Thunderclap! The Umpire’s Roar Echoes in Gwangju
The pitch hissed in.
Thwack!
Strike three!
The home plate umpire's call cracked across the diamond. Lee San, batting third, went down swinging, and with that, Suseok High's half of the first inning was over.
"Tsk."
Choi Seungtaek, who'd been taking cuts in the on-deck circle, turned and headed back to the dugout. Lee Tae-yang of Gwangju Hana High was a first-round pick in his own right, and his stuff was no joke.
"Guess hoping to crack him in the first was asking too much."
In the dugout, the conversation had already turned to Lee Tae-yang's pitches.
"His fastball's harder than I expected, and the breaking stuff drops even more than I thought."
"I couldn't even tell them apart."
Choi Seungtaek listened as he stowed his bat and started buckling on his catcher's gear. None of it was news to him — but from here on, Lee Tae-yang was an opponent he'd be lucky just to keep pace with. He was going to have to feel it for himself.
Lee San came back in, tidying his bat as he asked, "How are you going to handle him? That stuff is no joke."
"Hmm. I'll have to get up there and see for myself. The kids say the break on his off-speed is nasty, so maybe the simple play is just to sit on the fastball?"
"That's how you see it, then. I think I'll do the same."
Choi Seungtaek finished strapping on the rest of the gear. The fielders were already out on defense; he was the only one left.
"Tss. Lucky bastard."
He tossed the remark at Lee San, who was staying behind in the dugout.
"Haha... Hang in there. You got this!"
Choi Seungtaek picked up his mask and trudged out. Most players were expected to hustle onto the field.
"Hang in there!"
"Yeah, I heard you. Get ready already."
But Choi Seungtaek took his sweet time, strolling toward home plate like he had all day. Watching from the mound, Kang Taepoong found the unhurried act a little ridiculous — and, at the same time, strangely reassuring. A catcher that loose had a way of settling a pitcher down.
Choi Seungtaek settled into his crouch.
All right. Let's do this again.
He signaled Kang Taepoong to throw.
The ball hissed in. Pop!
A fastball he hadn't quite expected slammed into the mitt, the heavy life on the pitch thudding straight through the leather.
What the hell. Looks like he's actually bringing it today.
The scoreboard flashed 96 mph.
Kid's the real deal. And his stuff looks sharp today.
Another clean fastball popped into the mitt.
"All right, let's get started. You good?"
"Yes! We're ready."
Choi Seungtaek answered the umpire without hesitation. The umpire called the batter into the box.
The System is assisting.
The familiar lettering slid across his vision.
Ohh.
Kang Taepoong's readout had shifted. First, his condition was listed as excellent — which, presumably, was why the average velocity in his traits had ticked up. Even the command inconsistency that used to sit in that column was gone. Today, Kang Taepoong was having one of those days pitchers talk about: everything coming out of his hand.
Perfect. Time to put him to the test.
Gwangju Hana High's leadoff hitter stepped in.
Lee Yongjin, Gwangju Hana High, batting first. Throws right, hits left, center field. Blazing speed. Weakness: inside fastballs. If you go at him with power, he's not hard to put away. But—
This was the moment to check Kang Taepoong's confidence.
FASTBALL — MIDDLE
Choi Seungtaek put down the fastball sign and set his mitt dead in the heart of the zone. Kang Taepoong read the intent and nodded.
He wants me to seize the initiative. Fine by me.
It was one of those days when the ball felt alive in his hand, so a first-pitch heater down the middle was exactly what he wanted.
The pitch hissed in. Pop!
Strike!
"Strike on the first pitch! Kang Taepoong just pumped a fastball right down the middle. What's the idea there?"
"That one came in at 98. A heater in that spot is a statement — I've got it today. These two are going to try to finish each other off."
The booth was buzzing over the gutsy call.
The real show starts now.
Choi Seungtaek shifted to the batter's inner half. The extra life on the fastball had already widened their margin, but he was still going to attack the hole with surgical precision. He put down another fastball and planted the mitt inside, still in the zone.
A nod from the mound.
The ball hissed in. Pop!
Strike!
Strike two rang out. Overpowered by the heavy inside heater, the batter flinched and never got the bat started. His face went rigid.
Yeah. Doesn't feel right, does it? That's the pitch you hate.
Choi Seungtaek went inside again. It was a slightly dangerous sequence. A pro who knew his own hole would sit on it and punish you. This, however, was not the pros.
The pitch hissed in. Pop!
Strike three!
"Okay, nice!"
A heater painted the inside black, catching the edge of the zone, and the batter froze for strike three. Just as the opposing pitcher had done, Suseok High's battery punched out Gwangju Hana's leadoff man on three pitches.
The two-hole hitter stepped in immediately.
Han Junbin, batting second. Right-right, second base. Decent at everything, great at nothing — and his biggest hole is breaking balls. Especially anything with a big drop.
This time Choi Seungtaek decided to mix in a different look. He called for a curve and set the mitt back in the middle.
A breaking ball down the middle?
Kang Taepoong was a little puzzled, but Seungtaek's game-calling had been sharp so far. He decided to trust it again.
The curve came whispering in. Pop!
Strike!
"Ah..."
Word of the fastball had clearly gotten around; the batter was sitting dead-red — and then a cruel curveball dropped in and wrung a groan out of him.
He knows he can't hit breaking stuff, so he'll sit exclusively on the heater. Fine. Then I won't throw him a single one.
Choi Seungtaek shifted inside and dropped the mitt to the lower inner quadrant.
Ordinarily, if you throw three straight breaking balls, they'll square one up. Unfortunately for him, this kid can't hit them — so a breaking-ball diet is the right fight.
CURVEBALL — INSIDE
Kang Taepoong frowned a little at another breaking-ball request, then trusted Seungtaek again and threw.
The curve came whispering in. A swing. Pop!
Strike two!
Damn. Too jumpy. Settle down. He's going to throw a fastball. Wait for it.
Gwangju Hana's two-hole hitter locked in and sat on the heater again.
I can see it written all over him. Waiting on the fastball? Then I'll show him something that looks like one — and then runs away.
Choi Seungtaek called for a slider and drifted to the outer half.
The slider's going to clip the low-and-away corner and then drop. Any lower and it buries in the dirt. But with the target here, that's the risk we take.
Just in case, he was already thinking about blocking.
The slider came whispering in. A big swing. Pop!
The ball dove cleanly under the zone, and Choi Seungtaek received it clean.
Swing! Strike three!
The umpire punched him out again.
"Yes! Chased it in the dirt. Beautiful."
Choi Seungtaek fired down to first to keep the infielders loose.
"Whoa. The stuff's good and the calling's good. You're the one running this, aren't you?"
"Aigoo, that's a secret."
The umpire had started it, so Choi Seungtaek played along. A little cheek in the answer, and the umpire was clearly enjoying himself. While they talked, the three-hole hitter was stepping in.
Kim Yuhan, batting third. Honestly, he's Gwangju Hana's real table-setter... Throws left, hits left, right field. Elite contact, almost no holes. Except one.
"That kid can hit. How are you going to pitch him?"
"Everybody's got a hole, don't they?"
The umpire asked because he was genuinely curious how Seungtaek would attack him. Choi Seungtaek studied Kim Yuhan's contact map and whistled inwardly. Almost the entire strike zone was painted red. The only blue light sat on the outside corner.
Then we live on the outer edge.
FASTBALL — OUTSIDE BLACK
Choi Seungtaek smiled a wicked little smile and set the mitt on the outer black.
Kang Taepoong punched out Kim Yuhan on three pitches and closed the inning.
"You're dealing today. You could throw a shutout."
"Shut up. So how are you going to attack Lee Tae-yang? You've got something, right?"
"Nope."
"You seriously don't?"
"Yeah. We'll take him head-on. That guy's going to be a problem."
Choi Seungtaek grabbed his bat and headed to the box.
The moment he stepped in, Lee Tae-yang's profile came up.
Yeah. He's every bit as good as Taepoong. And that splitter is nasty. But the kid's got a tell — a sickness, really. He wants that first-pitch strike.
The pitch hissed in. A swing. Pop!
Strike!
A first-pitch strike tilts the at-bat the pitcher's way. That was why Lee Tae-yang attacked from pitch one — and Choi Seungtaek didn't duck it. His body hadn't caught up to the velocity yet, though. He swung through it.
Lee Tae-yang wound up again.
The ball came whispering in. A swing. Pop!
Strike two!
Oh. Fuck.
Splitter. Choi Seungtaek's swing was so big he spun all the way around.
Insane. The arm action was basically identical to the fastball.
A low heater paired with that splitter... Choi Seungtaek had a feeling this game was about to get ugly.
Should I just sit on the splitter?
The pitch came whispering in. Tick.
Huh? That felt weird.
Choi Seungtaek swung — and caught the Gwangju Hana catcher's glove. The bat slapped the mitt, the leather buckled, and Hana High's catcher lost the splitter. The ball skipped off the dirt and rocketed straight into his groin.
Thud!
"Gaaaaaah—!"
The 6'1" mountain of a Gwangju Hana catcher let out a strangled groan and crumpled forward. On the ground, hands shaking, he clutched one of Choi Seungtaek's legs.