The Start of a Career
"I'm putting you on the mound today, depending on how things look. Keep that in mind."
"Yes? Understood, sir!"
"And for today's game only, pitch the way you always have. Right-handed overhand."
"What about my pitches?"
"No restrictions on pitches."
"Yes, sir!"
That was the conversation I'd had with the manager before today's game.
"Whew... and to think, until now I had no idea they'd actually trust me with the mound at a moment like this."
The inning wasn't over yet, but I'd at least cleared one big hurdle.
If it weren't for the manager's request, I could have gotten the groundball so much more easily with the underhand.
A sinker thrown submarine-style is the real deal when it comes to inducing grounders.
Besides, wasn't that batter the foreign slugger?
I could practically have recreated the 2008 Beijing Olympics final.
In any case, the fact that I'd managed to turn a double play even from the advantage-less overhand was thanks to my catcher, Song Gyeong-seok.
Truly, a catcher whose experience ran deep.
Even hitting a measly .100, there was a reason he never lost his starting job.
Pitching to a batter with no scouting data is a hard thing to do—but throwing the ball exactly where the catcher wants it? That part was easy for me.
I hurled the ball to whatever course the almighty, all-knowing senior Song Gyeong-seok called for, and clack—the double play was complete.
It stung to have given up a run, but with two outs recorded in the blink of an eye, my heart settled considerably.
And then, the next at-bat.
Kim Su-han.
An absolutely outstanding hitter.
The league's premier contact hitter, the kind of guy who turns even dogshit pitches into base hits with his signature batting craft.
How fitting was it, then, that his nickname was The Alchemist—the man who turned stones into gold.
Judging purely by how tricky he was to face, you could argue he was even more dangerous than Carlos had been.
Ah, my head is stuffed to the brim with information on Kim Su-han.
The better a hitter is doing, the more intensively he gets analyzed.
Besides, unlike Carlos, this was a batter I'd actually faced in the exhibition season.
He did take me deep, but think of it as a stinging vaccination shot.
That one blast was exactly what had let solid, confirmed data pile up on him.
Truth be told, my heart was practically fluttering at the thought of cooking a slugger like Kim Su-han.
But—two outs, runner on third.
First base was empty, and there was no need to square off head-to-head with a hitter like this.
Song Gyeong-seok, better than anyone, would know that too.
There'd been no separate instruction from the bench, but naturally he'd be thinking to hand out a walk, leaning mostly on pitch-outs.
That was the safe play, after all.
And baseball is a team sport.
Any professional should put the team before himself, and know how to trust and follow his teammates.
Moreover, when our team's most senior backstop made the call, what reason could a green rookie pitcher possibly have to refuse?
So this time, too, I planned to follow the catcher's sign to the letter.
A forkball dropping low and middle.
Whoa—he's thinking exactly what I'm thinking.
Senior Song Gyeong-seok had called for the very pitch type and location I'd imagined for the first offering.
Which meant my judgment was virtually identical to that of a veteran catcher, didn't it?
I felt a flicker of pride swelling in my chest.
If the catcher's called the pitch and location, then the fine details are the pitcher's job.
My plan was to slip in something Kim Su-han would lunge at, drooling, going "That's the one!"
Namely: faking a hanging mistake right down the middle.
I set my grip and let the ball fly with everything I had.
It was a nearly spinless forkball, so if I threw it slow, the batter could read the rotation and catch on—maximum effort it was.
The result, predictably: a whiff.
Seeing Kim Su-han's face, confusion written all over it, a rush of euphoria welled up inside me.
Ah, this is why I pitch.
Senior Song Gyeong-seok followed up by calling for curves that fell out of the zone, one after another.
Mindful of a hitter stubborn enough to swing at anything, he chose balls that even a swing couldn't possibly turn into hits.
Which made them even less useful as bait, of course.
I was working through the at-bat this smoothly when suddenly Kim Su-han raised his bat and pointed it straight at me.
What's this?
Then he started mouthing something at me.
"Oh—? No, you..."
For a moment I wondered if I had a hidden genius for lip-reading, his mouth moved with such precision.
"...Bap."
Two syllables. That's what he wanted to say to me.
"Jjobap... jjoppap? Jjoppap?"*
This little—?
I carefully covered my mouth with my glove.
He's a dead man.
Time for the fourth pitch.
When Senior Song Gyeong-seok again signed for a breaking ball off the plate, I shook my head side to side.
He immediately flashed a different sign, but it was the same story—pitch around him.
I shook my head again, refusing.
A high one, running off the plate.
Head shake.
A low one, sinking away.
Head shake.
I'd planned to keep shaking my head until he finally called something aggressive, but Senior Song Gyeong-seok rose from his crouch and started walking toward the mound.
Uh-oh. I'm getting chewed out.
Even with his catcher's mask off, the senior's face was noticeably flushed.
"Hey, Han-sae."
"Yes, sunbaenim."
"What exactly are you playing at?"
"Well, sunbaenim... don't you think we should try to strike Kim Su-han out?"
"And you're calling that a plan? Do you even know who Kim Su-han is?"
"Oh, come on... of course I do. Of course I do. The man's won batting titles—how would I not know?"
"Right. And right now it's two outs with first base open. Why would you attack a hitter who's got a high chance of just slapping a base hit?"
Not a single word of it was wrong.
But I wanted to win.
"I want to beat him. Just once."
"You planning to throw the whole game away for your own ego?"
"Ha... sunbaenim, please, just this once—can't you go along with my signs?"
"Are you—"
"I swear I'll get him out. Please, sunbaenim. I'm begging. I'll even buy you a full Hanwoo beef gift set. So please..."
"This isn't some neighborhood beer-league game. You messing with me?"
Aigoo... he's stubborn as hell.
Fine. Swallow it down. Make the judgment that's best for the team.
Ah, see how mature I'm being?
"I don't eat beef that isn't two-plus grade."
Huh?
"O-of course, sir!"
"Just this next pitch, we do it my way. After that, the rest is yours."
"Thank you, sunbaenim!"
Truly, nothing persuades a man quite like material goods.
Senior Song Gyeong-seok trudged back to his position behind the plate.
I took his sign, and this time I threw a slider breaking toward the outside corner.
Once again, Kim Su-han didn't so much as flinch.
Now it begins.
After I got the ball back,
I signed to Song Gyeong-seok for the pitch I wanted to throw.
True to his word, he nodded and spread his mitt at that very spot.
He thinks his provocation didn't land on me and his edge has dulled a little. Which works out great for me, actually?
I fired a fastball in hard and tight, hugging the inside edge.
Tik!
Kim Su-han, all his tension drained away, jolted in alarm and whipped the bat around just to get wood on it.
That sight was so ridiculous that my own mouth started twitching against my will.
Hoo boy, if I crack up here and the broadcast camera catches me...
I'd be handing them material to roast me with for the rest of my life.
A character-controversy scandal, free of charge.
Clearly rattled, Kim Su-han stared at me wearing the most incredulous expression on earth.
"What the hell was that?"
What was it? It was me, you punk. Jang Han-sae.
That dopey, slack-jawed face.
Ah, the laughter kept leaking out.
I fought it desperately, forcing every facial muscle into obedience.
Kim Su-han.
There were so many ways to retire this hitter that I found myself sunk in a moment of blissful indecision.
Should I sit him down with contact?
No.
If my first career strikeout was going to be Kim Su-han, that carried its own kind of meaning.
Sunbaenim. This is my finishing pitch.
I spread my fingers and flashed the sign—and once again, Song Gyeong-seok nodded.
If it had been Ho-ji, he'd have worn that trademark puzzled look of his and tilted his head in confusion.
Truly, a great senior who'd weathered every storm under the sun was a different breed.
I set my grip inside the glove and drew one deep, full breath.
Not because I was nervous—it was just part of my routine, I supposed.
Then, with a motion that was lightning-quick and packed with power, I hurled the finishing pitch.
The ball I released traced a graceful arc toward the strike zone.
A curveball.
The finishing pitch I'd chosen was the curveball.
A pitch Kim Su-han had seen so many times it was burned into his retinas.
He tracked it all the way in and swung with a smooth, textbook-clean form.
A stance beautiful enough to be printed in the manuals.
Ah, how beautiful it was—
That beautiful form of his, slicing clean through empty air.
This moment, this scene, destined to be saved in my memory forever.
My first strikeout.
My first hold.
"Yeahh!!"
I roared from atop the mound.
"Whoa... insane."
On the screen, Jang Han-sae was roaring from the mound.
Watching him, Myo A-rin's heart pounded so hard it felt ready to burst at any second.
"Hey! Jang Han-sae, nice one!!!"
"Great pitching!"
"That was freakin' amazing!"
The infielders heading back to the dugout with me each tossed a word of praise my way.
"Thank you!"
"Good work out there."
Song Gyeong-seok, who'd worked the inning with me, came over and clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"That was all thanks to you, sunbaenim."
"You did the work. Here, take it."
In his hand was the ball I'd thrown just moments ago.
"Your first strikeout ball. Figured you'd want it."
"...Thank you."
A lump rose in my throat for a second, but I didn't want to look like a fool, so I crushed the feeling down hard.
"Han-sae! Well done!"
The manager was the first one out of the dugout to greet me.
"Thank you, sir!"
When I'd first been sent out to the mound, I'd wanted to argue with the man—but now that it had ended well, it almost felt like I'd passed some kind of test.
The manager smiled, then reached behind his back, pulled something out, and held it out to me.
"Here. Your debut present."
"Th-this is..."