The Extra in a Baseball Novel

“Th-Thank you!”

Cha Sihwan jumped to his feet, his face lighting up at the chance to pitch an at-bat.

His heart pounded like mad. How long had he waited for a chance like this?

Calm down… If you get too excited, it’s over.

He steadied his breathing, picturing his grandmother waiting for him in their small home. But as he tried to focus, his coach’s words echoed in his head, clouding his thoughts.

“Good, keep that arm angle. See? Your speed increased after listening to me.”

If he ignored the coach’s instructions and pitched his usual way but failed to impress, it would be over for him. Not only would his first-team call-up remain a dream, but his second-team career might get even tougher—or worse, he could face being cut.

Logic dictated he should pitch as instructed to preserve his future.

I want to throw… my way.

A fire burned inside him. Something primal urged him to pitch the way he had always pitched.

Cha Sihwan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, picturing himself on the mound during the President’s Cup semifinals—the day he pitched the game of his life and earned a spot in the pros.

He decided to let his body choose. He would go with the flow.

As he began his pitching motion, his upper body tilted, bringing his world to its unique, sideways perspective—90 degrees off from the rest of the world.

His arm moved gracefully, like water flowing, as it descended.

The arm angle matched perfectly with his memory of that life-changing game.

As the ball left his fingertips, a puff of rosin powder trailed behind it.

Underhand pitchers thrived on maximizing spin, producing extreme movement that deceived hitters.

The ball, though gripped simply, danced unpredictably as it approached. It seemed to float as it darted toward the catcher, who instinctively raised his mitt slightly.

A small smile crept across Cha Sihwan’s face.

It was the kind of pitch he rarely managed to throw—one he hoped would catch the manager’s eye.

But before he could relish the moment, the batter’s bat whipped forward with vicious speed, connecting with the ball.

CRACK!

The deafening sound of the hit sent a shiver down his spine.

Turning quickly, he saw the ball slicing foul far from the foul pole. Only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding.

When he looked back at the batter, he saw the man slightly gaping in surprise, muttering something under his breath.

It’s been a while since I was late on a pitch…

Cha Sihwan let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

I’m the one who’s shocked here…

It had been the best pitch he’d thrown in years. But not only had the batter made contact, he’d sent it flying for a foul home run.

So this is the first-team level…

For a moment, the weight of the challenge ahead felt suffocating.

“Pull yourself together, Cha Sihwan.”

He slapped his face lightly and muttered to himself.

Despite the flawless pitch, it was still a foul ball—a strike. He had the advantage.

He pitched again, praying for control.

“Ball!”

The batter didn’t swing, but not because the pitch fooled him. The ball missed the strike zone by a mile.

Gritting his teeth, Cha Sihwan tried again.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

“Ball!”

This time, it sailed low and outside, far from where he intended.

Please… just once… Let me get it right!

But his prayers went unanswered.

“Ball!”

“Ball!”

Cha Sihwan ended up walking the batter.

Except for the one near-perfect pitch, his control had been disastrous. Even then, the batter had easily turned it into a foul home run.

Before he could dwell too much, he noticed the manager walking toward the mound.

This is it…

Cha Sihwan hung his head, clenching his teeth.

What should he do now?

Wait to be cut? Or swallow his pride and beg the coach for another chance?

“Pack your things,” the manager said firmly.

Desperation blinded him. Pride forgotten, Cha Sihwan spoke in a trembling voice.

“Please… Please give me a little more time. I won’t be stubborn anymore! Trade me if you have to—I’ll throw harder and fake my way through! Just please… don’t cut me!”

The manager tilted his head, genuinely confused.

“What are you talking about? Why would I release you?”

Cha Sihwan blinked in disbelief.

“But you said to pack my things…”

“I meant pack for Sajik Stadium. I’ll work with you myself… if you’re willing to listen.”

The manager patted his shoulder, flashing a mischievous grin.

“Unless you don’t want to?”

The teasing tone made Cha Sihwan shake his head frantically, his voice bursting out.

“No, sir! I’ll work harder than ever!”

Even as the manager turned and walked off, Cha Sihwan kept bowing deeply, his voice cracking with gratitude.

When the manager reached the coach, he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“You too. Pack your things.”

The coach’s eyes lit up with hope.

“Am I going to Sajik too?”

“No, you’re going home.”

“Wait, what…?”

The coach’s expression crumbled, but the manager kept walking, unbothered.

Cha Sihwan’s underhand pitch brought a lot of thoughts to mind.

He might be the “breakout star” I’d been looking for, and underhand pitchers are rare gems.

At first, I considered deliberately missing to encourage him.

But as soon as he threw, my instincts took over.

That pitch was too tempting to resist.

Though his control faltered after the first pitch, that one moment showed his potential.

I’m glad he’s moving to the first team.

As I was leaving, I felt a hand grab my arm.

“Cha Tae-hyun! Please, wait!”

Cha Sihwan was running after me, panting heavily.

“Thank you… Truly, thank you. If it weren’t for you…”

His voice cracked as tears welled up in his eyes.

Eventually, he broke down, sobbing openly.

The raw emotion in his voice was heart-wrenching.

I waited for him to calm down, then spoke.

“See you at Sajik, Sihwan.”

At those words, his face lit up.

As I got into the manager’s car, I glanced back.

Cha Sihwan was standing at the exit of the second-team stadium, waving furiously.

Back in Sajik, the first pre-season game between the Busan Phoenix and the Daejeon Volcanoes was set to begin, and the stadium was packed to capacity.

For most teams, having such a turnout for a pre-season game would be unusual. But for Busan, it was just another day.

“Why do people keep coming to watch the Phoenix play? They’ve been last place for years,” one fan from another team once asked.

But the answer wasn’t complicated.

“Busan people just love baseball.”

Even if the team’s record had been abysmal for years, it didn’t matter. For the locals, going to the stadium was a way of life.

Still, today’s crowd wasn’t just here out of habit. There was a buzz of hope in the air.

“This year feels different, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, with all the new players and even the coaching staff shaken up, I think they might actually pull it off this time.”

The Phoenix’s bold moves in the offseason had reignited optimism among fans.

However, when the starting pitcher for today’s game was announced, a mix of excitement and concern rippled through the crowd.

“Ah… It’s Lee Rowoon starting today.”

“Seriously? Rowoon isn’t exactly reliable. Why not just start with Suho?”

Lee Rowoon wasn’t a bad pitcher—he had moments of brilliance. But his inconsistency earned him the nickname “Hae Rowoon” (Harmful Rowoon).

Still, those doubting Rowoon didn’t know how determined he was today.

On the mound, Lee Rowoon’s gaze was steely. He muttered to himself as he began his windup, “Can’t let my new partner down.”

With a fluid motion, he unleashed a high-speed fastball that slammed into the catcher’s mitt with a loud pop!

“Strike!”

The umpire’s call was followed by the display board lighting up: 151 km/h.

“Whoa… Did Rowoon just hit 151?”

“I thought his fastball topped out at 145!”

It was clear Rowoon was throwing at his absolute best today.

In the infield, I could feel the intensity radiating from Rowoon’s pitches. His form was sharper than usual, and his focus was unshakable.

Still, baseball is unpredictable.

A sharp grounder came barreling toward second base, the kind of hit that could rattle even a solid infield.

But I dove for the ball without hesitation, extending my glove as far as I could.

The ball smacked into my glove, and without wasting a second, I used the momentum to flick it toward Andy at first base.

“Out!”

Andy caught it barehanded, pivoted, and fired it back to second.

“Out!”

We’d completed a double play, snuffing out what could’ve been a game-changing moment for the Volcanoes.

“Whoa! Tae-hyun! That was amazing! Almost as good as kimchi-pizza-tang-su-yuk!”

Andy’s bizarre compliment caught me off guard, but I gave him a thumbs-up and a grin.

From the mound, Rowoon was grinning too.

“I knew you had my back, Ai-bo!” he shouted, pumping his fist.

Ai-bo?

I sighed. Rowoon’s enthusiasm was something else. I just hoped his performance stayed consistent.

Later in the game, it was time for the Phoenix to take the plate. As I stepped up to bat, I noticed the opposing pitcher, a seasoned veteran known for his precision.

He started with a curveball, which I watched sail by without swinging.

“Strike!”

The umpire’s call didn’t faze me. I studied his movements, waiting for my moment.

On the next pitch, I spotted a fastball coming my way—right in my sweet spot.

CRACK!

The ball soared through the air, clearing the outfield fence with ease.

“Home run!”

The roar of the crowd was deafening as I rounded the bases.

This year really did feel different.