The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 97

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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 97
By the time sunlight filtered through the window cracks and penetrated deep into the living room.
The clock hands had already sailed well past 10 a.m.
“Ughhhh….”
Mark emerged from his room on all fours, groaning pitifully, his hair disheveled and wild.
His entire body felt as heavy as cotton soaked in water.
And no wonder—yesterday had drained far more energy than usual.
The crushing tension that came with performing on such a grand stage as the All-Star Game.
Followed by that weighty conversation with Paul after the match, and the late-night celebration that stretched into the small hours.
Whether from coating his stomach with too much grease or from the tension finally releasing, his eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
“…What time is it?”
Casey, who emerged next, let out a yawn with half-closed eyes.
He draped himself across the living room couch like a boneless creature.
“No idea. Looks like it’s past 10.”
“Damn. My whole routine’s shot.”
Normally, he’d already be at the Training Ground warming up by now.
But today, his body simply refused to cooperate.
Well, one day wouldn’t hurt.
After yesterday’s MVP-caliber performance, this laziness was well-deserved compensation—or so he rationalized.
Sizzle.
A delicious aroma wafted in, accompanied by the cheerful sounds of cooking.
“Hey? You guys up? Let’s eat.”
Both men froze in place.
In front of the Kitchen dining table.
Soo-ho, his wet hair still damp from a fresh shower, stood greeting them in an apron.
On the table sat freshly toasted bread, scrambled eggs, and a crisp salad arranged with meticulous care.
“You….”
Mark couldn’t close his gaping mouth.
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
“I am. That’s why I woke up 30 minutes later than usual.”
“30 minutes? Hey, we slept an extra 3 hours!”
Soo-ho shrugged and set down the salad plate.
“Come on, sit down. We need to eat and get to the Training Ground.”
Watching Soo-ho set down his fork with a bright smile, Mark and Casey could only shake their heads in genuine bewilderment.
By American standards, he was simply incomprehensible.
But it made sense.
For a baseball player, rest is everything.
With more games and longer seasons than any other sport, the body deteriorates rapidly if you don’t rest thoroughly when the opportunity arises.
This was the American way—an absolute principle.
Of course, someone like Casey, who’d played full-time throughout the season, might reasonably expect to sleep in like this.
‘Right. Casey is what it is.’
Mark compared himself and Soo-ho.
Both had joined Low-A in August, so physically speaking, they had more stamina than Casey.
But even Mark had burned out today.
Having grown up in the United States, he had the mindset that rest was part of training drilled into his bones.
Don’t overdo it.
Rest well to perform better.
That’s what he’d been taught was efficient.
‘But that guy Soo-ho?’
The complete opposite.
No matter how intense yesterday’s game was, no matter if he’d eaten meat until he was stuffed—it didn’t matter.
His predetermined wake-up time, diet, exercise schedule.
Even today, he was executing that routine like a machine.
‘That guy really….’
A chill ran down Mark’s spine.
Simply calling him diligent wasn’t enough to explain it.
It was a madness bordering on obsession.
Even if the heavens split in two, even if he heard news that Earth would be destroyed tomorrow, Soo-ho would still follow through with his routine.
Chilling self-management ability.
With such a tenacious character possessing that kind of talent too, it seemed almost inevitable that he’d win the MVP award.
As the meal was winding down, Soo-ho set down his fork and spoke.
“I want to know about the Arizona Fall League playoffs.”
It wasn’t an out-of-the-blue question.
Mark and Casey’s expressions turned serious.
Last night.
Paul’s words from the dinner table had lodged in my mind and wouldn’t leave.
‘He said the playoffs have a different nature from regular Arizona Fall League games and the Fall Stars Game.’
He said I had to prove that I could succeed there too.
But Soo-ho kept to himself the condition Paul had presented to him alone in secret.
That is, if he performed well there.
Or if he won the championship, he’d be added to the 40-Man Roster.
‘There’s no point in spreading it around when nothing’s confirmed yet.’
I felt a bit sorry for keeping secrets from my friends, but mentioning it carelessly could sound like deception.
Above all, getting excited prematurely over a reward that wasn’t even confirmed was something only fools did.
Soo-ho knew that painful lesson better than anyone through past experience.
‘I experienced it once before.’
When I dominated Korean high school baseball.
Countless articles poured out.
[A Monster Pitcher Seen Once a Decade]
[Immediate Major League Contributor]
[Rookie of the Year Candidate]
Intoxicated by the fervor surrounding me, I had arrogantly assumed I could naturally dominate in the Professional League as well.
But what was the result?
Catastrophic failure and release.
I learned through bitter experience that overconfidence guarantees defeat.
So the 40-Man Roster?
Of course it matters.
But if I let my eyes fixate solely on that reward and pour all my energy into it, my balance will crumble instead.
So I decided to tuck the 40-Man Roster condition into a corner of my mind.
‘Just focus on the game right in front of me.’
Only by clearing away distractions could I ultimately deliver better results.
“Paul Scout was saying yesterday that the Playoffs have a completely different atmosphere. I can’t quite grasp what’s actually different about them.”
At Soo-ho’s question, Casey wiped his mouth with a napkin and straightened his posture.
“What does the Major League value most highly? Regular season championship? All-Star MVP? Or… Playoff championship?”
At Casey’s question, Soo-ho tilted his head.
It was a question hardly worth deliberating over.
First, the All-Star MVP.
It’s glamorous.
It’s a stage that proves star power.
But to be blunt, it’s merely the centerpiece of an exhibition match.
An award you might receive simply because you happened to be in peak condition that day, or got lucky.
Teams benefit from increased ticket sales, but it doesn’t guarantee that player’s ability to deliver championships.
Then what about a regular season league championship?
‘Of course it’s impressive.’
It’s proof of consistent excellence throughout the entire year.
Far more valuable than an All-Star MVP.
But I already knew the answer myself.
‘In the end, it’s nothing compared to a Playoff championship.’
A regular season first-place finish is ultimately just a stepping stone to gain more favorable home-field advantage or seeding in the Playoffs.
Every team’s ultimate goal is the World Series trophy, not a division title.
“The Playoff championship is overwhelmingly more important.”
Casey nodded at my answer.
“Exactly. Especially the All-Star Game we played yesterday is a kind of short series, but… honestly, baseball doesn’t place much weight on single-elimination games. It’s because it’s a sport of probability.”
Casey continued his explanation.
“In basketball or soccer, stronger teams have a high probability of winning even in a single game. But baseball is different. Even a last-place team can beat a first-place team if their pitcher goes wild that day or a few lucky hits break through. In other words, there are too many variables to fully prove skill.”
That’s why baseball plays best-of-three series as standard, and Playoffs go up to best-of-seven.
“Anyway, we already won in Low-A, but the level and atmosphere here will be on a completely different dimension. The Arizona Fall League Playoffs only gather the top prospects from the Minor Leagues.”
If the Low-A championship had been a battle among developing players,
this place is packed with monsters at the Triple-A and Double-A level.
“We’re essentially Double-A players now. If we’re lucky, we could become Major Leaguers next year. But to become a Major Leaguer, there’s something we need to have. What could it be?”
“Clutch ability.”
“Exactly. The Baseball Club wants to see that. Not just someone who performs well on any given day, but a player who can deliver when it truly matters.”
Regular season batting champion? Or home run leader?
Those matter.
But in the Major League, a .200 hitter who could come through in the playoffs—in those blood-curdling moments—sold for a higher price than a batting champion or home run king.
“We’re performing well here, no question. We’re actually putting up better numbers than most other players. But if we go silent in the playoffs, everything we’ve built up until now becomes meaningless.”
Soo-ho nodded.
Now I understood why Paul had emphasized the playoffs so heavily.
And why he’d tied the condition for the 40-Man Roster to playoff performance—it all became crystal clear in that moment.
But my curiosity wasn’t satisfied yet, so I pressed on with another question.
“So exactly how do we stand out?”
“How? Well, the good news is we just need to show what we’ve been showing all along.”
Casey drained a cup of water before continuing.
“We’re batters, but the Baseball Club doesn’t just look at batting statistics. There’s something called Wins Above Replacement—WAR—in modern baseball, right?”
WAR doesn’t simply measure batting average or home run totals.
It synthesizes hitting, defense, baserunning, and positional weighting to quantify how many additional wins a player brings to the team simply by being in the lineup.
In essence, Casey was saying we should maximize our individual strengths.
If Mark and Casey swept runs across with devastating hitting to boost their contribution value, then I would erase runs allowed through both my hitting and my expansive defensive range, elevate scoring probability with my legs, and drive the team to victory.
Even if I didn’t get a hit, if these elements brought wins, my WAR would climb accordingly.
“The key difference the AFL playoffs have is team composition. Yesterday’s All-Star Game assembled only the best players in the AFL, so there were no weak spots. If someone couldn’t deliver, the next batter would. If a pitcher gave up runs, the hitters would come back.”
But the Desert Dogs, our actual team, were different.
Good players mixed with struggling ones.
At least compared to the All-Stars.
“Inevitably, gaps will form. Someone will make a mistake, someone will collapse.”
Casey’s eyes sharpened.
“In the end, playoff evaluation hinges on how well each individual player can fill those gaps.”
Simply doing your own job well isn’t enough to win.
If you demonstrate the ability to cover for your teammates’ mistakes and seize victory regardless, the Baseball Club will give you bonus points.
Soo-ho pressed my lips together firmly.
‘This… is really the difficult part.’
Until now, the AFL had been purely individual competition.
You only had to think about your own stats.
The team’s win-loss record was secondary.
Yesterday’s All-Star Game was the same.
It was a stage for each player to be the protagonist.
But now we had to play as a team.
We had to clean up the mess others left behind, and physically plug the breaches when the dam crumbled.
‘Everything changes.’
The showcase was over.
The showcase is over.
Now the true long march had begun—one where I had to shoulder my teammates’ burdens as well and climb toward the summit.
‘I have to do well.’
Yet Soo-ho made the vow again and again.
And merely doing my best would not suffice.
‘I truly have to excel.’
It was not simply for the 40-Man Roster.
‘I have to perform brilliantly to reach even higher.’
Growth and opportunity were the instincts of a baseball player.
Only by proving myself decisively here would I earn even a single additional at-bat in Spring Camp.
Only then could I face Major League players one more time in camp.
I needed to see the pitches of those monstrous pitchers with my own eyes and swing the bat against them.
Because whether I shattered or stumbled, I would ultimately emerge stronger.
‘I want to play baseball better than I do now.’
I did not want to settle for merely this.
I wanted to face stronger opponents, compete at higher levels, and grow until I reached my limits.
That was why I wanted to survive on this Ground longer than anyone else.
To do that.
‘I have to seize it.’
This opportunity standing before me.
I had to devour every last drop of it and make it entirely my own.
To accomplish that….
‘Should I do what I always do?’
I needed to make a plan first.
Becoming the player the Team needed came first.

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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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