The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 30

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Chapter 30
#30.
I headed toward the Mound.
The batting order was starting again from the leadoff hitter.
The batter stepping into the Batter’s Box for the fifth time already had confidence radiating from his face.
And rightfully so—having scored in the previous inning, his batting form had come alive, and his expression brimmed with self-assurance.
“Sigh… those guys have really got their timing down.”
I heard Kang Do-bin’s voice from beside me.
After a long defensive inning and barely making it back to the Dugout for rest, the quick offensive half had cut even that brief respite short, so his voice carried the weight of exhaustion.
“You worked hard out there.”
“Man… seriously… why don’t pitchers ever listen to signals… wait, not you, Ho-jin. I mean, what’s his name….”
Kang Do-bin’s face flushed with embarrassment in an instant.
I understood.
Before heading to the Bullpen, I’d seen how much Kim Da-hu and Baek Ji-ha had shaken off pitches, and how every forced throw had turned into a hit—I could piece together what had happened.
“It’s fine. I understand.”
“I’m sorry. And thank you.”
I understood, at least vaguely, how grueling a catcher’s burden could be.
And I felt a deep sense of apology toward the catchers who worked in sync with me—especially those who’d coordinated with me before I returned to the past.
My obsessive personality back then, driven by an almost manic hunger for victory.
I’d analyzed game footage until it fell apart at the seams, demanding that same precision from my catcher. When he called for a pitch I didn’t want, I’d shake him off until he called what I desired.
And whenever the defense made an error, though I said nothing, my eyes bore into them. I cursed silently, and I suspect I even hurled some rather vicious mental hexes their way.
‘Even so, I need to hold back on the hair loss jokes and all that other nonsense now.’
Memories from before I returned to the past sometimes caught me off guard, making me choke up without warning, but now I responded with far greater composure and ease than I once would have.
This composure was a gift of having returned to the past.
“How do you want to pitch?”
I smiled at the senior’s question, even as I was apologizing. “Whatever you want to call, I’ll throw it.”
“Whatever you want to call, I’ll throw it.”
“Really? Thanks.”
With that, we touched our catcher’s mitt and glove together, then returned to our respective positions.
I was given five warm-up pitches.
Without hesitation, I began throwing at full intensity from the first pitch.
Thud!
A heavy four-seam fastball at 150 kilometers per hour sank into the mitt.
After throwing once more, I used the remaining pitches to work on my changeup, curveball, and splitter.
‘Not bad at all.’
Overall, nothing to complain about.
The changeup was a bit shaky, but what pleased me most was that only the splitter had that distinctive bite.
Having learned it from Kevin and thrown it only once in actual competition, I was genuinely surprised by the splitter’s effectiveness.
“Play ball.”
At the Umpire’s call, the batter stepped into the Batter’s Box.
The batter’s timing seemed already elevated, but I didn’t assume my pitches would be easy to hit. Following Do-bin’s request, I threw a four-seam fastball on the first pitch.
Crack!
Surprisingly, the bat swung through.
The ball flew into the stands—if it had been centered just slightly more, it would’ve cleared the wall.
‘My condition really isn’t that good today, is it?’
No, to be precise, my condition wasn’t poor.
Until I first threw in the Bullpen, I had sufficient control and command. But perhaps because of the break in between, something felt off.
One wrong move and wild pitches would come easily.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
I swung my shoulder, drawing out every ounce of sensation I could muster.
Even if this appearance suggested I was uncomfortable or had issues, what mattered now was elevating my condition immediately.
The second pitch was a curveball, far outside.
“Ball!”
Because it dropped earlier than usual, the ball that struck the Home Plate bounced to a spot Do-bin couldn’t reach.
Fortunately there were no runners on base—otherwise I would’ve given up a base.
‘This is ridiculous….’
Honestly, my current situation was utterly absurd.
On the surface, I was a 24-year-old who’d returned to the past.
But what about inside? I was the one who dominated the Big League at thirty-five. With eleven years of know-how, experience, and the system backing me, how could this even be happening?
Yet as if mocking me, wild pitches kept slipping out—something was clearly wrong.
‘I can’t ask anyone about this.’
Since I couldn’t confess this truth to anyone, I could only suffer alone.
Perhaps this was God’s will in granting me a second chance.
That everything I’d accomplished was an illusion. That I should work hard here and now. That only then could I move forward.
Thinking about my stamina stat, I couldn’t help but feel this way.
The old me could throw over a hundred pitches and somehow muddle through, but now if I exceeded my set pitch count, my throws became completely wild.
‘Focus.’
The ball slips.
Still, I can use this slipping ball to draw the batter’s swing.
Splitter, low inside.
I nod at Do-bin’s signal.
Gripping the ball, I threw the splitter.
As rosin dust scattered, the splitter dropped far deeper and more decisively than the batter’s inside corner.
Whoosh!
Thinking it was a fastball, the bat swung—and I got my second strike.
And I was slightly startled by Do-bin’s next signal.
Changeup, low inside.
Even though my changeup wasn’t working today, he was calling for it. I wanted to shake my head instinctively, but since I’d decided to follow the senior’s signals, I gripped the ball and threw without hesitation.
“Ugh!”
Force entered my body without my realizing it, and a groan escaped my lips. The pitch that left my hand flew toward the right-hander’s inside, then broke sharply outward as if braking, dropping away.
“Swing! Batter’s out!”
The batter’s face fell, completely fooled by the pitch, but there was no way to overturn the Umpire’s call.
The ABS display flashed, confirming the ball had cleanly passed through the Strike Zone.
“Wooooah!”
“Kang Ho-jin! Kang Ho-jin!”
My name spilled from the fans’ lips.
After cleanly retiring the first batter, the second one stepped up to the plate.
Unlike the first batter, this one showed no confidence or sharpness in his expression. Instead, he seemed to be receiving some kind of advice from someone heading into the Dugout.
I didn’t pay much attention to it.
One four-seam fastball on the inside.
“Swing!”
Another four-seam fastball on the inside.
“Swing! Two!”
I was gripping the ball, thinking that one more pitch away from him would be enough to draw the bat, when an unexpected pitch came through the communication device.
Four-seam fastball, inside, middle.
Essentially, Do-bin was calling for a third pitch on virtually the same location.
The opposing batters were swinging aggressively to match my attacking pitches. It looked almost like a counter-attack strategy, so one mistaken pitch could easily tie the game.
I nodded.
Still, I nodded at Do-bin’s call.
The Catcher is the one who can see the batter’s adjustments most clearly from up close. I had no doubt that my senior was reading the batter’s changes and making this call, so I threw without hesitation.
“Swing! Batter’s out!”
The batter was expecting a dropping pitch, so there was a significant gap between bat and ball.
With the batter spinning around in a complete turn beside me, the ball went through First Base, to Second Base, and passed through the hands of the shortstop and third baseman before coming back.
Then I held up one finger and shouted.
“One left!”
With concentration already at its peak, this was my cry for the final out.
“Yesss!”
“Let’s go!”
“Ohhh!”
It was fortunate that even the usually quiet shortstop senior clenched his fist.
To be honest, I’d been a little nervous before doing it.
No matter that I was the Pitcher on the Mound, calling out to my seniors was essentially making a demand of them.
Especially since I’d only been in the 1st Team for two weeks (officially speaking), it was normal to be cautious.
Still, seeing everyone take their positions with heightened focus, I knew I had to finish this quickly.
“Time out. Pinch hitter.”
The Changwon Griffins brought out a pinch hitter of their own.
A batter with over a .300 average against left-handed pitchers and powerful punch.
‘I know this senior, at least.’
An opponent I’d faced frequently before returning to the past. Though he’s currently used as a pinch hitter against left-handed batters, Min Sang-hyun would later establish himself as the Griffins’ right fielder, striking fear into left-handed pitchers.
Oh, and he’s a good person, by the way.
Despite the dark atmosphere and the cold aura he exuded, he was kind even to me—someone who knew nothing but baseball. When I asked why, he said he resembled his younger brother and couldn’t help but be kind, and that we had met on the National Team and gotten along well.
‘Senior Pitcher, reduce your leg kick and keep your side firmly attached. That’s how you’ll secure the starting position faster.’
I wanted to tell him that, but there was no opportunity. So I’d have to teach him with my body instead.
Four-seam fastball, inside middle.
A left-handed pitch thrown inside to a right-handed batter is quite dangerous.
If I miss even slightly and the pitch drifts, it heads straight down the middle and could easily sail over the fence. Plus, right-handed batters have the disadvantage of seeing the ball better compared to left-handed batters.
Still, for any pitcher, pitching inside is a necessary condition, and there’s no reason to avoid it.
At least I need to show the batter that even against a right-hander, I can confidently challenge him inside. Only then can I control the next pitch more easily. So despite the risk, it’s a pitch I must throw.
‘Keep your elbow tight, Senior Pitcher!’
To repay even a small debt from the connection before I returned to the past, I threw a pitch that hugged the inside.
“Strike!”
I could see him flinch.
His expression showed he hadn’t expected me to challenge him inside so directly. After swinging the bat a couple of times and stepping back into the batter’s box, I could see his arm was now pressed against his body more than before.
‘Here we go again.’
This time, another inside pitch. But this one drops to the lower half instead of the middle.
“Swing! Two!”
His bat followed the trajectory of my splitter instead of a four-seam fastball. Still, thanks to his arm being pressed tight against his body as I intended, his swing became more compact and faster.
‘Whew, he’s getting serious now.’
Now it’s time for a breaking ball.
I dropped a changeup that also hugged the inside.
Crack!
Surprisingly, he made contact, and the ball shot toward the stands along the foul line in an instant.
The batter was shocked, and the Catcher who tried to catch it was equally surprised.
Unlike those two, I smiled slightly and nodded.
‘Now he’s finally becoming the Senior Pitcher I knew.’
The appearance of Min Sang-hyun, the left-handed pitcher killer, is starting to show.
But now the teaching session is over.
I’m now in the world of cold, serious competition, and I need victory.
Four-seam fastball, outside lower.
A pitch that catches perfectly on the borderline, aimed at a course far too distant for someone with their arm pressed against their body like that.
“Strike! Batter out!”
This Senior Pitcher shows the killer’s touch against left-handed pitchers, but he can’t help but be weak against pitches thrown far outside by a left-handed pitcher with control as the foundation. Especially now with his leg kick, his timing can’t possibly be right.
Roooaaaar!
“Kang Ho-jin! Kang Ho-jin! Kang Ho-jin!”
As the fans at Sajik Stadium roared loud enough to shake the place, I came down from the Mound with joy.
Then I asked Kang Do-bin Senior for the ball, got it, and while everyone was congratulating me, I approached Choi Jin-ha Senior, who had been standing there dazed, and held out the ball.
“Congratulations, Senior. This is the ball from your first win.”
“Ah….”
The Senior, who had been dazed until now, shed tears down his cheeks.
His trembling hands moved carefully as he gripped the ball and rejoiced.
“Thank you….”
I hoped that today’s pitch would become the catalyst for Senior Pitcher to throw even better.
For the team’s sake.
For my own points as well.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————