New Role, First Outing
Watching Manager Park Donghoon head toward the mound, my head was a mess.
The pitchers who'd been warming up in the bullpen were me and the team's closer — thirty-six-year-old veteran Jo Sangjun.
I couldn't tell whether Manager Park would put me in for a single out or hand the remaining 1.1 innings to Jo Sangjun.
"Sangjun. Let's go."
At the bullpen coach's words, Jo Sangjun adjusted his cap and stepped out of the bullpen.
"Haah…"
A sigh slipped out of me before I could stop it.
I didn't even know why. Whether it was relief or disappointment.
I'd thought I'd left a decent impression on the manager, so I'd figured there was a chance I'd go in. But the moment Jo Sangjun's name was called, that "maybe" turned into "of course not."
At the same time, a sense of relief washed over me. If I went up in this situation and gave up a hit, what would happen?
The team's win would vanish, and so would the ace's win. And the second I arrived, I'd eat every insult imaginable.
"Stri~ke! Out!"
Sitting blankly on the bullpen chair, I watched the home-plate umpire bark the out with full-body energy.
The closer who'd gone up without me had cleanly shut down the crisis in the top of the eighth and was walking back in with his head held high.
The bottom of the eighth started, and in an instant one out was on the board.
That was when the bullpen coach approached me, still sitting there in a daze.
"What are you doing? You finished warming up?"
"Huh?"
"You're going in for the ninth. Get ready."
"…… What?"
The bullpen coach delivered only what he needed to say, then turned and walked away.
What the hell was he talking about?
I wasn't the only one shocked. The other players sitting in the bullpen were staring at me with stunned expressions.
"Hajin. Let's go."
"Huh? Oh. Yeah."
Kim Do-gyeong, who'd been catching for me in the bullpen, was the first to snap out of it and pull me along.
I climbed the mound and threw a few pitches under Manager Park Donghoon's eyes.
In a daze, I just kept firing the ball at the catcher's mitt without even knowing how I was throwing.
"…… Just throw it the way you did this afternoon. That'll be enough."
Manager Park Donghoon tossed out that single line and left the mound without waiting for my answer.
How is that not completely irresponsible…
I slapped the rosin bag a few times. Watching my hand turn white, then watching the powder scatter on my breath, I felt my nerves settle a little.
I rolled the ball inside my glove with my fingers, stepped onto the rubber, and looked at the catcher.
His fingers moved a few times between his thighs.
The sign was a four-seamer. He set the mitt dead center and nodded.
Was he saying it was fine if I got hit? Or was he telling me to just throw one clean?
I thought about locating it inside or outside on my own, but the catcher showed no intention of moving the mitt.
Fine. Throw what he calls.
I turned the ball in my glove and settled into a four-seam grip.
I wound up carefully, squeezed every ounce of strength I had, and drove the ball toward the catcher's mitt.
Thwack!
"Stri~ke!"
The batter never moved his bat. The ball went straight into the mitt, exactly where it was set.
My first pitch as a Mirae Saver felt pretty good.
"Wooooaaaaah!"
Then the crowd's roar rolled in.
The ball the catcher tossed back had real weight to it. Looks like he liked what I'd thrown.
His next sign was another four-seamer. The only difference was that the mitt was set a little toward the outside corner.
Thwack!
"Stri~ke!"
Once again the ball went straight into the mitt.
And then another four-seam sign.
"Stri~ke! Out!"
The batter took a clean cut at a high pitch inside and missed.
"Wooooaaaaah!!!"
The crowd erupted.
It was only three pitches, but the fans were already showing their approval of the newly arrived pitcher.
Of course, if I got lit up from here, those cheers would flip to boos in a heartbeat.
Ko Mandeok was a young catcher at twenty-five. Drafted in the first round as a highly touted prospect, he'd grown steadily into the role and locked down the starting catcher's job at twenty-three.
On another team it might have been harder, but the Mirae Savers' roster situation had made Ko Mandeok the clear number-one catcher.
His strength was defense. His batting average hovered around .240 — on the low side — but his steady pitch-calling and strong arm were firmly recognized.
That same Ko Mandeok called for another four-seamer. The batter was the Jinmyeong Falcons' number-three hitter, a power-hitting lefty import named Callio Jackson. Nearly two meters tall with a massive frame, he was built to intimidate.
His average sat in the mid-.200s — solid contact ability — but more importantly, he already had more than twenty home runs on the season.
Standing in the box, swinging his bat back and forth like a cheer stick while waiting for the pitch, Callio was clearly hunting for one big swing.
And against a hitter like that, Ko Mandeok was calling for a four-seamer that bored in tight on the hands.
"No fear at all. Heh."
I couldn't help smiling. Calling a pitch that bold against a guy who could crush one the moment the location was even slightly off… and we'd never even worked together before today.
I nodded and set my stance. I wound up carefully and drove hard into my stride.
My arm came over from a three-quarter slot behind my back, and my fingertips ripped hard across the seams.
Thwack!
"Stri~ke!"
153 km/h.
Callio never so much as flinched at the fastball buried deep on the inner edge. He just blinked, staring blankly at the catcher's mitt.
"Wooooaaaaaaaah!!"
"Kang Hajin! Kang Hajin! Kang Hajin!"
My name echoed through Jamsil Stadium. It was the kind of heat where sweat poured just from standing still, but goosebumps rose on my arms.
Ko Mandeok's hand moved fast again as he tossed the ball back. What he wanted this time wasn't a fifth straight four-seamer — it was a changeup.
I threw it with a delivery identical to the four-seamer. The only difference was that I pushed the ball out with three fingers.
The pitch left my hand looking like a four-seamer, then broke and dropped just in front of the batter.
Whoosh~
A huge swing that spun his whole body around.
The pitch that had completely stolen his timing smacked into the mitt, and Ko Mandeok nodded as he fired the ball back with force.
This was fun.
Facing hitters with the ball in my hand was fun. When was the last time I'd felt like this? I couldn't even remember.
Even the first time I'd come up to the majors and struck a batter out, I hadn't felt this. Back then I'd been so overwhelmed I barely remembered how I'd thrown…
But right now, it was fun. Watching that powerful hitter swing through my pitch and shake his head in frustration.
As he stepped back in and glared at me, Ko Mandeok called the finishing pitch.
Four-seamer again. High and inside.
I gave a light nod and started my delivery. The ball left my hand and rocketed toward the batter's chest.
Thwack!
The ball hit the mitt, and the batter froze mid-swing, desperately trying to check his bat.
Ko Mandeok's right hand shot straight toward the third-base umpire.
"Out!"
The third-base ump ruled that the bat had gone around.
Callio Jackson glared at the umpire for a moment, then let out a sigh and turned away.
Into the empty box stepped the Falcons' massive number-four hitter, Kim Jong-su.
Despite that heavy frame, he had a smooth swing and put up .300 with twenty-plus home runs every year — the Jinmyeong Falcons' locked-in cleanup man.
Just seeing him standing there with the bat on his shoulder made my chest tighten.
And the bigger problem was that I'd always been hopeless against Kim Jong-su.
Even on days when I came in as a mop-up guy and put up decent numbers, Kim Jong-su was always tough. With my old stuff and velocity, I couldn't beat that bat, and more than once I'd danced around him only to walk him.
"Huh?"
The pitch Ko Mandeok settled on to face him was a slider.
My slider was a horizontal breaker that ran away from same-handed hitters toward the outer edge.
Against a righty like Kim Jong-su it should have been a good matchup — but I'd been burned by this pitch against him enough times that I hesitated for a second.
Seeing that, Ko Mandeok punched his mitt a couple of times, then slapped his own chest with his palm.
Trust me, huh? Then I had to. It wasn't like I had another option.
And I wasn't the old me anymore. My slider wasn't that low-130s pitch — it was a 140-plus offering that could fairly be called a high-velocity slider.
"Ugh!"
A grunt tore out of me on its own.
Kim Jong-su's bat came around toward the ball flying into the mitt.
At that trajectory, his bat was going to smash the ball to pieces.
But the pitch snapped its path hard and ran away from the barrel.
"Stri~ke."
The scoreboard lit up with 141 km/h.
It worked. A slider that broke at the same velocity as my old four-seamer had pulled a swing-and-miss from Kim Jong-su.
Ko Mandeok gave a big nod and called for another slider.
I had more confidence now.
And the pitch that flew on the same course at the same speed produced another empty swing from Kim Jong-su.
Two strikes, no balls. A count completely in the pitcher's favor.
The problem was the sign Ko Mandeok put down next.
A sign we hadn't set. But I could still tell what pitch he wanted.
Ko Mandeok's sign was a curveball.
A curve. A pitch I'd thrown off and on from high school through my second pro year.
But the Dragons' pitching coach had hated my curve so much it had been sealed away… How did Ko Mandeok even know I threw one? It wasn't like I'd used it much.
When I showed my surprise, Ko Mandeok called for the curve again, dropped into a lower stance, and set his glove almost on the dirt.
In my first outing after the trade, the only thing I could do was nod and throw what he wanted.
The ball left my hand with a slight rise as it flew.
Coming in at chest height toward the strike zone, it ducked under the approaching bat and dropped hard into the dirt.
Ko Mandeok blocked the ball that bounced in front of the plate with his body, smothered it right in front of him, then scooped it up and tagged Kim Jong-su.
"Out! Game set!"
"Wooooaaaaah!!"
"Kang Hajin! Kang Hajin! Kang Hajin!"
My first appearance as a closer was over.