The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 28

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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 28
5 AM the next morning.
Outside the Quakes Dormitory, darkness still clinging to the sky.
Soo-ho quietly slipped through the entrance, drew in the crisp morning air, and began a light stretch.
His day always started three hours earlier than everyone else’s.
“Hey.”
Just as Soo-ho was about to take his first stride, an unfamiliar voice from behind stopped him in his tracks.
It was Casey Meyer.
He stood there, his tousled blonde hair carelessly swept back.
“Let’s run together.”
Soo-ho’s eyes widened.
It was certainly surprising.
Had that taciturn kid grown a bit friendlier just from eating grilled pork belly together yesterday?
Casey tied his shoelaces before Soo-ho could even respond.
‘I was curious.’
My data had been wrong.
And baseball is a sport of data.
An error in analysis could become a fatal weakness that would trip me up at a higher level someday.
Therefore, this wasn’t mere curiosity.
‘What exactly is different about this guy?’
It was analytical work to correct my error.
The two of them ran silently through the dawn streets of Rancho Cucamonga.
About an hour passed.
Casey gradually slowed his pace and came to a stop.
An hour was sufficient for a light warm-up.
“You’re not coming in?”
“No. I’m going to run more.”
“Okay. I’ll head back first.”
Casey turned without hesitation and left.
Back at the dormitory, he showered and drank water in the kitchen.
‘Nothing special.’
Soo-ho, whom I’d run with for an hour, was simply ordinary.
‘Just… working a bit harder?’
But that couldn’t be a variable.
In the Minor League, it was utterly natural for players lacking skill to struggle harder just to survive.
Therefore, it wasn’t a matter of talent—merely desperation for survival.
‘Was my data actually wrong? Or was yesterday just good luck?’
Casey was about to reach that conclusion.
Two more hours passed.
The entrance door creaked open, and Soo-ho stumbled in, drenched in sweat.
Casey sat on the sofa, watching Soo-ho intently.
His body wasn’t merely damp with sweat—he was drenched as though he’d just been pulled from water.
Moreover, his legs dragged as if weighted down by a thousand pounds.
His breathing was ragged, as though he might collapse at any moment.
Soo-ho forced a smile toward Casey before heading straight up to the second floor.
Casey’s usually languid blue eyes flickered with the faintest tremor for the first time.
‘This guy… he’s not just working hard.’
He was working extraordinarily hard.
Had he ever encountered a player like this before?
No. Never.
In the United States, players didn’t push themselves to such extremes so relentlessly.
Exhausting one’s body to such a degree was directly linked to conditioning.
For a baseball player, conditioning was an inseparable and vital element.
Which made it all the more puzzling.
‘Could such brutish effort actually be connected to something?’
No matter how he tried to rationalize it, the conclusion remained the same.
But Casey was completely mistaken.
And he would soon discover that what he saw was far from the whole picture.
* * *
Time flew like a bullet, and the final week of August arrived.
The Low-A California League’s regular season had concluded.
The Quakes had become an entirely different team from before Soo-ho and Mark joined.
Listless defeats gave way to thrilling comebacks.
The team accumulated victories at a terrifying pace, securing third place and clinching a playoff berth.
Throughout that month and more, Soo-ho never pursued completeness.
He remained focused solely on refinement, and the results were truly remarkable.
Soo-ho was a ground ball hitter.
But his ground balls were anything but ordinary.
His ground ball hit rate, as recorded in the statistics, remained above eighty percent.
Yet nearly thirty-five percent of those were recorded as doubles.
To illustrate how extraordinary this was:
Typical ground ball hitters rarely exceeded a slugging percentage of 0.2.
But Soo-ho’s slugging percentage was 0.6.
This was a statistic that negated the very concept of a ground ball hitter.
His speed certainly contributed.
But what truly mattered was his batted ball velocity.
Even as he restrained himself, insisting he hadn’t yet reached the next level,
he had already achieved a breakthrough that no one could deny.
As the final game of the season ended, Manager Taylor entered and spoke.
“You’ve all worked hard. I hope to see this same momentum carry through the playoffs.”
He swept his gaze across the players with lukewarm indifference before fixing his eyes on me.
“And Soo-ho. Come see me in twenty minutes.”
Taylor left the room with those words.
The Locker Room’s attention briefly converged on me before scattering.
‘Just me? Is there some special instruction he needs to give?’
At least I was certain I hadn’t done anything wrong.
When Taylor called someone in for a meeting due to a mistake, it showed on his face immediately.
‘At those times, anyone could see he’s angry, but he wasn’t now.’
I turned his words over in my mind.
I guessed it would be some strategic instruction related to the playoffs.
‘So rather than just go, let me gather some information first.’
I asked Mark, who was gathering his things to head home.
“Mark. How does the Minor League Baseball playoff work?”
Mark answered while removing his sweat-soaked undershirt.
“Our California League is simple. Four teams out of eight total meet in the Division Series. Best-of-three. Lose here and you just pack your bags and go home. No time to rest.”
“Best-of-three?”
“Yeah. Win here and you go straight to the League Championship, which is also best-of-three. In other words, lose just twice and your season is over.”
It was different from the Major League.
The Major League Division Series was best-of-five.
The Championship and World Series were best-of-seven.
Here, there were far fewer games.
“Is there a World Series too?”
“No. The Championship Series is the end.”
“What’s good about winning the championship?”
“Just adding one more trophy… Of course, if you perform well in the playoffs, you can appeal to the organization that much more. That’s what we need to aim for.”
Mark implied that performing well in this short series to get promoted to a higher level was far more beneficial than the trophy itself.
I made my way toward the Director’s Office, organizing my thoughts.
‘Now I understand why the Manager called me. He wants to boost the players’ morale.’
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
I carefully opened the door and entered.
Taylor gestured with his chin toward the chair in front of him.
“Have a seat.”
As soon as I sat down, Taylor got to the point.
“First, thank you.”
“Pardon?”
“Thanks to you and Mark joining us, our team was able to make the playoffs. Especially the way you’ve breathed new life into the team has been truly impressive.”
Taylor was sincere.
How long had it been since I felt the victory of team baseball? My heart swelled with emotion.
“Thank you. It’s all thanks to you giving me this opportunity, Manager.”
“That’s enough.”
Taylor raised his hand, cutting me off.
And he was right.
An opportunity? That wasn’t something he’d given me.
I’d seized it myself.
Wasn’t that the truth?
All he’d done was send a .200 hitter to the plate with half-hearted faith.
But from my first day in the Dugout, I’d analyzed the team’s weaknesses with precision.
I’d tried to fill the gaps this team lacked.
Of course, he had introduced me to Alex, a heavyweight in the organization.
But even that was something I’d ultimately seized for myself.
‘So really, I’m the one in debt.’
That’s why he wanted to give me something more.
In that moment of deep contemplation about what it could be.
Suddenly, the poison clause in my contract came to mind.
‘Promotion within one year. Failure to do so means release….’
Of course, unlike other prospects, my age of twenty-four was definitely a penalty.
‘In this business, age is king, and that’s an immutable law.’
And for good reason—the Major League’s investment criteria for prospects worked like this.
They spent money on future potential rather than current ability.
Older players carried greater physical risk, lower investment value.
They were expendable, forced to make room for the endless stream of young prospects arriving each year.
Of course, I wasn’t yet old enough to be treated as expendable.
‘But that didn’t make me as young as other prospects either.’
Moreover, players my age were now waiting for Major League call-ups from Double-A or Triple-A.
Compared to them, no matter how brilliantly I performed in Low-A, I’d look like a frog in a well.
‘In other words, I’m doing well, but my current performance might not be enough.’
But Taylor held me in high regard.
What did age matter to someone with such relentless grit and baseball intelligence?
‘A player with such selfless dedication would inevitably be beloved at higher levels too.’
Taylor’s eyes widened.
He’d thought of something he could give me.
But before that.
He wanted to confirm something first.
“So, how are you planning to approach the playoffs?”
“Of course, I’ll give it my all. That’s why I’d love to win the championship.”
“Why’s that? Actually, listen. The result of this playoff isn’t really that important. Even if our team gets eliminated in the Division Series with two losses, if you perform brilliantly in those games, it’s actually better for you—there’s nothing bad about it.”
Taylor continued.
“If you dominate the playoffs, the organization will recognize your ability and might move you to the next level. So you need to play ‘well,’ not just try your best.”
I didn’t hesitate in answering his question.
“Even if I go hitless through the entire playoffs, I’d be happy if I could play in even one more game and bring a championship to the team. Of course, if I keep failing to get hits, it’ll be difficult to stay in the lineup.”
It was his way of saying he wanted to contribute to the team.
Taylor wasn’t particularly surprised.
From what he’d seen so far, Soo-ho was a player who always gave his best effort.
Soo-ho continued.
“Of course, I’d also be thrilled if I performed well and got promoted to the next league. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for more. But I’ve only been with the team for less than two months. So right now, I just want to play in one more game. Take one more at-bat. I believe that’s the path to my continued growth. To be honest, I think you need someone like me, Manager. And….”
Taylor nodded before suddenly looking surprised.
There’s more to it?
Soo-ho gave a brief nod.
“A trophy… I’ve never held one before. Not even in my amateur days. So I want to lift a trophy here as a commemoration of starting baseball in this place.”
There was no falsehood in Soo-ho’s words.
He understood the manager’s intention in calling him.
But he wasn’t going to spend his whole life watching the manager’s face, was he?
‘I want to get what I want too.’
And that was a trophy.
No matter how insignificant a Minor League trophy might be.
Even if other players showed no interest in such things.
‘I’m different. I believe this can become part of my credentials too. People who’ve won championships keep winning. If I keep winning….’
Why didn’t baseball have a concept like a “lucky charm”?
A lucky charm was
someone mentioned whenever the team won, or
a symbol of fortune—a person or presence that made the team play well.
‘But wouldn’t a “championship charm” be even better?’
Taylor smacked his lips as if he’d read Soo-ho’s thoughts.
Soo-ho had been an oddity from an American perspective from the start, and he remained one now.
In fact, now that his stats were quite decent, wasn’t it time to pursue personal ambitions?
Yet he still showed no inclination to take shortcuts.
But that’s precisely why Taylor liked this Soo-ho even more.
‘That’s right. I need to back this guy.’
Taylor spoke in a serious tone.
“A championship… honestly, if the team wins the championship, I’m happy. My status goes up, my salary goes up. But you might not realize—do the other players actually care about winning a championship?”
Soo-ho shook his head.
“They don’t seem to, from what I’ve seen.”
“Right. So how do you plan to win a championship with a team like this?”
“Well….”
Soo-ho laughed brightly.
“It’s not just the Quakes players who feel that way, is it? Isn’t it the same for other Minor League players too?”
“Well, I suppose that’s true.”
“But the Quakes have at least one player who wants to win a championship, so doesn’t that give us an advantage no matter what?”
Taylor’s eyes suddenly widened.
There was no other choice.
Soo-ho had just made an absurd declaration of intent with an innocent-looking face.
“Surely… you’re not saying you’ll win over the other players through your performance?”
“Yes. I thought that if I work hard enough, I might be able to change some of their minds.”
“It’s a difficult path.”
Especially in the current American baseball ecosystem, it was even more so.
“It doesn’t matter. If it doesn’t work out, then so be it. If I do my best even alone, won’t someone recognize it? It might not happen, but if even one person acknowledges my effort, I think that would be enough.”
Even one person recognizing him…
It struck precisely at the heart of the matter.
At least for Taylor, it did.
Taylor took pride in having had a successful season this year.
And for good reason—he had gained Soo-ho.
A player who cared for the team, even if just one.
But that’s the nature of a mentor’s heart.
Rather than one, I wished for two. Rather than two, I wished for more to understand my vision.
‘That’s just greed, really.’
But watching Soo-ho, it seemed I could afford to be greedy just this once.
So how could I simply receive without giving back?
“Good. Let me make you a proposal.”
“A proposal? What kind of…?”
“First, I don’t doubt that you’ll work hard in the playoffs. So do your best. And produce results. I’m not saying you need to win the championship. If even one player becomes captivated by your performance and starts working hard for the team rather than personal records… I’ll write you a letter of recommendation.”
“A letter of recommendation? What kind of…?”
“Actually, I’m sorry to have to tell you this first. The players who will be promoted after the season has already been decided. Since you joined late, your name isn’t on that list. Of course, if you dominate this playoff, we could create an opening that didn’t exist before.”
But unfortunately, can a player produce results just because they want to?
Unfortunately, in baseball, it’s not that simple.
No matter how good the condition.
When a batter in peak form meets a pitcher in even better condition, the batter loses more often than not.
Taylor’s lips curved upward.
“But even if you don’t produce results within the playoffs, if you win over even one person’s heart, I’m thinking of writing you that letter of recommendation.”
A letter of recommendation? What could that be?
From Taylor’s mouth came the goal that Soo-ho had held before joining this facility.
“I’ll write you a letter of recommendation for the Arizona Fall League. If you can perform well in Arizona after the season ends, you’ll definitely be able to start the next season in a new league.”

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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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