Pitcher’S End, Batter’S Start [EN]: Chapter 271

With the second game also ending in defeat, all that remained for the Giants was a dramatic comeback at home.

A reverse sweep. Winning three consecutive games, a damn difficult task. But even as the team returned home like defeated soldiers after their away games, the home fans still burned with enthusiasm.

No, the flames burned even brighter.

“We’ve done it before! We can do it! I know it!”

“I still remember! It was when I was very young, but I remember it clearly! But it’s getting a little hazy now! Show it to me one more time!”

“Let’s go, Giants! We can start all over again at Oracle [Oracle Park, the Giants’ home stadium]! Let’s make history again!”

Again 2012.

Such slogans were often heard throughout San Francisco. Especially enthusiastic supporters even hung up banners and raised their voices even louder.

They had seen it once before. The Giants had already experienced something miraculous, something that could only be described as a miracle.

In 2012, they were the protagonists of the first and only reverse sweep in National League history since the introduction of the Division Series, against the Cincinnati Reds.

“We’ll win twice at home! And then we’ll invade those shattered bastards’ home again!”

“It’s much easier than then! Show them the power of Oracle!”

However, back then, they had recorded two consecutive losses at home, not away, so there was a slight difference in that regard, but that only made them see more potential.

After a crushing defeat at home, the Giants eventually raised the torch of victory in a challenging away game, so wouldn’t it be much easier to start again at home?

Therefore, the fans believed that this was a trial given to the Giants, the proud giant corps, that they could overcome.

The giants who overcame the trials eventually became the ultimate victors. So, they just had to do it again this time.

San Francisco, dyed in the Giants’ team color, orange, did not scold or berate them, but cheered them on even more, fueling their will for the postseason, a war that was not yet over.

The Braves, who had confidently won their home games, arrived there.

“The postseason is the postseason. Isn’t San Francisco usually not this noisy?”

“No. It’s usually a bit quieter. Even when it’s noisy, it’s only near the stadium.”

The invaders, who had entered a city burning with fierce resistance, chuckled as they saw a little kid in a toddler’s uniform holding a banner that read “Again 2012.”

2012 was 23 years ago, so it was when that child’s parents were children themselves. At most, they would have been teenagers or college students.

But seeing such a young child and middle-aged people who had watched and cheered at that time united in praying for victory, as Braves players who had come to trample on their dreams, they felt a little uneasy.

It felt like they had really become the villains.

They even thought that a finale befitting villains might be waiting for them.

‘Subtle.’

Perhaps that’s why the inside of the team bus entering the stadium was quite quiet for a team that had won two consecutive games in the Division Series and had only one win left to reach the Championship.

It might have been more comfortable if they had been filled with hostility like Philadelphia, cursing or pouring out hatred.

‘What can I do? Our job is to make our fans happy and make many more fans of other teams cry.’

Thinking that, Lee Jung-woo closed the curtain and shut his eyes with a determined expression. To close his ears and focus only on the game.

####

Even though it was a sunny afternoon, Oracle Park was a bit chilly due to the sea breeze blowing from McCovey Cove [a section of San Francisco Bay adjacent to the stadium]. Maybe it was because it was autumn.

The locker room was very busy, and the clubbies [team attendants] were running around supplying the players with freshly laundered equipment. Sometimes, they even gave slightly dirty, old equipment to those with unique jinxes.

“Going to look around? Why don’t you hold back today?”

“I did it at Citizens Bank [Philadelphia Phillies’ stadium], too.”

“Oracle is close to heaven compared to there. But just in case, don’t go near the stands. Come back immediately if you feel it’s dangerous.”

Lee Jung-woo, who had changed out of his stuffy suit and into the clean uniform that the clubbies had brought, left the locker room, ignoring the hitting coach’s worries.

In games like this, it’s best to follow the routine as much as possible so that the feeling doesn’t get weird even a little bit.

As soon as he came out, the spectators stared at him as if they had been waiting, and the Giants players also glared at him with not-so-good expressions, but there wasn’t much of a reaction.

‘Handle with care, huh?’

A little laughter leaked out at the sight of them treating him like a dangerous object, but Lee Jung-woo held it back and looked around the stadium before someone sent him a look as he was returning.

Usually, he was the one observing the opposing team, but this time someone else scanned him. The owner of that gaze was Ilya Danilov, who had to watch his team lose from his seat.

‘…No, is it not?’

No, it was a bit ambiguous.

The trademark bright yellow dyed hair was dyed black, and the fingers that were faintly visible as he rested his chin were just plain instead of having bizarre pink nail polish.

He had removed all the nail polish he had painted and dyed his hair back to its original color, so he was very unfamiliar. His usually different serious expression was also like that.

‘Is he that serious? The internet must be going crazy.’

Ilya Danilov never gave up on such bizarre senses until he died, so the Tsar’s change must have given people quite a shock.

In fact, now that I see it, quite a few spectators seemed surprised by his appearance.

‘Is he… coming out today?’

He had rested for about three days since the Wild Card game. He can come out if he wants to. It is common not to keep the starting rotation in the postseason.

However, in his case, he threw nearly 100 pitches in the last Wild Card game, so it is possible, but the risk is high.

‘Whatever it is, it’s not good news.’

It meant that the Giants were so focused that even ‘Tsar’ was correcting his behavior, so whether he pitched or not, it was not pleasant information for the Braves.

Therefore, Lee Jung-woo, who clicked his tongue as if he was uncomfortable while making eye contact with him, returned to the dugout with an indifferent expression. Soon the game started.

####

Fortunately, the Tsar did not come out. He was just sitting quietly on the bench like in previous games.

What was not so fortunate was that the Giants’ will that Lee Jung-woo had glimpsed was real.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Cheers erupt.

The team they were cheering for scored, and since this was their home ground, people couldn’t help but scream.

‘It’s not easy after all.’

Lee Jung-woo put his hand on his hip. He felt a little tired for some reason, and it wasn’t just him who felt burdened, as the other players on the ground were similar.

Leaning over, stroking his chin, or frowning. But all those things were nothing compared to what the pitcher must have felt.

‘Is he tired?’

Today’s starting pitcher.

Alan O’Donnell was usually playful and mischievous, but now he was showing irritation on his shoulders. More than that, he felt more self-reproach.

He must have been overwhelmed by the shame of ruining the glory of finishing the Division Series with his own hands, of ruining the points that the batters had worked so hard to give him.

“It’s okay! We’re still one point ahead! We’re winning, so don’t worry too much!”

Derek shouted loudly, and O’Donnell calmed down a little, but the number 4 to 3 on the scoreboard still made him feel burdened.

Considering that it was only the 5th inning, it was quite a slugfest. Enough to shake the pitcher’s mentality.

But there were still runners on base, and the worst hitter was coming up at this point, so there was no time to be caught up in emotions.

‘Vincent Harding… it’s so strange. Misfortunes always seem to come in layers.’

A shaky pitcher.

A heated atmosphere.

A perfectly set table [baseball term for having multiple runners on base].

All the worst conditions were met. In such a situation, the best hitter appearing could only be thought of as coincidental from the opposing side’s point of view.

‘If we get hit one more time here…’

But there was still a bottom left [remaining half-inning]. There was still a case where the opponent could get the best result in all these assumptions.

‘Walk him and double play B, too?’

However, as if not to let it go that far. An order came down from the bench. To walk the batter. And then induce a double play.

Considering the characteristics of the pitcher Alan O’Donnell and the Braves’ strong infield defense, the possibility was high. But.

‘No, if you’re going to walk him, it’s better to go with an intentional walk. If you’re vague about it…’

Whether it was because they didn’t go all the way to an automatic intentional walk, the batter came to the plate, so the anxiety was still there. And it hit the mark properly.

A low-falling course.

It was too far to draw out the batter’s bat, but it was reasonable enough if the intention was to walk him. Harding tended to ignore low balls.

But whether it was because the resolution he had in mind was different, or whether the situation drove him to it, the bat came out.

‘Ah…’

Ironically, that swing was unfamiliar to Giants fans and rather familiar to the Braves.

It was similar to what Lee Jung-woo often showed. When he lifted a low ball and turned it into a home run.

“……!”

A voice that exceeds the limits of the vocal cords sometimes borders on screaming. It sounds like they’re saying something, but I can’t understand the meaning.

That’s exactly what the Giants fans gathered at Oracle Park were doing now. Red faces. Bodies that jumped up. Seeing their arms stretched high into the sky, I knew they were very happy.

[Vincent Harding’s two-run home run! The Giants take the lead!]!

The stadium caster explained the situation, but he was also very high-pitched.

The ball that went over, the runners and batters coming home. The score on the scoreboard going up. The miracle that Oracle had been praying for was slowly being created.

‘We can’t let it go on like this.’

However, just like their desperate fight, the villains had no intention of accepting defeat easily.

Lee Jung-woo once again placed his hands on his waist, but unlike before, his eyes shone not with anxiety about an impending misfortune, but like those of a predator spotting its prey.

####

“Harding! You’re a freaking awesome guy! A damn awesome guy!”

“Vincent! You’re the best!”

“You beautiful bastard! I’m not gay, but I’d let you have my backdoor!”

The fans cheered.

Some uttered somewhat vulgar words, but even if their expressions were a little different, it was clear that they loved him just as much as the others.

‘I can do it. I can do it.’

Again 2012. The slogan visible here and there in the stands had nothing to do with him, yet it made his heart race, even though he hadn’t loved the Giants that much.

Of course, it was also a burden in a way. The fans’ excessive expectations sometimes gnawed at him, but the fact that they dreamed of the most beautiful scene they knew was simply glorious.

“I can do it.”

So he whispered to himself. And he desperately hoped so too. He could do it. That one phrase became a stepping stone. It supported him. It created the current result.

Whispering again, he looked at the batter entering home plate in the distance. Jungwoo Lee. No, Lee Jung-woo. It would be right to call him by his culture.

The greatest hitter in history. It had to be labeled as limited to a single season, but anyway, this year he showed performance worthy of such a title.

‘An amazing guy. Before, now, and probably in the future too.’

As a fellow hitter, and as someone who had competed for the MVP [Most Valuable Player award], he could only admire him. Even though he was a much younger junior. A player who reminded him of the many heroes he had seen in his very young baseball days and made him reminisce again.

That’s why his heart was light. MVP, it would be strange if he didn’t want it. Because he would be taking three of them. But Lee Jung-woo showed a figure that made him cleanly shake off such greed, so there was no regret or lingering attachment.

He had just harbored a new greed.

‘MVP, all-time best. Various records. Best hitter. Lee, you have it all, so can’t I be greedy for just one thing? Just one thing.’

He left the Pirates because he wanted to win.

Of course, money was also one of the reasons, as people said, but it wasn’t just because of that.

The Yankees, who had sent a love call, were certainly a good option, but the Giants, fearing the strengthening of their rivals, filled his pride, seemed like they could win the championship, and the option of facing Arthur Hunter in the same league was also quite interesting, so he chose this place.

Well, as a result, they were both friendly, overwhelmingly pushed by a guy they thought of as a future competitor, and became second and third.

‘I dropped the Pirates with my own hands. Knowing how much they want to win. Cruelly, painfully. So, I have to win the championship. I have to achieve my goal to feel a little comfortable. So Lee, just this once…’

Shouting like that, he threw himself. A powerful hitting sound rang out, and the batted ball flew towards the fence. It was quite powerful even though he pushed it slightly. The spectators, who had been in a good mood, were shocked, but he forced his body up and caught the batted ball with his glove just before it hit the fence.

‘Let me win a little!’

Immediately throwing to home. Where the strength came from, the laser-like throw cut through the stadium and shot into the catcher’s glove. The runner, who was trying to aim for a sacrifice fly [a play where a batter intentionally hits the ball to advance a runner, even if it means getting out], dug into home, but.

“Out!”

The result was out. The out count went up and the inning ended. Harding roared without realizing it.

“Aaaaaaaaaa!”

Overwhelming applause. The spectators spared no praise for the hero who had not only hit a two-run home run to create a comeback but also erased the crisis of a tie.

In a series of surprises, it was natural that the expectations they had were further deepened.

‘Huh?’

After the defense ended like that. Harding, who was returning to the dugout with his teammates who were smiling brightly as they greeted him, tilted his head. Because one seat was particularly empty.

####

The Braves’ attack in the top of the 6th inning ended disappointingly, but fortunately, they defended well in the bottom of the 6th inning, so even though they were behind by one point at 5 to 4, the Braves hitters preparing for the attack had slightly brighter faces.

“Just two more points.”

“If we just stack enough runners in front of him, it’s over, it’s over.”

Although they unfortunately failed to score in the last at-bat, Lee Jung-woo’s hitting feel was sharp, and his teammates’ trust in him was solid.

That’s why they thought that if they could somehow stack runners in front of him, they would be fine, but they soon opened their eyes wide.

Because he was coming up to the mound. A player who they thought would never come out in today’s game.

“What… did they give up on the series?”

“No, why on earth…”

Ilya Danilov. The Tsar of the Giants stood on the mound in a different form than before. And the faces of everyone in the Braves, no, everyone in the stadium, were filled with confusion.

‘Are they… making a desperate move?’

And Lee Jung-woo, who had met his eyes before the game, bit his lip. In a textbook way, it’s right to come out in the 4th or 5th game. For the victory of the series.

But this is not an incomprehensible choice either. They have already recorded two losses. The score is a one-point difference. The moment they allow a comeback here, the Giants’ postseason ends.

So they’re going to catch even this game. To somehow continue their tenacious lifeline. Of course, the problem is that even if they win like that, there is no future.

“Aren’t the Giants crazy? How many days has he rested….”

“Today isn’t even the 5th game, it’s only the 3rd game, what on earth are they thinking?”

“It must be that desperate. It’s not like it’s never happened before. In the postseason.”

Even so, the players still couldn’t understand the Giants’ choice, and it seemed like the fans felt the same way, but Lee Jung-woo knew.

That it was not the coach’s or the bench’s instructions, but Ilya Danilov’s own choice. In the first place, he was not a player with low enough weight to be forcibly put on the mound by a mere coach.

‘They’ve bet their lives.’

The atmosphere in the stadium changed rapidly once again. They have to win no matter what. They have to win somehow. Of course, it’s obvious because it ends the moment they lose. That thought became a little deeper.

“How many pitches did he throw? In the Wild Card [a play-in game or series between two teams that did not win their division but have the best records among non-division winners]?”

“Quite a lot. He probably threw close to 100 pitches?”

“Then he’s not in his best condition.”

The moment they felt the opponent’s determination. But the Braves didn’t care. It doesn’t matter that he is a Cy Young winner [award given to the best pitchers in each league] and a top-notch pitcher. If you put aside the symbolic meaning, he was just a pitcher who had not yet fully recovered from his last appearance.

“Be careful. I have a bad feeling.”

When Lee Jung-woo warned, the tension rose again, but it was still a little faint. But in the top of the 7th inning. As the attack began, the players’ tension and concentration returned to their place. Because Ilya Danilov threw the first pitch.

’97 miles. Almost the highest speed.’

A powerful fastball. That alone was enough to suppress the Braves’ atmosphere.

The spectators, who had been trembling with anxiety, cheered that he was the Tsar they knew, and whether they had decided to think about the future later since he had already taken the mound, they were happy about it.

“Strike!”

“Strike out!”

With each pitch, the hitters’ embarrassment deepened.

The unique powerful fastball and waterfall-like curve strongly hit the catcher’s mitt, as if he had thrown away the fatigue of the past.

What was increasing was the number of missed swings, strikes, and out counts.

“I’m going crazy.”

Someone’s unintentional words represented the Braves’ feelings. They thought they would end the Division Series on a good note with this game. Now that goal seemed quite difficult.

‘His control of pace is better than usual. He throws full strength only at the exact moment he needs to. He reads the timing like a ghost.’

It was an overwhelming pitching, but not all pitches were full strength. He thoroughly took out the strength when he needed to, and put it in when he needed to, manipulating the hitters. And in that pitching, Lee Jung-woo glimpsed his intention.

‘Is he thinking of coming out in the 5th game?’

Two days, or three days including the moving day. And then pitch again. Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Ilya Danilov didn’t seem to be thinking only about the immediate game.

That tenacious, sophisticated, yet powerful pitching was poured into the Braves, and the good atmosphere disappeared.

‘If we lose today and lose tomorrow. The momentum will shift. And the final 5th game. If we go that far… no one knows the outcome.’

Lee Jung-woo, who caught the bad feeling surrounding him, thought.

‘We have to end it here.’

They shouldn’t drag the game any further.

####

The game had started at 2 o’clock when the sun was in the middle of the sky. It was gradually losing its momentum.

“Mai!”

“1st base! 1st base!”

[From 1st base – Out! It’s out!]

“Throw it right away!”

“Nice!”

But apart from that, the game was heating up like a summer day, and it was very fierce.

Still tied. Quite a bit of time had passed since the score of 5 to 4 was made, and even though each other had been given enough opportunities, the score remained the same.

The Giants couldn’t get past the solid Braves’ defense, and Harding, one of today’s heroes, also recorded a disappointing ground ball as a well-hit ball was caught by Lee Jung-woo.

“Strike!”

“KKK!”

On the other hand, the Braves were thoroughly blocked by one player. Ilya Danilov, the suddenly appeared emperor of the Giants, skillfully and powerfully threw the ball, stopping the opponent’s attack.

After the 6th inning, both teams retreated in order with three batters, continuing the thrilling game, and the spectators were nervously tapping their feet, but on the other hand, they were happy.

It’s a pity that they can’t widen the gap further, but anyway, the Giants were currently ahead by at least one point.

“It just has to end like this. Just like this.”

“Reverse Sweep, let’s gooooo!”

They also knew. That today’s game was quite important. If they could break the opponent’s rising momentum once, the possibility of the long-awaited Again 2012 would increase.

That’s why they shouted, and the Giants players squeezed out every last bit of strength from that cheering sound.

And then came the 9th inning.

Before stepping onto the mound, Ilya hoped this would be the last inning. That there would be no bottom of the 9th.

‘Only 29 pitches. I blocked them well. Still plenty left.’

29 pitches was a pretty good deal, considering he had shut down all three batters. Thanks to that, he could approach the remaining game with a bit more leeway.

‘Generously, 50 pitches. If I can finish it within that… it’s possible. It’s possible.’

He himself didn’t know why he was doing this. He could have just stayed comfortable. That’s what the club wanted too. But in the end, he went up to the mound.

‘F*ck, how can I just sit still?’

The frustration and despair of repeated defeats. And sadness. Yet, fans still shouting for hope and children wishing for miracles. Those eyes bothered him.

At the very least, shouldn’t he be able to grant them that much? They were the ones who called him ‘Emperor.’ People who revered him. Shouldn’t he at least achieve that much for them?

‘Hoo… I can do it. The ball is good. My body is okay too. F*ck, I was born with a decent body. I thought I’d die after throwing about 20 pitches.’

Thankfully, his body, which had been strong since birth, was still fine even with its owner pushing it too hard. Of course, it was a bit heavier than usual, but compared to what he had expected, this wasn’t bad.

Brushing back his unnaturally dyed black hair, he tamped down the dirt on the mound and looked at home plate. The batter who came up as a pinch hitter glared at him.

‘Schultz? Shult? What a damn difficult name.’

He was probably close. He remembered the name because he had occasionally appeared as a backup.

‘First, let’s get rid of one guy slowly.’

A long windup. As the ball he threw destructively slammed into the glove, the batter looked a bit nervous. Yes, that’s right. It’s easier that way.

A powerful fastball brought such small advantages, and focusing on that to plan the pitch sequence was very simple.

‘Let’s reel him in. I still have enough pitches.’

He wasn’t a great player, but he didn’t want to load the bases before ‘that guy,’ so he was prepared to waste a few pitches to pull the ball slightly, but what do you know, the batter’s bat followed.

Two strikes.

‘Хорошо (Khorosho – Good), that’s right.’

He felt so good that he even spoke in his childhood hometown language. In situations like this, the value of each of those small advantages was significant.

So, smiling pleasantly, he bid farewell to the batter, who seemed a bit heated by that smile.

“Strike out!”

A curve that dropped sharply. The batter swung and missed as expected. The first out count went up. Now, only two left. The stadium buzzed, as if rejoicing in the victory that was right in front of them.

‘That bastard is also a bit tricky… Those Braves bastards really have a f*cked up lineup.’

However, unlike the spectators, Ilya’s joy didn’t last long. The next batter up, Derek Hunt. That guy was a bit unsettling.

Because he was older and his bat speed was slower than in his prime, he was often easily caught with a full-force fastball, but he had good eyes and a lot of experience built up over a long career, so in a moment of carelessness, he would get a hit or draw a walk.

So he licked his lips. Unlike the media’s description of him as ignoring his opponents or being like a hyena, it was one of his habits when he was nervous. That feeling was soon revealed in his careful pitching.

“Ball.”

Since every first pitch after taking the mound had been a strike, some people murmured when the first ball was declared. The course was also ambiguous, closer to a bait ball than a clear strike.

When the following 2nd pitch became a strike, the murmurs subsided again, but the tension continued to linger.

‘Did he see the ball?’

Ilya was bothered by the batter’s gaze. Not an eye that was struck out, but an eye that seemed to let the ball go. His animalistic sense told him the opponent was also getting a feel for it.

‘Full force…’

Should he go all out? He already threw one ball, what about the rest? It was a bit ambiguous. His body was strong, so it wasn’t as hard, but he was already losing strength. If he continued to throw full force in this situation, he wouldn’t have the strength to throw his best ball to the most important guy.

So, he threw a slightly low ball to postpone the choice, but he soon regretted it.

‘Damn it…’

It seemed the batter had also anticipated the low course.

A swift swing. The moment it was hit, he knew it was a hit. He trusted his teammates, but they weren’t reliable enough to catch even such a well-placed ball, so it was definitely certain.

“Ah…”

The audience’s disappointed exclamations and the fear mixed in with it were conveyed.

One out, runner on first. That guy was coming up.

‘Lee, Jung-woo Lee.’

He muttered the batter’s name several times. A guy whose skills were as unique as the unfamiliarity of his name. The guy who gave him a splash hit [a home run that lands in McCovey Cove] the first time they met, and then during the wild card elimination, the damn bastard.

But a dangerous bastard.

‘I wanted to avoid having a runner on base as much as possible.’

Even the pride he had as a top-notch pitcher took a step back in front of him, and the guy’s energy felt cold. His eyes were also annoying.

‘I can do it. F*ck, I’ve come this far… Don’t be scared!’

But he couldn’t avoid it.

He had come this far. He had dragged a game that he didn’t even need to pitch in to this point, and it was too far to be scared now.

‘Should I walk him?’

Of course, he also had rational thoughts. Should he just walk him [intentionally walk, or intentionally give a base on balls]? It would definitely be easier to walk that bastard and face the next guy.

But the next guy was also a problem. Joey Fredman, although his effect had diminished a bit now, he was also a slugger who had hit a few home runs.

A bastard who could still easily hit long hits. Would it really be right to stack two runners, especially fast ones, in front of that guy?

‘F*ck, f*ck, f*ck.’

A situation that made him swear. If he had caught Derek, he could have just thought of it as giving up 1 point and walked him. He suddenly resented his decision from a little while ago.

Soon, he took his stance.

‘Let’s go.’

The catcher asked for his opinion. He chose to compete, and the catcher nodded. Maybe it was pride.

The pride of wanting to break through the final gate with his own hands, with his own ball. The pride that he could do it enough.

No, all of these things were ultimately pride. The fact that he took the mound today, the fact that he threw the ball, it was all pride that he could do it.

“Hoo…”

So, wasn’t it worth believing in that pride? Because the results had been good so far.

He gripped the ball, and the batter who filled the plate glared at him without giving in.

He throws the first pitch. Fastball. He temporarily abandoned controlling his strength and just threw it with all his might.

“Strike!”

The strike goes up.

The fastball, which seemed to be the best he had thrown in this game, no, this year, slammed into the catcher’s glove.

He throws without rest. Since he was a smart guy, he couldn’t give him even a little time to think. He didn’t want to get caught up in a battle of wits.

“Ball.”

But this time it’s a ball. It was intentional, so it was okay. He threw one ball, one ball, as if he was going to break his shoulder. As if he was someone who would throw it today and never throw it again.

“Ilya! Ilya!”

“Ilya! Ilya!”

People shout. Do they think it gives him strength? In fact, it’s an action that has no meaning other than feeling good.

‘That’s enough.’

Strength welled up.

Two and three. Full count.

Just one strike.

The setting sun, which had been setting, had already become a sunset, and Oracle Park [Oracle Park, home of the San Francisco Giants] , which had already been dyed orange, was once again soaked in the sunset. Forcibly wiping away the flowing sweat, he stared straight at the batter. He suddenly smiled.

‘He’s nervous too.’

As if not winning today, even though he had already won twice, meant losing the series, he was also visibly nervous. His face was more stiff than usual, and although it was fleeting and uncertain, his two hands, which were readjusting his bat, were also slightly trembling.

It was just funny that even that monstrous guy, no, just a monster himself, was nervous like him.

A languid body. Conversely, a sharp focus. A good feeling.

Ilya Danilov believed in all of that.

‘Let’s go.’

He grips the ball. The grip is the most familiar, the one that brought him many glories. He winds up greatly, stretches his legs, and when his stepping foot touches the ground, the solid mound supports him.

Everything was silent.

The field of vision also narrowed.

All that was visible was the flying ball and the moving bat. And…

‘Ha.’

The yellowish-brown ball.

The ball, which received the repulsive force of the wooden bat properly, flies away.

Towards McCovey Cove [a part of San Francisco Bay, located beyond the right-field wall of Oracle Park], which has turned orange, dyed in the sunset like Oracle Park.

Will the sound of the hit be heard first, or the splash of the ball falling into the sea? Surely the former should be first. Ironically, the latter was clearly etched in his ear.

It must be a very far place, so it shouldn’t be heard. Strangely, it was heard well.

The moment he realized that, he lowered his head for the first time.

The miracle that the Giants, that San Francisco, had hoped for did not happen.