The Rematch
"Next up is the Busan game between the Savers and the Hawks. Early on the score ballooned to 8-1 and it looked like the game was decided—but the Savers' late-inning resilience was truly terrifying."
"That's right. Once the starter collapsed, the game completely belonged to the Hawks. But then, starting with number-three hitter Rick Sanchez, they launched back-to-back-to-back home runs and flipped the entire atmosphere in an instant."
"The real highlight of today's game begins the moment both teams' closers take the mound. First up was Kang Hajin, right?"
"Yes. After converting to closer this season, Kang Hajin had been working a scoreless streak. He entered in the eighth with one out and the bases loaded and shut it down perfectly."
"That fastball was absolutely electric."
"It was. But here's the part you need to watch carefully—Kang Hajin started showing a slight problem from the eighth inning onward."
"A problem? He bailed them out of a huge jam brilliantly… what was it?"
"Look at the last pitch that struck out Seok In-jun. The catcher called for something inside, but the ball drifted right down the middle."
"Ah! You're right."
"Of course his pure stuff is so good he still got the strikeout, but something was clearly off."
"……"
"You're probably thinking a control miss like that happens to every pitcher. And you're right. That's why most people probably let it slide without a second thought."
"Yeah…"
"The problem became glaring in the ninth after they took the lead. First came a hit-by-pitch—the ball completely slipped out of his hand."
"That's a look we almost never see from Kang Hajin."
"Exactly. You can see it on his face—nothing's going his way. And the next batter is Lee Gijun. Looking at the grip, it's a splitter… but it doesn't drop at all. The little issues that started showing in the eighth finally exploded right here."
"Ah~ I see it. And this is after the game, right?"
"Yes. He's clearly in agony. Next to him, Ko Mandeok and Seo Gyeongmin seem to be trying to console him…"
"Ah… the tears…"
"This was an incredibly tough game for the Savers, wasn't it? They clawed their way back and actually took the lead. That's probably why Kang Hajin is taking it so hard."
I didn't know why the tears came.
I knew the ball wasn't dropping. The second it was hit I was certain it was gone. Before I realized what I was doing I had sunk to the ground, and tears were already pouring from my eyes.
Why? Because I was frustrated? Angry? Or because I had just ruined everything my teammates had clawed so hard to build?
Whatever the reason, even I couldn't understand it. In all my years playing baseball I had never once been greedy about the result.
Of course I liked winning. Of course I liked putting up good numbers. But I'd always been the kind of guy who thought, Games go both ways—you lose sometimes, and sometimes your stats just suck.
"Yo~ losing pitcher~"
"Shut the hell up, you bastard. This is all your fault!"
Ko Mandeok, Seo Gyeongmin, and a few other guys invited me out for a meal, but I turned them down with the excuse that I was tired. They must have seen how rough I looked, because they didn't push any further and just let me go.
The moment I left the stadium and turned my phone back on, Ho-min called. I figured nothing good would come out of answering, so I rejected it—only for him to keep calling nonstop. Eventually it felt more annoying to keep rejecting than to just pick up. The second I answered, the first words out of his mouth were exactly the kind of crap I'd been trying to avoid.
This was why I hadn't wanted to answer in the first place.
"I told you. Walk him."
"You crazy bastard. Who intentionally walks a guy with nobody out and a runner on first?"
"If you'd walked him you wouldn't have given up the homer."
"Bullshit."
"You were a complete mess today. How many times did the ball slip? The pitch he hit for the homer slipped too, right?"
"I don't know. Fuck, this is more your fault. You kept running your mouth about whether I could handle Lee Gijun or not…"
"How is that my fault? You're just not good enough."
"Maybe I pitched worse because that crap got in my head!"
"You're seriously full of it. I've never heard such a pathetic excuse in my life."
"…… I'm hanging up."
"For real? You're hanging up?"
"What else am I supposed to do? You got more to say? I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."
"Fine. Oh—and think about the two-seam."
"… What? Hey, what did you just—"
Click.
Ho-min hung up right after that last line.
A two-seam, out of nowhere…
"This bastard thinks new pitches just pop out of thin air every time he opens his mouth…"
A two-seam… I could throw it. No—I had thrown it. Back in high school, and even early on after turning pro.
In high school it had been pretty useful. Then I hit the pros, faced big-league hitters, and had to lock it away.
The reason was simple: every time I threw it, they crushed it.
Velocity was the problem. Even my four-seam was on the slow side for a right-hander, and the two-seam came in almost 10 km/h slower. I tried abandoning control and just throwing it as hard as I could—still only gained one or two kilometers. A two-seam doesn't have the sharp, dramatic break of other off-speed pitches, so it never worked. First-team hitters just sat on it and hammered it.
So I sealed it away.
"Come to think of it… why didn't I ever try throwing it again?"
Now that my velocity was up, it was worth another look… yet the thought had never even crossed my mind.
Ko Mandeok, who clearly had no idea I'd ever thrown a two-seam, never brought it up. Neither did the manager or the coaching staff. But Ho-min knew. Watching me get hit must have dug up that old memory.
"But why a two-seam instead of a sinker?"
After the two-seam got destroyed I'd even practiced a sinker as a replacement. Then the manager changed and the whole thing fizzled out. Ho-min knew about that too, so recommending a sinker would've made more sense…
"At least give me a reason before you hang up. You just drop a line and cut the call—what am I supposed to do with that?"
Grumbling, I headed back to the dorm. After a quick shower, the first thing I did was pull up two-seam footage.
"What? You're gonna do what?"
"I'm gonna try throwing a two-seam."
"… You're adding another pitch?"
"Well… it's not like I'm learning something brand new. I used to throw it. The two-seam."
"What? For real? Then why'd you stop using it?"
"Things just happened… Anyway, I'm gonna give it a shot."
"… I told you to rest today."
"Just a few easy ones. I won't push it."
"Tsk. Fine. But Coach—hey, where's the coach?"
I threw a handful of two-seams in front of the pitching coach and got his evaluation.
Then Saturday's game began. Even though we'd lost the day before, the bats that had caught fire stayed hot. Lee Yong-hun started and lasted five innings with three runs allowed, but by the time he left we already had seven runs on the board. That lead never shrank. The loss the previous day had dropped us back to eighth; today's win bumped us up to seventh again.
Then came Sunday. Our ace, Michael Len, threw seven innings of one-run ball and completely smothered the Hawks' powerful lineup. He gave up a couple of hits to Lee Gijun, but against everyone else he was perfect. That single run wouldn't have scored without a defensive miscue—he was at his absolute best.
The problem was our bats. The fire from the previous two days had vanished. The only thing keeping us ahead was Seo Gyeongmin's two-run homer in the seventh.
In the bottom of the eighth, Jo Sangjun—rested for two games and fully recovered—cleanly retired the Hawks' lower half of the order.
Top of the ninth. Our offense went down in order, and the manager sent me to the mound.
"Nine, one, two. Don't let it get to him. Finish it."
"…… Yes, sir."
The Hawks' ninth started with the nine-hole. If I retired the side in order, I'd never have to face Lee Gijun.
Crack!
"Out."
I got the nine-hole on three pitches—an infield pop-up.
"Stri~ke! Out!"
The leadoff man went down looking on five pitches.
Tick.
I worked the two-hole to two strikes, then chose a changeup to induce a swing-and-miss. The hitter's timing was completely off; he barely nicked it…
"Leave it! Leave it!"
The location was…
"Ha… damn it…"
The broken-bat dribbler rolled slowly down the third-base line. By the time the third baseman scrambled over, it was already too late at first. I prayed it would roll foul. It didn't. The ball simply stopped fair.
From the on-deck circle, Lee Gijun set down his practice bat and picked up his game bat.
Watching him walk toward the plate brought the home run flooding back, and irritation surged through me.
"Actually, this is perfect. Time to pay him back for that hit."
That wasn't me talking. That was Ko Mandeok.
"You scared?"
"… No way."
"Good. You got rattled and got crushed the other day—don't get crushed and cry again today."
"Who the hell said I was rattled?"
"If you say so. Heh. We stick to the plan?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Ah~ here we go again—these two facing off. The first matchup went to Lee Gijun. Will he win again, or will this be Kang Hajin's revenge? This is the showdown we've been waiting for."
"Lee Gijun looks like he's in excellent form. The Hawks' lineup was completely locked down by Michael Len today, but Lee Gijun was the exception."
"So how does Kang Hajin look?"
"Kang Hajin looks sharp today as well. Last game he had quite a few missed locations, but so far today we haven't seen any of that. His command is going exactly where the catcher wants it."
"Interesting. Kang Hajin is set. First pitch to Lee Gijun—oh, he's running!"
"Kang Hajin never even glanced at the runner. He was locked in solely on Lee Gijun, so the runner took second completely unchallenged."
"Yes… first pitch is a 152 km/h four-seam low and away. Strike one."
"That pitch was filthy. Even Lee Gijun can't do much with that unless he's sitting on it."
"Looking at him now, Kang Hajin still seems completely unconcerned about the runner."
"Yeah, it looks that way. Most pitchers keep the runner honest with their eyes, but Kang Hajin isn't doing any of that."
"Pouring everything into the hitter, maybe?"
"You could read it that way, but…"
"Pitcher delivers the second pitch. Foul~ ball diving away. Lee Gijun swung, but it just nicked the end of the bat and went foul."
"Wait… that pitch… is that a two-seam?"
"A two-seam?"
"It was reverse spin, running away from the lefty. On the replay… yeah, that's a two-seam grip."
"Another new pitch? Kang Hajin again?"
"Whether he just learned it or always had it and was hiding it, it's impressive either way. That one came in at 145 km/h, and the late movement is pretty big—almost sinker-like action."
"Pitcher set again. Third pitch. Away!! Swing and a miss! Strikeout! Kang Hajin freezes Lee Gijun on three pitches and ends the game!"
"Ah~ that was pure pitch sequencing. The location was identical to the second pitch. Lee Gijun had no choice but to swing. But the last one dropped right off the table. With sequencing like that, a hitter is completely helpless."
"Did he really not expect the splitter—the same pitch that got hit for a home run?"
"Once a pitch has burned you, you don't usually expect to see it again. But he went right back to it and got him. Beautiful duel."
"Yes!"
The swing-and-miss was so clean, so completely fooled, that goosebumps raced across my entire body.
I would stake my career on it: that was the most electrifying strikeout of my baseball life.