The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 96

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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 96
“I have good news.”
At Paul’s words, the shoulders of Soo-ho and the other two players, who had been wound tight with tension, dropped in unison.
The anxiety drained away, replaced by a collective sigh of relief.
This meant no talk of trades or releases—no terrifying upheaval.
“Phew… you scared us half to death. I nearly got indigestion before we could even eat.”
Mark patted his chest and grumbled.
Paul chuckled warmly and adjusted his cap.
Then he set aside his playful expression and studied each of the three players in turn.
As his gaze grew serious, the atmosphere shifted once more into quiet anticipation.
“Let’s start with you three—Soo-ho, Mark, and Casey. All of you.”
Paul extended a manila envelope and spoke with the weight of an official pronouncement.
“This is the decision of Team Management. All three of you will begin next season in Double-A.”
In that instant, their eyes went wide.
“Double-A?”
“Are you serious?”
“That can’t be right…”
Their shock was justified.
This wasn’t merely a matter of advancing two levels.
The Minor League ladder was brutally steep and long.
Rookie League, Low Single-A, High Single-A, Double-A, and Triple-A.
Most prospects had to climb these rungs one by one, spending a year or more grinding through each level.
Currently, they belonged to Low Single-A.
By normal progression, next season should have meant promotion to High Single-A.
But the organization had just skipped that step entirely.
A jump promotion. They were being ordered to bypass an entire year in High Single-A and go straight to Double-A.
The meaning was unmistakable.
You three are too talented to waste away in High Single-A.
It was the highest compliment the organization could offer—complete validation of their abilities.
More than anything, Double-A carried a symbolism entirely different from Single-A.
If Single-A was where students still learned the game,
then Double-A onward was the true battlefield of professionals chasing the Major Leagues.
The statistics bore this out.
Recently, no one had jumped directly from Single-A to the Major Leagues.
But from Double-A, if you put up dominant numbers, you could even skip Triple-A entirely and go straight to the Big League—
it was the zone where a Major League call-up was possible.
In other words, the dream stage of the Major Leagues had finally come within reach.
Of course, someone might ask this question.
If you three defeated Victor Moretti, who is all but guaranteed to be called up next year, why can’t you become Major Leaguers immediately?
The answer is clear.
Baseball is a sport of probability and a battle of consistency.
Scaling the massive wall that is Victor once was a remarkable feat.
But clearing it once and continuously riding waves of that same height day after day are entirely different matters.
To be blunt, these players still lacked the physical stamina, mental fortitude, and data to sustain it.
It was a fundamental shortage of experience.
If fortune smiled and they were called up to the Major League right now?
I’d stake my life on it—they wouldn’t last more than a few days.
The moment analysts identified their weaknesses, they’d be battered mercilessly and find themselves boarding the bus back to Minor League Baseball.
An unprepared promotion could become a curse rather than a blessing.
But it didn’t matter.
The Double-A they were heading to would fill those gaps.
And at this point in their careers, Double-A was far superior to Triple-A, which was called the final destination of Minor League Baseball.
Triple-A was commonly known as the waiting room of the Major League.
Veterans who had failed to break into the Big League resided there.
Players with talent but lacking that final edge, bouncing between promotion and demotion.
Those who dominated Triple-A but couldn’t produce in the Major League.
So-called AAAA-caliber players swarmed the place.
If they went to Triple-A, their playing time would shrink.
They might end up warming the bench.
And that would diminish any growth.
Players could only develop by playing more games.
But Double-A was different.
It was where each organization’s most prized prospects converged.
This was why Major League scouts said the real gems were separated in Double-A.
Rather than learning cunning among seasoned foxes.
Clashing with those thrashing beasts and building bone and muscle would provide far richer nourishment.
So Double-A was precisely.
The land of opportunity for Soo-ho and his friends to evolve into Major Leaguers.
‘Ah….’
Soo-ho clenched his fists, desperately suppressing the exclamation threatening to burst forth.
They had skipped High-A entirely.
In the sports world where careers were short, a single year was worth its weight in gold.
Earning that precious time through his own ability—there was no reason not to be pleased.
‘And Double-A at that….’
Soo-ho was convinced that Double-A was the league where he could grow even further.
Paul observed the bewildered expressions on the players’ faces with satisfaction and drove his point home.
“Your performance today more than justified this. The organization decided it was a waste to keep you confined within the framework of prospects. This is where the real battle begins.”
Paul continued, pleased with the players’ reaction.
“But this isn’t the end.”
Paul spoke with unhurried ease.
“And the next piece of news. All three of you, just like Liam behind you, have been invited to Major League Spring Training.”
“…!”
In that instant, the three men’s breath caught.
If the Double-A promotion had been extraordinary, this news was shock itself.
Spring Training Camp.
Of course, Minor League players attended camp too.
But that was only ever Minor League camp.
But what Paul had just mentioned was Major League camp.
In other words, it meant training alongside Major League players in an invited player capacity.
The value this held was incalculable in monetary terms—truly a benefit of earth-shattering magnitude.
‘I’ve heard the environment alone is completely different.’
I swallowed hard.
Not the meager sandwiches of the Minor Leagues.
A buffet diet designed by top nutritionists, the exact same routines as Major Leaguers, the identical training environment.
Most of all, I could use state-of-the-art data analysis systems and equipment worth tens of millions of dollars freely.
But the facilities were secondary. The real value lay in the people.
‘The Manager and General Manager will see my play firsthand.’
This was the crux of it.
In the Minor Leagues, no matter how well you performed, you were reported in a single scouting report.
But Spring Training was different.
Major League managers and coaches watched you right before their eyes.
This was the only chance to receive coaching directly from them and make an impression.
‘And on top of that, actual game experience….’
The exhibition games held during the camp period.
There, I would face active Major League pitchers I’d only ever seen on television, directly from the batter’s box.
That experience was an asset that couldn’t be exchanged for even 1,000 Minor League games.
Paul, reading the dazed expressions on the three faces, smiled slightly and added his explanation.
“It’s not just about training together. It’s a clear signal that the organization has classified you not as mere prospects, but as investment targets they can use immediately.”
That was right.
Receiving this invitation meant I’d been inducted into the elite upper echelon within the organization’s hierarchy.
If my camp performance was strong, when injuries occurred during the season, my name would go on the priority call-up list.
Even if I didn’t make the opening roster.
Exposure to scouts from other teams could even cause my value to skyrocket in the trade market.
It would also serve as a powerful negotiating card in salary adjustments or contract renegotiations.
“In other words, you’re now core resources managed by the organization’s upper management. Eat the same food as the Major League players, use the same Locker Room, and prove directly whether you belong in that position.”
My heart began pounding.
I thought I’d boarded the expressway with the Double-A promotion. But it turned out the organization had actually bought me a private jet ticket.
‘I don’t even know….’
Whether this joy would come out through my nose or my mouth.
It felt far too good.
Because my value was being recognized.
And the stage of my dreams had come within arm’s reach.
Paul shrugged his shoulders toward the delighted players.
“Well, that’s the good news. My treat today! Tell me what you want to eat! Price doesn’t matter! It’s a corporate card anyway!”
The four of them widened their eyes.
“Really?”
“Yeah. But Mark, Casey, and Liam—you three go ahead and pick your menu. Soo-ho here and I have a bit more to discuss.”
At Paul’s words, his friends left first.
Left alone, Soo-ho looked at Paul again with a tense expression.
He wondered if it might be bad news.
But Paul’s expression remained gentle.
Only slightly more discreet and solemn.
“Relax. It’s not bad news.”
Paul studied Soo-ho for a moment, then broached the subject carefully.
“About the 40-Man Roster.”
“…!”
Soo-ho’s pupils trembled.
Honestly, the previous rewards had been so tremendous that I’d forgotten about it.
The news that winning the All-Star Game MVP could lead to joining the 40-Man Roster suddenly came back to me.
This was actually the news I’d been most anticipating.
Because this meant I wouldn’t have to worry anymore on this unfamiliar American soil.
But judging by Paul’s reaction, it seemed I hadn’t been included.
Soo-ho’s lips drooped slightly.
Seeing that reaction, Paul smiled bitterly to himself.
‘He’s a perceptive guy.’
In fact, Paul’s bag contained one more contract.
A 40-Man Roster registration document.
It was meant only for Soo-ho among the four here.
But Paul ultimately couldn’t bring himself to take it out.
‘There was no choice. We’re the Dodgers.’
If Soo-ho had belonged to a different Small Market Team?
Without question, I would have stamped it today.
But the Dodgers are an empire of evil with a 26-Man Roster already packed with All-Star caliber players.
The remaining 14 spots are even overflowing with Rule 5 Draft protection players and returning injured players.
To forcibly add one more person to an already full bus, you’d have to remove an existing passenger.
Does Soo-ho have that level of talent?
‘Not yet. The suspicion of short-term impact needs to be erased.’
The team management still wasn’t certain.
Whether today’s performance was real ability or just luck that burst forth in an event game.
Paul understood that doubt better than anyone.
Paul offered Soo-ho an opportunity instead of excuses.
“Let me be honest with you. There’s been heated debate within the organization about whether to put you on the 40-Man Roster. I pushed hard for it in our calls.”
Paul continued.
“But it was put on hold. The reason is simple—we need a bit more proof. To be blunt, the sample size is insufficient.”
And wasn’t that fair?
I’d only been in the United States for three months.
The data on how I’d performed in American baseball was woefully sparse.
Though in the old days, it might have been different.
In modern baseball, no player had ever torn through the Minor League and joined the 40-Man Roster in just three months.
As baseball evolved, it had transformed into an era of data saturation.
Organizations wouldn’t even evaluate a player without at least several hundred plate appearances worth of metrics.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean you should be discouraged. The organization genuinely thinks winning MVP today is remarkable.”
So here’s the thing.
Paul smiled.
“Now for the real good news. I’ll be direct with you. This Arizona Fall League playoff.”
“…!”
“Perform there too. No—lead the team to a championship. The General Manager promised me. If you prove yourself in the playoffs, then we’ll put you on the 40-Man Roster with 100% certainty.”
In that instant, disappointment vanished from my expression.
In its place surged a fierce competitive fire.
It wasn’t a rejection.
It was conditional acceptance.
In other words, I’d been given a Quest.
‘A playoff with the 40-Man Roster on the line….’
No motivation could be clearer than this.
Paul gave my shoulder a couple of encouraging pats.
“And honestly, truly honestly speaking—signing the 40-Man Roster contract today pales in comparison to dominating the playoffs and signing it then. In the long run, it’s far better for you. Know why?”
I shook my head.
“I’m not sure.”
Wouldn’t signing right now be better?
It would secure my position.
But Paul’s next words made me understand.
“Because if you make the 40-Man now, you’ll go to Spring Training Camp as just another prospect the organization is protecting. The coaches will think, ‘Ah, he’s got potential,’ and watch you casually enough.”
But.
“What if you dominate through the playoffs and lead the team to a championship?”
Paul’s voice carried weight.
“Then you won’t just be a prospect with potential. You’ll stride in confidently as the star player of a championship team in peak form.”
Your status changes.
You’re no longer someone to be protected—you become an asset to be deployed immediately.
“So what changes? The Manager’s eyes when he looks at you will be different. And the number of opportunities you get will be different too.”
Paul spread his fingers to illustrate.
“You’ll get more at-bats in Spring Training, and the Manager will call your name more often. It means the Club’s investment in you—their focus itself—will be entirely different.”
Soo-ho’s eyes gleamed.
I couldn’t let this pass without consideration.
‘Typically, most prospects can’t even last a few days at camp.’
They merely taste the atmosphere, pack their bags, and get sent down to the Minor Camp without fail.
But if the Club classified you as a prospect they were investing in?
‘I could stay at camp for weeks, or at the very least, a few extra days.’
Each of those days rolling around with Major Leaguers, accumulating experience, would give my growth tremendous momentum.
If that difference compounds, I could become a Major Leaguer faster than anyone else.
“Can you do it?”
At Paul’s question, Soo-ho’s lips curved upward with fierce determination.
“Yes. I’ll make it happen no matter what.”
I despise being caught halfway at the threshold.
The 40-Man Roster is a position you can be removed from at any time, after all.
But if I seize that spot through sheer ability?
No one would dare remove me from it—I’d be rooted there so firmly that it’s unshakeable.
Soo-ho’s eyes blazed with fierce intensity.

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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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