Starting Pitcher: The Birth of an Ace
The instant the bat cracked against the ball, every player in the dugout surged to his feet, eyes locked on the flight of the ball.
Park Ujin, already famous for his leisurely home-run trots, took an even more unhurried stroll than usual. There was no reason to run.
"Wooooaaaaahhh!"
A thunderous roar exploded from the home stands. The ball Park Ujin had crushed dropped into the upper deck in left field at Jamsil Stadium.
If the home run truly was the flower of baseball, then Park Ujin's blast had shaken Jamsil harder than my entire strikeout show.
"Pretty incredible, isn't it?"
"Sorry?"
Gang Daeho, standing beside me, had spoken up.
"That roar just now — from the home run. I've been playing this game for ten years, and it still sends a shiver straight through me every single time."
"Yeah. Baseball really is all about the home run."
"It's probably because of you."
"Because of me?"
"That's right. The fans want the win, sure — but more than that, they want you to get the W in your first start. That's why they were louder than they've ever been."
"Haha. I don't know about that."
Jesus, way to make it awkward...
Still, I couldn't say I hated the feeling of being cheered for. And I still had plenty left to show them.
"Out!"
Our half of the inning was over. Gu Ganghyeon, who had surrendered his first run of the night, came off the mound to a roar from the away section. That had almost certainly been his last inning — he wouldn't be back out for the bottom of the sixth.
I climbed the mound again. When the stadium announcer didn't change my name, the crowd stirred, murmuring, and then the cheers came crashing down.
Setting importance aside, starting and coming out of the bullpen felt like two different sports. Standing out here, I felt like the protagonist of the entire game.
Even the mound at Jamsil, a place I knew as well as my own bedroom, breathed differently tonight.
I let myself linger in that feeling for a moment. Then the hitter stepped into the box, and I came back to earth.
The Dolphins' two-three-four hitters. This was not the same as facing them the first time through. Even I couldn't pretend the ball had the same life it had in the first inning.
I'd wondered if they might pinch-hit for the number-two, Park Sangjae. They didn't. He walked right back in.
Last inning. I had to attack this like I was not going to give up a single run.
The fastball painted the outer edge, down. One-fifty-one. More than enough to handle Park Sangjae.
"Strike!"
He laid off the curve that dropped out of the zone.
"Ball!"
Aside from Oliver in the three-hole, the Dolphins as a group had a stubborn habit of not going away quietly — more so than most clubs in the league.
"Strike!"
I went back to the outside fastball. He fouled it off.
"Foul!"
Not as easy as I'd wanted. But if he was willing to offer at fastballs on the outer half...
The sweeper ran off the plate, away. Park Sangjae swung through it like it was still there.
"Strike three!"
That was the tunnel I would hunt left-handed hitters with for a long time to come.
The crowd's roar swelled louder than before. Listening to them still screaming like that in the seventh inning, I had to admit that cheering at a ballpark was harder work than it looked.
Are Yu Suhyeon and Song Hyeonji watching this properly? And if I remember right, the announcer on tonight's broadcast is Kim Seoa... Now that was an interesting little twist.
I was still entertaining that pleasant thought when the next hitter stepped in. Oliver.
Nothing ever came easy. The Dolphins' three and four — the two hitters who gave even me trouble — had become the last gate I had to walk through.
Oliver's reckless, violent swing was what made him both simple and miserable to face. Most good hitters would take a pitch that drifted into that in-between spot, the one that was neither a gift nor a chase. Oliver had no such setting. He did not forgive a baseball that wandered into an ambiguous location.
I exchanged signs. Textbook approach — elevate the fastball, get him to chase up...
The bat cracked.
Oliver had squared up the high fastball perfectly. The ball dropped in front of Gang Daeho in center — a clean, hard line drive, no cheap hops, no luck involved.
It was the first time all night the Dolphins' away section had erupted like that while I was on the mound. They were already tasting what the next hitter might do.
I saw the pitching coach start up the hill. A change, here? Among the arms we could trust against Kang Hyuk, who did we have besides Han Yongjun and Go Junyong? A submarine guy? Hyuk wasn't exactly helpless against underhand delivery either.
"How's he look?"
The pitching coach asked Park Ujin, not me.
"I'd be lying if I said he'll shut the door no matter what. But right now, Junseong's still our best option."
The coach looked at me. On most days he gave the impression of a man who just went wherever the manager pointed him. Then there were moments like this, when the authority settled onto him like a coat.
"...Understood."
"Oliver's not exactly slow, but forget the stolen base. Focus on Kang Hyuk."
He didn't linger. He was already heading back down.
"Go for the ground ball. Hyuk's slow as hell — that's a double play all day."
"I'll keep it in mind."
I did not take Kim Junsu's advice particularly seriously. My repertoire was not built to generate ground balls against right-handed hitters.
"Trust your stuff and throw it."
"Thanks."
That was Park Ujin's last word. The rest of them filtered back to their positions.
Kang Hyuk stepped into the box. He wasn't an enormous man, but something about him made the batter's box look too small, as if he filled every inch of it.
The high fastball I'd thrown Oliver hadn't gotten up high enough. It had still been a ball — but would Hyuk have swung at it? What I knew for certain was this: a few centimeters lower, and that pitch would have been extra bases.
I let out a breath.
Obvious as it was, there was no guaranteed way to get this man out. That, too, was just my greed talking.
If I had been given another year — if I could have grown beyond where I stood tonight — would I have been able to step on Kang Hyuk without a second thought? Not today. All I had was my own hunger, begging the night to end the way I wanted it to.
Whether I wanted to or not, I still had to cross this river.
Park Ujin put down a sign. I set and threw.
The fastball painted the outer edge, a perfect pitch. Hyuk watched it go by.
"Strike!"
I wanted to throw the sweeper, but something in my hand felt off. Ujin seemed to feel it too. He didn't ask for it.
I went up and away, then up and in — two high fastballs. He took both.
"Ball!"
"Ball!"
The high fastball was the best weapon I owned, but against Kang Hyuk, with my tank running low, it wasn't biting the way it should have.
Ujin called for the curve. If Hyuk was sitting on it, the pitch would be fatal. But we needed to steal his timing. We had to try.
The curve caught the outer edge — a pitch no umpire should have been embarrassed to ring up. The home plate umpire called it a ball. Ujin made a short, irritated motion behind the plate.
Three balls, one strike.
Walking him wasn't off the table. But putting a second runner on was a dangerous game.
Huh?
Ujin put down the sign for a curve that would drop out of the zone. A chase pitch. If Hyuk didn't bite, we were just going to put him on?
I almost shook my head. I thought about it for a second.
Fine. I wasn't a god, and neither was Kang Hyuk. If he really sat on every ball and only swung at strikes, he would already be in the majors. I was a rookie who had received a mission from a Baseball Immortal, and even I was nowhere near a finished player. Kang Hyuk, measured against the rest of the world, was just a man.
If he took it? I'd live with it.
The bat cracked.
"Foul!"
That unshakable Kang Hyuk looked startled. He had not expected me to throw a chase pitch at three-and-one.
And once you had scrambled a hitter's head like that, everything that came after got a lot easier.
Say what you want. Baseball is a pitcher's game.
Ujin put down the sign. A born choice. The only one.
The fastball drove into the inner half and smashed into the mitt, a perfect pitch in a perfect spot.
"Strike three!"
Ujin was already coming up out of his crouch. The ball was in the air, flying toward second.
"Out!"
Kim Junsu tagged Oliver trying to steal and thrust his glove hand high.
Ujin and I clenched our fists at the same time. On the scoreboard, the number flashed: 153 km/h.
Incheon Dolphins 0 : 1 Seoul Dragons
"Fourteen strikeouts. That's insane. That's actually insane."
"..."
"Wait. Are you crying?"
Yu Suhyeon had been wound so tight that she only managed to let the air out of her chest once the inning was finally over. The cameras caught her after Junseong's strikeout — gripping a hand, tears on her face — and by that night the stills were sitting at the top of every major men's forum on the internet. A few people wondered out loud whether she was Lee Junseong's girlfriend. They were a small minority.
"Alright. Gu Ganghyeon's gone. Let's put some runs up."
"Jo Yuram's coming in, though."
"I don't care. Gu Ganghyeon pissed me off more."
The hitters came back into the dugout talking like the rest of the night already belonged to them.
"Hell of a job, ace."
"Thank you."
I took the sports drink Park Ujin handed me and drank it down, watching what was left of the game from the bench.
We went quietly in the bottom of the seventh, but Han Yongjun carved through the eighth without a scratch, and in the bottom half Kim Junsu and Ramirez strung together consecutive RBI hits to stretch the lead to three.
"Strike three!"
Closer Go Junyong finished it. If not for the injury, he would have been sitting on forty saves by now.
"Lee Junseong — get ready for the interview. There's an on-field one for the home crowd after this, too."
"Got it."
The game was over. The fans in the home stands showed no interest in leaving.
I waited for the setup at an easy pace, turning over in my head what I was going to say.