Chapter 64
Chapter 64
Only three games remained in the season.
I didn’t show it, but everyone probably knew.
The championship was really, really close.
Magic number one.
If we win one game or the Wolves lose one, we win.
Before the game that could secure the Marlins’ first-ever regular season title, the team held a locker room meeting.
“We’ve been lucky. This season, fortune has poured down on us. I won’t deny it. We’ve been lucky. And now, we can seal the championship with our own hands, right here.”
The manager met each player’s eyes, one by one.
“No matter the outcome of other games, we win today with our own hands. Got it?”
“Yes!”
Hearing our response, the manager nodded and looked toward me.
“Siwoo, say a few words.”
Not sure if I should speak with the senior players present, I stepped forward slightly, nudged by Senior Donghoon.
I paused for a moment. What should I say?
“I don’t have a set routine. I tried to make one, but nothing felt right. Recently, though, I found one I like.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“The routine on the days I pitch is that the team wins.”
I kept as shameless a face as possible. A routine is usually something you do to win, but here, the win itself was the routine.
Even I knew it made no sense.
“Wow, I’ve never heard a routine like that before.”
“Don’t ever break that routine.”
But the players laughed.
Even though producer Onaeun, holding a camera and snickering at me, was a bit intimidating.
“What I mean is, I want us to win today just to follow my routine.”
Hearing my words, Senior Kim Minki stepped forward.
“Okay, good. Everyone heard that? Siwoo’s going for a complete-game shutout, so just score one run. You can do it.”
Wait, senior? How am I supposed to throw a shutout in 80 pitches?
But Senior Kim led the team out of the locker room as if that didn’t matter.
I stared in disbelief for a moment, then headed to the bullpen with Minseok.
“Do you think the manager will let him stay in?”
“No way. He’s precise as a knife.”
True. Since saying he’d limit my pitch count, the manager had never let me exceed 80 pitches.
Actually, even 80 could be generous. If the next batter came up around 76 pitches, the manager would change me out to avoid exceeding 80.
“Hmm, not impossible, though.”
“What? Really?”
“Yes. The pitching coach once said there were many times a pitcher couldn’t be removed if a record was in progress.”
“A record?”
Yeah. Well.
“But the record I’m chasing now…”
If I win today, that’s 29 wins. But that’s hard to control.
“Records can be made,” Minseok said calmly.
“Excuse me?”
“No-hitters, perfect games. Or consecutive strikeouts, most strikeouts in a game. Plenty of options.”
Ha, seriously.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Right? I knew you’d like that.”
Of course, he wasn’t serious.
The championship was right in front of us. Naturally, winning took priority over records. His words were just to ease tension.
“Why are you even looking at that?” I asked.
“Oh, this? Just a new model came out.”
But seeing Minseok browse luxury watches, it seemed like he might be serious.
“Siwoo, you know I’m not serious, right? Just saying it to calm you down.”
“Really has nothing to do with today?”
“Of course. Absolutely.”
“Alright. Let’s do our best.”
With just one win left to clinch the championship, the Marlins faced Daejeon Phoenix.
If Park Siwoo hadn’t been here, today’s spotlight might have been on Phoenix, not the Marlins.
The Phoenix players prepared with troubled expressions.
From the start of the season, there had been constant noise, and midseason, their ace Choi Myungjun caused trouble and was released.
Since then, the team’s mood had been terrible.
Their performance dropped, and their three-year streak of Korean Series appearances ended.
Phoenix ranked seventh.
Even if they won all remaining games, they couldn’t reach the postseason.
All this was enough to make even the long-suffering fans turn away coldly.
But what could the players do?
They hadn’t been individually punished, but they knew they shared responsibility.
‘…Maybe it’ll feel better if we lose today.’
Some thought that way.
But before the game, new captain Park Chan-hyuk gathered the team.
“We win today, no matter what.”
“…What?”
“Haven’t you heard? We win, no matter what.”
Park Chan-hyuk had been closest to Park Siwoo.
Players who hadn’t expected this watched him carefully.
“Do your best. That’s all we can do.”
Every encounter with Park Siwoo meant criticism, but that wasn’t a reason to give up.
“If we quietly do our work, opportunities will come. Just like Siwoo.”
Even facing pressure and misfortune, Park Siwoo never gave up.
He trained, experimented, and persevered.
That’s why he was who he was today.
If he had given up or compromised, he might not have gotten the chance.
Some players’ eyes brightened at Chan-hyuk’s words.
Seeing that, Chan-hyuk nodded.
‘Still a long way to go.’
But there was hope. Most of the championship-caliber team remained, and next year, they could aim for postseason again.
The lack of domestic starters was painful, but that was a worry for later.
This was the best Chan-hyuk could do now.
“Phew.”
“Starting pitcher! Park Siwoo!”
One win to clinch the championship, starting pitcher Park Siwoo, and a Phoenix team that had lost fan support.
At Sajik Stadium, mostly filled with Marlins fans, Park Chan-hyuk stepped up to bat.
When Park Siwoo met his eyes, he nodded slightly, greeting him, and Chan-hyuk tensed.
That’s Park Siwoo, throwing 160 km/h pitches.
Luckily, his first pitch wasn’t a fastball.
A floating, drifting pitch.
A knuckleball.
‘Now!’
Timing was perfect.
But there was no feeling on the bat.
“Strike!”
The knuckleball’s movement was wild.
‘Only one pitch and I’m dizzy already.’
Chan-hyuk’s mind raced.
Fastball, splitter, slider, knuckleball.
Too many pitches to consider.
And none of them were imperfect.
This was the skill of a league-dominating pitcher.
“Strike!”
He didn’t swing on the second pitch, but Park Siwoo applied relentless pressure.
That’s why hitters struggle against him.
He never gives free counts, and if they swing, success is unlikely.
Chan-hyuk swung at a splitter but missed completely.
Song Minseok blocked everything, and he couldn’t even run to first—strikeout.
Even facing his closest friend, Park Siwoo was infuriating.
“Strike!”
Park Siwoo followed with a 160 km/h fastball to Choi Jun-woo.
‘So that was his way of being considerate?’ Chan-hyuk chuckled bitterly.
Inside Sajik Stadium, everyone in Marlins uniforms—players and fans—was tense.
Even Choi Seo-ha, alone without friends or family, felt the pressure.
She had taken the day off secretly to come to Busan.
She was desperate.
‘Please, let’s win.’
After all, it was the championship.
Even if it wasn’t the Korean Series, for Marlins fans, this regular season title meant everything.
‘A founding team without a regular season title? This cursed team!’
They had suffered for years, and now they had a chance to wipe that pain away.
“Waaaah!”
“Park Siwoo! Park Siwoo! Park Siwoo!”
The pitcher who erased that pain.
Traded this year but cherished by fans more than anyone, Park Siwoo ended the inning with a three-up, three-down, and fans shouted his name.
Choi Seo-ha stared at him long after he returned to the dugout.
‘Incredible.’
She was studying to become a sports scientist.
The more she studied, the more she realized how difficult and grueling Park Siwoo’s journey had been.
At first, she just cheered as a fan.
He arrived via trade, and that was enough.
But now she had bought every commemorative jersey with her part-time wages. She had become a fan.
Not just for skill, but especially for his incredible mentality.
After the top of the first, fans and Choi Seo-ha checked the Wolves’ score on their phones.
“Wow, the Wolves scored a run.”
Even if the Marlins won today, they would still clinch if the Wolves lost.
Of course, no one expected the Marlins to lose.
Still, if the Wolves lost, clinching the title would be slightly less nerve-wracking, so Seo-ha kept checking.
Through the second and third innings, the score remained 0–0.
“Come on, please!”
Unlike the frustrating Marlins batting, the Wolves kept scoring against their opponents, making a loss unlikely.
Then, in the bottom of the third, the awaited Marlins lineup finally scored first.
One out, leadoff hitter Hwang Seo-jun walked.
Then, tense, Cha Jae-hoon came to the plate.
He hit a massive home run directly under the scoreboard.
Dazed, he rounded the bases.
The Marlins weren’t satisfied with just two points.
Ha Seo-jin added a solo homer, 0–3.
And finally, Rex hit another homer, a back-to-back-to-back home run, pushing the score to four.
The game was effectively decided.
On the mound, Park Siwoo; four-point lead.
Even though Phoenix rallied around Park Chan-hyuk, four runs were daunting against Park Siwoo.
Not a single Phoenix runner had reached base.
“Out!”
Park Siwoo recorded the first out of the eighth inning and glanced at the scoreboard.
The pitch limit that Manager Kwak had strictly enforced.
But the dugout didn’t react.
‘I didn’t plan it, but there’s no choice now.’
Park Siwoo hadn’t allowed a runner.
The perfect chance to complete the regular season title.
Manager Kwak watched silently.
“Strikeout!”
The top of the eighth ended.
Only three outs remained to clinch the regular-season championship.
“Strikeout!”
The knuckleball danced.
The batter returned to the dugout, hiding his frustration.
“Strikeout!”
A 158 km/h pitch perfectly hit the outside low corner; he couldn’t move.
The final batter of the game.
He swung, but the pitch vanished before his eyes, and he shut his eyes, fearing the crowd’s roar.
“Waaaaah!”
The 27th out against the 27th batter.
The perfect out to secure the championship.
Swinging strikeout! Game over! Park Siwoo completed his second perfect game to clinch the championship!
For 55 years, other teams had celebrated in this stadium while the Marlins could only watch.
Now, finally, the Marlins raised the trophy in Sajik Stadium. The 2037 KBO regular season champions: Busan Marlins!