Sealing the Shutout: Blue Dragon Cup Glory

Blue Dragon Cup finals, game three, top of the sixth. Suseok High's leadoff hitter, Gim Geon-jae, stepped into the box. He'd fouled one off the outside corner last at-bat, so this time, I'd start inside.

[Fastball?] I shook my head. [Sinker.] He nodded.

A sinker, but aimed right into the bottom of the strike zone on the inside. If he lets it go, it's a strike. If he swings, the trajectory's perfect for a grounder. Best case, I induce a groundout. If he gets a hit... well, bad luck, that's all.

Pop.

"Strike."

He used to just hack at pitches like that and ground into outs, but now he was staying back. Composed. Or... maybe scared? Either way, no swing on the first pitch.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Time to shift gears and crank up the pressure for a strikeout.

[Four-seam fastball.] Shake. [Changeup.] Shake. [Sinker.] Shake...

Tsk. Why weren't we on the same page all of a sudden?

[Slider?] Nod.

The glove moved low and away. No, not that. Shake...

...?

The catcher—our vice-captain—nodded like he'd figured something out. The glove shifted to low inside.

That's it. I nodded back.

Backdoor slider. It looks like it's heading for his waist but gets sucked into the bottom corner of the strike zone. Shweeek!

From the batter's view, it comes right at the body—if his distance perception's off, he'll flinch.

Flinch.

The batter twitched. Perfect.

The ball hooked in sharp.

Pop. "...Strike!"

No balls, two strikes. I had the upper hand.

With inside pitches he's seen a lot, fouling's likely—so go outside. Now, slider to drop or fastball right into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the corner?

He was feeling the pressure. Hit 'em hard.

[Four-seam fastball.] Nod.

If this gets tagged... oh well.

Shiiiik!Pop! "...Strike three!"

Nice. One down.

I eyed the next guy, number two, a lefty. His eyes were full of fear.

...This was gonna be easy.

* * *

"This is scary. I thought he was the type who could only attack one side... but if he can go both ways... whew..."

A Gocheok Turkeys scout muttered under his breath.

"Yeah."

The team lead, eyes glued to the field, nodded in admiration.

"Man... I figured he was just a control guy, but when he really cuts loose, he racks up strikeouts. Monster."

The lead jotted notes in a flat tone. "Velocity analysis?"

The scout tapped his laptop a few times. "Max effort, fastball averages mid-130s km/h. Top speed... 139 on a finish fastball. Not blazing, but he was definitely holding back for pace."

139 km/h didn't sound elite. These days, you needed 150+ to turn heads.

"Pro-ready now?"

"Movement and break aren't elite. Against first-team pros... might not play. But the command's so sharp, any manager needing a long reliever would use him."

As innings ticked by, the strikeout tally climbed steadily on the board. Eventually, they stopped analyzing—just watched.

Only the pop of the catcher's mitt and the whoosh of whiffed swings filled the air.

Top of the ninth, the crowd stirred. Nearby scouts started packing up, folks trickling out.

The scout glanced around. "We heading out too?"

The lead said firmly, like it was decided. "Yeah, but we're going to Suseok High's side."

The scout's eyes widened. "Huh? Shouldn't we rush Kim Jeong-ui?"

The lead shook his head. "Everyone's gonna swarm him right after. Can't even chat. Hit the other side first."

The scout nodded. Rushing Jeong-ui meant getting lost in the mob.

"Plus, targeting the dad's connections is smart. Lucky he played for our club..."

The lead pointed toward Kim Jeong-ui's parents—but froze.

Gwangju Phoenix scouts heading for Kim Jeong-seok.

"Damn... poaching right there?"

Gwangju Phoenix—Jeong-seok's old team, his hometown club. They ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had the edge.

"Shit... lost the player. Hey, you head to Suseok first—nah, together."

The lead stood. The scout packed quick and rose. They glanced back at the mound one last time.

Kim Jeong-ui fiddled with the ball, unshaken.

* * *

Shweeeek! Boom!Pop!

"Swinging strike three! Game over!"

Umpire's call ended it.

"Waaaaaaaaah!"

Jeon-san's dugout erupted, players pouring out.

Finally... over.

I looked up at the sky, taking deep breaths. Sweltering heat. Way past my pitch count. Exhausted—I needed a breather.

"Yeeeeeeah! Niiiiice!"

Huh? Voice too close?

Looked front—vice-captain charging in a frenzy.

Wha...? Jae-uk hyung?

Hwang Jae-uk leaped into my arms in victory joy.

Wait—no!

Uwaaaah! Heavy!

Don't catchers usually get carried? I'm under 180 cm...

He was 188 cm, 20 kg heavier. Crushing.

But I held, set him down safe.

"O! Solid hold? Anyway, great job, kid. Wooo! Champs! Shit..."

"Yeah. You too. I nearly died—don't do that again."

"Got it, got it! Sorry."

I wobbled; he sounded startled.

"Jeong-ui, great work."

"Thanks, man. Fucking nailed it."

The third-years approached, including the DH captain, eyes grateful.

Dying here, but I nodded, told them all good job.

First- and second-years joined the cheers. Title helps pros, indies, college—jealous stares. Toward me: expectation, awe.

Heavy...

Among the mob, one eyed me different.

Lee Seung-min, solid second-year who played today.

...Hostility. Inferiority.

Even played finals as sophomore—should be proud. Tch.

But I ignored. Good day. No need.

Tired... Told the hyped seniors I'd head in, slipped to dugout.

"Jeong-ui, good work!"

Director greeted. But stamina tanked underground—rotten face, just nodded.

"...? You okay?"

"No. Beat... gonna rest."

No words left. Shower, bed.

Straight to locker room, showers.

Shwaaaa. Cold water down my head—heat finally easing.

Haa... Alive.

Mind clearing slow. Body ached from use.

Showered out—coach waiting.

"Jeong-ui, line's forming to see you."

"Huh?"

"Director's blocking outside. What now?"

Poked head out. Reporters, scouts mobbed.

"..."

How to...?

"Hey hey! Kim Jeong-ui!"

"Quick interview?"

Spotlight hit—I ducked.

"Can I skip?"

"Nah, gotta go now."

Ah... shouldn't have peeked.