Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 153

[He swung! But – a line drive to shortstop, easily caught by Lee Jung-woo. End of the top of the 1st. The Dodgers score first, starting the game with a 1-0 lead.]

Fortunately, there were no subsequent hits.

The clean home run, so perfect it needed no embellishment, visibly shook pitcher Brian Holsey. Although he allowed a solid hit to the cleanup hitter, Lee Jung-woo caught the hard line drive, ending the top of the first.

“Ha… that’s insane. How did he… it was clearly a good hit.”

As the players walked to the dugout for the change of sides, the pitcher muttered, reviewing the at-bat. Where did it all go wrong? A mistake? Absolutely not. The location was exactly as intended, and his condition was great.

No, it was closer to a perfect pitch than a mistake. That’s what made it so shocking.

However, even as Brian Holsey blamed himself, he didn’t lose his composure. Home runs are like taxes; you always have to give them up. And it was just one run.

And then.

“Sorry, starting with a loss. But we can catch up, right?”

“It’s just one run, no big deal.”

“Wait for me, I’ll get about three runs and come back. Captain gets on base first, then Lee goes Bang! Next, Joey goes up and Bang! again! Oh? Three points, easy peasy?”

The Braves were too strong to be discouraged by giving up the first run.

The hitters smiled, showing off their white or yellow teeth as they met his eyes. The reassurance from those silly smiles was immense.

Brian Holsey made eye contact with Lee Jung-woo, who nodded silently with a faint smile, and then slumped onto the bench.

“Just get the runs. This noble starting pitcher will be resting.”

It was playful, but better than being discouraged, so the hitters patted their chests as if to say, ‘Just trust us.’

Meanwhile, the Dodgers’ starting pitcher went to the mound and did some light practice pitches for his final check. The Braves players, sticking to the dugout railing and staring intently at him, looked fierce.

They looked ready to run out and devour the pitcher whole.

“Jones seems similar to last year, right?”

“Yeah, other than Aidan, no one has really improved. They’re all the same.”

“He’s the third starter, so he’s still pretty good. Well, not compared to our team, though.”

“Hey, you can’t compare him to Alan in the first place. Mason and Ian overshadow him… but he’s still a tough guy. We’re just too strong.”

The Braves hitters exchanged opinions and then chuckled as if they had rehearsed it. Just a few years ago, or even at the start of last season, the Braves’ starting lineup was considered weak.

Now, they had a starting lineup that looked down on the Dodgers, or rather, almost every National League team. They even had enough good starting pitchers to run a six-man rotation. Two ace-level pitchers, one pitcher who could be a 1 or 2 starter on a team with good defense and a weak starting lineup, and three more decent starters to support the rotation.

They could call themselves a pitching powerhouse without being criticized.

That’s why the word ‘defeat’ wasn’t in their vocabulary.

“Let’s leave Arthur Hunter alone since he’s always like that, even if he hits. Team versus team….”

“We’re much better than the Dodgers. It’s not even close.”

“And like their Hunter, we have our own ultimate weapon, right?”

####

Bottom of the 1st. The Braves’ attack.

The home fans filling Truist Park weren’t worried at all. Whether they gave up the first run or whatever, they would win in the end.

At least, that’s how it had been for most games since the middle of last season.

“Lee! Show that bastard what’s up! Show him who the real king is!”

“One point is nothing to our Braves!”

“They need to score at least 10 points first to even have a chance! But that’s impossible! You’ll find out soon, so hold onto your dicks so you don’t piss yourselves!”

The cheers were enthusiastic. The voices calling out the names of the franchise stars were loud, but the loudest was still Lee. His immense popularity played a part, but Arthur Hunter’s home run was the main reason.

Since he provoked first, the Braves fans wanted Lee Jung-woo to pay him back the same way, or at least twice as much. Hearing his name called from everywhere, Lee Jung-woo waved silently. Fans who made eye contact with him swooned and made ecstatic noises.

‘Hmm… it’s getting more serious, like Mark said. If I maintain this vibe until retirement… I could really run for mayor of Atlanta, huh?’

Lee Jung-woo idled away his time with absurd thoughts and calmly entered the batter’s box at the umpire’s call to start. He took a few light practice swings, like the pitcher’s warm-up pitches, and nodded after a final check.

A player standing at third base, looking at him, winking with a grin. That really lit a fire under him.

‘My condition isn’t normal. There might be a rebound. I don’t know how long it will last.’

Like a player in the final game of the World Series, his strength felt artificially boosted. According to Lee Jung-woo’s experience, this kind of strength turns into immense fatigue the moment the tension is released. If that lethargy lasts for a long time, it could ruin several games.

‘But, if that’s the price for beating Arthur Hunter, it’s worth it. At least while I have the strength….’

Lee Jung-woo met the third baseman’s eyes without backing down.

‘I’ll crush him no matter what.’

Impact. Lee Jung-woo’s goal for this game was impact. No matter how the remaining games go, no matter what he shows there, he wanted an impact so strong that no one would forget.

‘To do that, I need to catch up first.’

After a final check, Lee Jung-woo calmly entered the batter’s box as the at-bat began.

Derek, the leadoff hitter, battled tenaciously to the end but struck out swinging at the pitcher’s bold changeup.

“Sorry, tsk, he’s bolder than I expected.”

“No, it’s okay. You made him use a key pitch, right? Now that we’ve seen it, if he throws that to me…”

“Give him hell.”

After a light high-five with Derek as if passing the baton, Lee Jung-woo confidently walked into the batter’s box and felt the atmosphere of the field. The eyes on him, the tension in the air, the moving fielders.

‘They must have a headache too. It’s awkward to do a defensive shift, but they’re worried about not doing it.’

The newly changed batting style gave Lee Jung-woo the ability to torment the opposing team’s bench in addition to his improved stats.

If they moved the fielders back, conscious of his powerful long hits, he could now hit short singles at will. And if the distance between the landing point and the covering fielder was far, he had the speed to run to second base. It would be even more of a headache for the opponent.

‘Still, they’ve moved them back a bit this time. Hunter provoked me… so they expect me to go for a long hit no matter what? They’re not wrong.’

Lee Jung-woo acknowledged the opponent’s choice but didn’t think much of it. It didn’t matter where the fielders were anyway.

‘Chester Jones. The Dodgers’ third starter. His stats are similar to last year, but his win total is slightly higher than at the same time. That’s probably because the lineup is stronger, not because of his pitching ability.’

A pitcher who can throw an average of 90 mph, up to 95 mph. But that was the maximum; most fastballs stayed around 94 mph even with a full effort. Many pitches fell below 90 mph. The fastball itself was average or below average because the condition wasn’t outstanding. Instead, he was the type to deceive opponents with a good deception and changeups and sliders thrown with the same pitching form.

‘He throws cutters occasionally too. He pretends to throw a slider to induce ground balls. The usage rate is 2%, but that’s why I need to be more careful. He’ll be throwing curveballs.’

It wasn’t arrogance. It was an answer he came to after looking back at himself with the most objective perspective possible.

If Lee Jung-woo himself were a pitcher, would he compete fairly against this kind of hitter? Against a madman who could hit it over the fence the moment he saw an opening? Against a guy who was solid not only in power but also in contact?

If he had a lot of guts, he might. But it’s easier to catch him off guard. Of course, he wasn’t sure. He might have read his thoughts and twisted it even more. There’s no certainty in baseball.

Lee Jung-woo just kept the cutter in mind, cleared his head, and now focused purely on the pitcher.

‘High. He’s testing me.’

First pitch. A high fastball. It was high enough that the hitter wouldn’t be fooled even if he timed it right, so Lee Jung-woo didn’t even flinch. It could be a control mistake, but he didn’t seem that nervous, and looking at the previous at-bat, his control was good.

Lee Jung-woo, judging that he was simply testing him, waited calmly, and the home fans were disappointed even though he earned a ball count.

“Ah… why is he throwing like that?”

“If it had come in properly, Lee would have had a first-pitch home run….”

“Unlike our team, those guys’ pitcher is a coward, that’s why, a coward.”

It was a somewhat unfair statement if the pitcher heard it, as it was a perfectly normal pitch. Fortunately, the sound wasn’t loud. The fans, who had expected a lightning-like first-pitch home run like Arthur Hunter had shown in the top of the first, were disappointed but nodded at the positive attitude.

‘Hmm… will he call that a strike?’

The battle continued.

Lee Jung-woo, who had been waiting quietly to seize the best opportunity, glanced at the umpire as the strike was called but looked straight ahead again at the umpire’s glare, which seemed to say he wouldn’t stand for any complaints.

Full count. It was the moment for anything to come out. The timing for both pitcher and hitter to make their move. Statistically, the hitter has a slight advantage. Of course, if all of this went according to the pitcher’s intentions, the pitcher could be the one laughing in the end.

Lee Jung-woo didn’t keep the latter in mind.

He, too, was fully prepared.

‘I’ve got a feel for it. Fastball, slider, changeup, all of them. Will he throw a cutter?’

“Is your stomach okay? Arthur made you look like crap. Why don’t you go get some stomach medicine?”

As Lee Jung-woo calmly looked at the pitcher, the catcher, sensing a crisis, started trash talk for no reason. Normally, he would have scratched back with strong taunts and jeers, but Lee Jung-woo, whose concentration was at its peak due to the prolonged at-bat, didn’t respond.

“Don’t do anything pathetic. You know it’s useless anyway, right?”

Of course, his mouth wasn’t resting.

The catcher bit his lip at the light retort and soon fell into deep thought. What should he throw? Except for the somewhat disappointing Cubs game, the hitter had shown a high level of performance in every series and every game he had played. There was no such thing as a cold zone.

A madman who would hit anything as long as he got a feel for it, whether it was thrown low or high. To the fans, Lee Jung-woo was an object of enthusiasm and cheers, but to the opposing team’s battery [pitcher and catcher], he was just a wicked Satan.

Perhaps sensing the catcher’s deep 고민 [worry], the pitcher sent a sign first for the first time. The catcher hesitated for a moment but nodded as if he had made up his mind.

“Hoo….”

A long sigh that someone exhaled.

The stadium, where even the cheering spectators had quieted down.

Only that breath echoed.

A short pitching form. A pitch thrown in an instant, skipping the windup as if to catch him off guard. He could have been flustered, but Lee Jung-woo calmly looked at his fingertips and thought.

‘If I were the pitcher… a cutter, no. A slider.’

Crack-!

A similar sound to the top of the first echoes through the stadium.

The catcher couldn’t even see it properly. It passed by in an instant.

Lee Jung-woo’s swing, and the ball thrown by the pitcher.

The cutter, which he had kept in mind since coming to the plate, flashed through his mind, but Lee Jung-woo denied it. A short gamble between the pitcher and the hitter. The loser hung his head, and the winner walked out of the casino leisurely.

With the home run as his stake.

“Good Shot.”

As he passed third base, Arthur Hunter, this time conscious of his teammates, only nodded slightly. Similarly, Lee Jung-woo only briefly met his gaze.

They both knew. They were both people who had hit home runs in the first inning, and the fact that they were both solo home runs was also the same. But like most Major League games, there was no such thing as a tie.

It was just a tie.