Busan Road Trip, Game 2 (4)
"Strikeout!"
Manager Han Seung-hyeop was clapping with a satisfied smile at the strikeout call.
"Manager, how many innings are you planning to give Han-sae?"
"If his condition holds up today, I'd like to let him go long."
"But… the kid's stamina tends to run dry. Two innings would be his limit at best."
"Let's watch and see. Limits exist to be pushed past. His pitch count has been low today, too."
"Understood, sir."
While Manager Han Seung-hyeop traded words with the pitching coach, Jang Han-sae dispatched the next batter with a groundball as well.
"Nice!"
Two outs glowed red on the scoreboard.
What an incredible kid.
Manager Han Seung-hyeop found Jang Han-sae's pitching today deeply impressive.
Han-sae had put up good performances before, but today felt remarkably different from his previous outings.
That pickoff in the last inning was the kind of play you'd want to rewind and watch over and over.
A pickoff.
It was one of the very weaknesses that had been flagged during training.
His right-handed pickoff move could be overlooked, but fumbling the left-handed move — the one that actually generated value against runners — was a genuinely serious problem.
A pickoff skill so hopeless it seemed beyond fixing had somehow become flawless in the span of a few days.
It was hard to believe.
On top of that, he'd just corrected the habit of tipping his grip during his delivery.
Fixing even one flaw would have earned lavish praise, but at this level, Han-sae deserved more than praise — he deserved to have the manager carve up his own salary and hand it over.
Does that guy do nothing but eat, study, and practice?
Otherwise, growth like this was impossible. No — even then, it would be impossible.
Granted, he still couldn't quite be called perfect.
But he has the potential to get there. He really is a pleasure to develop.
Manager Han Seung-hyeop smacked his lips as he watched the pitcher on the mound swapping out his glove.
"That's confirmed."
Just like A-rin had said — once I paid attention to hiding my grip, the batters couldn't get a read on me at all.
True, they were the bottom of the order, but they were still professional ballplayers. If a pitcher knew what pitch was coming, they were more than capable of scraping together a hit.
Of course, the pressure was lighter than it would be facing the heart of the lineup, where the team's sluggers lurked.
I'd barely had to battle at all — just thrown whatever Ho-ji called — and the outs had piled up smoothly. That was thanks to minimizing my grip exposure, plain and simple.
After recording the second out, I blew the rosin dust off my fingers and waited for the next batter.
"Ah…"
Leading off today, is he?
"Seong-bin Jwa!"
A smile crept onto my face before I knew it.
Oh Seong-bin stepped into the box twirling his bat above his head like some hulking grappler character stomping into a fighting game arena.
A comparatively restrained performance today.
After exchanging signs with Ho-ji, I stole a glance at his face.
That utterly unreadable expression.
Looking at that face, yesterday's memory started creeping back.
"Yay!"
That bizarre shriek, and the performance of the century.
"Whew—"
I exhaled a long breath and shook the images out of my head.
Windup.
First pitch: a two-seam fastball.
Delivery.
"Pfft!"
Damn it.
Almost the same situation as before.
Just like last time, I squeezed the ball at my fingertips, forcibly reining in the pitch that wanted to leap out of my hand.
Another fundament-less, dog-awful toss. Short of literally spiking it into the dirt, it was practically a one-hopper.
Ho-ji took a fresh ball from the umpire and fired it back to the mound.
Catching it, I took another deep breath.
Count: one ball.
Ho-ji called for a fastball away.
I flashed the sign, then went into my windup.
This time, I threw it right.
The second pitch rode in on perfect, unwavering command, clipping the outer corner for a strike.
Seong-bin Jwa's debuff has been lifted.
Even as I thought it, I did my best not to look at the batter's face.
I had a feeling that if I met that inscrutable expression for even a second, the mind games would come flooding right back in.
Ho-ji called for the same pitch again.
I nodded and immediately fired my third pitch.
And then something no one saw coming.
Tick—
Oh Seong-bin was squaring around for a surprise bunt.
And not just a lazy dead-fish bat, either — he pulled the outside pitch as far in toward the plate as he could and laid it down.
Somehow he put backspin on it, and the ball came off the bat spinning in reverse, dying right along the third-base line.
Third baseman Kang Cha-won charged in and scooped it up in a hurry, but the batter had already crossed first base.
Seriously, Seong-bin Jwa? What kind of lunatic drops a bunt with two outs?
I stared toward first, dumbfounded, and Oh Seong-bin flashed me a wide grin and a thumbs-up.
A hollow laugh escaped me.
I'd been caught completely off guard.
So this is what it feels like for the hitters I run over, huh.
Shaking my head, I switched the ball from my right hand to my left.
Whoever stepped up next, it didn't matter.
And what a bunt that was — pure artistry. Classic Oh Seong-bin right there.
Jamsil Baseball Stadium.
The Urbans' analytics office.
"A-rin, you're not heading home?"
"Ah, I'm still not done organizing. Go on ahead."
"It's getting late — don't overdo it. Alright, see you tomorrow."
"Yes, get home safe."
Left alone in the office, A-rin set aside the files she'd been sorting through and checked the time on her phone.
"It's already this late…"
Once this Busan road series wrapped up, the Urbans were scheduled to return home for a three-game set against the Daegu Blaze.
Scouting the next opponent was her job, which was why she'd been so buried in rewatching the Haitais' games that she hadn't even noticed quitting time pass.
"Oh! How did today's game turn out?"
It should still be mid-game.
She hurriedly pulled up the broadcast of the Urbans–Titans game on her phone.
The moment the stream loaded, by sheer perfect timing, Jang Han-sae was walking to the mound.
Bottom of the fifth, two outs, runner on first.
And then Han-sae delivered a pickoff throw with motion so flawless it completely sold the runner at first.
The runner, hung up in a rundown, was tagged out, and the inning ended right there.
"What the— Jang Han-sae! You used it right away!"
A-rin felt goosebumps race across her skin.
That electric thrill, as if she were the one standing on the mound.
He'd executed exactly what she'd taught him at the café, and nailed the runner.
Pride that she'd actually been useful blossomed in her chest, together with gratitude toward Han-sae for trusting her and following through.
In the Urbans' very next turn at bat, Yang Ho-ji's grand slam flipped the game on its head.
"Wah! Today's game is SO much fun!"
Somewhere along the way, A-rin had forgotten all about work and fallen headfirst into the broadcast.
Han-sae took the mound again the next inning.
As he began throwing to the leadoff hitter, his grip was hidden — perfectly this time.
"Seriously, Jang Han-sae, what ARE you?! How do you absorb everything this fast?!"
So pleased with him was she that A-rin resolved to give his head a good pat the moment they were back in Seoul.
Han-sae then rolled the following batter into a groundout and squared off against Oh Seong-bin.
He did give up a hit on the surprise bunt with two outs, but then erased that runner too with another picture-perfect pickoff motion, snuffing out the bottom of the sixth in a blink.
"Ha… that's actually insane, ha…"
A-rin was overjoyed at the sight of Han-sae leveling up yet again, built on her own analysis.
Not that she could have felt any of this if the boy weren't so obediently coachable.
"Hooo… let's grab the win today!!!
A-rin's voice, pitched high with excitement, rang out through the empty office.