Veteran Rookie (3)
Before regression. My early career was riddled with failures.
Of course, this wasn't about my personal stats. I'd never slumped once after debuting in the big leagues.
The failures I was talking about were purely the team's record.
Even in my debut season, hailed as a generational prospect and winning Rookie of the Year.
Even in my second year, shrugging off the sophomore slump to claim the Cy Young right away.
Even in the season I challenged myself as a two-way player, feeling pitching alone wasn't enough, and snagged the MVP.
I'd never played baseball in the fall.
'That grated on me.'
The truth was, I wanted to be like my father.
Dad, who'd built a dynasty as a one-club man and become more than just a franchise star—a true legend of the franchise. The kid I was back then, dreaming of that romance he showed, grew weary of the endless failures. That's when my personality started sharpening into something edgier.
Then came the trade. The trade everyone, including me, saw coming. My first organization was one that just wanted to cash in on prospects. But.
'At first, I wasn't thrilled.'
It wasn't lingering attachment to my original team. By then, I was sick of them too.
I just didn't like the team I got traded to. Solid fanbase, plenty of money, big market—but a club miles away from contention in every way.
'One of those famously cursed teams, after all...'
But in the end, I—we—built a dynasty. So.
'Of course I've got tons of postseason experience.'
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
The 162 km/h four-seamer stabbed sharply into the strike zone.
Championship Series Game 1. As the Titans' first postseason starter, I'd decided to go strikeout-heavy on purpose.
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
The batter flinched away from the inside pitch, but the sweeper showed massive break right in front of the plate, grazing the zone.
It wasn't that I didn't trust the fielders, who weren't hiding their nerves. In the postseason—especially a series opener—I always leaned on strikeouts anyway.
Whiff!!
'Oh boy.'
The cornered batter swung for the fences in desperation.
Thwack!!
"Swinging strike three!"
My pitch didn't connect.
Two outs.
I'd always been the ace, the number one starter. From experience, I'd learned the ace's key role in short series: crushing the opponents' spirit from the jump.
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
That was why I ended the top of the first.
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
With three strikeouts.
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
'How's it so easy to just rack up strikeouts on command?'
A meaningless question. It just worked for me.
Sometimes there's a pitcher who laughs off analysis, turning it into meaningless scraps of paper. No matter how much you study, no glaring weaknesses show—and even if you find one, exploiting it is near impossible. Those pitchers usually dominate the league, and Jin Yuha was the prime example.
"...Whew. Pedro's weakness—they know it well too, huh?"
By contrast, today's Rhinos starter, Pedro Lopez, had a glaring fatal flaw.
"No way they don't. The Titans were the first to spot it and hammer it."
It was the Titans who'd uncovered and exploited it first, no less.
"A mental block he can't fix..."
Pedro Lopez couldn't pitch inside to lefties. If it were a mechanical issue with his delivery, maybe he could've tweaked it. But Pedro's problem stemmed from trauma of past mistakes. Not something fixed overnight.
"What can you do? He dominated the Rangers in the playoffs—gotta trust him."
Still, Rhinos manager Andonghwa believed in Pedro's playoff heroics. And.
'Truth is, even if Pedro flops, it's fine...'
Just.
'Call it a sacrifice to Jin Yuha.'
Andonghwa was always the type to dig two holes.
Pedro was a pitcher with a massive weakness: couldn't pitch inside to lefties. But.
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
He was also a pitcher who'd flash briefly in the majors in the future—one only I knew about. Meaning.
Crack!!
"Out!"
Even with that flaw, he had the stuff to overwhelm hitters.
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
The Titans' lineup, still buckling under postseason pressure, wouldn't crack him easily.
"Down to two outs in a flash..."
And.
Crack!!
"Foul!"
Even cleanup hitter Frank Rodriguez swinging desperately told me.
Crack!!
"Foul!"
The bats needed more time to settle in.
'Keep racking up Ks and no runs till then.'
Lucky for me, that was my specialty.
Whiff!!
"Swinging strike three!"
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
Crack!!
"Foul!"
Crack!!
"Foul!"
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
Crack!!
"Out!"
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
Crack!!
"Out!"
To Jeong Suyeong, Jin Yuha was a weird underclassman. Always odd, but especially today.
"Yuha's not even nervous..."
The veteran leadoff man himself was tense as hell in his first postseason at-bat. Yet the 19-year-old rookie, still boyish-faced, pitched coolly from the mound like this pressure was old hat.
'All that spotlight from kid days?'
Yuha had drawn massive attention in Korea and the US since starting baseball. Maybe he'd always played under this kind of heat.
'Yuha's chill comes from that history. Guess that's what they mean by veteran rookie.'
Jeong Suyeong felt like he understood Yuha a bit better. Yuha would've scoffed if he heard— he'd long transcended that pressure.
Thwack!!
"Strike three!!"
Top of the third. First out: strikeout again.
"Yawn..."
Out in center for defense but barely moving, Jeong Suyeong yawned from boredom. Today's Yuha didn't need the fielders.
Whiff!!
"Swinging strike three!"
"Whoa... how many Ks now?"
Second batter of the inning crumpled. Gun showed velocity, batter's swing screamed changeup.
"Heh, glad Yuha's on our squad."
Meant no facing that monster himself. Plus.
'Personality... ain't bad.'
Not cuddly sweet, but polite. Arrogance befitting a genius, sure—but not the off-putting kind.
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
Last batter K'd too. Nine straight.
"Yuha! Nice work!"
Jeong Suyeong's shout from the outfield went unheard as Yuha jogged in.
"Huh? Why all Ks suddenly?"
"Yeah. Thought maybe you didn't trust our gloves."
He was mid-chat with the infield chatterbox.
"Nah... not that I doubt you seniors' defense."
"Then just felt like striking guys out?"
"Wanna seize momentum early, give you guys a breather too."
Overhearing from behind, Jeong Suyeong realized something.
"You're all stressing over hitting—might as well relax on D, right?"
Come to think of it, the tension gripping him had vanished.
Bottom of the third.
Ninth-hole Baek Jihun grinds out a walk after a battle.
Crack!!
Leadoff Jeong Suyeong finally delivers in his second look.
"Safe!"
RBI single.
"Yuha! You see that?!"
A hit for the ace.