The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 132

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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 132
Soo-ho’s hands trembled faintly as he stepped away from the Batter’s Box.
It wasn’t mere fatigue.
For the first time since he’d taken up baseball, he’d grasped a perfect swing that fit him completely—and the electric thrill of that realization coursed through every fiber of his being.
Soo-ho immediately set down his bat and walked toward the monitor where Alex and Ethan stood.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he bowed deeply from the waist.
“I offer you both my sincere gratitude.”
It was no casual courtesy.
This was profound respect and gratitude welling up from the depths of his soul.
Soo-ho was not a man who forgot kindness.
The ultimate mechanism Alex had instilled in him.
And Ethan’s blunt advice that had shattered through the blockade in his mind in one fell swoop.
This was knowledge that could never be learned, no matter how many hundreds of millions—no, billions—one threw at it.
And he had obtained it freely, with nothing but his bare hands.
“I’d like to treat you both to dinner.”
There was no hesitation whatsoever in Soo-ho’s voice.
Whatever the menu, whatever the cost—it didn’t matter. He meant it sincerely.
It was only natural to repay his mentors and benefactors who had placed a true weapon in his hands.
But to Soo-ho’s resolute offer, Alex firmly waved his hand in refusal.
“I’ll pass. I’ve still got mountains of work waiting for me.”
Alex’s gaze never turned toward Soo-ho, fixed obsessively instead on the monitor screen.
The miraculous first swing data Soo-ho had just created, obliterating a 100-mile fastball.
The explosive synergy born when the perfect mechanical framework he’d designed met Soo-ho’s form optimized for his physique.
For Alex, a sports scientist through and through,
he was suffering from a relentless occupational compulsion—if he didn’t immediately dissect and study this data down to the millimeter, his entire body would break out in hives.
Of course, there was another reason behind Alex’s refusal of dinner.
‘Right now, it would be far better for the players to spend time together alone.’
Alex was a man whose calculations ran swift and deep.
They were both players, after all.
They inhabited a world entirely separate from his own.
So it would serve their future far better if the two of them talked alone.
To put it another way,
‘If we went out to eat, we’d inevitably spend the whole time discussing nothing but live batting and baseball talk anyway.’
There was no reason for him, a man interested only in scientific data, to insert himself into the meal and dampen the mood.
So stepping aside for the sake of the two players’ camaraderie was infinitely the better choice.
When Soo-ho’s expression showed slight disappointment at Alex’s firm refusal, Ethan standing beside him let out a chuckle and spoke up.
“Alright. I’m in. Can I order something expensive?”
It was a refreshingly straightforward acceptance, without pretense or hesitation.
Soo-ho, as if he’d been waiting for this, relaxed his stern face and answered immediately.
“Yeah. Of course.”
At Soo-ho’s terse, decisive response, Ethan’s dark brows twitched with intrigue.
Until recently, Soo-ho had maintained meticulous courtesy, his demeanor stiff and formal.
“Huh? You’re getting more comfortable around me now, aren’t you? So you’re really going for something expensive?”
Ethan tossed the comment out lightly with a grin, but inwardly, he found this shift rather satisfying.
On the baseball field, skill is both hierarchy and confidence.
He was savoring the fruits of taking time to offer his counsel.
The ferocious Eastern batter’s overwhelming growth.
It was kindling a pleasant fire in the parched heart of the lonely, bored genius hitter Ethan.
* * *
Ethan led Soo-ho to a Premium Steakhouse in Los Angeles.
Soft jazz music drifting through the air, waiters in formal attire.
True to his American nature, Ethan chose meat and, the moment he sat down, skimmed the menu before.
With practiced ease and composure, he effortlessly ordered a massive dry-aged Porterhouse steak and several expensive side dishes.
That natural demeanor radiated the distinctive aura of a successful Major Leaguer.
Soo-ho took a sip of the ice water the Waiter poured and cut straight to the point.
“Once Spring Training wraps up, you’ll be joining the 26-Man Roster right away. How does that feel? And what’s your real goal in the Major League?”
There was sound reasoning behind Soo-ho’s weighty question while treating Ethan to this expensive meal.
He himself had clawed through hellish training to earn his name on the Dodgers’ 40-Man Roster.
But in reality, he was still a minor leaguer.
Ethan, however, was different.
He had already secured a firm position on the 26-Man Roster—the true Major League stage where he could play any time.
For Soo-ho to eventually smash through that narrow, treacherous door himself and leap forward as a starter on the 26-Man Roster,
he needed to dissect and absorb the perspective and mindset of this overwhelmingly gifted player who had reached that position first.
At Soo-ho’s direct question, Ethan’s fingers, which had been toying with his water glass, stilled.
“A goal.”
The playful grin that usually adorned Ethan’s face vanished in an instant.
In its place, a chilling, overwhelming hunger coiled upward like a serpent—something I had never witnessed before.
“MVP? A World Series championship ring? The passionate adoration of fans? Everyone spouts such lofty nonsense, but I have no interest in that romantic garbage.”
Ethan’s voice was low, yet it seethed with a sinister, razor-sharp venom.
“My goal is absolute control.”
“…Control?”
Soo-ho’s brows twitched.
It was an unexpected answer.
“That’s right. Whether it’s the owner, the General Manager, or any other arrogant bastard—I’ll make it so no one dares to casually judge me. Overwhelming power that makes even this massive Dodgers organization watch my every move if I desire it. That’s my sole objective.”
Soo-ho’s eyes widened.
He was startled by an ambition entirely different from what he’d expected.
The reason was simple.
A genius who I thought had been born with everything lacking nothing.
Why had he cultivated such a twisted, brutal hunger for power?
‘Or is that what it takes to become a Major Leaguer?’
Did Ethan somehow sense the weight of Soo-ho’s inner turmoil?
He offered one of his characteristic warm smiles.
“I’m a bit unusual, that’s all. If you’re really curious, would you like to hear my story?”
“Only if you’re comfortable sharing.”
Soo-ho worried whether Ethan was forcing himself to speak about something he’d rather keep private.
Such concern was typical of him.
Yet Ethan opened his mouth with a smile that suggested he didn’t mind at all.
“It’s nothing special, really. You might not find it entertaining.”
When Ethan Cross first gripped a baseball bat, it wasn’t driven by some commonplace love of the game or romantic notions.
He simply needed a way to avoid being abandoned by the world.
* * *
Nine-year-old Ethan huddled in a corner of the chaotic living room.
Before his eyes, a man and woman with an open suitcase on the floor were screaming at each other, their voices rising in fury.
They were his biological parents.
“My new job assignment is in New York. Besides, the person I’m seeing doesn’t want children. You take him.”
“Are you insane? I’m making a fresh start next month too. How can I explain having a grown child now? We agreed you’d raise him in exchange for waiving alimony!”
The reasons for their divorce were painfully clear and utterly selfish.
Each pursuing their own new life, their own new partner, their own perfect fresh start.
Within that glittering blueprint of their brilliant futures, the nine-year-old son born from their union had become nothing more than a hindrance—a defective burden to be discarded.
His parents treated him like worthless cargo, each refusing to take responsibility.
They haggled over who would keep him, stripping away all dignity in the process.
Ethan was terrified.
The instinctive horror that the entire world meant to protect him was pushing him away instead.
He wailed.
So Ethan cried—the only desperate weapon a child possessed.
It was his sole, anguished tool.
Tears streaming down his face, he stumbled toward them, clutching at his mother’s pant leg and his father’s sleeve in turn.
He believed that if he cried this pitifully and clung to them like this, his parents would come to their senses and take pity on him, embracing him with love.
“Mom, Dad. Please don’t fight. It’s all my fault. I’ll eat less and listen better. I promise?”
But the result was devastating.
“Ugh, seriously. Stop being annoying and just go to your room!”
His father shoved Ethan’s shoulder roughly, irritation lacing his touch.
His mother turned her head away completely, her brow furrowed as if he were nothing but a headache.
His hot tears stirred no compassion, no maternal or paternal love within them.
Instead, they only cemented the fact that he was an inconvenient obstacle to be disposed of.
Crumpled on the floor, Ethan felt the pain in his shoved shoulder less acutely than the suffocating dread that seized him.
It was the terribly cold, exasperated gaze they cast down upon him that stole his breath away.
In that moment, a chillingly sharp realization pierced through Ethan’s mind.
The tears of the weak held no power.
He possessed neither the strength to overturn this situation nor any control to change his parents’ decision.
Simply at the whim of adults.
Tossed about according to circumstance, ultimately the first to be discarded—a powerless existence.
That evening, Ethan Cross was stuffed into the back seat of a car like luggage, sent off to a distant relative’s house.
Watching his parents’ receding figures through the window without a shred of hesitation, Ethan no longer wept.
He had learned bone-deep that no matter how bitterly he cried, the world would never pity him or care for him.
Instead, something far more immense and vicious than sorrow took root in his young chest.
Not merely bitter humiliation.
But a ravenous hunger for the “power” and “control” that held his leash and shook it.
Scritch. Scritch.
The sound of a well-honed knife slicing cleanly through a thick Porterhouse steak threaded through the refined jazz music.
Ethan placed a piece of medium-rare meat into his mouth with casual indifference as he continued speaking.
It was hard to believe this was the same person who moments before had laid bare his pitiful past—abandoned thoroughly at nine years old.
His expression and tone were terrifyingly dry and serene.
“I happened to catch a Major League game once.”
Ethan set down his knife and swirled his wine glass lightly, meeting Soo-ho’s gaze.
“It was an old TV in my relative’s living room. A pitcher threw a ball, and the batter obliterated it, sending it over the fence. Tens of thousands of spectators leaped to their feet, roaring like madmen.”
Soo-ho stopped cutting his steak and devoted his complete attention to Ethan’s story.
“What I felt in that moment wasn’t the romance of sports or love for baseball. It was the unmistakable scent of power.”
Ethan’s lips curled into a bitter smile.
“Baseball is pure meritocracy. No one cares about your bloodline or whether your character is garbage. Whoever throws harder and hits farther—that bastard holds all the dominion, reigning supreme in a perfect world of power. If I hit home runs and make my team win, the Manager, the General Manager, even the club owner crawls at my feet watching my mood.”
He leaned his upper body slightly forward across the table.
From the depths of his eyes, beneath the veneer of composure, a chill flashed that he had never shown before.
“Ah. Here, if I just swing this bat well enough, not a single soul in this godforsaken world can discard me so carelessly. Instead, they’ll beg me to stay, clinging to my pant legs.”
It was not mere ambition for success.
It was bitter vengeance against the world that had abandoned him helplessly, like garbage.
A pathological need for control—never again surrendering the decisions of his life to another.
“That’s why I started baseball. To never be abandoned again. To hold my own leash in my own hands, not someone else’s.”
Ethan gazed quietly at his own palms, grotesquely scarred and split with calluses.
Not the mark of genius, but the traces of survival—carved away night after night, coughing blood just to endure.
“To everyone else, I must look like some insufferable natural talent born with everything, effortless and painless. That’s how I must appear. The moment I show hesitation or weakness, the world will see me as easy prey again, ready to tear me down.”
It was unprecedented.
Ethan had never revealed his true depths to anyone like this—the vicious scars hidden beneath that perfect, arrogant mask.
And the reason was this.
“But you—you don’t hide it. For ten hours, swinging that bat until your palms split open, you were pouring out that raw desperation to survive. I saw it in your eyes and understood immediately.”
Ethan laughed softly and pointed his fork at Soo-ho.
“You’re exactly like me. You’re harboring poison in your heart, determined to survive in this world and stand at its very peak.”
At that cold and fierce confession, Soo-ho swallowed quietly.
Himself, clawing up from the bottom alone in the absence of parents.
And Ethan, performing the role of perfect genius to avoid abandonment, striving to reign at the summit.
Though their starting points and paths through life were entirely different, he was saying they were the same.
Soo-ho nodded as though in agreement.
But inwardly, doubt gnawed at him.
‘Are they really the same…?’
He couldn’t say they were the same.
After all, Ethan’s past had been far darker than his own.
At least Soo-ho had known a harmonious family before losing his parents in that traffic accident.
But what mattered here wasn’t who had suffered less.
And certainly not that the more unfortunate one achieved success first.
The essence was identical.
Regardless of the method.
Ethan too had persevered relentlessly to achieve his purpose.
And in the end, he had realized that purpose.
This was undoubtedly something to learn from.
So I wouldn’t pity him.
‘I’m hardly in a position to pity anyone anyway.’
But still.
Ethan was an ally to me, not an enemy.
Because of that, I found myself hoping he could set down some of the burden weighing on his heart.
‘If he keeps pushing himself mentally to the breaking point, he could shatter.’
Even if Ethan surpassed me in baseball skill.
At least in this domain, I considered myself his senior.
I knew it because I had experienced failure once.
And so.
‘I hope that someday… I could be of help to him.’
In that moment, Ethan appeared to me as though driven to the edge of a cliff.
I didn’t want to watch my benefactor crumble.
There was only one way to prevent that.
To become a Major Leaguer quickly.
So there was nothing else I could think of except to become a true teammate at his side.
‘In the end, my immediate goal is to become a Major Leaguer.’
I had no choice but to work harder toward a goal I wanted to reach—and now, a goal I had to reach.
Despite the heavy atmosphere for a moment, the meal ended warmly.
Both Ethan and Soo-ho shifted the conversation afterward and spoke comfortably with each other.
“I’ll pay for the meal.”
Ethan inserted his credit card into the leather case.
At that sight, Soo-ho was startled.
“No, absolutely not.”
“What are you saying! A minor leaguer opening his wallet in front of a Major Leaguer? That’s insulting to my pride. Come back up to the majors and treat me to something extravagant then. At that point, I won’t go easy on you—I’ll eat up plenty of expensive dishes.”
The meal ended that way, and time flowed swiftly.
Before long, Spring Training was right around the corner.

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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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