The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 107

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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 107
A short sigh escaped the Caster’s lips as he sat in the Broadcast Booth.
He double-checked the monitor, as if doubting his own eyes.
[Wow… what exactly did I just see?]
The Commentator let out a hollow laugh and shook his head.
[It’s absolutely ridiculous.]
[No, the count was 3-0. And the pitch was a tempting ball that dropped low. Normally, a batter would throw down the bat and walk to First Base, wouldn’t they?]
[Exactly. Swinging in that situation is a play where you’d have to be prepared to get chewed out by the Coach. And this isn’t even the regular season—it’s the Playoff semifinals. This is a razor’s edge of a stage where a single mistake leads to elimination.]
The Caster couldn’t contain his excitement and raised his voice.
[But there was no hesitation. He swung as naturally as if a strike had come in. Does this player have a heart made of steel? Doesn’t he feel nervous at all?]
[Ha ha. It’s not just a steel heart—he seems to be genuinely enjoying baseball.]
The Commentator clicked his tongue and continued.
[Technically speaking, bad-ball hitters like that aren’t completely unheard of. There was a legendary player like Vladimir Guerrero. But that’s ultimately the domain of geniuses whose hitting is close to instinct.]
[Then what did Oh Soo-ho just demonstrate?]
[The instinct of a genius, and more. With an absolutely favorable count of 3-0, he abandoned the safe path of a walk and deliberately chose the difficult path to produce a result. This is a message to the opposing pitcher.]
[A message?]
[Yes. Don’t run away. You’re already in the palm of my hand. It’s silent pressure like that.]
[Ah! His influence in today’s game is truly remarkable! He’s truly a Polstar MVP!]
[He’s definitely leveled up. But it’s unfortunate.]
[What aspect is that?]
[The opposing Scorpions. It’s only the second inning right now.]
Today, Soo-ho was undeniably insane in the best way possible.
His performance was only just beginning.
* * *
Soo-ho, unsatisfied with merely a home run and a single, dominated the Ground like it was his own living room.
On defense, he was an impenetrable fortress.
In his third at-bat, he unleashed a crisp double down the Right-Center Field, truly flying across the diamond.
As a result, the batting order moved swiftly.
Top of the seventh inning. He was getting his fourth at-bat relatively early—something that would normally come in the eighth or ninth inning.
Just as Soo-ho was gathering his equipment to head to the On-Deck Circle.
Mark approached and suddenly grabbed both of Soo-ho’s hands.
Like a shaman channeling spiritual energy, or a devout believer offering an earnest prayer, he opened his eyes wide and transmitted his energy.
“Please! God! Bless him!”
It was a characteristically American cheer, lighthearted and exaggerated.
Soo-ho tilted his head in confusion.
“What are you doing?”
But Mark, satisfied, patted him on the rear and stepped back.
Yet that wasn’t the end of it.
Casey came shuffling over next.
His usual stoic expression remained unchanged.
But his actions told a different story.
Like Mark, he squeezed Soo-ho’s hands firmly.
“I believe in you.”
“Believe in what?”
Soo-ho asked in return, but Mark, watching from behind, brought a finger to his lips and made a zipping motion across his mouth.
Casey’s frustration was evident—his face flushed red and purple.
The hand gripping Soo-ho’s shoulder trembled visibly.
It seemed he was on the verge of an internal explosion, torn between wanting to speak and knowing he shouldn’t.
“Ugh. No. Never mind.”
Finally, Casey released a long sigh and gave Soo-ho’s shoulder a light tap instead.
His obvious frustration only deepened Soo-ho’s curiosity.
“What? Why is everyone acting like this? Just tell me.”
That’s when an oblivious, cheerful voice cut through.
“Hey! Soo-ho! One more triple and you’ve got a cycle!”
It was Liam.
The moment his innocent shout echoed through the Dugout.
Mark and Casey’s expressions changed instantly.
Mark’s face darkened with murderous intent as he grabbed a bat beside him.
“Hey! You bastard! Get over here!”
Casey’s eyes blazed with fury as he raised the baseball in his hand, ready to drive it straight into Liam’s forehead.
“I’m going to sew that mouth shut….”
Faced with such a bloodthirsty atmosphere, Liam yelped and stumbled backward, and only then did Soo-ho understand.
“Ah….”
American Baseball has an ancient unwritten rule.
When a player is on the verge of a historic achievement—a no-hitter, a perfect game, or a cycle—you must never mention that record.
Jinxing is a guaranteed loss.
There exists a superstition, not quite a superstition, that the moment you speak it aloud, fate turns against you and the record shatters.
That’s why his teammates had kept their mouths sealed shut, desperate to keep Soo-ho unaware and terrified that loose talk might chase away his luck.
But Liam had blurted it out for all to hear.
“That tactless idiot!”
As the Desert Dogs players moved to chase Liam down, Soo-ho chuckled softly and stopped them.
“Thanks. But don’t be too hard on Liam.”
Soo-ho adjusted his grip on the bat.
I was grateful.
The score was 0-8.
The game was already decided, and advancement to the finals was assured.
No one would fault me for being satisfied and stepping into the batter’s box without much effort.
But my teammates desperately wanted my personal record as if it were their own.
Feeling that sincerity, jinxes and superstitions suddenly seemed irrelevant.
‘A cycle….’
On a day like this, I had the confidence to shake off the ashes no matter who scattered them.
Soo-ho’s eyes gleamed with fierce intensity.
‘Should I give it a shot?’
* * *
Soo-ho walked slowly toward the Batter’s Box.
Just moments ago in the Dugout, I’d flashed a composed smile as if nothing was amiss.
‘Truth be told, until just now I wasn’t particularly moved.’
The game was already decided anyway, and this remaining at-bat felt like a bonus.
Besides, throughout today’s game I’d delivered exceptional performances both in the field and at the plate.
But the moment I stepped into the Batter’s Box and felt the crowd’s attention focus entirely on me.
‘I’m trembling.’
I could feel my heartbeat accelerating gradually.
A strange tension crept up through my fingertips.
It was inevitable.
The stage I stood on now was not some ordinary regular season game.
Autumn baseball.
And specifically, the Playoffs—the gateway to the championship.
‘A cycle hit here….’
If I could actually pull it off?
It wouldn’t simply be adding one more exceptional record to my resume.
I could etch into people’s minds the image of a player who thrives in the biggest moments.
And this record would follow me for the rest of my life.
Far into the future, until the day I debuted in the Major League and eventually retired.
That legendary beginning would be remembered as starting right here, right now—a historic moment.
When that happened, massive gains would follow immediately after the Playoffs ended.
‘They said we’d sign a new contract after the Playoffs.’
Money, resources for growth—everything.
Being with the Los Angeles Dodgers meant I’d receive the finest support possible.
So right now, the situation was ripe for ambition, and tension and excitement coexisted within me.
‘Alright. First, stay calm.’
To seize this critical opportunity, I needed to remain composed.
The only puzzle piece left for me was a triple.
The problem was that a triple is the hardest hit to achieve in baseball.
A home run is actually easier.
With strength and accuracy, you just clear the fence and you’re done.
But a triple is different.
The ball can’t go over the fence, and it can’t be caught by a fielder.
I had to send the ball to the corner where it takes the fielders the longest time to retrieve it.
And the batter had to sprint like a madman to reach third base.
So it required the perfect convergence of not just skill, but luck and speed as well—a record that demanded all three elements to align flawlessly.
‘Still, there are some hopeful signs.’
First, the game was already decided.
The score was 8 to 0.
If the score had been close, the Opposing Battery would have avoided me, given that my hitting form was at its peak today.
With First Base open, an intentional walk would be the standard play.
But with the game already decided, the Opposing Pitcher’s pride wouldn’t allow a walk.
The probability of him coming at me with everything was 100%.
It meant hittable pitches were coming.
‘And I’m grateful I bat left-handed.’
Soo-ho glanced toward the Right Field Fence.
The best route to hit a triple was toward the Right Fielder.
It was the farthest point from Third Base.
For the Right Fielder to catch the ball and throw it to Third Base, he’d have to cut diagonally across the Infield.
That long throw time was the only lifeline that would let me sprint to Third Base.
‘But I need to make solid contact—a line drive. And the ball needs to be hit hard.’
If the ball flew too high, the hang time would be too long, either getting caught or allowing the fielder to reach it quickly even off the Fence.
So I needed a fast, hard-hit ball that pierced through the defenders like a bullet.
Then the answer was clear. To send a strong hit to the right, I couldn’t just push the ball straight.
I had to rotate my hips and pull hard.
‘Inside pitch.’
Soo-ho crowded the Batter’s Box, standing deep inside.
I’d abandon outside pitches.
Only pitches diving deep inside, close to my body.
I’d pull those and bury them in the corner of the Right Field Fence.
Thus, my strategy was crystal clear.
And so the game began.
Vargas, a new Pitcher, took the Mound.
He threw with full force from the first pitch.
Crack!
“Strike!”
A 94-mile fastball coming in tight on the outside.
The Referee’s call rang out loudly.
Though the game’s outcome was already decided, the Pitcher’s demeanor suggested he was wagering on a personal battle for records and pride.
Soo-ho, meanwhile, furrowed his brow.
Even though my hitting form was at its peak today, perhaps it was the pressure of records.
That magical sensation from before—where the ball looked as big as a watermelon or seemed to slow down—had vanished.
It was simply fast and sharp.
The second pitch followed.
Crack!
“Ball!”
A changeup drops toward the ground.
The opposing pitcher was serious too.
There wasn’t a shred of intention to throw anything half-heartedly.
And the third pitch.
Crack!
“Ball!”
The sharply breaking slider fortunately missed the Strike Zone by just a hair.
Ball count 2-1.
The moment I thought I’d gained the advantage, the fourth pitch came flying in.
This time, a high fastball that stole the batter’s vision.
‘Too high.’
But.
Crack!
“Strike!”
The Referee’s hand went up.
Soo-ho felt wronged, but swallowed it down inside.
There was no point in complaining now anyway.
As a result, the count was 2-2.
One more strike and the record would slip away.
My heart began to race wildly.
The pounding was rougher than when I’d faced the first pitch.
Moreover, the inside of my batting gloves was damp with cold sweat, slick enough to slip.
It was proof that I was tense.
And in baseball, tension is always the culprit that gnaws away at your true ability.
Your body stiffens, your vision narrows, your judgment clouds.
But who was Soo-ho?
The very embodiment of positivity.
In that critical moment, my rigid lips suddenly curled upward in a powerful smile.
‘I should be grateful.’
Just standing here isn’t that a miracle?
Being able to play baseball again.
That one fact alone was enough to make my heart swell, yet I’d been strangling myself over a mere record.
Better treatment? Of course it’s desirable. I was human, after all.
‘But that shouldn’t become the goal—it should follow naturally.’
This living sensation of gripping the bat and facing the pitcher right now.
That alone was enough.
‘What if I don’t achieve it today?’
I can do it next time.
‘My baseball career doesn’t end today.’
I’ll do better going forward, and records will pile up as easily as eating rice.
The moment I thought that, my mind inexplicably grew calm.
The dampness clinging to my palms sharpened into clarity, and my racing heart settled into a steady rhythm.
The fateful fifth pitch.
The ball left the Pitcher’s hand, tracing a white arc as it hurtled toward me.
A fastball buried deep on the inside.
Exactly the pitch I’d been waiting for.
This time, there was no complex mechanism of rotating my hips and extending my arms cluttering my mind.
It was simply natural, like water flowing downstream.
Like brushing a line across empty space with a paintbrush.
The bat smoothly enveloped the ball’s trajectory, then explosively sent it rocketing away.
It was a truly elegant swing.
Crack!
The sharp report split the Arizona sky.
The ball shot out like a bullet, piercing past the Right Fielder and rolling all the way to the Fence.
I dropped the bat and sprinted.
My helmet flew off as I rounded First Base toward Second, but I had no time to care.
Wind whipped past my ears, and the crowd’s roar crashed over me like waves.
Third Base loomed into view.
I caught a glimpse of the Right Fielder fielding the ball and throwing it in.
But I didn’t stop.
I threw my body forward.
A head-first slide, kicking up clouds of dust as I dove toward the Base.
The instant my fingertips touched the Base, the Referee’s arms spread wide to the sides.
“Safe!”
The moment the cycle was complete.

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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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