks were bringing in Jo Taek-su, their closer who was nearly untouchable with a two-run lead or more, and our order was starting from the seven-hole—not exactly our strongest stretch.
And then…
Ko Mandeok punched a little flare just over the first baseman’s glove for a hit. Next up, the nine-hole, Choi Min-gi.
A guy hitting .240 with exactly one home run all season.
Choi Min-gi decided to make history.
Choi Min-gi’s ball barely cleared the left-field fence—an absolute no-doubter that nobody saw coming—and the score was knotted.
Once the game was tied, Jo Taek-su completely lost his grip. A double, a sacrifice bunt, another single, and one more run crossed. He walked off the mound with his head hanging.
Lee Gijun standing in the on-deck circle kept crawling under my skin. The way he stared like he was already picking me apart—I hated that look.
"Ha… this is all because of that bastard Homin."
I hadn’t even faced him yet and already felt like I’d lost. I pinned the whole rotten feeling on Homin.
"Running his mouth about whether there’s a sure way to get him or not… damn it."
All because that idiot had jinxed me before the at-bat even started.
Maybe I was thinking about everything except the hitter in front of me.
"Aagh!"
Ko Mandeok wanted it away, but the ball slipped out of my hand and sailed straight into the batter’s hip.
He could have gotten out of the way easy… instead he spun and took it on purpose.
I pulled my cap off and gave him the “my bad” wave. He rubbed the spot on his ass, raised a hand like it was nothing, and jogged down to first. Whatever he said to the coach made them both laugh; getting on base any way he could had him feeling pretty good.
Me? I just felt worse.
Ko Mandeok must have sensed something was off; he jogged out to the mound.
"What’s going on?"
"It slipped."
"I can see that. Why can’t you lock in?"
"I don’t know. Random thoughts keep popping up."
"… Get your head right. It’s Lee Gijun."
"I know. Sorry. Ah—because of that bastard Homin."
"I don’t know what that’s about, but focus. Or do you want to walk him?"
"······"
"If you can’t do it, say so. Honestly, if we get past Lee Gijun the rest of them are manageable, right?"
"… No. We challenge him. Runner’s only on first, not second. No reason to load them up more."
"You sure?"
"Yes!"
"Good."
Ko Mandeok tapped his mitt against my chest, grinned, and headed back behind the plate.
I got the feeling he’d deliberately pushed a little harder. He tried to sound pissed, but it came out awkward.
Usually when a pitcher’s shaking they try to calm him down, right? Tch.
I grumbled once under my breath and forced my head clear.
When Lee Gijun stepped into the box the whole plate felt crowded. He wasn’t even that big a guy, yet the space somehow shrank. Yeah—I was definitely intimidated.
"Ha… fuck."
I loosened my feet, slapped the rosin bag once, and took the sign again. Splitter—low, diving out of the zone for a ball.
Ko Mandeok had decided to make it as hard as possible.
I held the runner at first with a look, then threw toward the mitt.
I know I spread my fingers wide inside the glove and got the grip right…
"Ah…"
The ball never dropped.
CRACK!!
"Wooooah!!"
"It went!"
"Home run!"
"It’s over the fence!!!"
The ball vanished over the center-field wall in a heartbeat.
My first blown save.