Starting Pitcher (2)

"It's true we've had a rough time against the Dolphins. And yeah, the season series is pretty lopsided too."

On the eve of Friday's series opener against the Dolphins, our captain Gang Daeho stood up and addressed the room. Everyone had that head-to-head record sitting in the back of their minds, so it was exactly the speech we needed.

Unlike last year, we were running away with first place this season, sitting nine games clear of the third-place Dolphins. Last year their ace — Chris, that walking ecological disaster — had taken five wins off us by himself. This year Chris was gone and we had a comfortable lead in the standings, but we were still losing the season series, which meant every man in that clubhouse was ready to set the Dolphins on fire.

Today our starter was Albert, our ace, already having what amounted to a career year and all but locking up the wins title. Opposite him: Paul, the Dolphins' number one, who'd formed an unbeatable one-two punch with Chris last season.

Chris had gone back to the States, and Paul had inherited the ace role — but his stuff was every bit as good as Albert's.

Which meant that tomorrow, the man I'd be facing was Gu Ganghyeon.

One of the national-team aces I'd idolized as a kid. One of the handful of active pitchers who still commanded genuine respect from every baseball fan in the country. Even in his late thirties he was still the Dolphins' number-two starter, and he had a well-earned reputation for owning us. He wasn't the only Dolphins pitcher people said that about, but still...

I was confident. Even so, with Gu Ganghyeon on the mound and that ironclad Dolphins defense behind him, tomorrow's game wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

Which was exactly why we needed to seize the momentum today.

Gang Daeho finished his speech, and Kim Junsu stepped forward to lead the team in a roar of fighting.

"Strike three!"

Albert punched out another hitter.

It was a Friday, a weekday, but our place in the standings had packed Jamsil to the rafters, and the home crowd was on its feet, roaring through every pitch.

A blood-and-guts pitchers' duel was unfolding.

We'd jumped out to a two-run lead early and it had looked like we might cruise, but Paul had slammed the door ever since, and Albert — who'd been dealing — had given up back-to-back homers to Oliver and Gang Hyeok, the Dolphins' three and four hitters, to knot it up. Those two homers were the only baserunners Albert had allowed all night, which was just... typical. The Dolphins always felt like they were right there to be taken, and then they weren't.

"Out!"

Kim Junsu snuffed the inning with a spectacular play in the field.

We had to take this one, one way or another. Word from the other ballpark was that the Marines were already rolling, up 10–0. We needed runs. The bats had to come through. With me out of the bullpen, we'd surrendered the title of best relief corps in the league to the Dolphins. If the starters couldn't put us ahead while they were still in the game, things were going to get ugly.

Crack!

Park Ujin squared one up and sent it screaming into the outfield.

"Yeeeeeah!"

Every player in our dugout started windmilling his arm at once, and the home stands erupted. Park Ujin's single brought Ramirez home from second.

Two outs, and they'd still found a way. We'd finally pushed across the runs in the bottom of the seventh. Albert deserved a huge share of the credit — he'd put the leadoff man on in the top of the seventh and still gotten out of it without a run. A gem of a pitching performance, and the offense had finally answered.

Ramirez came bounding back into the dugout with that big, booming laugh of his. Out in the bullpen, Han Yongjun and Go Junyong were already getting loose.

I knew we had this one.

"Out!"

"Yeeeeeah!"

Song Hyeonji set the tablet aside.

Ever since she'd heard that Junseong was starting, she'd been waiting for tomorrow's game with her neck craned so far forward it ached. This wasn't like those days when she never knew when he'd take the mound. Getting to watch her own boyfriend be the star of the show, in person — that had been her wish.

But when, exactly...

She trusted Junseong. She did. Still — when would they be able to tell the world they were together?

She had given him her body and her heart. Whenever they met, she could feel that he loved her. She knew that. But she wanted the rest of the world to know it too.

Am I being selfish? Wanting him to go public with us? Or do I just not trust oppa at all...?

Even so, she had no intention of ending things, and no intention of confronting him about it. For now, Song Hyeonji was simply waiting — hoping that after tonight's game, Junseong would have a few minutes to call her.

Fortunately, we'd taken Albert's start.

Josh's suspension came down. He was done for the regular season, and he'd miss one postseason game on top of that. The same public that had been sympathetic at first was now grumbling that a slap on the wrist for a guy who was injured anyway didn't mean a damn thing — but that wasn't my problem. I was a player. All I had to think about was winning on the field.

From here on out, every game Albert or I started, we were going to treat as a guaranteed win. The same went for Kim Junhyeok's starts, technically — I just didn't trust those quite as far.

Did the fans feel the same way? I'd shown them plenty, but the fact remained that I'd never started a game in my life. Plenty of guys had dominated out of the bullpen, moved into the rotation, and then fallen flat on their faces.

I believed in myself, of course. But... it was a little childish, maybe, and I still wanted to blow every expectation they had right out of the water.

Whether I'd always been this kind of guy, or whether this team had rubbed off on me, I honestly couldn't say.

"You ready? Let's go."

"Yes, hyung."

We finished getting our things together and headed out of the stadium.

"Give 'em hell tomorrow!"

"We'll be here through Sunday!"

"Lee Junseong, first start tomorrow — fighting!"

The fans shouted after us as we came out of the park, and I lifted a hand and gave them something back. Fan service was part of the job — but I'd never hated it to begin with.

Same as always, Park Ujin and I climbed into the car together. If my salary jumped the way I expected this year, I was going to make it up to him in a big way for looking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out for me all season.

"You're not nervous?"

"I don't know..."

I'd prepared thoroughly. I was overflowing with confidence. There was nothing to be nervous about. Pitching in front of a sold-out crowd was already something I'd gotten plenty used to.

"Most guys who throw as well as you do get twitchier and twitchier the closer a start gets. It's weird."

"I get twitchy. I just don't see any reason to let anyone else see it."

"Honestly. Not a single cute bone in your body."

I glanced at my phone.

Song Hyeonji wanted me to call when I had a window. Yu Suhyeon had clocked in a few hours ago. It wasn't an overnight shift, but she was working nights and coming to see me tomorrow.

I'd more or less already known how this would go. Once tomorrow's game was over, of the women in my life, it was Yu Suhyeon I'd be seeing — not Song Hyeonji. I'd have to come up with something plausible to tell Hyeonji.

Before first pitch, the cameras swept across the sea of people packed into Jamsil Stadium.

"Wow. It looks like even more people from inside."

Yu Suhyeon, who'd come to the ballpark with a friend, couldn't help but stare.

"You barely even know baseball, but you sure know Lee Junseong, huh?"

Yu Suhyeon was wearing a Dragons jersey with Junseong's name across the back, and she'd brought a placard that read Lee Junseong Fighting.

"They said you're supposed to bring this kind of thing..."

"Honestly, half the people here don't know the rules either. They're just here to see Lee Junseong."

"Ah... I guess that makes sense."

Yu Suhyeon felt his popularity all over again, sitting there in the middle of it.

"You barely even post on Instagram. So why'd you get this dressed up? It's just a baseball game."

"When have I ever not dressed up? Better to look good than not, right?"

She was meeting Junseong after the game. She was hoping it would go well — that they'd get to have their date in a good mood.

"Listen up. It's Junseong's first start. We get him that first win, and we lock down a winning series against the Dolphins for the first time in a while. Got it?"

"He's already got eight wins. What first win?"

"A starter's win is different."

Gang Daeho fired it right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back at Kim Junsu, who'd jumped on his wording.

My stuff felt perfect today. It always did, but the ball in my hand felt especially right — like it belonged ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there.

"Lee Junseong. Barring something unusual, you're staying under ninety pitches, and we won't push you past six. So go out there and throw with confidence."

"Thank you, Coach. But there's some flexibility there, right?"

"If you pitch out of your mind, maybe."

"Understood."

I answered the pitching coach without a flicker of hesitation. I'd already been told they weren't going to let me go deep, but this was the first time I'd gotten a concrete limit, right before first pitch.

It was my first start, but it was also a critical stretch for the team, a critical game — which meant they'd handle the pitching staff by feel. I had no intention of being done after six.

I stepped onto the field with my teammates, utterly sure of myself.