Chapter 12
Chapter 12
The day after Choi Myung-jun had targeted me.
I was in the center, quietly preparing for training.
Honestly, he’d acted exactly as I expected, so I had nothing to say.
I didn’t know why Choi Myung-jun held a grudge against me.
At this point, I didn’t particularly care.
I had let go of everything that happened in Phoenix, just as Director Oh Gyu-jin said.
Unless they brought it up first, I had no intention of digging it up and making it messy.
But this crossed the line.
I thought it through carefully.
What could be the best revenge I could take?
It didn’t take long to reach an answer.
Thanks to Choi Myung-jun, I knew exactly what I needed to do.
The chaos that spread when news of me got out wasn’t limited to just the Marines’ fans.
Phoenix fans were buzzing as well.
Most of the fans blamed the front office, but what if they found out the real reason I left Phoenix?
Would they still only criticize the front office?
Of course, I had no intention of revealing it now.
My words alone wouldn’t carry enough weight.
The way to strengthen that power was simple.
I just needed to perform.
Better than Choi Myung-jun.
That didn’t mean anything changed immediately.
It just added a new goal to the path I was already on.
Yeah, for now, Choi Myung-jun was exactly that insignificant to me.
What mattered now was Euden, who was smiling innocently in the batter’s box while I sent my pitches flying.
“Nice pitch.”
Thankfully, it was a foul homer, but my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.
Since we started training together, Euden and I did one full, game-like session per day.
Just one chance.
That was Euden’s rule.
“If you have too many chances, it wouldn’t be fun, right?”
At first, I doubted the point of it, but it proved surprisingly effective.
What I lacked most was real-game experience.
This training filled that gap.
The moment I put even a little force into my fingertips, the moment I lost the slightest composure, I felt the consequences sharply.
Euden never let a single mistake slide, and I had to throw every pitch perfectly.
One day, I even gave up back-to-back homers.
With even a little extra spin, he could hit it out immediately. Ugh.
Knowing that one slip could become a homer made me give my all on every single pitch.
Even with that effort, days when I actually beat Euden were rare.
The problem was velocity.
My knuckleball averaged about 65 mph.
Not slow for a knuckleball, but still insufficient to stop Euden.
“How come I can still hit it even if aiming for the sweet spot?”
I was realizing in real-time why Euden was called the greatest talent in Major League Baseball.
I couldn’t even predict where my own pitch would go—how could he?
Anyway, the task to beat Euden was simple.
Increase velocity.
I had done it before.
But as I said earlier, a knuckleball needs precise force.
Even a slight increase in force to raise velocity would result in…
And my pitch would sail over the fence without resistance.
At this point, I had become numb to the ball clearing the wall effortlessly.
Damn it.
“Nice pitch. If I hadn’t been careful, I’d have lost.”
“I told you not to say that.”
“Ahaha, sorry. But I’m always honest.”
Just because he smiled innocently didn’t mean it was fine.
I knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but it only made me more frustrated.
Thankfully, David, who was watching us, offered some reassurance.
“Like I said. Except for the last pitch, there were no mistakes. Average speed was 67 mph, RPM 137.”
“What about the last pitch?”
“73 mph, RPM 791.”
Translation: the perfect pitch to hit.
In the end, I failed again to reproduce the pitch that had first struck out Euden.
“I always say this, that Euden is a monster. Other batters wouldn’t hit your pitches properly.”
I knew.
But the reason I was trying to throw a hard knuckleball wasn’t just for Euden.
A knuckleball pitcher throws knuckleballs for over 80% of their pitches.
So at least 10% are other pitches like a four-seam fastball.
But I couldn’t do that.
I threw knuckleballs for rehabilitation purposes.
I knew I had talent for the knuckleball, but this was the only method I’d discovered to regain velocity.
It was too wasteful to give up without trying.
So I committed to throwing 100% knuckleballs.
It wasn’t a problem for the knuckleball itself, but compared to other knuckleballers, I had essentially lost one weapon.
That was why I wanted to learn the hard knuckleball.
But the clear sensation I felt from the very first knuckleball disappeared when I tried throwing it hard.
Was that just luck?
I ended today’s training without any major progress.
I washed up roughly and lay down on the bed.
“…Damn it.”
Even closing my eyes, I couldn’t sleep.
To be honest, I felt a little frustrated.
I had won at first, but I hadn’t expected to lose this completely.
Experiencing Euden firsthand proved how extraordinary he was.
I was grateful that such a player was helping me, but it didn’t make losing repeatedly any easier.
Unable to sleep, I pulled a ball from the drawer and held it in my hand.
I gripped the top with my index and middle fingers, and the ball with my ring finger and thumb.
The familiar knuckleball grip.
Wrapping the seams with fingers turned it into a four-seam grip.
Though it had been a long time since I held a four-seam fastball, my hand moved naturally.
When had I last thrown a four-seamer?
At least, not since my velocity had dropped.
I might sound boastful, but my four-seam was exceptional.
For a rookie in their first year to maintain an ERA in the 2s through the late season wasn’t easy.
It required more than stamina—eventually, a starter needs breaking balls.
At that time, the only breaking ball I could throw confidently was a slider.
Yet I maintained a 2 ERA.
With this very four-seamer.
On the surface, it looked like an ordinary four-seam grip.
But from a young age, whenever I threw a four-seam, it had a cutter-like movement.
My middle finger was unusually strong, probably the reason.
It made control difficult, but once I adjusted my form and stabilized control, its power multiplied.
I never expected it would lead to an injury.
“…Huh?”
Middle finger strength… why didn’t I think of this before?
A sudden thought.
Could this unusually strong middle finger affect knuckleball spin?
Even with the same four-seam grip, every pitcher’s grip and trajectory differ.
Different strength, different bodies—how can the same pitch behave the same?
I threw cutter-like four-seams.
Knuckleballs were the same.
I thought I threw correctly, yet extra spin came through.
Imbalance of force between middle and index fingers.
When throwing slow knuckleballs, the effect was negligible, but for hard knuckleballs, it could matter.
I thought I was applying the same force, but subconsciously the middle finger overpowered the index.
The result: inconsistent spin.
Maybe not, but once the thought struck, I couldn’t stay still.
I grabbed a ball and headed to the training field.
It was late, but I knew the code, so it didn’t matter.
I warmed up lightly and stepped onto the mound.
I threw a few slow knuckleballs, then tried throwing hard with the same grip.
The ball spun noticeably, following a clean trajectory.
So far, normal.
I gripped again.
If this spin came from the force imbalance between middle and index fingers, I had two options:
Train to balance the force, or adjust balance another way.
The first was impossible for now, but I had an idea for the second.
I supported the ball with my thumb and pinky, stacking the other three fingers on top.
Index, middle, and ring fingers.
One of the knuckleball grips David had shown me when I first threw it.
But I had grown used to a two-finger grip, so I hadn’t thrown it this way since.
…Damn, why am I nervous?
Honestly, it would be smarter to wait for Oliver and David to help tomorrow.
I tried to think lightly.
For now, I was just solving my curiosity.
What difference could one finger really make…?
Huh?
“Ugh…shall we go?”
Euden smiled, packing up for the moment he’d been looking forward to most that day.
The showdown with Park Si-woo.
Although just one at-bat, Park Si-woo always satisfied him.
‘What pitch will he throw today?’
Most batters disliked knuckleballs.
Some called it cheating.
Above all, the unpredictable trajectory lingered in the mind, making ordinary pitches trickier.
Euden was no different.
If it were the season, he wouldn’t have joined so readily.
But now, freshly out of rehab, Park Si-woo’s knuckleball was a perfect wake-up for him.
He entered the training area with a pleasant smile, and Park Si-woo, already there, greeted him.
“You’re here?”
“Yeah. Oliver and David?”
“They’ll be here soon.”
Euden hadn’t yet noticed Park Si-woo’s change.
Soon, Oliver and David returned.
“Ready? Let’s start.”
Oliver said, and Euden stepped into the batter’s box.
He faced Park Si-woo on the mound.
‘It’s sad that it won’t be long now.’
For Euden, spending time with Park Si-woo was special.
Sharing talent with a peer, having this kind of moment—it was unprecedented.
No one else could match his ability.
But Park Si-woo could.
‘Si-woo probably doesn’t realize.’
The matchup heavily favored Euden.
The knuckleball’s greatest strength was unpredictability.
It fell in completely different trajectories from ordinary pitches.
But after facing Park Si-woo daily, he had adapted.
The knuckleball still twisted randomly, but Euden’s talent made it possible.
And their matchups were unfavorable.
Knuckleballs, though varied, mostly followed similar arcs.
Low spin, slow velocity—there was no avoiding that.
Meanwhile, Euden’s swing, like many Major Leaguers, had an uppercut trajectory.
Not every uppercut benefited against knuckleballs, but Euden’s swing maximized surface area, and Park Si-woo’s pitches often hit it.
The solution was the hard knuckleball.
‘Even a knuckleball is tough these days.’
Park Si-woo’s skill improved rapidly day by day.
By the time Euden left the center, their records might be comparable.
‘But not yet.’
Euden, though appearing unbeatable, was steadily improving.
“Shall we start?”
At his words, Park Si-woo nodded.
The first pitch fell nearly vertically like a waterfall.
Euden endured it.
He erased the flashing trajectory from his mind.
Knuckleballs never arrive on the same path twice.
Pitch two.
‘Did I hit the lower part?’
It came in lower than expected.
After checking it was foul, Euden returned to the box.
Pitches three and four were ball and strike, 2-2.
As he awaited pitch five, he felt the moment Park Si-woo released the ball.
‘This is like back then…’
A straight pitch to the center, like a mistake.
Euden had seen it before.
The very pitch that had struck him out the first time they met.
Even faster than before.
Instinctively, Euden prepared to cut it.
He bent his knees, adjusted his angle, and released his right hand to follow through.
Yet the ball vanished from his sight.
Euden swung and missed.
“Hah.”
Not careless, not unprepared.
A defeat so complete, not even two mouths could explain it.
Yet Euden smiled.
“Was that intentional?”
“Yeah. I had a good idea yesterday. How about it?”
“Well, one pitch isn’t enough to know. Let’s do one more.”
At that moment, Euden’s eyes were no longer the innocent gaze of a friend enjoying training.
They were the eyes of a conqueror aiming for the Major League pinnacle.
And those eyes…
“No.”
Park Si-woo’s words snapped him back.
“…What?”
“I won today. Tomorrow, we continue.”
“You want to pitch too.”
“Why? You set the rule. One match a day. Right?”
“…Just one more.”
“No. Tomorrow.”
“Ah, Si-woo! Please!”
“You went when I said so, right? No. I’m done today. Oliver, David, let’s go. I have questions.”
“Si-woo!”