The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 26

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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 26
#26.
Kim Se-jin shut down the seven innings flawlessly.
Seven innings, 104 pitches, 4 hits allowed, 3 walks, no runs.
Though he’d taken some hits and issued walks, the result came from the fielders’ concentration after shaking off their fatigue.
Kim Se-jin himself was able to throw with greater stability than usual—a confidence born from the simple fact that the Catcher had changed.
And this was a performance that stood out even to the Busan Dolphins fans.
– What? Our Catcher is actually catching the ball?!
└ For real. Is this. Professional. Baseball. I’m. Tearing. Up.
└ Even drunk off my ass, I gotta admit this.
└ Seriously, didn’t worry about the Catcher once during the entire weekend series.
└ No! Those damn idiots in the Front Office kept a Catcher like this buried in the 2nd Team all this time?!
└ I’m genuinely furious.
└ Wait, he’s thirty years old? That means he signed at least ten years ago, and even subtracting military service, that’s eight years—what the hell was the General Manager doing?
└ Yeah, he got fired.
The Busan Dolphins fans typed away at their keyboards with fervent intensity.
And for good reason—comparing the past ten years of games to just three days of play revealed a staggering difference in stability.
Any Dolphins fan knew what had happened over those ten years.
The horrific game records, the pitchers’ poor control that forced them into the lower standings, the endless walks, the fielders’ errors, and those days when decent hitting that should have been distributed throughout the game concentrated into a single inning.
Fans who had endured such terrible experiences for decades already carried nothing but pessimism in their minds.
When a pitcher takes the mound, of course he won’t throw strikes. Of course he’ll give up walks and let runners on. If they steal, of course he won’t stop them. The pitcher’s mental will crumble and he’ll throw wild pitches; the Catcher won’t catch them properly and give up two or three bases instead of one, leading to runs. Fielders will make errors as a matter of course, and occasionally they’ll show miraculous defensive plays.
This was the fundamental common sense embedded in the minds of Busan Dolphins fans.
Yet many still asked why they supported the Busan Dolphins at all.
The fans couldn’t answer easily, but soon their eyes would glisten or their voices would tremble as they’d say:
“We’ve come this far… what else can we do?”
That was it.
For those who had already become fans, abandoning the team was impossible. Especially for those who had come to the Baseball Stadium as children, holding their Father’s or Mother’s hand, or their grandfather’s—switching teams was unthinkable.
So who was the player they supported most?
None other than Kim Se-jin, who had held the Dolphins’ starting pitcher position for twelve years and thrown consistently.
“Kim Se-jin! Kim Se-jin!”
Now that he was coming out, the Bullpen battle was beginning.
The Daejeon Phoenix, too, made a bold choice—they wouldn’t concede this game.
They pulled their starting pitcher in the middle of the fifth inning and began deploying the Bullpen, cycling through four pitchers by the seventh inning while keeping the score locked at zero.
Unlike the Phoenix, who had already depleted their pitchers, the Dolphins were now activating their Bullpen, and first they brought in a player who had originally been part of the Clutch Team.
“Taking the Mound is Kim Pil-joong. Fourteen games, three holds, four losses. Average ERA in the nines.”
“Just a few years ago, he was one of the Bullpen’s ironclad members, but his performance has deteriorated recently. It’s not just individual statistics—he’s clearly lost his drive overall.”
As Kim Pil-joong took the mound, the commentator’s sharp criticism struck home.
Though commentators typically maintained neutrality, in his case, Kim Pil-joong’s behavior—abandoning everything beyond team and personal statistics—and his nightly visits to bars had even made the news. As a professional, it was inappropriate, and that’s where the criticism came from.
The fans, knowing this well, attacked without hesitation.
– That bastard needs to lose his pro card and get out of here!
Of course, that’s true.
Many fans were disappointed because he was a professional being paid to play, yet he wasn’t showing the proper form of a true professional.
Among Busan’s players, he was a Busan High graduate known as a local boy and once enjoyed considerable support from Dolphins fans, but now he was being ignored.
“Ball!”
“Ball!”
“Ball!”
“Ball! Runner on First!”
The moment he took the mound, he threw four pitches that all missed the Strike Zone.
The problem was that every single one of those pitches headed directly opposite the Catcher’s glove, and it was so frustrating for both the team and the fans that curses practically spilled out on their own.
“Damn it! Throw it inside the box!”
“Is the Strike Zone invisible?!”
“Come on! Stop messing around!”
“Man! Throw a decent pitch!”
The moment runners reached First and Second with no outs, Manager Bong Jun-sik boldly switched pitchers.
In the past, he would have somehow pulled through such a situation, but the way he nodded as if things had actually gone well made Kim Pil-joong’s face fall with disappointment.
“Manager, I can get through this inning.”
He expressed his determination to face at least one more batter, but Manager Bong Jun-sik shook his head.
“Go rest.”
His cold words made Kim Pil-joong’s head drop, and it was Jo Sang-hyuk who took the Mound instead.
It was his first appearance in three days since Thursday’s game, and he ran briskly from the Bullpen to the Mound, preparing to face a right-handed batter.
“Time! Pinch hitter!”
Against the right-handed pitcher’s appearance, Daejeon Phoenix couldn’t afford to give up the game easily, so they sent in a left-handed batter.
Against such a left-handed batter, Jo Sang-hyuk threw without hesitation.
Tick—!
The batter’s bat swung at the two-seam fastball thrown as the first pitch, sending it rolling directly toward the Shortstop, who caught it and tossed to Second Base, then threw to First.
“Out!”
“Out!”
Runners on First and Second with no outs instantly became two outs with a runner on Third.
The Daejeon Phoenix fans sighed at the unfortunate double play despite the perfect opportunity, but they still held onto hope, cheering loudly for the next batter.
“Kim Jun-sik! Kim Jun-sik!”
One of Daejeon Phoenix’s veteran players, they called his name as if waiting for one of his occasional home runs.
But this time, the Busan Dolphins made a move, and Jung Ji-hoon came up next.
A right-handed pitcher versus a right-handed batter.
The first pitch was a fastball for a strike, the second was a ball, and on the third pitch, a slider that curved horizontally drew a weak swing.
Now only the final decisive pitch remained. Surprisingly, against the fastball heading down the middle, the batter couldn’t even react in time.
“Strike! Batter out!”
Thus the eighth inning was safely closed, and when the top of the ninth came around, surprisingly, a bolt from the blue struck for the Busan Dolphins.
Crack—!
It was a home run by Choi Ji-ho, the leadoff batter.
From the hands of that batter and lead-off man who had only hit nine home runs in his entire professional career spanning nine years, a home run barely cleared the right field wall, the shortest distance in Daejeon Phoenix Park.
The Busan Dolphins pressed forward 1-0, and it was now the bottom of the ninth inning—the final defensive turn.
Choi Sung-hyuk took the mound in place of Kang Ho-jin, who had pitched the last two days as the closer.
“Out!”
The first batter was retired on the opening pitch with a grounder straight to the shortstop, but Daejeon Phoenix’s desperate struggle shook the pitcher starting with the second batter.
“Hit by pitch!”
The batter had practically thrown himself into the pitch, creating a hit-by-pitch.
Naturally, the pitcher, catcher, and Dolphins Manager protested, but it didn’t stick, and a runner reached first with one out.
The next batter, thinking the pitcher was rattled, didn’t offer at the early pitches and worked into a favorable count, only swinging when it reached a full count.
“Foul!”
It was as if he were deliberately stretching out the pitch count, and between pitches he stepped into the batter’s box with such leisurely confidence it bordered on mockery.
“Ball, ball four!”
So one out became runners on first and second.
And on the very first pitch thrown, Daejeon Phoenix remarkably executed a double steal, making it one out with runners on second and third.
“Time!”
The Manager came out to break the momentum briefly, tapping the pitcher’s shoulder, but the next batter also drew a walk, loading the bases with one out.
“Time! Pitcher change!”
The Busan Dolphins finally made a pitching change, and Kang Ho-jin took the mound with the bases loaded and one out.
He warmed up with spirited determination.
Thwack—!
The crisp sound of the ball striking the catcher’s mitt instantly commanded the entire ground.
* * *
The Phoenix batter stepping into the box was Jo Dong-ho.
At twenty-four years old, he had held down the starting second base position for the 1st Team since last year.
With decent base-running instincts, hitting ability, and contact skills, he batted lower in the order but possessed the talent to create momentum that connected to the upper lineup.
And there was one interesting detail: he and Kang Ho-jin were rivals from rival high schools.
Kang Ho-jin attended Seoul High, while Jo Dong-ho attended Deoksu High.
The two teams frequently faced each other in national tournaments, and with the distance between them not being far, they often played practice games against each other.
Now, two players from those rival high school baseball clubs—who had once traded blows against each other—were meeting again after a long time.
Recognizing each other, they exchanged a subtle greeting with raised fists.
It wasn’t an obvious greeting, just a simple fist bump gesture extended forward, and I wondered if he’d remember it, but seeing him return it, I smiled slightly.
‘Right. High school’s behind us now. This is the real showdown in the pros.’
High school days.
Over three years, the head-to-head record between Jo Dong-ho and Kang Ho-jin went like this.
In thirty-two meetings, he’d recorded seven hits and three home runs, earned four walks, and successfully stole two bases.
In contrast, he’d struck out ten times, with no intentional walks.
A batting average of .219, an on-base percentage of .306, and a slugging percentage of .500—merely average numbers during his high school years.
‘But the pros are different!’
Jo Dong-ho had already spent a year performing on the professional stage.
Though not every game, he’d played in 127 games, posting a .240 batting average with a .700 OPS, finishing his debut year with respectable numbers.
And this year too, he was having a solid second season with good hitting form, navigating smoothly without falling victim to the sophomore slump that others worried about.
Though we were classmates, he’d come up to the 1st Team first, and with the heart of a senior, he stepped into the Batter’s Box determined to show me how much stronger he’d become since high school.
And the first pitch came flying.
“Oh?!”
Jo Dong-ho was startled.
He knew that Kang Ho-jin had spent the past time in surgery and rehabilitation for shoulder and elbow injuries. And though he hadn’t faced him directly in the 2nd Team, he’d watched him compete against other seniors and knew he’d weakened considerably.
But he was shocked by the fastball that came with the first pitch.
Even in high school, I’d thought it was a heavy ball, but now it felt more than heavy—the ball seemed to rise slightly.
‘He’s still throwing it without hesitation right at the body. Then the next pitch will probably be a fastball too.’
Even in high school, Kang Ho-jin was a pitcher who threw inside pitches well.
I expected that his aggressive velocity and lethal control wouldn’t change even in the pros. But I thought the ball’s location would be different—if the last one was middle-inside, this one would be low-inside.
‘That way the changeup and curve would look even more devastating.’
Because Kang Ho-jin had the nature of a fierce competitor, Jo Dong-ho was ready to swing aggressively in response, and their duel began immediately.
As the ball came flying fast, Jo Dong-ho was certain it was a fastball and swung the bat. He was thinking the ball and bat would meet perfectly, and for just a moment he wore a smile of confidence that he would create Kang Ho-jin’s first professional hit.
Whoosh—!
But as the ball reached Home Plate and was about to meet the batter’s bat, it dropped downward, and because of that, he couldn’t do anything but make contact off the end of the bat.
Tick—!
The ball headed straight toward the Pitcher, and without hesitation, Kang Ho-jin caught it and threw to Second Base, then immediately to First Base.
Jo Dong-ho ran desperately trying to get on base somehow, but with the Umpire’s call, he looked up at the sky with a deflated expression.
A 1-4-3 double play.
And the pitch he’d just thrown was a pitch type I’d never seen before, so I looked at Kang Ho-jin.
‘That monster. He’s become even more of a monster.’
It seemed like I’d probably be tormented by him in the pros just as much as I had been in high school.

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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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