First Starting Appearance
Our team managed one hit apiece in the first and second innings, yet neither produced a run.
Then came the bottom of the third. Na Seungwon, who until last season had only set foot on the field as a pinch runner or defensive substitute, stepped into the batter’s box as the ninth hitter.
Twenty-three this year, Na Seungwon was one of the players Jo Sangjun had personally taken under his wing during the finishing camp.
Along with Ju Yang-gyu, he was one of the young players who had escaped the drinking scandal thanks to Jo Sangjun.
Even though our roster was already packed with young talent, I had once asked why he had gone out of his way for those two in particular.
What Jo Sangjun said then was:
“The kids have potential. They’re sharp and diligent. They don’t slack off and they work their tails off. Unlike you.”
“······”
“And most of all, they’re good kids. Pure athletes who know nothing but baseball. Should kids like that get chewed up by the seniors?”
“What about the others?”
“The others? Well… honestly, there are some I don’t feel like babysitting. Or ones who’ve got the backbone to handle themselves even if I don’t look after them.”
“I-is that so?”
“Something like that.”
Jo Sangjun had judged correctly—Na Seungwon had claimed a starting job this year. Ninth hitter and center fielder. Of course the road ahead still mattered, but…
After finishing his defensive inning, Na Seungwon hurriedly grabbed his gear and headed back out of the dugout.
Opposing pitcher Lee Chan-dong climbed the mound, and just as Na Seungwon was about to step into the on-deck circle, Ko Mandeok suddenly walked over to him.
“What’s this?”
Ko Mandeok muttered something to Na Seungwon. Was he giving batting advice?
One of our two hits so far had come off Ko Mandeok’s bat. He had turned Lee Chan-dong’s main weapon—the forkball—into a single that dropped in front of the center fielder.
Had he spotted a weakness? Maybe some little habit he wanted to pass along to Na Seungwon?
“What did you two talk about?”
I asked casually once Ko Mandeok finished and sat down beside me in the dugout.
“Huh? Ah~ nothing big.”
“What is it?”
“Something felt off, so I figured I’d check just in case.”
“So what is it?”
“Tsk… I’m not a hundred percent sure. Could be nothing.”
“Ah, come on… Just spit it out. If it’s wrong, it’s wrong. Why are you being like this…”
“Heh heh. Fine, fine. That guy… the way he steps on the rubber keeps changing.”
“What?”
The rubber? I turned to stare at Ko Mandeok at the completely unexpected remark. I wasn’t the only one curious—several nearby players were waiting for him to open his mouth again.
“Lee Chan-dong. Until last year he planted on the middle of the rubber every pitch, right?”
“Y-yeah?”
“Yeah. Looks like he switched this year. Toward first base.”
“And?”
“He throws every other pitch from the first-base side… but just one, he still throws from the middle like before.”
“······ What? That doesn’t make sense.”
Who would do something that stupid? The other team would notice in a heartbeat and feast on it. You’d have to be out of your mind.
“Well… he’s probably still adjusting. Maybe it hasn’t fully settled yet.”
“No, why throw only one pitch from a different spot? Or rather—what’s the one pitch?”
“Huh? What else. The fork, obviously. Why ask the obvious. And why only the forkball still comes from the old spot… tsk, no idea. Maybe the command isn’t there yet?”
“······ That actually sounds plausible.”
I turned at the new voice that had joined us and found the head coach standing there.
Our head coach had made a solid name for himself as a pitching coach back in the day…
“You see guys like that every so often. Ones who can’t lock in their command because of rubber position when they throw the big-breaking stuff.”
“I-is that really a thing?”
“I’ve seen it a few times. Other pitches are mostly fine, but they struggle with the ones that move a lot—curves, forkballs.”
“Wow… but if he’s got a problem, why…”
“Today’s his first start. How many innings is he going to throw? Six at most. Spotting a habit in that window is basically impossible. Did he really think someone would figure out the rubber mid-game and exploit it? By the time other clubs finish analyzing after tonight, he’ll have already fixed something.”
The head coach’s words made the picture clear.
They’d sent him out figuring they could at least get one game out of the old habit.
“Let’s just watch. See if Mandeok’s right or not.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
I said “let’s watch,” but I already felt Ko Mandeok was right.
No wonder that forkball had looked so clean coming off his bat—he’d gone up there knowing exactly what was coming.
“But hyung, how’d you even notice the rubber? Didn’t know you were that detail-oriented.”
While everyone else focused on Na Seungwon’s at-bat, I asked Ko Mandeok quietly.
“Actually… Ho-min told me.”
“What?”
“Ho-min gave me some of his analysis stuff a while back. It was in there. The part about stepping on the middle of the rubber.”
He analyzed even rubber placement?
“······ There’s stuff like that?”
“Apparently. I skimmed it without thinking much. Then when that guy set up to pitch, it just jumped out at me. Heh heh.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Crack!!
I was still staring at Ko Mandeok because of Ho-min’s unexpected cameo, so I wasn’t watching the field.
But the sharp, splitting crack that hit my ears was unmistakable. When I whipped my head around, a white blur was already sailing into the distance.
“Wooooah!!!”
“That crazy bastard!!”
Lead-off home run, bottom of the third. Today’s first run came off Na Seungwon’s bat.
And the pitch he crushed was… a forkball.
Ah~ it’s going! It’s going again! Lee Chan-dong, who had pitched so well through two innings, collapses in the third after surrendering three home runs.
It’s another forkball. From the leadoff blast by Na Seungwon to Shane Williams and Seo Gyeongmin’s back-to-back shots—every single one of them lifted a forkball over the wall.
That’s right. All forkballs. How are we supposed to look at this?
The Savers must have found the book on him. Even before the back-to-backs, leadoff man Jo Chang-jun had already turned a forkball into a base hit. Every hitter is sitting on the fork.
What kind of adjustment did they make? A lineup that was completely stifled in the first two innings explodes in the third—ah, Manager Seo Jang-ho is out to take the ball. Lee Chan-dong leaves after two innings and four runs allowed.
Ko Mandeok’s tip had led to Na Seungwon’s home run and proven the rubber theory correct.
After rounding the bases, an excited Na Seungwon even came back and confirmed to Ko Mandeok that he’d been right.
From that point on, every hitter who stepped in had pure confidence in his eyes.
Of course, knowing a pitch doesn’t always mean you can hit it—but to our lineup, Lee Chan-dong simply wasn’t that kind of pitcher.
They say going up knowing the pitch type already puts you fifty percent ahead, and it showed: single, productive out, home run, home run—they dragged the starter right off the mound.
Three home runs. Shane’s in particular was something else. The full swing that came out of that massive frame told you it was gone the instant the ball left the bat. A shot that froze the entire opposing defense in place.
The other manager scrambled to make a pitching change, but…
“Four runs should be plenty, right?”
Just as Ko Mandeok said, four felt comfortable.
But our red-hot lineup wasn’t finished.
They completely dismantled the reliever who had been forced to warm up in a hurry, and by the time the bottom of the third finally ended the score had ballooned to 7–0.
“Change of plans.”
“What?”
We were heading back out of the dugout after the long offensive half-inning.
“I was going to be careful since it’s your first start… but with a lead this big, no need.”
“So what do we do?”
“Originally we were going to get outs with the slider and curve, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s just let them put it in play.”
“So… two-seam?”
“Works for me. Would’ve been nice if you threw a cutter too.”
What was this guy saying? He was the one who’d hated the idea of a cutter, and now he was bringing it up?
“Want me to try? I know the grip roughly.”
“··· Just talking. Can’t even joke with you. Tsk.”
Worried I might actually try to call for it, Ko Mandeok hurried back to his spot.
The opposing lineup was back to the top. I still remembered the first baseman sighing after seeing the knuckleball in his earlier at-bat.
I hadn’t thrown a knuckleball since the first inning… and the urge to show it again was rising fast.
Ko Mandeok, the guy I’d spent more time with than anyone since the trade to the Savers. Our minds were still perfectly in sync.
Pop.
A knuckleball that fluttered weakly before diving in on the hands. Jo Jung-geun tried desperately to get wood on it and somehow did—barely.
The ball rolled weakly toward me. I scooped it and flipped to first.
“Out!”
One pitch, one out. Efficient.
Jo Jung-geun, who had just stood there staring daggers at me without even taking a step, trudged back to the dugout.
Into the empty box stepped the second hitter, Kim Tae-seong.
I half-hoped, but Ko Mandeok didn’t put down the knuckleball sign. Instead he called for the two-seam we’d talked about before the inning.
“Stri~ke!”
A pitch that nicked the outer edge of the zone. From a right-handed hitter’s view it must have looked a long way away.
Then the very next pitch.
Crack.
Another two-seamer, but this time it bored in on the hands—the exact opposite of the previous pitch.
Kim Tae-seong’s bat whipped through hard, but the ball caught the inner half of the barrel and rolled straight to the shortstop.
“Out!”
Shortstop Choi Min-gi handled it easily.
Then up came Pedro Garcia. The same hitter who had gone down on three knuckleballs in the first inning was back.
These two meet again. After getting worked over by the knuckleball in the first, Garcia went back to the dugout looking pretty heated.
He probably never expected to face a pitcher throwing a knuckleball like that after coming to Korea. He couldn’t do a thing in that first at-bat. You can understand the frustration.
Looking at Kang Hajin so far, he’s only thrown the knuckleball to Jo Jung-geun and Garcia. And he just threw it again to Jo Jung-geun in the fourth after the first.
Hmm… both Jo Jung-geun and Garcia are known for their outstanding bat-to-ball skills.
Which means…
I’ll leave it there.
Everyone watching the broadcast was waiting for the same thing: would he throw Garcia another knuckleball?
Windup. The pitch! Stri~ke! A 150-kilometer fastball carves the inner half.
That’s a two-seamer. See the slight late sink? Kang Hajin and catcher Ko Mandeok are both being aggressive. That pitch could easily leak over the middle, yet they went right after him with it.
Starting with the two-seam this time.
Hmm… he threw two two-seamers to Kim Tae-seong earlier, and now the first pitch to Garcia is another two-seamer. Looks like the Savers battery has changed their approach.
Changed their approach?
Through the third they were aggressive, but it was still a pitch-by-pitch plan using the four-seamer and splitter—suppressing free passes and hunting strikeouts. Now they’ve switched to a two-seam-heavy attack.
Which means…
Even if they give up a run, the goal is to get the bat off the shoulder and keep the pitch count down.
The analysis was spot-on.
Crack.
Garcia swings… but it catches the end of the bat. Third baseman fields it and fires to first—out. Three outs. Kang Hajin retires the side on five pitches in the fourth.
Another two-seamer. A two-seamer that ran about a ball off the plate, and Garcia couldn’t lay off it.
Two-seam! Kang Hajin shuts down two Jaguar hitters with nothing but two-seam fastballs and walks off the mound.
The game was going even better than I had imagined.