The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 66

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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 66
The words “Fall Stars Game” came from Casey’s mouth.
Mark exclaimed, “Oh! I completely forgot about that!”
In contrast, Soo-ho tilted his head in confusion.
“Fall Stars Game? What’s that?”
Casey shared his knowledge as if it were nothing remarkable.
“The crown jewel of the Arizona Fall League. The dream of every prospect. And….”
Casey paused for effect, then pointed toward the moon hanging in the night sky and spoke softly.
“The fastest shortcut to the Major League.”
During the six weeks the Arizona Fall League runs.
There is one special day—exactly one—when the league reaches the midpoint of its schedule.
It is an All-Star Game featuring only the most exceptional prospects from the Arizona Fall League.
That was the Fall Stars Game.
Casey continued, saying he had a correction to make first.
“Of course, since we’re still in Low-A, we can’t really call it a shortcut to the Major League. We lack experience, after all. So let’s call it a shortcut to Spring Training instead.”
Soo-ho asked with a voice full of doubt.
“Isn’t it just an exhibition game?”
All-Star Games were typically exhibition games by nature.
The KBO was the same, and so was the Major League.
“Not at all.”
Casey held up three fingers.
“First. It’s in a completely different league from Minor League All-Stars.”
There are countless leagues in Minor League Baseball.
Single-A, High-A, Double-A….
Each league holds its own All-Star Game, and hundreds of All-Stars emerge every year.
That’s merely winning first place in a local festival.
“But the Fall Stars Game is nationwide.”
The Arizona Fall League is where the top prospects from all those leagues converge.
This meant the best of the best.
“Eighty percent of the guys selected here debut in the Major League within two years. In other words, the moment your name appears on this list, the organization and fans stop treating you as a prospect and start treating you as a future Major Leaguer.”
Casey folded down one finger.
“Second. This is a badge of honor.”
The Arizona Fall League typically comes around only once in a career.
Coming twice means your growth has stalled.
In other words, the Fall Stars title—something you can only earn once in a lifetime.
This single line on your resume becomes a guarantee that proves your value in future salary negotiations or on the trade market.
Especially for an outsider like Soo-ho.
It’s the most certain credential to silence those who doubt your ability.
“And finally. This is the real core of it.”
Casey’s voice dropped low.
“The 40-man roster.”
“…!”
“Your chances of getting on it just skyrocketed.”
Soo-ho’s eyes widened with sudden intensity.
It was genuinely fascinating.
The 40-man roster.
For Minor League players, those words meant a complete elevation in status.
Baseball players fall into two distinct categories.
Those on the 40-man roster, and those who aren’t.
The former are classified as organizational assets and receive protection.
They’re shielded by the Major League Baseball Union, guaranteed a minimum salary, and the difference in medical benefits and treatment is like night and day.
Most importantly, it means becoming the first in line for a Major League call-up.
The latter, on the other hand?
Expendable commodities that can be cut at any moment.
So what does the All-Star Game have to do with any of this?
“If you make waves there, other teams will start coveting you. They’ll wonder, ‘The Dodgers had something like this?’ That’s how it works.”
“….”
“Then the Dodgers won’t want to lose you, so they’ll have no choice but to put you on the 40-man roster and lock you in as a protected player. Of course, it’s not guaranteed, but the odds are high.”
The Rule 5 Draft.
A system that allows teams to legally poach promising prospects from other organizations.
No team leaves a player who puts on an insane performance at the All-Star Game unprotected.
In other words, being selected for the All-Star Game is the fastest shortcut to converting from temporary to permanent status.
“Now you understand why the All-Star Game matters so much, right?”
Soo-ho’s eyes flickered with realization.
It finally became clear.
Why he had to go there no matter what.
Looking at it coldly and rationally.
No matter how brilliantly I perform in Low-A or High-A.
‘I’m still just a lottery ticket being scratched at random.’
An interchangeable card.
A rootless outsider who could be discarded without hesitation the moment I aged out or showed even the slightest decline.
This was my current position.
But if I made the 40-man roster, everything would change.
‘I’d become an organizational asset.’
Being included on that list meant being classified as a protected asset that the organization was obligated to safeguard.
To safeguard meant to take responsibility.
Organizations don’t want the value of their assets to diminish.
That’s why players on the 40-man roster receive a level of development and support incomparable to what I have now.
Elite coaching staff, cutting-edge medical support, and priority access to Major League call-ups.
‘If I fail, it’s the organization’s loss, so they’ll stop at nothing to make me succeed.’
In simple terms, it was an opportunity to grow under full organizational support.
This was precisely why I pushed myself so hard to prove my worth and climb to higher leagues.
This was the ideal environment I had yearned for ever since setting foot on American soil.
‘Moreover, making the 40-man roster naturally increases the probability of participating in Double-A/Triple-A or Spring Training.’
Of course, nothing in this world comes free.
‘Getting onto the 40-man roster is like plucking a star from the night sky.’
Across both Major League and Minor League Baseball, each team had only 40 spots.
With 26 already occupying Major League roster positions, only 14 spots remained.
‘And those 14 spots are already filled. But if the Fall Stars Game is the key that opens that door…’
There was no reason to hesitate.
I had to seize it by any means necessary.
It wasn’t just Liam who was in a hurry.
My friends and I had to get our names on that roster as well.
“Casey, so how do we get selected?”
“First, we need to understand the framework.”
Casey continued with additional explanation about the Fall Stars Game.
“First, roughly 180 players were selected for this year’s Arizona Fall League. But only about 40 make it to the Fall Stars Game.”
My mind raced through the calculations.
‘Simple math puts it at roughly 4.5 to 1 odds.’
I immediately shook my head.
That was a miscalculation.
Or rather, I was just running a fantasy scenario.
‘Those odds only apply when all players start from an equal footing.’
Reality was different.
Most of the players gathered here were elite prospects already vetted in Double-A, even Triple-A.
But me?
I was merely a newcomer with no pedigree, having just stepped foot in Low-A.
‘To be blunt, I, Casey, and Mark are ranked 180th out of 180 players.’
Regardless of how well we were performing.
‘We lack experience in the higher leagues.’
Major League Baseball placed tremendous value on experience.
So then.
“It’s not just difficult… it’s hoping for a miracle.”
I didn’t think it would be easy.
With roughly a week remaining until the Fall Stars Game.
‘And I suspect the next week’s performance will matter far more than everything I’ve accomplished so far.’
This was the truth.
Because ultimately, baseball is a game of information.
Now that we were past the second week, it was no exaggeration to say that detailed information on every individual player had been laid bare.
So from this point forward, I had to demonstrate superior performance and prove my ability to overcome my weaknesses if I had any chance of making the Fall Stars Game.
Casey nodded.
“First, there are certain conditions for being selected to the All-Star Game.”
Performance.
Tools.
Organization evaluation.
And marketability, he explained.
“First, performance. That’s the foundation. We don’t put underperformers on the stage of stars. For now, we’re off to a good start in this area. But that doesn’t mean we can relax. Ultimately, this week is the most critical.”
Casey continued.
“Second, tools. What scouts go crazy for. The quality of talent matters more than hit totals right now. How fast is your exit velocity, how quick are your feet, how strong is your arm. Do you have weapons that’ll work in the Major League?”
Casey gestured toward Soo-ho with his chin.
“You’ve got excellent speed and solid defense. Recently you proved your power too. Mark has raw, ridiculous power, and me—well, I’m flawless.”
He managed to slip in a subtle boast about himself, but it wasn’t wrong.
Low-A rookies were matching pitches from higher-level arms with raw power and technique.
The tool verification was more than sufficient.
“Third, organization evaluation. As they say, arms bend inward—you can’t ignore the organization’s backing.”
“We’re the Dodgers, though.”
“Bingo. The Dodgers, famous for their excellent farm system, put out a stamp of approval saying these guys are the real deal. Plus, we’re honestly creating a sensation right now, aren’t we? The organization is dying to push us into the All-Star Game.”
Mark, who had been listening quietly until now, nodded and broke into a bright smile.
“What? Then we’re all set, right? Good performance, solid tools, organization backing us. We’re definitely getting selected?”
But Casey shook his head.
His expression remained serious.
He waved his fourth finger, still unfolded, as he spoke.
“No. There’s still one more thing. Actually, this is the real problem….”
Casey paused for a moment, looking back and forth between Soo-ho and Mark.
This business wasn’t just about talent.
Show business.
You needed something that could captivate people.
“The final condition. Marketability.”
Casey folded his fingers as he continued his explanation.
“In other words, whether the league and broadcasters want your face on screen, and whether you’re a player with a story they can sell.”
Soo-ho remained silent.
The first three conditions.
Performance, tools, and organization evaluation were intrinsic to baseball.
This condition was purely extrinsic—the realm of business.
“Mark and I meet this condition, at least.”
Casey pointed to himself as he spoke.
“I’m a genius—no explanation needed. Geniuses always have their uses. People curse while watching talented guys flaunt themselves, yet they’re captivated by it.”
America, in fact, preferred confidence over humility.
Even if that confidence bordered on arrogance.
Casey then pointed to Mark.
“And honestly, this stubborn bear isn’t a genius. But he’s got a story. He came back from an injury. He even won MVP at the High School Invitational once. Just once, though. I won it three times.”
“Hey! Do you really need to compare the numbers?”
Mark grumbled, but Casey ignored him and looked at me.
His gaze turned serious.
“The real question is you. Soo-ho—do you have a story?”
“….”
I couldn’t answer immediately.
Casey’s question struck a nerve.
A story? Did I have one?
I asked myself silently.
‘I do. Maybe even more dramatic than anyone else’s.’
An orphan. Released from the KBO Minor League.
A batter who came to the United States with no connections, passed a Baseball Tryout, and made it this far.
This narrative of clawing up from the bottom.
It might be far more cinematic material than Casey’s or Mark’s stories.
But I kept my mouth shut.
Whether that story would resonate on American soil was an entirely different matter.
‘I’m… Korean, after all.’
That was the biggest problem.
This is the United States.
The arm bends inward, as they say.
American audiences and media fawn over the coming-of-age dramas of their own boys.
But they rarely lend an ear to the struggles of unfamiliar outsiders.
They only pay attention to foreigners for one reason.
When someone dominates the league so overwhelmingly that ignoring the person becomes impossible.
Only then do they ask.
‘Who is this guy, and where did he come from?’
That’s it.
In other words, story never precedes skill.
‘I’ve seen it firsthand since arriving here.’
Memories from the past two weeks flashed through my mind.
Before and after games, reporters and Scouts always crowded around the Dugout.
They cornered players and conducted endless interviews, writing articles.
Even players with far worse records than mine stood before the microphone.
Casey and Mark had both appeared on local newspapers and broadcasts several times.
But me?
‘Not once.’
Despite being among the top-performing batters currently, the camera never captured me.
I was treated like I didn’t exist, passed over without a second glance.
‘The Commentators were the same way.’
After the game ended, Soo-ho reviewed the footage countless times, desperate to understand what had transpired.
But.
—Oh Soo-ho. A player who failed in Korea and is trying to establish himself in the United States.
While other players had commentators weaving elaborate narratives around their stories,
his segment ended there. That was all.
Probably because no one cared.
To Americans, I was nothing more than an Asian rookie who would shine briefly before vanishing.
Nothing more, nothing less.
‘It’s frustrating, but I have to accept it.’
The journalists here, and those who were supposed to introduce me to the world—none of them were actually interested in me.
Soo-ho swallowed his bitterness and asked,
“Casey. How important is buzz… really?”
“Honestly, when it comes to making the All-Star Game, it’s the most important thing. You know as well as I do that baseball players have inconsistent conditioning. Getting selected here means everyone’s skill level is roughly the same. So who do you pick? The guy who helps sell tickets.”
“You have an agent, and this information comes from them?”
He was asking whether the source of the information was reliable.
“Yeah, that’s right. It’s from the top agent in the industry, so it’ll be accurate.”
It was confirmation.
In the end, Soo-ho was competing from the most disadvantageous position.
Even with good stats, even with good tools.
He might still fail to make the All-Star Game because of this invisible wall called buzz.
It was infuriating.
But what could he do? This was the harsh reality.
‘Still.’
Instead of dimming, Soo-ho’s eyes gleamed with a cold, steely light.
‘I won’t give up.’
If no one was interested, he would force them to pay attention.
If there was no buzz, he would create it himself.
‘I’ll do whatever it takes. I have to make the All-Star Game no matter what.’
Soo-ho gripped his gym bag tightly.
One week remained.
There were two things he needed to accomplish.
Continue delivering strong performances.
And make the world aware of his existence.

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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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