The One-Man Legion (3)

"Pitching coach. You think that's actually possible?"

"...He's definitely no ordinary kid. Using both arms doesn't mean his stamina doubles, though."

Gwangmyeong High's manager, Park Myeong-gil, could do nothing but marvel.

Over his decade-plus in the game, Manager Park had seen countless prospects pass through his hands. Some had been hailed as once-in-a-generation talents since high school; others had gone on to the major leagues and become stars of Korean baseball.

And yet when facing even those extraordinary talents, Park Myeong-gil had never once failed to neutralize a specific player. Usually the mistake ran the other way — teams over-invested in shutting down one man and left openings for everyone else.

Starting pitchers, in particular, were the easiest to break down. A batter with a hot swing and a lucky day on any given date was impossible to stop no matter what you did, but a pitcher? You just had to wear him out.

But Kim Yi-seon didn't tire. No — even exhausted, he lashed out with razor-sharp claws like a cornered beast claiming he was still king, binding Gwangmyeong's lineup in knots all the way into extra innings. The usual math didn't apply here.

An awkward silence hung in the dugout for a moment before Manager Park, as if steeling his resolve, issued one final order to his hitting coach.

That boy is not prey you can run down in an ordinary hunt. We'll have to draw him out ourselves.

"Get Hyeon-cheol ready."

"Yes, sir."

---

Kim Se-yeon didn't particularly like Kim Yi-seon. The looks, for one, and more than that, the way he scurried around without a shred of gravity — it grated on her. Baseball-wise he clearly had knowledge, but his perspective was inexplicably different from hers, and that bothered her too.

No, in her book the real ace of Wirye Jeil High was Kang Min-hyuk — dependable, serious, freezing opponents in place with delicate precision pitching rather than mindlessly fast fastballs.

"Ugh... seriously, what does he even see in a guy like that?"

But her friend liked him, so what could she do? Even if he got on her nerves, she had to cheer until her throat gave out.

In the middle of the section of stands where the Wirye Jeil High cheering squad had gathered, Kang Min-ah had been praying with her hands neatly clasped, unable to pry them apart since extra innings began.

As far as she knew, her friend had no religion. But watching her now, you'd swear she was born into the faith.

On the mound, Kim Yi-seon kept pitching. Eleven innings in, the cheering squad and the crowd alike were exhausted, but they pushed their tired voices on anyway.

"Kim Yi-seon! Kim Yi-seon! Power hitter Kim Yi-seon!"

She'd paced herself somewhat, but her voice was already half gone. Since it wouldn't carry, she cranked the megaphone to its limit — and a voice forced that loud sounded about as pretty as you'd expect.

Still, she cheered, praying he'd keep throwing with all he had, that Jeil High would win again today.

Stepping into the box was the pinch hitter they'd just sent up. A pinch hitter only in the eleventh? What on earth were they thinking? Had the original batter run out of gas?

Huh?

A surprise bunt in the eleventh inning? While he's throwing a perfect game?

Forget how she felt about Kim Yi-seon personally — that was their Kim Yi-seon getting messed with, damn it.

A baseball fan's fury when someone pokes their cub was always volcanic. Heat boiling up from her core, Kim Se-yeon roared into the megaphone with everything she had.

That being the harshest language she could bring herself to use — pure manga-heroine innocence, surely.

---

Whoa, that was close.

They hadn't tried a single bunt since extra innings started, so I'd assumed they'd given up on it — then it popped out of nowhere and I nearly reacted too late. The pinch hitter turned out to be fast as hell too; probably a pinch-runner specialist all along. If my cover at first had been even a hair slower, he was safe.

Cha Il-sung stomped into the dugout grumbling after the play.

"Hey! How pathetic do we look if they pull that on us? You clowns not embarrassed?"

He was venting at random, but wasn't he oh-for-everyone today himself? How many plate appearances was that now?

I waved the rest of them off — I didn't need anything, I just wanted to sit — and dropped onto the bench. A groan leaked out of me.

"Nnngh... this is brutal..."

This is harder than I imagined. My velocity still shows up fine on the scoreboard, so everyone assumes I'm okay, but it's no joke.

My arm and shoulder are at least holding up since I've been splitting the work between them, but the legs and lower back get worked the same no matter which hand I throw with, and they're trembling like jelly. The back, especially.

I'm just sitting here and my spine's shaking so bad I've stopped caring about the cameras — I'm seriously considering lying down. A pitcher eleven innings deep, lying down for a bit wouldn't spark an "attitude problem" controversy, right?

Right as that thought crossed my mind, a shadow fell over my head.

I looked up to find Ye-eun standing there, armed with a towel and sunscreen.

"I told you not to come to the dugout. They're filming it."

Even after that whole scene last time, here she is again. All she had to do was call me from the waiting room and I'd have come to her.

But she clearly had no intention of listening to a word I said — without a single response she shoved the towel in my face and started wiping my sweat.

A few more seconds of silence passed, and just as I was wondering if I should say something—

"Kim Yi-seon."

"Hm? What."

"Honestly, even now, watching you grind yourself down like this makes me want to tell you to just quit baseball."

Ye-eun, raising the most out-of-nowhere topic imaginable.

"I mean it. From where I'm sitting, you'd do just fine without baseball — great life, no problem. Or fine, I could support you, that'd be the end of it. Why you insist on buying into this kind of misery, I genuinely don't understand."

So you've actually thought about providing for me, huh. Somehow it's this absurd detail that gets me grinning.

"So what's your point?"

She can't seriously be telling me to quit right now.

When I answered with a laugh, Ye-eun let out a long sigh and kept going.

"But watching you play today — yeah, you're suffering, but the other team's suffering is pissing me off more. Who the hell do those bastards think they are, messing with my man?"

Ye-eun slathered a fat glob of sunscreen across my face and clapped my cheeks with a loud smack. Then she fixed me with eyes blazing like embers.

"So, Kim Yi-seon. Go out there and crush every last one of those bastards. Got it?"

Her mouth said that, but I could see every ounce of the worry underneath it. I've known you for how many years now?

It just puts me in a good mood. When my girl's cheering for me like that, obviously I have to blow them all away.

"And whose order do you think I'm refusing? Guess I'd better go ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠win this thing right now."

I stopped my wobbling legs by sheer willpower. My back had some male pride too — it would hold.

Watching them now, the Gwangmyeong crowd seemed to have given up on the half-baked idea of draining my stamina for a win. Their play was about breaking up the perfect game by any means necessary, forcing me off the mound.

Fine then. No more just hanging on — if it was coming to that, I should be ready to win this with my own bat.

---

Top of the twelfth, Wirye Jeil High at bat.

On the mound stood none other than Gwangmyeong High's eighth pitcher.

And the first batter he'd face was me, Kim Yi-seon.

These relentless bastards — I thought they'd finally start conserving arms in extra innings, but the moment my at-bat came up, they yanked the pitcher again.

The count: two outs. Cha Il-sung was standing on first.

He'd stormed around like he was going to demolish everything when the inning started, then quietly walked his way on — I guess that's Cha Il-sung for you.

Their eighth pitcher had no data to analyze whatsoever. All I knew was that he was a second-year, and his name — and even that only because it was on the scoreboard.

So I'd have to face him on pure instinct, zero scouting. Not an easy ask.

His first pitch came. Windup was fairly ordinary — though he looked like the type whose control wavered.

"Ball!"

Not a wild pitch exactly, but it got away fast — and in the middle of it, Cha Il-sung, a man who never runs, attempted a steal.

The kid's got fast feet but a bad head, usually can't time a steal to save his life; luck was on his side and the steal worked anyway.

Second pitch.

What is with this guy today? Attempting a steal of third — something he hadn't tried once all game.

If he got thrown out doing that, there'd be no salvaging the mood, but he looked so heated there wasn't a thought left in his head.

For the record, pitch two was a strike — a breaking ball that caught the outer edge nicely. I let it go rather than hacking at it. If I'd flailed and hit into an out, or if the pitcher had thrown a fastball instead of a breaking ball, things could have gotten messy.

Meanwhile Cha Il-sung, reaching third, apparently still hadn't cooled down — he pranced around throwing a tantrum. The way he was carrying on, he'd attempt a steal of home next.

And all while looking straight at me, sending over wave after wave of hand signals. No called sign, nothing — just frantic gesturing.

What? He wants a squeeze bunt?

Are you insane, there are two outs — how does a squeeze bunt work with two outs? The guy's so hot under the collar his brain's cooked.

My legs are shaking themselves apart right now and he wants me to lay one down and sprint to first for an infield hit?

I ignored Cha Il-sung's angry-gorilla hopping completely and turned back to the opposing pitcher.

Third pitch.

A fastball. The location wasn't perfect, but it sat just inside the zone.

...And here's the thing. At first — partly because of what Ye-eun said — I genuinely planned to crush this ball with everything I had.

But my strength had drained away, my body creaked in every joint, and I had no confidence I could square it up with real authority.

Pop!

Besides — they'd been bunting on a whim all game, so why was I not allowed? I felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a little cheated, honestly.

---

"Kim Yi-seon you absolute lunatic, they call a bunt with two outs and you actually DO it?!"

"You told me to break them. Why are you talking nonsense again."

The very next batter, our fifth hitter, went down, and the top of the twelfth was over. Now to the bottom half for defense.

More insurance would've been nice, but one run wins it all the same.

"Ha Kyung-woo. Ready to collect that Rolex?"

"What, you're actually buying it?"

"If I say in the postgame interview that Kyung-woo earned a Rolex and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then claim I'm broke, you think a single fan out there won't cough it up?"

"You are genuinely operating on a different wavelength, man."

Ha Kyung-woo marveled at my answer. The mood in the dugout had finally lightened, at least a little.

As I rolled my shoulders loose, the manager drifted over quietly.

"Yi-seon. If you're struggling, Kang-cheol can go up. You sure you're all right?"

I shook my head no — I was fine.

Granted, part of it was that I didn't quite trust Kang-cheol, but there was a slightly more important reason.

Kim Se-yeon, who'd cheered her heart out all game, had apparently completely destroyed her voice right after that last tirade. The cheer call had changed as a result — to a very familiar, very cute voice.

I'd bet anything she couldn't hold her usual deadpan anymore, face glowing scarlet as she cheered.

"He's calling for you that desperately — even if you get smacked on the way over, you go throw that ball."

And it wasn't just Min-ah. The whole stadium thundered with fans begging me to come out. Everyone was looking for me.

The manager, looking like he'd surrendered, added only one line: don't push it. No amount of player management in the world was going to talk a pitcher out of finishing a perfect game.

I pulled on my glove and climbed the mound, and the roar came crashing down.

It was time to end this long, long game.

---

Manager Park Myeong-gil was experiencing a crushing sense of helplessness.

Back when Kim Jong-chan — now a 20-20 man in the majors — was a high schooler, and he torched Park's Gwangmyeong squad with two home runs and two hits, it hadn't felt like this.

Not even when Lee Si-hwan, now a national team starting pitcher, struck out ten straight Gwangmyeong batters in his high school days.

Back then, a better answer had always come to mind. Or the gap between that school and ours was simply so overwhelming that focusing on one ace was meaningless — indeed, in the second meeting, we'd learned from the first and shut both of them down cold.

But this Kim Yi-seon was different. Nearly every countermeasure he could conceive had already been tried. However many times he re-examined the board, he couldn't find a better move. The gap between the other players wasn't that large either.

One man had simply detonated everything by himself. Even with eight pitchers and thirteen position players all converging to contain a single player, that one man dominated the game as if it cost him nothing.

The next batter was the ninth hitter, Jeon Hyeon-woo. He unquestionably had the bat to start for Gwangmyeong — today's hitless showing notwithstanding, his recent numbers had been good.

But a dread hung over the dugout: there was absolutely no way anyone was touching Kim Yi-seon's ball today. So who did you send out? How many pinch-hitting options were even left?

None. He'd already burned four pinch hitters on moments exactly like this one, and the remainder were ambiguous students who were clearly worse than Jeon Hyeon-woo.

Jeon Hyeon-woo stepped in, and even with the game stretched into the twelfth, his focus hadn't wavered —

This was not a man you could handle, however hard you concentrated.

Jeon Hyeon-woo gritted his teeth, determined to force some power into his swing —

The powered-up swing sliced through empty air a mile above the ball. Manager Park Myeong-gil shut his eyes tight, unable to watch a second longer.

Jeon Hyeon-woo forced the tangle out of his head and regripped the bat — choking up so far it was plain to see.

But Kim Yi-seon didn't react at all. Just the third pitch.

The ball left his hand.

The game was over.

Manager Park Myeong-gil could only bow his head and applaud. A total, unqualified defeat.

---

The moment I released the final pitch and heard the out call, the tension drained out of me — and my legs went with it. My back too.

I flopped backward onto the mound and stared up at the sky. Now this finally felt like a proper coming-of-age manga.

Oh look, the chant finally changed. Still cringe, but better than that flat "power hitter" business.

As I lay there, movement stirred beside me. If this were the manga, Ye-eun would come sprinting in right about now for a heart-to-heart—

"Good work out there, Kim Yi-seon."

Oh, for f— why is it YOU.

The instant Kang Min-hyuk's voice hit my ears I shot upright and looked around. Ye-eun was there, and Min-ah had apparently run over too — both of them hanging back at a polite distance behind him, the whole crowd having apparently agreed to let this guy talk to me first.

No, I don't need that kind of courtesy, why. And Seo-hee noona, stop standing there photographing everything with that delighted face and come interview me yourself.

"The finals are next. Leave the rest to me."

Still making that pompous, gravitas-loaded face. I just sighed and gave him my sincere advice.

"It's all great, but quit cockblocking people and go deal with all the girls out there looking for YOU..."

This oblivious bastard. The sooner he goes and dates his own girls, the easier my life gets.