The Returned Catcher Wants to Win the Championship
The ball kept sailing outside the strike zone.
Not once did the umpire call a strike. He waved his arm toward first base instead.
The scoreboard lit up with three balls, but before the crowd could react, all the lights went out and a new one flickered on at the base.
Straight Ball Net
The term for a pitcher who fails to throw even a single strike and allows four balls to reach the plate.
"Hoo..."
Following the umpire’s signal, the Sparrows’ No. 3 hitter, Baek Ra-myeon, stepped into the batter’s box.
Leadoff hitter Ji Bae-in had already trotted to second base and was a few steps away from it, while the second batter was handing his protective equipment to the base coach at first.
Damn it... I planned this from the start. It was supposed to be intentional. But here we are.
Choi Seungtaek felt a surge of frustration. Something about the pitcher smelled off, so he narrowed his eyes and glared at Lee Chung-seong.
Lee Chung-seong: C+ Grade Starter Pitcher
Velocity: B+ Control: B+ Stuff: B+ Stamina: B+
Pitch types: Four-seam fastball, slider. Preferred curve: four-seam fastball.
Special note: Lee Chung-seong’s control has tightened under Choi Seungtaek’s lead.
The System clearly stated that Lee Chung-seong’s control was on point. Yet the man on the mound was throwing the ball anywhere and everywhere.
At least Seungtaek had smothered every wild pitch with perfect blocking, so the runner never advanced. But Lee Chung-seong was still feeding balls, and nothing was improving.
His teammates on the other side of the plate could see the pitcher was off, so none of them swung.
If this keeps up, the plan collapses. I have to find another way.
“Time!”
Choi Seungtaek signaled the umpire that he needed a conference, then climbed the mound.
Yeah, the System isn’t omniscient. There’s definitely something wrong. The control is off, but there’s more to it. Two straight ball nets in a row… I need to figure this out.
Looking down at Lee Chung-seong, Seungtaek waited for an answer.
The pitcher avoided his eyes.
Avoiding me? Because he’s ashamed? Or is there something else?
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah… I… I’m not quite getting my control today.”
Seungtaek recalled the pitcher’s career stats.
After being drafted, Lee Chung-seong had appeared in roughly twenty-five games every season. First year as a reliever, the rest as a starter.
He never posted huge numbers—too young, too raw—but he always ate innings for a cellar-dwelling team. That alone had been enough for the club to keep him around, and they even raised his salary in 2013.
After that, the walk rate started climbing. Last year it was ridiculous.
What else?
Seungtaek dug deeper into his future memories.
He got traded to the Gwangju Pigeons, but there he barely scraped by. Worse record. Then he quietly disappeared from the league and retired. That’s all I know.
Seungtaek was still figuring out whether the control was just off or whether there was something darker at work.
If he couldn’t throw the ball, his face should be grim. Why is he smiling? The guy who laughs when he’s in trouble is a top-tier player, right?
Wild thoughts flashed through his mind, but Seungtaek only chewed his lip and waited for a clear answer.
No chance of that. Let’s just test him a little more.
“Difficult to get control on any of your changeups?”
“Yeah… it’s tough.”
“If you can’t, I’ll give the manager the signal to pull you. Good work today.”
The moment Seungtaek gave the replacement sign, Lee Chung-seong’s expression darkened.
“Wait… no. Let me try one more time.”
“I can’t. I’ve already pushed you too far by bringing you up. The other guys will take over.”
“Come on, I can still do it! If I’d listened a little more when I was in the pros, things would be different right now.”
Lee Chung-seong suddenly sounded confident.
Suddenly confident? Bullshit.
Seungtaek’s stomach churned, but he swallowed it.
More and more it looks like a deliberate ball net instead of real trouble. Damn it.
“One pitch outside the zone and I’m pulling you right now.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“If you can’t throw, just come down.”
Seungtaek’s tone was flat. Lee Chung-seong scowled but finally nodded.
Seungtaek turned and walked back to the plate. Baek Ra-myeon stepped back in.
Ra-myeon. Pure instinct. He doesn’t set up a strike zone; he just swings and sees what happens.
Seungtaek studied the zone. It was wide and glowing red.
Wow, he’s in the zone today. Almost any pitch is a hit.
Curveball dipping below the zone
Seungtaek called a very difficult changeup.
Let’s see if he can throw something that actually misses the zone.
Because a single wild pitch would trigger the pull signal, he stayed tense.
Click
Shiiiiiiick!
CRACK!
Shortstop fields it! Double play 6-4-3!
Lee Chung-seong threw the curve toward the spot Seungtaek had asked for, and Baek Ra-myeon swung at the low pitch. He smashed it straight into the double play.
Back Ra-myeon trudged past Seungtaek with a disappointed look, but Seungtaek kept staring at Lee Chung-seong.
A double play and the look on his face is even worse? What the hell is going on with this guy?
Seungtaek ground his teeth.
Focus on the game first.
He sat back down.
With two outs and a runner on third, the next hitter was the Sparrows’ cleanup batter.
Baek Ja-geun… of all people.
Seungtaek’s head spun. A tough hitter was already in the box when he couldn’t trust the pitcher.
Baek Ja-geun was the exact opposite of Baek Ra-myeon—his strike zone was locked in and his on-base percentage was elite for a cleanup man.
Tch.
Seungtaek saw the entire zone flash red and ominous.
Have to be tricky… or just don’t give him anything.
He shifted his body outside the zone.
No good pitches today.
Fastball outside the zone
Click
Seungtaek’s eyes lit up as Lee Chung-seong’s gaze suddenly sharpened.
Here we go.
Shiiiiiiick!
The pitch moved inside more than Seungtaek expected and dropped into the strike zone.
No way… what the—?!
CRACK!
Baek Ja-geun didn’t miss. He drove the ball straight down the middle and it dropped between left and center field, slicing through the outfield.
Sparrows cleanup hitter Baek Ja-geun! RBI single!
Leadoff man Ji Bae-in came around first, and Baek Ja-geun slid into second.
Whoa… this is worse than I thought. It doesn’t even look like a wild pitch. What do I do in the worst-case scenario?
Seungtaek’s mind raced. Baseball was a game of the pitcher, not the catcher. Once the pitcher started messing around, there was nothing he could do.
And Lee Chung-seong had a known mental weakness. No one would question a string of wild pitches.
Is this match-fixing?
It was too dangerous to say out loud, so Seungtaek sat back down with a serious expression.
Five hits left. I have to get this one. And since we already scored, I’ll just hang in there.
He set his mitt back in the center of the plate.
Fastball right down the middle
Shiiiiick!
CRACK!
Strike!
Fastball inside the zone
Click
Shiiiiick!
CRACK!
The grounder headed for shortstop. He fired it to first and the inning ended.
What the hell? This should have been an easy inning and we still blew it?
Seungtaek cursed under his breath as he walked into the dugout.
I need to talk to the pitching coach about this.
He pulled off his mask and headed straight for the coach.
The moment he reached the coach’s spot, Seungtaek froze.
“Pitching Coach. This doesn’t feel right. Why am I the one calling for a replacement when the pitcher on the mound is the one who can’t get his control?”
“What?”
“My control issue is my problem, but having a junior on the mound tell me to come down feels wrong. What do you think, Coach?”
The pitching coach looked at Seungtaek.
“Choi Seungtaek, come here.”
Shit. He’s already got his trap set.
Lee Chung-seong had stepped up first and planted the seed.