Chapter 61
Chapter 61
“What are you looking at so closely?”
“Ah, Eden. Did you see this? It’s on the MLB main page.”
When Eden arrived at work, he saw the players gathered around, watching something. He peeked and let out a small chuckle.
“Yeah. I saw it.”
“68-mile knuckleball and a 100-mile four-seam fastball? Is that even possible? And he pitched a ten-inning perfect game too.”
“There’s a video. It has to be real.”
Even with Eden’s words, the players didn’t seem fully convinced.
Even players in Major League Baseball know just how different the mechanics of those two pitches are.
And yet, someone is throwing both at will? Along with other breaking balls?
It was a pitching performance hard to believe without seeing it in action.
While the players debated in the locker room whether this was even possible, Eden dragged his tired body to prepare for the game.
In truth, he wasn’t feeling great.
‘I shouldn’t have watched that.’
Eden had watched Park Siwoo’s video before the players did.
‘How could I resist after seeing that?’
He had deliberately tried not to watch Park Siwoo’s pitching all this time, so that it would be more fun the next time they met.
But a video had appeared on Park Siwoo’s SNS after a long while, and Eden had watched it as if hypnotized.
The moment when he struck out the last batter and completed the perfect game.
‘That pitch.’
It came like a fastball but dropped like a knuckleball.
The instant Eden saw that pitch, he couldn’t resist and ended up watching all of Park Siwoo’s pitches that day.
It was the reason Eden, usually meticulous about self-management, stayed up late for the first time in a long while.
“You’re late.”
“I had some things to take care of.”
A pitcher approached Eden.
Nathan Wilson.
The current ace of the Major League team.
Nathan Wilson had transferred this winter to the LA Dodgers, where Eden was playing.
‘It’s a shame.’
There was no pitcher in the big leagues who could make Eden’s heart race like Nathan did.
Being on the same team with him was great for the team, but the fact that he couldn’t face him—and that the chance to hit against a peak-era pitch was gone—was deeply regrettable.
‘It doesn’t matter now.’
Eden had found a pitcher who could give him more joy over a longer period than Nathan Wilson ever could.
“That’s the guy, right? The one you trained with during winter?”
“Yes, that’s right. Nathan would like it too if he saw him.”
“A knuckleball and a 100-mile fastball, huh. That combination is brutal.”
Nathan Wilson smiled leisurely.
“Introduce me when you get the chance.”
“I’ll introduce him at the WBC.”
“That again? I’m not going.”
Next year’s WBC, the World Baseball Classic.
Eden had already declared his participation despite the team’s opposition.
‘If not now, I’d have to wait several more years.’
Next year, he would finally meet Park Siwoo on the field. That alone was enough reason to join the WBC.
Pitchers generally face higher risks than hitters, so Nathan Wilson was still unsure.
“But that guy is going too, right?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Shouldn’t that be the first question? The groups are different. If they’re facing Korea, they’ll at least need to go through the tournament stage.”
“Probably, yes.”
“Really?”
Nathan Wilson gave a meaningful smile, and Eden felt uneasy for a moment.
Soon after, Eden looked up Korea’s recent WBC results and laughed bitterly.
“What is this.”
Six consecutive first-round eliminations.
That was the current state of the Korean national baseball team.
KBO was undeniably Korea’s most popular sport.
With 14 million spectators, a league that once couldn’t survive without corporate support had grown enough to sustain itself.
Yet even KBO couldn’t be satisfied in every aspect.
International competitions.
If they took just one more step, baseball could become a true national sport.
But that one step was incredibly difficult.
The Asian Games had become perceived primarily as a military service event, and the Olympics kept happening inconsistently.
As a result, the WBC became the most prestigious international baseball tournament.
Yet Korea’s WBC results were abysmal.
Each year, they struggled against teams rated weakest and lost to dark horse teams.
Then, after almost certain elimination, they tried to calculate scenarios only to fall again.
Naturally, KBO seriously questioned why Korea couldn’t perform in international games.
The league claimed the players were competitive enough.
But international tournaments were short-term events.
In such events, the presence of an ace pitcher was more crucial than ever.
But Korea had no pitcher worthy of the ace title.
Even if they performed well in the league, they couldn’t replicate it internationally.
Solving this was KBO’s top priority.
They tried constantly, but nothing worked.
Then, three years ago, an unexpected pitcher emerged.
‘At that time, I truly thought it was solved.’
Recalling that, current national team manager Choi Kangil glanced at Sajik Stadium before heading inside.
“Busan Marines GM, Lee Gyutae.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Choi Kangil.”
It was mid-August.
The first WBC roster was being finalized, and it was time to narrow down the players.
The league-leading Busan Marines were a team to watch closely.
Especially today’s starting pitcher matchup involved two pitchers internally considered as first-choice starters.
Choi Kangil had come to Busan to watch that duel.
“You said baseball is popular among foreigners these days, but there are more than I expected.”
Looking around, Choi Kangil remarked, and Lee Gyutae nodded.
“Most of them are scouts.”
“Already?”
“We’re not exactly sure, but probably to see Ha Seojin.”
Ha Seojin would be eligible for posting next year.
Whether he could make it in the Major Leagues was still uncertain.
Still, since MLB scouts focus more on tools than stats, he was considered worth the challenge.
‘People who should know.’
Even so, it wasn’t usual for this many scouts to visit.
At a glance, there were over ten teams.
‘Park Siwoo is attracting this much attention.’
Park Siwoo still had a long way before eligibility for posting—about four years by simple calculation.
‘Unless his international performance improves.’
Then it could be shortened to three years.
Still, Eden thought the interest from MLB was premature.
‘We were the ones trapped in the well.’
Until mid-season, even the national team had doubts about Park Siwoo.
‘A knuckleball alone isn’t enough.’
Domestic and international baseball were different.
Even with ABS in a challenge format, the knuckleball was unpredictable.
‘That’s just an excuse.’
The question was simple.
Could Park Siwoo be a pitcher who could succeed at the Major League level?
Knuckleballs are slow.
The official ball was different, and hitters who could turn mistakes into hits in KBO would not react the same way in MLB.
They couldn’t leave out the dominant Park Siwoo, but taking catcher Song Minseok along with just two catcher slots was a huge burden.
‘We fought over this endlessly.’
Not taking him would raise questions, but taking him carried high risk in case of failure.
The All-Star Game before and after made that decision easier.
“That four-seam fastball made us so excited three years ago.”
“You mean back then?”
“Yes.”
Choi Kangil nodded at the national team pitching coach Min Kyungjun, who had come with him.
Three years ago, after being eliminated from the WBC, Choi Kangil watched rookie Park Siwoo pitch and was convinced.
Korea’s next WBC results would depend on how much Park Siwoo had grown.
“I didn’t expect this outcome, though.”
Injuries, trades, learning the knuckleball, and returning to the four-seam fastball.
In the last game, he even recorded KBO’s first perfect game.
Too much had come together, but Choi Kangil’s prediction had been correct.
“With these two, we won’t lose to Japan.”
Park Siwoo and Seoul Friends’ third starter Oh Garam.
Oh Garam, a year older than Park Siwoo, was cherished by fans and developed carefully.
Thanks to that, he had consecutive seasons with ERA in the low threes and ten wins.
This year, that talent truly blossomed.
“It would have been nice if Choi Myungjun was there too.”
Choi Myungjun had been the first-choice starter with Oh Garam until last season, but he was no longer around.
Not really regrettable either.
“Instead, Park Siwoo’s back, which is even better. He’s a lefty.”
Choi Kangil continued, saying words that would have made Choi Myungjun furious if he heard them.
“Let’s watch the game.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I saw you greet the GM earlier.”
The game had already caused a small stir before it started.
The news that the national team manager was at the stadium excited the players.
The team was doing well, and individual stats were solid, so it was natural to feel anticipation.
It wasn’t bad—it was motivating.
But overexcitement needed to be avoided.
“National team? That’s great.”
Soon Ha Seojin heard the same news.
“But you should focus on today’s game first. Trying to do yesterday’s thing again? Only looking at the national team manager and ignoring the fans?”
Yesterday, they had 15 runners, scoring 3 runs.
Left on base: 10.
“Can we win like this? Can we leave our name in Marines history?”
Since then, Ha Seojin had changed a lot.
Every sentence included fans, Marines, or winning.
How could someone so devoted hide it before?
“Today’s a full house. Don’t embarrass yourselves in front of these fans. Got it?”
“Yes!”
“And Hwang Seojun. You ran off signing yesterday? Follow me.”
“No, hyung, it’s just—”
The tense situation ended with Hwang Seojun being pulled away by Ha Seojin.
“Phew, lucky I’m senior. It’s brutal. You guys better handle it well.”
Even so, Kim Minki seemed to like the current Ha Seojin.
“I can’t let this slide. Song Minseok, follow me.”
“Me? Why…”
“The kid left early. Hurry up.”
They prepared for the game, offering silent prayers for Minseok who got caught in the chaos.
First inning, facing Minseok again.
“...Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Before the game, Eden had read articles predicting how many more innings his perfect game streak might last.
Thanks to Cha Jaehun, that pressure eased.
The infield at Sajik was weird, and even experienced players often made mistakes.
So Eden didn’t think too much.
But postseason planning was starting.
The opponent: Seoul Friends.
If they finished second, the chances of meeting them in the playoffs were high.
Regular-season victory was the goal, but meeting them in the Korean Series wouldn’t be surprising.
Mistakes at that time would be fatal.
Most of their team had no postseason experience.
Eden had only watched from the dugout, and almost none of their players had postseason experience.
Only seniors like Kim Minki or Lee Donghoon had.
Cha Jaehun was the biggest worry.
He was already nervous by nature, and big stages could break him with a single error.
Whoosh!
“Out!”
“Out!”
Yet after an error, Cha Jaehun still made great defensive plays—he seemed tougher than expected.
Thanks to Cha Jaehun’s defense, the first inning ended scoreless.
Bottom of the first.
Whoooosh!
“The ball is good.”
The players watched Oh Garam’s practice pitches.
“155 km/h even in practice.”
“The ball is fast.”
He could throw 160 km/h as a right-hander.
Whoooosh!
Oh, he even threw 160 km/h on the first pitch.
“Ball!”
Control wasn’t perfect, but the speed was what mattered.
The next pitch caused a stir among players.
“What’s that?”
A 110 km/h slow curve.
“Wait, he throws a curve? That wasn’t in the analysis.”
“Ha, learned something weird again.”
Showing that pitch in the first inning meant confidence.
Senior Park Hyunwoo observed carefully.
“But isn’t that combination just like you?”
“Huh?”
“160 km/h fastball, 110 km/h breaking ball. That’s you.”
“No way.”
The pitch didn’t look perfected.
“Probably just for surprise.”
“Yeah, maybe I overdid it.”
Just to plant the idea in everyone’s head?
Whoooosh!
Nope.
Cha Jaehun reached first base.
The first pitch to Ha Seojin was that curve, and it hit the wall.
Then Rex’s sacrifice fly scored a run.
No wonder Oh Garam’s neck and ears were red entering the dugout.