Chapter 80
Chapter 80
“How can my pitches get any better?”
“I still have a long way to go.”
Hearing my answer, senior Park Hyunwoo looked like he wasn’t surprised but meant it sincerely. What I wanted was to throw all my pitches with almost the same form. More precisely, matching the knuckleball and the 160 km/h fastball in the same form, which wasn’t easy. I had several approaches in mind, but I planned to change things slowly, without rushing. Time was on my side, and it was also important to see how my pitches worked against batters like Eden. This WBC was the chance to find out.
“Oh, Minseok. I heard if you make an error this time, senior Kim Minki will give you a hard time?”
“…Did I hear that wrong?”
“They said to pierce your eardrums if that happens. Should I do it?”
“No! I heard it fine!”
Many players, including senior Kim Minki, didn’t make the national team, but news still trickled down this way. On the pitching side, it was me, senior Park Hyunwoo, and senior Park Jungwon. On the batting side…
“Are you okay?”
“…Yeah. Probably.”
“Walk on your own now.”
Six of us in total—half in shock, like senior Cha Jaehun, completely fine like senior Ha Seojin, and Minseok still frozen—attended. All six had participated in the previous evaluation game, meaning their roles and skills were recognized.
“…But why does it feel like I’m the only one getting punished from day one?”
Of course, passing every evaluation wasn’t guaranteed. Take Cha Jaehun’s fielding, for example. He was covered in dirt from the first day. Even though he made the national team for batting, being able to field wasn’t a disadvantage. The coaches were experts in their fields, so there was a lot to learn. That included me.
“Ah, sit somewhere comfortable.”
After training, the pitching coach called me aside, making me slightly nervous. He placed a drink in front of me with a light smile.
“You don’t have to be nervous. I didn’t call you to talk baseball.”
“That’s fine.”
“Exactly. Why talk to someone who already knows everything? I figured you’d be caught by the others and unable to do anything. That’s why I called you.”
“Thank you.”
He started talking while sipping his drink.
“When I first saw you, I was amazed. There’s a pitcher like this in Korea. Seeing it in person was even better. I had nothing to teach you, so I wondered what I could offer.”
Tapping his palm with his fingers, he continued.
“The only thing I could really share was my own past experiences.”
“Your experiences?”
“Yes. When I was just a bit older than you. That’s when I first wore the national team uniform. I thought I could beat anyone, regardless of who they were. It wasn’t confidence—it was arrogance.”
He spoke about the mindset needed for national team pitchers, how to overcome failure, and many other things useful for pitching.
“What I learned was that if I collapsed, it was over. Trust your team, enjoy the moment, and good results will come. You’re a much better pitcher than I was—you can do it.”
“Thank you.”
He was a former national pitcher himself, so his words left a mark.
The next day, he pushed us hard again, as if nothing had happened, but allowed some autonomous training for a few pitchers, including me. I didn’t see it as favoritism. Results mattered above all. Even with freedom, no one was slacking.
“Like this with the wrist?”
“Yeah. Feels about right.”
“Okay.”
Senior Heo Min stuck by me whenever possible, giving advice about the splitter.
“Senior, how do you grip the slider?”
“Ah, I hold it like this… Stop. Trying to sneak out again?”
“If it works, I’ll show you too.”
“Okay, deal.”
We spent the time sharing tips and checking each other’s pitches, and time flew.
The first camp was nearing its end. Based on this evaluation, fewer players would attend the second camp—only the true 30-man national team. On the last night of the first camp, the coach called me.
“I plan to start you against Japan.”
Some say being a national team member is an honor. But those who’ve been on the team know the weight it carries. KBO’s popularity in Korea grows each year, yet international results were poor. Except for the Asian Games, there were no championships, not even semifinals. Even winning there didn’t guarantee praise. Whether you did your best or not, criticism followed.
This WBC was different. It had the strongest lineup in recent years. Players were confident, and the coaching staff was excellent. The recent win against Japan gave them belief: they could do it. Naturally, Park Siwoo, the starter of that day, was at the center.
But Siwoo couldn’t play every game. Deciding when he would pitch in the group round and in the tournament was critical. Coach Choi Kang-il pondered constantly. His decision: Siwoo against Japan.
“This win showed me that many people actually want us to win.”
National team losses had always drawn the same predictable reactions. Continuous defeats had killed positive voices. Critics, self-proclaimed experts, or even casual haters were the only ones heard. But this win drew attention from even those previously uninterested.
“Starting you against Taiwan would be safer.”
Even though Taiwan was strong, they could trust Siwoo to handle it. Japan, however, was unpredictable. Even if Siwoo shut down Japanese batters, could their hitters score against Japan’s MLB pitchers?
“But the gains are worth it.”
Siwoo understood immediately. ‘This is just like the Marines.’ Fans, who had only quietly followed before, turned Busan into a baseball city again. The difference was now at the national team level. Winning against Japan promised an even greater impact.
“I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m confident.”
Coach Choi nodded after a moment.
“Good. I just wanted to hear your thoughts. Don’t overthink it. Finish spring camp well and see you at the second camp.”
After the first WBC camp, Park Siwoo and the Marines returned to their spring training site.
“Looking cheerful?”
“Senior, that place is hell.”
“Really? It won’t be easy here either.”
“Siwoo, pitching? I’ll catch. Come on! Siwoo? Siwoo!”
Song Minseok was dragged off by Kim Minki, and Siwoo met new teammates.
“Sniff… definitely smells like fall.”
“That’s just him. Understand it.”
Park Seunghyun, a journeyman from Seoul Hoals, had joined the Marines for the second FA period. Several teams had offered him, but he chose the Marines because Siwoo was there.
“From the outside, I didn’t think you’d ever win a championship. Looking forward to this year.”
The Marines filled all three allowed FA acquisitions, seriously strengthening their roster. Normally, few would join a bottom-tier provincial team, but Siwoo made it possible. The prospect of winning was real.
Siwoo’s pitching in front of them confirmed their decision.
As the first spring camp ended, the WBC final roster was announced. The six Marines players were all selected.
“How many went last WBC?”
“Seojin went alone.”
Kim Minki asked, and Lee Donghoon answered, looking pleased. The Marines had grown into the strongest team in the league.
“You should cry now.”
“Not worn out yet?”
Kim Minki’s tension dissolved with a single comment from Song Minseok.
“Travel safely. Win it.”
“Yes. We’ll try. See you in Korea.”
“Korea… hmm, alright.”
Lee Donghoon gave a cryptic reply, but Siwoo didn’t care much.
The WBC camp resumed, this time in Okinawa, Japan.
“Siwoo, right? Nice to meet you.”
Two players who hadn’t been in the first camp joined: MLB player Yoon Chanhee and Korean-American hitter Alex Rogers.
“Do you remember Harrison? He faced you in last year’s charity game.”
“Ah, I think so.”
“I heard about you from him, and also from Eden Kelly.”
“Eden?”
“Yes. I had a chance to talk to him briefly, and when I said I was Korean, he immediately mentioned you.”
Eden was acting as Park Siwoo’s MLB ambassador.
The second WBC camp, now including new players, focused on practical, game-like training. During this, Siwoo talked a lot with Yoon Chanhee.
“MLB? Only monsters exist there. Ugh.”
Yoon had shown MVP-level talent in Korea, but MLB hitters were only slightly above average. Still, an MLB player was an MLB player.
He threw in front of everyone.
“Nice pitch!”
‘Not bad at all.’
Yoon assessed his throw and came down satisfied, though a tinge of bitterness lingered. He had once been celebrated as Korea’s top talent, but MLB reality humbled him. Korea’s international competitiveness was low.
‘I hope we at least reach the quarterfinals this time.’
As other pitchers threw, Yoon’s thoughts shifted.
“Was his pitch always that good?”
“Yeah, he works hard.”
The growth of pitchers like Heo Min and Oh Garam was clear.
‘Maybe… reaching the quarters isn’t impossible.’
Yoon watched as Park Siwoo took the mound.
‘Let’s see.’
Yoon knew him from videos, and everyone in the team had mentioned him constantly. But only seeing him live confirmed everything.
The first pitch.
A ball that even MLB’s top monsters could barely throw, and Siwoo threw it effortlessly.
‘…He’s the real deal.’
The frog in a well met a monster. Only then did Yoon relax.
When Siwoo stepped down, Yoon was the first to greet him.
“Siwoo! From now on, call me hyung!”
“Eh?”
The second camp continued cheerfully, and March was approaching. WBC was near, and it was time for practical games. Various teams played the national team, but when the last opponent was announced, Siwoo reacted.
“…And it’s the Marines.”