The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 1
The Stadium in the scorching heat of a midsummer afternoon, where the blazing sun shimmered relentlessly across the grass.
The stands were empty, and even the wind held its breath.
Only one person broke the silence.
It was Soo-ho, standing alone at home plate, sweat pouring down like a waterfall as he swung his bat.
“Just one more… Please, just one more…!”
The murmur continued to leak from between his lips. His elbows and shoulders trembled as if they had reached their limit.
Yet his eyes still burned with an unquenchable flame.
One swing. Then another.
Every muscle in his body screamed in agony, but Soo-ho did not stop.
“If I can’t endure even this…!”
Gasping for breath, I muttered to myself and resumed my batting stance.
I concentrated all my strength into the tips of my fingers gripping the bat.
Even through the bone-shattering pain that wracked my entire body, I swung.
Baseball was everything to me.
For me, it was not merely a sport.
It was the reason I breathed, the only purpose for which I lived.
With no family and no friends, baseball was the only thing that never betrayed me.
It was the sole hope that sustained me in the filthy Back Alley and in the cold rooms of the Orphanage.
The bat I had swung without rest since childhood, the countless balls I had thrown, the endless running routes I had covered.
Thanks to that relentless effort, I was able to join a Professional Baseball Team as a first-round draft pick.
People called it a miracle.
But that miracle soon transformed into the harsh reality of limitations once I entered the Professional Baseball World.
―Your talent is insufficient.
―You freeze up the moment you step into the batter’s box.
―Your hits lack power. With that swing, you’ll never become a first-team batter.
Countless coaches, teammates, and experts delivered their cold assessments.
The media that once praised me as an orphan success story now mocked me.
But I could not accept it.
I could not accept the truth. I refused to believe my talent was lacking.
That is why I was here now, gritting my teeth and swinging my bat.
Just as I had always done—if I was lacking, I would simply do more.
I would break through any limit with effort and overcome it.
That is why, even on this holiday when other players enjoyed their rest, I stood alone at home plate.
Beneath the scorching sun, I repeated my training obsessively, as if punishing myself.
But then it happened.
From the Dugout of the empty 2nd Team Baseball Stadium, a familiar voice called out.
A voice that was once welcome, but now filled me with dread.
“Soo-ho. Come here for a moment.”
At the sound of Choi Chulmin’s voice—the 2nd Team Director—my entire body went rigid.
‘Why would the director call me on a day off like this….’
It couldn’t be good news. My chest grew heavy in an instant, and a sense of foreboding spread through me.
But there was no way to ignore his summons.
I took a slow breath, gripped my sweat-soaked uniform in my fist, and approached the director with measured steps.
“Yes. You called for me?”
My voice carried an unmistakable undercurrent of anxiety.
I followed Choi Chulmin to the Director’s Office.
Choi Chulmin handed me a bottle of water and spoke.
“Have a seat there, make yourself comfortable.”
I accepted the water and sat across from him.
In that moment, Choi Chulmin released a heavy sigh.
“Soo-ho. You know why I came looking for you on a day off, don’t you?”
My eyebrows twitched involuntarily.
“I’m not sure, sir.”
I wasn’t a mind reader—how could I possibly know what he was thinking?
The truth was, I had a feeling I knew exactly what Director Choi Chulmin was about to say.
But I decided to play dumb.
No—I had to play dumb.
Because I could sense that unbearable news was coming.
Choi Chulmin sighed once more.
What came next from his lips tore through my chest.
“Soo-ho. I’m sorry, but… you’re being released.”
Even though I’d known those words were coming, my pupils trembled violently.
But it didn’t matter. A person’s mind could be changed.
I spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Director, sir. I’ll work harder. Please, just give me one more chance.”
Choi Chulmin shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I want to keep you, but… this time there’s really nothing I can do.”
Choi Chulmin glanced at me briefly, then shook his head firmly.
“It’s unfortunate, but this time it’s the general manager’s orders. And you know as well as I do—our club’s situation isn’t good right now.”
Choi Chulmin tossed a newspaper onto the desk in front of me as if discarding it.
I looked at the article on the front page of the newspaper.
[Gangwon Hawks in Crisis. Drawing the Blade.]
-Seven consecutive last-place finishes. This time, a complete overhaul from players to front office.
The rest of the article detailed how they were cutting all unnecessary 2nd Team players.
I clenched my teeth hard.
“Was there any mention of a trade…?”
My voice was barely a whisper. A sliver of hope—perhaps someone else might need me.
But the answer that came back was brutally decisive.
“I’m sorry. I tried to pull some strings, but there’s no club that wants you….”
My heart sank.
More precisely, my heart shattered, and its fragments embedded themselves throughout my entire body.
No one wanted me.
That single fact left my mind reeling. My ears went numb and my breath caught in my throat.
In that moment, strangely, countless images of swinging a bat flooded back to me.
Those nights when I stayed awake, crying as I swung.
Those days when blood would burst from my hands, yet I’d tape them up and swing again.
‘All of that… it only created a player no one wants.’
Soo-ho’s eyes reddened.
But I couldn’t give up like this.
“Director, please… just let me meet with the general manager once.”
It was a reckless request.
A mere 2nd team player—worse, one who’d been released—asking for a private audience with the general manager.
Soo-ho knew it was impossible even as I blurted it out. But I was that desperate.
And yet, as expected.
“Do you really think that makes sense?”
“P-please, sir. You know my situation. I’ll work harder. This time, I’ll give everything—truly everything.”
Choi Chulmin shot up from his seat and stepped toward Soo-ho.
Then he forcefully seized my wrist and lifted it up.
“You. Open your palm.”
I slowly unfurled my palm.
Choi Chulmin squeezed his eyes shut and shook my wrist.
“Look at this…”
My palm was nothing short of ruins.
No laborer, not even those who spent their days hauling steel reinforcement at construction sites, possessed hands like these.
Callus upon callus had accumulated in layers—skin that had endlessly split, burst, and hardened from gripping and swinging a bat.
New calluses formed atop old ones, and still more layered over those.
They resembled the ancient bark of a tree that had weathered eons.
Choi Chulmin stared at that palm in silence for a long moment, then spoke in a hollow voice.
His tone began softly but settled into something resolute and final.
“You’ve done enough. You’ve worked hard—truly, I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as you do. Not a single person! But you’re still in the 2nd team, and you know it yourself. With your talent, you’ll never make it to the 1st team. You know that…”
My talent was insufficient.
Of course, I possessed enough talent to enter professional baseball, but the Professional Baseball World was a gathering of talents that far surpassed anything I could offer.
Choi Chulmin’s eyes held sympathy and regret, but the cold reality he couldn’t quite express in words finally poured out through his voice.
“Is that all? You come out early every morning, don’t you? Four hours earlier than everyone else to warm up. And after practice ends… I know you swing the bat for another two hours before going home. And it’s not just me who knows—everyone knows!”
My shoulders began to tremble slightly.
Without realizing it, my fists clenched, and the calluses on my palms dug in painfully once more.
Choi Chulmin pressed on, struggling with his words.
“And another thing—I know that after practice, you analyze the better players. I’ve even heard you study the habits of major league players. Soo-ho, that’s effort. What you do is real effort…”
Choi Chulmin’s voice grew quieter and quieter.
A suffocating desperation and sorrow welled up in the corner of my chest, beyond words to describe.
“But honestly, what’s your strength? Superior base-running ability earned through blood and sweat? Speed? Are you going to live your whole career as a backup runner? Fine, your defense is decent. So what, you’ll just play defense as a backup?”
Choi Chulmin clenched his teeth hard.
“If you’re a batter, you have to hit. Whether you’re a backup runner or backup defender, you can’t make it to the majors without getting on base and hitting.”
My heart was torn to shreds all over again.
I had worked harder than anyone, wanted it more desperately than anyone, and all I got in return was the word useless.
But I couldn’t refute it. It was the truth.
Hitting, batting eye—the fundamental qualities a batter needed. I didn’t have them.
It wasn’t like this before I joined Professional Baseball.
I was once excellent enough to win MVP at the Cheongryong Cup.
This must have started after I joined Professional Baseball, but who could I blame?
My abilities, my talent—they simply fell short.
Choi Chulmin looked directly at me and delivered his verdict.
“Soo-ho. The Professional Baseball World is cold. It’s not a place that feeds you on emotion alone.”
Those final words drove through my heart like a nail.
“That’s why I’m sorry. You’re being released.”
With those words, my world collapsed entirely.
Baseball—the game I’d staked my entire life on, the one I’d believed would never betray me—had finally abandoned me.
Cold and merciless.
* * *
After gathering my things from the Locker Room, I looked around.
Twenty-four years old. I’d been here for five years, so it was hard to leave this place that had become like home.
“Sigh….”
A breath escaped me.
But what was this? That sigh carried no despair in it.
Could it be relief then?
No. A person who’d been abandoned shouldn’t feel relief.
I hunched my shoulders.
“Ugh. Every bone aches….”
The Director had beaten me that hard. I knew he wasn’t normally such a harsh man.
Quite the opposite—he was endlessly warm and affectionate.
‘If anything, it’s because the Director was here that I could stay another year.’
So I didn’t resent him. Rather, I was grateful he’d shown me reality.
If someone could read my thoughts, they might call me insane.
But I wasn’t insane at all.
My world had certainly collapsed. But my greatest strength—positivity—remained.
If I let go of even this….
I felt like I’d truly become a completely useless person in this world.
“Shake it off. I can live well enough. Oh Soo-ho.”
I comforted myself. And to truly shake it off, I forced the corners of my mouth up with all my strength.
“I’ve cultivated such a strong mental foundation precisely because mental management is so critical for a baseball player… Thank goodness for that.”
At least it proved useful in some way.
But then again….
Even I was merely human. My chest ached and throbbed. I thought I’d be fine, but I wasn’t fine at all.
Why was that? I should shake it off and move forward to find a new life.
The fortunate thing was that I understood the reason.
‘This lingering attachment. How relentless it is.’
It clung to me with no intention of letting go.
If I left this place without any plan… I felt I would distance myself from baseball forever.
But I didn’t want that. I’d done it my entire life.
And I’m still young. I don’t have to give up yet.
‘Baseball… Should I try just a little longer?’
No. Let me try one more time. Just one final time.
It’s over in Korea. No one wants me here.
But I slowly lifted my head.
Beyond the Locker Room stretched a vast sky.
And beneath this sky, Korea wasn’t the only nation where baseball thrived.
‘The United States exists.’
The country that loves baseball most.
‘Why not make my final desperate attempt in the birthplace of the sport?’
Now that I was a free agent, I needed no one’s interference.
So this wasn’t fleeing in disgrace—I was going to challenge myself one last time.
‘And who knows? If I learn baseball from its birthplace, perhaps I too….’
I had never complained to anyone all this time, but truthfully, I collapsed the moment I joined Professional Baseball.
―To survive in the Professional league, you must abandon your current swing and adopt a new approach.
After hearing the hitting coach’s words, I began to lose myself.
A new batting form, a new rhythm.
None of it suited my body.
My contact quality dulled progressively. My batting feel and pitch recognition disappeared along with it.
Yet I never doubted myself.
Because I’d seen seniors succeed with that method.
I’d witnessed it with my own eyes.
So I simply believed the Professional Baseball World’s wall was too high. I thought only that I was lacking.
Of course, I didn’t just sit idle either.
I analyzed Major League hitters every night.
I wanted to learn their mechanics and acquire their techniques.
I believed that if I could do that, I could change too.
But I didn’t know how.
Even after analyzing Major Leaguers all night, I only knew the answer existed somewhere.
I couldn’t find the path to reach it.
It wasn’t a problem that could be solved through effort alone.
The mechanics of power transfer—the very flower of batting—proved far more intricate than I had imagined.
No one had ever shown me the answer to ‘how it should be done.’
So I simply accepted it in silence, believing it was my own shortcoming.
‘They say the United States tailors everything to the player.’
So perhaps….
Soo-ho let out a quiet laugh.
‘Well. Honestly, apart from that, the odds of success are pretty slim anyway.’
Because even domestically.
And especially in the 2nd Team, my performance has been dismal—could I really succeed in the far more competitive United States?
Such cases were extremely rare. No, they didn’t exist. I knew this well.
‘Players who excelled in Korea succeeded when they went to the United States.’
Players who failed never succeeded.
‘But even if I fail, that’s fine.’
I’ve already failed once, so failing again wouldn’t change anything.
And only by doing this could I finally let go of the lingering attachment that still clung to me.
Right now, I simply wanted to play baseball a little longer.
But I wasn’t challenging myself just because I wanted to play baseball.
If that were the case, I could do it as a hobby instead of as a professional.
‘I want to succeed in baseball.’
So I’ll create a precedent.
Baseball has always been written with new records, and someone must be the first to walk a path that never existed before.
I believed I still had the right to stand on that path.
Even if I hadn’t earned recognition from others until now.
Even if the world crumbled, I had to believe in myself.
Without challenging myself, the possibility is zero, but if I do challenge myself, even if it’s infinitesimal, the possibility isn’t nonexistent.
“Let’s go to the United States.”
This wasn’t an escape. It was my final and most passionate act of defiance.
I etched it firmly into my own heart.
‘If it doesn’t work out after this, I’ll quit cleanly.’
At that moment, I didn’t know.
That this choice—born perhaps from mere greed and lingering attachment—would transform my entire life.
And this was.
The fortune and destiny that only those who never gave up could possess.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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