Chapter 95

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 94

Chapter Title: Even Rock-Paper-Scissors Requires Winning Against Japan (5)

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“Maeng-ho. You're the last batter up. Just draw four pitches from Ohtani. That'll get him pulled.”

“Got it.”

Bring the runner home. That was the mission handed to me. Even Ohtani looked worn out after that last pitch to Kim Su-ho. Sure, his velocity was still easily cruising in the high 150s, but...

'You gonna wait him out?'

'Nah. If it's a good one, I'm swinging.'

'That's my Ji Maeng-ho.'

'Haven't heard my full name in a while.'

'Yeah, you damn monkey.'

I wanted to crush it. Crush it like crazy. And bring that pinch runner Yang Ji-hyuk home.

'Relax. You know putting too much tension in your grip just makes it worse, right?'

'Yes, sir.'

Taking Rogers Hornsby's advice, I eased up on the bat just a bit.

'Swing easy. Nice and easy.'

I decided to go light and looked at Ohtani. He was grinning just like before.

'Bastard. Shit. Mr. Hornsby, what's the pitch?'

'First one's a slider. Low and away.'

Ohtani throwing a slider? Fitting for his last inning, making it tough. I decided to wait on the first pitch.

“Strike!”

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! How did I miss that? Ohtani's slider didn't break as much as I thought and caught the zone perfectly. A meatball. If I'd been looking for it, that could've cleared the fence. What a missed chance.

'Focus! Save the self-recrimination for after the at-bat.'

'...Yes, sir.'

Hornsby's sharp words snapped me back. Right, still two strikes to play with. Plenty of room.

'Fastball. Inside.'

Outside slider followed by inside fastball. Classic combo. And classics always work. But not on me. I knew it was coming inside.

'Swinging this time.'

Showing the outside slider then coming inside with heat meant he was looking to get ahead. I wouldn't repeat my earlier mistake—I timed it quicker. Ohtani would fire something over 160 here.

I trusted Ohtani, one of MLB's top pitchers.

'Here it comes...!'

Crack!

A sharp hit. Launch angle was low, but it split the left-center gap! I bolted straight for first.

'Hit!'

'Line drive! Straight to the wall! Go to second!'

In the chaos, I trusted Hornsby's navigation and dashed to second. Not watching the ball in an infield situation was beyond imagination! Second base was right there.

I slid in safe, no glove tag from the second baseman. Perfect timing...? Wait, why no tag...? A Japanese player missing this...? You tag even if the runner touches the bag—that's beast-mode basics. No way a fundamentals-obsessed Japanese pro botches this...

In that absurd moment, unease crashed over me. Instinctively, I glanced home.

Yang Ji-hyuk sprawled out... and the Japanese catcher's mitt held high.

“Out-----!!!!!!”

The umpire's booming call. What? Yang couldn't score on that? This can't be...

The scoreboard lit up red. Korea's dugout fell silent. This was reality.

'Tch, ball was too quick. Still, you ripped a long one.'

'......'

“What happened?”

Ignoring Hornsby, I asked the coach who'd come for my gear.

“Hit was too hot. Bounced right off the wall. Left fielder snagged it.”

“Left fielder...?”

“Suzuki Seiya. Hell of a cannon arm. Should've held him? Damn it.”

The coach spat a curse in frustration. Suzuki Seiya—Japan's best arm, rivaling Ichiro. I'd heard about it in scouting reports. The line drive smacked the wall without dying and rocketed to Seiya like a bullet. He gunned down Yang.

That was the story.

'Shit, bad luck.'

I'd crushed it solid. Nothing I could've done with my power. And no way that ball shouldn't have let him score. Just Seiya's D was elite, his arm even better.

“Tough break. If it'd been a hair slower, he scores. Close play too. Still one out left.”

Worse yet: Ohtani had thrown 64 pitches. Pitch limit was 65, but rules allowed seeing it through once ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠started, so the next guy faced him too.

'But it's Choi Joo-tae, so...'

Crack, strike! Crack, ball, ball, crack! Swing, strike three!

My trusted Choi Joo-tae whiffed after seven pitches, ending Korea's top of the sixth.

'Definitely not your average monkey. Ohtani, Ohtani. Guy's the real deal.'

'Mr. Hornsby, you don't see any ghosts with Ohtani? Not getting tips from Babe Ruth?'

'If he was, I'd have told you already.'

Total shutout. Ohtani wrapped us up tight, zero runs.

'Next time, though...'

I could only look ahead.

“Ha, fuck. What a shitshow.”

Total defeat. Facing Ohtani? Clean sweep. Sure, I roped a double-ish hit, but even knowing it was coming, that's all I got.

First total ass-kicking left a bad taste. With Hornsby's help, this was it? MLB guys scoring off him must be freaks.

“Rookie, you gonna stand there all day?”

“Coming...”

Packing my gear to leave the quiet field, someone approached from the Japanese side.

It was Ohtani. His English had that Japanese accent, but you could tell he'd worked hard on it. Not quite native like mine with Hornsby's help, but respectable.

Thanks to Hornsby, my English flowed fluently. When I spoke in Australia, they said I had a thick Texas drawl like an old-timer—blame Hornsby, Texas boy from way back.

“[Shohei Ohtani, right? 'Ji Maeng-ho.' Hope we meet in the bigs someday.]”

He came over smiling despite the win—annoying, but a fellow ballplayer. And that likeable face grinning? Hard to snap back, like the saying goes: can't spit on a smiling face.

“[Hey, nice to meet you. Hold tight—I'll be in the majors soon.]”

English poured out smooth as I figured. Who knew I could speak it this well? Hornsby's a legend.

“[Uh, you sound like a grandpa. Anyway, good game today. Let's match up again.]”

If things stayed on track, semis against Japan. Neither of us dropping early. Both squads were all-timers.

'We'll see, Ohtani! Next time, look forward to it. I'll wipe that smile off.'

'Heh, losers always say that. Losers Anonymous club or what?'

'Hey, shut it! You're jinxing me!'