Chapter 13
Chapter 13
“Siwoo, you always manage to surprise me.”
After the brief commotion, Oliver explained what I had vaguely sensed in a way that made it easy to understand.
“Just as you thought, the strong force in your middle finger disrupted the balance, slightly twisting the ball and creating rotation. Normally, you’d need training to match the middle finger’s strength with the others, but…”
“Instead, you balanced it by strengthening the ring finger? That’s absurd.”
Oliver nodded in agreement when David interjected, as if he understood exactly what I meant.
“Yes. I think so too. And this created a movement even more unique than a regular knuckleball. Euden, how did it feel when you were at the plate?”
“I thought it would drift left, but it disappeared before I knew it.”
“Exactly. The middle finger’s strength made it seem like the ball flickered left for a moment. It’s not an illusion. But it’s still a knuckleball. Nobody knows where it will go.”
“I’ve never heard of a knuckleball like this.”
If even David said that, he must have been serious.
“The speed was 78 miles per hour, and the RPM was 328. That’s ideal.”
Even for a knuckleball, if the velocity increases, the RPM naturally follows.
“But Oliver, can the solution really be this simple?”
Honestly, after all the effort I’d put in, it felt almost trivial. It was just a matter of the grip.
“…Technically, it shouldn’t be easy. An average person would fail to balance it and the ball would just drift left.”
Huh, this was the first time I’d seen Oliver make that face. Seeing it, Euden laughed heartily.
“I told you, you’re in no position to lecture me. So, what do you say, one more round?”
“I’m not throwing anymore today.”
“Oliver, don’t you need more data? We should see if this is just a one-time thing or a consistent pitch.”
“The more data, the better.”
At that, Euden’s eyes lit up.
“Then get ready, quickly.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Honestly, I wanted to throw more too.
That day, we faced off ten times in total.
Out of ten, only two hits. One flew over the wall after I threw a bland mistake, and one fell perfectly into a gap.
The remaining eight at-bats were all strikeouts.
“This pitch is insane. One more round?”
“Absolutely not.”
Thankfully, Oliver nodded in agreement, backing my decision.
Of course, the next day, Euden would still hassle me for a while.
Training the new knuckleball brought us to the last day of January.
And that meant Euden also had to leave.
“Siwoo, it was fun thanks to you.”
“Thank you, Euden.”
Now Euden would go home for a short break before joining spring camp. Leaving today meant we might not see each other for a while.
But we shared the same thought.
“So, shall we go for the last one?”
Naturally, Euden stepped up to the plate, and I took the mound.
His presence still made my chest tense, but I was used to it now.
That day, I threw a total of five pitches to Euden.
After seeing the last pitch, he smiled so brightly it was hard to believe he’d just struck out.
“The last pitch, that was really good.”
“You’re not just saying that, right?”
“Not at all. We’ll meet again soon.”
“It’ll take at least seven years.”
“There’s WBC next year. We’ll meet there.”
Hopefully the Asian Games before that would be enough.
“Anyway, good. Siwoo, you haven’t forgotten our promise, right?”
“You mean, doing it again?”
“All night long.”
True to form, baseball-obsessed Euden even played baseball video games.
There, I was Euden, and he picked another knuckleball pitcher.
“You’re impossible, Euden. Cheat code?”
“…Do it again. Why does my knuckleball do this?”
With the stat difference, I shouldn’t have lost. But Euden, who took four consecutive home runs from me in the game, left the center the next morning in a sulky mood.
-Next time, I won’t go easy.
Was he talking about the game or real baseball? I decided to leave that as a fun mystery for the next time I met him.
A few days later, it was my turn to leave the center.
When I first came, I thought I’d just work hard for a month, but three months had already passed. Time flies.
I wasn’t the only one leaving the center.
Oliver would continue as my personal trainer after resigning.
David would come to Korea when he had time.
“James, thanks for everything.”
“Didn’t do much. Come anytime if you need help. And say hi to Minseok! Oliver, see you next time.”
“Yeah. Good work.”
So Oliver and I left the center and boarded a plane.
The destination was Taiwan, where the second spring camp would take place.
“Hmmm…”
The new Marines manager, Kwak Go-beom, couldn’t take his eyes off the reports.
The Marines had been at the bottom of the standings for years.
He knew a team couldn’t improve overnight, but he couldn’t hide his disappointment.
Especially after the first spring camp.
The first camp focused mainly on fundamentals and conditioning.
But only a few players exceeded Kwak’s expectations.
‘Ha Seo-jin, Lee Dong-hoon, and Song Min-seok.’
Ha Seo-jin was the undisputed core of the Marines, having seized a single opportunity as a rookie to secure a starting spot.
Lee Dong-hoon had been holding up the Marines’ mound for over ten years. Though past his mid-30s, he could still take a starting spot.
Compared to them, Song Min-seok was only a catching prospect.
But over the winter, he’d perfected his body and improved noticeably in catching and blocking.
‘Was it the time in the U.S. that helped?’
Other players who went to the U.S. didn’t impress Kwak. But Song Min-seok clearly had put in the work. Kwak liked players like that.
‘Still, too few.’
Even with his high standards, three players were far too few.
The only advantage for the Marines was a semi-forced rebuilding, which had made the team younger.
‘This makes the second spring camp crucial.’
If the first camp was about fundamentals and conditioning, the second was about real-game prep and competition for starting positions.
Kwak’s eyes moved to the last player on his watchlist.
‘Park Si-woo.’
A pitcher traded during the winter. Kwak had expected a lot when he heard the news.
But after being told he was off the main roster, he was excluded from plans.
Now, Park Si-woo joined the team in a way no one expected.
‘A knuckleballer.’
Still, Kwak had no plans for him. The knuckleball made him too unpredictable.
Using Park required a dedicated catcher. If he were a starter, it’d be manageable. A resting catcher could take the day off.
But in the bullpen? Every time Park pitched, they’d need a new catcher.
Knuckleballers also struggle to control base runners. Any runner on first could easily steal second.
And Park’s true skill remained a mystery.
Only footage available was the game where he struck out Euden Kelly.
Sure, Kwak could confirm it as a manager, but he knew the risk of uncertainty.
A team manager seeks stability over gambling. That’s why the front office hired Kwak: to create a stable, solid team.
A manager nicknamed a rebuilding specialist. Kwak put Park Si-woo’s report in a drawer.
‘I can judge in person later.’
He then pulled out a fresh deck of cards.
‘Been a while.’
Not for gambling, just a hobby when he felt restless.
Poker resembled baseball.
Like poker, everything could be expressed as probability. Baseball is a probability game too.
Kwak excelled at this, though it was also his weakness.
Poker doesn’t always reward the strongest hand. You need to read bluffs, play the mind game. Baseball is similar.
‘Not data, but instinct.’
Sometimes you bet on that one percent chance, not ninety-nine. Some call it foolish luck, but Kwak knew better.
‘Sometimes you must make the impossible move.’
That’s the difference between a master and an ordinary manager. Kwak wasn’t a master, though.
He smirked, shuffled the cards, and flipped two.
‘KQs. Good start.’
K and Q of the same suit in poker. That’s what he got—spades, the highest suit.
He flipped a third card.
‘Spade 10.’
Not a pair, but still possibilities for a flush or straight.
He cautiously flipped a fourth.
‘Spade J.’
Unexpected, Kwak paused.
Then someone knocked on the door.
“Manager, Park Si-woo is here.”
‘Should I clear this?’
Park arrived in Taiwan this morning. Kwak called him to discuss before training.
But the manager’s usual appearance wasn’t ready. Normally, he’d have dismissed him, but seeing the cards, he lingered.
“Come in.”
Park entered, noticing the desk, and flinched slightly.
“Just checking luck. Sit down.”
One card left, which could make the best or worst hand. Kwak hesitated to flip it until Park was right there.
Park stared.
“…You flip one.”
“Is that okay?”
Kwak realized his mistake. He always hesitated at the crucial moment, and it usually ended badly.
Park flipped the top card—the one Kwak would have agonized over—and it revealed a Joker.
Any card could be a Joker. In poker, it’s unused.
Park, unaware, asked sheepishly,
“Uh…is this bad?”
“No, my mistake. You can’t use it in poker.”
Kwak put the cards away, and an awkward silence fell.
He broke it.
“So, you throw a knuckleball?”
“Yes.”
“Just knuckleballs? What about your regular pitches?”
“I’m limiting them for rehab.”
“Do you prefer starter or reliever?”
“Anything. I’ll throw wherever you need me.”
As the conversation continued, Kwak pictured Park Si-woo clearly: young, confident, articulate, but not arrogant.
‘Unexpected.’
He’d lost speed due to injury and been traded unexpectedly. Most would shrink or hide behind false confidence. Park did neither.
Kwak’s experience told him confidence like this comes from skill.
So he made a proposal he normally wouldn’t.
“I want to see you pitch today. Is that okay?”
“Yes, anytime.”
Park Si-woo pitched.
The first to notice were the pitchers preparing in the bullpen.
“Senior, Siwoo’s here. Watch this before leaving.”
“Really?”
Lee Dong-hoon, heading to the dorm after practice, thought the same.
‘A knuckleball.’
Park was only twenty-three. An age to be at peak velocity, yet the pitch didn’t match. But Dong-hoon understood. He had tried learning knuckleballs before. Not fond memories, he waited chatting with Park Hyun-woo.
Park Si-woo stood in front of them.
“Hello, seniors.”
“Ah, long time no see. The uniform suits you.”
Though first time in a Marines uniform, Park was already a 4th-year pitcher.
He warmed up and prepared. Other pitchers had finished, leaving the bullpen empty, but no one left.
Kwak knew but said nothing.
‘If he can’t handle this, games will be harder.’
Whether Park liked it or not, he was the hottest topic. The attention would multiply in actual games.
“I’ll pitch.”
Park calmly stood alone in the bullpen.
Eyes fixed on him, all watched as he moved.
The ball left his hand, and everyone’s eyes scrambled after it.
It shook wildly, reaching the catcher’s mitt and hitting his gear before stopping.
In the suffocating silence, Kwak recalled the card Park had drawn: a Joker.
A card that can be anything, creating infinite possibilities. Kwak’s spade 10, J, Q, K meant nothing unless the last card matched.
The Joker could complete a Royal Straight Flush. That was the Marines now.
Talented young players kept coming, veterans still showed skill, but the team lacked a defining player.
Coincidentally, the card and the missing piece in the Marines shared a name: Ace.
‘Will it be a Royal Straight Flush or just a King high?’
Park Si-woo might hold the answer.