National Team Debut (2)

Jung Eon-young could feel his common sense being demolished in real time. No, hold on — is that kid actually a high schooler? What kind of high schooler throws at a batter as the very first pitch of his senior-stage debut?

"What do you say, Pitching Coach? Was I right, or was I right?"

Manager Ban Il-soo chuckling at him like that. He hated to admit it, but the man was right. That kid's heart was simply built on a different scale.

When he reluctantly nodded, Ban Il-soo turned his eyes back to the mound.

"Now coming to the plate is Justin Hailey."

"Those are independent league numbers out of Canada, but he once hit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠.400 for a season — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a hitter with exceptional contact ability. The question is how Kim Yi-seon will attack him."

"First pitch — strike! A fearless pitch up and in!"

"Wow, Kim Yi-seon is showing real nerve today. Young pitchers usually shy away from the inside corner after hitting a batter, you know? But he refuses to give an inch."

Look at him even now. His command is clearly shaky, yet he keeps aggressively boring the ball in on batters' hands.

At first the dugout had refused the inside sign and demanded other locations, but by now the manager himself had gotten so worked up he was the one calling for pitches in.

If the ball were to slip again and clip somebody, given how ugly the atmosphere had already turned, a pitcher ejection and a bench-clearing brawl were a foregone conclusion.

"Up high — swinging strike three! The high fastball blows the bat away from underneath!"

"You could honestly say his pure stuff is the best on the national team right now. Kim Yi-seon — you could call him the future of Korean baseball."

"Kim Yi-seon wraps up the third inning cleanly. Now the offense of our Taeguk Warriors begins."

Even so, without the slightest waver, he kept carving up opposing hitters. He didn't even deliberate for long. It was practically throw-and-go the instant the sign came down — no interval at all, just an unrelenting assault of pitches.

At this point, maybe it wasn't so much a big heart as something wrong with the part of his brain that was supposed to register fear.

When the promised three innings ended and Kim Yi-seon returned to the dugout, Manager Ban Il-soo smiled and tossed him a line.

"Yi-seon, can you keep throwing?"

The kind of line that, under normal circumstances, should have been met with horrified protest. Sending an unfinished young pitcher back out for two-plus turns through the lineup — not just one — in a senior national team game? That is not sound judgment.

But Coach Jung Eon-young had already achieved enlightenment. He gave up. You simply could not measure this kid against common sense. There was, after all, a reason the veteran Manager Ban had judged it that way.

And just as one more man of common sense abandoned common sense, Kim Yi-seon's breezy answer rang out.

"I could throw a complete-game shutout. But Min-hyuk has to pitch today too, so I'll take it easy and do half."

At that answer, Manager Ban Il-soo threw back his head and roared with laughter. By now even Coach Jung could do nothing but laugh along.

It was the moment the internal discord within the national team coaching staff quietly dissolved.

A veteran catcher in his mid-thirties, quietly feeling that his body wasn't what it used to be. Yet Sung Yeon-joon, still Korea's first-choice national team catcher, was far more delicate than his blunt, gruff exterior suggested.

That delicacy, however, was not his nature. By temperament he really was as thick-skinned and rough as he looked. So what had made him this careful?

Inside.

That absolute lunatic.

On the mound, Kim Yi-seon was flashing the inside sign again. Not this time — absolutely not — so he demanded a curveball low instead. The dugout wanted inside too, but their side seemed to have lost its mind as well, so he ignored them flatly.

The reason he'd grown so delicate was nothing else — it was guys like Kim Yi-seon, the one standing on that mound right now.

Before taking the mound the kid had certainly been oblivious, but he hadn't been this reckless. Living through it now, though, it turned out he was the classic type whose eyes start spinning the moment a ball touches his fingers.

That's pitchers for you — a position positively crawling with lunatics. Among them, Kim Yi-seon was a bit much, but nothing exceptional.

The catcher is the position that has to accommodate, cajole, and soothe each and every one of these assorted madmen. Without delicate sensibilities, you cannot care for them. The number of times he'd wanted to quit baseball while playing nanny to these weirdos — who could count?

Grumbling to himself, he secretly flashed the shortstop a sign to shade in a step. The Canadian hitter at the plate had been flinching his hips since a while back.

No need to guess — at the moment of truth his stride would suddenly shorten, and he'd almost certainly go contact-first. Even if you threw a bait pitch, the bat would likely chase it into a ground ball. So: infield in.

This too was, in a sense, nanny duty for a pitcher's peace of mind. Coordinating the defense was of course for the team's victory — but the ones who raged hardest when a routine ground ball turned into a hit were those pitcher princes over there.

And amid all that, Han Ga-ram was moving around like an idiot. He thought it every single time: how was this man the national team shortstop when he was this dense? He'd clearly seen the curveball sign earlier — when the coach signals play in, he should instantly understand it means watch for the grounder.

Only after Sung Yeon-joon physically pointed, forcing him to close the gap with the second baseman, was the next pitch finally ready to be received.

That was why, with his physical tools in decline, he was still the national team's first-choice catcher and field general.

Not that anyone could call him a general ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to his face — he'd tell you there was nothing general about it, that he was basically a kindergarten teacher babysitting idiots and lunatics.

The next pitch came flying.

Crack—!

"Ah — he hit it! Straight at the shortstop! Fielded cleanly — and he's out! Our Taeguk Warriors keep the defense spotless!"

"Beautiful. Han Ga-ram has grown so crafty lately. Watch closely — he adjusted the infield positioning in advance, anticipating where the ball would go."

"And that ends the fifth inning. We'll be right back with you after a short break. From the Tokyo Dome in Japan, I'm Lee Ho-jun with KBC."

Look at that shameless face, acting like both Kim Yi-seon and Han Ga-ram had done all the work themselves.

Such is the bittersweet lot of the catcher. The pitchers are all lunatics, and the position players are all idiots, and the only link binding the two halves of the team is a single catcher. And still, nobody gives him any credit.

Sung Yeon-joon told himself yet again today: if he could go back, he'd never have become a catcher.

The game, sour mood and all, was breaking open beautifully today. That first guy... what was his name again? Anyway, after the college kid Geum Tae-yang got clipped by that one thoroughly unlucky mistake, he couldn't bear the pain and was subbed out, and from there the game rolled along without incident.

The atmosphere had grown heavy enough that Ham Myung-seok sunbae was laughing as he told everyone he'd layered a few protective pads under his uniform in case a retaliatory pitch came flying at him as leadoff hitter. But apparently the Canadian pitcher feared an ejection more, because no payback ever came.

And the instant it didn't, the tension of the Korean team — half of whom had been quietly ready to empty both benches — deflated with a pop. Paradoxically, in that same moment our morale surged.

Baseball is a funny sport, scientific and savage at once. The moment one side believes we can hit them and they can't hit back, a gulf of momentum opens up between the teams. And sometimes that gulf shows up in the actual scoreline.

The result looked like this:

"Taking the mound this inning is Kang Min-hyuk."

"That is the pitcher rotation Manager Ban Il-soo announced in advance, of course. Though with Kim Yi-seon having already eaten five full innings, I thought he might hand things over to the victory formation — but it's coming in right on schedule."

"Manager Ban Il-soo's bold call for the national team. What kind of result will it bring?"

The score had already spread wide, and my start — originally planned at three innings, one turn through the order — had stretched to five, fulfilling the requirements for a starting pitcher's win.

And even after that, instead of one of the other reliever sunbaes, Kang Min-hyuk came up exactly as scheduled. When the pitching change was being prepared, the pitching coach's face was so bright it was honestly a joy to watch.

He knows too, looking at Kang Min-hyuk today — this game is already won. Watching Min-hyuk throw in practice, not only was his command sharp, but his velocity had climbed as well. Did the kid eat something good since joining the national team or what?

A game already in hand — I'd love to lie back comfortably and watch. But thanks to my throw-with-either-arm nature, with ice wrapped around both arms I can't even lie down. So there I sat in some awkward half-perched position watching the game, when the waiting room door suddenly burst open.

"..."

It was Sung Yeon-joon sunbae, freshly subbed out.

Whoa, jeez — good thing I hadn't actually lain down.

"Good work out there—"

"Save it. Stay seated."

I'd leapt to my feet to greet him, trying not to give that blunt old block of granite any reason to chew me out, but he waved me back down. Then he began, quietly.

"Today's your adult-stage debut, isn't it. Maybe what you're doing is your usual routine — but just this once, go to the medical team and get your condition checked first."

The same stony face, the same clipped, businesslike tone. And yet the content was, unexpectedly, thoughtful.

...Wait. Did wrecking that bratty Geum Tae-yang leave that much of an impression on him?

I studied his expression just in case, but there seemed to be no hidden meaning. Annoying as it was, a senior great was looking out for me, so I nodded and set off toward the medical team.

"..."

"..."

"Is anything bothering you?"

"No."

And yet for some reason, the sunbae followed along quietly.

"..."

"..."

"Did you have something to say to me?"

"Nope. Focus on your recovery."

And while the medical team ran their light checks and worked on my recovery, he just stood there, silently watching the entire time.

Um...

Then why are you following me around like this?

Not just following — observing my every move? Analyzing me? That was the look in his eyes.

But no matter how many small signals of this is uncomfortable I sent, the sunbae completely ignored them and kept studying me.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and opened my mouth.

"Sunbae, I—"

"Gu Hyeok shows nothing unusual before he takes the mound, but the moment he comes off, he suddenly goes gloomy. You have to give him time alone then — but Gu Hyeok, that bastard, needs you close enough to come right away when he does come looking."

But the instant I tried to speak, the sunbae opened his mouth first and started spilling TMI.

No matter how much I shot him a what does this have to do with me look, he ignored it and kept lecturing about the mound-day routines of the national team's pitchers.

"Dong-ho is normally the most cheerful guy you'll ever meet, but around his starts he goes completely silent, gets pickier than ever, and past a certain point, violent. Once he hurled his lunch box at a staffer for packing a side dish he hated."

"Si-hwan gets more full of bluster the closer his start comes. His need for recognition spikes too — everyone must acknowledge him. That's why on those days you have to confiscate his phone. Let him into the online communities to search his own name and he'll sour his own mood."

"Dae-hui's pre-start routine is a bit complicated, but there's little for the people around him to mind. The moment he's on the mound, though, that routine applies to his teammates as well. Be especially careful if the catcher plants his mitt on the ground — that sets him off completely."

At first I was baffled, wondering why he was telling me all this, but somewhere along the way it got genuinely fascinating and I kept listening. There is not one sane man among them. Are these people all psychiatric patients?

Noticing my reaction, he snorted, met my eyes, and spoke.

"Well? Heard them all — any impressions?"

"Uh... they've all got more quirks than I expected?"

Quirks — softened out of respect, since they were sunbaes and calling them lunatics felt rude.

My answer must have been the correct one, because Sung Yeon-joon sunbae nodded.

"Right. Pitchers are all like that. Which is why scrutinizing a starting pitcher from before he takes the mound until long after he's finished has become a routine of its own. I don't know whether other catchers do it — but I do."

So the reason he kept staring at me was also just... part of a routine? For reading pitchers' habits and tendencies?

Hearing it out, that's actually kind of impressive. Kind of moving, even. So this is what it takes to be a national team catcher.

And then he added one more thing.

"So if any of the other pitcher-corps bastards give you a hard time, you tell me. Frankly, you're a bit much yourself — but the rest of them are no better, just a matter of degree. Not one of them has any right to talk. As if any of them is some paragon of mental health, grinding down a junior."

He delivered it with a gentle, benevolent smile I'd never once seen on him before. So that face existed on him too.

Though I understood the intent, the content seemed... slightly off.

"Thank you. But I don't really think I have anything that strange about me. Was there something I did that the sunbaes would scold me for...?"

I mean, I'm pretty normal, aren't I? My personality doesn't change before or after starts, and my pre- and post-game routine amounts to telling Ye-eun and Min-ah "I love you" three times apiece? And on the mound I always keep my composure.

Going by the sunbaes' examples, those guys are pure, uncut lunatics. I'd never really paid attention, but pitchers really do attract some strange people, don't they.

I was thinking exactly that when, from somewhere, came a sharp thwack!

I turned — and there was Sung Yeon-joon sunbae, hand pressed to his forehead, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠letting out a long sigh.

No, seriously — why.

Kim Yi-seon's dominance had become so routine by now that even factoring in Kang Min-hyuk, the prevailing image was "oh, those guys are just naturally good" — to the point that a mere Premier12 preliminary round no longer produced much dopamine.

They made headlines, sure — but it's fair to say they weren't the colossal rage-bait material that floods the internet.

If you had to dig up one, it would be Kaesong Royals fans wailing "why on earth did we trade away that draft pick?" while watching Kang Min-hyuk throw four innings of perfection.

Even so, the biggest buzz in the baseball world this time was, as ever, Kim Yi-seon.

The main course, as expected, was the pitch Kim Yi-seon had put into a body.

It was a national team game, so plenty of casual viewers who don't normally watch baseball had tuned in, and Kim Yi-seon's 164 km/h velocity carried real impact too.

Stack on top of that the sight of the opposing player rolling on the ground, unable to rise, and sympathy sentiment rising was only the natural course of things.

Still, the reaction from the core baseball fanbase and the game's establishment figures was favorable. If anything, the verdict was "deeply satisfying."

And once the old spat between Sung Yeon-joon and Brandon Tyler was dredged back into the light, public opinion swung entirely to Kim Yi-seon's side.

By the end — perhaps as a backlash against the early sentiment — things had gone so far as to hail the pitch as exemplary behavior.

But the man at the center of it all couldn't have cared less about the debate. He had more urgent business.

"Haah... Kim Yi-seon. Are you going to pull this again?"

"Only if you keep saying weird things."

Hard-won, scraped-together time. If the pitching coach hadn't handed it over with that saintly smile of his, I wouldn't have laid eyes on her today either.

Determined to stay pressed against Ye-eun for as long as physically possible, I hugged her from behind and set the phone down on her knee. Counting the time I couldn't see her back in Korea, it was our first reunion in a whole two weeks.

"You were the one who screwed up first, you know. So don't say stuff like that anymore."

I buried my face in the nape of her neck and mumbled it into her skin, and Ye-eun squirmed like it tickled.

"What am I going to do with you, you blockhead. Fine. I won't say it anymore, so please, for the love of god, tone down that hair-trigger temper of yours."

As if I'd actually thrown at a guy on purpose just because I'm supposedly a college student. That was simply one of the many reasons he'd annoyed me.

But if that's what she believed, then Ye-eun wouldn't spout such nonsense again — so I nodded.

And just look at her.

"Really? Do you like me that much?"

Pretending she didn't — while obviously loving every second of it.

Instead of answering, I left a kiss mark on Ye-eun's neck.