Genius Pitcher Hides 170Km [EN]: Chapter 116

#115. Su-hyeok Will Take Care of It

The weather was perfect for baseball, slightly cooler than a Korean summer with low humidity that made it feel pleasant.

Citi Field, home of the New York Mets. I couldn’t even remember the last time I stood on this mound as a pitcher.

Was it during the All-Star game in my fourth year? Yes, I think that’s right.

It’s been a long time.

“Woooaaah!”

“Kill! Kill him!”

The cheering from the Korean fans and the obvious hostility and jeers from the Japanese fans across the way.

All of it sounded faint, as if filtered.

It was so quiet.

Everything was so still that I could feel the movements of the players on the field and the gazes and emotions of the Japanese batters glaring at me from the on-deck circle.

My teammates, with flushed faces, hung over the front of the dugout, shouting something at me.

Some eyes were filled with anticipation, others with worry.

I turned my gaze toward the cheering section.

My neighbor and biggest fan, her eyes seemingly twice their normal size, was looking at me with tears in her eyes, so excited that I could see her surprised expression even from this distance.

It made me think.

What is it about this damn baseball?

Because of this ball game, I abandoned people like Seong-hoon hyung [older brother/male friend], crossed over to America, and dedicated my life to this to the point of almost dying.

And it wasn’t just me.

All the players sitting in the dugout right now are pouring their lives into this baseball.

The pitcher on the mound just has to avoid the batter’s bat and throw three balls, and the batter just has to hit one of those three balls well and send it where the fielders aren’t.

That’s all there is to it.

To do just that, countless players around the world dedicate everything they have, and tens of millions of fans are thrilled by the sight.

In my previous life, I thought I was the best at this ball game.

I thought I could throw a better ball than anyone else, and I was confident I could send the ball farther than anyone else.

Looking back now, I wonder how immature and childish I was.

Of course, I still don’t completely understand the sport of baseball.

But at least one thing is certain.

I know what I have to do now, and why I’m standing on this Citi Field mound again.

“Woooaaah!”

“Han Su-hyeok! Han Su-hyeok! Han Su-hyeok!”

“Su-hyeok oppa [term used by younger women to address older male friends or brothers]! Kyaaaa!”

In an instant, as if the mute button had been released, my blocked hearing regained its function, and a huge roar pierced my ears.

“Su-hyeok, Su-hyeok? Hey, are you okay?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry. I was just lost in thought for a moment.”

“Lost in thought? I don’t know what it was, but you looked so serious that I thought there was a problem. You’re really okay, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good, Deok-soo was worried that you didn’t have enough bullpen pitches. I’ll try to buy as much time as possible, so let’s throw at least one more practice pitch.”

“No. I’m already fully prepared.”

While I was lost in thought, Jung Dae-han, the catcher, who had been looking at me with worried eyes, made a strange expression and went down the mound.

At the start of this season, I never imagined that I would be on the WBC [World Baseball Classic] mound with Jung Dae-han as my battery mate.

Swish, swish.

I rotated my right shoulder a few times to throw the ball.

It felt light and pleasantly elastic. I paid special attention to this part while working out with Jacob.

If I were to play as both a pitcher and a hitter, it would be impossible to pitch only as a starter. In some cases, I might have to go straight to the mound after playing defense.

To prepare for this, I researched and researched how to warm up my shoulder quickly.

After the last defensive inning, I quietly moved to the bullpen and warmed up while our team was at bat.

Because there wasn’t much time, the number of practice pitches itself was a bit insufficient, but it’s okay. My body, created by Jacob, is trained to perform at its best with just this much warm-up.

Nod.

I started my first practice pitch according to Jung Dae-han’s sign.

One of the things I’m grateful to Ohtani for is that the umpire now gives pitchers who come to the mound directly after playing as a fielder a little more time.

There’s no need to rush.

The Citi Field mound, which I’m standing on for the first time in a long time, and the official ball, which feels a bit bigger and more slippery than the KBO [Korean Baseball Organization] official ball.

Slowly but carefully, so that I can get used to these things even a little more.

Thwack!

The first four-seam fastball came in at 151 km/h. People who didn’t know me well didn’t react much, but a small murmur started among those who remembered my pitching.

“The ball is a bit slow? 93 miles? Is that a full-power throw?”

“No, it says he threw 104 miles at the All-Star game earlier this month?”

“Damn it, did they measure it wrong at the All-Star game? The difference is too big?”

The same reaction was seen in both teams’ dugouts.

In the Korean dugout, concerns began to arise that my shoulder wasn’t warmed up, while in the Japanese dugout, which had been nervous about my sudden appearance, a sigh of relief flowed.

“Yare yare [expression of relief], it was just an exaggerated rumor after all.”

“Even if the speed comes out a bit more over there… well, it’s just a common ball, isn’t it?”

“There’s a reason why no big leaguers have come out of that country for a while.”

Ignoring the murmurs, I continued to practice pitching.

This time, a low four-seam fastball on the opposite side at 153 km/h.

And then a 143 km/h slider, and a changeup thrown with less power.

With the umpire’s consideration, the practice pitching time, which was given a little more generously than usual, came to an end.

The Japanese batters, who had been slightly nervous, regained their composure.

With the two fastest runners on the Japanese national team on first and third base.

And Eto Iori, the leading hitter representing Japan, who turned down the temptation of the big leagues and accepted the Yomiuri’s long-term contract offer, stepped into the batter’s box.

What the Korean team fans and the dugout want right now is just one thing.

Even if they give up the tying run, please avoid a comeback. So that they can try their luck again in the remaining three innings.

Japan is in an absolutely advantageous position, so there’s no need to use tactics, while Korea is betting everything on my shoulder.

It’s a situation I’m very familiar with, having only played on weak teams.

I had this exact feeling during the last game of the championship series, which was the final hurdle to reaching the World Series the year I won the Cy Young [award given to the best pitchers in Major League Baseball].

At that time, I had a speed of barely 95 miles per hour and had to face the batters with all my might.

But now I have a strong shoulder that doesn’t have to fear the batters’ bats, a shoulder that perhaps only I on this earth am allowed to have.

Feeling a pleasant breeze blowing from somewhere, I slowly started to warm up my body.

The pitching form created by Jacob, the only one in the world for me, that can create the most explosive power without putting strain on my body.

The energy created in the lower body is condensed three times, into the waist, then into the shoulder, accumulating power.

And then.

Whoosh.

The huge energy created in that way forcefully pushes the baseball in my hand forward.

Boom!

Eto Iori, who had been standing in the batter’s box with a confident expression, collapsed to the ground.

The tremendous four-seam fastball flashed before his eyes.

He was so surprised that he didn’t even have the mind to protest that it was a beanball.

“B, ball!”

The umpire was just as flustered. The ball sign was given late, but no one was interested in the call.

The eyes of all the people on the field, in both teams’ dugouts, in the stands, and the scouts.

All those people’s eyes were on the scoreboard.

104 miles, 168 km/h.

That was the fastest ball I could throw right now.

* * *

‘Dae-jun… so this is how it feels.’

With only a one-point lead, a crisis suddenly arose with runners on first and third with no outs.

Jung Yoon-seok, the coach, whose mind had been going back and forth between hell and heaven every 10 seconds until just now, became surprisingly calm.

The moment he saw the first pitch thrown by Han Su-hyeok, he remembered what his student, Warriors coach Lee Dae-jun, had told him.

‘If a crisis situation arises in the team and Su-hyeok is the one holding the key… well… Coach, if I were you, I would just take out a drink and watch the game with a calm mind. If that guy fails, it would have been something that no one in the world could have done.’

Regardless of the era, hitters who hit home runs one after another and pitchers who throw fastballs make the hearts of fans and scouts flutter.

But today, the hitter who had sent chills down the Japanese team’s spines with a preemptive home run went to the mound and suddenly threw a 104-mile fastball.

The Japanese coach belatedly came out and protested that it was a beanball, but it was not accepted. It looked like he had just lost control of the ball while trying to throw it too hard.

But Jung Yoon-seok, at least, knew, even if no one else did.

Han Su-hyeok’s practice pitching, which had not been made public, not even to the players on the same team.

In that place where only the coach, the assistant coach, and Jang Deok-soo, who would catch the ball, were present, Jung Yoon-seok asked.

‘So, for now, the four-seam fastball is up to 168 km/h.’

‘Yes, Coach.’

‘What about control? How much do you have to lower the speed to have control?’

Simply throwing the ball fast and putting it where you want it are completely different matters. Therefore, Jung Yoon-seok’s question was natural.

‘To just make it possible to throw into four zones… 168… um, I think it’s possible. If you need more precise control, 162? 163? I think that’s about it.’

‘Heo…….’

It was a terrible sound just to hear. A 168 km/h four-seam fastball with four-zone control.

Jung Yoon-seok, who suddenly felt his heart pounding at the thought that such a pitcher was under him, asked again.

‘How much can you throw the breaking ball? Can you tell me the possible types of pitches?’

‘Well… I’m trying to refrain from throwing forkballs because of the risk of injury, um, I think it would be good to only throw four-seam fastballs, two-seam fastballs, cut fastballs, changeups, and curves in this tournament, Coach.’

‘…You can throw all of that?’

That day, Jung Yoon-seok became the second coach, after Lee Dae-jun, who could understand pitcher Han Su-hyeok.

It was the moment when Han Su-hyeok, who had vaguely thought of as a middle reliever and had planned to have him pitch a few times against hitters who were weak against fastballs, suddenly emerged as the team’s hidden card.

How should I use this ridiculous card?

The first thought that came to mind was to start him in the fourth game against Taiwan. If they beat China and Australia and lose to Japan, and have to go all-in on the game against Taiwan, then he was thinking of using Han Su-hyeok.

But the situation became a bit strange.

With a one-point lead against Japan in the 7th inning, if they can get through this crisis, they can reorganize the team with a much more relaxed mind in the last game against Taiwan.

Of course, the situation was close to the worst.

The fast runner who is also the leadoff hitter for the Cincinnati Reds is on third base, and there is a runner on first base who is no less fast.

And the leading hitter of the Japanese national team is in the batter’s box.

It’s the moment of truth.

Looking at the objective data alone, it might be right to send another pitcher up here and go all-in with Choi Kyung-jae and Han Su-hyeok cards in tomorrow’s game against Taiwan.

But Jung Yoon-seok is also Korean. He absolutely doesn’t want to lose to Japan, no matter what.

And somehow, he didn’t think Han Su-hyeok would lose.

That’s how Han Su-hyeok went to the mound, and now the fate of the Korean national team was solely on his shoulders.

“Coach, are you okay?”

“Um, Coach Yoon. Sorry, but can you get me a drink?”

“Yes? Ah, yes, Coach. Please wait a moment.”

His student Lee Dae-jun’s voice flashed through Jung Yoon-seok’s head once again.

‘If Su-hyeok comes up, just take out a drink and watch. He’ll take care of it.’