Chapter 59
Chapter 59
Before getting into position, Song Min-seok glanced at the scoreboard and swallowed hard.
Maybe it was the tension, but his whole body was soaked with sweat.
Yet, he welcomed it. The discomfort helped him look at the scoreboard a little less often, breaking the cycle of anxiety.
Of course, to anyone watching, it might have seemed like Song Min-seok was overreacting.
There were still twelve outs left to record.
How many records had been broken with just a single out remaining?
But there was a reason for Song Min-seok’s behavior.
“Because it’s Si-woo.”
Just the name Park Si-woo carried credibility. Even with twelve outs left, he couldn’t imagine the Wolves’ batters making contact with that ball.
Today, the ball felt even better than usual.
Thwack!
“Strike!”
The four-seam fastball was perfectly controlled, rarely missing the mitt.
Pop!
“Strike!”
The knuckleball danced unpredictably. Today, luck seemed on his side, and even the knuckleball grazed the edge of the ABS.
“Ha, damn it.”
The batters’ reactions had become predictable.
But the real challenge came from one pitch in the bottom of the fifth.
Si-woo must have liked it because he shook his head until Song Min-seok signaled the splitter.
Honestly, Min-seok didn’t want to call for a splitter.
“...If I miss this, I’m dead.”
Its movement wasn’t just hard to predict for batters; even the catcher needed full concentration.
And now it was after two strikes.
What if a hitter reached base?
The thought made Song Min-seok swallow again and prepare for the pitch.
A seemingly ordinary four-seam fastball flew in. The instant the batter committed, the ball dropped as if gravity acted alone.
“Strikeout!”
The batter tried to stop the swing in panic but couldn’t, resulting in a strikeout.
Even after the strikeout, the situation wasn’t over.
Song Min-seok dropped the ball, quickly checked its position, and threw it to first.
“Out!”
When the first base umpire signaled, he finally removed his mask and wiped the sweat.
“Whew. Just one more to go.”
The tension made time drag. Just one out, and yet it felt like ages had passed.
Song Min-seok smiled wryly, readjusted his mask, and took his stance again.
Fortunately, the remaining two outs were easy to record.
Song Min-seok, nearly losing his mind, barely returned to the dugout.
“Drink this. All of it. You’ll need it.”
“Thanks.”
He downed the drink in one shot, finally regaining focus.
“Isn’t it strange? I drank all that without once needing the bathroom.”
“Judging by your words, you can handle it?”
“…I’m dying.”
Normally, Kim Min-ki would have brushed this off as exaggeration, but today, he sided with Song Min-seok.
“You’re doing fine. Keep at it. If it’s too much, I’ll take over.”
“No, I can handle it.”
His words rekindled Song Min-seok’s determination.
It was tough, exhausting, and stressful—but also a moment no catcher would ever want to miss.
“Hyung.”
But when Park Si-woo called, Song Min-seok stiffened.
“...Are you coming with me?”
“Go ahead.”
Seeing him rise, Kim Min-ki smirked.
‘Feels like the catcher and pitcher switched roles.’
Unlike the trembling Song Min-seok, Si-woo’s expression didn’t change at all.
The catcher was skittish; the pitcher had nerves of steel.
‘Well, they balance each other out.’
Whether by personality or skill.
Song Min-seok didn’t notice yet, but he had grown immensely.
Though still lacking as a batter, as a catcher, he could now hold his own anywhere.
Just that the one he had to catch for was Park Si-woo.
‘After today, I’ll improve even more.’
Catchers rarely show growth outwardly, no matter the training. But with continuous experience, once the right moment comes, growth explodes.
This year, Song Min-seok encountered those rare moments countless times.
‘And it’s all thanks to my hard work.’
Effort leads to progress.
But Kim Min-ki had held the starting catcher role for over ten years and had no intention of giving it up.
If anything, facing Park Si-woo brought back the feeling of being a rookie.
Seeing Si-woo’s pitches reignited the passion he thought was gone.
“Should I catch a few more knuckleballs?”
To claim someone else’s position, one must defend their own. That’s the basic mindset for surviving in pro baseball.
But there was still work to do.
“Keep swinging lazily like that? Speak up now. I’ll get the manager to put me in as a pinch hitter, okay?”
He barked quietly at the batters, just out of Si-woo’s hearing.
If they continued like this, the perfect game wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Just one run. One run. You can do it, right?”
The top of the seventh ended scoreless again.
It was disappointing that the offense didn’t support, but Connor Gray’s pitching was so solid that it didn’t matter much.
Much more pressing was what came next.
Bottom of the seventh, leadoff batter Kang Jae-sung stepped in.
The kind of hitter who required utmost caution in this moment.
His second at-bat had nearly ended in disaster.
Shortened grip on the bat revealed his mindset.
He nodded at the prearranged signs, and the first pitch flew quickly.
“Strike!”
Kang Jae-sung preferred outside because he trusted his ability to survive anything there.
Focused pitching exposed his weakness: despite decent batting average, he wasn’t particularly skilled against concentrated strategy.
He got into a two-strike count and reacted to the slider.
Though the slider wasn’t as refined, its drop made it usable against a left-handed batter.
Next, the second batter, Lee Jin-wook.
He had been suppressed by fastballs in the previous two at-bats. Repeating the same pitch now would aid the batter.
Wham!
“Ball!”
No matter. This pitch was just for show.
Pop!
A 109 km/h knuckleball, 48 km/h slower than the first pitch, slammed inside, leaving Lee Jin-wook bewildered.
Third pitch: splitter.
He swung, expecting a fastball, but the ball dropped before contact.
The final pitch: hard knuckleball.
Thwack!
Even Lee Jin-wook, strong at contact, couldn’t sync timing and grounded out.
So far, everything went as planned.
Then Lucas Ramirez stepped up.
He had struck out in the previous two at-bats, unable to time the knuckleball.
Knuckleball.
Same strategy for Min-seok and Si-woo. Ramirez had tried full swings before, so there was no reason to switch.
Thwack!
‘Not quite gone.’
Huh Seo-jin immediately judged the ball’s trajectory and sprinted to the predicted spot, between left and center field.
It wasn’t a perfect hit, but combined with the knuckleball’s movement, it was faster than expected.
Huh Seo-jin never took his eyes off the ball, diving.
Huh Seo-jin dives!
He slid across the ground and felt the ball’s blunt impact in his glove, quickly throwing it to Hwang Seo-jun as backup.
The Marines fans erupted in relief and cheer.
“Waaaah!”
“Whoa! That was a dive! You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Huh Seo-jin, helped by Hwang Seo-jun, gritted his teeth through the pain, masking it as they returned to the dugout.
“Seeing this reminds me of the old days.”
“When?”
“When I was a rookie. I saw you dive and thought it was amazing, tried to copy it, got chewed out by the coach.”
“Got chewed out? Because you kept trying to make up for late judgment with your feet.”
“That was me too.”
Huh Seo-jin chuckled and gave advice.
“The coach said to catch standing up. Injuries hurt only you.”
“And that guy just caught it?”
He didn’t answer, just looked at Si-woo waiting by the dugout.
“Shut up now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The record still held.
Huh Seo-jin lightly bumped fists with Si-woo, messy from sliding but in high spirits.
‘Feels like forever.’
How long had it been since he’d felt this in a game?
Before this match, he’d been uneasy, worried that if Si-woo faltered, everything would collapse.
Huh Seo-jin had once crumbled under pressure, failing to hold the line.
But Si-woo was different.
Even carrying the “August curse” and maintaining absurd records, he bore everything himself.
Yet the Marines couldn’t aid him.
Score: still 0-0.
No matter how well Connor Gray pitched, he wasn’t Si-woo.
‘Just one more at-bat.’
Huh Seo-jin quietly waited for his turn.
But in regulation innings, no more chances came.
Eight innings, two hits, one walk.
The walk in the eighth ended with a double play, showing Gray’s presence as ace.
Bottom of the eighth, Si-woo struck out the side again.
Still no Wolves on base.
Top of the ninth.
Inspired by Si-woo, Connor Gray went to the mound even after 100 pitches.
Huh Seo-jin waited on deck as the inning ended.
Nine innings, two hits, one walk, no runs.
Gray had pitched magnificently, but today, one pitcher had been superior.
Park Si-woo returns to the mound!
Eight innings without allowing a single baserunner, Si-woo took the mound again.
Leadoff batter, No. 7, struck out under the fastball.
Eighth batter, a pinch hitter, fell victim to the knuckleball and hard knuckleball, striking out perfectly.
And the ninth batter of regulation?
“Strikeout!”
Fooled by the splitter, struck out.
Song Min-seok successfully caught it, pumping his fist.
The batters offered no help; Si-woo closed the most tense ninth inning with a KKK.
But the game wasn’t over.
Top of the tenth, leadoff Huh Seo-jin.
Even Manager Lee Jung-hwan knew this was the turning point.
Marines’ closer Choi Min-kyu took the mound.
Huh Seo-jin felt his heart pounding in tension as he watched Choi warm up.
‘How long has it been?’
He didn’t know, but he savored the sensation, stepping into the batter’s box slowly.
Huh Seo-jin versus Choi Min-kyu.
Both teams needed a result.
Thwack!
Huh Seo-jin watched the pitch and swung.
At first and third base, he high-fived the coaches, feeling a rush of emotion.
Crossing home, he pointed at the Marines logo, a celebration he had dreamed of as a boy loving the team, hoping to one day make it real.
Since joining the Marines, that boy had fulfilled the dream of a home run and grown into reality.
Though he couldn’t dream like that anymore, for a brief moment, he felt that thrill again.
“Waaaaaaah!”
Bottom of the tenth.
Park Si-woo heads back to the mound!
The pitcher who would continue that dream returned to the mound.