The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 10

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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 10
#10.
Kim Chae-jun headed toward First Base before veering into the Dugout.
There, he gestured toward Han Jun-gi waiting in the On-deck Circle.
The gesture’s meaning was simple.
He signaled that the curveball he’d just thrown was devastating, dropping sharply.
Han Jun-gi nodded at the gesture, but his thoughts ran differently.
‘Throwing a curveball against a left-handed batter is common knowledge—the fact that you couldn’t handle it means you’re incompetent.’
Han Jun-gi.
He was a player devoted to fan service and meticulous self-management, yet harbored a tendency to look down on every other player.
Knowing that self-management and fan relations directly affected his salary, he forced smiles for fan service even when he despised it, but cursed bitterly when alone.
‘Curveballs don’t work on a right-handed batter like me.’
A curveball was always identifiable the moment it left the pitcher’s hand.
Especially for him, a right-handed batter—facing a left-handed pitcher with a three-quarter arm angle, everything was crystal clear. He was determined to prove he wasn’t some mediocre hitter stuck in the .300/.400/.500 range.
He stepped into the Batter’s Box with ease, locked eyes with the pitcher, and smirked before settling into his stance.
“Damn it.”
But his composure didn’t last long.
A pitch came in, nearly grazing his body. Though the umpire called it a ball, for him it was like a reverse scale being struck—a pitch that hugged his body far too closely.
Just as he despised his own skin, he equally despised pitches that came too close to his body.
The reason his slash line never exceeded .300/.400/.500 despite his talent was precisely this hypersensitivity to inside pitches.
His face twisted with rage.
Yet his handsome features still shone through, making female fans think he looked cool and focused, when in reality he was cursing up a storm internally.
‘Damn bastard. I’ll definitely hit a base hit or better and smash that damn face of yours!’
Kang Ho-jin threw his second pitch at Han Jun-gi, whose eyes had completely glazed over with fury.
Whoosh—!
“Swing! Two!”
He chased a circle changeup flowing away on the outside, missing badly and running the count to 0-2.
Had he been composed, he might have let it pass, but with his mind completely consumed by the inside pitch provocation, Han Jun-gi couldn’t hold back.
‘Die, die, die, die!’
Despite the count being against him, his eyes already wild, the third pitch came—a curveball he recognized too late, causing him to lag half a tempo as he swung.
‘Die!’
Unlike what he’d expected—perfect timing and that electric tingle running from his fingertips—his bat sliced through empty air.
Whoosh—!
“Swing! Batter’s out!”
As his bat completed its arc, the curveball dropped sharply in front of Home Plate, and Han Jun-gi swung wildly, missing by a tremendous margin as he stumbled back.
“Damn it!”
With the umpire, the opposing team, his own team—everyone watching—he was so consumed by rage he didn’t even realize he was cursing aloud.
Yet proving he was still a professional, when he spotted Baek Du-hwan in the On-deck Circle, he relayed exactly what he’d just experienced.
“The changeup is insane, and the curveball is even more insane.”
To his words, Baek Du-hwan replied coldly.
“It’s your eyes that are crazy.”
Han Jun-gi was the problem—his eyes locked on the inside pitch, leaving nothing but empty swings—but I understood that the pitcher had caught him through cold calculation and meticulous planning.
Still, because I’d seen all three of the opposing pitcher’s pitches, I was confident he couldn’t touch me, and Baek Du-hwan stepped into the Batter’s Box.
Crack—!
“Strike!”
The first pitch: Baek Du-hwan let it pass.
I was observing how different the timing felt from the On-deck Circle compared to the Batter’s Box, and realizing there was barely any difference, I smirked inwardly.
‘Damn, this is delicious.’
The velocity was under 150 kilometers per hour.
This was speed you’d easily see on the professional stage, and compared to pitchers truly called left-handed fireballs, this was a pitch I could hit with ease—so I simply licked my lips and stared at the pitcher.
“Hm?”
Baek Du-hwan saw it.
The opposing pitcher had just licked his lips with his tongue the same way I had, and it was as if he was signaling that I wasn’t the predator—he was.
And on the next pitch, Baek Du-hwan couldn’t move an inch.
‘What kind of pitch is that?!’
It was different from the pitches he’d thrown to the previous batters.
It was clearly the same four-seam fastball, but the ball’s movement was filthy—so filthy that even if I extended my bat, I knew I’d never make solid contact.
“Damn… damn it…”
Curses flowed thick from his lips as panic seized him.
Baek Du-hwan had never once faced any pitcher without thinking of himself as the predator.
During five years on the professional stage, against every pitcher he’d met, he’d created tremendous contact—driving or launching balls directly into the wall—and because of that, his team had steadily accumulated wins.
But because of his heavy frame, his joints ached, and unable to help it, he’d volunteered for Sangmu for a diet and rehabilitation, only to find military life suited him surprisingly well, and his weight had gradually increased further.
Of course, there was an advantage.
He’d gained the strength to launch balls over the wall with a light swing. But conversely, his heavier body meant that on plays where he should’ve reached Second Base, he’d stop at First Base.
Instead, I thought I’d just hit more home runs, but strangely, looking into that pitcher’s eyes filled me with a fear not of striking out, but of being devoured.
And that fear only grew, until three pitches passed through the strike zone and I could only stare blankly in terror, unable to respond.
“Strike three! Batter’s out!”
And so Sangmu’s first-inning offensive ended in pathetic fashion.
Baek Du-hwan trudging back looked pitiful.
And Kim Chae-jun, who had to take the field as the leadoff batter, and Han Jun-gi, who had to support him, were equally stunned by what had just happened.
And so the Busan Dolphins’ offensive began again.
Crack—!
A ground ball rolling directly at the shortstop, but because his mind was elsewhere, he bobbled it, and with the error, the leadoff batter reached base.
It was the beginning of the Busan Dolphins’ scoring opportunity.
Bang—!
In an instant, the score was 7 to 0.
With the score widening considerably, Kang Ho-jin visited the Mound.
His face was radiant with a deep smile.
* * *
Good.
Everything unfolded exactly as I’d anticipated.
Especially against batters one, two, and three—my pitching had aligned with my game plan with near-perfect precision.
Starting with Han Jun-gi’s error as the number two batter, Kim Chae-jun, our center fielder, also committed a mistake.
Our team capitalized on the opportunity, scoring seven runs in a big inning that lifted an enormous weight from my shoulders.
‘They’re still inexperienced.’
At most, they were in their early-to-mid twenties.
Roughly my age, really—an era when they should be consumed by their own baseball prowess.
Normally, one must endure countless trials to build mental fortitude, to overcome even the most difficult situations or maintain composure while fulfilling their role.
But look at them now—still dazed, sitting blankly in the Dugout as if they hadn’t regained their senses.
We’d likely face each other once more before the game ended, but I was confident I’d handle them without difficulty.
‘Their weaknesses are too obvious.’
Kim Chae-jun, batting first, was slow to react to breaking balls despite his exceptional base-stealing ability. Particularly on first-pitch breaking balls, his bat naturally followed through—a weakness that, once exposed, gradually pushed him down the batting order until he was demoted to the 2nd Team.
Han Jun-gi, batting second, is honestly talented.
But he’s overly protective of his body, reacting hypersensitively to inside pitches, which became his weakness. When inside pitches came consecutively, his slash line naturally collapsed, and he disappeared to the 2nd Team.
Finally, Baek Du-hwan has a weak mentality.
A pitcher must believe they’re the best on the Mound and pitch accordingly. They must become a predator, devouring the batter in the Batter’s Box—ultimately, it’s a profession of stealing outs.
But considering Baek Du-hwan’s imposing physique and skill, the pitcher naturally loses momentum, and his style is to sense and exploit that shift in momentum.
This weakness was discovered quite late, and Baek Du-hwan survived in the 1st Team until his final years, even securing a respectable free agent contract.
Though he suffered greatly against me, his batting average took a significant hit.
‘Because before I returned to the past, I was a predator who devoured the majors.’
It wouldn’t be strange if he became a coward unable to do anything just from making eye contact.
Well, I’ve now dealt with Sangmu’s most dangerous Three Hitters.
What remained were players with decent records, and I had to pitch against talent that occupied the 1st Team and 1.5 Team rosters.
‘Any concerns?’
I didn’t think I’d struggle.
Having already neutralized Sangmu’s three most dangerous batters, there was no reason to fear the remaining hitters.
Against the fourth batter, a left-handed hitter, I threw three consecutive curveballs.
All of them dropped sharply toward Home Plate like a plummeting stock chart, just as the Pitching Coach had described, and the batter’s bat was simply dragged along.
“Swing! Batter out!”
The fifth batter was right-handed.
I threw a circle changeup—the ultimate pitch against opposite-handed batters—pulling his vision to the lower outside, then threw two more pitches at the upper strike zone to draw his swing.
“Swing! Batter out!”
And the sixth batter.
Ah, I know this one.
‘So he was at Sangmu back then.’
He’s a batter who would later claim the National Team’s right fielder position, though he’s at Sangmu now.
After two fastballs, he laid off the changeup and curve, then fouled off the next fastball.
Byun Ki-soo—a batter with exceptional contact ability who troubled opposing pitchers, who shined in games against Japan and was called the nation’s right fielder.
Against such a formidable opponent, I pitched with genuine full effort.
“Swing! Batter out!”
He swung the bat, but the ball and bat missed by the thickness of a sheet of paper, settling into the Catcher’s glove for the strikeout.
From that point on, everything flowed seamlessly.
In the third inning’s lower batting order, I established the count with fastballs, then used changeups and curveballs as my finishing pitches. My B-rank curveball in particular was devastating—no one could make solid contact, and they fell helplessly to it.
Then the fourth inning arrived, bringing Kim Chae-jun, the leadoff hitter, back to the plate.
Once again he fell victim to my breaking ball and was easily retired. Han Jun-gi swung through three consecutive fastballs thrown inside and struck out, while Baek Du-hwan’s awkward swing on the first pitch resulted in a ground ball out.
“Nice pitching!”
“Wow… that was really impressive.”
“Kang Ho-jin is the best.”
Perhaps because I’d shut them down so cleanly through four innings, all my senior teammates on the way to the Dugout showered me with praise.
The score was comfortably in our favor.
I felt determined to keep pitching, even if my stamina ran completely dry.
I continued throwing, and through six innings I’d thrown fifty-seven pitches without allowing a run. In the seventh, I cleanly retired the leadoff batter, but as my stamina hit zero, the next batter got a clean hit off me.
“Time! Pitcher change.”
The Manager came to the Mound himself and spoke to me.
“You did well. You worked hard.”
With the Manager’s acknowledgment, I left the Mound without hesitation and watched the rest of the game from the Dugout with ice on my arm.
The three senior teammates who’d started Pilates with me visited the Mound, and after thirty minutes passed, I could see the notification window before my eyes.
– Points have been awarded.

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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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