The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 6

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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 6
—Hello. I’m Alan Powell, assistant to Frank Lambert.
I drew a sharp breath at the voice coming through the receiver.
My heart thundered violently, but I forced myself to maintain composure.
“Yes, hello. This is Oh Soo-ho.”
—We were deeply impressed by your performance at today’s tryout. Frank Lambert would very much like to meet you in person.
Hope colored my voice.
“He wants to meet me?”
—Yes. I think it would be best to explain the details when we meet. Would you happen to be free tomorrow morning?
I answered without hesitation.
“Yes! Of course! I’m available anytime!”
Alan Powell chuckled briefly and provided the location and time.
The call wasn’t long.
I hung up and stood motionless, phone still in hand, staring blankly into the void.
Frank Lambert. That name alone made my chest swell with emotion.
Just as Mark had said, catching the eye of that man meant the tryout was a success.
“Soo-ho. Why are you spacing out like that? Who was it? Some weird scout calling?”
Mark approached with a worried expression and shook my shoulder.
I finally turned to him with a broad smile.
“Mark! Frank Lambert’s assistant called! He wants to meet me!”
My face radiated the kind of happiness that comes from obtaining everything in the world.
But Mark’s expression grew increasingly rigid. His eyes drifted toward the soju bottle.
“What? Frank Lambert? Hey, are you serious? Wow… that’s insane.”
Mark muttered to himself as he filled his soju glass to the brim.
His earlier promise to have just one drink had apparently flown off to distant galaxies.
He raised his glass and proposed a toast to me.
“Congratulations, you bastard! You finally caught Frank Lambert’s eye… but I’m done for, completely done!”
Mark downed his soju with exaggerated gestures.
One glass, two glasses. As the soju glasses emptied in succession, I grew flustered.
“M-Mark. What are you doing? You said you’d only have one!”
“I don’t care! What do I know! Frank Lambert didn’t call me! I have to drink soju to ease this heartbreak!”
Mark whined as if deeply wronged.
He was clearly happy about my success, yet the fact that he hadn’t received a call was clearly eating at him.
He grabbed some grilled pork belly from the table and shoved it into his mouth while grumbling.
“Damn it, I hit a single and even a home run today! So why didn’t he call me?! Does Frank Lambert have bad eyesight or something?”
I found Mark’s behavior both endearing and pitiful.
Here he was, lamenting that Frank Lambert hadn’t contacted him despite receiving six calls from Major League scouts.
Right then.
Bzzzzzzzz.
Mark’s pocket vibrated once more.
Mark answered the phone irritably.
“Hello? What? Yes? Who, who is this? Frank Lambert? Tomorrow? Oh, of course. I have nothing but time!”
After ending the call, Mark broke into a grin.
“I got the call too! I’m meeting Frank tomorrow as well!”
With that, he grabbed a soju glass and headed to the next table to make a toast before returning!
“Mark. I’m really happy for you.”
When Mark returned to his seat, I offered my genuine congratulations.
From the start, Mark had been waiting for Frank Lambert’s call, and thanks to that, I’d come to understand just how remarkable a figure he was.
Moreover, though we’d only just met today, Mark seemed like a genuinely good person.
Mark asked with an excited voice.
“But Soo-ho, what time are you meeting Frank tomorrow?”
“Ten in the morning.”
“Oh! I’m at nine! Hey, let’s meet up again after we’re done and talk about it! We might even end up playing on the same team. That would be incredible!”
Mark excitedly patted Oh Soo-ho’s shoulder.
I smiled faintly at Mark’s words.
The mere thought of playing together in the Minor League made my heart swell.
* * *
The next morning at 9:50 AM.
I arrived at the address Alan Powell had provided.
Unlike the shabby Independent League Stadiums, this facility was clean and modern, catching my eye immediately.
Following the directions, I entered a small Meeting Room.
Frank Lambert and his assistant Alan Powell were already seated inside.
“Hello, I’m Oh Soo-ho.”
Though clearly nervous, I greeted them as calmly as I could manage.
Frank Lambert, who appeared to be well into his seventies, nodded with a benevolent smile.
His gaze seemed to pierce through everything, yet simultaneously radiated deep experience and warmth.
“I’m Frank Lambert. This is my assistant Alan Powell.”
Alan Powell offered a light greeting.
“Hello.”
I exchanged a nod with Alan as well.
“Have a seat.”
Frank gestured to the chair across from him.
I sat down carefully.
Frank studied me for a moment before speaking.
“Your performance yesterday impressed me. Your physical test results were remarkable, and your focus at the Batter’s Box was exceptional.”
I didn’t allow myself to rejoice prematurely at the praise.
Because what mattered was the outcome.
Whether this meeting was simply to see me.
Or whether it was for a contract—I still didn’t know.
Frank, as if reading my thoughts, continued.
“But your batting has considerable issues in many respects.”
My expression hardened.
It was the truth I most dreaded hearing, yet knew all too well.
Frank continued speaking with resolute indifference to my reaction.
“I looked into your past. I found myself questioning why the talent you displayed as an amateur never materialized in the KBO Minor League.”
I couldn’t lift my head.
The problem that had tormented me for years, the pain I’d never confessed to anyone—it lay bare in this moment.
Yet simultaneously, an inexplicable sense of relief washed over me.
It was the hope of meeting someone who could see through my struggles with such precision.
“I tried my best in professional baseball, but my body wouldn’t obey my will. Gradually, slowly, I lost my batting feel, my batting eye—everything. But I…”
I lifted my head.
My eyes burned with determination.
“I can never abandon baseball. It is my entire life. I came to the United States thinking this was my last chance. I want to learn what I lack, how I can grow. I will spare no effort.”
Frank held my gaze.
His eyes carried a light of deep inquiry that transcended mere curiosity.
After all, Frank had asked me directly why the talent I’d shown as an amateur had vanished in the professional ranks.
In such moments, most players typically make excuses, blaming their surroundings to appear more impressive.
But I refused to shift blame onto others.
I was simply appealing to how desperately I desired this.
Yet even if my attitude was commendable, I needed to clarify whether I could judge myself objectively.
So Frank posed the question again.
“Let me ask once more. Why do you think it happened?”
Faced with the repeated question, I hesitated briefly.
“I think the problem was that I tried to force myself into clothes that didn’t fit my body. And I couldn’t find the answer on my own.”
Only then did Frank’s face break into a satisfied smile.
“You see it clearly. You were desperately enduring while trapped in a shell that didn’t fit you.”
Frank continued.
“Watching you at the plate yesterday made it unmistakable. I was astounded seeing you generate contact using only arm strength. Most players would’ve produced weak grounders or pop-ups. Yet you achieved it through pure athleticism and sheer, relentless determination at the plate.”
Genuine admiration colored Frank’s voice.
“Other scouts saw your inefficient batting and shook their heads, but I saw the primal power concealed within you.”
Frank rose from his seat and approached me, then took my hand.
“Open your palm.”
I slowly opened my palm at Frank’s request.
Alan Powell’s jaw nearly dropped.
His eyes screamed: Is that really a human palm?
Yet Frank gazed at that palm in silence for a long moment.
“How obsessed you’ve been with baseball. How brutally you’ve struggled. It’s all written here—proof that even when you hit the wall of talent, even when abandoned by your organization, you never surrendered once. Such a desperate player is rarely found.”
I didn’t bother answering.
Frank held my hand and looked directly into my eyes.
“I want to work with you. With the steel-like resolve etched into this palm, I believe you could become a Major League player.”
Frank had observed countless prospects over decades.
And he believed Soo-ho would become a prospect of a different caliber in the United States.
It was rare to find a player with such relentless, obsessive dedication in modern baseball.
As the Major League system in the United States became more sophisticated, most players grew up receiving systematic training from childhood.
This enabled stable player development.
But it also meant that the raw, primal passion—the kind that drove someone like Soo-ho to stake everything on baseball for mere survival—
had become nearly impossible to find.
That was why Soo-ho retained an unvarnished desperation that could only be seen in the past.
Such intensity no longer existed in modern America.
Of course, Minor League players—
that is, professional athletes—worked hard as well.
But there was a clear difference between them and Soo-ho.
Minor League players were those who strived desperately for success.
Soo-ho, however, was a player who had staked everything on baseball simply to survive.
‘That’s why his pure, uncompromising resolve is a greater quality for success than any raw talent.’
Meanwhile, Soo-ho’s heart pounded fiercely.
The words “work together” were essentially synonymous with a contract.
But then—
“However, an immediate contract won’t be possible.”
At Frank’s words, the smile vanished from Soo-ho’s face.
His disappointment was as great as his earlier hope had been.
Frank continued speaking with unhurried ease, unbothered by the reaction.
“Which organization do you think has the most outstanding prospects in the Major League?”
Soo-ho paused at the question, as if being tested.
Part of him wanted to name Frank’s own organization.
But unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to search up which organization Frank Lambert belonged to.
Not that he’d had the presence of mind to do so yesterday, caught up in excitement as he was.
In truth, it mattered little to Soo-ho which organization it was.
Any Minor League affiliate of a Major League club would have sufficed.
Soo-ho laid bare his honest thoughts.
“The Dodgers.”
Frank nodded at Soo-ho’s answer and spoke softly.
“That’s right. Our Dodgers.”
Soo-ho’s eyes widened in shock.
Frank Lambert was a Dodgers scout!
The Dodgers—that organization renowned for the finest player development system and prospect farm in the Major League.
“The Dodgers only accept the very best prospects. No matter how much I recommend you to the organization, they’ll absolutely require a separate test because of your failure record in the KBO Minor League. Other outstanding prospects hoping to join the Dodgers like yourself will also attend that test. You’ll have to win against them to secure a Minor League contract with the Dodgers. Are you willing to try?”
Frank released Soo-ho’s palm, which he had been holding gently, and continued speaking.
Even if Soo-ho had impressed Frank Lambert,
No matter how much Soo-ho caught Frank Lambert’s eye.
Even an outstanding performance at the Independent League Tryout wasn’t enough on its own.
Baseball was a merciless world where players had to prove themselves directly on the field, not through scouts’ assessments.
That’s why I could only seize a genuine opportunity by earning a passing grade on a far more elevated stage where Major League prospects gathered.
Soo-ho met Frank’s gaze without hesitation.
His eyes burned with desperate urgency and unwavering resolve.
“I’ll do it. No—I will absolutely succeed.”
There was no wavering in Soo-ho’s answer.
I had been given another chance to play baseball.
Moreover, an opportunity to learn the mechanics tailored for me at the Los Angeles Dodgers, the finest system in the Major League.
This cascade of fortune had arrived like a miracle in a single moment.

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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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