The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 22

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

Chapter 22
After concluding their meeting with the Manager, Soo-ho and Mark climbed into a vehicle driven by a Team Staff Member.
They’d been driving for about five minutes.
The car came to a halt in front of an ordinary two-story house.
“This is where you’ll be staying. It’s a three-person room, and one roommate has already moved in.”
Following the staff member’s guidance, Soo-ho stepped out of the car and gazed blankly at the house before him.
‘So I can continue playing baseball here.’
A strange sense of relief washed over me—the feeling of having a place to return to.
This emotion seemed destined to become another powerful motivation for playing baseball in this place.
“Let’s head inside.”
The moment I followed the staff member through the creaking front door and stepped inside.
Loud rock music that filled the entire house greeted us.
A man lay sprawled across a worn sofa positioned in the center of the living room, headphones clamped over his ears, making guitar-playing motions at the empty air.
He showed no awareness whatsoever that Soo-ho and Mark had entered.
Mark cautiously approached and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
Only then did the man open his eyes slowly, as though the entire world was nothing but a tedious inconvenience.
Between the slowly opening eyelids gleamed a pair of blue eyes that seemed disturbingly detached from reality.
His blonde hair, grown haphazardly, appeared untouched by sweat or dust.
His sharp jawline and prominent nose prompted the question of what he was doing in a place like this.
He possessed the appearance of someone whom the gods had painstakingly sculpted, yet who showed not the slightest interest in that fact.
He then draped his headphones loosely around his neck and scanned the two of us from head to toe with drowsy eyes.
“Who are you? Oh, new recruits? As long as you’re not loud, I don’t care.”
With that, he put his headphones back on and severed himself from the world once more.
“You can leave your luggage on the second floor. There are three rooms total, so use whichever one suits you.”
The staff member awkwardly concluded his orientation and left the house.
Left alone, Mark muttered in bewilderment.
“What? That rude bastard.”
Soo-ho smiled faintly at Mark’s reaction, then picked up his duffel bag and headed toward the second floor.
Among the three doors lining the hallway, I opened the one at the far end.
A creaking sound accompanied the sight of dust-covered wooden flooring and a worn bed.
A single desk completed the sparse space.
Yet I found myself drawn to this humble setting.
Opening the window, fresh air and sunlight from the unfamiliar neighborhood poured in.
It was a room entirely my own.
I had just set down my bag and settled onto the bed to gaze out the window.
Knock, knock.
Mark rapped on the door and poked his head inside.
His expression was no longer bewildered—it mingled shock and excitement.
“Come out for a second.”
Following Mark downstairs, the man still lay on the sofa, lost in his own world.
Mark lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I figured out who that bastard is.”
“Who?”
Mark swallowed hard before speaking.
“Casey. Casey damn Myers.”
Mark continued, his tone incredulous.
“Famous? In this world, you’d have to be a spy not to know him. Back in high school, he was called a once-in-a-century prodigy—the kind of talent that appears maybe once every hundred years. His batting is absolutely monstrous, one for the record books.”
Soo-ho’s gaze shifted back to the languid figure sprawled across the sofa.
‘That guy?’
Mark shook his head.
“Yeah, I don’t get it either. Why is a monster like that still stuck here in Low-A? Something must have happened… Anyway, he’s exactly as the rumors say—completely in his own world.”
“Should we introduce ourselves properly?”
Mark shook his head.
“I heard he didn’t have a single friend back in high school. They say it’s better not to even try getting close to him. Let’s just leave him alone.”
The moment Mark finished speaking, Casey bolted upright from his seat.
Without acknowledging either of them, he disappeared into his room.
‘He’s definitely different.’
Every American Soo-ho had met since arriving in the United States was cheerful and kind.
Even as strangers, they approached him as though they were old friends, expressing their feelings without hesitation.
Mark was the perfect example of that.
But Casey was different.
He had constructed his own transparent wall, emanating a powerful rejection that refused entry to anyone.
It wasn’t mere shyness or bluntness—it was an impenetrable fortress.
Of course, it wasn’t really something to worry about.
People had different personalities, and even in America, not everyone could be like Mark.
But Soo-ho found himself curious about Casey.
‘A once-in-a-century prodigy.’
I wondered what he would look like on the Ground.
I was hungry for knowledge right now.
I believed that observing other geniuses up close was a form of learning.
‘Well, I’ll find out soon enough.’
Mark lightly tapped Soo-ho’s forearm, breaking his train of thought.
“Let’s unpack and get some rest for now. We have a game tomorrow.”
A new home, and a first encounter with a mysterious prodigy.
My first night with the Quakes deepened into the darkness.
* * *
Bang.
As the door closed, Casey leaned his back against it and exhaled deeply.
Removing his headphones, a silence so profound it deafened him settled over him.
He switched on the tablet he had carelessly tossed onto his desk.
The league statistics leaderboard glowed on the screen.
But those numbers no longer stirred anything within him.
Batting average .382, 25 home runs, 30 stolen bases.
His OPS—the combined on-base and slugging percentage—comfortably exceeded 1.2.
Dominant league-leading statistics, yet they brought him no joy whatsoever.
For Casey, this place was no arena of competition—merely a colossal fishbowl confining him.
It had been this way since high school.
In places beneath his level, there was nothing to learn, nothing to feel.
‘Tedious.’
His discussions with the organization had already concluded.
Promotion to the higher league was guaranteed once this season ended.
He merely needed to endure this meaningless stretch of time.
He had to ascend higher still.
So he saw no reason to befriend others.
They were faces that might vanish like ghosts in a month or two anyway.
There was no point wasting emotion on fleeting connections.
‘Hmm….’
The faces of the newcomers who had joined today suddenly crossed his mind.
He had watched their play at the Stadium with indifference.
They weren’t bad.
The bulky one had strength; the Asian one had cunning.
But that was all.
Their play wasn’t enough to make his heart race.
Of course, the Asian player wearing number 79 played a baseball somewhat different from what he knew.
Bunting against a 100-mile-per-hour fastball, consecutive stolen bases that rattled the pitcher’s composure.
It was certainly baseball played with the mind.
Intriguing, even.
‘But so what?’
Casey smirked.
That wasn’t proof of anything.
If he wanted to, he could do the same.
No—he could execute it even more flawlessly.
But why? Why bother with such tedious complications?
Simply clearing the fence was far more certain and straightforward.
He simply had no need for such things.
In the end, nothing today had made his heart race.
Casey placed his headphones back on.
Only the ear-splitting guitar riffs held any fascination in this world where everything else felt hollow.
* * *
The next morning.
Mark stirred his sluggish body awake and descended from the bed, only to discover his roommate’s empty mattress. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
“What? Where did he go?”
He searched through the house, but Soo-ho was nowhere to be found.
At that moment, Soo-ho pushed open the front door and stepped inside, his entire body drenched in sweat.
His breathing was ragged, yet his eyes gleamed with an invigorating clarity.
“Where have you been?”
“Out for a run.”
“Since when?”
“About three hours ago?”
Mark’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“It’s nine o’clock now?”
“Yeah. I’ve always done this.”
Soo-ho answered matter-of-factly while toweling off the perspiration clinging to his skin.
Mark let out an incredulous laugh.
Here he was, casually mentioning a three-hour jog as though it were nothing more than a casual stroll around the neighborhood.
It was another moment that drove home just how inhuman Soo-ho’s physical endurance truly was.
‘Is this guy even human?’
He could have sworn he was dealing with a machine.
Mark headed toward the kitchen and slid two slices of bread into the toaster.
“You want some bread?”
“Yeah. I need to eat.”
On the surface, the life of a Minor League player appeared glamorous.
Playing baseball every day, receiving the cheers of fans, however modest, and advancing toward their dreams—it all seemed magnificent.
But reality was merciless.
Despite recent improvements in treatment, the salaries of Minor League players remained pittance.
In the face of America’s exorbitant cost of living, a Minor League player’s annual earnings barely exceeded minimum wage.
Report to the Clubhouse by ten in the morning, morning training, lunch, afternoon training, and evening games.
After pouring everything into baseball each day, what remained was an exhausted body and an empty wallet.
Luxuries like steak were beyond even their wildest fantasies.
Most players, like Mark now, subsisted on dry bread or cereal.
Or they filled their hungry bellies with cheap frozen meals—that was their daily reality.
After the two finished their modest breakfast and arrived at the Locker Room, yesterday’s frigid atmosphere had vanished without a trace.
Several players approached and greeted Soo-ho and Mark first.
“Hey, that was great yesterday, right? Today’s gonna be good too?”
Soo-ho and Mark accepted their greetings with awkward smiles.
This was a world where everything was proven through skill alone.
With a single performance yesterday, the two were no longer outsiders—they had been recognized as true teammates of the Quakes.
The reason their initial reception had been so cold was because they were tryout candidates.
The others had assumed their level might be lower since they hadn’t been drafted like themselves.
‘I suppose this counts as recognition.’
I was in a good mood changing into my uniform when the Dugout door swung open and Taylor walked in.
He approached me directly.
“Get outside the Training Ground right now. We have a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
“Yes. A very important one.”
I left the Stadium with a bewildered expression.
A black sedan was parked at the edge of the entrance Parking Lot.
And beside it stood a man, gazing intently at something.
He wore a refined black suit.
A black fedora sat upon his head, and golden hair was visible beneath it.
He looked like someone with no connection to baseball whatsoever.
More than anything, his behavior was peculiar.
He stared at his own palm as though it were the most fascinating object in the world.
As I cautiously approached, the man finally lifted his head.
Then he scanned me from head to toe like a scanner.
Without a word, he circled around me once.
“Hmm….”
Then he suddenly tapped my shoulders and hips, and proceeded with bizarre actions like grasping my wrist and measuring its angle.
I could only stand frozen, bewildered.
After scrutinizing me for some time, the man finally spoke.
“You.”
His first words were neither praise nor criticism.
“You have incredibly good luck.”
“…Pardon?”
When I asked for clarification, the man lifted the corner of his mouth slightly and spoke.
“Because you’ve met me, all that’s left is for you to soar.”
His voice carried a confidence bordering on arrogance.
The man extended his hand to me.
“I’m Alex Rivera. The master craftsman—no, the authority in this field who will equip your body with the most perfect mechanism in the world.”
My expression brightened.
A mechanism!
The moment I’d been waiting for had finally arrived.
And my future mentor’s confidence was overflowing like this.
Anticipation swelled within me.
However.
At what I heard next, I was left speechless.
Alex raised his index finger.
“The time needed to equip your body with a perfect mechanism is one month. Or perhaps even that won’t be necessary.”
Alex raised his index finger.
“It would take a month to equip you with a perfect mechanism. No. Maybe we won’t even need that.”
I’d heard that installing a mechanism takes an extraordinarily long time.
Since a player’s body isn’t a machine, changing habits accumulated over decades requires a minimum of six months.
Some say it’s a battle that takes years.
That was the common wisdom in the Baseball World.
But one month?
Had the Dodgers abandoned me?
At that moment, I could only think that way.

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