Breaking the Seagulls
The saying goes: a bad head will cause the body to suffer. In other words, if the body is strong, even a poor head can be tolerated. Put another way, losing a head-to-head fight in the battlefield means your body is finished. Therefore, in any professional matchup where overwhelming physical superiority is not on your side, information becomes the decisive factor. A defeat in the information war will inevitably bring catastrophic consequences to the game of baseball.
But if you lose on the physical side as well, it is nothing short of a disaster. Ultimately, on opening day, the Busan Seagulls were completely crushed by the Magpies’ starter Russell.
The Busan Seagulls batters had no idea why they were being annihilated so helplessly, and the biggest reason was, of course, Choi Seungtaek, who already knew every scrap of information about the Busan Seagulls. Yet it would take more time for them to truly grasp that truth.
Right now, every single Seagulls hitter was desperately trying to figure out how to handle Russell’s high-velocity fastball—his signature 150 km/h fastball that stayed right on the money and boasted excellent movement.
Because he possessed such a powerful fastball, the Seagulls players simply assumed they were being utterly destroyed by Russell’s repertoire. A strikeout!
“Yes~!”
Again, Russell erupted from the ground in celebration.
“Whoa, looks like the Magpies really snagged a good foreign pitcher this season.”
“Eight innings, zero earned runs, twelve strikeouts—another dominant opening-day performance. What a flawless debut!”
The commentators showered Russell with praise.
“He’s a Major League vet, so it’s obvious he’s different. He was throwing almost nothing but fastballs, yet the Seagulls batters couldn’t touch it at all.”
“Exactly. That early-150 km/h fastball carries serious heat, and with pinpoint command and nasty movement, the Seagulls were completely at a loss.”
On the broadcast screen, Russell was seen freely targeting inside and outside corners, tormenting the Seagulls hitters with his arsenal. Viewers could only stare in shock at the staggering strikeout-to-walk ratio and the variety of pitches he threw.
“Usually a strikeout with just one walk is considered perfect, but here it’s eight strikeouts for every single walk.”
“Incredible. And he’s throwing a massive amount of fastballs—nearly 100 pitches. Yet he only used changeups five times during that outing.”
“Man… that’s straight-up artistry.”
Still, Seagulls ace Joshua was not without merit. He surrendered a handful of hits but managed to hang on scoreless through seven innings.
That allowed Russell to dominate, yet he fell just short of earning the win.
“But he still hasn’t gotten the win.”
“Still, with only a small number of pitches thrown, he should be able to complete a no-hitter into the ninth. And if the Magpies help him out in the eighth, that would be perfect.”
The Magpies batters set their gloves down and gripped their bats, ready for their next turn.
Even a slightly stronger batting order might have already scored. Without Jeong-geun and Gun-taek, however, the lineup could not muster a single run against the visiting foreign ace.
“Finally… it’s down to me.”
Choi Seungtaek let out a deep sigh of relief as he watched the Seagulls pitcher walking toward the mound.
He had already pulled Joshua after 130 pitches in the eighth, and the Magpies were now in position to take the lead.
“So now I can win. The eighth inning of our agreement.”
Choi Seungtaek reflected on the Seagulls bullpen he had faced earlier.
In the past, the Seagulls relief pitchers had earned the mocking nickname “Authors” because they kept turning one lead into a dramatic collapse. That era was actually the golden age compared to now.
In 2015 the entire bullpen had been “Authors,” so no one even bothered calling any single pitcher that anymore. Starting from 2014, the nickname gradually stuck, and today the entire Seagulls bullpen is simply known as the “Seagull Cinema.”
Every single relief pitcher carried at least one flaw, and more than half of them possessed a tell so bad it was practically a gift.
Unlike the past, Choi Seungtaek—now strengthened by both the System and his own relentless effort—frankly believed he could get a hit off any Seagulls relief pitcher.
“Who is it? I should be able to handle almost anyone.”
“The Busan Seagulls are finally pulling Joshua after eight innings.”
“Oh, looks like the Seagulls really want to keep this game. Here comes their closer Song Chang-soo.”
“Song Chang-soo? Then it’s jackpot.”
Choi Seungtaek allowed himself a satisfied smile.
He had already memorized every pattern Song Chang-soo would throw.
The leadoff hitter for the Magpies was captain Tae Pyung-yang, batting fourth.
Tae Pyung-yang stepped right into the box.
Song Chang-soo began his delivery in three-quarter count.
Crack!
“Tae Pyung-yang! He’s driven a liner straight through the shortstop and third baseman!”
Yet Tae Pyung-yang, a contact-oriented contact hitter, had no trouble laying down a bunt and was already on first.
Choi Seungtaek also rose from the on-deck circle and stepped into the batter’s box.
“Still haven’t fully resolved the balance issue. The pitch still feels light.”
Then fifth hitter Cha Haengjin stepped up.
“Please! Hit it for me!”
Song Chang-soo suddenly dropped his arm and threw a low underhand pitch.
Whiiish.
Crack!
Strike.
Cha Haengjin tilted his head in confusion.
The delivery had changed completely.
“Ugh! I knew that was coming. Haa… why did you have to throw it? You’re a .300 hitter!”
Choi Seungtaek watched Cha Haengjin’s confusion and felt uneasy.
Song Chang-soo switched to overhand and immediately dropped a curveball.
Whiiish-whiiish-whiiish.
Crack!
While changing grips, he threw the breaking ball. Cha Haengjin swung but missed the timing and the ball glanced off the bat and dribbled slowly toward first base. With Tae Pyung-yang on first, Cha Haengjin was out at first on the ground ball.
“There we go. It’s a sacrifice bunt, not a double play.”
Finally, Choi Seungtaek stepped into the box.
[Player Profile Loaded]
Player: Song Chang-soo (B-Grade Closer)
Pitch Type: Overhand, Three-Quarter, Sidearm, Underhand
Condition: Good
Pitches: Fastball, Curve, Slider
Key Trait: Changes grip freely to deceive batters.
From the System’s display, it was clear this was a very distinctive pitcher.
“He really did live a hard life.”
Song Chang-soo had a rather unusual career path. But the peak of his power came the following year, not now. In fact, he once forged a fiery one-season partnership with Magpies manager Han Geunseong that burned brighter than any other pitcher’s.
Of course, at the time he was merely one “Author.”
Choi Seungtaek decided to watch the first pitch.
His patterns against Tae Pyung-yang and Cha Haengjin had already been used, so it was time for something new.
If the first pitch was overhand, the next would be sidearm.
Whiiish.
Crack!
Strike.
The overhand fastball had hung inside. Choi Seungtaek simply took a quick, clean swing, as if he had seen it coming.
“Good. Now it’s my turn.”
He mentally pictured a slow sidearm fastball.
The System instantly displayed the exact trajectory and the precise hitting spot.
He would take the 130 km/h sidearm fastball that was sliding outside.
By throwing an overhand 140 km/h fastball first and then switching to a 130 km/h sidearm fastball, he would essentially be using a breaking ball.
Knowing that pattern, Song Chang-soo had been trying to outsmart him. Choi Seungtaek, however, knew it too well.
Song Chang-soo nodded, accepted the sign, and threw.
“Sidearm!”
Choi Seungtaek’s eyes flashed with recognition. The trajectory the System had drawn appeared exactly as he expected. The slow sidearm fastball drifted across the plate.
A normal hitter would have been completely bewildered, but Choi Seungtaek had turned it into nothing more than prey.
Whiiish-whiiish-whiiish.
Crack!
The sound of the sweet wood bat cracking against the ball echoed through the stadium, slicing the air between the center fielder and left fielder.
“Choi Seungtaek! He’s finally erased the Magpies catcher’s concerns—yes~!!”
“A clean, gap-clearing RBI!”
Choi Seungtaek dashed toward second base. Because the ball had traveled so far, Tae Pyung-yang trotted home with ease.
“Yes!”
Choi Seungtaek clenched his fist.
“Waaaaaah!”
“Choi Seungtaek! Choi Seungtaek! Choi Seungtaek! Choi Seungtaek!”
“Choi Seungtaek! Choi Seungtaek! Choi Seungtaek! Choi Seungtaek!”
The name Choi Seungtaek rang with fierce intensity inside Daejeon Baseball Stadium.
“Whoa… this feeling.”
An orange wave of sound was rolling across the stands, chanting his name. Choi Seungtaek felt momentarily dazed.
The voices thundering from the packed stadium made his chest swell with emotion.
Just as he was savoring the moment, Hwang Ganggyeong was shouting at the Seagulls players from the dugout.
“That was the ball I hit for Seungtaek’s first hit! Give it back! Don’t spin it around!”
Choi Seungtaek almost burst out laughing.
“That’s right! Well said, Ganggyeong. Hand it over quickly!”
Tae Pyung-yang, who had been sitting in the dugout after scoring, jumped up at Hwang Ganggyeong’s order and asked for the ball. The ball Choi Seungtaek had used for his first hit safely returned to the dugout.