The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 69

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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 69
Jake couldn’t tear his eyes away from Soo-ho.
Or rather, he found himself unable to.
There was something oddly unsettling about his movements.
Zzzzrip!
A sharp, piercing sound cut through the silence.
Soo-ho had torn open the velcro on his baserunning gloves with his teeth.
Up to this point, it was an ordinary sight.
Runners typically adjusted their gloves once they reached base.
For most, it was either habit or a routine to ease tension.
But.
‘This was different.’
Jake sensed it instinctively.
Soo-ho’s movements were no mere habit.
Most players would simply brush off their wrists and tighten the loose sections.
But Soo-ho was different.
He tightened his gloves as if wrapping a tourniquet, or like a soldier lacing his boots one final time before battle.
Slowly, deliberately, and with breathtaking intensity.
The tension in the gloves pressing against his wrist was palpable even through the lens.
But the most striking difference was.
‘His gaze.’
While adjusting his gloves, Soo-ho’s eyes never wavered toward anything else.
His stare was fixed precisely on the Catcher.
Normally, a runner watches the Pitcher’s feet or studies the ground to gauge their lead distance.
‘But he’s watching the Catcher?’
And so blatantly, without breaking eye contact?
Anyone with even a passing knowledge of baseball would recognize this signal.
I’m going to run. Try to catch me if you can.
A clear declaration of intent. Jake was certain.
‘This is definitely a Called Steal.’
Over the past five years, he had scouted thousands of prospects.
Among them were plenty of arrogant players afflicted with stardom, and genuine prodigies.
But he had never felt anything like this.
What if he had been another American player?
If he had wanted to announce a steal in this situation, he would have made a spectacle of it nine times out of ten.
‘Of course, Called Steals don’t happen often.’
Perhaps once in several decades.
And when they did, those players would pound their chests and roar.
Or point at the base with their fingers in a taunting gesture.
Some would even mime slitting their throat as provocation.
That’s what Americans consider a real man.
But Soo-ho was the complete opposite.
‘Restrained.’
Quiet.
Was it the modesty inherent to Easterners?
Or perhaps his nature.
His provocation carried no excess.
Instead of flashy gestures, the sound of tightening gloves and a cold gaze alone commanded the attention of everyone present.
Yet that very stillness felt all the more oppressive.
For the quiet click of a gun being loaded is far more terrifying than the clang of a loud cymbal.
‘This is absolutely perfect.’
A smile spread across Jake’s lips.
Americans are accustomed to flashy, exaggerated performances.
Of course, clichés always work, but familiarity breeds contempt.
And now this strange foreigner’s cold, weighty warning had appeared.
‘This is fresh.’
Like watching a breathtaking noir film after seeing nothing but Hollywood action movies.
‘If this succeeds, it’ll definitely draw attention.’
People always crave new stimulation.
And this Asian was providing the most alien and captivating stimulus on the Arizona Fall League stage.
‘I’m not gay, but this is genuinely cool enough to make any man fall for it. It’ll definitely help with the view count.’
Jake’s hand moved.
The zoom lens that had been about to shift to Casey Meyer fixed itself back on Soo-ho standing on First Base.
‘I can’t miss a single second of this moment.’
Of course, if the stolen base attempt failed, the footage would be completely unusable.
In that case, filming Casey at the plate would be far more practical.
But!
Hadn’t he just witnessed it?
The way he’d laid down a bunt and effortlessly reached First Base with his speed.
* * *
Meanwhile.
A chill hung over the ground.
The Catcher was the first to react.
The Pitcher on the Mound had his back turned and couldn’t see, but the Catcher witnessed every move Soo-ho made beyond his mask.
The sound of tightening gloves.
And that arrogant gaze piercing right through him.
‘That bastard….’
The Catcher clenched his teeth.
Heat surged through him.
He had more than enough reason to be furious.
‘How dare a Low-A player.’
A rookie who just joined professional baseball, no less, announcing a stolen base against an elite battery rotating between Double-A and Triple-A?
So brazenly?
‘There’s a limit to audacity.’
Of course, if I’m being objective about it.
Is this really something to get that angry about?
The truth is, it isn’t.
This is the United States.
The kingdom of showmanship.
Countless players throw their bats in the Batter’s Box to make a name for themselves, and when they strike someone out, they roar and pound their chests.
The Arizona Fall League especially takes it to extremes.
In comparison, what did Soo-ho do?
He simply adjusted his glove and made eye contact.
It was actually gentlemanly and restrained.
Yet the reason the Catcher’s insides were churning was crystal clear.
‘Where did this yellow monkey crawl out from.’
Race. And origin.
White supremacy buried deep in the unconscious.
When domestic players perform, it’s passion and style.
But when a rootless Oriental shows off on the sacred Ground, it’s perceived as arrogance and insult.
A foreigner who doesn’t know his place.
This was how the Catcher now regarded Soo-ho.
‘How dare you come to someone else’s land and try to teach the master?’
The Catcher slapped his mitt roughly.
He immediately sent a sign to the Pitcher.
It wasn’t a standard sign.
His thumb pointing to First Base while he made a throat-cutting gesture.
‘That bastard disrespected us.’
The Pitcher on the Mound read the sign as well.
His eyebrows twitched.
He understood that the Runner on First had provoked them.
The Pitcher’s gaze flicked toward First Base.
Soo-ho stood rigid, his eyes fixed on Second Base.
‘Ha.’
The Pitcher let out a hollow laugh.
He was dumbfounded.
He was a first-round pick who received a signing bonus of four million dollars.
An aristocrat among aristocrats, cherished by the organization.
Yet some nameless, bargain-bin Oriental was sharpening a knife behind his back?
‘This is a matter of pride.’
In the world of competition, one can accept a difference in skill, but disrespect is unbearable.
The pitcher’s grip tightened with force.
He squeezed the ball so hard that the seams dug into the leather.
There was only one objective.
Casey Meyer at the batter’s box?
No. Right now, dealing with that rat came first.
‘I’ll catch him no matter what.’
While the pitcher and catcher’s eyes burned with intensity.
Soo-ho’s mind remained ice-cold.
My provocation was no impulsive act.
It was a meticulous calculation based on data verified down to the hundredths place.
‘Data doesn’t lie.’
I studied the pitcher on the mound.
His throwing form, his habits, and one decisive number flashed through my mind.
‘Salt River Rafters. Damon. Slide step. 1.33 seconds.’
The time it takes from the set position for a pitcher to release the ball until it hits the catcher’s glove.
Typically, 1.20 to 1.25 seconds is average.
Around 1.15 seconds is considered fast, and 1.10 seconds or less almost completely shuts down stolen bases.
But 1.30 seconds or more? For a runner, it’s like finding a goldmine.
Yet this guy clocks in at 1.33 seconds.
His large frame made his throwing motion wide and sluggish.
‘If it were just the pitcher, it might be different.’
My gaze shifted to the catcher.
His sitting posture was heavy and solid.
But that heaviness was eating away at his agility.
‘Same team. Loran. Pop time. Over 2.10 seconds.’
The time it takes for a catcher to catch the ball and throw to second base.
The Major League average falls between 1.95 and 2.00 seconds.
This catcher was far slower than that.
Of course, if the pitcher were exceptionally fast, it could be compensated for.
But with the pitcher’s delivery being this sluggish?
‘They’d need a divine pop time to catch me.’
1.70 to 1.75 seconds.
Only a catcher with a pop time among the elite in the Major League could manage it.
With this sluggish battery combination, they couldn’t contain my speed.
It was a matter of physics.
‘So this will be my complete victory.’
Had the pitcher’s delivery been even slightly faster, I wouldn’t have announced myself.
But the opponent’s weakness was clear, and I had every right to exploit it.
I hadn’t forgotten the data from the past two weeks.
Over the past two weeks, I hadn’t merely played games.
I had collided with every team and every player, obsessively collecting their data in my mind and in my notebook.
The pitcher’s quick motion speed, pickoff habits, the catcher’s arm strength and throwing accuracy—everything.
While others showered after games, I rewound footage and counted frames.
There was only one reason.
Diligence? No, it was a far more desperate word than that.
‘I wanted to survive.’
It was a habit ingrained in me since my KBO Minor League days.
If you had nothing, you had to know one thing more than everyone else just to stay alive.
While Major League players trusted their talent and played by instinct, Minor League players had to extract even one habit from their opponent to create an opening—and that was the only way to last another year.
That desperate survival instinct, even here on American soil.
Had become my most powerful weapon.
‘Baseball is a sport of probability. The more information you have, the higher your odds.’
Other prospects probably studied data too, but none would be as relentless as me.
They were geniuses who had walked an elite path.
But I knew what it was like at the bottom.
That’s why I had to be more thorough.
I fixed my gaze on the pitcher once more.
His shoulder twitched ever so slightly.
He was abandoning any thought of a pickoff throw and finally signaling to throw home.
‘Here it comes.’
My body compressed like a spring.
The calculations were complete.
Now was the time to prove it.
And on the other side.
Casey Meyer, standing in the batter’s box, fiddled with his helmet brim.
‘The atmosphere is brutal.’
It was a killing intent so palpable it sent chills down his spine.
Casey had witnessed the Runner on First’s provocative glove routine.
He could feel the battery’s fury in response through his skin. Yet he tilted his head in confusion.
‘Still… they seem way too angry.’
No matter how audacious an announced steal might be.
Even if it was a rare occurrence, would they really lose their composure to this extent?
In American baseball, provocation is everyday.
A single bat flip can cause a bench-clearing brawl.
But usually they try to suppress it with skill, not get emotionally shaken like this.
If that’s the case, there’s only one explanation.
‘Is it racism?’
Casey let out a soft laugh.
He wasn’t even surprised.
It’s a common sight here in the United States, especially in the conservative world of baseball.
An outsider splashing mud on the white man’s sacred ground—that’s what grates on them.
Well, that’s their problem. Casey’s eyes gleamed.
‘If they’re this angry… there’s only one pitch the Pitcher will throw.’
No complex mind games were necessary.
That snorting Pitcher and Catcher, desperate to shut down Soo-ho, would have no choice in their selection.
A breaking ball?
‘They’d be terrified that a slow breaking ball would let Soo-ho race past 2nd Base all the way to 3rd Base.’
So the answer was predetermined.
‘A fastball.’
They had to tie down the Runner on First’s legs with the fastest, most powerful pitch.
That was the only sign the Catcher could give, and the only pitch the Pitcher could throw.
And for genius batter Casey Meyer, there was no easier prey than a Pitcher whose pitch was forced.
‘If I know what’s coming, I can send it over the fence every single time.’
Casey licked his lips.
This was why I loved Soo-ho.
Whenever he got on base, baseball became so simple.
No need for headache-inducing mind games.
Just wait for the pitch the Pitcher had no choice but to throw, then hit it.
Honestly, as a genius, my pride might take a hit, but substance mattered more.
I wanted to be placed in the batting order right after Soo-ho every single time, for the sake of my future performance.
Because then I’d truly reach the Major League faster than anyone else.
Windup.
The Pitcher’s arm came over.
As expected—no.
As I knew for certain, a 96-mile fastball was screaming down the middle.
The pitch the Catcher had set up high and easy for a throw.
A delicious, hittable fastball right down the pipe.
‘Mm. Looks tasty.’
If I swing now, it’s a home run, no question about it.
A perfect chance to record my 6th AFL home run and drive in a run.
But.
Casey chuckled softly and kept the bat resting on his shoulder, completely still.
‘This isn’t my stage right now.’
I knew.
I knew why Soo-ho was pulling off this insane stunt.
Attention. Interest.
There was no way someone as sharp as me wouldn’t notice he was struggling for that desperate goal.
I didn’t want to stab my friend in the back just because I was fixated on immediate results.
‘There’s no need to do that anyway.’
I had already accumulated plenty of RBIs and home runs thanks to Soo-ho.
And there would be more to come.
So I didn’t mind yielding the spotlight this time.
Thwack!
The ball lodged into the Catcher’s glove.
“Strike!”
The moment the Referee’s call rang out, the Catcher sprang up like a coiled spring the instant he caught the ball.
His gaze wasn’t on the batter Casey, but fixed on Second Base.
And there—
Tap-tap-tap!
Already in motion before the Pitcher’s hand had even released the ball.
Like a bullet streaking across the diamond.
“Too late,” Casey murmured softly.
Casey muttered quietly to himself.
The Pitcher’s sluggish slide step.
The Catcher’s slow pop time.
And Soo-ho’s flawless speed.
This required no calculation—the outcome was already decided.
Whoosh!
Soo-ho’s body dropped low as he approached Second Base.
The Shortstop caught the ball and attempted the tag, but Soo-ho twisted his body outward, evading the tag with an exquisite hook slide.
His left hand touched the corner of the base with precision.
“Safe!”
A stolen base following the announced steal.
Thus Soo-ho’s promise was fulfilled.

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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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