타악! 타악! — The Grinding Drill Behind the Slump

Crack!

Crack!

A clean, satisfying sound rang through the batting cages.

"Nice!"

Choi Seungtaek had batting practice on the schedule, so that was exactly where he was.

"Just one bucket again today?"

The batting coach was still going easy on him.

"Coach."

"Yeah?"

"My average keeps sliding. Is there anything I can actually do about it?"

Seungtaek's batting average sat at .250 — a hair better than when it had dipped into the low .200s, but nowhere near a number he could live with.

"Seungtaek, we expect a lot from you. That doesn't mean it's strange you're struggling right now. You're a rookie. A catcher, at that. Sure, I can see a few things you're missing."

The batting coach, too, seemed to have spotted the problem.

"But there's only one fix. Keep grinding the way you are now — no days off, no letting up. That's it."

"That's all?"

It wasn't the crisp, magic-bullet answer Seungtaek had been hoping for. The batting coach said it anyway, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

"That's all. Keep taking BP, keep lifting, keep putting on muscle, keep studying the pitchers you face. Your average's sitting at .200-something right now, but it's going to climb. I'll bet on that."

"Still… I feel like I'm just not hitting."

"You're doing things most kids your age can't even attempt. Yeah, there are freaks who show up as rookies and start launching balls into the seats on raw talent alone — but you're growing just fine. For where you are, that's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more than respectable. A clearer direction wouldn't hurt, of course. Get stronger and start driving the ball out of the park, or tighten up the contact and start spraying hits everywhere. Personally? I think if we leave you alone, you might grab both. You already carry yourself like a veteran with a finished routine."

The batting coach's eye was sharp.

Seungtaek had the System backing him up, and because of it he was laying off a lot of pitches. To the batting coach, that looked like a hitter who had already carved out a strike zone of his own — fouling off the ones that weren't quite right, bleeding pitch counts, wearing starters down. Managers and coaches prized that kind of approach.

"And you want to hit even better than this?"

"Wouldn't anyone?"

"Then there's nothing for it. Five buckets today."

"Uh…"

Seungtaek froze. The batting coach grinned.

"What? You said you wanted to get better."

"Yes, sir! It's just… I have to sync up with a pitcher later, so…"

"Fine, fine. The player's the one running the show around here. Three buckets."

The batting coach went back to feeding him balls.

"Listen while you swing. What you need is experience. Experience."

Crack!

"You're not at a level where you can overpower pitchers yet. That's why you're getting beaten. You're still short."

Crack!

"But watching you hit, I keep seeing more and more of it. You're going to grow into a hitter who can do his job — all of it."

Crack!

"Sometimes a rookie season works in a hitter's favor because nobody has a book on him yet. That's a story that belongs to the really gifted ones, though."

Tick?!

"Whoa — focus."

"Yes, sir!"

"Again. Properly."

Crack!

"Even the guys who chewed this league up as rookies start getting dissected in year two. Pitchers figure them out."

Crack!

"So what actually matters for a professional hitter? The ability to survive once they start hunting you."

Crack!

"Most of the hitters who last are the ones like you — guys who build their own zone and play chess with the pitcher."

Crack!

"Hold on. Look at this little punk. No manners. Already putting on the veteran act."

"Ahem."

"Don't get flustered. I mean you're doing it well. Anyway — we call those guys hitters with a routine. Build yourself a perfect one."

Crack!

Seungtaek took the last pitch and caught his breath.

Whew… a routine, huh.

Batting practice over, Seungtaek headed for the pitching area, where the pitching coach and Lee Chung-seong were waiting.

"There you are."

"Yes, sir. Came straight from BP."

"Whew — you must've taken a lot of swings. You're already soaked."

"Haha…"

"All right. Let's have a look at Chung-seong's stuff today. Get set."

"Yes, sir!"

"Chung-seong, get ready."

"Yes, Coach."

Seungtaek settled in behind the plate. The pitching coach took a spot behind him, ready to watch Lee Chung-seong work.

"Fastballs first!"

The ball hissed in.

Thwack!

Not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bad…

Another hiss. Another thwack.

The stuff was good enough that Seungtaek found himself nodding between pitches.

"Breaking balls!"

A nod.

The slider cut across. Pop. The curve dropped in. Pop.

"Nice!"

Lee Chung-seong's talent was still perfectly serviceable. Good velocity, good stuff, and good command when it was there.

The only thing that wasn't: his head. The mental side.

Ever since he'd come up, a few mid-game command blowups had stuck to him like a scar. Once the strike zone started to wander, he couldn't stop throwing balls. That was the one real hole.

The second his head wobbles, the command goes with it. And once he can't throw strikes, the velocity and the stuff don't mean a damn thing.

If a pitcher was going to free-pass hitters, there was nothing a catcher could do about it. Seungtaek filed that away ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with extra care.

The only scrap of hope was the outing he'd thrown the day he worked with Jo Oosoo — a clean, competent start.

That look I got back then is paying off. Sitting still in the middle of the plate, the way Senior Oosoo does, is probably what helped him find the zone.

Hope or not, Seungtaek steadied himself.

"Coach. What do you think?"

"The ball's fine. Fastball's sitting upper nineties kilometers — high 140s."

"Doesn't it make you a little nervous, though? Given the track record."

"It does."

"I don't love the idea of him going deep. Facing the order twice looks like a stretch."

"It will be. But he has to look like a starter, so somehow we need him to grind out five innings."

"Understood."

Today's opponent, the Sparrows, sat in seventh — only two spots off the Magpies. The lineup as a whole wasn't especially dangerous.

One time through, three innings — that I can manage. But the two after that? Will it even hold?

The thought needled him, so he walked over to Lee Chung-seong. If he wanted this guy to last, he had to settle him down and get on the same page.

"Sunbae."

"Yeah?"

Seungtaek laid it on with enormous, unblinking confidence.

"Since Manager Han Geunseong got here, the defense has gotten a lot better, right? We'll have the shifts set. Most of these hitters, we'll take them on ground balls."

"Th-that so?"

Faced with Seungtaek's full-court press, Lee Chung-seong took a half-step back.

"So all you have to do is keep it down as much as you can, and throw as many strikes as you can."

"Throw strikes?"

Lee Chung-seong's face darkened.

What's that look? Is he pissed?

"Yes. I'm not getting on you about throwing strikes — that's just the whole staff's approach right now. Russell pitches that way. Senior Myeongwol too."

"Ah… really? The manager said… hmm. Yeah, I guess that tracks."

Lee Chung-seong muttered something under his breath.

"All right. I'll give it a shot."

"Yes, sir. Want to throw a few more? The ball looked good today."

"Yeah. Let's see it."

Seungtaek went back behind the plate and had him work the ball around the zone.

The fastball hissed in. Pop!

Yes. That's coming in clean. Good stuff, command's there. I might actually be able to pull this con off.

The feeling that he could hit the target settled in a little deeper.

The game started, and Seungtaek headed out onto the field first — defense.

Thanks to what they'd confirmed in the bullpen, a new line had appeared under Notes.

Good. Let's do this right.

"Magpies catcher — you ready?"

"Yes, sir! We can start whenever you are."

Seungtaek settled in and took a few warm-up pitches. The umpire waved in the Sparrows hitter waiting in the on-deck circle, and their leadoff man stepped slowly into the box.

Seungtaek looked him over.

Ji Bae-in. Gap-to-gap guy. He hits leadoff because he's fast, but the bat belongs in the three-hole or the five-hole. OPS is excellent — the kind of player you'd love to have…

That was Seungtaek's read.

Sabermetrics hadn't gone mainstream yet, so a lot of players like this never got their due. Ji Bae-in looked, to Seungtaek, like exactly that kind of hitter.

But he punches out way too easy.

Seungtaek went straight at the hole. He set the mitt in the electric-blue patch on the inner half.

A nod from the mound.

The ball hissed in.

Huh?

Pop.

Seungtaek lunged and snatched it.

What the hell?

Lee Chung-seong's pitch had sailed up and away. Seungtaek was briefly thrown.

Again… easy. Easy.

He flashed a settle-down sign, pointed at the mitt — throw it here — and put down the same call.

Another nod.

The ball hissed in again.

This asshole again.

Thud!

Seungtaek dropped and blocked the ball as it skipped away, smothering it against the dirt.

Hah… what now? Did something else go wrong?

He checked the System.

The note hadn't changed.

The System's only supposed to be an assist, but still…

And then he saw it.

Is he smiling?

Lee Chung-seong was standing on the mound with a little smirk on his face.

It lasted a fraction of a second, but Seungtaek caught it, and the anger started crawling up his throat.

This… son of a bitch. He's doing it on purpose.

Seungtaek clenched his teeth.

The lemon they were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trying to pawn off was an even worse piece of merchandise than he'd thought.