Chapter 67

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Translator: Wjin

Chapter: 67

Chapter Title: Momentum and the Dice Pitcher

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Even after Lee Sang-jin's grand slam, the Phoenix batters kept the momentum rolling.

The sixth hitter, Shin Tae-seop, pulled the first pitch for a single. Then the seventh hitter, Min Woo-seung, followed with a hit of his own.

The fans swayed their shoulders and cheered wildly at Phoenix's runaway train of an offensive show that showed no signs of stopping.

But the moment the eighth hitter, Lee Hoon-gi, struck out, the fans let out a collective sigh and plopped back into their seats.

The camera panned to the stands, catching a Phoenix fan pouting with their phone in hand.

The announcers seemed flustered at first—"Still an out to play with?"—but when Shin Si-woo's batting average flashed on screen, they could only nod.

"He's had thirteen at-bats so far... two hits... Shin Si-woo's bat looks a bit off right now. In this big spot, he'd love to deliver a grand slam himself."

"Right. As a rookie, situations like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this have to be tough on him."

A dismal .154 average—even the announcers couldn't help but soften their tones out of pity.

The Angels pitcher went into his windup and fired. Shin Si-woo, like he was sitting on the first pitch, swung right away.

Crack!

A sharp hit echoed as Shin Si-woo gritted his teeth and sprinted without even glancing at the ball.

But... he didn't need to run. No throw to first was even necessary.

"Out!"

A solid contact, but in the wrong direction.

A line drive right to the second baseman.

Shin Si-woo bit his lip and trudged back to the dugout, head slightly bowed.

Hmm... Is Shin Si-woo mentally okay?

I haven't seen him get on base lately. If memory serves, his average is in the .100s...

Articles and community posts were always full of Shin Si-woo hate.

Poor guy—bad luck? His contact looks solid, but the ball always goes the wrong way.

Anyway, in a mental sport like baseball, slumps drag on and get worse.

A slump turns into a full rut, and a rut could lead to an IPS.

Can't let that happen to Shin Si-woo.

To win a championship, unless we scrounge up a catcher somewhere, he can't crumble.

I sidled up to him and asked casually.

"You okay?"

Shin Si-woo turned to me unexpectedly and asked back.

"What?"

"Just... you seem unlucky lately. Your swing looks good, so don't sweat it not falling. Averages go up and down like that."

His eyes widened, then he chuckled.

"What brought that on...?"

Shin Si-woo suddenly shot to his feet and declared proudly.

"I'm fine! Bullshit Woo! Dogshit Woo! Sub-.100 Woo... None of it bothers me!"

......Really okay? Well, if he says so...

"Still... thanks. For real. Guess this is what good friends are for."

With that, he grabbed his gear in a hurry and left the dugout.

I chuckled and picked up my glove.

Lee Seung-tae climbed the mound and scanned the field briefly.

A lot had changed in just a year. The keystone combo on either side, and he'd dropped from second to fifth starter.

But he didn't mind the changes. He loved them all.

A rookie like Lee Seung-tae starting as the No. 2 was wrong to begin with—the foreign pitchers were worse than a newbie.

'What a hopeless rotation that was.'

Of course, excluding ace Cha Tae-hyun. That guy was... just on another level.

Lee Seung-tae rubbed rosin, spread his palm, and blew on it.

He scuffed the mound with his foot a few times, set his stance, and the catcher flashed a sign.

'Forkball first pitch?'

A bit surprised, but Lee Seung-tae nodded contentedly.

Compared to the old catcher nagging him to ease up on forks after every foul tip, this felt like a fairy tale.

'No more worrying about that.'

How long had it been since he could throw a fork with peace of mind?

He spread index and middle fingers, gripped confidently, and unleashed the first pitch.

The moment the ball left his fingertips, the corner of Lee Seung-tae's mouth curled up.

Relaxing made it bite perfectly.

His pitcher's instinct was spot on—the ball plummeted in front of the batter's eyes.

Whoosh!

The batter's swing sliced empty air.

"Striiike!"

Shin Si-woo bent his knees and snagged the fork that nearly kissed the dirt, stable as ever.

"A forkball right off the bat, dropping artistically. No batter could hold back on that."

"Exactly. His fork usage was low last year—thought it was weak, but this is gold. Why hasn't he used it more?"

Second pitch.

Thwack!

A tight inside four-seamer.

The batter's timing was completely shot after the fork, bat frozen.

[156km/h]

"Lee Seung-tae, who hadn't topped 155 since debut, just hit 156. Must've put in serious offseason work."

"Yeah, rookies often dip then climb after adjusting to pro ball..."

The announcers chalked it up to adaptation and training.

Truth was, no major changes.

Lee Seung-tae trained the same, threw the same.

Just one difference.

All the anxiety cluttering his mind on every pitch? Gone.

Focusing purely on pitching felt amazing.

'Now I get why mentality matters for pitchers...'

Lee Seung-tae took Shin Si-woo's sign and grinned again.

'Body's light, fingertips sharp. This sensation... like back in...'

His high school days at Hyeoksan High.

The ball flew from his fingers—another fork.

Bigger drop than the first. Batter chased with a big whiff, but

Lee Seung-tae's jaw dropped. Foul-tip nightmares flashed.

Thud!

It bounced once off the dirt. Shin Si-woo shifted smoothly, caught it clean,

"Out!"

and tagged the runner swiftly.

"Nice!"

Lee Seung-tae pumped his fist, about to thumbs-up Shin Si-woo—

when Shin Si-woo suddenly leaped up.

"Si-wooooo!!!!!!!!!!"

The bizarre ceremony left the ump, batter, and even Lee Seung-tae stunned for a beat.

"Hahaha! Shin Si-woo with a fun celebration."

"Big drop, nasty bounce, but cool catch. Proud moment."

The commotion died down, and Lee Seung-tae turned the No. 2 hitter around on three fastballs.

The No. 3 hitter choked up short and focused on contact.

Crack!

On the fourth pitch, an inside curve—he smacked it. A screamer to left-center.

Cha Tae-hyun dove, snagged it, popped up, and fired.

The runner groaned to a halt; the ump bellowed.

"Out!"

"That's it! Yes! That's defense!"

Lee Seung-tae smacked his glove in joy and ran to pat Cha Tae-hyun's back.

Cha Tae-hyun eyed him with clear confusion.

'What's with this guy...?'

As Lee Seung-tae headed to the dugout, puzzled, he noticed Lee Seung-tae's face darken suddenly and asked.

"Something on your mind? Your expression soured."

"Ah... no, nothing. Just... if you'd come a year earlier, Rookie of the Year... Nah, no point dwelling."

Lee Seung-tae gave a bitter smile—the saddest one Cha Tae-hyun had seen—and walked off.

Lee Seung-tae turned in a gem: 7 innings, 2 runs.

Score [6:2], 4-run lead with Angels' second crack ahead—should feel safe, but

"Sigh... Why do I feel like we'll blow it?"

"Can't Cha Tae-hyun just handle the pen too...?"

"Who's our bullpen today?"

Fans still haunted by the last game's bullpen meltdown.

When the pitcher reached the mound amid those worries, confusion spread.

Fans eyed the infamous Dice Pitcher Lee Ro-woon skeptically, his inconsistency legendary.

Lee Ro-woon, though...

...was just bored.

"Where's the nail-biter one-run game? Four runs...? My bullpen debut... this anticlimactic?"

Shin Si-woo, up briefly on the mound, squinted.

'What're you on about...'

Shin Si-woo pulled weird ceremonies, sure, but

"I'm dying of boredom."

this guy was next level.

"Uh... yeah. Ro-woon sunbae? Pitch sequencing..."

"Baseball is murder to me."

Shin Si-woo's head spun. He just nodded. Had to.

"N-no... Got it. Let's kill some batters."

Praying no Angels heard, Shin Si-woo hustled home.

Angels' pride, the cleanup hitter stepped up. Lee Ro-woon muttered.

"Feeling good today..."

Lee Ro-woon's dice rolled on many factors, but mostly his personal 'scenario'.

Dull story? Low roll.

'Prove my stuff today... reclaim starter glory!'

Heart-pounding plot?

Dice maxed out sometimes.

"Ro-woon's pen shift is intriguing, but shows Phoenix bullpen woes."

"True. Rushing a starter to relief means he's still better than the pen... Don't expect much from a hasty move—"

Thwack!!

The four-seam sucked into the mitt dead center, silencing the booth. Fans gaped.

Lee Ro-woon's top velo: 151km/h.

Hit it once in spring, never topped.

Now, bullpen debut, first pitch.

[153km/h]

Broken.

'Wow... what a weirdo.'

Shin Si-woo let out a hollow laugh, staring at the heater vanishing into his mitt.

Spring training was solid, but this felt lethal on catch. Sharp break at the end.

Way better stuff than Eric Wood, for sure.

Too soon to relax. Just one pitch—one out secured, then watch.

Thwack!

"Striiike!"

Thwack!

"Striiike out!"

Yeah... fair.

"......Rolled a 6 today, huh."

-Whiff K! Lee Ro-woon, fresh to the pen, shuts down Angels through the bottom of the 9th, leading Phoenix to a winning series!

The Phoenix owner, watching TV, clapped with a satisfied grin.

"Secretary Kim, isn't our Phoenix solid now? You're a fan too, right?"

"Yes. Much improved this year."

"Right? Oh yeah, which team do you root for?"

Secretary Kim flinched. He liked the Changwon Dinosaurs.

"Da—"

"Da?"

"Da—Phoenix forever! Eternal Phoenix fan!"

"Hahaha! Knew you were efficient—Phoenix guy, huh? Clear tomorrow's schedule anyway."

"Pardon? Something come up...?"

"What else? First home game at Sajik tomorrow! Gotta go!"

The chuckling owner had a bright idea and instructed his secretary.

"Tell Director Lee I'm coming. And say MVP gets a personal gift from me. Got it?"

Secretary Kim nodded, eyeing the broadcast with envy.

The Phoenix owner was famous for his generosity.

One of those players would get more than they imagined.