The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 2

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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 2
#02.
Sangdong Baseball Stadium.
The players of the Busan Dolphins’ 2nd Team were warming up, each harboring their own aspirations.
Some dreamed of promotion to the 1st Team, others were preparing for today’s game, and still others quietly maintained their rehabilitation routines.
Around lunchtime, after finishing morning individual training and team practice, the restaurant suddenly bustled with activity.
The Coach’s voice rang out.
“Alright, today’s lineup is out! The Manager decided based on this morning’s condition check, so take a look.”
For the 2nd Team match against the Gwangju Elephants, the players set down their trays and crowded around the bulletin board.
Moments later, the restaurant erupted with mixed reactions.
“Damn it…”
“Oh! I’m starting today.”
“Jung-gyun’s on the roster too.”
“Since it’s been a while since I started, I’d better play well.”
“Let’s do this.”
“Ugh, I’m not even on the bench.”
Ten players were needed to play a game.
Starting from the starting pitcher through the infielders and outfielders, the competition to secure a spot in the starting lineup was fierce.
Those who broke through that competition and secured their positions were elated, while others were already mentally preparing for the game.
Though not starters, those whose names appeared on the bench and substitute roster prepared themselves to prove their worth whenever an opportunity arose.
And those left out simply watched from the sidelines with various thoughts, cursed, or stared at the roster with expressions of resentment.
“Damn it, this is so frustrating.”
Among them, one of the Senior Veterans—someone who had remained in the 2nd Team far longer than the 1st Team stage—muttered while throwing down his spoon as if his appetite had vanished.
At his sudden outburst, the junior players began to sense the mood, and a few teammates and more senior players glared disapprovingly, but he paid them no mind.
Instead, he boldly voiced his thoughts.
“Ha! The guy who skips training all the time, whose shoulder and elbow are completely shot, gets to start, but someone who grinds himself to death every single day doesn’t even make the bench? It’s so unfair, really unfair.”
His words drew various reactions.
Most were cautious, and some gave signals of discomfort at bringing up such a topic, but what mattered was that several nodded in agreement.
“He skips workouts every week.”
“And doesn’t he also miss the most team practices?”
“One guy’s always on the bench, another’s always starting.”
“Even though we’re both pitchers, it does feel unfair.”
Words that, if overheard, would suggest the Manager was showing favoritism.
Yet no one there refuted or questioned it. Rather, several knew these words held truth and offered no real response, only casting anxious glances around.
Then someone slammed the table and stood up, speaking.
“Hey, Kim Jin-ho. I get that you’re frustrated, but shouldn’t you at least know when to keep work and personal matters separate? Of all times, when everyone’s gathered here, and especially during a meal—do you really have to do this?”
The one who stood was Kang Do-bin, a catcher who moved between the 1st and 2nd Teams, guarding home plate—also Kim Jin-ho’s entry-year teammate, the first to voice complaints.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
“Right or wrong, this isn’t the time for it.”
“Well, to hear you talk, you’d think I was cursing out some superstar. A perpetual 2nd Team member, that’s all.”
His words brought a sudden, chilling silence.
Even Kim Jin-ho, who had uttered them, seemed to realize his mistake, yet rather than apologize, he simply pressed forward with brazen indifference.
At Kim Jin-ho’s behavior, Kang Do-bin let out a heavy sigh and spoke.
“Didn’t you hear the Coach? The Manager drew up the lineup based on condition. That means Kang Ho-jin’s pitches are good, and I’m proving it by catching them myself.”
“Hmph, his shoulder and elbow are destroyed—he hasn’t pitched properly in ages. Can he even hit 140 kilometers?”
At the continued negativity, Kang Do-bin laughed bitterly and spoke.
“Fine. Then how about a wager?”
“A wager?”
“If Kang Ho-jin pitches well, you buy chicken. If he bombs today’s game, I’ll buy.”
“Deal!”
The sudden wager was struck.
What had begun as one man’s disruption could have deflated the mood entirely, but by transforming it into a wager, they’d cleared the air instead—the restaurant now buzzed with even more energy than before.
And Kang Ho-jin, at the center of this wager and the one who had to perform best, smiled quietly in a corner.
As if delighted by the prospect of free chicken appearing before him.
* * *
The commotion in the restaurant naturally reached the Manager’s and coaching staff’s ears.
“Tch. These brats.”
Pitching Coach Bae Ki-chan immediately rose from his seat, ready to grab the ringleaders and subject them to some form of punishment, his backside leaving the chair.
But it was Manager Jang Si-hwan, who held authority over today’s lineup, who pressed the Pitching Coach back down.
“Leave them be. They’re still young.”
“Manager!”
“I know. Even I think this decision is a bit unreasonable.”
Until this morning, Manager Jang Si-hwan had been considering another player as the starting pitcher. It wasn’t finalized, but he’d decided to choose based on condition, and in that process, Kang Ho-jin had stood out more than anyone else—hence the decision.
Unfortunately, Kim Jin-ho had voiced such negativity in the restaurant, though even the Manager hadn’t considered him as a starting candidate before that.
“So what of it?”
At Manager Jang Si-hwan’s question, the Pitching Coach’s expression shifted to one of amazement.
“Pitching form isn’t something you change in an instant—but that guy managed it. He’s definitely improved.”
Pitching Coach Bae Ki-chan knew the truth.
That the previous Pitching Coach had ruined Kang Ho-jin. He’d forced physical development without considering pitching balance, damaging him in the process, and through that forced squeezing, Kang Ho-jin had suffered injuries to his shoulder and elbow.
Because of that, he’d devoted himself to rehabilitation in the early part of this year, and only recently had he begun pitching again, bit by bit.
Was it the aftereffect of injury? Both his ball quality and velocity had declined, which saddened Pitching Coach Bae Ki-chan, but at least his control remained—so they’d had him pitch in games to rebuild his competitive instincts.
“Even if his velocity and ball quality haven’t returned to their peak, at least he’s the only one who knows how to place the ball within the strike zone.”
His gambler’s instinct, combined with his natural nerve, was why Kang Ho-jin could frequently take the mound as a starter.
And now, Kang Ho-jin had shown a change.
He’d arrived at the field early in the morning, completed his morning individual training with a run, and then suddenly began throwing with a different pitching form.
From an extreme overhand delivery, he’d lowered his arm to an awkward height somewhere between three-quarter and overhand.
Simply by lowering his arm, the pitches were far superior to what he’d thrown before, and his ball quality had visibly improved.
That’s why they’d put him in as the starter.
It was to test how far he could go with this change and how long he could sustain it—now all that remained was to wait for the results.
“Let’s see how far he can throw.”
Jang Si-hwan’s standard for passing was securing a starting pitcher’s win requirement. It was the moment when the most fundamental cutoff line for a starting pitcher was determined.
* * *
The Futures League typically takes place in the early afternoon.
No matter how good the 2nd Team facilities are, they pale in comparison to the 1st Team Baseball Stadium, so it’s unavoidable that lighting is insufficient.
On top of that, the Regular League is broadcast in the evening, and considering player development, afternoon games are standard.
With games held at midday, intense sunlight beats down on the Ground.
The one saving grace was that it was the tail end of April. With winter behind us and spring approaching, the moderately warm weather was actually the optimal time to move my body.
“This is nice.”
My heart raced as I headed toward the Mound.
During my retirement season, I hadn’t played in many games due to injuries, so it had been quite a while since I’d stepped onto the Mound.
And being younger—was that it? My body felt distinctly different.
Just from this morning’s running, I could go much longer than I had right before retirement, and my physical recovery was absurdly fast.
Moreover, unlike back then when my appetite was poor even without being naturally small, the residual effect of building up my physique meant food went down smoothly now.
I felt firsthand what youth truly meant.
‘I never expected the opportunity to come so quickly.’
After the morning run, I threw in the Bullpen.
At first, I threw with my existing extreme overhand pitching form. Simultaneously, I could tell—I absolutely couldn’t last long with this form. And my elbow and shoulder tingled.
So I switched to my prime-era pitching form. Initially, it felt awkward, so my control was off and pitches scattered everywhere, but after ten throws, they began landing cleanly within the strike zone.
The Pitching Coach and even the other Senior Veterans watched with keen interest at the sudden change, and I showed them my transformed self.
Whoosh!
“Great ball. Really great.”
Kang Do-bin, the Senior Veteran catching for me, praised me several times.
Beside him, Pitching Coach Bae Ki-chan looked skeptical at first, examining my pitching form and the recorded data several times before encouraging me, saying it looked like it would work if I continued this way.
“You’re lower than me. How did you come up with a form that fits so perfectly?”
“I was fortunate.”
I truly was fortunate.
I’d returned to the past and could treat my Daughter, and now I stood on the Mound again like this.
Once a refuge, the Mound had now become my dream and hope.
“Let’s do this well.”
That’s what I resolved.
“Ho-jin, the pitch mix is the same as we discussed earlier?”
I spotted Kang Do-bin approaching from behind, wearing the heavy catcher’s gear.
“Thank you for earlier.”
“Don’t mention it. I only spoke the truth.”
Even if it was the truth, it wasn’t easy to shield a junior player. Especially considering Kim Jin-ho’s case—he ran with a clique, so rather than being marked by one person, he accepted being marked by several. I was truly grateful for that.
“I’ll do my best.”
“No. I should be the one asking.”
We extended our glove and mitt, tapped them together lightly, then moved to opposite sides.
For the first time since returning to the past, I stood on the Mound.
“Play ball!”
With the umpire’s call, we exchanged signs, and gripping the ball nestled in my glove, I threw without hesitation—returning to the pitching form of my prime years.
“Strike!”
The scoreboard blazed to life.
143 km.
The velocity I had lost was gradually returning to me.

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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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