Chapter 68
Chapter 68
Gwangju Wolves are a strong team.
We had secretly thought they might make it through, but we never expected them to sweep Seoul Friends 3-0.
Seoul Friends weren’t an easy team either. Watching the games, I found myself genuinely impressed.
The Wolves in the playoffs were a completely different team. They scored decisively when they had to and shut things down when necessary. Watching how they managed last year’s upset made sense in this series.
Since the series ended 3-0, much of our previous advantage disappeared. They’d had four days of rest, so their condition would be solid, and their starting rotation could go back to the first starter without disruption.
“The first game starter is Connon.”
Director Lee Jeong-hwan had predicted exactly that during the media day: ace Connon Gray as the first-game starter.
Our team’s starter was me.
It had been scheduled for a while, so I wasn’t especially nervous. But the past three years came to mind.
In my first year, I was rehabbing and determined to make it to the Korean Series next year. In my second year, I accepted reality from the bullpen—I wasn’t good enough to pitch in the Series. That desperation from last year stemmed from wanting just one chance. One chance to step onto that mound. I worked hard, but bad luck kept me off the roster entirely.
Now, I would be the first to step onto the Korean Series mound. The Sajik Stadium mound was familiar, but the Series itself made everything feel different.
“Okay, stay calm. Don’t be nervous. You can do this.”
I stared at the mound I was about to climb, hearing Minseok mumbling beside me.
“Hyung.”
“Huh? What is it? Is something wrong?”
I called Minseok’s attention, making him flinch. If I said this aloud, he might pass out.
“No, nothing. I just wanted to say it in advance.”
“In advance?”
“I’m not coming off the mound today.”
Minseok looked a little surprised, then grinned so wide his gums showed.
“Right. If you say so, who could stop you? Let’s do it. We have to.”
With Minseok’s determination, we headed to the mound.
The national anthem played, and the ceremonial pitcher approached the mound.
I knew him—a middle-aged actor famous as a fan of the Busan Marines.
“Hello.”
“Huh, yes. Hello.”
I greeted him first, and he was startled. He glanced at me, then threw a perfect pitch.
Before leaving, he quietly said, “Player Park Si-woo, I’ll be rooting for you. Fighting.”
Even so, he looked stiff. Understandable—the tension must be immense.
He wasn’t the only one nervous. This was the first Korean Series of the 21st century. Fans felt the tension just as strongly. Normally, the crowd would have already erupted, but the stadium was still quiet.
Meanwhile, the Wolves fans cheered like they were at home. The Wolves players seemed energized too. Honestly, I didn’t like it. This was our home. We were the hosts, and they were the challengers.
Booooooom!
Booooooom!
Boooooooom!
“Waaaah!”
Better. I started throwing practice pitches, and tension showed on the Wolves players and fans. Our fans finally erupted in cheers, enjoying the moment.
After several high-150 km/h practice pitches, the first pitch arrived.
Bang!
“Strike!”
The first batter, Kang Jae-sung, looked dismayed as the game began.
“Crazy guy.”
I had only thrown fastballs in practice, then opened with a knuckleball.
Kang Jae-sung, hoping to time the fastball, spat and readied himself again.
‘Director was right.’
Park Si-woo isn’t a typical player. His speed, pitch quality, and mental toughness are beyond KBO standards. You can’t just try to “tackle” him.
But you can’t give up either. Game one was the most important, and the Wolves had prepared their own tricks.
Crack!
A surprise bunt. The first baseman rushed down but threw to first in time—out by inches.
Kang Jae-sung looked at the first base coach, who shook his head. A near miss.
‘Damn.’
Even a simple bunt is difficult against him. Normally, a player would lean halfway toward first, but with Si-woo’s pitches, focus is required until the very last moment.
There’s still a chance. ‘Slow as ever.’
The Marines’ weakness is subpar defense. First baseman Kang Yoon-woo was struggling. The Wolves’ trusted spot was shortstop Cha Jae-hoon, tense and stiff.
Cha Jae-hoon wasn’t the only rookie in postseason tension—most of our players were experiencing autumn baseball for the first time.
‘We can handle this.’
I didn’t intend to keep the scoreless streak, but if we managed one point at a time, we could break them.
Despite Jae-sung’s thoughts, the top of the first ended in a strikeout.
“Don’t worry. Just focus on your part.”
Director Lee Jeong-hwan said, and the players nodded, returning to their positions.
The Wolves trusted their ace, Connon Gray, as much as our team trusted me. Despite losing two games in the regular season, the postseason was different. Gray had his chance to prove it.
Our batting lineup mirrored the regular season. Hwang Seo-jun led off.
Bang!
“Strikeout!”
He waited for a full count, then struck out.
“How’s that?”
“Huh, looks like he won’t give any walks.”
“Right?”
Cha Jae-hoon stepped in next. The catcher smiled subtly.
‘This one’s easier.’
Often, batting average with runners in scoring position is misleading. Over time, it matters. Cha Jae-hoon froze in crucial moments, despite solid fundamentals, leading to frequent errors. His natural tendency is to get nervous.
On the first pitch:
Crack!
The ball flew past, the catcher stared in disbelief. Cha Jae-hoon watched, then dashed to first.
A postseason home run, giving the team the lead. Against Connon Gray, who hadn’t allowed a long hit before.
“This guy! Is he crazy?”
“Yaaaah! Jae-hoon!”
Players celebrated wildly. Cha Jae-hoon was still stunned.
‘…I did it.’
I smiled faintly from the mound.
Even if I should have celebrated more, he was impressive in every sense.
We scored earlier than expected. One point might seem small, but…
‘At least one point is critical against Park Si-woo.’
Depending on the pitcher, that one point could feel like ten. That’s baseball.
I had prepared multiple scenarios—knuckleball going wild, conceding early runs—but none involved scoring first in the top of the first and taking the lead by the second.
We rarely had this in the regular season; it wasn’t because our top hitters were weak. The opposing pitchers were just all formidable.
I only needed to focus on what I do best.
Fourth batter, Lucas Ramirez. When he stepped in, the mood shifted. Playoff batting average 0.46, two home runs—he was the Wolves’ hottest hitter. I had to be careful, but if I could shut him down, we could crush the momentum.
He leaned close in the batter’s box, making inside pitches risky. Too far in, he could be jammed; too far outside, he could hit. He wouldn’t dodge. I tried an outside pitch first.
Crack!
“Foul!”
He swung as expected. Most hitters anticipate fastballs, but I can’t ignore it. A show of fastballs sets up:
Bang!
“Strike!”
The knuckleball fell just below the zone, hard to react. 2-0. The strike zone widened for him.
Booooom!
“Ball!”
A high fastball for show:
Bang!
“Strikeout!”
Finishing with a splitter. Everything hit perfectly today. Taking out the toughest hitter first made the rest easier.
The first inning, with the top hitters careful, was turned by Cha Jae-hoon’s home run. I wasn’t under pressure yet.
Bang!
Fifth batter, Oh Hyun-min, caught on the first pitch. Practice against Phoenix paid off. Quick reactions forced swings at borderline strikes.
Bang!
“Out!”
Sixth batter struck in two pitches; through the second inning, I’d thrown only sixteen pitches.
The third inning was similar—ten pitches for three outs. A tense moment occurred when shortstop Yoo Jung-woo bobbled a ball, barely securing an out.
Pressure wasn’t just on them.
Scoring more would be ideal, but Connon Gray is a good pitcher. The still-nervous hitters needed more time.
“Hyung, from the fourth inning, I’ll focus on splitters.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Yes. We’ve conserved enough pitches; this is the right call.”
We can’t save energy for the future now. Even if tiring, the plan is fastball and splitter to finish.
Top of the fourth, Kang Jae-sung leads off. First pitch, fastball as planned. He anticipated it but the ball was far above the bat path.
Booooooom!
“Strike!”
Fans cheer and Jae-sung’s expression is shocked.
161 km/h. I’d thrown it in practice, but officially, this was the first time. Even small differences affect hitters psychologically.
Strikeout!
Strikeout!
Strikeout!
Using that, I dominated the top three of the Wolves lineup. But it wasn’t enough—I needed to be even more overwhelming.
It was harder than usual, but this game was worth it.