Mounting the Mound
Before the start of our first game, the Director gathered all the players and lined us up. "Suseok High is our opponent."
Whoa... That single phrase set the mood instantly.
"What kind of team is Suseok High? They've risen to the ranks of prestigious powerhouses now. Above all, their lineup is ferocious."
Suseok High was a team with stellar records. Their unique trait? They skipped winter training. The reason was simple. They'd produced a Major League catcher, and that player came back to Korea every winter to coach the guys at the school. Every time he did, the hitters' levels skyrocketed, turning Suseok into a hitter's paradise. Plus, with that kind of perk, top talent flocked there inevitably.
"So pitchers, treat every at-bat with caution and battle smart. Hitters, target their relatively weak pitching staff. Sure, they're the top team in the capital league, but a single game can go either way. Don't give up—give it everything you've got."
But the Director's words weren't really sinking in for me. My head was still crammed full of what I'd overheard in the locker room earlier. My heart pounded like a drum, my stomach churned. I felt like I might puke any second, and my temples throbbed. Even hanging my head and trying to breathe steadily didn't help. I could hear his voice, but the meaning just wouldn't stick. I knew it was important, yet my mind kept replaying other scenes and words on loop.
When the speech ended, a brief silence fell. Then our captain, Lee Seok-hyeon, stood up from his spot.
"Alright, let's do this! Come on, let's go! Let's go!"
He shouted loud, clapping his hands hard. The players started responding one by one, matching his energy.
"Fighting!"
Short, punchy cheers overlapped, bringing the dugout back to life. Everyone rose and headed toward the dugout. I got up too. My legs felt heavy, my head still fuzzy, but I just moved my body. No time for that now, I pushed myself.
And so, trailing the others, I walked to the dugout.
That marked the start of the Golden Lion Tournament's first round. Our starter was the ace third-year, Lee Seok-hyeon. Facing off against Suseok High School's baseball team. The rumors about their MLB alum coaching hitting weren't hype. Their swings were sharp, their contact flying quick and deep to the outfield. Tension was thick on our bench too.
Lee Seok-hyeon managed 3 innings with just 1 run allowed, but he had to come out. There was already the 105-pitch limit, and he'd always thrown a ton anyway—90 pitches over those three innings drained him dry. So from the fourth, another third-year took the mound.
The bottom of their order in the first somehow got held, but... over the next two innings, he surrendered 4 runs.
Fortunately, our offense wasn't slacking. We chipped away steadily, scoring 4 by the end of the sixth to make it 5-4. On paper, it looked tight, the outcome still up in the air. But the reality was grimmer than that. We'd already burned through all our third-years.
"Hoo..."
The Seoul Jeon-san High Director's face was stiff as stone. He was agonizing over who to send out for the final three innings.
"Who should we go with next?"
"Well..."
The coach's mind landed on Kim Jeong-ui. Least experience, but best control. But... Jeong-ui seemed off today.
During lineup, the coach had spotted Jeong-ui's dark expression right away.
"Jeong-ui's our best bet, but... he didn't look right earlier."
"Yeah? Sigh... Of all times."
"Let's try someone else first."
And so the top of the sixth arrived. The Director scanned the bench, then settled on the most reliable second-year pitcher for the mound. But his pitches lacked zip, and Suseok's hitters pounced. He gave up 3 runs in one inning, surpassing 60 pitches already. You could see him struggling—no way he could go another.
Our bats rallied again, clawing back to 8-7. The Director adjusted his cap, deep in thought. Then his gaze shifted slowly... landing on me, Kim Jeong-ui.
I was staring blankly at the field. The coach murmured low beside him.
"Putting in Kim Jeong-ui? You sure he's okay like that?"
"He looks ready enough. But with Suseok hammering away, how do you send a first-year up? His stuff won't cut it—they'd shred him. Too harsh to let him taste that kind of loss so soon."
No options left.
"Tell Jeong-ui to get ready."
"Yes, sir."
I was zoning out in the dugout, watching the game, when the coach called me.
"Jeong-ui, get warmed up."
I snapped my head up reflexively.
"Huh?"
The coach didn't flinch.
"You might see action today. And... you could be holding it down for two innings."
That hit me like a gut punch—breath caught.
"Wait, two innings all of a sudden?"
Only then did I really take in the surroundings. Glanced at the scoreboard: 8-7. What the hell? Already bottom of the seventh? Our turn at bat? Wait... Somehow, both teams had been trading runs like maniacs.
That's when it sank in how precarious things had gotten. My mind raced. Hold on, can I even pitch well if I go out now? Suddenly on the mound for two innings? Can I last? Thoughts flooded in.
But no time to dwell. The coach was waiting.
I took a quick breath.
"Got it."
"Head to the bullpen and throw."
"Yes, sir."
I stood and moved to the bullpen area. Slid on my glove, gripped the ball—tension already building in my fingers. Heart racing before I'd even thrown.
I'm going in soon.
At the bullpen mound, second-year catcher Kim Na-seong was waiting. I started slow, loosening up with some casual catch.
Whiiip—Pop...
Huh?
Trying to gauge my feel, but the first pitch didn't hit dead center. Way off the mitt.
Kim Na-seong tossed it back wordlessly. I breathed, threw again.
Whiiip—Pop.
Still off. The more I threw, the more unease piled up. No pinpoint control like usual. It was getting near the mitt, but not surgically so.
His mitt kept shifting—up, side, sudden glove grabs. Visible strain.
This is bad... My strongest weapon was faltering, plain as day.
Kim Na-seong couldn't hide his panic either. What now? Jeong-ui's our best control guy, and it's shot... We're screwed...
His face stayed composed, but his grip tightened.
I thought you were immune, but nerves shake you too, huh.
Then the end-of-inning signal. Dugout sign: my turn.
No time to think. Heading to the mound, I checked the board. 8-8. Tied.
Hah... Shit... Wasn't it supposed to be a blowout one way or the other?
Stepping up, doubt hit first: Am I right for this moment? And right now, my head was wrecked. Bullpen jitters lingered in my fingertips. I knew my control sucked—made everything worse. No clue how to grip it, what to trust.
For warm-up tosses, I fired toward the catcher. Tried relaxing, finding rhythm. But pitches veered again. No laser-strike feel. Uneasy from release, straight to bad results.
Hwang Jae-uk's reactions registered. First pitch, second—his face hardening.
Ah, Jeong-ui's command is off. That's why they held him back. No choice now...
Hwang Jae-uk had watched pitchers get shelled inning after inning. No one left. Seeing my shaky stuff in this spot? Unsettling.
Probably the same for Jeong-ui...
Grind.
But catchers can't do much. Just hope... Cling to any thread.
Up was Suseok's 7-hole hitter. Righty too.
If Jeong-ui's slider works, maybe okay against the bottom...
That eased Hwang Jae-uk a bit.
Yeah, let's get one clean at least. You got this, Jeong-ui.
Outside fastball. Good call.
I nodded at the sign, breathed deep, unleashed.
Whiiip—
Crap!
The ball sailed not to the glove—but dead center of the strike zone.
Batter didn't hesitate. High school leagues see 150km heat nowadays. 126km? Begging to get tagged. Slow might annoy, but perfect for Suseok's bottom-feeders.
Crack!
Short, crisp swing. Clean ping, ball zipping past me, by the bag, rolling to center.
Solid hit.
Damn it.