The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 33

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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 33
#33.
Choi Sung-hyuk was undeniably skilled.
‘While perhaps not Big League caliber, his abilities were more than sufficient for the domestic circuit.’
Beyond the sheer audacity of throwing with confidence even with the bases loaded, his fastball velocity hadn’t diminished, nor was his control at a critically poor level.
Though he did have the occasional wild pitch, at least in terms of pure velocity, he ranked within the top five in the Dolphins Bullpen right now.
That’s why the Pitching Coach had designated him as the closer starting from the second half, and he was receiving concentrated attention.
“You’re not hurt anywhere, right? If anything bothers you at all, tell me immediately. Don’t just grit your teeth and push through because you’ve got this opportunity—you need to prepare ahead of time to sustain yourself through the pennant race.”
Watching him attend to every detail, I could clearly see the difference in treatment.
Well, that was the Pitching Coach’s job, but the important thing was that anyone could see the Three Hitters favored by the Manager received noticeably different treatment.
“Wow… Coach, what about us?”
“We pitched too, didn’t we?”
Jo Sang-hyuk and Jung Ji-hoon lingered near the Pitching Coach with aggrieved expressions.
I looked at them with exasperation and offered a comment.
“You two got checked out earlier, didn’t you?”
At that, both seniors protested indignantly, but the Pitching Coach simply continued attending to Choi Sung-hyuk.
Meanwhile, our team’s offense continued, and through a grinding strategy, we squeezed out another run.
Now, carrying a two-run lead, I headed toward the Mound.
“Ho-jin.”
Kang Do-bin, who would now form the battery with me, approached.
Having just batted in the previous inning, he was hastily putting on his gear, his breathing slightly labored.
“How is it, Senior?”
“Just like the data you gave me this morning. The only thing is, their hitting is in exceptional form.”
That was the data Choi Sung-hyuk and I had compiled until early yesterday morning.
Combined with the Scouting/Analysis Team’s data, it should have been solid, but the problem was that the opposing batters were in remarkably good condition.
“Let’s just shut them down.”
“Good. Aggressive approach.”
We extended our glove and mitt, tapped them together with a soft thud, and headed to our respective positions.
“Kang Ho-jin! Kang Ho-jin!”
The fans’ cheers reached my ears.
There was something frequently appearing in the Dolphins Community lately—none other than talk of the five of us who came up from the 2nd Team.
Since we arrived, the team had been on a winning streak, so we’d definitely made an impression on the fans.
Especially for Kang Do-bin, the Catcher, and me, now active as the closer—whenever we took the mound in the ninth inning, fans stopped worrying and could watch comfortably, and I could see posts expressing their joy.
‘For fans like that…’
Today I just needed to secure a clean victory.
The seventh batter’s turn came up, but a right-handed pinch hitter entered instead.
He specialized in slap hits rather than power hits, and with excellent contact, he was frequently used when employing tactical baseball in the middle of the game.
I threw an aggressive pitch inside first.
“Strike!”
He watched the first pitch, nodded, and slowly began his batting stance.
I knew that nod wasn’t a genuine read of my pitch, but merely a habit ingrained into his muscle memory. So I threw to the same location again, but this time aimed even lower.
Whoosh—!
“Swing! Strike two!”
He swung thinking it was a fastball, yet his timing was still late. The gap between bat and ball was significant, causing his expression to contort slightly before he nodded.
This is fun.
Most baseball players—actually, most athletes in general—have their own unique routines, habits, and superstitions.
Whether you call what I’m seeing a routine or a habit, one thing was certain: that very habit had become his weakness.
‘A quick nod means he’s hunting fastballs. A slow nod means he’s looking for breaking balls.’
A pattern I’d discovered by combining three years of data with recent statistics.
When I first found this, Choi Sung-hyuk looked at me like I was a monster.
“You actually found that….”
It was an incredibly subtle difference.
But that microscopic difference would give any pitcher who came in as a reliever one less thing to worry about. Even if right-handed batters theoretically have an easier time hitting left-handed pitches, knowing what they’re hunting for is enough to avoid it and work the count.
I’d shared this discovery with Kang Do-bin, and he’d requested I exploit it too.
Now that I knew he was hunting for a breaking ball, our decision was clear.
Fastball down the middle.
Crack—!
“Swing! Batter’s out!”
A fastball right through the heart of the zone, and he went down swinging with his timing completely off.
Kang Do-bin threw to first base and gave me a thumbs up. When Shim Se-chan steps up to the plate for the Incheon Serpents next, there won’t be any concerns.
With one clean out recorded, I waited for the next batter, and sure enough, another pinch hitter emerged.
This time a left-handed batter—one of the team’s veterans.
A left-handed hitter who could drive left-handed pitches well, but at his age, he’d lost some of his power. He spent his twilight years producing singles rather than extra-base hits, contributing to the team in that way.
‘That commentator is absolutely brilliant.’
He pointed out weaknesses clearly and offered sharp criticism regardless of which team was playing, walking that precarious tightrope of cutting remarks without disrupting the broadcast. That’s what made him popular—viewers found it refreshing.
If I remember correctly, he’s retiring next year. But I’m sorry to say, I’m not an easy out for someone like him.
Low fastball on the inside.
First pitch inside.
“Strike!”
He let it go—whether intentionally taking a pitch or not—but seeing that, Kang Do-bin called for a curveball for the first time today.
Crack—!
Had he been hunting curveballs from the start? The bat came out without hesitation, but the ball sailed foul into the stands beyond the foul line.
Curveball, bottom of the zone.
My senior wanted another one down, so I nodded and threw.
Flinch.
“Ball.”
This time he held back, his body tensing slightly.
One ball, two strikes.
Still, I had the advantage, so the Catcher’s call was for another pitch down.
“Swing! Batter’s out!”
The splitter I learned from Kevin.
My pitch, sometimes called a high-velocity splitter or hard splitter, broke sharply in front of Home Plate with a distinctive hook, evading the batter’s bat.
The Catcher, noticing dirt had clung to the ball during the catch, requested a fresh one from the Umpire and handed it to me.
Gripping the cool ball against the sweltering heat, I rolled it between my palms, catching the seams with my fingers as I waited for the next batter.
This batter entered without a pinch hitter—a contact hitter positioned at number nine to extend scoring chances for the leadoff hitter.
However, he possessed a critical weakness: his physical attributes.
While the average height of registered KBO League players was 182 centimeters, this batter stood at 175 centimeters—significantly undersized physically.
His smaller frame meant shorter limbs, and while his speed was decent, his arm length was limited.
That left only one target.
The lower outside corner of the strike zone.
A place far, far beyond reach for a right-handed batter—I simply threw there.
“Strike!”
“Strike, two!”
“Ball!”
“Strike! Batter out!”
That made six games, six saves.
An earned run average of zero.
Everything was progressing smoothly.
* * *
The Dolphins Community erupted after the game ended.
– Eight straight wins! Let’s go!
└ Are you serious?
└ I can’t believe it even seeing it with my own eyes.
└ Wait, eight straight wins, not eight straight losses?!
└ You’re lying.
└ It’s not a lie—it’s real.
Though the news had been reported and the game broadcast live, most community members didn’t follow the games closely.
Last year’s miracle aside, the real issue was that recent decades of records had produced nothing satisfactory. Naturally, most people only checked team standings through the community or sports news for baseball information.
But the sudden news of eight straight wins surprised even those who only checked standings, prompting them to watch highlights—and they were astonished by the team’s transformation.
– What? The Catcher actually knows how to catch?
└ Kevin? What is that insane splitter?!
└ The ball doesn’t get past him? His blocking is solid?!
└ Wow! Caught stealing! You only see that from other teams!
└ Suddenly we have a Catcher.
The most striking change was undoubtedly the Catcher position.
For Dolphins fans, the Catcher position had been virtually non-existent.
Countless games had been lost to Catcher errors, and having witnessed pitchers seal away their best weapons because the Catcher couldn’t catch properly, it was a position of bittersweet resentment.
It was so bad that rumors circulated of a national petition requesting a machine replace the Catcher to catch balls—no further explanation was needed about how terrible it had been.
So when Kang Do-bin appeared as a Catcher and played all nine games without a single error, he naturally became endearing.
But there was a player who stood out even more—none other than Kang Ho-jin.
– Six games, six saves?!
└ What? Where did Ahn Byung-ho go? Kang Ho-jin?
└ Wow, look at how he throws! That’s a real man’s pitching!
└ He doesn’t discriminate—throws inside and outside equally.
└ Everything lands right in the zone?
└ That’s right! A closer needs to have this kind of presence!
Those who watched the video of six consecutive saves circulating on YouTube couldn’t help but fall deeper under Kang Ho-jin’s spell.
The closer position had always been a bittersweet one for the Dolphins.
To be precise, there had been times when they had decent closers, but the real problem lay in how the games unfolded.
Poor control was the baseline, and the pitching always seemed evasive, resulting in full counts almost routinely, then walks would load the bases, and inevitably, a go-ahead home run would follow—it was practically a formula.
Now that the frustrating closer had become a refreshing one, it felt like a blockage in the throat had suddenly burst open.
– Ah… that interview. It makes you want to cheer for him.
Kang Ho-jin was a player who naturally drew interest—not just for his skill alone, but because he had a story behind him.
Huh. Been a while since you went to the Baseball Stadium?
Yeah.
As curiosity about the player Kang Ho-jin grew among Dolphins fans, they began pulling out uniforms that had been gathering dust in their closets one by one.
It wasn’t an immediate urge to go, but rather a thought that if time and leisure permitted, they might visit the Stadium.
And so it was a day when Dolphins fans, one by one, began to take interest in the baseball they had abandoned.

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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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