First Start
It was the fifth inning—the minimum required for a starting pitcher to earn the win.
Honestly, looking at the score alone, there was no reason to feel much pressure in this game. But maybe because it was my first win as a starter since debut? Even though this was already the fifth time I’d climbed the mound today, that lead still left me a little tight.
Was that why?
Crack!
The changeup I threw on the second pitch drifted right down the middle. The instant it was hit I knew it was big, but the launch angle was low enough that I figured it wouldn’t clear. Sure enough it didn’t go over, yet it smashed the fence dead-on and caromed sideways, letting even the slow-footed Heo Yun jog comfortably into second.
The first pitch hadn’t been great either. Ko Mandeok had called for inside, but the ball sailed outside. At least the hitter, Heo Yun, hadn’t been looking to swing; he simply watched the pitch that caught the zone sail by.
“Nervous?”
Once the ground settled after the hit, Ko Mandeok trotted out to the mound. He was grinning as he lightly tapped my head with his mitt and asked the question… and just like that the faint tension and the irritation from giving up the hit melted away.
“No way.”
“Then why are your pitches garbage?”
Ko Mandeok was usually playful and easygoing, but during games he carried real weight. It felt like whatever he said had to be obeyed.
“Doesn’t everyone do this much? It’s only my first hit allowed.”
“Because you served it up on a silver platter.”
“Come on. He’s their cleanup guy.”
“Cut the crap. You want a shutout?”
“······”
“They probably won’t let you.”
“…Yeah, I guess.”
“So throw properly now. Don’t hold anything back. At most two more.”
“Two?”
“Two innings and you’re done.”
“Ah~ Got it.”
“Overpower them with pure stuff.”
“Yes, sir!”
Was it because he was a veteran starting catcher with real mileage? The second I gave up that hit he knew something was off, came out, calmed me down, and even handed me the fix.
With a much lighter heart I faced the next batter.
The four-seamer that stabbed low and away made the batter flinch. That startled expression and the clean pop of the mitt felt good.
Maybe I’m just built for closing. Throwing this hard really does feel better.
It was clean. Stress melted right off.
“Stri~ke!”
A changeup stole his timing for strike two. I tried to bait him with a slider, but the bat that had started forward froze as the ball broke out of the zone.
Then the fourth pitch.
“Stri~ke! Out!”
A 154 km/h four-seamer in the exact same spot as the first pitch. Just like before, the batter only flinched and watched it go by before trudging back to the dugout.
With one out and a runner on second, the sixth hitter saw a slider, two four-seamers, and a changeup before lifting a fly ball to left.
Then the seventh. Big swing, not a high average, but the kind of catcher who could still take you deep for the Jaguars.
Ko Mandeok didn’t even hesitate. Curve. Curve. Curve.
When I came down after the fifth, the guys in the dugout clapped and welcomed me back. I figured they were congratulating me for locking up the win requirements in my first start.
“You didn’t give up a hit for four innings so nobody could say anything—they just watched. Now they’re finally clapping.”
Ko Mandeok explained it to my slightly dazed face.
“It was only four no-hit innings. Why go that far…”
“Pitchers are so damn finicky. We were being careful, I guess?”
“······ I’m not like that.”
“Ha… haha… right…”
“······ Am I?”
“You’re a pitcher, aren’t you?”
What exactly is so finicky about me? Who listens better than I do? I never even shake off a sign.
The score that had sat at 7–0 for a while jumped to 9–0 in the top of the sixth on Shane’s second homer of the day. That blast decided the game completely. The Jaguars seemed to give up; their regulars started coming out and the kids came in.
“This is your last one.”
The pitching coach told me the sixth would be my final inning of the day.
“Yes, sir.”
I’d already expected it, so the answer came easy. Honestly I was a little disappointed. Through five I’d only thrown sixty-three pitches. If the sixth went as clean as the rest, eighty would be the absolute max.
I knew they weren’t going to push me when the game was already over… but holding them to one hit made me greedy.
When I’d talked with Ko Mandeok I’d acted like a shutout didn’t matter, yet the second he said the sixth was the end, the regret kept bubbling up.
If I just finish the rest with knuckleballs it shouldn’t tax the shoulder much…
Ko Mandeok, sitting right beside me, caught the muttering.
“Is the knuckleball invincible or something? What if your arm goes dead and it turns into batting practice?”
“······”
“One-hit win. Zero ERA. Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“…Yeah, it does.”
“Plenty of chances left. This is only game one. The other guys need to throw without pressure too.”
At the mention of the other guys I glanced at the bullpen. Two pitchers were already warming. One of them was Hwang Chan-young, the roommate I’d shared a room with all through camp.
Is Chan-young making his debut today…
Seeing him made the greed that had been rising drain right out.
“That kid really works hard.”
“No kidding. He trains every second he isn’t eating or sleeping.”
“Yeah. Because of him I got dragged out and forced to train more times than I can count…”
“His stuff’s gotten a lot better too.”
I knew. I’d watched him every single day; how could I not? I’d thought he was a carbon copy of my old self… but there was a difference. When he worked, he actually improved. That kid did.
He used to swear he’d never throw a breaking ball that dropped… yet the slider he learned in camp dropped just fine.
“All right, let’s go! Clean shutout inning and lock up that win, yeah?”
The sixth took twelve pitches.
Final line for my first professional start: six innings, seventy-five pitches, one hit, no walks, no runs, eight strikeouts. Couldn’t have asked for a better result.
Hwang Chan-young came on in the seventh. Nerves seemed to mess with his command; he started with a walk, then gave up a single and found himself in trouble, but he escaped with a double play. Once the tension eased he shut them down cleanly through the eighth. In the ninth Kim Seok-hwan came in and retired three hitters without drama.
Final score: 10–0.
Only three games into the season and our Savers sat alone at the top of the standings with a three-game winning streak.
“We’re joined now by today’s winning pitcher, Kang Hajin. Kang, congratulations on the win.”
Han Song-yi, the same announcer who’d interviewed me before, stood beside me for the postgame interview. Thinking about it, there were plenty of other sports channels and plenty of other announcers, yet somehow I kept running into Han Song-yi.
“Thank you.”
“You put on a really strong performance today. How are you feeling?”
“Uh… it was my first start so I was a little nervous, but I just did whatever Catcher Mandeok told me and it worked out.”
“Six innings, one hit, no walks, and a low pitch count. Did you have any shutout ambitions?”
“Honestly a little greed crept in, but I figure there’ll be more chances ahead.”
“You also unveiled the knuckleball as a surprise today. How long have you been working on it?”
“Every pitcher tries a knuckleball at least once just for fun. I messed around with it late last season, got some decent feedback, and started preparing it for real after that. Catcher Mandeok really suffered through the off-season because of me.”
The interview went smoothly. When they asked about my plans for the rest of the season I gave the usual “I’ll work hard” answer, and everything after that followed the same script.
Finally the interview wrapped and Han Song-yi was about to deliver the closing remarks when something felt off.
Huh?
The Han Song-yi standing right next to me felt strangely awkward.
What is it?
It hit me the moment she finished the sign-off and the players came running over with water bottles and sports drinks to douse me.
That body scent… no. No flower fragrance?
Today’s Han Song-yi didn’t give off any scent at all.