The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 72

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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 72
That morning, on the commute to the Stadium.
The world had not flipped upside down overnight.
Reporters had set up camp at the Stadium entrance as they always did.
Several players were already conducting interviews.
But their cameras and microphones were not pointed at Soo-ho.
“Hey! Mark! How did that home run feel yesterday?”
“Casey! What’s your batting average goal for this Arizona Fall League?”
The barrage of flashes continued to pour down on Mark and Casey.
As Soo-ho passed by them, only a fleeting glance lingered before scattering away.
Mark looked uncomfortable and glanced at Soo-ho, but Soo-ho simply waved his hand without concern.
“I’ll head to the Locker Room first. Go ahead and finish your interview.”
“Huh? Oh… yeah.”
Soo-ho calmly parted through the crowd and entered the Corridor.
Murmurs echoed from behind him, but no one reached out to stop him.
It would be a lie to say there was no regret.
The view count had exceeded 500,000.
The internet world was in an uproar.
But the air of reality remained lukewarm.
Soo-ho set down his bag in the Locker Room and coldly analyzed the reason.
‘It’s only natural.’
The first reason was time.
The video had exploded just six hours ago, in the early morning when everyone was asleep.
No matter how impactful it was, there simply wasn’t enough time physically for the desks of major news outlets to mobilize and issue assignment orders.
And the second reason, the more fundamental one, was the geographic nature of this place.
‘Because this is the United States.’
In Korea, you could get from Seoul to Busan in two and a half hours by high-speed rail.
If something became a hot topic, fans could immediately hop on the subway and rush to the Stadium.
But the United States was different. A single state was larger than all of Korea.
Just because someone watched a video in the early morning and thought, ‘Hmm, this guy’s pretty good?’
There wouldn’t be a crazy fan willing to fly thousands of kilometers to see him.
Especially if he were a Major League player.
But he was still a Minor League player.
He simply wasn’t worth that much yet.
‘And above all else….’
The gaze of the reporters.
The reporters he’d encountered at the entrance definitely knew who Soo-ho was.
Curiosity gleamed in their sidelong glances.
But they hadn’t thrust their microphones at him.
Because they lacked certainty.
Whether this was genuine skill or merely a one-hit wonder born of fortunate circumstance.
In the cold, unforgiving Professional Baseball World, no journalist had the leisure to devote column space to an unproven flash in the pan.
I would have done the same in their position.
Soo-ho sat on the bench and tightened his shoelaces.
There was no reason for disappointment.
Rather, this was a positive signal.
At least I’d registered on their radar.
Until yesterday, they had treated me as invisible.
But today, they looked.
The mere fact that scrutiny had begun meant I’d already achieved half the battle.
And one couldn’t expect to be satisfied on the first attempt.
Even if it were possible, I didn’t want that.
Castles built on sand crumble with a single wave.
The YouTube algorithm—that wave—was immense, but equally capricious.
I had no intention of floating atop that foam.
What I needed was a solid breakwater capable of withstanding that wave.
In other words, a foundation.
I simply needed to demonstrate consistency.
If they doubted, I would prove them wrong.
If they hesitated, I would instill certainty.
The stage was already set.
Now I needed only one decisive blow to make them squirm in their seats.
Of course, time was rather tight.
Soo-ho mentally sketched a calendar.
Six days remained until the All-Star Game.
But I couldn’t use all six days fully.
Because the roster for the All-Star Game wasn’t determined on game day itself.
Team management and the league office finalized and announced the roster at least two or three days before the game.
They needed time for promotion and uniform preparation.
In other words, my actual usable time was three days—four at most.
I had to drive the wedge home within that window.
Simply being decent wouldn’t suffice.
If the league office didn’t select me for the All-Star Game, they’d be insane.
Public opinion needed to reach that level of consensus.
So what needed to happen?
Soo-ho’s gaze drifted toward the television in the corner of the Locker Room.
Sports news was playing.
Wait.
The answer crystallized in my mind.
That video that broke in the early morning?
Certainly, it’s impressive.
But let’s be realistic about it.
‘YouTube is ultimately a subculture.’
While it has significant influence among younger demographics, it still lacks the authority to dominate a conservative sport like baseball.
No matter how high the view count climbs, there’s a strong possibility it’ll be consumed as mere entertainment and nothing more.
But that world on the television screen.
In other words, official media—that’s different.
The team management that selects players for the All-Star Game.
Middle-aged and older fans in their fifties and beyond who hold ticket-buying power.
And the higher-ups at the Dodgers who will decide my future.
‘They trust the front page of the morning newspaper and the headlines of the evening sports news at nine o’clock far more than the world inside a smartphone.’
And honestly, is it only people in their fifties who think that way?
Regardless of generation, everyone would feel the same.
So my name has to appear there to be truly legitimate.
Only then does the authentic seal of a verified star get stamped on me.
‘The goal is set.’
I’m not talking about appearing on major broadcasts like CNN.
At minimum, the local Arizona broadcasting station here—Fox Sports Arizona—or.
SportsNet LA, the official broadcast partner of the Dodgers I belong to.
I need to make their cameras focus on me.
‘Most importantly, I need to make the Dodgers fans in LA see my face in their living rooms.’
After all, Soo-ho was a Minor League player under the LA Dodgers.
‘If I can pull this off, there’s a high probability I’ll be selected for the All-Star Game.’
Once the fanbase of a big-market organization like the Dodgers starts moving.
Getting selected for the All-Star Game would be child’s play.
Soo-ho tightened his shoelaces firmly.
The problem was how to capture attention….
‘I’ve already used the prediction once. The same method won’t work again.’
Of course, if the prediction were a home run, that would be a different story.
Unfortunately, a predicted home run is currently in the realm of impossibility.
So it’s better to erase that from my mind.
‘What would work?’
I had no idea.
Honestly, it was too difficult.
Nothing as bold as a predicted stolen base came to mind.
Especially with stolen bases—if I get on base, I can at least attempt it.
But with other things, baseball severely limits what you can do on your own initiative.
‘Baseball is a passive sport, after all.’
In basketball or soccer, you grab the ball and weave past opponents with flashy dribbling to score a goal.
But baseball is different.
Let me think about defense.
A scene that would captivate the crowd?
Of course there is.
‘A diving catch.’
The ultimate highlight reel that a swift-footed outfielder like me could showcase.
A spectacular catch—diving through the air to snatch a hit—sends fans into rapture.
Why else would Major League highlight reels feature such defensive plays?
But even this has a fatal flaw.
‘If the ball doesn’t come my way, it’s worthless.’
For a diving catch to happen, the ball must land in that precarious zone—just barely within reach.
If it comes too straight, it’s an ordinary fly out. If it goes too far, it’s a hit.
What guarantee do I have that such a perfectly placed ball will come to me?
Even playing all year, such moments might occur only a handful of times.
Waiting for that at the stadium is no different from performing a rain dance during a drought.
‘Is there anything else?’
A home run robbery—jumping to catch a ball sailing over the wall?
That’s even rarer than a diving catch.
‘There’s the assist, I suppose.’
When runners are on second or third, catching an infield grounder or outfield fly and firing home to gun down the advancing runner.
The so-called laser beam throw.
That’s impressive too.
But this also requires too many conditions.
The runner must be in scoring position, the ball must come to me, and the opposing runner must be either foolish enough to ignore my arm or fast enough to challenge it.
‘In the end, there’s no play I can actively create.’
It was the same at the plate.
The only attention-grabbing moment was a home run.
That was the problem.
‘Right now, I can’t afford to wait for luck to create the situation.’
That would be gambling, not strategy.
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.
I needed something I could control—a play where I seized the initiative, orchestrated the moment, and delivered an undeniable impact that would burn itself into people’s minds.
Just then.
Mark burst into the locker room in a flurry.
“…I just found out from the reporters who the opposing team’s starter is today.”
Mark swallowed hard and continued.
“That guy is pitching for the other team.”
“That guy? You don’t mean….”
My eyes narrowed.
For Mark to make such a fuss.
There was only one person it could be.
“Victor Moretti?”
Mark nodded slowly.
My mind raced.
‘Number one ranked pitcher in Minor League Baseball….’
Baseball America, MLB Pipeline, and every other prospect evaluation site.
A monster pitcher unanimously ranked first overall across all scouting platforms.
A right-handed fireballer throwing fastballs at a blazing 102 miles per hour—roughly 164 kilometers.
His organization had already classified him as untouchable, and his participation in the Arizona Fall League was merely a courtesy to let him stay sharp during the offseason.
Most importantly.
News had already broken that Victor Moretti had reached an agreement with the organization.
‘Confirmed roster inclusion for next season’s opening day….’
In other words.
Next year, he would inevitably be a Major Leaguer.
So Mark’s fuss was hardly surprising.
“Sigh… To get selected for the All-Star Game, I need to show better performance. And of all people, I have to face that guy….”
Particularly, Victor Moretti’s Arizona Fall League record was 1 run allowed in 15 innings.
An ERA of 0.6.
He was proving he didn’t belong at this level at all.
Mark sighed heavily, then his eyes widened in surprise.
“You, you! Are you insane? Have you lost your mind?”
And for good reason.
“Why are you smiling?”
I couldn’t hide the smile spreading across my face.
So I answered while maintaining an innocent grin.
“I don’t know. I just can’t help but smile?”
Right?
‘Victor Moretti is the most expensive body in this stadium right now, and the biggest news story.’
This is an opportunity.
For a Minor Leaguer.
What could be bigger than a Low-A prospect taking down a Major Leaguer?
People love the birth of a hero.
But they love even more the twist when that hero crumbles to a nobody clawing up from the bottom.
A giant-killing, as they call it.
Victor Moretti was already an aristocrat walking the elite path, protected by his organization.
Meanwhile, I was a nameless rebel who crawled up from the mud.
‘A guy with nothing to lose taking down a guy with everything.’
There’s no more sensational, appetizing story than this.
The reporters came to praise Moretti’s 102-mile fastball.
But what if a Low-A batter destroys him or makes him look foolish?
‘Then tomorrow’s headline won’t belong to Moretti—it’ll belong to me.’
More valuable than diamonds worth tens or hundreds of billions.
‘Because the hammer that shattered it draws far more attention.’

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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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