Faith
The cleanup hitter.
In modern baseball, the position had lost a good deal of its old weight. Even so, it remained a symbolic spot in the order — that much was still true.
Lee Se-ho stepped into the box and clenched the bat hard.
How long has it been…
He had been the Suwon Wizards' cleanup hitter. That is, until Lee Dae-beom — currently standing on first — had shown up.
A raw rookie had taken his place, and Lee Se-ho hadn't particularly resented it.
I was the same way, once.
The Suwon Wizards were a brand-new franchise. Right after founding, the team had enjoyed a pile of preferential benefits, and they had spent their first-round priority pick on him.
He figured they had every reason to. In high school, Lee Se-ho had been that good. And he had made sure they never regretted the choice.
Tryouts. The secondary draft. Special designations. Of all the players funneled in through every possible route, he had been the youngest — and still the best. The cleanup spot had become his.
Then a rookie slugger named Lee Dae-beom had appeared and taken it from him with almost insulting ease.
And the bastard never even gets hurt…
There had been moments when he found that massive frame — free of even the smallest nicks — genuinely annoying. In the end, though, he had no choice but to accept it. The Suwon Wizards' cleanup spot was no longer his.
And yet.
The most important series of the year — the Korean Series. Manager Kim Tae-sik had told him he would bat fourth.
"Why…?"
If his fall ball numbers had been good, maybe. Even by Lee Se-ho's own reckoning, he had been hitting like garbage.
But then:
"You don't have the confidence?"
He couldn't bring himself to nod at that.
Lee Dae-beom had pushed him out of the cleanup spot, yes. But Lee Se-ho had been called a genius in high school, the top prospect as a rookie, and now he was the veteran who held the team together. A player with that kind of pride.
So.
The starter is completely rattled right now. When a pitcher gets like this, his repertoire always gets simpler.
He had to answer the faith Manager Kim Tae-sik had placed in him.
The pitcher — flushed so red you couldn't even tell what color his skin was supposed to be — lifted his lead leg.
Fastball… fastball… fastball…
Lee Se-ho kept repeating it under his breath.
CRACK!!
I don't have Gong Ji-hoo's elite bat-to-ball skill. I don't have Dae-beom's power, the kind that casually clears the wall. But…
The experience he had stacked up over the years. A guess-hit built on that foundation. A swing locked onto a single pitch — and it met the ball clean.
It didn't leave the yard. It didn't produce elite exit velocity. Just an ordinary ball in play.
But the ball skittered across the vast Jamsil outfield, and it was more than enough to bring the runners home.
"Safe!"
Third-base runner Gong Ji-hoo scored.
"Safe!"
Second-base runner Park Ji-han scored.
Lee Dae-beom, who had been on first, stopped at third. Lee Se-ho himself settled in at second.
He clenched a fist, the thrill running through him, and thought: by any measure, that at-bat had looked like a cleanup hitter's.
Right?
From a distance, Manager Kim Tae-sik's expression was still unreadable — but the corner of his mouth had definitely ticked up, just a little.
"Damn… today's going to be rough."
Dong Sang-guk furrowed his brow.
Top of the first. Bases loaded, nobody out — they had somehow limited the damage to three runs. Then, in the bottom of the first, the offense had clawed the gap back down to a single run against the Suwon Wizards.
But then came the top of the second. One inning later.
Batting first, left fielder — Gong Ji-hoo
That bastard was back in the box again.
Two outs, runner on first. An Sung-woo, batting ninth, had reached on an infield single.
"What do we do…?"
A coach asked Dong Sang-guk how they should handle Gong Ji-hoo.
"What do you mean, what do we do."
"Gong Ji-hoo… should we just walk him?"
Put Gong Ji-hoo on and face Park Ji-han. With two outs already, that might have been the cleaner play. It was the plan they had prepared going in, too.
But.
"You think that kid just takes a free pass when you offer one?"
Not after the way Gong Ji-hoo had looked in his first at-bat.
"Then… if we only throw pitches that fall completely out of the zone…"
"As if Wheeler's going to follow that instruction."
"…"
In the end:
"The plan failed. If you're going to admit it, admit it fast."
He had never liked the strategy to begin with. Even the analytics staff had called it a pure gamble.
So.
"Tell him to go right at him."
Straight-up competition now. That was how it should have been from the start.
Of course.
"Keep it low. Keep it low… he already knows that without being told, right?"
Maximum caution was still non-negotiable.
Baseball is a sport of failure.
Even if a Major League MVP came over to the KBO, he still couldn't hit 1.000. Even a Cy Young winner couldn't post a 0.00 ERA. So what, then, did the leadoff spot mean?
The first batter of the first inning. By definition, the position that absorbs the most failure.
But that also meant it was the position that received the most opportunities.
In the end, the modern trend toward a strong two-hole — or a strong leadoff — came down to something simple: give the best hitter the most chances.
Whether Manager Kim Tae-sik thought about it that way, I honestly couldn't say. He was quietly trendy and old-school at the same time. But putting me in the leadoff spot, I believed, came from faith in the player named Gong Ji-hoo.
So I would answer that faith the same way Lee Se-ho had answered it as the cleanup hitter — as the best bat on the Suwon Wizards, repaying the manager's choice and his trust.
Wasn't that the baseball of faith?
Top of the second. Two outs, runner on first.
The Wolves' starter, Wheeler, gritted his teeth. The man who had ruined his outing was stepping into the box again.
What? A changeup?
He shook off the catcher's sign for a breaking ball dropping out of the zone. He had no intention of running.
The cheap shot that bastard had pulled last inning still had his blood boiling. Left to his own temper, he would have aimed this pitch at the kid instead of the mitt — but.
…This is Korea. Goddamn Korea.
He knew well enough by now that this country treated manners as a big deal even in baseball.
Last at-bat, the kid took a hit-by-pitch and thanked me like some kind of pussy. If I plunk him again…
Even if he won the game, he might have to shut down every social media account he owned. Did Koreans think baseball was a gentleman's sport or something?
Then go watch tennis.
In the end, the only way to get revenge on that dirty hitter was to get him out — and to do it in the most humiliating way possible.
THWACK!!
"Ball."
After a few more shakes, his catcher finally sighed and put down a four-seam that would just miss the zone.
Hmph. Good eye, I'll give him that.
Wheeler snorted at the bat that didn't so much as twitch, then sent his own sign.
Cutter. Inside. In the zone.
The catcher looked startled.
"Time."
He came out to the mound.
"Hey, what are you doing? That pitch is dangerous against Gong Ji-hoo."
"No."
Wheeler answered the catcher's warning — relayed through the interpreter — with nothing but that single word. The catcher frowned, said fine, and went back behind the plate.
What the hell is everyone so scared of about this kid?
Wheeler knew the KBO's level was solid. A few of the players he had faced looked ready to contribute in the big leagues tomorrow. But the talent gap across the league was enormous — like someone had dumped Double-A through the majors into one roster and called it a season.
And Gong Ji-hoo?
Until recently he was a second-team washout who couldn't even get called up.
Not some carefully cultivated prospect they were polishing in the minors. Just a guy whose pure ability hadn't been enough to stick in the first team for a long time. Recent hot streak or not — pure luck. That was how Wheeler saw it.
WHOOSH!!
The moment the catcher settled behind the plate, Wheeler went into his delivery and threw.
He was not a pitcher who would end his career in Korea. The final destination was always the majors. Put up a strong showing in a KBO that every scout watched, then jump to the big leagues on a good deal. That goal was more or less already achieved — until this Korean Series, until this kid.
So.
Let's see if you can still smile when my pitch snaps your bat…
CRAAACK!!!
Huh?
What was that.
I watched the first pitch of my second at-bat and knew immediately: the Wolves had abandoned the plan to mess with me. The feel was different. A hitter's instinct told me so.
But.
They're giving me a pitch this easy?
I watched the ball fly and started walking, unhurried.
Ordinarily I wouldn't pull something this arrogant. Today was a little different.
—WAAAAAAAH!!!
"Goddammit — I told you not to."
Through the roar of the crowd, the catcher's muttered curse came through faintly. Probably the pitcher's unilateral call. Really.
A pitcher who only ever gives me things to be grateful for.
Maybe after the game I should go find him and say thank you again.
BOOM!
The ball climbed high through center field, crossed the enormous expanse of Jamsil Stadium, and buried itself in the scoreboard.
I watched it go.
WHIRL!
I flung the bat I was still holding high into the sky and started a slow trot around the bases.
Honestly, doing a ceremony like that in the second inning was a little embarrassing — but then:
"Fuck!!"
Watching the pitcher on the mound slam his glove into the dirt, the embarrassment evaporated and left only satisfaction.
Today's game. I probably wouldn't be seeing the Wolves' starter from the third inning on.
They're not going to make me pay for that scoreboard… right?
Gong Ji-hoo's spectacular comeback.
Except I had never really been gone, so that didn't quite fit.
Hmm…
My usual performance, plus the genuine return of Lee Se-ho. The winner of Korean Series Game Two was the Suwon Wizards.
—WAAAAAAAAH!!
Listening to the full-throated roar of the Wizards' famously small-but-elite fan base, I tossed the final out ball into the outfield stands, then ran toward the mound and checked the scoreboard.
Seoul Wolves 7 : 8 Su■ Wizards
Hmm…
You could see exactly where my home run had hit, clear as day.
Fortunately, they said I didn't have to pay for it. I had already been thinking:
Guess the money I made in Gwangju was going to get spent in Seoul…
Even with the lineup exploding early, it had been a knife-edge game. In the eighth, they had come within a hair of tying it. If third baseman Lee Se-ho hadn't thrown his body at a ball to get the out, it really would have been knotted up.
So today's player of the game was Lee Se-ho, no debate.
Though… he looked a little off physically. Hope he's all right…
There had been a tiny hitch in his swing, almost imperceptible. Nothing serious, surely.
"Looking forward to it."
"To what?"
Lee Dae-beom asked, catching the quiet mutter.
"The revenge match with Do Jeong-hoo sunbae."
"That guy still has a ways to go before he can start again, doesn't he?"
"We'll win Game Three first, so."
Korean Series Game Three — the Suwon Wizards' first home game of the series. The starter was Charlie.
"All we have to do is keep putting up runs."