The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 130

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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 130
An underground research laboratory where cutting-edge AI pitching systems were flawlessly implemented.
Yet no matter how perfectly the machinery replicated the pitches of Major League aces without a single margin of error,
finding the perfect batting form to counter them was an entirely different matter.
The reason was simple and clear.
My body had been completely recreated anew with an additional 10kg of combat-compressed muscle.
The stride of my feet, the timing of my hip rotation—all had to be adjusted to match my transformed physical balance.
Even the height of both hands gripping the bat had to be calibrated down to the millimeter to fully transfer my explosive power to the ball.
It was as if among tens of thousands of possibilities, I had to find
the single combination that fit me perfectly—a horrifying task of pure instinct, like headbutting the ground to find the answer.
Yet even in this relentless environment,
on my third day of training, I stood in the Batter’s Box for ten hours daily, swinging the bat like a madman.
My palms had blistered, split open, and white tape was stained crimson with blood, but
“Huff. Huff.”
I never stepped down from the Batter’s Box, breathing heavily.
Ethan, watching my stubbornly relentless training through the monitor, finally couldn’t hold back and clicked his tongue.
“Man. This guy is really something.”
Alex, typing at the keyboard beside him, nodded as if it were obvious.
“That’s exactly why he managed to survive alone in that brutal Minor League Baseball world.”
“But on the other hand, it’s really unfortunate.”
“In what way?”
Ethan crossed his arms and tracked my swing trajectory in the Batter’s Box with a sharp gaze.
“I saw your swing on the first day, remember? The raw power in your contact is solid, but the way your body moves while finding form is definitely off. Honestly speaking… it feels like you’ve never professionally learned proper, systematic batting fundamentals even once.”
Ethan’s analysis struck at the core with perfect accuracy.
American Baseball has a brilliantly refined system that finds the proper form for each player from youth, tailored to their physique and characteristics.
But what about my past?
As an orphan, I never even dreamed of expensive private lessons and instead relied entirely on self-teaching to pursue baseball.
Of course, I went through middle school and High School baseball teams in Korea and trained in the KBO Minor League,
but no coach ever carefully tailored a custom-fit suit perfectly suited to me as a raw gem.
In other words, I had been playing baseball all this time wearing ill-fitting, uncomfortable ready-made clothes that belonged to someone else.
Unable to unleash my explosive power at full capacity.
Burdened with that horrifyingly inconvenient and absurd handicap.
‘And yet I never gave up and clawed my way here.’
In Ethan and Alex’s eyes, I had transcended being a stubborn pest and become a true monster.
But for precisely that reason, now that I had to rebuild my form from the ground up, I was bleeding myself dry struggling like this.
If I had ever learned a proper batting form tailored perfectly to me from childhood, even just once, systematically,
I wouldn’t be flailing and wandering aimlessly like this now.
“Ah, but among your swing data, there was one instance where a proper form appeared. The balance was quite decent on that one, but unfortunately, it was still the wrong fit to contain your fierce explosive power.”
The form Ethan mentioned was the batting technique I had learned from John Coach at the Private Academy I visited with Mark when I first arrived in the United States.
As you can tell from this,
Ethan could see which swing was correct.
It was a moment that revealed why he was a true genius.
However, John Coach’s fundamentals were excellent.
Yet even that was subtly misaligned to fully unleash my true potential.
As Ethan quietly analyzed my swing, he soon let out a hollow laugh.
“Well, thinking about it the other way around, it’s absolutely insane. You made it onto the Dodgers’ 40-Man Roster without hesitation while wearing that uncomfortable, ill-fitting suit that doesn’t even match your body. I’m telling you, our Dodgers really do have an eye for talent.”
“Is that your boast?”
Ethan shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, a little. I proved that eye for talent with results by getting called up directly to the Major League in just one year and three months, didn’t I?”
A call-up in just one year and three months.
Ethan Cross had shattered the Major League’s intricate Minor League verification system, and there was no denying he was an overwhelmingly brilliant genius worthy of dropped jaws.
Ethan, who laughed while shamelessly acknowledging his own genius, subtly turned his head toward Alex.
“By the way, is it okay if I give that stubborn guy some coaching tips?”
Alex grinned as if he’d been expecting this.
“That’s why I called you down here.”
“What? I thought you were giving me special coaching so I’d perform better in the Major League next season?”
“Of course that’s a bonus too. You were an interesting research subject after all.”
“Ugh, how disappointing. The organization’s top authority used me, and now my motivation to train is draining away. But whatever.”
Even as he grumbled, Ethan’s gaze returned to me, dripping with sweat at the batter’s box.
A genuine smile spread across his lips.
“I really like that guy. That stubborn, ignorant tenacity of his is actually inspiring me quite a bit from the sidelines.”
Geniuses.
Elites don’t just receive—they don’t think about stopping there.
Ethan seemed to be learning something from me.
That’s why he pushed back from the chair in front of the monitor and strode toward me, breathing heavily.
“Want to talk for a bit?”
* * *
Outside the Underground Research Laboratory.
The cool January night air of Los Angeles cooled the heat radiating from our sweat-soaked bodies.
Soo-ho and Ethan leaned their backs against the shabby brick building’s exterior wall, catching their breath.
In fact, this was the first time the two of us had stood face-to-face alone since our first meeting.
Despite being in the same space all this time, there had been virtually no conversation or connection between us.
The reason was simple and clear.
I had been trapped in painstaking mechanism correction with Alex, unable to step away from the batter’s box.
Ethan, already a finished product, was focused solely on practical batting practice to bombard the Major League next season.
Since our training methods and progress were completely different, there was no reason to coordinate with each other.
But today.
When I finally received the ultimate mechanism implant and entered practical training facing the AI system to find my batting form just like him.
An intersection finally formed between us.
Moreover, the reason I readily followed Ethan’s call without hesitation was clear.
‘That was truly incredible.’
Though he’d been dying while fine-tuning his mechanism down to the millimeter.
Still, during every break, he couldn’t help but absorb the sight of Ethan’s phenomenal swing erupting from the batter’s box right beside him.
No, the crack of the bat sounded so much like cannon fire that he couldn’t avoid watching even if he wanted to.
‘Now that the year has changed, he’s no longer a reserve—he’s a genuine Major Leaguer joining the Big League roster immediately.’
That’s why Soo-ho had followed him out here to learn.
Of course, he’d encountered similarly overwhelming talent last year as well.
Victor Moretti of the Yankees.
But he was a pitcher standing on the Mound, whereas Ethan was a batter standing in the exact same Batter’s Box as Soo-ho.
In other words, throughout his entire baseball career, Ethan was the first Major League batter Soo-ho had ever observed up close.
And that spectacle was devastatingly overwhelming.
The bat speed that seemed to obliterate the ball, the trajectory that split the air, the smoothness of drawing power from his lower body—
He felt acutely the existence of an unbridgeable chasm between his current self and Ethan.
‘Maybe this is what it would feel like if Casey became a complete being without a single flaw?’
Back in his Low-A days, Soo-ho had genuinely envied Casey, who possessed talent that seemed divinely bestowed.
But the Ethan standing before him now, leaning against his back—
Was far superior and more immense than the Casey he’d so desperately admired.
Of course, since Ethan was three years older than Casey, the physical age difference and years of experience couldn’t be ignored.
But at least the batting he was displaying right now—
Showed the very limit of explosive power as a batter that Soo-ho could imagine.
As Soo-ho glanced up at Ethan’s broad shoulders, suppressing admiration and hunger to learn deep within—
Ethan, who had been gazing quietly into the void, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
Click.
A lighter flame sparked, cutting through the darkness of the quiet Back Alley.
The moment the long drag of smoke dispersed into the night air—
The figure leaning against the dimly lit brick wall, smoking—
Was like a classic black-and-white film Hollywood heartthrob who’d stepped right out of the screen.
If not for the baseball uniform, an air of such ease and decadence flowed that a camera could be thrust at him without hesitation.
Ethan glanced at Soo-ho, then spoke as if tossing words aside.
“If you keep swinging like you are now, you’ll never find your batting form, not in a lifetime.”
Soo-ho’s eyes widened at the blunt remark.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said. Right now in the Batter’s Box, you’re way too complicated. You’re trying to implement that perfect mechanism Alex instilled in you at 100 percent, assembling everything piece by piece in your head—your foot spacing, your hand position, your hip angle.”
It was accurate.
Soo-ho had absorbed Alex’s theory like a sponge.
And he’d been constantly conscious, fitting his posture together to turn it into perfect form.
“Why is that a problem? Isn’t that a necessary step to develop proper form?”
At Soo-ho’s earnest rebuttal, Ethan chuckled and tapped ash from his cigarette.
“Sure, when you’re correcting your mechanism, that’s right. But now you’re at the stage of finding your batting form. You’re trying to force your swollen muscles and joints into the answer key you’ve drawn in your head, so it feels suffocating. No matter how many thousands of times you swing like that, it’s meaningless.”
Ethan lightly tapped Soo-ho’s chest with his finger.
“Baseball isn’t mathematics. Don’t construct your form in your head first and then force your body to match it. Do the opposite.”
“The opposite?”
“Yeah. Just stand in the Batter’s Box however feels most natural to you. Find that basic stance where your swollen muscles and body feel completely relaxed and at ease—forget about form aesthetics entirely. Just search for the natural posture where your body can explosively unleash its maximum power most comfortably.”
A spark of clarity ignited in my mind.
All this time, I had predetermined a “perfect form” as the correct answer and controlled my body to match that shape.
But Ethan’s advice was crystal clear.
Don’t construct your stance first—find the result where the bat moves fastest and strongest from the most comfortable state.
“That comfortable stance you naturally fall into? If you can hit the ball hardest from there, that’s the most perfect batting form in the world for you. Form isn’t something you force together—it naturally solidifies into your body’s best possible result. Of course, it’ll be different from your original form.”
There wasn’t a single word of complicated baseball theory or complex biomechanical terminology.
It was purely the simple, intuitive advice of a genius batter who had learned through rolling around in the Batter’s Box with his body.
But that short, direct statement was enough to instantly break through the blockage that had choked me for the past three days.
‘Don’t match my body to the answer—find the answer from the most comfortable stance.’
I looked down at my hands and clenched my fists tightly.
For the first time, I felt a clear sense of how to handle these swollen, unfamiliar muscles.
“…I’m truly grateful. But why would you give me such advice?”
It was my honest question.
In truth, Ethan Cross wasn’t someone I’d spent long years going through thick and thin with, like Casey or Mark.
We’d only sweated together in the Underground Research Laboratory for a few days.
Today was actually the first time we’d had a proper conversation.
Most importantly, there was a clear difference in status between us.
Ethan was a confirmed Major Leaguer who would step onto the Big League stage starting next season, while I was still a Minor League player.
Though I had made the 40-Man Roster, certainly.
If I fell behind in the fierce Spring Training competition, I might never even get my name on the 26-Man Active Roster in my entire career—a precarious position.
Moreover, this was the off-season, when everyone was acutely tense before the upcoming season.
Ethan too had been called up with the title of elite prospect.
But if he failed to produce results immediately upon entering the Major League, he could drop back to the Minor League at any time.
In this brutal period when everyone was scrambling to fend for themselves, why would he spare his precious time and expertise to advise a complete stranger?
That was never common in the thoroughly individualistic American Baseball system.
To my deep question, Ethan stubbed out his cigarette on the ground and answered indifferently.
“Just for myself. If you find your form quickly and come up swinging, then I’ll have someone to spar with properly.”
It wasn’t mere lip service.
It was the manifestation of a ruthless competitive spirit—the understanding that only by having a powerful and perfect partner beside him pushing him to his limits could even an overwhelmingly talented genius like himself leap one step higher.
In other words, Ethan had recognized me not as a pitiful Minor League player deserving instruction, but as a worthy sparring partner.
Stimulated by that arrogant yet confident answer, a faint smile spread across my face.
I wanted to rush to the Batter’s Box right then and grip the bat.
‘I need to find the perfect batting form as soon as possible.’
Because I wanted to grow into a true complete player who could be a real stimulus and help to that genius Major Leaguer.
“Then I’ll head inside first.”
I nodded briskly and turned without hesitation, striding purposefully toward the Underground Research Laboratory.
Watching my solid, unwavering back, Ethan chuckled and called out behind me.
“Hey! Next time, talk more casually with me! I graduated college before coming here, so we’re the same age, right?”
Without even turning around, I gave a casual wave before disappearing completely down the dark staircase.
The moment I vanished from Ethan’s sight, a thick smile spread across his face as he leaned against the wall.
He silently chewed over the question I had just thrown at him.
‘Why am I doing this?’
It was certainly true that it was for the sake of having a perfect training partner.
But the real reason Ethan had approached me with such honeyed advice stemmed from something far more pragmatic and calculated.
‘That crazy bastard will inevitably break through the Dodgers’ Major League roster before long.’
He would stand alongside me in the batter’s box at Dodger Stadium.
That extraordinary talent who absorbed the ultimate mechanism Alex had perfected like a sponge in just two weeks.
Why would he bother keeping his distance from such a monster and act stiffly?
If this was a certain future teammate who would share the same pot of rice with him in the massive jungle of the Major League and ruthlessly devour countless pitchers.
‘Then it’s absolutely advantageous to build harmony and grow close from right now.’
Ethan felt a pleasant thrill at my fierce talent and shoved his hand into his pocket.
‘So now that it’s come to this, should I help you properly?’

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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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