Chapter 50
Chapter 50
The first thing Oliver and I worked on was my pitching form.
“Good. It’s good—but with this form, if you try to throw over 93 miles per hour, it starts to break down.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
The knuckleball delivery didn’t require much force, so there was a clear limit to how much velocity it could generate.
Even in the last game, my mechanics had gotten bigger when I threw the four-seam.
Thinking back on it now, I’d been pretty reckless.
There was no way the opponent hadn’t noticed that.
Anyway, the problem itself was simpler than expected.
If I matched my mechanics to the knuckleball, my four-seam wouldn’t go over 150 km/h.
If I matched them to the four-seam, spin would creep into the knuckleball.
“Honestly, it’s not an urgent problem. Even at this velocity, hitters can’t deal with you.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“But the issue is not being able to throw everything you can. So here’s my idea—I want to split you into two pitchers.”
“Split?”
“Knuckleballer Park Siwoo, and… well, ‘normal’ pitcher Park Siwoo. Though I’m not sure ‘normal’ is the right word.”
Oliver explained it like this.
Using the current knuckleball form, I’d add a usable four-seam and a few basic off-speed pitches.
Then separately, I’d develop a different delivery that could support higher-velocity four-seamers and sharper breaking balls.
That was what he meant by splitting.
“…Is that even possible?”
“For a normal pitcher? No. For you? It’ll be fine.”
Sometimes, that kind of expectation—completely free of malice—felt like pressure.
Though honestly, I did think it might be doable.
“It won’t be completely different forms. Even if we split them, they need to match up to a certain point. That way hitters won’t pick it up easily. For example, everything up to the leg kick stays the same, then it diverges afterward.”
Following Oliver’s plan, we started by adjusting my original knuckleball delivery.
That part was easy.
For a knuckleball, the moment of release mattered far more than the motion leading up to it.
“Yeah… that’s good. But don’t ever say that in front of other knuckleball pitchers.”
Oliver’s reaction was a little odd, but I was used to it by now.
“Alright. Should we stop here?”
We wrapped up the final check on game day.
Today’s arsenal would be knuckleballs and a four-seam topping out around 150 km/h.
Anything beyond that would have to wait until the new form was complete—and until I had another pitch to pair with it.
“Fastball fastball fastball fastball fastball—”
“How is it? You hear it well?”
“Yes, too well. Please stop pressing it.”
“Ah, sorry. It’s just… still kind of amazing that you’re throwing a fastball.”
“…I feel the same way.”
Minseok and I finished setting up the pitchcom.
Now it was starting to feel real.
The last game had been chaotic.
I’d been too excited and couldn’t really control things.
Today was the first real day I’d be using the four-seam properly.
And the opponent—
Changwon Dolphins.
They were last place, but I had no intention of taking them lightly.
“Strikeout!”
…Something felt off.
I didn’t notice it with the first batter.
He struck out without even swinging.
That happened sometimes—hitters who waited, hoping for a walk or trying to read the knuckleball, even if it meant striking out.
“Strikeout!”
“Strike!”
But when the second batter also struck out, and even Woo Kyungmin just watched the first pitch—
I knew.
They’d prepared something.
And honestly, it wasn’t hard to guess what.
The fastball.
There had been a difference in my delivery between the fastball and the knuckleball in the last game.
One ball, two strikes.
Minseok signaled for a knuckleball to finish it.
I shook my head.
If I got past Woo Kyungmin, there weren’t many dangerous hitters left.
Even if he made contact, it was fine.
The sign changed.
Fastball.
Inside.
Thud!
“Strikeout!”
149 km/h.
To be honest, it was a mistake pitch.
It leaked closer to the middle than intended.
But Woo Kyungmin only flinched.
He didn’t swing.
He just stared back and forth between me and the scoreboard with a hollow expression.
“How was it?”
“Insane. Even I knew what was coming and still got confused.”
“…Then after one time through the order, should we switch it up a bit?”
“Switch? How?”
I explained my idea, and Minseok’s expression turned strange.
“What?”
“…I’m just glad we’re on the same team.”
“That’s a compliment, right?”
He just smiled instead of answering.
In the end, the Dolphins’ gamble failed.
They were right that Park Siwoo would throw fastballs.
But they never imagined he’d align the mechanics of his knuckleball and fastball in such a short time.
And they underestimated how powerful the combination would be.
Yes, his fastball was slower than the previous game.
The top velocity was 149 km/h.
“…That’s only 149?”
But to the hitters, it felt faster.
Here’s why.
First, the movement of the knuckleball disrupted the expected fastball trajectory, ruining timing and balance.
Before the hitter could recover—
A high fastball came flying in.
“I thought the ball glitched. It just… sped up out of nowhere.”
To them, it felt like the ball suddenly accelerated and arrived instantly.
Then, just as they started to adjust, Siwoo changed his pitch mix.
“I thought the ball stopped this time.”
Now he showed the fastball first, then toyed with hitters using knuckleballs and hard knuckleballs.
The already slow knuckleball looked even slower.
And it seemed to run away from their bats.
There was only one solution.
Hit it before it did that to you.
So the Dolphins started swinging aggressively from the first pitch.
Crack!
“Out!”
But neither the knuckleball nor the fastball was easy to hit.
Rushing only made their swings worse.
By the sixth inning, they had only two weak hits.
At that point, the Dolphins’ manager made a quick decision.
“…Sub everyone out.”
“What? But it’s only a four-run game—”
“Do it.”
One game didn’t matter.
They had already lost.
What mattered was the aftereffect of facing those pitches.
“That pitch… ruins hitters.”
He was more worried about what would linger than the loss itself.
“…They better recover by Tuesday.”
The price of challenging Park Siwoo had been too high.
He shot a glance at the hitting coach and sighed.
Meanwhile, the Marines’ dugout was relaxed.
“So he can throw harder but just isn’t?”
“Yeah. Said his mechanics aren’t ready yet.”
Park Hyunwoo imagined it for a moment.
What if Siwoo could throw over 150 with that same form?
“If I were a hitter, I’d just run away on his days.”
“I’d forfeit the game.”
“…That’s actually not a bad idea.”
No one laughed.
They all agreed.
“But he’s not throwing harder until then?”
“No. Said he’ll try once he learns another breaking ball.”
“Ooh, a breaking ball. Makes sense—Siwoo was never really a breaking ball pitcher.”
Back in his rookie days, it had just been a fastball and slider.
Sure, he had variations, but only the slider was a true breaking pitch.
…Which meant someone had to teach him.
That thought crossed both Park Hyunwoo’s and Lee Donghoon’s minds at the same time.
Teaching Park Siwoo something.
…That was hard to resist.
He was the youngest among the pitchers.
But he’d never felt like it.
From the start, he’d been the team’s ace.
If anything, he’d always been the one receiving help.
But now—
They had something to offer.
Both of them picked up baseballs and started fiddling with grips.
“My changeup might not be sharp, but it’s perfect for weak contact.”
“A splitter would suit him. Should I ask?”
The day Park Siwoo recorded his 8th complete game shutout and 13th win of the season—
The Marines’ atmosphere was at its peak.
A 5–1 week was great.
But more than anything, Siwoo’s stable return mattered.
And on top of that—
He’d added a fastball.
The Dolphins’ hitters had already testified to its power.
“Fastball? …I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Don’t ask. Just face him and you’ll understand.”
They couldn’t even describe it properly.
And didn’t want to.
With that, the narrative was clear.
Park Siwoo was fully back.
No one in the KBO could call the Marines weak anymore.
But not everyone was satisfied.
“Minseok, that’s enough. Go home.”
“Yes, sir! Just a few more swings!”
Song Minseok had become indispensable.
But he knew the truth.
Without Siwoo, his place wouldn’t be guaranteed.
Still, he didn’t give up.
“…Maybe I can catch up. Little by little.”
But recently, he’d been falling behind instead.
Four straight games without a hit.
Batting average .181.
His defense was still solid.
But at the plate, nothing worked.
Extra practice didn’t help.
Still—
He could play every game.
Because only he could catch Siwoo’s knuckleball.
Maybe even make the national team.
“…But what does that even mean.”
If he couldn’t help Siwoo, at least he didn’t want to hold him back.
That thought kept him in the cages every day.
“…What the hell.”
He woke up and stared at the clock.
No wonder his body felt so refreshed.
He’d overslept.
Panicking, he rushed to the stadium.
“…Today was the breaking ball session.”
Recently, everyone had been trying to teach Siwoo new pitches.
Lee Donghoon, Park Hyunwoo, even Pitching Coach Park Seunghyuk, along with Gale and Danny.
Eventually, the manager stepped in and organized it under Oliver and the pitching coach.
And today—
Was the first practice.
And he was late.
With a heavy heart, Minseok opened the training facility door.
“Oh, Minseok. You’re late.”
A crowd had already gathered.
But no one blamed him.
Because—
Siwoo was already throwing.
“How is that his first time throwing that?”
“At that level, he could use it right away.”
…Right.
He doesn’t need me anymore.
Minseok watched quietly as Siwoo threw to Kim Mingi.
A strange feeling settled in his chest.
Just as the breaking ball session ended, Minseok moved to step in—
“Now, knuckleball!”
At Mingi’s shout, Siwoo immediately switched.
The knuckleball came out.
A bit rough—
But Mingi caught it.
Then another.
And another.
Minseok’s eyes widened.
“Oh, Minseok! What do you think? Not bad, right?”
“…When did you practice that?”
“Here and there. Still not great though. Anyway, I’m done. Your turn.”
Mingi patted his shoulder and walked off.
Minseok hurried into position behind the plate.
His expression was hidden behind the mask.
But inside—
There was no single emotion.
Only a tangled mix of them all.