Ace Down for the Finals
The semifinals truly kicked off. The game was at Mokdong Stadium. Our opponents were Daejeon Chungcheong High—a team that had clawed their way to the final four, but honestly, they weren't a powerhouse on paper. They were more the beneficiaries of a lucky draw, widely seen as the strongest of the weaklings.
Our side's vibe was calm yet brimming with quiet confidence even before the first pitch. And the game unfolded just as expected.
Third-year Cha Hyeon-jin took the mound as our starter and held things steady through six innings, allowing just two runs. It wasn't flawless, but he didn't crumble in crises, keeping the damage minimal. Meanwhile, our bats chipped away steadily, piling up five runs. The bench stayed lively, our momentum unbroken.
From the seventh, second-year reliever Lee Ha-neul came in. Green as he was, his stuff had bite, and he maximized it—surrendering only one run through the eighth to do his job. By the ninth, with the score comfortably padded, we sent out a first-year for seasoning. Amid a touch of tension, he gave up one more but shut the door without further harm.
Final score: 8-4. We'd punched our ticket to the finals.
The dugout and field erupted in cheers as the game wrapped. Feels damn good. Makes sense—this was our first finals trip ever. Third-years were hugging it out everywhere, beaming with joy. But I hung back a step, watching quietly.
A small certainty was budding: if the captain and I pulled our weight in the finals, we could really win this thing.
"How'd the other stadium go?" The director's voice carried from the dugout.
Ah... right, that matchup. But it brought a wrinkle.
"Uh... they got crushed."
"15-7? Damn, just steamrolled the lineup."
Seoul Suseok High had demolished Gwangju Hana High to advance, dropping 15 runs. It would've been ideal if they'd battled tooth and nail, burning pitchers on both sides. Instead, Suseok's bats obliterated Hana's staff in a laugher.
Tsk... 15 runs? How bad did they tee off?
And the next day, a bigger problem hit. Our third-year ace—the captain—had come down with the flu. Brutal timing, with finals looming.
The team's mood plummeted instantly. Losing their ace and lineup anchor was a gut punch for everyone.
Soon after, the director pulled me aside.
"Jeong-ui. Looks like you'll have to start."
I'd half-expected it when Kim Na-seong mentioned the captain's flu. Still, hearing it made my heart skip a beat.
I'd steeled myself, but the words "starting pitcher" hit like reality slamming home. Of all games, my debut start in the finals...
"Got it. I mean... I saw it coming."
Heading out of the office, I spotted the captain.
"Whoa, you okay?"
"Cough cough. Yeah..."
Doesn't look it.
"Sorry. Hitting you with this at the worst time. Should've been my game to own."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it—go rest. You're not wandering around just to apologize, are you?"
...Nailed it.Tsk. Guy's got that sense of duty, especially in a big spot.
"I'll... figure it out. Rest up. And hey, you might spread it."
"Oh shit, right?"
"Yeah. So crash. More patients tomorrow, it's on you."
"...Fair point."
Unable to argue, Lee Seok-hyeon nodded and vanished quick—now fretting he'd just made it worse.
Meanwhile, I wandered the school field, taking stock. The third-years' faces said it all: morale visibly tanked at the thought of no captain.
Tsk... that bad? Seeing it ramped my own pressure. Fair enough—Seok-hyeon hyung wasn't just an ace. He crushed from the mound and the plate. Losing pitcher and hitter ace left a massive hole.
I closed my eyes, pondering: What can I do right now?
Sensing my unease, vice-captain Hwang Jae-uk approached, face full of something encouraging to say.
"Jeong-ui. Listen—"
That's when the commotion hit nearby.
"Uh, hello there?"
What the?
"We're from Sports TV, covering the Blue Dragon Tournament."
Sports TV crew, interviewing players on finals outlook. Cameras and mics darting around.
I watched silently. Questions were predictable: Suseok's killer lineup, how to counter, nerves?
Then it clicked—mid-burdened thoughts shifting gears.
My turn came.
"I'll be the finals starter."
"...Huh?"
The interviewer blinked wide.
"Oh yeah? Thought it'd be Lee Seok-hyeon."
"Finals go to whoever throws best."
My bold claim threw him off a sec.
"Suseok's bats are monsters—got the confidence?"
He grinned, firing back.
"Yeah. Totally."
"Confidence, huh? Even after Choi Seung-taek—that major leaguer—says they're beasts?"
I shrugged.
"That so? Felt pretty ordinary after his tips. And anyway... he's no MLB superstar. Should be a cakewalk."
His face lit up like he'd struck gold.
"Thanks for the interview."
Poof—gone in a flash.
Quiet settled. Hwang Jae-uk stared, then:
"Dude, you always this cocky?"
Genuine shock—my words pure arrogance.
"Fire 'em up to swing more, induce grounders. Gotta save my pitches somehow."
He paused, then nodded.
"Uh...? You actually thought that through?"
"What?"
Yoo Sera's eyes went wide at my words.
"You're starting tomorrow?"
I nodded.
"Yeah. Captain caught the flu, so it's me instead."
"Finals starter... as a second-year."
"Second-year who throws heat. Ahem."
She eyed me, pensive.
"Guess I gotta go then. Busy with concerto prep, but I can swing a few hours."
Wasn't sure she'd make it? Relief... or nah?
But she tilted her head, peering close.
"You nervous right now?"
Off-topic... I denied flat.
"Me? Zero nerves. First start, sure, but it'll be fine."
No dice—she pressed.
"What if you freeze up at the stadium? Finals crowd's gonna be huge."
I thought, then:
"If I tense then, can't be helped. Still fine—finals is just a game."
She narrowed her eyes, low voice:
"Hmmm? Way too chill. You practicing what I said last time?"
Words caught in my throat.
"Uh... no. It's... something else. Yeah."
"Like what? Can't even imagine your pressure. My concerto flops? On me. But baseball—whole team's eyes on you... Whew."
Oof. Spot on. Yeah, that weight's real. Felt it crushing till middle school, amplified by Dad's shadow—why I bailed.
But now?
"It's cool, for real. Because..."
I trailed off.
"Because...?"
Curious face.
Their expectations? Don't give a damn. Just need to shine for one person. You, Sera. You.
"Secret. Can't spill. But trust—I'm good."
Pat pat.
"Fine, keep it—don't tease then."
She swatted my arm.
"Ow, phone case'll pop."
"Drama king. Didn't even budge. But seriously, not spilling?"
I went deadpan, stepping up.
"Wanna hear it for real?"
"...?"
"You asked."
Flash—recollection hit; she yelped, clapped hands over ears, bolted.
"Nah, I good—don't need it."
"Said you wanted."
"No really, I'm fine!"