A Rising Star (Part 3)

As the upbeat strikeout jingle faded over the ballpark speakers, the second batter stepped into the box. In traditional baseball terminology, the first and second hitters were called table-setters—their job, quite literally, to set the table for the big bats behind them.

Modern sabermetrics, however, had flipped that orthodoxy on its head. The prevailing wisdom now dictated that a team's most dangerous hitters ought to see the plate as often as possible, leading clubs to load their top two spots with elite offensive firepower. Even so, whether due to a shallower talent pool or ingrained habits, many KBO teams still relegated traditional slap-and-run types to the first two slots.

The Gwangju Rangers, however, were a notable exception. Digging into the batter's box was Kim Dojun—a superstar whose leap to Major League Baseball via the posting system was already considered a foregone conclusion once this season wrapped up. Among domestic hitters in the KBO, he was arguably the absolute finest.

Three consecutive thirty-home-run campaigns, an OPS clearing 1.000 the previous year—he was an unmitigated menace.

—Slider, outside low, off the plate.

The catcher called ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for a slider breaking just off the outer edge. Lucas, well-briefed on the scouting report, nodded without hesitation. A sweeping slider breaking away: even if pulled with brute force, the best a hitter could muster was a rollover straight to the shortstop.

"Ball!"

The pitch drifted an inch or two outside the zone. Lucas's control of both his four-seamer and that slider looked crisp today, so why had his splitter been abandoning him lately? Was it just one of those days where the grip refused to cooperate?

—Slider, outside low, catch the corner.

Another slider signal flashed from behind the dish. This time, however, the target was inside the black.

"Strike!"

Kim Dojun didn't flinch, tracking it all the way into the mitt without offering a twitch. He was clearly sitting dead red on the four-seam fastball.

—Curveball, middle-middle, in the zone.

The catcher's sequencing was undeniably sharp. Doubling up on sliders had done its job; offering a third consecutive breaking ball on the same horizontal plane was a recipe for disaster. And there was zero reason to feed a heater to a hitter blatantly hunting velocity.

Still, dropping a curveball right down the pipe seemed a little flirtatious with danger. Ideally, it should bite at the lower knees. Were they banking entirely on stealing a strike through sheer audacity?

CRACK!

Kim Dojun unleashed a lightning-quick swing. He barrelled it up, but caught only the top half of the ball. The leather slammed violently into the dirt, taking a monstrous, high-arching hop right in front of third base.

Struck with terrifying exit velocity, the rocket pounded off the turf and soared, threatening to sail clean over my head. The moment that ball got through, it was an automatic extra-base hit.

"Hup!"

Thwack!

Damn. Being nearly two meters tall actually came in handy sometimes. Leaping straight up into the air, I snagged the ball at the peak of its bounce, landed, and fired a flat-footed laser to first without taking an extra step.

"Out!"

The stadium erupted into deafening cheers. From the mound, Lucas flashed me a massive, enthusiastic thumbs-up. Off the bat of almost any other third baseman, that chopper would have soared harmlessly into left field. Only someone scraping against two meters with arms like tree branches could have reeled it in.

In hindsight, the middle-middle curveball had actually worked out perfectly. Had it dipped lower into the zone, the plane of Kim Dojun's uppercut swing would have sent it into the second deck. Because it hung slightly, he caught the crown instead of the equator.

"Keep your head in it," I called out.

"Don't sweat it!" Lucas barked back.

Pounding his fist into his leather, Lucas received a fresh ball from the umpire. Standing in against him was clean-up hitter Kim Sehwan, batting third. Lucas challenged him immediately, pumping a blistering four-seam fastball over the plate.

Sehwan offered on the very first pitch.

CRACKKK!

Holy shit! That was crushed!

A screaming missile tore straight toward the shortstop. Choi Junhyung reacted with catlike reflexes, thrusting his glove forward, but the blistering velocity knocked the ball loose. The leather deflected off the pocket and popped straight into the air.

Breaking into an instantaneous dead sprint, I tracked the floating deflection, leapt off the dirt, and snatched the ball barehanded in mid-air. Before gravity could even pull my boots back to solid earth, I torqued my upper body and hurled a sidearm throw toward first base while tumbling sideways.

The throw was bound to be ugly as hell, but hesitating for a fraction of a second would let the runner beat it out. All I could do was pray Jaehun had my back.

"..."

Hwang Jaehun stretched his gigantic frame to the absolute limit, scooping the ball just as the runner's cleat hit the bag. It was dead even. Impossible to tell in real time.

The entire stadium held its breath, awaiting the first-base umpire's verdict.

"...Out!"

The umpire pumped his fist, and the stands exploded once again. But before the roar could settle, the Rangers dugout frantically signaled for a replay review.

"...My bad, man," Junhyung panted, reaching a hand down to me.

"Don't worry about it. Exit velo was just insane," I replied, grabbing his glove to haul myself back up.

The public address announcer's voice echoed through the stadium: "At the request of the Gwangju Rangers, a video review is now underway."

The colossal jumbotron illuminated with high-speed, close-up replays of the bang-bang play. My throw had pulled Jaehun slightly off-line, but the veteran slugger had dropped into a full, agonizing gymnastics split to keep his toe welded to the edge of the bag. The flexibility on a man of that sheer mass was defying all known laws of physics.

Still... it was razor-thin.

"Looks too close to call, doesn't it?" I murmured.

"If it's inconclusive, the call on the field stands," Junhyung muttered back.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. They need indisputable visual evidence to overturn the umpire's ruling."

"Aha."

Junhyung blinked at me sideways. "...You seriously didn't know that?"

"Nope."

With the review dragging on, I lightly loosened up my limbs, keeping my eyes glued to the giant screen. Getting tight during a delay was an easy way to pull something, so I dropped into a deep hamstring stretch and rolled my neck around.

"Following video review, the call on the field stands. The runner is out!"

The crowd roared loud enough to rattle the concrete concourse. On the mound, Lucas was grinning ear to ear, shouting praise in my direction. Small wonder he was over the moon—three pitches to the first batter, three to the second, and one to the third. A seven-pitch, one-two-three first inning against the best offense in the country.