The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 60

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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 60
The final score was 7-3. The Desert Dogs claimed victory, powered by Soo-ho’s stellar performance.
But immediately after the game ended.
As Soo-ho made his way through the corridor, still thrumming with the energy of triumph, he was heading back to his lodging.
“Oh Soo-ho.”
At the familiar voice, Soo-ho turned his head.
It was Coordinator Thomas.
And standing beside him was a stranger Soo-ho had never seen before.
Beneath a Dodgers cap pulled low, the man’s face appeared to be in his mid-forties.
He wore a loose shirt and shorts.
His impression was somewhat casual, yet his eyes gleamed with a sharp, piercing intensity.
“Hello, Coordinator.”
“Do you have a moment to spare?”
“Of course.”
Thomas seemed to be maintaining his usual businesslike expression, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
“First, congratulations. To be honest, I was worried, but you exceeded expectations from day one.”
It wasn’t mere flattery.
Thomas was a data devotee.
Soo-ho, whose probability of failure was high according to the data, had defiantly delivered a double.
For Thomas, it was a pleasant betrayal of his predictions.
Hearing praise from someone so exacting made Soo-ho’s shoulders swell with quiet pride.
‘This feels good.’
If I’m being more honest, it felt excellent.
After all, praise hits differently when it comes from someone stingy with compliments.
The man standing beside Thomas seized the moment to interject abruptly.
“Hey there. I’m Paul. Just a passerby, really.”
A passerby?
Soo-ho’s gaze settled on the LA logo emblazoned on the man’s cap.
A passerby who entered the Team Official Area, wore a Dodgers cap, and stood beside the Coordinator?
‘He must be a Scout.’
Soo-ho lowered his head politely.
“Hello.”
“Yeah. I got curious about something and pestered Thomas into bringing me along. I thought I might offer some advice too, though I’m not sure my humble knowledge will be of any use.”
Paul looked Soo-ho up and down, then asked with evident interest.
“Mind if I ask you something first?”
“I’ll do my best to answer within what I know.”
The characteristic courtesy of a Korean.
Paul nodded, clearly approving of the attitude.
“You had two at-bats today, right? First one was a walk, second was a double.”
“Yes.”
“Did you intentionally set up those two at-bats? What they call reading the pitcher?”
I held Paul’s gaze for a moment.
He was no ordinary observer.
While others attributed success to luck or a pitcher’s mistake, this man saw through to the intention beneath the surface.
“Yes. I’m grateful it worked out.”
“Heh.”
Paul let out a short exclamation.
I’d expected it, but hearing it confirmed was more shocking.
A mere Low-A player had engaged in a battle of wits against higher-league pitchers and gained the advantage.
“Impressive. But those opponents are higher-level players than you. They have better stuff and experience. How could you be so bold about reading the pitcher? Weren’t you afraid?”
“I believe that’s precisely why it was possible.”
“Hmm? Explain that clearly.”
I spoke calmly.
“I’ve had professional experience in Korea, though not for long. Of course, I can’t say America is the same as Korea. There are differences in physicality and technical skill level.”
My eyes brightened.
“But regardless of baseball level, I found that humans are the same.”
“Humans are the same? In what way?”
“The instinct to look down on those beneath them. Especially in professional circles where elite consciousness runs strong.”
Simply put, my opponents had no data on me—or rather, they weren’t interested in me at all.
An Asian batter called up from Low-A.
To them, I wasn’t an object of analysis but merely a page to breeze through.
“So you turned their arrogance against them?”
“Yes, exactly. If they hadn’t let their guard down, a greenhorn like me would never have had the chance to hit a double.”
“Kha-ha-ha!”
Paul burst into hearty laughter.
He likes me. He really likes me.
Setting aside baseball skill, this kid’s nerve and instincts are already Major League caliber.
After laughing heartily with that thought, he composed himself and spoke.
“Good. I’ve heard a satisfying answer, so now I’ll offer some advice. Today worked out. That’s definitely something to praise.”
Paul’s voice turned serious.
“Two at-bats, both reaching base with extra-base hits. You couldn’t ask for a better start.”
If I had to nitpick, the double didn’t clear the fence, but that was being unfair.
Home runs don’t come around like clockwork.
“Thank you.”
“But.”
Paul raised his index finger and shook it.
“The real problem starts now. Data has been gathered.”
“…”
“Your opponents now know. That you’re not some naive rookie. And crucially, they know you were hunting breaking balls.”
Paul stepped closer and looked directly into my eyes.
“I’m telling you this because we need a solution. How do you think they’ll come at you tomorrow?”
Soo-ho paused to consider, then answered.
“…They’ll attack with fastballs.”
“Correct. Sharp instincts as expected.”
Paul snapped his fingers with a sharp crack.
“What you proved today wasn’t cunning—it was power and technique. They’ll analyze you. ‘This guy has impeccable timing on breaking balls,’ they’ll say.”
“….”
“So tomorrow? No sliders. No changeups. Just one thing. Fastballs diving deep into your body, or high fastballs. That’s all they’ll throw, day in and day out.”
It was a harsh truth.
Soo-ho knew it himself.
Today’s double had only been possible because the pitcher threw him a breaking ball.
But what if they came at him with nothing but fastballs?
His mechanics were flawless.
But without mastering everything else, Soo-ho would struggle against those pitches.
“I’ll take your advice to heart.”
Paul grinned at Soo-ho’s humble demeanor.
The kid spoke so politely. He was the type that made teaching worthwhile.
“Simple. Only swing at fastballs you can hit.”
“Fastballs I can hit….”
“Skip the ones deep inside. Skip the ones above the shoulders too. Let them go even if they look like strikes. Because with your frame, you can’t handle those pitches properly yet. Even if you do connect, you’ll only get a single at best.”
The reason was straightforward.
It was a matter of biomechanics.
“Bigger guys can drive high pitches down with leverage from above. With longer arms, they can muscle inside pitches with raw strength.”
But Soo-ho was different.
When a hitter with Soo-ho’s still-developing frame tried to hit a high pitch, his center of gravity would float upward.
Unable to transfer his lower body power fully, he’d end up swinging with just his arms, and the result was predictable.
The ball wouldn’t carry.
Inside pitches were the same problem.
He’d have to keep his arms tight against his body, but then he’d lose extension—
the crucial arm stretch that defines a proper swing.
Soo-ho hadn’t yet mastered the batting form suited to his own mechanics.
“So how could power possibly transfer through a swing that’s lost its rotational force? You’d get nothing but weak contact. That’s what slap hitters do.”
Paul was firm.
To become an OPS hitter—a power hitter—you needed more than just meeting the ball at the barrel’s center. You needed the rotational force to drive through it.
That was exactly the kind of mechanics Soo-ho possessed, using his whole body.
Yet in Low-A, Soo-ho had primarily hit singles.
But here, he was attempting to change his style.
If he hadn’t wanted to change, I would’ve just left him alone.
“Changing your style is like major surgery. It takes time. If you want immediate results, you can only touch pitches that’ll carry when you hit them. And those aren’t the high ones or the inside ones.”
He had to hunt for the zones where he could execute his swing completely.
“So wait for a pitch you can drive far. If you hold your discipline against high pitches and inside pitches, the pitcher grows impatient. Eventually, he’ll have no choice but to bring the ball down—right around the belt line, where you can fully unleash your swing.”
That was when your opportunity would come, he was saying.
I stared blankly at Paul.
It felt like I’d been struck hard across the head.
In all my years playing baseball, had I ever received advice like this even once?
‘No.’
Absolutely not.
Not back in Korea, and certainly not since arriving here.
Most coaches spoke only in terms of results.
‘Why can’t you hit it.’
‘Focus.’
‘Choke up on the bat.’
No one had ever explained with such logic why I shouldn’t chase high pitches right now.
What mechanics my body needed to generate power from my physical frame.
‘This is… real Scout advice.’
A chill ran through me.
Without thinking, I bowed my head deeply.
“Thank you.”
It wasn’t mere courtesy.
My voice trembled with sincerity that welled up from the depths of my chest.
“Really… thank you. Somehow, I can see the path forward now.”
Paul simply chuckled at my reaction and waved his hand dismissively.
Even that cool demeanor moved me.
Watching Paul and Thomas disappear into the distance, I clenched my fists.
My chest swelled with emotion.
‘Coming here was the right choice.’
To the United States.
And joining the Dodgers was the right choice.
I felt certain that simply being here would allow me to grow.
‘This place is truly…’
A paradise for prospects.
A stage of dreams.
My eyes burned hotter than ever before.
Now there was no hesitation.
What I needed to learn was clear, and what I had to do was set.
* * *
The next morning.
A strange silence hung between the three of us gathered on the Ground early.
Casey’s expression was particularly grave.
He’d eagerly resolved to teach me, but now that he stood with bat in hand, his mind had gone blank.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.
‘How on earth am I supposed to explain this?’
The sorrow of a genius.
For Casey, hitting was like breathing.
When the ball came, his body responded, and the bat went out.
The entire sequence was so natural, dwelling purely in the realm of instinct.
Trying to break it down logically and explain it to someone else—he simply couldn’t grasp how.
It was like asking a fish to explain how to swim.
“….”
Casey picked up the bat and put it down, his lips moving soundlessly.
Soo-ho, watching him, asked bluntly.
“Casey. Is it hard?”
“…It’s not.”
Casey turned his head away, pretending otherwise, but cold sweat was already beading on his forehead.
Mark, stretching nearby, saw his expression and burst into laughter.
“Hey, it’s written all over your face. ‘I’m having a mental breakdown right now.'”
“Shut up.”
Mark clutched his stomach, laughing, but his expression hardened just as quickly.
If this genius kept stumbling like this, wouldn’t Soo-ho end up learning nothing at all?
Time was running out, and if they couldn’t make progress, it would be a disaster.
That was when it happened.
Soo-ho opened his mouth.
“Since I’m the one learning, let me narrow the scope for you.”
“Scope?”
“Yeah. I’m going to completely abandon pitches inside and high fastballs. I’m only going to aim for fastballs outside those zones.”
Soo-ho briefly explained the advice he’d heard from Paul yesterday.
He would boldly abandon the pitches that were difficult to attack given his build and mechanics.
A strategy to target only the zones where he could generate real power.
“So I’m only going to respond to this specific pitch. How about it? Does that make it easier?”
“…Oh.”
Casey’s expression went blank, his mouth falling open.
It felt like a blockage had suddenly cleared.
In fact, Casey had been struggling with this too.
The opponent had gotten hit by breaking balls from Soo-ho yesterday.
Naturally, today they would come with fastballs, trying to overpower him with pure velocity.
So he needed to teach fastball handling, but it was such a vast domain that words alone couldn’t capture it.
How to deal with inside pitches, how to slap down high ones, how to push away outside ones….
The possibilities were endless, and he couldn’t find a starting point.
‘Now this changes things.’
No need for complicated applied formulas—just one lethal technique to pass on.
Casey’s eyes lit up with renewed energy.
“It definitely… feels easier.”
Casey nodded and adjusted his grip on the bat.
Then he looked at me with a meaningful smile.
“Then there’s a way.”
“A way?”
“If it’s a pitch in that zone you mentioned, you don’t need to force it with raw power.”
Casey pointed beyond the fence with the tip of his bat.
“Just a light touch and it’ll sail right over.”

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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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