Genius Pitcher Hides 170Km [EN]: Chapter 123

#122. The Perfect Swing

‘Deoksu, run! You can do it, you rascal!’

‘Grandma! Give me strength! Just this once, please!’

As Jang Deoksu sprinted towards first base after bunting towards third, he heard his long-deceased grandmother’s voice in his head.

It was a voice he missed so dearly.

Could I be having an out-of-body experience right now? Or maybe I got hit in the head by the pitcher’s ball and passed out?

I don’t know. It all feels like a dream.

Trailing 3-2, with runners on first and second and one out, a situation miraculously arose.

Jang Deoksu’s heart sank when the manager told him to pinch-hit in this crucial moment.

What does he want from me? A big hit? Or a bunt?

Manager Jung Yunseok didn’t say anything. He simply smiled kindly and told him to do what he does best.

So, he stepped into the batter’s box and threatened the pitcher with a big swing.

It was a very short time, but Jang Deoksu’s mind raced.

What he needed to do in this situation, and what the best way to do it was.

Jang Deoksu’s threatening swing made the Japanese fielders step back.

Seeing that, Jang Deoksu immediately laid down a surprise bunt on the first pitch.

That’s all he remembers. This moment feels so surreal that he could believe it’s a dream.

‘No, this can’t be happening. Get a grip, Jang Deoksu!’

Without realizing it, Jang Deoksu bit down hard on his lower lip to regain his fading consciousness.

He bit so hard that he tasted the metallic tang of blood from his split lip.

Only then did he come to his senses.

‘Waaaaah!’

‘Run!’

‘Please! Pleeease!’

‘Deoksu, you punk! Run!’

His blocked ears suddenly opened, and the roar of the crowd poured in.

The dust he created scattered into the air and invaded his mouth.

‘Hurry! Hurry!’

A desperate voice, belonging to someone he didn’t know, made Jang Deoksu’s heart race.

At that moment, he saw the eyes of the Japanese team’s first baseman widen as he approached.

He instinctively realized that the first baseman was preparing to catch the ball, that a throw was coming to first base.

The distance to the base was only half a step.

Should I just keep running?

‘No, this… this…’

Jang Deoksu’s instincts were telling him. If he kept running, he would be out for sure.

Scientifically, or rather, physically, studies have shown that a headfirst slide into first base is meaningless.

But at this moment, someone inside Jang Deoksu’s heart was shouting.

Do it now, you have to do it.

Now is the time to do it.

‘Kkyaaaa!’

‘Gasp!’

Jang Deoksu threw himself towards first base, startling the Japanese team’s first baseman.

A massive 120㎏ [approximately 265 lbs] body slid towards the base as if launched.

Could this even be called a headfirst slide?

Jang Deoksu’s play resembled a bear lunging at its prey.

Swoooosh

Creating a cloud of dust, Jang Deoksu touched first base with his hand. At the same time, the throw was sucked into the first baseman’s glove.

‘Out!’

‘No!’

‘Aaaagh!’

‘Hey, you son of a bitch! Why is that out!’

The stadium erupted with boos from the crowd, loud enough to shake the entire venue, as the out was called.

It was the Korean team’s cheering squad, who had begun to rally again from the depths of despair, and the American fans, who were supporting the underdog team that wouldn’t give up until the ninth inning.

‘Time.’

Watching the scene, Manager Jung Yunseok called for a video review. It was the last card he had been saving for a moment like this.

During the short time the umpire was talking to the review room, silence fell over the entire stadium.

And finally, the silence was broken.

‘Safe!’

‘Kyaaaaa!’

The ruling was overturned. The entire stadium erupted once again as the safe call was made.

Jang Deoksu, who had squeezed out every last ounce of strength to survive, and the other runners gasped for breath on the base, as if they were about to collapse.

The game, which seemed to be over, miraculously continued.

With the combined effort of the players and a bit of luck, a bases-loaded situation with one out was created.

Manager Jung Yunseok approached me as I stepped away from the on-deck circle.

‘Suhyuk.’

‘Yes, Manager.’

‘I remember the 2009 WBC final [World Baseball Classic], our first and last, when we lost to Japan.’

‘…’

‘Back then, I was too hasty as a manager. And our team had to make too many sacrifices before reaching the final. As a result, we had to settle for second place.’

Manager Jung Yunseok didn’t seem to expect an answer from me.

Perhaps it wasn’t a word to me, but a monologue of a baseball player who had devoted his life to baseball.

‘So, I’ve been running the team with the goal of winning this tournament. No matter what others laugh at, my goal has always been to win. So I endured. The desire to put you on the mound.’

It wasn’t the way a manager speaks to a player, but the way a grandfather speaks to his grandson. But strangely, that tone didn’t feel bad, but rather warm.

So I didn’t bother to answer. I just made eye contact with Manager Jung Yunseok and nodded lightly.

‘Good. All the conflicts and worries may have been for this moment. One run down, bases loaded, one out. No matter how much those guys are, they won’t be able to walk you again here. So show them. Show them what kind of player Han Suhyuk is, how great you are. Go. Go and show them, and come back.’

I didn’t have many memories of fighting to repay someone’s expectations.

My play has always been for myself. Even the process of running for the Warriors’ championship after the regression may have been for my own greed.

But,

‘Woooooooo!’

‘Everyone! Let’s give Han Suhyuk a big round of applause! And cheer him on!’

‘Han Suhyuk! Please! Just one hit!’

‘Oppa [term used by younger women to address older brothers or male friends], Hwaaa! Oppa! I’ll do better! Oppa!’

From the faces of the cheering squad, shouting with red eyes, I finally realized what it meant to play baseball for someone other than myself.

I want to change the tension and despair, the fear of failure, the countless emotions on those people’s faces into the joy of success, and pleasure, and elation.

An international competition that has nothing to do with my goals, greed, or plans, and the players on the national team who I don’t really think of as teammates yet.

I want to do something for those people. Something they will never forget.

Whoosh

‘Damn it, if you think we’ve been avoiding you because we’re scared……’

‘Shut up and play baseball, kid.’

‘What? Who are you calling a kid……’

At this moment, my consciousness was not that of a first-year rookie on the Korean national team, but of a 15-year veteran of the Big League, nearing retirement.

The provocation of the veteran catcher of the Japanese national team, who was trying to get on my nerves, felt ridiculous and insignificant.

There was no need to talk long.

I closed my mouth and stared at him.

The catcher’s eyes narrowed as if he read something in my eyes, and he eventually turned away.

I turned my gaze to the pitcher on the mound.

Yukio Maeda, the left-handed closer for the Colorado Rockies.

The best closer in Japan, who secured his position as a Big League closer with a destructive fastball reaching 160㎞/h [kilometers per hour, approximately 99 mph].

But what does it matter?

Among the pitchers I played with during my prime, there were countless monsters that this guy couldn’t even compare to.

The problem was not the pitcher, but the choice of the Japanese bench.

The Japanese bench, which had been intentionally walking me throughout the game, treating me like I didn’t exist.

In the worst case, there may be another intentional walk. They may avoid competing with me, even if it means giving up the tying run.

‘Play!’

But the moment I made eye contact with Maeda, who had finished preparing to pitch, I realized.

That those guys had chosen to compete with me.

That they had decided to decide everything in a showdown with me, instead of giving up the tying run and facing Lee Chanho.

‘Ball.’

A 158㎞/h [approximately 98 mph] fastball that barely misses the zone, far inside. A left-handed pitcher’s fastball with good spin, making the perceived speed even faster.

The Japanese bench’s choice was borderline pitching that grazed the strike zone.

They threw those balls in a row, hoping I would get caught up in it, and willing to give up a walk in the worst case.

‘Strike!’

I couldn’t help but laugh.

In terms of power and control alone, he was the most powerful pitcher I had met since my regression.

One ball, one strike.

The moment he began his pitching motion, I let go of my left hand holding the bat and stared at the ball. I indicated that I had no intention of hitting it at all.

‘Ball.’

Without even turning my head, I said to the catcher behind home plate.

‘If you’re going to walk me anyway, just ask for an automatic intentional walk. Let’s not do anything tiring.’

‘Damn it……!’

The pitcher seemed to feel the harsh words exchanged between me and the catcher.

The proof was that his face was flushed red.

‘That pitcher is a little better than your team’s manager. At least he seems to know shame, judging by his face.’

‘If you don’t shut that mouth, a ball will fly into your head……’

‘Go ahead and try. If you can’t kill me in one shot, this bat will shatter your head.’

‘……’

There’s a reason they call it a battery. The catcher’s anger, who has to maintain his composure, is soon transmitted to the pitcher.

I can feel the pitcher’s expression completely changing from this distance.

Until now, he had a face that seemed dissatisfied, but now he had an expression of great determination.

Good. Now I think the atmosphere I wanted has been created.

Whoosh

‘Ball.’

I can vividly feel the pitcher swearing at the umpire’s ball call.

It was different from the other balls he had thrown so far. This time, he threw a breaking ball that went out of the zone.

It’s fun. Baseball is so much fun.

‘I’ll give you a fair chance.’

‘What?’

There was no need to answer.

Once again, I lightly pushed a ball that ambiguously crossed into the zone and sent it flying outside the foul line.

Whoosh

Crack!

‘Foul!’

‘Okay, now it’s a full count. How about we decide with the next pitch? Is that fair enough? No, if that’s not enough, should I let go of one hand and hit with only my right hand?’

‘You goddamn Joseon [Korean dynasty] bastard……’

‘Hmm, a racist remark, good. You Jap bastard. Come on and try. I’ll smash you to pieces.’

Eventually, even racist insults were exchanged.

It’s a good thing the American umpire didn’t understand the insults.

Otherwise, we might have both been ejected. Of course, that was all calculated, though.

‘Shut your mouth and come on if you’re a man.’

‘……’

The catcher’s mouth, which had been biting his lip, was tightly closed.

And sparks began to fly from the eyes of the pitcher who received the sign.

If you play baseball for a long time, you will naturally know.

No matter how great a manager is, no matter how much charisma and power a manager has to control the players, in the end, it is the players who play baseball on the field.

He is a guy who has been playing baseball thinking he is the best all his life, and has earned the honor of being a Big Leaguer as a result.

If he was a guy who would avoid a showdown at this moment, he would not have made it to that position.

I slightly raise the position of the grip. All I need now are two points. There’s no need to force a long hit.

The stance is a little narrower than usual, and the hitting point is also slightly forward than usual.

He’s a guy with fast and dirty balls. I’ll hit it before it changes.

Third base runner Lee Taewoong, second base runner Min Juhyun, and first base runner Jang Deoksu.

All of them are fast and have a knack for baserunning. Even senior Jang Deoksu has a fairly fast foot for a catcher.

Those players are looking at me with sparkling eyes.

Now I will take out the strongest and most precise card I can, the best card I can put out in this situation.

And I will accept whatever the result may be.

A swing that contains everything I have, so that I don’t regret this moment.

‘Tahat!’

Whoosh

The ball left Maeda’s fingertips with a shout.

At the same time as that sound, I started to swing.

Putting my elbow to my body so that I can hit the ball on the inside, adjusting the angle so that the impact is made from the innermost part of the bat, and lengthening the follow-through as much as possible to avoid a double play, so that the ball can go far.

Crack!

The moment the ball hit the bat, I got goosebumps without realizing it.

It was one of the most perfect swings I had made since my regression.