Good Child (2)
“Th… fuck, is this score for real?”
Friday. Park Deoksu, manager of the Pistols who had just won the first game against the Titans, gasped as he looked at Jin Yuha's line.
Even for a veteran with a long career, it was something he'd never seen before.
“No way the entire Eastern League turned into total scrubs, right?”
He even had that suspicion for a moment. Of course, that couldn't be true.
“Manager… we just got swept by the Rangers on weekdays.”
If the entire Eastern League's power had weakened, they wouldn't have gotten crushed so badly in that series.
“…Then why?”
Park Deoksu, asking back like that, couldn't possibly not know the reason. It was just.
“Means Jin Yuha's that damn good.”
Almost like.
“Just like his dad.” “Ugh… did the whole Jin family get born just to play baseball or what?”
Park Deoksu groaned, but even so, he did his absolute best to figure out how to attack Jin Yuha. The seat he sat in demanded it.
“Did those number-cruncher nerds find any weaknesses?”
The KBO of his playing days and now were worlds apart in player analysis. Not quite Major League microscope level, but definitely magnifying glass territory. At the center were the so-called 'experts.'
“Tch, those smartasses must've found something, right?”
Like most athletes, the not-so-bookish Park Deoksu instinctively kept his distance from experts. But he didn't ignore their usefulness.
Unlike his long managerial career, Park Deoksu was actually a pretty progressive manager.
“…”
Under Park Deoksu's expectant gaze, the head coach hesitated before speaking.
“Nothing notable.” “What?” “They couldn't find any real weaknesses to exploit.”
It was shocking.
“He's a rookie, isn't he? And no weaknesses?” “Yeah…”
No denying Jin Yuha had insane—maybe the best ever—talent. But as a young player, he should have weaknesses. Lack of experience and all.
That was common sense to Park Deoksu. But.
“They tried their best, but nothing major stood out.”
That common sense crumbled in front of Jin Yuha.
“His pitching tempo's fast. Hitters can't even catch their breath.” “We can adapt to that somehow…” “Then he suddenly changes tempo.” “Hah.” “Clean delivery means quick fielding switches, good pickoffs too. His personal catcher Jeong Hanseong has a cannon arm.”
Come to think of it, he'd even gunned down stolen base attempts from the Rangers' lifetime .300 trio that toyed with the Pistols.
“There is one minor weakness, though…” “Yes! No way there's nothing! You were just messing with me, right?”
Park Deoksu lit up, but the head coach's face wasn't great.
“Curve gives it away a bit. Release point's different from other pitches.” “Nice! One pitch we can target is perfect!” “But he only throws it once a game, maybe.”
Silence fell.
“Hey.” “Yes.” “You messing with me for real?” “…No.”
The head coach looked so wronged. So then.
“That's really it?” “Yes.” “Hah… damn it.”
Deflated, Park Deoksu called in one player.
“You wanted me, old man?”
The inauguration gift the team prepared for new manager Park Deoksu. Veteran center fielder Oh Seungjin, who transferred from Seoul Guardians to Daejeon Pistols in this stove league.
With his wide range, solid bat, and great game-calling, he'd hit the FA jackpot—4 years, 8 billion—and donned the Pistols uniform. His cheeky charm quickly made him the team's core, and Park Deoksu trusted him big time.
“Tomorrow. Children's Day. You know Jin Yuha's starting?” “Ah… Yuha. Yeah.” “You two close?” “He probably doesn't know me, but I know him. I'm a fan of that variety show he was on.” “What?” “He was so cute as a kid. You didn't watch, old man?” “Bullshit.”
Sometimes it got annoying.
“You think you can handle him?” “Dunno… probably not.” “Tch, why's a vet like you so lacking in confidence?” “Better than bluffing.”
Park Deoksu stared hard at the unflappable Oh Seungjin, then grabbed his shoulder and whispered.
“Tell the guys: drag out as many pitches as possible at the plate.” “Huh? Lose before the game even starts?” “No other way.”
Scratching his chin, he nodded.
“Alright. Worth a shot.”
…
And so, game day.
“Uh… old man? Pulling pitches seems impossible too?”
Oh Seungjin, back after a three-pitch strikeout.
“This fucking…”
Park Deoksu could only sigh deeply.
* * *
“Yuha, how do you get faster as the game goes? 164 km/h what.” “Beats me.”
Honestly, I was surprised too.
Already hit my peak velocity from my prime?
Caught me off guard. I'm only 18. Prime physical condition is still years away.
Hmm… proper training from childhood?
Past me got systematic training young too. My family were MLB superstars; I was basically their apprentice. But.
Took time to find what worked best for me.
Trial and error happened. But this life, no need. I already knew the answers.
This is a regressor's edge, huh?
Maybe this time I'd be an even better player than before.
Could build an even greater Big League career…
Eh, no plans for MLB though.
Anyway, peak condition makes baseball feel easy.
Top of the 2nd.
Crack!!
“Strike three!”
The batter froze on a 163 km/h four-seamer.
Whiff!!
“Swinging strike three!”
A stubborn guy's bat whiffed empty on the splitter.
Whiff!!
“Swinging strike three!”
This time, a changeup 10 km/h slower fooled him.
Top of the 3rd.
Crack!!
“Strike three!”
Backdoor sweeper's a handy weapon now and then.
Crack!!
“Strike three!”
Plunked right where a human ump would've called ball, not ABS.
Whiff!!
“Swinging strike three!”
The wildly swinging batter turned to stone at the plate before trudging off.
“Huh?”
Heading down from the mound, I spotted a kid fan in the home plate stands waving.
KKKKKKKKK
His front was full of K's.
* * *
…
Thwack!!
* * *
“Whoa…”
Jeong Hanseong's homer was unexpected. Talented guy, sure, but catchers splitting focus on hitting isn't easy. Backup means fewer at-bats too.
“Wooo!! …Huh?”
No one paid attention to Hanseong stepping on home and returning to the dugout. Standard rookie indifference ceremony.
“Yuha? I hit a homer?” “Yeah. Congrats, now gear up quick. Field time.”
I joined in too.
“Yuha.” “Yes, manager.” “Big lead today, no pulling you.” “Music to my ears.”
Manager Jeong Hyeonho was the same.
“Manager? Yuha?”
Hanseong wore a dumb look till the end of our bats.
* * *
Top of the 4th.
Pistols leadoff, Oh Seungjin, stepped up.
Damn… is this kid a real monster?
The cute Jin Yuha from stories was a beast.
Still don't get how I whiffed in my first PA.
First pitch 164 km/h four-seamer right in the zone—mind blown. Even national team vet Oh Seungjin had never seen that heat.
Second was a two-seamer at 158 km/h. Barely fouled it off, but morale crushed.
And the third.
“Uh… catcher? Hanseong, right? Yuha's thing really a splitter?” “Huh? He calls it one.” “Splitter over 150? That's a sinker.” “Does it matter?”
Like the Titans rookie catcher—who showed promise, unfazed by a senior—said, it didn't. Pitch type? Who cares.
Can I hit it or not?
Grip.
Oh Seungjin squeezed the bat. Light personality or not, player pride was there. Big. National team vet, fat FA contract. No one wants to be the goat etched in history.
And so.
Whoosh!!
Crack!!
“Strike three!”
A fresh K joined the home plate stands board.