The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 84

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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 84
Saturday, November 8th.
Beneath Arizona’s scorching sun, Sloan Park thrummed with the fervor of a festival.
The curtain had risen on the AFL’s crowning spectacle—the Fall Stars Weekend.
This celebration of stars would unfold across two magnificent days.
Today, the eighth, marked the opening act: the Home Run Derby, a clash of titans and their pride.
Then came tomorrow, Sunday the ninth, with the grand finale—the All-Star Game itself.
In truth, the real battle for the players would come tomorrow.
Yet it was perhaps today’s Home Run Derby that would captivate the fans’ eyes and ears.
Baseball in its most primal form.
No intricate duels with pitchers. No complex strategy.
Just pure power—who could drive the ball farther and more frequently beyond the fence.
The eligibility was straightforward.
Each team’s sluggers—the ones who swung the bat most recklessly this autumn league.
For the Desert Dogs, it was naturally Mark who stepped forward.
The team’s home run leader and one of the league’s most formidable power hitters.
Mark stood near the batting cage, his expression grave as he warmed up.
So what of the remaining players?
For those not invited to the Home Run Derby, today was a sweet respite and a festival all at once.
They wore their uniforms, but there was no need to cinch their cleats tight.
They simply claimed comfortable seats along the ground or in the dugout, cheering and spraying water each time a teammate launched a home run—premium spectators, nothing more.
Soo-ho was no exception.
I sank deep into a chair positioned in front of the dugout.
Beside me sat Casey, sunglasses perched on his face, legs crossed.
“Where’s the popcorn? I feel like I’m at the movies.”
Casey cracked a joke—uncharacteristically trivial for him.
Clearly, being here had put him in high spirits.
I chuckled softly and nodded.
“This is definitely prime real estate.”
Then I surveyed my surroundings.
The stands presented a breathtaking panorama.
The crowd was packed so densely that empty seats were nearly impossible to find.
Even a cursory glance revealed the sheer magnitude of the gathering.
‘Back in Low-A, we’d be lucky to draw a hundred spectators.’
Even during the regular Arizona Fall League season—a war among minor league stars—the attendance never reached this level.
Back then, only scouts, players’ families, and a handful of devoted baseball enthusiasts scattered sparsely throughout the stands.
But today was different.
Sloan Park’s fifteen-thousand-seat capacity was nearly full.
‘Easily over ten thousand people.’
And it wasn’t merely the numbers that impressed.
The heat and roars they unleashed transformed the entire Stadium into a colossal furnace.
‘The All-Star Event truly operates on a different scale.’
Soo-ho felt an electric thrill coursing down his spine.
I was viscerally understanding why so many prospects yearned to stand on this stage.
Simply to catch the eyes of Major League scouts?
Of course that was part of it, but there were secondary reasons as well.
A romance every professional player dreams of.
Ten thousand eyes fixed upon you.
Performing on a stage where your every gesture ignites thunderous roars.
Within that attention and acclaim.
The very act of playing baseball becomes intoxicating.
‘I wanted it too…’
Soo-ho felt his chest grow warm.
From Korean amateur ball through Minor League days.
And here in Low-A United States.
I’d always had to swing the bat before empty Stands, or merely a handful of spectators.
That was the most regrettable, most aching absence.
Yet now that opportunity stood before me at last.
Ten thousand voices cheering.
Though I wasn’t the star tonight, simply being immersed in this fervor made my heart swell.
‘Tomorrow, I’ll make those roars turn toward me.’
As Soo-ho lost himself in pleasant reverie, a faint smile playing at his lips.
“Hey! Soo-ho!”
At the familiar voice, I turned to see Mark calling me.
Soo-ho tilted his head, finding the timing odd.
“How about you help me out?”
Mark asked with a shrug.
“Help you? With what?”
“Wow. That’s cold… Do you hit home runs alone?”
Ah….
Soo-ho burst into a quiet laugh.
He was asking me to be his batting practice pitcher.
In truth, the batting practice pitcher for a home run derby is typically a Hitting Coach or specialized staff member.
They need to deliver pitches to the batter’s most comfortable zone at a consistent velocity.
But Soo-ho immediately grasped why Mark had singled him out.
‘He wants me to make an impression on the fans.’
I’m still a stranger here.
Before I take the field tomorrow in the main event.
Appearing on this festival stage today would far more effectively boost my recognition.
‘What better promotion than standing as the partner to the monster batter Mark, right in front of cameras broadcasting nationwide?’
It was a thoughtful gesture from Mark, though it appeared rough on the surface.
Soo-ho glanced sideways at Casey, who sat beside him.
His pupils were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but his intent was unmistakable.
A subtle nod.
Casey nodded in acknowledgment.
It was a silent signal to seize the opportunity when it came.
With no reason to hesitate, Soo-ho sprang to his feet.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
* * *
Moments later, a grand announcement echoed throughout the entire Stadium.
-Ladies and gentlemen, our next participant! The slugger who’s torn through Arizona’s skies the most this season! The Glendale Desert Dogs’ destroyer! Mark!
“Wooooo!”
“Mark! Mark! Mark!”
Roars erupted from the Stands.
Mark adjusted his helmet and hoisted his bat high, acknowledging the fans.
The ease with which he waved embodied the quintessential American star player.
-And the pitcher who’ll deliver golden fastballs to him is his teammate, Oh Soo-ho!
As Soo-ho’s name was announced, warm applause poured down—slightly less thunderous than Mark’s, but genuine.
Soo-ho removed his cap.
Then he bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle toward all four directions of the Stands.
Instead of a casual wave, his respectful bow drew whistles and cheers from the American crowd, who found it refreshingly novel.
After the brief introductions concluded, before stepping into the Batter’s Box,
Mark walked up to the Mound with a grimly determined expression.
“You want me to win this competition?”
Soo-ho asked, rubbing rosin onto his hands.
“Why?”
“The prize money is one thing, but… you know what it means to win here.”
Mark gestured with his chin toward the section beyond the Stands where the Scouts gathered.
“Major League Baseball Teams are desperate for power. The ability to consistently clear the Fence? That’s talent. Winning here is essentially a certificate proving that power is legitimate.”
The Home Run Derby was an exhibition event, but its impact was far from trivial.
A single championship title could earn a player the reputation of being a promising slugger.
Mark swallowed hard and lowered his voice.
“So I have a strategy.”
“What is it?”
“At first, throw easy. Right down the middle. Of course, if you throw easy, the rebound will be weaker and the ball won’t carry as far… but if you throw easy, you can control your pitches better, right?”
It’s difficult to expect precise control from an outfielder with no batting practice pitching experience.
So instead, he was asking me to sacrifice velocity for accuracy.
But Mark still seemed anxious and continued.
“And if… what if this doesn’t work?”
Mark’s expression quickly turned gloomy as he added,
“I don’t care about control—just throw as hard as you can, will you? Your shoulder isn’t that great anyway. Might as well take advantage of the ball’s rebound properties.”
Soo-ho let out a quiet laugh.
The guy who was usually so straightforward had suddenly become quite talkative.
It was proof of how nervous he was, and on the other hand, evidence that he didn’t trust himself.
‘I suppose that’s understandable.’
Looking at it objectively, Mark’s choice was a gamble.
‘He passed up a coach who could throw reliable pitches and instead chose me, an outfielder, as his partner to impress the fans.’
It had started with good intentions, but now that he was stepping up to the batter’s box, regret was washing over him—which was only natural.
But.
‘That’s Mark’s problem.’
Soo-ho lightly scraped the seams of the ball in his hand.
I understood his lack of confidence.
It was only natural for him to worry since I’d never shown him what throwing from the mound looked like.
‘But Mark, you don’t need to worry like that.’
Soo-ho grinned and gave Mark’s shoulder a light tap.
As if to say, put your worries aside.
But Mark couldn’t accept it at face value.
“Come on, I’m serious? I really am!”
“Mark. I’m serious too.”
Ugh.
Mark finally lowered his head at the sight of Soo-ho’s genuinely serious eyes and returned to the batter’s box.
‘Damn it, whatever happens, happens.’
Mark adjusted his helmet and returned to the batter’s box.
After that, the home run derby began at the Referee’s signal.
Soo-ho threw the ball just as Mark had requested.
A light tap.
An easy-to-hit pitch that traced a parabola through the air—a perfect speed.
In Korea, it was commonly called an Arirang ball.
The control was absolutely perfect down the middle.
Crack!
Crack!
A crisp, sharp sound rang out.
The ball shot cleanly into the outfield.
But.
Thud!
“Ah….”
A sigh escaped from the stands.
The ball that should have cleared the fence lost its momentum, either hitting the top of the fence or dropping dead just short of the warning track.
Out of the first five chances, he had zero home runs.
The reason was clear.
The pitch velocity was too slow, so I couldn’t utilize the ball’s rebound force.
I had to rely purely on the batter’s own strength to drive it, and even with Mark’s monstrous power, sending it that far without the rebound was far from easy.
Mark’s face crumpled in an instant.
He scowled and glared at Soo-ho on the Mound.
‘Hey! That won’t work! Throw harder!’
Soo-ho read that expression immediately.
‘Switch it up? Got it.’
Soo-ho nodded.
Now the real show was about to begin.
Click.
He abandoned the awkward batting practice pitcher’s stance and assumed a proper set position.
His upper body stood rigid, his center of gravity lowered as he prepared to pitch.
The Stadium began to stir at that transformation.
“Huh?”
“What?”
The fans’ eyes, as well as those of the Scouts watching with folded arms, widened in surprise.
Even Casey, who had been smirking in the Dugout, felt his smile fade.
But no one was more shocked than Mark in the Batter’s Box.
‘What… what is this?’
His throwing form was extraordinary.
This wasn’t mere imitation.
It was the form of a genuine pitcher, with perfectly balanced mechanics.
And then.
The ball left Soo-ho’s fingertips, tracing a white arc as it came in.
The velocity was approximately 87 miles per hour—roughly 140 kilometers.
While not particularly fast compared to Major League pitchers, for a batting practice pitch it was like a cannonball.
But what alarmed Mark wasn’t the velocity.
‘His… his control is insane?’
The pitch came in as if drawn with a ruler, pulled directly toward the center of Mark’s optimal hitting point.
His bat came out instinctively.
Crack!
The sound was completely different from before.
When the ball and bat connected, tremendous rebound force erupted.
The batted ball soared far into the upper deck of the Outfield stands.
It was a towering home run.
“Woooooah!”
Cheers erupted as the home run cleared the fence.
But those cheers quickly subsided.
That pitch was just luck, right?
Everyone thought so in that moment.
The second pitch followed.
As expected, it was a fastball down the middle with not even a millimeter of deviation.
Crack!
The third, fourth, and fifth pitches.
As if thrown by a machine.
Each ball arrived along the same trajectory, at the same velocity.
Mark burst into laughter.
There was no way he could miss this.
It wasn’t even spoon-feeding anymore—it was like having the food chewed and placed directly in his mouth.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Mark’s bat danced through the air.
The five early misses became meaningless as every subsequent pitch sailed over the fence.
The result was an overwhelming first place.
As Mark capped off his final swing with a grand slam, Sloan Park erupted into a frenzy of celebration.
Even in the final round that followed, I continued pitching flawlessly.
Once Mark found his rhythm, he produced home run after home run.
“Champion! Mark of the Desert Dogs!”
As the announcer’s cry rang out, Mark sprinted toward the mound.
His expression suggested he found the moment before him more unbelievable than the joy of victory itself.
“Wait! What is this? You’re not even a pitcher!”
A batting practice pitcher throwing 87 miles per hour.
And dozens of pitches in succession, not even on the borderline but dead center.
What on earth was happening?
Yet I merely smiled faintly without breaking a sweat and replied.
“Not anymore.”
“Not anymore? You mean you used to be?”
I simply shrugged.
In Korean high school baseball, after all.
The team’s best hitter is invariably the ace pitcher as well.
In a place where dual-threat players were common, I had been the ace who led my team to championship glory.
Now, with my batting talent proving superior, I’ve completely switched disciplines, so I don’t display the form I once did.
But throwing at this level in an exhibition tournament was hardly impossible.

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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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