Chapter 33

Chapter 33. Battle of Wits

Daegu Cats manager Choi Seungryong.

He calmly watched Choi Seong pitch from the dugout.

He had a strange jinx involving second place.

He had finished runner-up a total of six times, the most in league history.

He was the very definition of being second instead of first.

Because of that, people had given him a nickname.

The Eternal Second-Place Manager.

Of course, he had also led teams to postseason baseball more times than anyone else in professional baseball history.

Still, it wasn’t exactly a title he liked.

And this season was going to be his last.

It was the final year of his contract, and he planned to retire afterward.

He was a living witness to Korean professional baseball, having worked in the sport well into his mid-seventies.

“Viewcom’s stuff is really good today, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He looks just like he did during his no-hitter last year.”

The head coach, who had worked closely with Choi Seungryong for many years, nodded.

“Then we have to win today, right?”

The Daegu Cats currently had a record of four wins and one loss.

They were in second place behind the Seoul Triples, who had won five straight.

Yes.

Second place again.

“Of course we have to win.”

“But doesn’t Choi Seong’s stuff look ridiculously good too?”

The head coach hesitated for a moment before reluctantly admitting it.

“That kid is definitely good.”

“Then what do you think we should do?”

“Should we tell the batters to hit him when they step into the box?”

“Hey now. We can’t use methods from the Stone Age.”

The head coach burst into laughter.

“Should we put something in his water, then?”

“You’ve gotten pretty funny lately. Tell the hitters this instead. Make him throw as many pitches as possible. Watch the ball until the last moment and foul off everything they can.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

This was Choi Seungryong’s final season from the start.

He didn’t want to see Choi Seong, who was considered one of the future stars of Korean baseball, get injured.

But he was even more against allowing his own team to become Choi Seong’s victims.

Then the solution was simple.

Force Choi Seong out of the game early and make the Oceans rely on their bullpen.

Their starting pitching had already been a problem.

Their bullpen was even worse.

Drag out every at-bat as long as possible.

The leadoff hitter saw the signal from the head coach and nodded.

“Foul!”

After taking a strike on the first pitch, the leadoff hitter deliberately made weak contact with the next one.

Two strikes.

No balls.

This time, a slider in the 140 km/h range came in.

“Swinging strikeout?”

Well, that couldn’t really be helped.

The batter already had his own established rhythm, and they had suddenly forced a new strategy on him in the middle of the game.

However, the second batter carried out Choi Seungryong’s plan perfectly.

“Strikeout!”

He had increased the pitch count by taking pitches or fouling them off, forcing Choi Seong to throw around six pitches.

“Good! Good!”

Choi Seungryong, who rarely showed much emotion, even clapped with his own hands.

The third batter lasted seven pitches before popping out in the infield.

At that point, Choi Seungryong could already sense it.

They weren’t going to figure Choi Seong out today.

“I wonder which Choi clan that kid comes from…”

As he got older, Choi Seungryong had started becoming strangely curious about family lineages.

“Wouldn’t it be the Gyeongju Choi clan?”

The head coach played along with the joke from beside him.

Either way, the first inning ended.

Choi Seungryong was planning to make his move starting from the seventh inning.

By the end of the fourth inning, I had thrown around sixty pitches.

Of course, I still hadn’t allowed a run.

My strikeout count was also pretty high.

I had struck out six of the twelve batters I faced.

That was definitely dominant.

The problem was the pitch count.

And our team still hadn’t managed to figure out Viewcom either.

On the other side, Manager Choi Seungryong was unusually active in encouraging his players.

Even though they hadn’t scored a single run, he kept praising them for making me throw a lot of pitches and surviving long at-bats.

“This is weird.”

Yoon Jaejun said that after returning from striking out in the top of the fifth.

It really was strange.

They hadn’t scored, yet their dugout was still full of energy.

Meanwhile, our dugout looked slightly depressed.

The youngest player on the team—me—was pitching this well, yet our hitters still couldn’t do anything against their pitcher.

“They’re probably trying to make me throw as many pitches as possible, then settle the game against our bullpen.”

I calmly explained their strategy.

Yoon Jaejun nodded as well.

“Your performance right now is completely dominant, but…”

“Once I get close to a hundred pitches, I’ll probably have to come out.”

At this pace, I would reach around 110 pitches sometime in the seventh or eighth inning.

Once that happened, my stuff would start weakening, and the manager would probably try to replace me.

I obviously couldn’t tell him,

If I fail to hold this game, I die.

So there was no way I could stop the substitution if he decided to make it.

“Why can’t we score?”

Yoon Jaejun asked while looking toward our hitters with obvious frustration.

Did he still not understand?

We couldn’t score because Viewcom was pitching like a Major League ace.

Even I was one-for-two.

His splitter had been so good that my second at-bat had ended in an unfortunate fly ball to the outfield.

The same thing continued when I returned to the mound in the fifth.

Now that their batting order had gone around once, the Daegu Cats were continuing to hang on against my various breaking balls.

By the end of the sixth inning, I had thrown eighty-five pitches.

Endless foul balls.

Even when I threw chase pitches, they somehow managed to fight them off.

The ticking sound in my heart was growing louder.

Meanwhile, Viewcom had only thrown seventy-five pitches.

At that pace, he could even aim for a complete-game shutout.

“I need to find a way.”

I muttered to myself.

I needed to find something that could work.

I calmly looked toward Yoon Jaejun.

Manager Rodriguez glanced at me before ordering the bullpen pitchers to start warming up.

What options did I have?

“A home run?”

Yoon Jaejun, who had heard me muttering, spoke from beside me.

Right.

A home run.

First of all, we needed to put a run on the board.

That was basically the first condition.

Ahn Jaehyeon and Park Geonwoo, the two pitchers we could currently call our reliable bullpen arms, had both pitched yesterday.

Their ERAs were 10.42 and 5.50.

I had no idea whether their condition would recover today.

That meant I had two choices.

1. Score a run.

2. Finish today’s game with a nine-inning complete-game shutout.

My chance came in the top of the seventh.

I happened to be the leadoff hitter.

The catcher kept talking to me, somewhere between trash talk and casual conversation.

He really was an experienced catcher in his late thirties.

He distracted me just enough while still maintaining a friendly atmosphere.

“How’s your shoulder? Haven’t you thrown quite a lot of pitches?”

“I’m fine up to two hundred.”

“Come on. You think your manager feels the same way? Your bullpen’s already warming up.”

“It’s fine.”

I didn’t need to worry.

I had already thought of a way.

I would be able to pitch until the ninth.

I wouldn’t lose to anyone.

And I wasn’t going to let some stupid status window end my second life.

—148 km/h.

A fastball with slightly reduced velocity came in high.

“Ball!”

The first pitch was a ball.

Viewcom definitely seemed a little shakier now that we were getting into the later innings.

Of course, the game was still frustratingly tied because the Oceans kept failing to score whenever they had runners in scoring position.

Viewcom looked at the catcher, received a sign, then nodded.

—139 km/h.

A fast splitter dove toward the lower inside corner.

“Strike!”

Fortunately, it looked like he was willing to challenge me directly.

That last pitch had been pretty sharp.

Even if I had hit it, the best result probably would’ve been a fly ball to the outfield.

But I still had to hit.

So I wouldn’t die.

So that even if I had to burn through everything I had tonight, I could win this game.

—148 km/h.

Another pitch came in.

This time, it was a fastball entering the outer edge of the strike zone.

I quickly fouled it off.

That pitch was the same.

Either it would become a foul ball, or at best, a line drive.

When hunting something big, you had to become even more patient and focused.

Two strikes.

One ball.

Viewcom shook his head once before nodding at the next sign.

The closer his pitch count got to a hundred, the more impatient he would become.

With the count in his favor, would he overpower me with strength?

Or throw a chase pitch?

—141 km/h.

A fairly fast splitter came toward me.

I instinctively predicted the corner and swung the bat with everything I had.

I had expected him to challenge me head-on.

The catcher behind the plate was experienced.

So naturally, he would have asked for a breaking ball first.

But Viewcom had rejected it.

Then there was only one answer.

He wanted to challenge me.

CRAAAAACK!

The ball flew far into the distance, tracing a beautiful arc.

Every player on the bench watched its path.

I gently lowered my bat and followed the ball with my eyes.

A moment later, Viewcom collapsed onto the mound.

I jogged around first base.

Then second.

Then third.

And finally stepped on home plate.

A home run that sailed far over the right fielder’s head.

My ball had gone over the wall.

Manager Rodriguez clenched his fist as he watched the ball disappear over the fence.

Choi Seong.

Seeing him calmly circle the bases without changing his expression made several emotions surge inside Rodriguez.

If they lost here, it would become four straight losses.

There was a real possibility the entire team could fall back into that losing mentality again.

“Is the bullpen ready?”

The relief unit wasn’t exactly reliable.

But there was no other choice.

It was the best Rodriguez could do.

Even if he set Choi Seong’s absolute maximum at 110 pitches, Choi Seong had already thrown eighty-five by the end of the sixth.

That meant the setup man and closer would have to handle the middle of the eighth and all of the ninth.

And now, thanks to Choi Seong’s home run, the deadlock had finally been broken in the seventh inning.

No more runs were scored after that.

Then, in the bottom of the seventh, Choi Seong returned to the mound after throwing eighty-five pitches.

Judging from the situation, this would practically be his final inning.

The opposing manager would continue tormenting Choi Seong with fouls and long at-bats until he reached his pitch limit.

—155 km/h.

But something was different from the very first pitch.

Different enough for Manager Rodriguez’s eyes to sharpen.

Until now, Choi Seong had always pitched with careful calculations, mixing his four-seam fastball with chase pitches.

This was nothing like that.

He was throwing as if he were trying to crush the hitters through sheer force.

The opposing batters were visibly flustered.

Even when they managed to swing properly, the power of his pitches overwhelmed them.

“He’s pitching like his life depends on it. Choi Seong’s competitive spirit really is one of his strengths.”

Manager Rodriguez grinned in satisfaction.

Choi Seong struck out all three batters in the bottom of the seventh.

His pitch count reached ninety-eight.

Now it was time to seriously consider what to do.

Still, Rodriguez wanted to watch a little longer.

He wanted to see what kind of pitches Choi Seong would throw next.

And although Choi Seong had already allowed two hits, meaning a no-hitter or perfect game was impossible, Rodriguez wanted to give him his first complete-game shutout.

Choi Seong returned to the dugout again without changing his expression.

“Let’s watch him a little longer.”

Under normal circumstances, Rodriguez would have hurried to replace him for the sake of protecting the player.

But instead, he ordered the pitching coach to hold off.

There was a way to solve both problems at once.

The shaky bullpen.

And Choi Seong’s personal record.

Choi Seong’s pitching pattern had suddenly changed as if his life truly depended on the game.

Rodriguez wanted to keep watching him until the very end today.

He could see Choi Seong calmly put down his glove and watch the game.

Then, in the eighth inning, Choi Seong mechanically struck out three more batters in a row.

His pitch count reached 108.

A personal record?

Or player protection?

The score was 1–0.

Throughout the entire top of the ninth inning, Manager Rodriguez continued thinking deeply about that choice.