Chapter 31
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Blue Dragon Cup (6)
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They said Jang Woo-ju was a once-in-thirty-years talent. Kim Won-ho? A once-in-ten-years prodigy. What did that mean? It meant Won-ho had more than enough skill to toy with high school batters.
Won-ho breezed through Gwangju Future High's lineup in the bottom of the first, striking out the side. Then, in the top of the second, it was my turn as the leadoff hitter.
'Looked faster than I thought from the on-deck circle.'
'That's the punch of a 100-mph fastball—what pitchers dream of.'
'Did it hit 100 in your eyes, Mr. Hornsby?'
'Nah, not quite—but it was pushing 98 miles per hour. At least 156.8 km/h.'
'Still plenty fast even if it fell short. How'd you handle it?'
'How many guys can actually touch 100? Time your swing to that heater, and your balance goes to hell. Best to lay off. Plenty of games ahead anyway. Me? I hunted changeups.'
A pitch I'd never seen before. Hell, even Rogers hadn't faced many like it.
'No choice. Have to pick it up as it comes.'
'You got it. Your bat speed's plenty. And once you know it's all fastballs? Nothing you can't hit.'
Just like Rogers said, Jang Woo-ju didn't have any real out pitches besides that 100-mph smoke. I'd heard he threw a curve, but it wasn't anything scary, and his command wasn't sharp anyway. Same arm slot for the four-seam and curve was his edge, but it didn't faze me.
"Good afternoon."
I greeted the ump, stepped in, and took a few quick cuts. Jang Woo-ju met my eyes and flashed a smug grin.
'Why do these fucking pitchers always smirk like that?'
Like he was saying, You? Pfft, no big deal. Pitchers who grinned like that usually ended up beet-red after I launched one into the seats.
'Let's see if that smile lasts.'
The battery huddled quick and fired the first pitch.
'Four-seam. Mitt's dead center.'
POP! The catcher's mitt exploded with a crack.
'Fast, alright.'
"Ball!"
It sailed up just a hair. I'd seen it leave his hand—no swing. Up close, Jang's fastball felt different from the on-deck view.
'Kinda... clean? Like a straight stick coming at me. Clean mechanics make it pop visually. But it hops a bit. Not really rising, just looks that way 'cause it's quick.'
'Right. Swing without fear.'
'Yes, sir!'
Rogers' words filled me with confidence. Yeah—the greatest second baseman ever says I got this. Some punk's heater is nothing.
I reset, locked in, waiting for the next one.
'Four-seam. Center.'
Center again? This guy's picking a fight.
I read his windup, bat loaded. Swing as it leaves the hand—that's the timing. Clean delivery made it easy to match. The second it slipped free—
CRACK!
I timed it perfect. The ball rocketed high toward the right-field foul line, then dropped into the stands. But something felt off.
'Hand doesn't sting as much as I thought.'
Won-ho's 93-mph fastballs made my hands buzz. Same with most guys. But this? Blazing speed, yet barely any bite.
'Featherweight heater, huh.'
'Seems like it.'
Fast, sure. But light on power. Come to think of it, coach said he gives up the occasional bomb—not from overconfidence, but weak stuff.
'No one's squared him up yet, so he's racked up stats. Not anymore. I'm the orangutan Rogers endorses! Bat speed? Locked in.'
'Heh, finally owning the orangutan bit.'
'Gorilla promotion incoming. You're done, Jang Woo-ju.'
Knowing it lacked oomph? No fear left. Even off the sweet spot, I could carry it. Hitting the barrel's tough—making contact? Any elite baller can.
Thwack!
Thwack!
Thwack!
Each contact pulled the ball tighter to fair territory. I was syncing up—my bat speed adapting to his velocity.
"Gonna keep grooving fastballs? Boring."
"Two strikes, one ball. That confident?"
"Keep throwing."
The catcher sounded shaky, dialect slipping. Curve incoming?
'Four-seam. Center.'
Stubborn pride. Pitchers are delicate like that. Bluffing through contact wasn't weird.
CRACK!
This one hooked left-field foul. Pull too hard? Right for a righty. Early timing? Left. And this pull was deep.
"Foul."
'Close. For a monkey.'
'Damn, didn't carry.'
But that swing confirmed it: square it up, it's gone. And with fastballs all day, the mitt hadn't twitched. He just trusted his heat down the pipe. No border-line command.
Away or middle.
'Problem is, his control's been on point so far. All strikes by luck? No guarantee next one's in. Gotta pray for inside.'
As I pondered, Rogers saved me—not the heavens.
'Four-seam, running outside.'
'Outside?'
'Yeah.'
Nibbling here? No pride? At 100 mph? If it were me on this stage, I'd never back down. If I did waste one, it'd hug the zone.
Plenty of at-bats left. I loaded up loose, timing my body to his fastball.
He wound oblivious and unleashed—
CRAAACK!
'Fuck it!'
My hands hummed. There it was!
I followed through instinctively, tossing the bat along its path. Jogged to first slow. Locked eyes with glaring Jang Woo-ju.
'What're you staring at, you punk?'
Shot him a smirk, stretched my arms, and circled the bases.
Savoring him slamming his glove.
"Damn, another homer today?"
"Inevitable in life: death, taxes, and Ji Maeng-ho homers."
"Ugh, hit it good so we can watch."
Bantered with Won-ho waiting at home, ducked into the dugout. Teammates swarmed for congrats and high-fives—but cooler than before.
"Hyung, homer again?"
"Knew it. We'll skip the cheers next time."
"How we scoring now? Maeng-ho hyung's blanking 'em."
Like marveling at fish breathing underwater. Expected reaction to the expected.
"Congrats, Maeng-ho hyung."
"On what?"
"Five straight games with a homer—from round of 32 to finals. High school record."
"Really? Who tracks that? No biggie."
"Ugh, jinx."
"Yeah, praise me more. This body's sending you all to college!"
No team spirit left—but I wouldn't let scrubs who couldn't hack college ruin my three years. ...Plus, college hookups for intros.
"Maeng-ho, nice one."
After the chaos, quiet Coach finally spoke. Softer since Hye-jin noona's pregnancy—storehouse charity.
"Sorry. Even if your glove's iffy, with your bat, I should've carved out a spot."
"Nah. Can't play if I can't field. It's fine."
Lee Ki-cheol's apology was way too late.
'Should've apologized sooner. This is your punishment—don't freak if you find out later.'
Fool coach blind to raw talent. His penalty? Hye-jin noona handled it. Family harmony now, and she got a taste of my monster.
'Wait, am I too nice? That's a gift, not punishment. Rogers! Slot me in the five great saints. If you hit paradise, vouch for me.'
'Idiot. For real. Sigh.'
'True, you can't reach heaven. When I do, I'll bust you out of hell. I'm a saint. Kehehehehe!'
Rogers shaking his head cracked me up. Rescuing my hellbound master? Ted Williams couldn't top that. Greatest disciple ever!
"Kehehehe!"
"Maeng-ho hyung's in a good mood. Doesn't laugh much."
"Voice is kinda weird, though."
Ahem. Poker face on—back to the cool, charismatic Ji Maeng-ho the kids idolized.
'What a moron. Few months back, crying and ignored by underclassmen. Homer went to his head.'
Rogers' trash-talk echoed, but I ignored it, refocused on ball.
*
'So what if he likes girls? Long as he plays ball.'
So-young, speed gun in hand from the stands, gasped at Maeng-ho's homer.
"Monster. Overpowered Jang Woo-ju straight-up."
Last pitch clocked 159 km/h on her gun. Pro-level heat, smashed clean. Power-on-power duel in high school? Impressive as hell.
'Definitely not high school caliber.'
Immediate impact guy, obvious to anyone.
'Ji Maeng-ho's AT's top draft pick for sure. With him? Championship's no dream.'
For herself. And her bedridden grandpa.
Maeng-ho chasing girls? Not an issue anymore.
"...Sorry. Can't believe we missed a talent like that."
Her mutter caught scout boss Hong Hyun-cheol's eye. He mumbled glumly.
"It's fine. Contract's done anyway."
'And we know all about your lousy scouting.'