The Monster You Created

I've heard that saying before.

When a batter is locked in, they can see the seams on the ball from the box.

Something like that.

There's a similar one, too.

The ball looks as big as a watermelon.

I honestly never bought it.

The idea that only the ball suddenly looks bigger, or that it freezes in midair — does that even make sense? If that were happening to you, you'd need a hospital, not a batting cage.

I once shared that take with the guy standing blankly over at home plate. His answer:

"Bullshit. The people who say that are just that locked in. And you're the last person who should talk, considering you go around claiming you can see the pitch trajectory."

I just got cussed out for supposedly having a superpower that lets me see a tenth of a second into the future.

Well, freaks like me exist, so maybe there really are people who see the ball looking huge.

The reason this thought suddenly crossed my mind as I rounded the bases was nothing special.

The opposing pitcher's out pitch — a cutter. In the past, back in high school, long before the regression, it was a pitch I never could have touched.

I can see the trajectory. The ball looks big. I can see the seams.

Hearing those words alone, you'd think you could hit anything that comes your way. But actually seeing the ball and hitting it are two entirely different things.

I don't know if this is the right analogy, but omniscience isn't the same as omnipotence, is it?

Hitting works the same way. No matter how good your eye is, producing a proper swing takes effort.

Your own theory of hitting. Your own method of swinging.

Ever since I started playing baseball for real, I've constantly turned those questions over in my head.

I think of hitting as matching trajectory to trajectory.

The trajectory of the pitch I see, and the trajectory of the swing I make. Bringing those two into perfect alignment.

That was the hitting theory that Gong Ji-hoo — the so-called Minor League Yeopo — had built up on his own. And the person who laid the foundation that let me complete that approach—

As I rounded third base, I pointed a finger at Kim Jae-sang.

Then.

Flick.

I held up two fingers.

Even I don't know how many more will go up today.

CRACK—!

—Waaaaaaaaah!

"Strike three! You're out!"

"You two are really putting on a show out there."

"What?"

Cleaning time. I was taking a short break when Lee Dae-beom walked up and opened with that.

"Is this a two-man game today or what? Are you guys dating? What's with all the tender looks?"

"Still grinding out those little singles, huh, human? Jealous? Then hit a home run. And stop saying creepy shit."

"Son of a—"

Lee Dae-beom let out a long sigh.

"What's gotten into Kim Jae-sang all of a sudden?"

"About what?"

"He spent years strutting around saying nobody his age was better than him. So why is he only lighting up the competitive fire for you?"

Huh?

"What about Ryu Hyun-seo sunbae…? Honestly, Kim Jae-sang isn't better than Ryu Hyun-seo sunbae, is he…"

"Apparently that sunbae's three years older, so he doesn't count as the same age group."

That was peak Kim Jae-sang logic right there.

"He says I'm his only rival."

"Who does?"

"Kim Jae-sang?"

"That guy? He actually said that?"

"For real. Since high school."

"Ha…"

Lee Dae-beom clenched his teeth.

"…Damn it. I knew you were good, but… why only you…"

He walked off without waiting for an answer.

"What's his problem?"

I was still staring after him in disbelief when a voice came from behind me.

"Cut him some slack. Dae-beom's got a lot of baggage with Kim Jae-sang."

It was Park Ji-han, bundled up in a thick jacket.

"Dae-beom's a power hitter too, right?"

He'd never cracked the forty-home-run mark, but a guy like Lee Dae-beom still got called a slugger without anyone arguing.

"Exactly. So people kept calling him and Kim Jae-sang rivals. Same age and everything."

Back when I was buried in the second team digging holes in the dirt, this was a story I never paid attention to.

"But then Kim Jae-sang went and said in an interview that he didn't have any rivals…"

Apparently Lee Dae-beom had privately considered Kim Jae-sang his rival, too. Getting that flatly denied must have stung pretty hard from his end.

"Hmm…"

"And now Kim Jae-sang has basically come out and named you — Ji-hoo — as his rival…"

Hollow. Ridiculous. Either one would fit.

He'd called a guy who'd spent years playing Minor League Yeopo in the second team and was only just starting to sniff around the first team his rival — over someone who'd been producing steadily in the majors the whole time.

"He'll bounce back soon enough. Dae-beom's simple like that."

"Yeah, I know."

It felt like I'd just seen a new side of Lee Dae-beom.

I was about to grab a little more rest before the next inning started when—

"Ji-hoo. Got a minute?"

Someone else was talking to me.

"Ah — sunbae."

Lee Eun-soo.

"Kinda awkward, right?"

Lee Eun-soo scratched his head and held out an electrolyte drink. He wasn't wrong — the whole situation was awkward as hell.

"Yeah… so, what's up?"

"Nothing big, really."

He fidgeted for a second, looking embarrassed, then started talking.

"I locked in the win condition today…"

Through five innings, the score was 4–3. As long as the game didn't get tied or flipped, today's starter Lee Eun-soo would walk away with the win.

"I need you to protect that for me."

His voice was almost pleading.

"I've been stuck in the second team so long I don't really have anyone I'm close with up here. You're pretty much the only person I can say this to. We're not even that close, but…"

"Right…"

I nodded awkwardly, and he kept going.

"My family's here today."

"Your family?"

"I bounce around the country calling myself a baseball player, but I never show up on TV, so my little daughter doesn't even believe me. First start in the majors in a long time, so I brought the whole family down to Busan as a little trip."

"…"

"A guy's got to look cool in front of his kid at least once, right… I'm counting on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you, Ji-hoo."

When a Korean person asks for a favor, there are a few trump cards that never miss. Family sits at the top of that list.

"Yes, sir! Leave it to me!"

Even a guy with no family of his own had no choice but to nod without hesitation.

"Man… I feel a little bad for Lee Eun-soo sunbae."

Bottom of the seventh.

Right before the Wizards took the field on defense, I smacked my lips as I headed out to the outfield.

Thankfully the score was still 4–3. We were clinging to a razor-thin lead, and Lee Eun-soo sunbae's win condition was still intact.

"Tch… that one turned into a line drive, though."

My previous at-bat. Runners in scoring position, and I'd wasted the chance for nothing.

I'd squared it up clean. It just happened to find the shortstop's glove.

Even the best hitters in the world can't produce in every single plate appearance. Naturally, that included me.

First start of the season, and I was no longer a thousand hitter.

"It's not that I'm upset about the hit itself…"

Lee Eun-soo sunbae would be desperate for any kind of insurance run right about now. And the reason for that was—

—Batting fourth, catcher, Kim Jae-sang.

Kim Jae-sang's turn had come back around.

Leadoff hitter in the bottom of the seventh.

I was settling into my usual defensive spot when—

"Gong Ji-hoo can't play baseball~ You couldn't even score earlier! Dummy~"

The familiar, adorable voice of a little Swallows fan. The kid never got tired — seven full innings of nonstop heckling.

And that was how the bottom of the seventh began.

CRACK—!

—Waaaaaaaaah!

A clean, ringing crack of the bat. The ball rocketed upward. I tracked it coming my way.

Hmm… it's big, but I don't think it's going out.

I calculated the landing spot and started moving fast.

The ball rose like it might clear the wall, then died at the last second and started dropping.

Thud.

It caromed off the fence.

Kim Jae-sang took off for second at full speed, and—

"Waaaaaaaaah!"

—the little Swallows fan screamed a cheer that was half shriek as I—

Snap.

—snatched the ball barehanded before it even hit the ground after bouncing high off the wall. And then—

WHOOSH!

No time for a crow hop. I just planted and threw with everything I had. The result—

"…"

The stadium went dead quiet for a split second.

"Safe!!"

—Waaaaaaaaah!

The park erupted at the sudden chance for a go-ahead run.

And then Manager Kim Tae-sik stepped out of the dugout, drawing a square with his hands.

A video review that might decide the entire game had just begun.

The stands, which had been pure roaring celebration a moment ago, fell into a hush. Even the fans could see the outcome was obvious.

The umpire finished the review, pulled off the headset, and raised his hand.

Then—

"…Out!"

A red light lit up on the scoreboard.

Kim Jae-sang stared at the board with a hollow expression. That was the last anyone would see of him in today's game.

Even by my own standards, I'd been perfect today.

Two home runs. One spectacular defensive play.

That should be enough that I wouldn't have to feel embarrassed in front of Lee Eun-soo sunbae. Still—

"Finishing strong matters."

Top of the ninth. I stepped in as the leadoff hitter. Probably my last at-bat of the night.

The catcher waiting for me wasn't Kim Jae-sang. He'd been pulled the moment I threw him out.

"…"

The catcher didn't even glance my way — just silently exchanged signs with the pitcher.

Well, I'll be damned. A catcher who doesn't talk when you step into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠box.

At least since the regression, this was a type of catcher I was meeting for the first time.

Savoring the novelty of it, I started humming under my breath.

"Da-da-dan da-da-dan~ da-dan~"

With Kim Jae-sang gone from home plate, the song just came out on its own. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A person's mood changes from moment to moment. That's just how it works.

The BGM from a game I used to play all the time as a kid. And the star of that theme? That damn Yeopo.

Yeah — the game where Zhuge Liang shoots lasers. That one.

WHOOSH!

Even while I was humming, the pitcher kept silently working through signs, nodded, and let one fly — a completely ordinary high fastball.

CRAAAAACK!!!

—What the hell is that monster!

Someone's scream as I rounded the bases.

If I'm a monster—

Then I'm the monster you created.

The Swallows catcher polished me. A Swallows fan — presumably — oiled me up.

The monster the Busan Swallows built.

My deepest thanks to the Busan Swallows.

After the game ended, the postgame interview began. And of course, the star of the show was—

—Gong Ji-hoo.

The interview rolled along smoothly enough.

Thoughts on his first start:

"I'll keep working hard to put up good performances going forward."

The war of nerves with Kim Jae-sang:

"Jae-sang was the one who started it. I got heated and went right along with him."

Gong Ji-hoo paused for a beat, then — as if suddenly remembering something he'd forgotten — held up three fingers.

The broadcast booth burst out laughing, and the interview continued.

And then, the last question.

"Huh?… Huh?"

After a broadcast disaster courtesy of a color commentator who'd been famous for his pranks even during his playing days—

"Ah…"

—the only person left standing there like an idiot was Gong Ji-hoo, baseball player and web novel author, now one public hanging by the citizens of Busan away from disaster.