The System's Tutorial Proves Too Difficult
A perfect game is when a pitcher does not allow a single batter to reach first base for the entire contest. From the pitcher's point of view, it means exactly what it sounds like: a perfect outing.
Choi Seungtaek looked up at the scoreboard. Both lineups were posted; the rosters had already been exchanged. Buma High School's starter was listed as Go Tae-san.
Son of a bitch.
Except for the fact that he had shown up late, that brutal game was about to play out all over again.
The throw to first skipped behind the bag.
"Seungtaek, focus!"
Han Bang-man's shout cut across the infield.
"Sorry."
He'd botched it because his mind had wandered.
How did I forget today of all days?
People forget. That was human nature. In his previous life, getting perfect-gamed on this day had plunged every Suseok High player into despair. Seungtaek had shaken it off and moved on, but the others never had, and the aftershock had dumped them out of both the President's Cup and the Bonghwangdae National High School Baseball Tournament in the early rounds.
Pop! The ball smacked into a catcher's glove.
"Again!"
They kept the ball moving around the infield, and little by little his body woke up. At least the throws weren't hard anymore.
"Game's about to start—get ready!"
"Yes!"
Choi Seungtaek settled in behind the plate. The moment he set his stance, Kang Taepoong climbed the mound.
Whew. It's been a long time.
A hiss of air—then a thud. Even as a warm-up pitch, a fastball brushing 130 km/h slammed into Seungtaek's mitt.
Ah… I've missed this.
A professional's pitch is fast and heavy. Catching well is the foundation of the position, and taking velocity like that without getting hurt takes know-how. Seungtaek snagged it cleanly, by feel.
Aigoo…
The satisfaction lasted about a second. He fired the ball back to Kang Taepoong—and threw it way too far.
"Sorry!"
A sharp hiss. A heavy crack of leather.
Oh, shit. That one had some feeling in it.
Seungtaek flinched at the sudden jump in velocity. The board flashed 151 km/h. For a warm-up pitch, that was a full send.
Prickly bastard.
Kang Taepoong ran hot. That hunger to win was what had gotten him this far, but Seungtaek had spent all three years of high school managing the guy's moods. The smallest mistake, and Taepoong showed his displeasure like this.
Yeah, his personality's a little shitty. How am I supposed to handle him?
Another hiss. Another thud. 152 km/h this time.
The old me would've kept shrinking. Not now.
Pro experience, maybe—150 km/h stuff no longer rattled him. Taepoong seemed to think he was about done warming up; the umpire and Buma High's leadoff hitter started toward the box.
Crap—I forgot the signs. What do I do?
Professional baseball was drowning in signs. Every pitcher had his own set, and there were more to run with the bench. Seungtaek's head was already stuffed with Busan Seagulls signs; Suseok High's wouldn't come.
If I ask Taepoong, he'll treat me like a complete idiot.
A chill ran down his spine. Just picturing Taepoong blowing up made him shake his head. But they couldn't just eat a loss. Seungtaek hurried toward the mound.
"Why the hell are you coming up here?"
Taepoong's voice was surly.
"Cover your mouth."
"What?"
"Cover your mouth when you talk. Given the situation I didn't get to explain—do you even know our signs right now?"
Kang Taepoong looked at him like something stuck to his shoe.
Figured as much.
"Fastball is… this. Curve is… this. Slider is… this, see?"
He answered irritably, waving it off.
What the hell is he even saying. He's being so damn vague.
"Besides that—you know any other signs?"
"Hmm… fastball is ring and pinky, curve is index, slider is index and middle."
Taepoong dug through his memory and spoke slowly enough to get it right, which made it easy for Seungtaek to lock in.
"We use those today. Honestly, from Buma High's side they just have to get you. They might've already broken the signs. So we start with a different set from pitch one."
"Yeah, okay."
The sour look eased once the reason landed.
That's right, you bastard. Sounds plausible, doesn't it?
A good catcher had to talk. Pitchers came in every flavor, and some of them were fragile; talking those guys down was part of the job. After handling everyone from prospects to veterans in the minors, Seungtaek had no trouble cooking Kang Taepoong.
He went back behind the plate. The umpire was already in, and so was the batter.
"Suseok High catcher ready?"
"Yes, ready."
"Then let's start."
The Blue Dragon Flag quarterfinal between Buma High School and Suseok High School was underway.
The System begins providing assistance.
The moment Choi Seungtaek settled in behind home plate, the text bloomed again. At the same time, a virtual strike zone unfurled in front of his eyes.
What's this? A strike zone?
Buma High's leadoff hitter stepped in, and the zone resized to match him.
Whoa. That's actually cool.
Seungtaek called up the name. Buma High's leadoff is Go Myeongjin.
Go Myeongjin was Buma High School's center fielder—talented enough to hit leadoff as a freshman, a prospect the Busan Seagulls would take with their first-round territorial pick two years later. He threw right and hit left, and he could do all three: hit, field, and run. He produced all three years of high school and closed his senior season with a .700 batting average.
The instant Seungtaek remembered him, the entire strike zone flushed red.
Red areas of the strike zone indicate zones favorable to the batter.
No way. Go Myeongjin's a good hitter, but there's no chance Taepoong has nowhere to throw.
Kang Taepoong was Suseok High's starter and ace. Pro clubs had been circling since his freshman year, and the Gangdong Falcons had taken him with their first-round territorial pick. A traditional left-handed fireballer, his bread-and-butter was a four-seam fastball in the low-to-mid 150s, and he could mix in a serviceable curve and slider—more than enough to wear the ace label.
As Seungtaek called up Taepoong's profile, blue patches began to bloom inside the zone.
Blue areas of the strike zone indicate zones favorable to the pitcher.
Ah. So that's how it works.
Kang Taepoong was an aggressive pitcher who loved to run the fastball in on the hands. Seungtaek put down a sign at once.
He set the mitt on the inner half. The air in front of the leather was painted blue.
A nod from the mound.
A hiss—then a thud.
Strike!
A sharp fastball bored in on the batter's hands.
"Nice!"
"Nice! Great pitch!"
Voices rolled out of the dugout. Seungtaek's face brightened with them.
A little hope. If the System is real, leading like this shouldn't be that hard.
He set the mitt inside again.
He's a leadoff guy—he'll try to see as many pitches as he can. I have to be even more aggressive.
A hiss of air.
No—Taepoong! That's a meatball!
Crack!
The pitch leaked over the heart of the plate, and Go Myeongjin did not miss it. A hard pull split the hole between first and second. He was on first.
"Ah, shit…"
Baseball was a sport full of variables. You could approach it with perfect numbers and still get one of these. Even if Seungtaek stacked every advantage the System would give him, a pitcher hanging a pitch like that left him with nothing.
Whew. Nothing I can do. We just go again as far as we can.
He set up. The number-two hitter was already walking in.
Buma High's two-hole: Kim Dae-in. Right-throw, right-hit shortstop. A second-round draftee, but not much of a bat. Taepoong's stuff should have been more than enough—except from here on it wasn't just a fight with the hitter.
Seungtaek glanced at first. The problem was Go Myeongjin. He was a nightmare on the bases too, and with a runner like that on first, the inning was about to get exhausting.
They'll send him, right? Or…
He looked to the dugout on reflex. Manager Kim Ik-hyun was flashing a sign. Seungtaek couldn't read it.
Damn it. I'll just have to figure it out myself.
A fast runner on first meant two things to watch: a steal, or a sacrifice bunt. Seungtaek went with the textbook. He waved the infielders in a step and told Taepoong to throw over.
A long, sliding hiss of dirt. Go Myeongjin dove back with a head-first slide.
Not even close. His reaction speed is ridiculous.
Seungtaek had no choice but to set up away.
He set the mitt about half a ball off the plate.
A long hiss—then a thud. Taepoong threw a fastball a full ball off the outer edge.
He took that on purpose. No bunt look. So he's thinking steal? Still have to watch for both.
He put down the same sign again.
A nod from the mound.
A longer, breaking hiss of air.
Huh? That's a curve. And the runner's going? Kang Taepoong, you son of a bitch.
A swing—thud. Swing and a miss!
The instant the ball hit leather, Seungtaek came up throwing. The ball rode toward the second baseman's shoulder.
Safe!
The jump had already been stolen; they had to eat the steal. Buma High already had a runner in scoring position.
"Hah…"
Seungtaek sat back down with a sigh. Buma High's two-hole now squared openly to bunt.
Figures. Even a productive out is dangerous now.
Tap. The bunt trickled toward first. First baseman Han Bang-man fielded it and threw to Kang Taepoong covering the bag.
Out!
One out, runner on third. This sucks.
Buma High's three-hole, Lim Seonghan, stepped in. Inside was his strength; going away was the smart play. Seungtaek put down an outside sign. Taepoong threw in.
A hiss—then a crack. Lim Seonghan's ball carried into the outfield. It looked like a fly ball. With the bases empty it would have been routine; there was a runner on third.
Out!
The moment Suseok High's outfielder squeezed it, Go Myeongjin tagged and came home.
"Yes! Nice!"
Baek Horyeong, waiting on deck as Buma High's cleanup, high-fived Go Myeongjin, both of them grinning. Seungtaek's face had no choice but to go hard.
These goddamn bastards. They're so fucking good at baseball. Scoring even one off Go Tae-san was going to be a nightmare, and if it's already like this we've already lost. Shit. Is this really the tutorial…?