Children's Day
"Hoo… hua…"
The game got underway, and Michael Len retired the side in order in the top of the first. Then came the bottom half. Jo Changjun had just taken the first pitch and fouled it off toward first base.
Watching from the side, I found myself drawing a deep breath without meaning to. Ko Mandeok stared straight at me.
"What? You nervous?"
"Huh? Ah… maybe?"
"For real? Now?"
When Manager Park first told me I'd be starting as a hitter, I'd been nothing but thrilled. I'd been putting in the batting work since the off-season, holding on to the hope that someday I'd actually step into the box—and now that hope had become real.
Nerves? Not a trace. Just pure excitement.
And yet… it was strange.
The moment the game actually started, a crushing wave of tension crashed over me. My heart hammered so hard I didn't know what to do with it. I tried deep breaths, but nothing would settle.
It hadn't been like this last year when I came in as a pinch hitter. Looking back, that had been so sudden I was half in a daze the whole time. But today was different. I'd been told in advance. I'd even had a little time to prepare. Objectively, this was a far better situation.
Right up until a moment ago I'd still been riding yesterday's giddy high. Then one word—"Play ball"—and everything flipped.
"What, scared you'll get roasted if you whiff? Extra scared because it's Children's Day and the boos'll be louder?"
"I don't… think so?"
"Relax. Even if you strike out four times today, nobody's gonna say much. Okay, fine, you might catch a little heat. But they'll go after our manager way harder than you, right?"
Was this supposed to calm me down? Don't worry, the manager will take more abuse than you will…
I was still trying to figure out how to answer that absurd comfort when a distant shout of "Out!" carried across the field. Jo Changjun had grounded to short and been thrown out at first.
"Ah, damn. Guy's got good stuff today."
Jo Changjun stomped back into the dugout, muttering in irritation. Ko Mandeok jabbed me in the ribs.
"Hey, hey. He says the stuff is good. Lucky you."
"How is that lucky?"
"We're all gonna struggle. So it won't just be you looking bad. That's good news for you."
"…What?"
I was wondering what had gotten into him today when I glanced over and caught him snickering. Then it clicked. The bastard was messing with me.
"Fair enough. You'll go hitless today too, hyung, so you can relax right along with me. At this rate you're not sniffing .300 again, huh?"
Defensively, Ko Mandeok was a catcher you couldn't criticize. Offensively, though, the reviews were always the same: a little wanting. This year, a month into the season, he was sitting at .290-something—the best stretch of his pro career—and he wasn't satisfied. He was grinding to become a true .300 hitter. Which was exactly why the jab landed.
"What was that, you little—"
"Wonder how far that average's gonna drop~ Heh heh."
"You little shit, cursing me already—"
"Who started it~"
"……"
I kept giggling. Eventually Ko Mandeok cracked a grin too. He muttered something about grabbing a drink and wandered off, leaving me alone. That was when I noticed: the sweat that had soaked my palms was already dry. The frantic pounding in my chest had quieted without me realizing it.
"Well. That's over. Be right back."
Our half of the first ended in three batters as well.
Michael Len looked sharp today. He carved through the top of the second just as quickly, and so far not a single ball had left the infield for the outfield. And now my first at-bat was finally approaching.
Leading off the bottom of the second, our captain latched onto the opposing starter, Roman Dyke, and refused to let go. He took everything until the count reached two-and-two, then started fouling off anything near the zone, stretching the at-bat longer and longer. Four straight fouls. He eventually grounded out to third, but not before forcing Dyke to throw nine pitches—and giving the rest of us a long look at what the guy was throwing.
On his way back from first, the captain said something quick to Kim Tae-seong, who was stepping in next. Then he came over to me in the on-deck circle.
"His off-speed is breaking a little early. You get me? Don't rush it. Watch it all the way and you can hit it."
"Got it."
Honestly, I had no idea. Damn it. Breaks early, so track it and hit it? Could I actually do that? I'd try, sure. Confidence, though? Not much.
Crack!
"Out!"
Come on… I'd been hoping Kim Tae-seong would work the count a little too. Instead he lifted a fly to left on the second pitch and was gone. The empty batter's box waited. That was my spot.
"Waaaaaah~!"
The roar caught me completely off guard. Why were they—? I couldn't just stand there frozen, so I pulled off my helmet and gave a small bow. The cheers exploded all over again.
"Hello~"
I stepped in and greeted the home-plate umpire and the opposing catcher, Jang Hyun-seok. Last year I'd been too scrambled to manage even that. Today I'd planned it, and I pulled it off cleanly.
"I was relieved you weren't pitching. So why'd you come out here to torment me as a hitter instead?"
Jang Hyun-seok grinned and tossed the joke my way.
"Haha…"
How was I supposed to answer that? Joke back? Play the polite junior and deny it? I had no clue, so I just laughed it off. Besides, I was scheduled to pitch on Sunday.
This guy clearly had no intention of leaving me alone.
"First at-bat—gotta get a hit, right? What do you like? Something hard?"
I stood here once last year, you know, I grumbled internally. Seriously, what was I supposed to say to this?
"Playing it careful, huh? All right. I'll give you something hard."
Signs exchanged, the pitcher set. That long leg lifted, then drove forward; the long arm whipped through from behind.
"……!"
"Stri~ke!"
Oh, shit. What the hell was that.
"Oh~ Didn't flinch, huh?"
I hadn't chosen not to flinch. I simply couldn't. Roman Dyke's slider had bored in on my hands. I'd been sitting on it hard, and to my eyes the ball broke right in front of me—and I had zero answer for it.
Breaks early, he said. Watch it and you can hit it, he said?
"Good eye. That one would've been a grounder even if you'd swung. Right?"
"Ah… yeah."
This slider was on a completely different level from anything in live BP. My head was scrambled.
"This time I'll give you the real heat."
The catcher kept yapping behind me. For a second I considered dropping a curse just to shut him up. It might quiet him down. Of course, I'd get buried for it, but…
"Something good, please~"
I couldn't swear, but I also couldn't just sit there without answering.
"Pfft. Sure. Something goooood coming up."
I watched the pitcher start his windup and made a decision. Whatever came, I was swinging.
I was locked and loaded—and then the trajectory off his hand looked wrong.
No way…
I realized too late. My bat was already moving. The ball that had seemed to float a little suddenly plummeted as it neared the plate. I tried to adjust, to get wood on it somehow—but there was no chance. The bat whiffed completely, and my whole body twisted into an ugly lurch.
"Wow. Looking for the big one, huh?"
I hadn't been looking for the big one. That was just how my swing looked. A flicker of indignation hit me. I'm a pitcher, damn it. And you're throwing me sliders and curves like this?
"The pitches aren't great today, sunbae."
"What? Heh heh heh. That so?"
"Yes."
"Can't have that. Gotta give you something good, then."
While we traded nonsense, another part of my brain was working the problem. If I were the pitcher right now, what would I do? Challenge him? Or nibble? Three straight off-speed pitches? Or try to overpower him?
Against a normal hitter you might expand the zone, mix in more breaking balls. But I was a pitcher taking only my second career at-bat—my first of the season. Would I play soft against a guy like that? Not a chance.
And the man on the mound was their ace. A foreign starter who'd done time in both the majors and minors. He had to believe in his stuff. He wasn't going to dance around me.
This was the moment for that "good pitch" he'd been talking about. The hard one. And I was certain it would be in the zone. This was the pitch to attack.
Crack!
"Ah!! Damn it—"
"Whoa. That was close."
Foul! That was a huge drive, but it sails into the seats down the third-base line.
He was sitting on it. Roman Dyke's four-seamer was painted low and inside—beautifully located—and Kang Hajin's bat came through without a hint of hesitation. He was hunting that pitch. Just a touch out in front on the timing. Shame.
My read had been right. Fastball challenge, in the zone—I'd called both. I'd just been too eager. The instant it hooked foul, I knew: I wouldn't see that pitch again.
Sure enough.
"Ball."
A splitter tumbled low. Even if it cost me a strikeout later, I had zero intention of chasing that one, so I pocketed the count. I didn't expect him to go to two balls, though.
So what was coming next?
Four-seamer, sinker, slider, circle change, splitter, curve. Which one…
Four-seamer was out. He'd already thrown me a curve, but he only tossed five or so a game—scratch that too. Of the rest, what would it be?
He'd go with his best pitch. And Roman Dyke's bread and butter was the sinker.
Okay. Sinker.
I tightened my grip and waited for it. Sat on it—
Pop!
"Stri~ke! Batter out!"
It was the sinker. Painted the outside edge of the zone. The board flashed 150 km/h.
"Damn it."
It came in harder and sharper than I'd expected. I never even twitched. Knowing the pitch didn't mean I could hit it.