Starting Pitcher (3)
A roar went up from the stands as our team's signature opening music blasted through the stadium, and the crowd's cheers came crashing down in a wave.
Then came the national anthem and the rest of the familiar pregame ritual — a process I had been through dozens of times this season. What was different this time was that I was the one starting.
The game got underway, and a Dolphins hitter stepped into the box. Park Ujin made that signature gesture of his, tapping his chest a couple of times.
Ju Geunho, the Incheon Dolphins' leadoff man and second baseman. In his prime he had been one of the best contact hitters in the league, a perennial threat to lead the circuit in stolen bases. Even now, his speed and his glove were well regarded. Together with Gang Hyeok, he was known as one of the players who set the tone for the entire Dolphins clubhouse.
Which meant the first order of business was taking the air out of them.
The ball exploded into the mitt.
"Strike!"
The crowd erupted. The scoreboard flashed 154 km/h.
Starting and relieving are not the same thing. Even if I trusted myself to manage a pitch count, I could not throw at full power the way I had out of the bullpen. And I was not just pitching today — I had to carry one end of the rotation for the rest of the season.
Another pop of leather.
"Strike!"
The cheers swelled. This one registered 155 km/h, and Ju Geunho swung through it. I had thrown it right down the heart of the plate, knowing he could not catch up.
One more, same spot, same velocity.
"Strike three!"
A 155 km/h fastball down the middle for a swinging strikeout. The hot-headed Ju Geunho shook his head in disbelief.
If I were going to work the corners properly — if I were going to pitch like a starter — holding this kind of velocity was going to be difficult. But I had punched out their leadoff man on three pitches, and that was going to land in the Dolphins' famously composed dugout whether they wanted it to or not.
I let out a breath. The nerves of a first start were real enough, but the thought of embarrassing myself in front of this many people simply would not take root. If anything, what occupied me was the question of how to carve these hitters up in a way that would get the crowd even more fired up.
Next up was Park Sangjae. Like Ju Geunho, a veteran in his mid-to-late thirties. Decent at executing situational baseball, and he had even made an All-Star team in his career year, but —
The fastball jumped out of my hand.
"Strike three!"
He was no match for me. He had laid off the third high fastball well enough, then swung through the fourth. The roar that followed was even louder than the first punchout.
Now came the reason the Dolphins could actually hit — the three-hole man, Oliver, and cleanup hitter Gang Hyeok. I had no intention of facing Gang Hyeok in the first inning.
The bat cracked.
"Foul!"
Again.
"Foul!"
I had gotten two strikes easily enough, but Oliver kept fouling off my fastballs. His contact ability really was something. No matter how much I trusted my heater, throwing it exclusively was not going to keep producing strikeouts.
I exchanged signs with Park Ujin. We had agreed to come out throwing heat and seize the initiative, but now I needed an actual out. I set and delivered. The ball came off my fingers with a perfect bite.
"Strike three!"
Oliver swung through a curveball that bounced in the dirt. I briefly considered whether to celebrate or just walk off cool, and chose the latter. Even if the stands were extra electric tonight, you do not celebrate three straight strikeouts.
"Nice pitching."
"Thank you."
"Didn't you come out a little too hot?"
"I had to establish dominance."
I answered Park Ujin evenly. We had planned to throw hard in the first, but apparently I had come out even more aggressive than expected. Still, those first-inning pitches would have reached the Dolphins' dugout loud and clear.
I sat down to rest, and it was not long before my teammates started stepping into the box. Watching a game from the first inning while tracking whether we would score — that was a completely different flavor. The cameras were definitely cutting to me constantly. I kept my poker face as best I could.
The bat cracked.
"Out!"
Gang Daeho, batting second, hit one well, but it was caught. The Dolphins were a strong defensive club, no question. Whenever we got that strange feeling we just could not beat someone, it usually came down to defense. It was not just the spectacular plays. They turned double plays when they needed to. They did not let baserunners advance freely after a hit. Those little things really stood out with this team.
Compared to us — a club with a tendency to get swept up in the moment — they were a genuine stylistic mismatch. It was obvious, maybe, but what you needed against a team like this was overwhelming force. Strikeout stuff that would not get worn down by patient hitters, and extra-base power that made their defense irrelevant. The Marines, who had more hard throwers and home run hitters than we did, actually beat the Dolphins regularly — the opposite of us.
Strikeouts I was confident in. Home runs… I would trust my teammates for now. For now.
Another crack of the bat.
"Out!"
Kim Junsu's ball did not get through the infield. Gu Ganghyeon of the Dolphins retired the side in order as well. The craftiness was a given, but a left-handed pitcher throwing that hard at his age was genuinely difficult to solve. Why had our team never developed a homegrown starter even close to Gu Ganghyeon — and not even peak Gu Ganghyeon, but the version well past thirty?
I would trust the team on that one too, for now.
I got ready and headed back to the mound. It was not unexpected, but we were not going to put up a crooked number against Gu Ganghyeon. I had always pitched this way, but now I had to throw with the absolute conviction that I would not give up a run.
The Dolphins' immovable cleanup hitter, Gang Hyeok, stepped in. Injuries to his competitors had played a role, but he had all but locked up this season's home run title. Talent aside, Gang Hyeok had a great eye and was a smart at-bat tactician. I had to lock in.
I threw a fastball down and away.
"Ball!"
Whether it was because it was the first pitch or because it missed the zone by a hair, Gang Hyeok did not so much as flinch. Facing a right-handed hitter who would not chase easily, with my current repertoire, was not exactly simple.
I went back to a similar spot.
"Strike!"
This time Gang Hyeok twitched. Just because it nicked the zone, he reacted like that? He really was something.
I stretched my interval a little longer than usual and kept working. A fastball painted high and away — Gang Hyeok squared it up, but it hooked foul behind him. He looked frustrated. It had not been a mistake pitch, but he had timed it reasonably well. So this was what came of facing me all season. He had picked up some tells.
"Foul!"
He cut at a curveball that dropped out of the zone, then laid off a fastball I buried in tight on his hands.
"Ball!"
It would have been nice if the umpire had lost focus and called that close one a strike… but I could not count on luck.
There was a pitch I had never shown Gang Hyeok. Park Ujin and I went through a slightly longer sign exchange this time. This was not a gamble. I had judged that this was the optimal moment to throw it.
The ball left my hand.
"Strike three!"
A stunned Gang Hyeok looked at the home-plate umpire. The ump was decisive. The enormous roar from the home cheering section captured the weight and tension of that at-bat in a single sound.
The sweeper I had thrown away from him broke at the last instant and clipped the strike zone. If I could keep throwing this to right-handed hitters, it would be my best weapon. Of course, if the command had been a little off and it hung, Gang Hyeok would have deposited it in the upper deck in left at Jamsil Stadium.
There are no certainties in baseball. You just add weapons, one by one.
"Holy shit. Holy shit. That's Lee Junseong for you."
"..."
"Even if you don't know baseball, you can tell that's incredible, right?"
"Huh? Yeah..."
Yu Suhyeon understood the rules of baseball reasonably well by now. She had known for a while that Junseong was as extraordinary on the field as he was superhuman in bed. But at the stadium, all she could do was pray. She did not want to see him give up runs and hang his head, and she worried that this crowd's cheers might turn into jeers.
This season was different, but back home her younger sibling and her parents had cursed out the Seoul Dragons players as naturally as breathing. When it came to Junseong, of course, they never ran out of praise. What Yu Suhyeon did not know was that even if he struggled the rest of the way, the fans would still encourage him — that rookies got extra protection.
"But we need to score too if we want to win, don't we?"
"The other pitcher isn't an idiot. And the Dolphins are weirdly tough against us."
"I see..."
Yu Suhyeon prayed the hitters would put some runs on the board. She was seeing Junseong tonight. She desperately wanted him to be smiling when she did.
"Four straight strikeouts. I knew he'd be good as a starter too."
"Lee Junseong is so fucking hot, seriously."
"He's that good, that handsome, barely even on social media, just locked in on baseball. It's actually insane."
"I bet he doesn't even date 'cause he's so focused on baseball."
Song Hyeonji, watching from the home cheering section, overheard the high school girls in the next seats.
Cute.
Hearing Junseong praised felt like being praised herself. His public image was that of a model young man completely absorbed in baseball. The fact that a guy like that was actually obsessed with her felt incredible. It lifted her right up.
Of course she knew she liked him more, but every time they met he held her close and talked to her so bluntly that she felt loved. He was a little rough around the edges, maybe, but he was as young as she was, so she could write it off as slightly clumsy affection. She understood perfectly why they could not meet on a day like this — he was a player, he was busy. And it was not like he was going to see some other girl.
The fastball jumped.
"Strike three!"
I punched out the Dolphins' ninth hitter on three pitches. Three innings in, I still had not allowed a baserunner. Things might change once the lineup turned over, but so far none of these hitters felt like a threat. Would my stamina become a factor? I decided not to think about that yet.
The game was unfolding more or less as I had expected — which was exactly the direction I did not want it to keep going.
The bat cracked. The ball flew toward the outfield, but our cleanup hitter Ramirez sighed the moment he finished his swing.
"Out!"
He had failed to punish Gu Ganghyeon's mistake pitch, and the scoring chance we had manufactured in the bottom of the fifth evaporated. I had allowed just one hit and zero walks. Our team, meanwhile, had five hits and three walks and still had not scored. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been the kind of game that made you anxious.
But my reason for existing was to give this team an option that transcended those kinds of baseball ironies. I ignored it and took the mound.
"Strike three!"
Ju Geunho, who had already struck out three times against me, shook his head. Keeping the Dolphins' leadoff man completely in check was working.
"Lee Junseong!" "Lee Junseong!" "Lee Junseong!"
Even in a scoreless, tense situation, the cheering section sent up the same roar. They were chanting my name — did they think this was my last inning? Eighty-eight pitches. Fair enough. I was a rookie making my first start.
The Dolphins' hitters really did have good eyes, and they fouled off a lot of pitches. The deeper I went, the harder they were to simply overpower. But I had no intention of coming out.
"Junseong. How are you holding up?"
The manager asked me directly.
"I feel great, sir. The thought of giving up a run hasn't even crossed my mind."
"I need to adjust the plan. Can you go one more?"
"Of course."
Park Duseong had a good read on the moment. I was grateful for that.
"How long are we going to look this pathetic in front of a rookie? Let's put some runs on the board."
Gang Daeho clapped his hands and rallied his teammates. When Gang Daeho got like that during a game, it did not often carry through. But what could you do.
"Your stuff has dropped off a little. That's a fact."
This time Park Ujin sidled up to me.
"Can't be helped."
"But even with what you're throwing right now, you're the best in the league. You know that, right?"
"How do I stack up against Gu Ganghyeon in his prime?"
"You're better."
"Haha. That right?"
I prepared for the next inning. Even so, the seventh would probably be my last. If I had shown everything I had to show, then what I needed now was a win.