Happiness
Fence play comes from training volume and experience.
Which means...
The Powders' center fielder and right fielder, collapsed on the ground like a pair of matching decals, each had their own excuses, in a way.
Daejeon Ballpark was a brand-new stadium. Not like Rhinos Park, which was merely the latest from a decade ago. Today's game was the true opening of a genuine new ballpark.
Aside from a single scrimmage, the Powders themselves had never used the new stadium either. So the home team that found its own home park awkward was none other than the Daejeon Powders.
On top of that, this new stadium was no ordinary piece of architecture. The right-field fence stood a full eight meters high.
A rare design like that made defense tricky. Even the original Green Monster in the majors, I'd heard, was hard for anyone but the home team's players to handle.
"...Hoo."
The reason I was suddenly making excuses for the Powders' outfielders had nothing to do with being a shy Powders fan, and nothing to do with my former-outfielder sensitivity flaring up.
"One out, man on third... Even after the other team pulled a boneheaded play, we still can't score? Does that make any sense?"
After I stepped on third base, the next batter—the number-three hitter, Garcia—
"Ball."
—drew a walk and took first. And then number four, Kang Ho-san, also—
"Ball."
—drew another walk. One out, bases loaded. The absolute best scoring situation had been handed to us. And then it was the turn of the number-five hitter, designated hitter Song Han-su, one of the Rhinos' signature right-handed power bats alongside Kang Ho-san. If we still couldn't score after that...
You could more or less guess what happened.
Crack!
"Out!"
The ball that settled into the shortstop's glove went to second base—
Thud!
"Out!"
—and then all the way to first.
The double play that followed snuffed out the Rhinos' first scoring chance. Just like that. Emptily.
The one silver lining for a Rhinos team cursed never to win six in a row was that starting pitcher Sim Ji-hwan was putting on an absolute clinic. Today was his first big-league start as a rookie, and yet—
Thud!!
"Strikeout!"
Crack!
A sharp liner ripping through the three-four hole.
Ah.
It was a little too far for me to dive for. I was already bracing for a hit when—
Ssshk.
—Jang Tae-wook slid in fast, snagged the ball, and without missing a beat—
Thud!
—threw it. The result needed no confirmation.
"Out!"
I raised a thumb in admiration at Jang Tae-wook's defense. He scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed little smile, as if the praise made him shy.
"...Haha. If I can't do anything at the plate, I've at least got to play defense."
Jang Tae-wook's line for the day was 0-for-2. We were only just approaching the middle innings, so it was still a forgivable number—but for a leadoff man to force a pitcher to throw only two pitches across two plate appearances was a blow to the pride. Especially for someone like Jang Tae-wook, who prided himself on grinding out long at-bats.
So of course he was pouring everything into defense instead. And I was in the same boat. Sure, I'd gotten a hit—but we still hadn't scored, so I felt bad for the pitcher. Especially since I'd privately decided he was going to be my partner for the six-game streak.
Crack!!
I fielded a grounder straight at me at third, took my time knowing the batter was slow, and threw.
Thud!!
"Out!"
The bottom of the fourth ended in a three-up, three-down as well. So far Sim Ji-hwan had thrown only forty pitches. Two walks allowed, zero hits. A no-hitter was still intact.
Of course, a no-hitter through four was fairly common, as I'd said before. And looking at the Rhinos hitters' condition today, it was anyone's guess whether we'd even score at all. So beyond the fact that he was pitching brilliantly, it didn't mean much yet.
"Tch."
"You seem especially full of complaints today, Ji-hoo."
"Not really."
It was just...
"My junior, who's way younger than me, is shutting them out clean, and we still can't put up a single run. It feels a little off."
Unfortunately, Sim Ji-hwan's no-hitter was broken in the fifth.
"Is that a shot at me for grounding into a double play in a big spot? The cleanup hitter who blew the chance?"
"No..."
Absolutely not. I didn't have a single complaint about any of the other guys. Even while privately thinking a six-game streak was impossible, every single one of them was giving everything they had on every play—that much was painfully clear. It was just...
"It feels like the whole world is hard-countering us."
"That's why they call it a jinx."
Even so. Bases loaded, nobody out, and still no runs? That was a little much.
After the Rhinos wasted the one-out, bases-loaded chance, the top of the fifth brought them a golden opportunity with the bases loaded and nobody out—only for Garcia's infield fly to be followed by Kang Ho-san's double-play grounder, and once again zero runs.
"Hyung, I really thought that ball was a perfect scoring shot..."
"Everyone gets their career defensive play once in a while. Even the Powders pull off something incredible once or twice a season. That's just how it is."
The ball Kang Ho-san hit into the double play had been a bullet through the mound, pure hit material. If the Powders shortstop—who had spent last year as a backup—hadn't thrown his whole body at it and then flipped the ball to second with his glove, it would have been a different story.
"Why do they only show that stuff against us..."
It had all happened in a flash, before I, the runner on first, could even reach second. If it hadn't been the other team, it would have been a play worth pure admiration.
"I get why, though."
"Get what?"
"Why they're pulling out career plays."
What Kang Ho-san said next actually made sense.
"Yeah... you're right."
"Right? From their side, they don't want to lose their first win in a brand-new stadium. We felt the same way."
"How did the opening game at Rhinos Park go? Did we win that one too?"
From behind Kang Ho-san, who let out a hollow laugh and said nothing, Jang Tae-wook's voice floated over.
"We lost. To the Wolves. Clean."
His face still looked sour, as if just remembering it ticked him off. Jang Tae-wook hadn't even been a player back then.
Landmine territory...
I needed to change the subject somehow before the mood tanked completely.
What do I even talk about... Ah!
"...So then why did the outfielders collide? Too much passion?"
"Ji-hoo... you really never watched games, did you?"
He wasn't wrong. I'd only started watching properly after the regression. Back in school I never had a favorite team, and once I became a player the inferiority complex was too much to bear. I barely watched pro games at all.
But why was he saying it like that all of a sudden?
"For the Powders, that kind of thing has always been normal..."
"Huh?"
"It happens more often than great defensive plays, at least."
Wow. Powders fans really must be saints.
The truth was, no matter what kind of team the Powders were, today's game remained extremely tight.
Bottom of the seventh. Score: 0–0.
Sim Ji-hwan had somehow lasted into the seventh inning in his first big-league start. Of course, even if he shut them out through the seventh, a win wasn't locked in yet. But at the very least, he had to have stamped a clear first impression on the Rhinos fans.
The GM will take less heat, too...
The trade from the offseason still drew negative comments on the community boards. The one that sent me over in exchange for former Rhinos pitcher Lee Min-ho.
I had never once underperformed since joining the Rhinos—not in practice games, not in exhibition games, not in the regular season. Not once. But because it had been a trade for a starting pitcher, disagreement was inevitable. A hole in the rotation could decide a season's wins and losses, and the Rhinos hadn't exactly been a team that desperately needed my bat in the first place.
That was why the outing Sim Ji-hwan was putting on today settled the hearts of the fans, the front office—and me. Of course—
Thud!!
"Swinging strikeout!"
—if he could lock this inning down clean as well, even better.
He was a pitcher with serious velocity, still pumping fastballs over 150 km/h even past the ninety-pitch mark. But—
Crack!!
—it was only natural that his stuff would dip from the early innings. The confident fastball he threw became a double. Sim Ji-hwan looked genuinely rattled by the sudden blow from the number-nine hitter.
Thud!!
"Ball."
That shock showed up as command trouble.
Is he getting pulled?
But no. Even as Sim Ji-hwan started to wobble, he wasn't taken out. Manager Dong Sang-guk simply stood in the dugout and watched the mound in silence, living up to the nickname "Spectator Guk." And then—
Crack!
A grounder racing down the third-base line. In a normal alignment it would have been extra-base territory, but—
Oh... nice.
—with the late-inning infield playing on the line, it was coming straight at me. And yet...
Was the six-game-win curse real? That ordinary grounder clipped third base and rocketed high into the air.
"Wha—?!"
The shock lasted only a second. I jumped, stretching the glove as high as I could.
Thok.
Thankfully, the ball settled into the pocket. The moment I landed, my body collapsed, but I still managed to fire the ball toward second.
Thud!!
"Out!"
Sitting on the ground, I watched the throw land cleanly in the second baseman's glove as he covered the bag. He immediately turned and threw to first.
"Out!"
Double play.
"Hah..."
Only then did I let out a breath of relief. Even I hadn't been sure about that play. Still—
Great defense answered with great defense. Double-play ball answered with a double play. We'd paid them back.
After a great defensive play comes a good result at the plate. It's an old saying in baseball.
It looked like the saying was going to hold true for me too. That was what I thought as I stepped into the box in the top of the eighth.
On base was Jang Tae-wook, who had finally ripped a double for his first time on. He was a fast runner—one hit would score him. Which meant the Rhinos' six-game streak was getting closer, and Sim Ji-hwan's first career win was getting closer too.
Whoosh!!
The first pitch from the Powders' high-leverage arm was a fastball with real life on it—but the Powders' scouting report on me must have been a little thin.
It came right into my favorite zone. Still—
Crack!
—even a pitch in your favorite zone doesn't always turn into extra bases.
A single dropped in front of the right fielder. The moment I touched first, Jang Tae-wook, the runner on second, blew past third and charged for home. The right fielder threw home, and I took off for second.
"Safe!"
The close throw home was ruled safe. The catcher, seeing me heading for second, threw there—but—
"Oh no!"
—came the panicked shout from the shortstop who had already turned in a career play earlier today. The catcher's throw to second became a single up the middle. In other words, the ball sailed into the outfield.
Jackpot...
The second I touched second base I kept going for third.
Thok.
As I arrived at third I checked the ball—whether it was a throw or a batted ball, the center fielder still hadn't fielded it cleanly. He looked thoroughly rattled. Which meant—
Home.
—exactly as the third-base coach kept windmilling his arm, I had the green light to go for it.
Thud-thud-thud.
The full sprint for home ended with—
"Safe!"
—me stepping on the plate before the center fielder's throw arrived.
- Waaaaaaaaah!!
Hearing the massive roar from the Rhinos road fans who had split the stadium in half, I raised a fist in answer while still standing on home plate.
It was a happy result, born from the Powders' happy defense.
March 28, 2025.
The Daegu Rhinos faced the Daejeon Powders and won by a score of 2–0, achieving six consecutive victories for the first time in 3,890 days.
It was the moment the path of the winning streak finally opened.