Grind It All Down
"Damn..."
The coach from Seoul Jeon-san High School stiffened.
"Looks like Jeong-ui's lost his control."
"Yeah... this is bad."
The director's face grew complicated too, in all sorts of ways. If things went south, they might have to bring in a first-year pitcher. The thought of throwing in a kid who still looked middle-school fresh made the director sigh involuntarily.
Up on the mound, I shook my head and gripped the ball again. I'd already given up a hit to the last batter, but I tried to play it cool, steadying my breath like it was no big deal.
But my control didn't come back. My head just got more tangled. I have to throw strikes somehow...
My velocity wasn't fast. I had to win with razor-sharp control instead. But slow pitches without control might as well have been batting practice.
I drew a breath on the mound and eyed the next batter. The eight-hole guy stepped in—a righty.
I can still do this, I told myself.
Slider
This time, it wasn't a fastball—the sign called for a slider. Since I couldn't locate the four-seam, they wanted to steal timing with breaking stuff.
I nodded at the sign and threw. But from the release, it felt off.
Shhhiiiit!
The slider had zero bite. It flattened right into the strike zone. The batter, like he'd been waiting, pushed it the other way.
Thwack!
The ball scooted low through the gap between second and first. Another hit.
No outs, runners on first and third. Seeing it on the scoreboard hit me like a punch to the gut. Worse than the consecutive hits was the flow completely shifting to them.
I smacked my thigh with my gloved hand and looked up.
Haa... fuck...
Irritation boiled up. My head was already a mess from Lee Seung-min and Yoo Sera—why the hell did I have to debut in high school ball like this, shaky as shit?
Stress crashed in all at once. But I couldn't stop. I had to throw.
I eyed the next batter. A lefty this time.
Things got worse. Righties were tough enough—now a lefty? What do I do?
Still, maybe a sinker away could get a reaction. Last shred of hope.
Sinker
The vice-captain thought the same. I nodded at the sign.
Let's try.
Shiii—ah...
I threw it straight, but the sinker didn't even come close. Nowhere near the zone. Hwang Jae-uk popped up and dove to snag it. If he wasn't there, the runners would've been off.
I gritted my teeth. No control... not even sinker or slider.
Fastball it was. But I'd get hit. I knew it, but no choice.
I breathed deep, powered up, and fired. Same result. It drifted middle again.
The nine-hole lefty didn't miss it.
Thwack!
Clean hit dropping in front of right field. Runner scored in the meantime.
9-8. Suseok High School took the lead again.
First appearance. First run allowed—in the same damn game.
The scoreboard flipped, and my mind went blank. Worst part? Still no outs.
* * *
Haa... this sucks...
Next up: their leadoff, a righty. Top of the order now... nightmare.
Haa... why'd I even come back to baseball?
Four-Seam Fastball
Catcher Hwang Jae-uk called fastball. I nodded.
Even nodding, it felt helpless. I chucked it mechanically.
Shiiiik—oh!?
This time, it went where I wanted. Bottom corner of the zone, away to the batter.
Nice one, I thought.
But no.
Thwack!
Hit again? Not hard, but it squirted through the infield between short and third. The third-year shortstop dove, stretched his glove—didn't quite nail the out at first, but held it to a single.
Haa...
Bases still loaded, no outs. Runners everywhere.
Should've quit baseball. Got suckered by that girl... idiot.
Next: two-hole, lefty. Seeing him choked me up.
I froze on the mound. No clue what to throw. Head spun, bad choices piled up.
Four-Seam Fastball
I shook my head. ...?
No control—why?
Hwang Jae-uk blinked in surprise at my rejection. So we tried inside sliders, outside sinkers, low-zone fastballs—stuff I hadn't located before.
Nothing worked. Ball, ball, ball. Count stacked against me.
Finally, he signed again: outside fastball, fading away. At least induce grounder.
I nodded and threw. Drifted even farther out. Miles from the zone.
Umpire's arm up. Walk.
Score jumped. 10-8 on the force.
Another run... Chest tightened watching the gap widen. Despair hit.
Everything's broken. Quit now?
"Ah..."
A faint sigh nearby. I glanced over. Third-year at second gnashing his teeth, face hard, eyes furious.
The other seniors too—no words, but pissed beyond belief.
Seeing it froze my brain. Then it hit me.
... Seoul Jeon-san High School baseball team. We're mid-pack, 4th or 5th out of seven in the region. Short-staffed, declining.
But Suseok High School? Top dogs. Seniors fighting to keep it close.
Why? This might be their last shot. Pros unlikely, but college needs results. Tournament wins matter most.
They gritted through for that... and here I was, crumbling over personal bullshit.
Huuuuh. Haa...
I bowed my head, deep breath.
Huuuuuh. Haa...
Deep breaths to settle. No running now. Not this moment.
Kim Jeong-ui, you dumb fuck. Chick breaks your mental? Locker room words hurt that bad? Pussy?
Should've stormed in, raised hell, got the apology. Like getting ignored? Whatever they are, that shit was foul.
You started baseball. Do it right. What'd you feel quitting? How you gonna face Dad like this? 'No girl to impress, so bye'?
Grind. Fuck off with that.
Head cleared cold. Who to emulate? Dad.
What would Dad do? He's been here.
"Jeong-ui."
Coach climbed the mound.
"Good work."
He figured my control was shot. Came to yank me, even if it meant a first-year.
"No, I'm good now."
"What?"
Coach eyed me. ...Eyes changed.
"I'll handle the rest. Can go next inning too."
"You sure?"
Dad wouldn't flinch here. He'd own it. I made this mess—I fix it.
"I'll manage. Head down."
...Vibe shifted too?
Coach blinked at my curt tone. Kid was polite, bit gloomy—now?
That Kim Jeong-seok era...
"Alright. Give it a go."
Something clicked. This could turn.
Fuu...
I gripped the ball. Eyed the batter: Suseok's cleanup, righty.
Four-Seam Fastball
Nod.
Hwang Jae-uk set his mitt low-outside, like before.
Copy Dad? I ain't him.
Shift gears. How do I navigate this?
Answer clear.
Yeah... grind it all down.
Yoo Sera, Lee Seung-min, this shitshow. Grind it all!
I fired at the mitt.
Shiiiik!
Pop!
"Strike!"
Suseok's cleanup twitched.
Control's back!
Hwang Jae-uk's eyes widened. Razor control returned.
And—this velocity...? Jeong-ui never hit that.
He checked the gun.
Yep...
Mokdong Stadium board: pitcher's velo at 134 km/h.