Chapter 82, We Will Not Collapse
One hour before the game, in the press room at Incheon’s stadium.
Camera flashes went off like lightning.
I stood in front of the microphone wearing my Busan Oceans uniform.
This was my first time giving a pregame interview in this life.
In my previous life, I had usually done interviews reluctantly, but this time, I had a choice.
I was normally a man of few words.
I had always believed that the more pitches I needed to throw, the less I should talk.
But this time was different. I knew the fans were starting to lose confidence.
A series sweep, a losing streak, an unstable starting rotation... Someone needed to make a clear promise right now.
“This is my first pregame interview. Thank you for preparing this press room for me.”
I bowed to the reporters first.
“To those who came up from Busan and the fans watching on their screens, you're worried, aren't you? I understand. That's why I'm telling you this. Just like when I threw my no-hitter, I'll shut them down somehow. My teammates will score the runs behind me. Leave it to me.”
Questions poured in.
How was my fatigue after the Olympics? Several Major League teams were interested in me. Was I planning to change my pitch selection?
I did not give long answers.
“Right now, I'm a starting pitcher for the Oceans. Once today's game is over, we can talk about anything. What's important is making sure our fans can have a peaceful night.”
Then I added one final sentence.
“The Oceans will not collapse.”
Clips from the interview were immediately edited and spread across online communities.
The sentence The Oceans Will Not Collapse appeared in headlines.
For the first time in a while, the comment sections felt warm.
·
Few words, huge responsibility. That's what an ace is.
·
·
Let's see another no-hitter. I believe in Choi Seong.
·
·
Don't allow a single run today and come back to Sajik.
·
The official Oceans fan community was flooded with posts showing ticket reservations for Sajik Stadium.
The club's social media accounts were filled with heart and wave emojis.
·
I'll turn on the TV and watch with my parents tonight. Whenever you play, my whole family watches together.
·
·
I'm putting all my faith in Choi Seong... Let's really win the championship this year.
·
·
Day 678 of praying for a championship this year.
·
The fans' confidence was returning.
Now it was time to repay their trust.
The other players were too worried to make promises like that.
But I was confident.
And my confidence always had a reason behind it.
That afternoon, another piece of breaking news appeared.
[Government Grants Military Exemption and Awards to All Olympic Baseball Gold Medalists]
The news clip alternated between the team's award ceremony and waves of cheering fans.
Military exemption was a heated topic, but the fans and the general public already seemed to have accepted the decision.
We had defeated the United States, a team called the world all-stars, as well as our eternal rivals, Japan and China.
The real-time comments saying Good work and Thank you beneath the video meant more than the government official's explanation of the decision.
And one name appeared everywhere.
Choi Seong.
I was being called a man who had made history in baseball.
The national team's group chat became lively for the first time in a while.
·
Without Choi Seong, we would've been eliminated in the quarterfinals.
·
·
He's officially a legal military-service broker. Show us again next time.
·
·
Are the Dolphins shaking right now? Senior Jong-hyeon, LOL.
·
·
We'll win... We absolutely have to win today...
·
·
Come on, hyung! Show some confidence. You're driving me crazy!
·
I sent a short reply.
·
The Oceans will win today.
·
Bottom of the first inning.
The roar of the crowd sounded distant, as if I were hearing it through thick glass.
Catcher Yoon Jae-jun lowered his mitt.
160 km/h, first pitch.
The ball struck the low outside corner.
The batter took a big swing but missed.
143 km/h.
My second pitch was a slider that disrupted the batter's timing.
This time, he made contact, but it became an infield groundout.
The second hitter swung at the first pitch and hit a weak grounder.
The third hitter stayed alive by fouling off pitches before swinging underneath a rising four-seam fastball.
The first inning ended in exactly eleven pitches.
In the second, I allowed the leadoff hitter to record the first hit.
A curveball that should have bounced low had stayed a little too high.
Still wearing his catcher's mask, Yoon Jae-jun shouted.
“It's okay. It's nothing, Seong. Just keep pitching the way you always do!”
Yoon Jae-jun clapped his hands and helped me regain my focus.
The fifth hitter fouled off the first pitch.
Second pitch, slider, swing and miss.
Third pitch, a high four-seam fastball that induced a fly ball.
The next batter hit a low pitch, but it became a grounder toward first baseman Kim Hak-seong.
A clean double play by second baseman Go Gyeong-tae and Kim Hak-seong ended the second inning.
I allowed two more hits through the third and fourth innings.
Four hits in total.
But none of them led to a run.
I was the kind of pitcher who shone even brighter in dangerous situations.
Ever since my previous life, when I had regularly entered games as a relief pitcher, I had overcome situations like these countless times.
Low, even lower, and when necessary, very high.
At the end of every inning, I wrote the same number in my mind.
Zero.
The runs-allowed column on the scoreboard remained a perfectly round zero.
Through four innings, the Busan Oceans and Incheon Dolphins were tied 0-0.
Opposing starter Yoo Jong-hyeon was just as persistent.
From the first through the fifth inning, he held our lineup to five hits.
His finishing pitches were particularly dangerous whenever runners reached base.
He piled up ground balls with outside two-seamers and occasionally threw high curves to disrupt our timing.
When Go Gyeong-tae's well-hit ball went straight to the center fielder with one out and runners on second and third, I pulled down the brim of my cap.
Our intentions seemed to cross in midair.
“That senior struggled so badly with the national team, but now he's suddenly got his act together, sir...”
Kim Byeong-hee complained and glanced at me.
I said nothing.
Yoo Jong-hyeon was an outstanding pitcher and a good person.
I could only admire the way he was gritting his teeth and fighting.
That was why today's game was so enjoyable.
Bottom of the fifth.
The dust on the field was calm, and the score had not changed.
From the moment I stepped onto the mound again, I made sure every pitch was as tightly controlled as a firmly tied knot.
I threw a first-pitch strike to the leadoff hitter.
The second pitch followed the same path but finished a hand's width lower.
I retired the hitters in fewer than ten pitches.
Everything on my checklist was moving at the same rhythm.
My determination not to allow a single run had become part of my pitching form.
But something unexpected happened.
In the top of the sixth, Yoo Jong-hyeon allowed an infield hit to the first batter, then a stolen base and a sacrifice bunt.
That left a runner on third with one out.
He changed his pitch selection to induce a swing and miss, but our second hitter showed good patience and drew a walk.
One out, runners on first and third.
Yoo Jong-hyeon boldly attacked the inside corner.
But the Oceans avoided the double play by sprinting toward first, reaching safely by the smallest margin.
Meanwhile, the runner on third crossed home plate.
1-0.
Yoo Jong-hyeon gritted his teeth, struck out the next batter, and ended the inning.
But that one run had broken the deadlock.
“The era of Choi Seong has returned, sir!”
Kim Byeong-hee shouted.
In the top of the seventh, Yoo Jong-hyeon pulled down the brim of his cap.
His expression made it clear that this would be his final inning.
He induced the leadoff hitter into a potential double-play grounder on the second pitch, then struck out the next hitter looking with a sharply rising curveball.
He finished with seven innings and one run allowed, but his expression was not good.
He tapped his fist against his glove and left the mound.
My seventh inning, on the other hand, was short.
Slider, four-seam, four-seam.
Slider, four-seam, screwball.
My pitch-count management was almost perfect.
Go Gyeong-tae slid across the infield, caught the leadoff hitter's weakly hit ball with his backhand, and fired a bullet-like throw to first.
Small gasps of admiration rose from the stands.
The final batter's swing cut through the air.
I had completed seven scoreless innings.
“Now it's the bullpen's turn to show what they can do.”
I could have gone longer, but Manager Rodriguez lightly patted my shoulder.
I nodded.
[Pitching Injury Risk: 22.3%]
It was time for me to stop pitching.
I could not destroy my arm after the heavy workload I had endured with the national team.
I left the mound after throwing around eighty pitches.
Then, in the top of the eighth, our bats finally came alive.
The opposing bullpen pitcher looked unstable.
Leadoff hitter Yoon Jae-jun singled past the shortstop.
Kim Hak-seong's hit landed perfectly just inside the third-base foul line, giving us runners on first and second with no outs.
Then Yugam hit an RBI single.
The Dolphins bullpen began to struggle even more.
The next hitter drew a walk.
By the eighth inning, with one out and the bases loaded, the score was 2-0.
The song Busan Seagull rang loudly through the stands.
Shortstop Kwon Seon-ho stepped into the batter's box.
When he swung, he finally produced a long hit.
Every runner on base came home.
5-0.
Kwon Seon-ho's triple completely tilted the game in our favor.
Inside the dugout, players beat plastic bottles and celebrated.
The game was not over yet, but I was already certain.
All the momentum belonged to us.
In the bottom of the eighth and ninth, our bullpen pitched carefully.
They produced ground balls with sinkers and sliders that broke in different directions, then raised the tempo with high outside four-seam fastballs.
My final record was seven scoreless innings.
The team score was 5-0.
When I looked toward the Incheon Dolphins dugout, Yoo Jong-hyeon was wearing a bitter smile.
I removed my cap and pressed it against my chest.
The words I had spoken before the game passed through my mind.
We will definitely win.
I had kept my promise to the fans.
My ERA dropped even farther, to 0.61.
I also maintained my undefeated season record, improving to seven wins and no losses.
After the team greeted the fans and our high fives were almost over, Yoo Jong-hyeon approached from the first-base side.
He removed his glove and offered me his hand.
“You pitched well.”
He spoke first.
“I gave up one run, and you gave up zero. That difference decided the game.”
“Not at all. You pitched incredibly well today. The rest was just luck.”
Yoo Jong-hyeon did not believe me.
He knew the truth.
He had originally played for the Incheon Dolphins before moving to Major League Baseball through the posting system.
After several years, he returned to the Dolphins and continued playing for them.
His body had aged, but he had silently led the revival of the Dolphins dynasty.
That was not all.
He was Korea's original Doctor K, a pitcher who had consistently performed well in international competitions.
However, his retirement was approaching.
Perhaps the club would hold his retirement ceremony and retire his number at the same time.
In my previous life, I remembered that his retirement ceremony had taken place either this year or the next.
“It's always the smallest differences that decide a game. When you give up a home run, maybe the ball had just a little less spin. Maybe your control missed by half a ball. Pitchers have to possess the most delicate skills in baseball to survive. I lost today. Completely.”
“It's okay. You can beat me next time.”
Yoo Jong-hyeon shook his head.
“That's enough for me. Starting games is becoming too difficult... My stamina just isn't what it used to be...”
“Does that mean...?”
Was he planning to retire?
He had already retired from the national team, but it still felt disappointing.
For the first time, Yoo Jong-hyeon smiled brightly.
His voice did not tremble either.
“I'm going to become a closer. I want to show everyone that a man in his mid-thirties can keep pitching.”
“During this season?”
I asked in surprise.
Right now, Yoo Jong-hyeon was still a dependable starter for the Incheon Dolphins.
He had secured the team's second starting spot, ahead of one of their two foreign pitchers.
Even after today's game, his ERA was still in the high 2.00s.
It would be difficult to find another Korean ace like him.
“No. I'll gradually prepare for it starting next year. Our young pitchers are coming up too, so it's not a bad idea, right? I'll be the one backing up Sang-heon from now on.”
If the Dolphins acquired one more starting pitcher, they could build an even more complete pitching kingdom.
Without realizing it, I thought of the Incheon Dolphins' perfect golden age around 2007.
If I remembered correctly, the Dolphins dynasty had lasted into the 2010s.
“Sounds good. I hope I get to see it soon.”
Yoo Jong-hyeon smiled and left.
On my way back to the locker room, I saw Busan flags waving wildly in the visitors' section.
Whether through television, radio, or the living rooms of fans far away in Busan, I had kept my promise to win.
And that promise would not be broken.
I ran my fingers over the stitching of my glove once more.
Just then, the Seoul Triples game was about to end.
Would we be able to reclaim sole possession of first place?
