The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 57

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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 57
Knock, knock.
With a brief rap on the door, Soo-ho stepped inside.
A blast of cold air conditioning hit him immediately.
“Oh Soo-ho. Please have a seat there.”
Behind the desk sat a sharp-featured white man wearing glasses.
“First, my name is Thomas. I’m a data analyst for the Dodgers.”
And during this Arizona Fall League period, he would be the coordinator setting the direction of Soo-ho’s hitting approach.
He continued tapping on his tablet without looking up.
His demeanor was dry and businesslike.
As Soo-ho took his seat, he instinctively assessed the man before him.
‘Textbook type, if I’ve ever seen one.’
Neatly stacked documents on the desk. Impeccably arranged clothing.
And a tone of voice seemingly devoid of emotion.
This type despised improvisation.
They harbored an extreme aversion to variables outside the manual.
They were the kind who treated directives from above and data figures like gospel truth.
‘Well, that’s probably why he’s an analyst.’
A faint smile crossed Soo-ho’s lips.
In truth, my ability to survive in Korea’s barren Minor League system—even while constantly teetering on the release list—hadn’t been due to skill alone.
Without connections or money, I had only one weapon to endure.
Intuition.
The art of reading what the coaching staff wanted, understanding which reports the organization preferred, and skillfully catering to their preferences.
Thanks to that, I managed to survive one more year in the Minor League.
Thomas turned the tablet toward Soo-ho and spoke.
“Since the game will start soon, I’ll get straight to the point.”
The screen displayed Soo-ho’s Low-A hitting distribution chart and various statistics in stark detail.
Red dots clustered heavily in the infield and shallow outfield areas.
Typical data of a contact hitter.
“Your data is clear. Your contact rate and exit velocity are respectable, but your launch angle is all over the place.”
Soo-ho had ranked first in exit velocity during Low-A.
But that was Low-A.
Thomas spoke as if the Low-A pitchers simply lacked velocity, which was why the numbers looked that way.
Then he pushed his glasses up and fixed his gaze on Soo-ho.
“You need to scale back your ambitions.”
“By ambitions, you mean…?”
“That upper swing you showed yesterday. It’s a suit that doesn’t fit your body. The data proves it.”
Just as expected.
Mark and Casey’s predictions had been spot-on, without a single word out of place.
Thomas continued.
“We’ve classified you as a number nine batter. So your task this autumn is simple. Just raise your launch angle by about five degrees compared to usual to increase your line drive ratio. I’d suggest abandoning any home run ambitions and focusing solely on getting on base.”
An order to perform the most efficient role as an organizational asset.
Most players would have lost their spirit here, or flushed with indignation.
But Soo-ho was different.
He nodded and wore an expression of genuine admiration.
“This is the Dodgers, after all.”
“…?”
“Honestly, when I was in the Korean Minor League, I never received analysis like this. I just played baseball by feel. But having my weaknesses pinpointed with such precise numbers… it gives me chills. Now I finally understand what I need to do.”
Praise makes even whales dance, and it crumbles the wariness of meticulous analysts.
Thomas’s rigid expression softened slightly at words acknowledging his expertise.
“Hmm. Well, our analysis team’s capabilities are top-tier in the industry. I’m glad you recognize that.”
His defensive walls had come down.
Soo-ho didn’t miss the opening.
‘Now’s the moment.’
Soo-ho continued carefully, yet with resolute eyes.
“I understand that following your guidance is the safest and most reliable path. I’m truly grateful that you’re paying attention to a lower-league player like me.”
“Then regarding the training schedule, let me go into more detail….”
Thomas was in a good mood.
Had he ever received praise like this?
No.
Meetings with other players never went this way.
They were purely businesslike. Nothing more, nothing less.
He would speak, they would listen, nod, and that was the end of it.
So now that he was in a good mood, he thought he might put in a little extra effort for Soo-ho.
“But Cody.”
Soo-ho gently interrupted him and continued.
“Would it be alright if I shared a bit about myself first?”
Thomas checked the time on his wristwatch and nodded.
“Yes. I still have time.”
Earlier he’d said he had no time, and now he had time to spare.
So Soo-ho decided to lay out the plan he’d prepared.
“To the Dodgers who saved me, and to you, Cody, who took me under your wing… I want to repay you with something greater.”
“Something greater?”
“Yes. Not just a player who gets to first base, but a weapon that can be responsible for the team’s scoring.”
Soo-ho pointed at the data on the tablet screen with his finger.
“This data you have is my past self. In yesterday’s game, I saw a new possibility. If I prepare well, I believe I can become not just a contact hitter, but an OPS hitter.”
Thomas’s brow furrowed again.
“The risk is too great. My analysis says it’s impossible with your current physical condition. The organization thinks the same way.”
“I understand. That’s why I’d like to make a proposal.”
“A proposal?”
I pulled the chair closer and met Thomas’s gaze.
“During this Arizona Fall League period—just this period—please allow me to challenge things my way. My goal is to increase my exit velocity by more than 5 miles per hour, and I want to finish with an OPS of at least 0.9.”
“Hah! OPS 0.9? That’s not as easy as it sounds.”
Thomas’s point was valid.
My current average exit velocity—among the highest in Low-A—was 86.5 miles per hour (139 kilometers).
If I could add 5 miles to that and exceed 90 miles per hour in exit velocity…
Based on Major League data, power hitters—
That is, sluggers averaged exit velocities approaching 92 miles per hour.
Moreover, in the Major Leagues, even a 1-mile increase in average exit velocity was considered a successful adjustment.
Or it was evaluated as improved conditioning.
Even modern analytics teams viewed a 2 to 3 mile increase as significant growth.
But 5 miles?
This was the kind of change that only happened when elite hitters reached their peak.
It wasn’t a figure you could ask of a rookie, let alone one from a tryout.
Furthermore, an OPS of 0.9 was in the top 5 to 10 percent across all of Major League Baseball.
In other words, All-Star caliber.
Of course… it wasn’t completely impossible.
This wasn’t the Major Leagues, after all. It was a much lower level.
If the Arizona Fall League were where Major Leaguers gathered, the probability would be zero.
But the players I faced were minor leaguers.
Still, Thomas saw this as a reckless challenge for me.
The data so far was saying exactly that.
But I had a clear reason why those numbers had to be my target.
‘The Arizona Fall League is only six weeks.’
Long if you looked at it one way, but fleeting if you looked at it another.
During this period, if I simply increased my exit velocity by 1 or 2 miles like everyone else, or
Raised my batting average slightly, I wouldn’t make an impact on the organization.
But if this were possible…
Promotion to the next level would be a given.
‘I’d definitely get invited to Spring Training.’
Getting invited to Spring Training meant the organization was interested in me.
It meant I could climb faster.
I continued speaking.
“It’s challenging precisely because it’s not easy. If I fail to achieve it…”
I flashed a grin.
“Then I’ll completely overhaul myself according to the program you design, Cody. I’ll follow your orders without complaint—I’ll even pretend to die if you tell me to.”
Thomas rested his chin in his hand and stared at me intently.
I could almost hear the sound of a calculator running in his head.
I knew it.
He was just a salaried employee after all.
I need results.
Simply following instructions to produce a decent hit or two?
‘That’s just average.’
Anyone could do that. It’s just following the data.
But what if a nondescript prospect from Low-A transforms into an OPS hitter in this short span?
‘That becomes entirely this person’s achievement.’
A talented Coordinator who recognized potential and boldly developed it.
It was the bait I’d cast to Thomas.
‘Success becomes your credit. Failure becomes my fault.’
You have nothing to lose in this deal.
‘Because I’m an invincible Low-A prospect.’
Even if I failed, from their perspective I’d just be another prospect who didn’t make it.
But if I succeeded instead?
That would be America’s lottery. A Powerball-level jackpot.
If a player achieved that level of success, the organization’s profits would be equally massive.
‘The more risk-averse someone is, the more tolerant they become of risks others shoulder for them.’
A moment later.
Thomas let out a hollow laugh and set down his tablet.
“…You’re quite audacious, aren’t you?”
But his eyes were smiling.
Like a child who’d discovered an interesting toy.
“Fine. Let’s do it your way.”
Thomas adjusted his glasses and continued.
“But if you fail, my report will note in large letters that you’re a stubborn player who can’t read the room.”
No matter how he calculated it, Thomas had nothing to lose.
Especially here in the United States.
Why would he stop a player who insisted on walking a reckless path?
There was no reason.
Even if the Dodgers had drafted this player and paid him directly.
That’s how prospects were.
Rather than developing a hundred mediocre prospects.
One breakout success was far more profitable.
“Of course.”
I rose from my seat and bowed respectfully.
“I look forward to working with you. I believe your guidance can change my life.”
Of course, if I failed, it would be entirely my own fault.
But I said this because I thought it would allow me to gather more data going forward.
No matter how risk-free it was for the other party.
‘In the end, if it works out, that’s what matters.’
And as expected.
Thomas nodded.
“Since you’re our player, we should do our best to support you. Well then, let’s wish for Soo-ho’s success going forward. You can head back now.”
The door closed behind Soo-ho as he left the Conference Room.
He rolled his neck as if loosening a tie and clenched his fists tightly.
‘Just as planned.’
The negotiation was over.
Now came the part where I had to prove it.
‘The problem is how to prove words I’ve already spoken….’
Actually, I had already thought about this part too.
* * *
Thirty minutes before the game started.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the Ground.
Players gathered their equipment one by one and headed out to the Ground.
Soo-ho, Mark, and Casey were also stretching together on one side of the Outfield Grass.
The main topic was naturally the Conference Room meeting that had just ended.
“Ugh, seriously.”
Mark grumbled as he bent at the waist.
“You know what he told me? To stop swinging at breaking balls outside. No! Can you really hold back when the ball is right there in front of you? It’s clearly visible.”
Soo-ho asked Casey as well.
“What advice did you get?”
“He said my hit direction was too biased toward pulling. To increase my pushing ratio a bit. Well, it was expected.”
Both of their assignments were extremely common sense and realistic.
It was an instruction to improve completeness by compensating for weaknesses.
Mark turned his head toward Soo-ho.
“What about you? Pretty standard, right?”
Soo-ho paused mid-stretch and hesitated for a moment.
“No.”
“Huh?”
“I promised to increase my average exit velocity by 5 miles per hour. And to achieve an OPS of 0.9.”
A sudden silence fell.
Mark and Casey stopped moving and stared blankly at Soo-ho.
One second, two seconds, three seconds passed.
Mark’s jaw dropped.
“Are, are you insane? Isn’t that basically telling you to quit baseball!”
His voice was so high-pitched it cracked.
Even the usually composed Casey frowned.
“Did you somehow offend Cody? Or did you pick a fight right after walking in? Is he some kind of racist?”
Soo-ho shook his head.
“No. He was kind.”
Mark couldn’t help but interject.
“There’s no other explanation for it! An average velocity of 5 miles per hour? And an OPS of 0.9? Listen, if you hit 0.9 OPS in the Major League right now, you’d be an MVP contender! You’re asking me to pull that off in this short window? That’s basically telling me to go die!”
My friends’ reactions were predictable.
This was a task bordering on the impossible.
Because the Arizona Fall League featured pitchers of exceptional caliber.
Adapting to the league was already overwhelming, let alone dominating it.
And from a contact hitter, no less?
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Actually, Cody proposed exactly what you two said. To play it safe.”
“…What?”
“I countered with this goal instead.”
“…
The color drained from both their faces.
Their expressions shifted beyond shock into something closer to horror.
Mark let out a hollow laugh and clutched his head.
“Hey. What are you doing? Are you deliberately drinking poison?”
“I always knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t realize you were this much of a fool.”
Casey joined in, unleashing a barrage of criticism.
They couldn’t comprehend it.
Even just meeting their requirements would earn me solid bonus points, and I might even make it to Spring Training next year.
So why gamble on something that would send me plummeting if I failed?
I spoke calmly.
“As you both know, the baseball I’ve shown so far is far removed from what modern baseball pursues.”
Fast on my feet and precise, but lacking in power hitting.
Of course, that approach isn’t inherently flawed.
I had no intention of abandoning that style.
It was my foundation, after all.
But.
“That alone isn’t enough. I want to master what modern baseball pursues—power hitting as well.”
“Still, even so…”
“And.”
I added with a bitter smile.
“I’m running out of time.”
“…Ah.”
At those words, Mark and Casey fell silent.
They’d momentarily forgotten.
Because my youthful appearance was so deceptive.
And because I fit in so naturally with them, they’d overlooked it.
I was their senior.
Mark was only twenty, Casey nineteen.
But I was twenty-four.
At an age when one could hardly be called a prospect anymore.
No, he was already past his prime.
‘I see.’
Mark and Casey finally understood Soo-ho’s desperate gamble.
Even if they fell behind by two or three years, opportunities would still abound for them.
But for Soo-ho, this might truly be his last chance.
There was no time to climb the ladder slowly, one rung at a time.
“…Agreed. It’s definitely urgent.”
Mark scratched his head and conceded the point.
Casey let out a small sigh as well.
“I understand too. But you’re walking a really difficult path.”
An OPS of 0.9.
To achieve this number, I needed to produce results starting from today’s game itself.
An adjustment period? A slump?
Such things were not permitted.
I had to reach base or hit for extra bases at every at-bat, pulling my statistics upward.
With my current skills, reaching base was possible, certainly.
But extra-base hits were the real problem.
It was like throwing an egg against a stone.
Yet Soo-ho chuckled softly.
“It’s fine. There’s always a way.”
“A way? What way? Are you suddenly going to take some banned substance?”
Banned substance.
It wasn’t a joke thrown out carelessly.
For me to truly change, banned drugs were the only option.
But Soo-ho shook his head firmly and then.
“No.”
He placed his hands on both their shoulders, eyes gleaming.
“You two are going to help me.”
What good were genius hitters as friends if not for this?
This was exactly when to use them.
These two ate and breathed hitting home runs.
‘Until I find my own way….’
I probably wouldn’t learn it here in the Arizona Fall League.
This was a place where results mattered.
So my plan was to extract their know-how immediately.

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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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