Just before taking the mound.
I uncapped the bottle of Orange Na I'd been carefully storing in the bullpen.
Gulp gulp.
[Your velocity has permanently increased by +1. ]
"Kaah, that's it! This is what getting stronger feels like!"
Power surged through me.
Before I knew it, my body had kicked open the bullpen door and charged out onto the field.
"Alright, let's run wild!"
The smell of dirt in the stadium, the rough bounce of the artificial turf underfoot.
Not many spectators, but they were scattered through the Mokdong Stadium stands here and there (mostly players' families or scouts).
And my name.
"Song Hyun-jun!!"
A cheer that shook the stadium in an instant.
It was none other than my father's voice.
"Don't get nervous, Hyun-jun! Just have fun!"
The Creator himself was already visibly tense as he shouted that.
I flashed a grin back at my father.
Then I charged toward the mound without hesitation.
Pat.
Tension, pressure, burden.
It'd be a lie to say I didn't feel any of it.
But as Dad said, I'd decided to enjoy today.
My first regular league appearance of the year.
My record was still zero.
So what if I blow it? It's the first game.
Just throw without regrets and come down.
My heart pounded like it would burst, but a smile spread across my lips instead.
On this stage where everyone was watching, let's just hurl it with everything we've got.
"Let's do this!"
The Mokdong Stadium mound touched my toes.
Thud.
I stepped onto the rubber.
The first faces I saw were the manager's and starting catcher Shim Chae-geun's.
The manager placed a hand on my shoulder with an awkward look.
"Song Hyun-jun. Sorry for throwing you into this mess."
I looked up at him blankly in response to the manager's sudden apology.
I knew.
I'd watched every inning from the bullpen.
Down by three runs. One out, bases loaded. The absolute worst situation.
The state of the mound was especially dire.
"Huff! Huff! Hack!"
Suddenly, ragged breaths like scraping metal.
Park Jin-woong, who had started and given up three runs before getting yanked, his heavy panting audible all the way to the mound.
Park Jin-woong.
In just four and a third innings, he'd thrown a whopping 103 pitches.
A starter tossing over 100 before finishing five innings was proof of how brutally tough the game had gone.
"Urk."
Park Jin-woong looked possessed.
To think my scorching rival from the past few days would look this pitiful with his marbles lost.
But now it was my turn.
"Take care of it!"
The manager tossed me the ball.
Bottom of the fifth, one out, bases loaded. The opponents' lineup restarting from the top.
"..."
Gyeongin High's leadoff hitter glaring coldly at the mound.
Park Hyun-woo.
I'd already checked the report.
Season average .412. On-base .459.
A hitter proving utterly insane contact skills.
Oof, talk about the worst possible spot.
Park Jin-woong, you hack.
Gonna give you an earful once you survive this inning and come down.
"The opponents prepared their dugout tactics perfectly this game. I admit it. Honestly, I underestimated the Gyeongin High manager."
A tactical defeat for our manager.
He admitted it straight up.
In that instant, a pair of eyes flashed from the Gyeongin High dugout.
Kang Seong-geun.
The manager newly hired last year at Gyeongin High.
The man who'd transformed their one-man Sa Seung-jun show into what it was now.
"..."
His sharp gaze swept over my entire body for a moment.
"Hyun-jun."
"Yes."
The manager spoke to me again.
"Somehow hold this inning. I'll cook up a plan to flip the game from there."
The manager's plea.
I had only one possible answer.
"Leave it to me!"
"Good! I trust you."
I answered his shoulder pat with a smile.
Then the manager headed down from the mound.
Once I confirmed his back retreating, I called right away to the catcher.
"Chae-geun."
"Yeah. Somehow it turned into this."
"Yup. Saw it from the pen. Park Jin-woong getting lit up."
"Got absolutely torched."
Catcher Shim Chae-geun let out a lament.
"Jin-woong started trying to overpower with heat, then his mental completely cracked, spinning nothing but junk, walking the house... Ugh."
"And our fielders' focus got wrecked in the process?"
I glanced around the field as I said it.
The guys who should be locked in on defense looked ragged.
"...Ah."
"...Yeah."
Most of the fielders had lost their edge.
While the starter burned 100 pitches over four innings, their concentration had shattered pathetically.
And there were more problems.
"I can't focus either."
"Can't blame you."
"With Park Jin-woong nibbling so much, the game's dragging on, frustration boiling over—couldn't even track the manager's signs right."
"Still, get it together. Pitcher's changed."
"Got it, hiss."
Even Shim Chae-geun, who had to play home plate boss, was rattled.
Hahaha, what a total disaster.
But for a lefty risen from hell to carve his name on the mound, it was the perfect stage.
Time to build it up, then.
"Chae-geun."
"Yeah."
"It's been a while since a real game for me, so my control might be shaky."
"Huh? You, Song Hyun-jun?"
"You catch great, so if it tails off, just glove it clean."
"You little punk. When'd you scout my skills? Fine, trust only me. Long as it ain't headed to the stands, I'll snag anything."
Thumping his chest with "trust me," Shim Chae-geun headed back to the plate.
At least I'd revived the home plate wife's focus.
"Play ball!"
The umpire's call restarted the game.
Crack!
The opposing runners and batters refocused.
Thud.
Our fielders got set too, but their eyes spelled doom.
On top of that, Mokdong Ballpark's artificial turf made grounders bounce erratically.
That's why mentally fried Park Jin-woong stopped trusting the defense and fed nothing but garbage.
I wouldn't make that mistake.
Glance.
Checked the batter in the box.
"...Hm, okay."
One foot out of the box, taking signs through the dugout for the hit-and-run or whatever.
Nodded soon after and stepped in.
Our Hyun-woo got the green light from the skipper?
Won't swing at the first pitch, then.
Gyeongin High, diving into tactical baseball on the manager's orders.
And facing them, a pitcher with zero data climbs the mound?
In a one-out bases-loaded jam, you think the skipper calls for a first-pitch hack?
Almost like I could hear the Gyeongin dugout.
"...No data on the new pitcher's stuff."
A tactical manager would wanna see at least one pitch from an unknown arm.
So let's throw with confidence.
This delivery I've polished forever, the pitch I've craved all along!
Whoosh!
New delivery into the windup.
Dynamic setup motion with my back fully to the batter.
"Eh?!"
The batter panicked on the spot.
"No way?"
The opposing manager too, and most of the Gyeongin High dugout looked thrown off.
Unfamiliar form for players drilled in textbook baseball.
But a wildly eye-catching motion all the same.
Ball hidden at the end.
Fired hard toward the catcher's mitt.
Packing my hope that the bat swings through thin air.
Swoosh.
The batter reacted to the high one, bat flailing awkwardly.
Crack!!!
My first pitch slammed into the mitt with a sharp pop.
"..."
Silence blanketed the stadium.
Loud enough to hear the batter's mutter—he'd instinctively offered then yanked back remembering the bench sign.
"That delivery form's badass..."
The unintentional truth slipping from his lips.
And honest takes from the Gyeongin dugout.
"What's with that pitcher? Delivery's got romance."
"Velocity's solid."
"Seomun High had a guy like that...?"
Their voices pierced, then the ump's call on my first pitch rang clear across the field.
"Strike! One."
The umpire's strike call.
"Whoo...!"
"What?!"
Cheers erupted from behind me in an instant.
Our fielders.
The focus Park Jin-woong had shattered, now revived in their voices.
Amid their electric gasps.
Thud.
Ball back from the catcher.
Quick glance at the scoreboard velocity.
[145.0 km/h]
"Ooooh!"
The stands buzzed.
I quickly hid my grin behind my glove.
Too early to smile.
Checked the opposing dugout.
Nod. The Gyeongin High manager nodded.
Signal he'd gleaned something from that single pitch.
Decent velocity, a tad high, hittable movement.
Having clocked it, signs flew from their dugout.
Crack.
Runners widened their leads, batter prepped to swing.
I readied my second pitch too.
And fired.
Crack!
Into the mitt.
"Eh?"
Batter couldn't touch it.
No one could. I'd never seen a high school hitter pick it up first look.
Especially right after showing heat.
"Strike, two!"
Umpire's second strike amid the call, scoreboard lit up clear.
[109.2 km/h]
Very slow pitch.
"Curve...?"
Batter's shocked voice.
Yeah, curve.
My curve.
The one weapon that let me survive among high school heat-throwers slinging gas.
I throw a mean curve.
Lefty's slow curve.
It wasn't potent before with my slow fastball, but now?
Now I've got a heater touching 145.
That's why even twisting my body mid-form change, I never ditched the overhand delivery.
So.
"Huh?"
Especially hellish for lefty Park Hyun-woo.
Swoosh!
Crack!
"Swing, strike three!"
I nodded to the ump's booming call.
Three pitches, three strikes.
And a smile like everyone was watching.
"Eh?"
Someone would see the grin, but whatever.
In baseball, pitchers hide everything.
Face, chatter, arsenal.
Don't glove it, get exploited.
Gyeongin High's system baseball.
Unknown pitcher's confidence and grin.
"..."
How would that stoic manager read it?
Against system baseball believers,
Just smash the system.
"To textbook baseball folks, madness is the answer."
Unpredictable actions, unreadable counts.
That was plenty for now.
Why I only threw curves in the next at-bats too.
"Swing, strike! Batter out!"
Back-to-back strikeouts, inning over.
Wiped the one-out bases-loaded jam with just six pitches.
"Yay!!"
"Song Hyun-jun!!"
Mokdong Stadium exploded in cheers.
Our players chanted my name,
and from the Gyeongin dugout came their manager's low mutter.
"Blocked... by that kid pitcher."
My first official mound time in a year.
Success.
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