War? Or Festival? (4)
Some baseball fans might scoff and call it nonsense, but the truth is, most pitchers can throw just about every breaking ball out there. Even the ones derided as one-trick four-seam ponies.
'It's kinda like a play on words, though...'
Anyway, all I'm saying is they can throw them.
Sometimes you get those guys. The ones hyped as generational amateur prospects, noses so high in the air they could poke the clouds. The second they turn pro, they think:
— "With my skills, every pitch I throw should work in the pros, right?"
Of course, that's usually not the case.
The gap between pro and amateur levels is way bigger than people imagine. Maybe one or two decent breaking balls carry over, but rookies whose entire amateur arsenal works in the pros? Almost nonexistent.
That's why the guy who bragged about knucklers in amateurs can barely sling a slider in the pros.
'Of course, like I said, those pitchers do exist...'
They're the ones who were always on another level from the start. My pre-regression self was one, and post-regression? No need to explain.
Anyway. So why does a guy like me—who sounds like he could throw every pitch known to man—stick to just eight?
'Because this pitching design is the one I researched and perfected over years, tailored perfectly to me.'
Four-seam, two-seam, cutter, slider, sweeper, changeup, splitter, and curve. Selected not just for completion but how they mesh with my delivery.
But here's the thing. One criterion for picking them? Completion level.
And that's all Major League standard.
'Just like the pro-amateur gap, the Bigs versus other leagues? Massive.'
So.
'How many pitches could I throw at KBO level?'
The answer?
'No idea.'
Honestly, I don't care. Adding more here wouldn't dramatically change results anyway.
Tap, tap.
Still, since it was the All-Star Game, I figured I'd put on a show and test it out today.
'First pitch was a knuckleball...'
— Changeup.
Whoosh!!
The variant changeup hugely favored by the Mets—my uncle and dad's old team.
* * *
The ball dropped sharply in front of home plate, the batter's swing whiffing through empty air.
Crack!!
"Swing strike!"
Two strikes.
The replay showed Jin Yuha's motion in slow-mo.
[Middle finger's tucked. That's a... kick changeup.]
[So...]
[Yes. Jin Yuha's unveiled yet another new pitch. How many does this guy even have?]
[Hahaha! Truly inhuman performance. No wonder they call him a reptilian.]
The casters shook off their doubts, marveling at my show.
— Wooooaaahhh!!
And the crowd—oblivious to pitch ID, analysis, or intent—roared in delight.
"First pitch knuckleball, second a brand-new one? Why's he doing this to me..."
Only the batter at the plate shuddered in injustice.
"Is it 'cause he couldn't perfect that game because of me?"
No one humored Fighters' second baseman, Western All-Stars' #7 hitter Namgoong Seong's lament.
"Seong-ah, I'm beat. Just get in the box already."
* * *
Contrary to Park Woo-hyuk's commentary, the Western All-Stars batters knew exactly what my pitches were.
Buuuuzz!!
"Strike!"
— 151 km/h
"That was a high-speed slider. Wait, Yuha's normal slider hits 140, so call it a slutter?"
Every pitch I threw, Park Cheongwon behind the plate explained it out loud.
"Seong got knuckled for the K. Beomjun-ah, whatcha want? Eephus? Chand-do's down anyway—your at-bat ends here."
"..."
Tap, tap.
"Rookie ignoring the vet. ...Gonna get memed for life from your first All-Star?"
#8, Guardians rookie catcher Kim Beomjun wanted to shut his role model's mouth. He was dead serious.
'For Sim Chando sunbaenim to even get a decision win, I have to...'
For his pitcher.
'...Coming!'
Despite Park Cheongwon's heckling, Kim Beomjun's laser focus shattered against my floating floater.
'Floating?'
Buuuuzz!!
His bat, expecting heat, had passed home long ago.
Floooaaat~
My sky-high eephus kissed the zone late.
"...Swing strike out."
Even the ump mumbled the call, embarrassed.
"Told ya. I'm calling signs—think you can handle it?"
Kim Beomjun's face burned crimson after the 68 km/h whiff.
* * *
"This guy's insane."
The Western dugout was a mess of unnameable vibes. The bad kind.
"What the hell is this clown?"
Frustration at my prankish pitching.
"...Shouldn't the problem be us not hitting it?"
And self-loathing for failing against it.
"Holy... Those eyes terrify me. Locked gold on me! He's gonna eat me!"
"Yo, Seong-ah, your team's conspiracy nut scared you good."
"Honestly, a bit scared too. Blue eyes spooked me before—at least they looked human... Now it's snake eyes staring me down."
Plus vague fear of the overwhelming dominance I'd shown.
Atmosphere? Poisoned.
'...This round's my decision loss.'
Me, pitching like a real game. Him, prepping fan service.
I allowed no hits.
Crack!!
"Strike out!"
#9 K'd. Three perfect innings.
Total defeat.
"Hoo..."
"Gotta admit it."
Sim Chando coolly owned the L. Petty? Never.
Of course.
"Next matchup, I'll..."
He wasn't one to fold after one loss.
Sim Chando anticipated our rematch. And sensed it'd be the biggest game.
* * *
Post-inning, I chilled in the dugout, enjoying the All-Star vibes.
Thwack!!
Kang Gihoo crushed a homer.
"Get it!"
Baek Jihun flashed leather.
Thwack!!
My classmate Rhino's pinch-hit cleared the bases.
Crack!!
"Strike out!"
Qingdae buddy Park Do-hoon of the Carvers shut down an inning clean.
Thwack!!
Cleaning-time Derby? Edmund won. Gihoo couldn't top last year's champ.
"...Damn, close."
"It's fine. Real prize is HR king. I'll kill his bats whenever we meet."
Stars shone, delighting fans.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
All-Star over.
Ours.
And.
"...Uh. Me? Really?"
"You."
Performance award? Mine.
"Why! I went full clown—makeup, dance!"
Baek Jihun flipped, robbed of his prize.
"Gotta admit, shocking."
"More Mr. All-Star than performance, though..."
"Nah, Gihoo's back-to-back bombs? Untouchable."
Others nodded.
"Hm..."
First award not for ballplaying, but showmanship? Bit hollow.
Still.
"Not bad."
* * *
[2040 KBO All-Star ends in triumph—Titanz steal the show!]
['Glasses Ace' revives, 'Reptilian' debuts. Titanz' Jin Yuha ignites fans with dominance.]
[Over 10 pitches in All-Star? Where does Jin Yuha's limit end?]
[PHOTO: "First award like this, but thank you." Titanz Jin Yuha bows sheepishly.]
[Eastern League's biggest upset—Can Titanz hold #1?]
[Titanz Jin Yuha spotted in Busan with classmate catcher Jeong Hanseong. Snap! "Pig bone soup's delish."]
[Jin Yuha at Incheon Airport again. Companion: Jackson Morris—MLB's top agent?!]
["No overseas plans yet. Focused on Titanz championship." Jin Yuha shuts down MLB rumors.]
[Baseball resumes! Titanz announce Jin Yuha for Busan second-half opener.]
[Enemies on a bridge? Second-half series: Titanz vs Dragons at Shin Sajik Baseball Stadium!]
* * *
Die, you bastards!
What'd you crawl here for?!
Shin Sajik blazed before first pitch.
"...Fuck, we came to play ball, obviously."
On that Dragons-tense day—the sole survivor in my hands, Byun Jaeyu—tried toughing it out. But his hands shook anyway.