The Pitcher Whisperer
"So. No regrets about your decision?"
"No, sir."
"Hah... I don't know. That kid's about to blow, and I have no idea what kind of scene he's going to make."
In the manager's office, Coach Kim Ik-hyun and Choi Seungtaek were meeting one-on-one. Seungtaek had asked to start Lee San in the finals, and Kim Ik-hyun had agreed. A coach had gone to deliver the news to Kang Taepoong and Lee San. The fallout was about to hit.
Footsteps pounded down the hall outside.
"See? Here he comes already."
BANG!
"Coach! Why am I starting the semis? Why is San starting the finals?"
Kang Taepoong's voice was thick with grievance. The commotion brought Han Bang-man running from nearby.
"Taepoong, what the hell are you doing?"
Han Bang-man blocked the doorway and scolded him.
"Get out of my way. This doesn't make sense, Coach. I'm the ace. How does it make sense that I pitch the semis? Especially when we're facing Buma High in the finals..."
Kim Ik-hyun let out a long sigh and looked at Seungtaek. Seungtaek grinned, knowing he could handle this himself, and gestured toward his own chest. Just mention me.
"This decision came out of a discussion with our starting catcher. Seungtaek says San is the better matchup against Buma High. What am I supposed to do with that? You understand what it means?"
"What do you mean..."
Taepoong stared at Seungtaek, stunned. The coach actually listened to a player's opinion?
Even Taepoong had never tried that. A coach's authority sat that high. And Seungtaek had just done what Taepoong never could.
"You? This is insane—"
"Hey. Enough. Come outside. I'll show you why you're not starting. Bang-man, go grab Jae-myeong."
Seungtaek cut him off and walked out. Taepoong followed in a daze, and Han Bang-man went looking for the sophomore catcher, Go Jae-myeong.
Seungtaek came out onto Suseok High's field. Freshmen were setting up fences and bases for practice. A lot of high schools used the same space as both a playground and a diamond, and they were converting it into a baseball field now. Infield and outfield defensive drills were supposed to start, but Seungtaek and Taepoong's issue delayed things.
Seungtaek put Taepoong on the mound and sat Go Jae-myeong down at home plate. Then he picked up a bat and walked out toward the mound.
"What are you trying to pull?"
"Hmm... a bet, and a little pecking-order adjustment? Loser does what the winner says. How about it?"
Seungtaek said it so brazenly that Taepoong was speechless all over again.
"What bet? I don't know how you talked Coach into this, but you think you're good enough to bet against me?"
If I'd heard that in the old days, it would've stung. Not anymore.
"Sounds like you already think I am."
Seungtaek answered with easy confidence. I was going to have to do this anyway. For our Taepoong's sake.
Seungtaek liked his high school classmates. Taepoong included. So right now—for Taepoong's growth, and for winning the Presidential Cup—he was about to deliver some advice that would sting like medicine. In the past, he never would have dared try this kind of bet-as-lecture. Even as a pro, it wouldn't have been easy. But Seungtaek was overflowing with confidence now. He was several moves ahead of Kang Taepoong.
Where the hell is this confidence coming from?
Taepoong was furious. They'd suffered together as friends, and as a catcher Seungtaek had never really pushed back—until this complete betrayal. Honestly, Taepoong thought every player at Suseok High was a level below him. Seungtaek's numbers had climbed sharply lately, but Taepoong figured that was just the result of facing junk pitchers, not anyone at his own level.
"We doing this or not? You scared?"
"Tch. Fine. Let's go."
Seungtaek's swagger set Taepoong's eyes on fire.
"Nine at-bats. First to five wins. You know that's even stacked in the pitcher's favor, right?"
"Bullshit."
"So if you lose, you do what I say. Got it?"
"Just get in the box."
Taepoong stomped up onto the mound, fuming. The moment Seungtaek stepped into the batter's box, text bloomed in front of his eyes.
The System is providing assistance.
Seungtaek grinned.
Kang Taepoong is currently fully analyzed!
Seungtaek's eyes filled with Taepoong's preferred pitch types and ball trajectories. The information on Taepoong's kuse was piled up, crystal clear. This was why Seungtaek was ahead of him.
Pitchers who ate the league alive as rookies got demolished in year two because their unconscious bad habits got analyzed. Taepoong had already gone through that process. And there was no way a former strategy-analysis guy like Seungtaek would miss a kuse like that.
When a pitcher and a hitter of similar skill go pitch after pitch, what matters is sequencing. Seungtaek had four years of pro experience. The catcher behind the plate was a high school sophomore. In a pitch-calling war, Seungtaek had every advantage—and that, too, was why he held the high ground.
Seungtaek looked at Taepoong. The trajectories Taepoong favored came into view, and among them were the hitting locations Seungtaek loved.
This is over, Taepoong. You're dead.
"Jae-myeong, you know all of Taepoong's signs, right?"
"Yes, sunbae."
"Good. Then let's get started."
"Hey, Taepoong. Let's go."
Seungtaek focused on Taepoong's hand. No major change.
Kang Taepoong
When throwing a fastball, he tenses his index finger.
So it's a breaking ball. A breaker on the first pitch? Is he wasting one on purpose? I thought he'd just try to bury me with a fastball. He's actually thinking.
"Breaking ball, huh? I'll take."
Seungtaek said it out loud. Go Jae-myeong, crouched behind the plate, flinched.
The pitch hissed in. Thud.
"Ball!"
Han Bang-man was calling balls and strikes. Jae-myeong tossed the ball back.
"What's it gonna be this time?"
Watching Taepoong's glove closely, Seungtaek saw the index finger tense.
"Fastball?"
Seungtaek felt it—this was the moment to properly test the swing he'd been drilling. The instant he focused, the System flashed the predicted fastball path.
Perfect.
The ball came in with a hiss. He swung—and the ball lofted and dropped into foul territory down the right-field line.
"Damn. Swing was late."
Foul. He still hadn't locked in the timing on Taepoong's heater.
What was that? That swing didn't feel right.
For a split second, Taepoong felt uneasy. A pitcher's instinct told him in a single heartbeat that Seungtaek was not a hitter you could take lightly. The back of his neck prickled, the way it did after giving up a homer. It had been a decent fastball. But Seungtaek had swung like he already knew it was coming.
"Hoo..."
Jae-myeong put down a different sign. Seungtaek watched Taepoong's glove. The protruding finger didn't twitch.
Breaking ball. Timing disruptor this time. Is Jae-myeong actually thinking? But if it's Taepoong, he'll want to throw a breaker that still catches the zone.
The read was dead on.
Slider? Not bad. After a fastball, it's enough to steal his timing. Just in case, I'll keep it in the zone.
Taepoong set.
"Breaking ball. This time I'm swinging even if it is."
This time Seungtaek was sitting on the breaker. Curve or slider—that was the question. Accounting for the slower movement, he decided to wait it out. Curves and sliders had different trajectories. If he focused, he could read it.
If it looks like a fastball out of the hand, slider. If the path is different, curve.
The pitch ripped in.
Looks like a fastball. Slider, then.
Crack. Seungtaek squared it up. The ball shot out and rolled all the way to the wall.
"Gapper splitting left and center. Point, Choi Seungtaek."
Han Bang-man made the call.
No way. Are the catchers covering for each other?
Taepoong called Jae-myeong to the mound. The kid trudged up looking dazed.
"Hey. You're not tipping pitches to Seungtaek, are you?"
"No, sunbae. Seungtaek sunbae just... knows. Whatever sign I put down, he already knows."
"What?"
"Every time I put down a sign and you start your windup, he calls it out under his breath. It's driving me crazy too."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"I don't know. I'm sorry."
Taepoong clenched his jaw. Jae-myeong looked too stunned to be lying. He'd take his word for it.
Taepoong got set again. The index finger twitched.
"Fastball?"
This is my chance. Time to really use this fastball.
Truth was, Seungtaek had wanted this matchup badly. No matter how many tee swings you took, no matter how much Special Batting Practice you logged—if you never faced a real arm, the swing wasn't alive.
Once more, Taepoong's fastball path appeared in Seungtaek's vision. A strategically sharp heater, attacking the outer half against a righty. To Seungtaek, it was just another meal. He crowded the plate and set his stance. Facing a ninety-three-mile-an-hour fastball, Seungtaek felt like he was back on a professional diamond.
I'm not losing anymore.
The pitch hissed in.
A clean, ringing crack—and Seungtaek's ball kept climbing until it cleared the fence.
If you don't know, you get hit, Taepoong. This is all for your own good.
Watching the ball sail, Seungtaek smiled, thoroughly satisfied.