Chapter 90, Only the Championship
The morning after my perfect game was strangely quiet.
The excitement of Sunday had disappeared, and only the cold atmosphere of Monday remained.
My glove and the final baseball from yesterday's game had been moved to the baseball museum.
The baseball association had acted quickly.
When they asked if I would donate the glove and ball, I happily agreed.
Sunlight shone through the glass display case, making the leather of my glove sparkle.
The information board read:
First Perfect Game in Korean Professional Baseball History. Choi Seong, Busan Oceans.
I stopped walking for a moment and stared at it.
Only then did it truly feel real.
Perhaps I was even more overwhelmed today than I had been yesterday.
Monday was a rest day for every baseball team.
I completed the events requested by the Korean Baseball Association one after another.
Interviews, photo shoots, greetings with sponsors, and appearances at a few simple events.
Before I knew it, it was three in the afternoon.
Reporters gathered around me, and camera flashes went off like lightning.
“Choi Seong, what's your next goal?”
“Do you have any plans to enter Major League Baseball?”
“Has anything changed since your perfect game?”
I smiled briefly.
“My only goal is to win the championship with the Busan Oceans.”
That single sentence was enough.
The reporters murmured among themselves, but there was nothing more I needed to say.
Right now, there was only one thing on my mind.
Winning the championship with the Busan Oceans.
When I left the baseball association building, people were waiting outside.
Children gathered around me and asked me to sign their jerseys.
One middle-aged woman handed me a lunch box and spoke.
“Is your body okay? I watched yesterday's game. I'm so proud of you. I can't believe someone like you came from Busan.”
I signed each child's jersey and exchanged a few brief greetings.
Then I climbed into the car the club had prepared for me.
Oceans flags were still waving along the roads.
For the first time in a while, I stopped by the club's office.
When I opened the door, familiar smells greeted me.
Paper, ink, and coffee.
General Manager Kim Sang-won stood up first.
“You're here, Seong!”
“General Manager.”
“Donating your glove was a wonderful thing to do. Your name is engraved in a museum now.”
“It's all thanks to the team.”
“What are you talking about? That game wouldn't have been possible without you.”
The general manager laughed and patted my shoulder.
A brief silence followed.
“Have you been sleeping properly lately?”
“I always sleep well. But the season isn't over yet.”
“Right. We still have a championship to win.”
We both brought up the same thing and laughed at the same time.
We also talked about the past.
The day I was first drafted and how the operations team leader, who had been a scout back then, had strongly recommended selecting me.
I had already far exceeded everyone's expectations.
That night, my name appeared in enormous letters on the official Major League Baseball website.
The main headline in the center of the screen read:
The Perfect Game from Korea.
My photograph appeared beneath it.
In the past, short clips of Korean players making funny mistakes or embarrassing themselves would occasionally appear on the site.
But this time was different.
There were detailed scouting reports and evaluations from analysts.
“Velocity approaching 170 km/h. Four-seam spin rate above 2,600 rpm. Curveball movement ranks among the top 0.1% in MLB.”
“Both his shoulder durability and mentality are perfect.”
Familiar team names filled the comment section.
New York, Milwaukee, Cleveland, and Seattle.
Even LA was being mentioned.
During a press conference, the owner of the New York club declared,
“We're preparing a record-breaking offer to acquire him.”
Other clubs began discussing posting fees and salaries too.
They all seemed to agree on one thing.
As long as he stays healthy, he could receive the largest contract in history.
But I checked tomorrow's training schedule before looking at any of that news.
The season was not over yet.
The championship had not been won.
And there was still a long time to wait before I could enter the posting system.
A few days later, our three-game road series against the Gwangju Jaguars began.
For some reason, things did not go well.
In the first game, Norman delivered a respectable performance, allowing two runs in six innings.
But our lineup was helpless.
We lost 2-0.
In the next game, a defensive error by Daniel Sanchez proved costly.
We lost 4-2.
We barely managed to win the third and final game.
Our series record was one win and two losses.
Meanwhile, the Seoul Triples were climbing at a frightening speed.
They swept three games against the Seoul Magicians and once again closed the gap behind us to one game.
Since the beginning of the second half, they had been winning almost every game.
Our team record had reached 65 wins, 25 losses, and one tie.
Those were overwhelming numbers.
But the Triples were following right behind us with 63 wins and 27 losses.
I shook my head while looking through the data in the locker room.
“We're winning more than enough games, but those guys aren't making it easy.”
Yoon Jae-jun spoke.
“The Triples are insane too. Apparently, all three of their starting pitchers have increased their velocity by three kilometers per hour compared to the first half. Are they taking some kind of drugs or something?”
Meanwhile, the Seoul Panthers and Seoul Magicians had completely collapsed.
After falling into a losing streak in the middle of the season, the Panthers had openly declared that they were rebuilding.
The Magicians had already passed ninety losses.
The media published articles with headlines about the Collapse of Seoul Baseball almost every day.
On the other hand, the battle for first place between Busan and the Seoul Triples had become a matter of national interest.
Every game sold out, and tickets disappeared from reservation sites in seconds.
Our next series was another showdown against the Triples at Sajik.
Manager Rodriguez asked me a question in the press room.
“Your perfect game was incredible. Your ERA is 0.43. I can hardly believe that number. Is your body okay?”
“It's fine. I've been preparing all this time to play baseball on a stage like this.”
The evening sunlight was shining on the sea outside the window.
Since my perfect game, the world had been calling me a hero.
But inside, I remained calm.
Records were moments that had already passed.
The next battle was always tomorrow.
I quietly cleaned my glove.
The leather inside still seemed to hold the warmth of my hand.
