Chapter 55
Chapter 55
Since I couldn’t control the knuckleball, the only pitches I could throw were the four-seam fastball, natural cutter, slider, and the unfinished splitter.
Even then, I couldn’t throw the splitter with runners on base.
I had to get through this situation with just those three pitches.
Rather than feeling tense, it reminded me of the past.
Yeah, this was the way I used to be.
A rookie who didn’t know how to change speeds, who just threw wherever the catcher signaled.
Even when throwing the knuckleball, I had to be careful with every pitch.
One mistake and it would be a run for the other team.
Especially against lineups like the Incheon Stars or Daegu Aces, where any batter could hit a home run, I had to be extra cautious.
But as a rookie, I didn’t think about any of that—I just threw.
Outside four-seam fastball.
My body reacted to Minseok’s sign before my mind could catch up.
Swoooosh!
“Strike!”
The first pitch, and just as expected, the batter swung.
Jack Dawson, the Stars’ cleanup hitter, didn’t look particularly satisfied.
He probably had aimed for the first pitch, but it didn’t go his way.
Seeing that expression made me realize again: my pitches have power now.
Second pitch. Again, an outside four-seam fastball, though it was slightly inside of the sign.
But precise control was never my specialty.
Thwack!
“Foul!”
It was a risky pitch, but it counted as a foul.
Jack Dawson glanced at me and nodded.
It didn’t mean much—just the usual pitcher-batter mind games.
Back then, what did I think in these moments?
Ah, I remember.
Outside low slider.
“Strikeout!”
Even though he swung off balance, he couldn’t connect, and he glared back at me as he turned away.
This was minor.
There were plenty of batters back then trying to intimidate rookies like me.
Of course, I sometimes felt pressured on the mound too.
But it wasn’t because of the opposing batters—it was our chaotic defense and frustrating hitting.
Still, I could swear the Stars’ hitters were gaining confidence just because I couldn’t throw the knuckleball.
I had to crush that confidence.
I shook my head at the slider sign.
Of course, this choice might’ve actually boosted the Stars’ confidence.
Thwack!
But if I worried about that, I wouldn’t be able to throw anything.
This was the mindset I had as a rookie.
This weak grounder, unable to get past the infield, went straight into Cha Jaehun’s glove.
“Out!”
“Thanks for the play, senior.”
I returned to the dugout with Cha Jaehun, awkwardly high-fiving him.
But everyone kept glancing at me strangely.
“Hey, do you know why they’re acting like that?”
“No? I don’t… Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
I was curious, but there was no need to ask during the game.
“Oh, can I switch gloves?”
Minseok was wearing the knuckleball glove.
The knuckleball glove is much bigger than a regular glove, making it uncomfortable to catch throws.
Put differently, I was basically asking if I wouldn’t be throwing the knuckleball again today.
“Hmm. Let’s just keep going for now. No need to make it final yet.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks.”
Siwoo overpowered the Stars’ batters with runners on first and second.
Watching that, the Marines’ hitters recalled old memories.
“...Have we ever scored against him?”
“Wow, his pitches are really terrifying.”
As a rookie, Siwoo had been a nightmare for the Marines.
He pitched in three games with no wins, 22 innings, and allowed three runs.
Even those three runs came entirely from opponent errors—no earned runs.
But now, Siwoo was wearing the Marines’ uniform.
Grateful for that, I also resolved:
“At least I won’t let him get away so easily like back then.”
Back then, Siwoo’s overwhelming skill made him appear pitiful when he left the mound, despite being dominant.
So dominant, yet no wins.
Even some Marines players, the victims of his dominance, had felt sympathy.
And with Siwoo recording two no-decisions in the last two games, the memory of his past self was even stronger.
Clearly he pitched well, yet when leaving the mound, he somehow looked pitiful.
“Seojin, I’ll do my best out there. You take over.”
Cha Jaehun, preparing to bat, said to Ha Seojin.
When Ha Seojin didn’t respond, he hurriedly added:
“I’m not trying to pressure you…”
“Understood.”
“Thanks.”
Ha Seojin glanced at Cha Jaehun and then turned to the on-deck circle.
“His fastball is fast, but you can handle it if you focus on the first pitch. First pitch four-seam probability is over 70%. Try to exploit that.”
The batters listened to the hitting coach reviewing the opposing pitcher’s report.
“What did I say? If the catcher goes in intimidated, it’s over. You were scared of that foreign pitcher, right?”
“No, sir!”
Kim Mingi showed Ha Seojin some know-how.
“Today you might have to go in.”
“Yeah… finally, a day like this.”
Those like Park Hyunwoo or Park Jungwon would normally watch the game from the locker room.
And Cha Jaehun had never had a junior talk to him like this before.
The other players felt the same.
This wasn’t the Marines they knew so far.
But it didn’t feel strange.
It had been like this for months now.
Much had changed.
The Marines, whom he had hated—those who didn’t care about losses and praised mediocrity—were gone.
At the center of this change was Siwoo.
The Marines he had wanted to change, the Marines he didn’t want to admit giving up on, were changing.
“...No, not yet.”
This had happened before.
But when results faltered, the players reverted to old habits, and Ha Seojin eventually gave up.
He loved the Marines more than anyone, gave his all, and could hate the team because of that.
Or at least he was trying to hate it.
Otherwise, he would end his career forgotten in this team like several predecessors.
Like Lee Donghoon and Kim Mingi.
“Seojin, get ready.”
“Yes.”
Ha Seojin grabbed the bat, glanced at Siwoo, and went to the on-deck circle.
Lead-off hitter Hwang Seojun grounded out to shortstop on the first pitch.
Cha Jaehun did the same, grounding deep to shortstop.
Normally, he would’ve bowed his head and run to first slowly, but now he sprinted at full effort.
“Safe! Safe!”
He reached first and argued strongly with the umpire.
This was Cha Jaehun like never before.
The umpire declared him safe, and Ha Seojin and the dugout celebrated his successful effort.
“Phew.”
Ha Seojin stepped up to the plate with complicated emotions.
He wasn’t sure how to describe the feelings.
Luckily, there was a way to release them.
Thwack!
Ha Seojin swung at the first pitch, admired the ball flying away, and ran to first slowly.
At home, Cha Jaehun laughed.
“Ha ha. Thanks, Seojin.”
What was he thanking him for?
Ha Seojin got a warm welcome from the dugout, removed his helmet, and loosened his gear.
“Senior.”
Siwoo extended his hand, and Ha Seojin awkwardly shook it.
When he didn’t let go, Siwoo looked flustered.
“Oh, sorry.”
“No, thank you for the home run.”
Perhaps Ha Seojin still had lingering feelings for the Marines.
He didn’t fully understand his own feelings.
But he couldn’t deny that the Marines were becoming the team he had dreamed of.
Ha Seojin’s home run put early runs on the board, but the Stars’ hitters didn’t give up.
“Better than the knuckleball. At least this one is visible.”
Still, every result was a groundout or flyout, but they had to think this way or they’d be eaten alive by Siwoo.
There was good news.
“Shouldn’t exceed 100 pitches. Maybe even less.”
Siwoo’s pitch count often exceeded 100.
Eight innings was standard per game, given he was a knuckleballer.
A knuckleball doesn’t change much between the first and hundredth pitch.
But Siwoo’s pitches now were different.
He was using more force than usual.
In the later innings, he might tire or be replaced early.
The Marines’ offense only added one more run after Ha Seojin’s home run.
Score: 0-3.
Whatever happens, this was the only hope for the Stars through the fifth inning.
Coach Kwak Gu-beom was also calculating when to pull Siwoo.
“80 pitches.”
Oliver suggested testing at 80.
Kwak agreed.
“No need to overdo it.”
Even the closer had rested during the All-Star break, and there would be rest days after this three-game series.
Pulling Siwoo at the right moment was the safe choice.
But in the top of the sixth,
“…No way.”
The rain stopped.
There had been a game like this before, where knuckleball control was off due to rain, and once it cleared, Siwoo struck out 14 consecutive batters.
That memory flashed in the Stars’ players’ minds.
Seeing the first pitch, the batter cursed loudly.
“Damn, this isn’t fair, huh?”
The Marines battery threw the knuckleball as expected.
The batter’s eyes were long used to mid-150km/h fastballs.
A knuckleball in this situation meant no matter how much he waited, it wouldn’t arrive as expected.
If he didn’t swing, it would perfectly land in the strike zone.
“Strikeout!”
Just like that.
By the end of the top of the sixth, only two hits had been allowed to the Stars.
Siwoo’s shutout seemed assured, but Coach Kwak didn’t want to get greedy.
“Next inning, we pull him.”
“Understood.”
A little past 80 pitches, but mixing in knuckleballs would be fine.
Yet Siwoo had other plans.
“Let’s go all out.”
If the Stars’ hitters heard this, they would’ve laughed.
He had been throwing mid-150km/h fastballs all along, and this wasn’t even full power?
But Siwoo was serious.
“I still have strength left.”
Thanks to his fully conditioned body, he wasn’t tired like he would’ve been before.
After talking briefly with Minseok, Siwoo returned to the mound.
“Strike!”
“Ball!”
After stealing timing with hard knuckleballs and knuckleballs, Siwoo prepared the next pitch.
Thwack!
“Foul!”
Phew. This 150km/h fastball came out with almost the same form as the knuckleball and was a problem for the batter.
By the fourth pitch, the batter read Siwoo’s altered form.
“It’s not a knuckleball.”
Perhaps an opportunity.
The batter swung at the fastball but—
Swoooosh!
“…Ugh.”
The ball vanished into the mitt with a loud smack, and the batter groaned in despair.
“Ball!”
158km/h.
It was a ball, but faster.
There was a slight control issue.
Swoooosh!
“Strikeout!”
The batter, already shaken by the knuckleball, couldn’t touch a pitch even in the middle.
Thwack!
“Out!”
The next batter tried the first pitch, but grounded out.
The third batter quickly fell behind in the count.
1-2.
Siwoo’s full-power pitch left his hand.
Swoooosh!
It landed in Minseok’s mitt.
“Strikeout!”
A moment of silence followed, then explosive cheers from the fans.
“Siwoo! Siwoo! Siwoo! Siwoo!”
160km/h.
Siwoo’s final pitch of the game.