Chapter 72, The Home of Baseball
It was definitely a pitch I should not have been able to hit.
But instinctively, I knew.
If I did not hit this pitch, I would strike out.
I did not want to lose.
This was Hoshino Yuki.
The guy who had been called my rival countless times in my previous life.
If our pitching duel would not decide the winner, then I could simply decide it as a hitter.
Crack!
The slider came in at an absurd angle.
It was difficult to tell whether it would enter the strike zone or become a ball.
I swung without hesitation.
It was a gamble.
Rather than thinking about whether I could actually hit it, I simply knew I had to.
It was instinct.
Hoshino Yuki turned around.
Then slowly dropped into a crouch.
Solo home run.
Once again, I won.
I lightly threw away my bat and shouted toward our dugout.
Every player came outside and cheered together.
Short tournaments were all about taking control early.
You had to seize momentum somehow.
That was also why underdogs could sometimes create the foundation for shocking upsets against championship favorites.
“Wow, he actually hit that...”
“Could you hit it?”
“No...”
I could hear the shortstop and second baseman whispering to each other in Japanese.
Either way, I had proven it.
1-0.
I shouted an order toward my teammates.
It was more like a loud encouragement.
“Watch as many pitches as possible, and try to make hits! You can still become a hero by hitting singles!”
Everyone listened carefully.
I had shown them.
I had hit the home run myself.
At the same time, I was indirectly telling them what I wanted.
Get on base with singles.
That was how we could score.
Crack!
But apparently two trips through the batting order were still not enough.
Yoon Jae-jun, batting after me, grounded out in the infield.
“It’s okay. You can do it.”
Yoon Jae-jun and I decided to continue with Plan B.
We judged that Japan’s middle of the order still had not adjusted to our pitches.
164 km/h.
However, the Japanese hitters changed their style.
Every batter calmly watched each pitch.
They either kept fouling pitches away or held the bat longer and tried to produce extra-base hits.
Crack!
A Japanese hitter swung quickly.
The ball flew.
It traveled pretty far before the right fielder caught it.
Several players on the Japanese bench stood up, then sat back down.
Every Japanese hitter was placing hope into each pitch.
Forty-three pitches.
We were already past the fifth inning.
They were no longer focusing on singles.
This looked completely different from the usual Japanese baseball database.
A team known for small ball was now playing classic big ball.
“Why do you think they’re doing this?”
I asked Yoon Jae-jun.
He grinned.
“Maybe they think the chances of getting several hits in a row against you are low?”
“What?”
“We have internal data on you. Why wouldn’t Japan? Most of the runs you’ve allowed this season came from home runs.”
Was that true?
I did not remember clearly.
I often checked other players’ stats and indicators, but rarely looked closely at my own.
“So they’re doing this because it gives them the highest chance.”
I could understand that.
And the reason they kept fouling off so many pitches was probably to increase my pitch count.
The score remained 1-0.
I was completely shutting Japan down.
But after allowing the home run, Hoshino Yuki was fighting hard too.
It was literally angry pitching.
He kept striking hitters out.
Our players actually seemed pleased when they saw it.
“He’s pitching really carefully.”
“At this rate, he’ll come out in the seventh.”
Hoshino Yuki seriously mixed many different pitch sequences.
His pitch count had already reached eighty.
As time passed, that number became increasingly burdensome.
He would eventually be forced out.
We expected things to become easier once the pitcher changed.
“Strikeout!”
Hoshino Yuki recorded eight strikeouts through six innings.
Most of his eighteen outs had come through strikeouts.
I had five strikeouts through six.
But when it came to pitch count, I had an overwhelming advantage.
Most of their balls in play had simply become outfield flies.
Strikeout totals in a short tournament?
They did not matter at all.
What mattered was how long the starting pitcher could keep innings stable.
Hoshino Yuki had not realized that.
In inning after inning, he refused to let batters put the ball into play.
“Jae-jun, you’re doing well.”
I had thrown sixty pitches through six innings.
Of course, I had allowed three hits.
I also gave up one walk.
Even so, the Japanese hitters could not threaten our home plate.
Gorilla.
There was a player in America who had earned overwhelming love from New York fans through his dominant performances.
His name was Tanaka.
He had already hit twenty-three home runs in the first half of this Major League season.
His batting average was .310.
“Yuki. What do you think when you see those pitches?”
Tanaka could only sigh.
He had planned to crush Korea with explosive hitting in this Korea-Japan match.
He failed.
In fact, none of the Japanese hitters looked happy.
“I think they’re art.”
Tanaka nodded at Hoshino Yuki’s answer.
Choi Seong’s pitches were close to magic.
He was completely shutting down Japan’s powerful lineup without giving up a single run.
Tanaka felt a wall for the first time in quite a while.
“That guy will definitely succeed in the Majors. He’s terrifying.”
“Doesn’t everyone already know that?”
Hoshino Yuki replied sharply, sounding frustrated.
Tanaka looked at him in surprise.
Hoshino was usually the definition of gentle.
Right now, he looked incredibly angry and determined.
Tanaka had never seen this side of him before.
“You really want to win?”
Hoshino Yuki nodded as if the answer were obvious.
What pitcher wanted to lose?
He had already lost once before.
This time, Hoshino Yuki absolutely had to win.
But he was losing completely in both pitching and hitting.
“Then I’ll try somehow.”
Tanaka walked toward the plate.
He was Japan’s greatest power hitter of the current era.
After taking several practice swings, he stepped into the batter’s box.
How embarrassing. He made our youngest this angry.
Japan really was going all-out.
But their manager had given the hitters free rein.
Rather than issuing detailed tactical instructions, he had simply told them to turn as many of Choi Seong’s pitches as possible into home runs.
The manager is underestimating Korea too much.
Tanaka did not realize that the person underestimating Korea was actually himself.
He did not understand that the manager had given that instruction because there was no clear answer.
Tanaka intended to hit a home run here.
Korea?
The guy named Choi Seong had impressed him.
He had not known much about him before the game, but if Choi Seong had gone directly to Major League Baseball, he probably would have become a sensational player.
162 km/h.
A fast four-seam came in.
First pitch, strike.
Hoshino Yuki and Choi Seong had completely opposite pitching styles.
Hoshino Yuki calmly mixed strikes and balls.
Choi Seong was aggressive.
He kept throwing as if saying, Hit it if you can.
Tanaka could not help being surprised by that confident attitude.
Had this kid never heard about Tanaka’s reputation in Korea?
Tanaka was extremely strong against fastballs.
He calmly watched for the next pitch.
166 km/h.
Another fast four-seam came in.
Tanaka swung without hesitation.
CRACK!
The ball traveled far.
Even the catcher seemed surprised and immediately threw off his mask.
Tanaka calmly ran while watching the ball.
If things went well, it would clear the fence.
If not, it would smash into the wall.
Either way, he wanted to restore Hoshino Yuki’s confidence.
We need to show them that we can hit too.
As Tanaka ran toward second while thinking about various things, he suddenly frowned.
Wait.
Why am I thinking that we need to prove we can hit them?
Would that not make it look as though Japan were being overwhelmed by Korea?
The moment he stepped on second base, he froze in surprise.
“Out!”
The left fielder had sprinted at incredible speed and caught the ball just before it reached the fence.
Of course, instead of the ball hitting the wall, the player himself crashed into it.
He did not seem to care.
Tanaka stared at him in disbelief.
It was already impressive enough that he had chased down the ball without any special defensive shift.
What was even more shocking was the fighting spirit needed to throw his own body into the fence.
“Geon-woo! Nice!”
Choi Seong applauded toward the left fielder.
No one had expected a hustle play like that.
Tanaka returned to the bench in a daze.
Hoshino Yuki’s bitter smile looked even clearer.
“Sorry.”
That was all Tanaka could say as a senior.
He had assumed this team revolved entirely around Choi Seong.
But every player was moving with one mind.
They all shared the desire to beat Japan.
Top of the ninth.
I calmly looked at the Japanese hitters.
The score was still 1-0.
Other than Tanaka’s near-home run, there had been no real crisis.
I had pitched steadily, but my pitch count had already gone over 110.
If I completed the ninth, it would definitely pass 120.
Then I would automatically be unavailable until the knockout round after the group stage.
Though honestly, the idea of using me again in the next game would have been ridiculous anyway.
“Strikeout!”
That strikeout gave me eight for the game.
Hoshino Yuki had left the mound after recording thirteen strikeouts.
His pitch count was 121.
In other words, he had pitched as if his life depended on it.
He would no longer be able to pitch during the group stage.
But I did not care.
Japan was going to advance anyway.
There was a reason they were considered one of the strongest championship favorites after the United States.
“Out!”
Two outs.
Every out in the ninth filled me with excitement.
Just after I easily recorded another out, someone outside the field threw a flare onto the ground.
As expected from America, the home of baseball.
Red smoke spread across the field.
After recording two outs, I sat in the dugout until the situation calmed down.
My teammates looked worried.
“Are you okay?”
I was perfectly fine.
I was used to strange welcomes like this.
“As long as nobody starts shooting.”
Everyone stared at me in horror.
Then I returned to the mound and struck out the final batter on three pitches.
If anything, the flare had disturbed Japan more than me.
The moment the game ended, countless foreign reporters hurried toward me for interviews.
Strangely, each reporter had brought their own interpreter.
As expected.
This really was the home of baseball.
