Switch Pitcher
Game 2 of the opening series against the Fighters.
Unlike yesterday's nail-biter, today's game had gone completely sideways — the Fighters had teed off on our starter and were sitting on a comfortable eight-run lead.
A textbook game where nothing goes your way.
The pitcher gets shelled, the batters can't buy a run.
Days like this, you're supposed to just lose and move on.
Conceding the game early isn't purely a bad thing, after all. It gives the regulars rest, gives the rookies a chance, and turns the whole afternoon into a chance to take stock of the team.
"Right — a day like this is exactly when I should be getting my chance."
How refreshing was that?
A game with zero pressure. If I screwed up, everyone had already failed, so it would get buried; if I did well, I'd shine. A textbook low-risk, high-reward situation.
I couldn't help feeling a little envious as Ho-ji took the field, replacing our starting catcher, Song Gyeong-seok.
Time rolled on, and before I knew it, it was the bottom of the sixth.
Standing on the mound was Won-sik, who'd been called up to the first team alongside me.
Two outs, runners on first and third — a real jam.
Won-sik coaxed a ground ball out of the batter, escaping the inning without giving up another run.
"Nice!"
Being in the same boat as him only made me root harder.
"Han-sae!"
I was about to welcome Won-sik back to the dugout when the pitching coach called my name.
"Yes?"
"Go loosen up in the bullpen."
"Oh! Yes, sir."
Ah, so this is what a no-pressure call-up sounds like.
I exchanged a quick word with Won-sik as he returned, grabbed my glove, and headed straight for the bullpen.
Bottom of the seventh.
The Fighters' offense came around again.
I figured I'd take the mound the moment the inning changed — but no. Won-sik went back out, retired two batters in quick order on easy grounders, and set down his second out.
Now the next man due up was Kim Su-han.
Just then, the intercom phone in the bullpen rang.
"Han-sae! You're up!"
The deployment order had come down.
Wait, so it's Kim Su-han again?
He'd racked up a multi-hit game again today, just like yesterday — but to me, with the scouting already finished, he was nothing more than a tasty meal waiting on the plate.
I let go of the pressure, climbed the mound with an easy mind.
Come to think of it, this would be my first time working a first-team game with Ho-ji, who'd already been subbed in earlier.
Compared to yesterday, the stadium's heat was library-level. No dramatic moment, and the game had long since tilted — of course the place was quiet.
Should I cut loose, then?
Playing catch with Ho-ji, I ran through what I knew about Kim Su-han one more time in my head.
Right-handed thrower, left-handed hitter. Extremely aggressive approach. Likes to play mind games with pitchers. Not especially fast on the basepaths...
Familiar information. Time for an update, though.
He'd been struck out by a pitcher he'd openly taunted mid-game as a total loser — and it was the first strikeout of that pitcher's career. Knowing Kim Su-han's prideful personality, I could safely assume he'd been sharpening his knife ever since.
Exhibit A: the look in his eyes.
Those wide, vacant peepers that had been so drunkenly full of arrogance just yesterday were now burning like a rookie hitter desperate to seize every last chance he could get.
Those eyes look a lot better on him now, actually.
Which meant he'd probably done some homework on me too, right?
He couldn't have known we'd meet again this soon — but a little confusion seemed in order.
I pulled the glove off my left hand and slid it onto my right.
***
Kim Su-han was more worked up than he had ever been in his life.
The night before, the injustice of it had kept sleep far away, so he'd asked the front office's analysis team for footage of Jang Han-sae's outing — including the at-bat where he'd been struck out — and replayed it until dawn.
It was the first real pitcher-scouting session he'd done since his own rookie days.
The delivery the kid used, the subtle habits in his arm action on fastballs versus breaking balls, even his pitch sequencing.
At this rate he was clearly headed for an all-nighter, and with another game to play the next day, he'd finally forced himself to bed to manage his condition — but he'd come away with a mountain of useful information.
It's not like I even knew when we'd meet again. Was I overdoing it?
That was what he'd thought walking into the stadium this morning, dragging an unusual fatigue behind him.
Good thing I studied up.
To think the rematch would come this quickly.
Kim Su-han watched Jang Han-sae's warm-up pitches from the mound with sharp, deliberate attention.
As expected — just from the warm-up tosses alone, the traits he'd catalogued overnight were all on display.
I'll be the one to give him the first home run of his career, too.
When the warm-ups ended and play resumed, Kim Su-han stepped into the box holding himself at the highest pitch of concentration — with the iron resolve to hit a home run today, no matter what.
That hardened resolve lasted exactly one glance.
"Am I seeing this wrong?"
Jang Han-sae had taken the glove off his left hand, slid it onto the right hand meant to throw the ball — then turned his body to face first base.
Like a left-handed pitcher.
"Why? How?"
Kim Su-han's mind went white.
***
Just as the commentator said, Myo A-rin was left speechless by the scene unfolding in front of her.
"Since when?"
Left-handed pitching good enough to throw in the pros wasn't the kind of thing that sprang up overnight.
"Unbelievable!"
Well, of course it was.
Myo A-rin was simply over the moon that Jang Han-sae had come through again in this game, too.
"He really is something else..."