The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 53

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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 53
#53.
Park Myung-hwan.
The Daejeon Phoenix’s homegrown ace and a player who had been called up to the national team for years, possessing both skill and recognition.
He was the same age as Kim Se-jin of the Dolphins, and the two had long served as the national team’s dominant one-two punch.
Last year’s Korean Series loomed before him—the one championship missing from his career—and he’d pushed himself too hard chasing it, losing the entire first half of this season before finally making his return.
“Looks like something interesting happened while I was gone.”
Nodding beside him was a veteran batter who had played alongside him in the Phoenix organization for years.
“Yeah, reminds me of you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on, he’s way better looking and younger than me.”
Gu Hyun-im, the veteran batter, said nothing in response. He simply stared straight ahead in silence, offering no reply.
As their silence stretched on, the game began, and Kang Ho-jin pitched brilliantly from the Mound.
His heavy four-seam fastball was complemented by a devastating curve that dropped as his finishing pitch.
“He’s blending my old form with my current one perfectly.”
Park Myung-hwan understood.
The curve Kang Ho-jin was throwing now resembled his own, and the Scouting/Analysis Team had confirmed after reviewing his pitching form from high school to the present that their mechanics were remarkably similar.
What stood out unmistakably, however, was velocity.
Kang Ho-jin threw a four-seam fastball reaching 150 km/h alongside a curve at 130 km/h. By contrast, I could no longer fight the passage of time—now throwing a four-seam fastball in the mid-130s km/h range and a curve at 100 km/h.
The fastball alone differed by 20 km/h, and the curve by 30 km/h.
In terms of the time it takes a pitch to reach Home Plate, it might not seem like a significant difference.
But from a batter’s perspective, they were entirely different pitches.
The difference between a familiar velocity and an unfamiliar one.
Park Myung-hwan’s relatively slower, familiar pitches were far easier to hit.
But a veteran wasn’t a veteran for nothing.
They knew how to win the battle of pitch counts and timing against batters facing countless pitches thrown over the years, against a pitcher growing older with each passing season.
After striking out the first and second batters with fastball, fastball, curve, watching him throw nothing but curves against the third batter stirred something in my chest after so long.
“Isn’t he similar to how I was when I was young?”
I glanced beside me, expecting agreement this time.
Gu Hyun-im continued staring straight ahead, but as the commotion of a pitching change began, he finally opened his mouth.
“Yeah… he’s similar to you… if only he were a daughter instead….”
I could see his eyes reddening as he spoke with great difficulty.
At the same time, feeling my own eyes sting, I quickly pinched my thigh slightly. As the pain distracted me, I stood up.
“I’m sorry. Because of me….”
“It’s not your fault. It was my younger brother Hee-gyung who was suffering.”
Park Myung-hwan’s feet wouldn’t leave easily, while Gu Hyun-im kept his gaze fixed on the Ground, avoiding his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I need to pitch, but here I am saying these things.”
“No… actually, I think I can focus better now.”
Park Myung-hwan’s feet, stuck to the ground as if glued, finally moved toward the Mound.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
His heart raced wildly.
Merely hearing the name of the woman he carried in his heart every single day, every single moment, was enough to make his heart pound like this.
His one and only Wife.
It had been five years since she left. For Park Myung-hwan, who could not forget his Wife and still lived alone, that name was his inverse scale—a word no one could utter easily.
No one except Gu Hyun-im.
‘So that’s why….’
Park Myung-hwan finally understood why he had been drawn to Kang Ho-jin.
He knew how exhausting it was to care for a suffering loved one. And he knew all too well how the sorrow, despair, and regret that followed their departure could torment him.
‘You must overcome this.’
He hoped that unlike himself, hope would find its way to him.
As Park Myung-hwan took the Mound, he felt his raging heart suddenly stop the moment he grasped the rosin and dusted his hands.
Thump. Thump.
Then it began to beat slowly, very calmly, and his gaze transformed noticeably.
‘I’m strangely grateful.’
Park Myung-hwan felt an inexplicable sense of gratitude.
If Kang Ho-jin’s pitching form had stirred his blood by evoking his younger self, then his story set his heart ablaze by reminding him of the regrets he harbored in his youth.
Without realizing it, he felt himself slowly, very gradually returning to who he once was.
“Play ball.”
With the Umpire’s call, Park Myung-hwan gripped the ball and threw his first pitch.
Crack!
“Strike!”
He glanced at the Scoreboard—something he would normally have ignored.
142 kilometers per hour.
Faster than last year’s Korean Series, faster than during his time in the 2nd Team and the All-Star Break this season—Park Myung-hwan’s heart surged.
The second pitch followed, a ball tight against the batter’s body that was also called a strike.
“Strike! Two!”
Now it was time to grip the decisive curveball.
As he rolled the ball in his glove to find the right grip, he felt a gentle touch guiding him in. Then he shook his head.
No, no.
The grip forming in his hand was a curveball, but it was the grip he had been throwing recently. The Catcher wanted a changeup, not a curve, so this was his refusal.
He pressed the pitch-com to select the curveball, then awkwardly grasped the grip he hadn’t thrown in so long.
But surprisingly, it fit perfectly in his hand.
‘Yes, that’s right….’
Park Myung-hwan could feel it.
All this time, he had only been running away. He had tried to forget, but in the end, he could not.
If only he had thought to walk together with someone who, until just moments ago, shared the ground where he now stood, things might have been so different.
But now, one thing was certain.
‘Hee-gyung… let’s walk together!’
With that, the ball left Park Myung-hwan’s hand.
The Batter watched as a curveball traced an arc so obvious that anyone standing in the Batter’s Box could read it—and he swung with all his might, as if he’d been waiting for exactly this pitch.
Whoosh—!
The ball arrived in the Catcher’s glove only after the Batter had already completed his swing.
Both the bewildered Catcher and the Batter simultaneously glanced at the Scoreboard. When the velocity reading appeared and the Batter’s face twisted in frustration as he trudged toward the Dugout, Park Myung-hwan, watching from the sidelines, broke into a knowing smirk.
‘Let’s see if you can take this one too.’
– 92 km.
The curveball displayed on the Scoreboard was far slower than his usual curves, which meant the timing was completely off—and considering the fastball he’d thrown earlier had clocked in at 140 km, this slow curveball felt even more sluggish by comparison.
But it didn’t end there.
The second Batter, just like the first, found himself down two strikes on fastballs before Park Myung-hwan delivered a curveball as his finishing pitch.
“Swing! Batter out!”
– 111 km.
This time, instead of dropping sharply, the curveball came in with increased velocity, dispatching the Batter—and the third Batter met the same fate, with Park Myung-hwan throwing four curveballs and closing out the inning identically.
Four curveballs, each with not just different velocities but entirely different trajectories, all drew the Umpire’s strikeout call.
“Swing! Batter out!”
From the first inning onward, the enthusiastic Umpire’s energy seemed to resonate with the crowd, and the Third Base Cheering Section erupted in thunderous cheers for the former ace’s brilliant performance.
Park Myung-hwan—! Park Myung-hwan—!
He waved to the fans shouting his name as he descended from the Mound.
Then, glancing subtly at Ho-jin, I could feel his gaze boring into me with unmistakable intensity.
“….”
I didn’t bother opening my mouth.
We could talk after the game ended—for now, we simply took turns on the Mound, each of us quietly doing our job in pursuit of victory.
And so the two pitchers’ battle began.
* * *
“Wow….”
An exclamation escaped my lips unbidden.
Even though I’d watched it with my own eyes just moments ago, I couldn’t quite believe it—and part of me desperately wanted to rewind and watch the pitch Senior Pitcher had just thrown again.
“Ho-jin, let’s go.”
“Yes.”
But we were in the middle of a game. Now it was my turn to take the Mound that my Senior had just vacated.
As I walked toward the Mound, my mind was consumed entirely by the curveball Senior had just delivered.
The original is truly the original.
Compared to that pitch, my curveball definitely seemed to lack something. Most impressively, he could drop the velocity that drastically while maintaining perfect control and precision, hitting the Strike Zone with such accuracy that it was almost unbelievable.
I wanted to rush over and ask him about it.
And the thought that if I could master what he’d shown me, my own curveball might evolve too—it made my heart race with anticipation.
“Sigh….”
But that feeling was fleeting.
My eyes fell on the footprints etched into the Mound.
Messy, scattered footprints.
It might have looked like there were simply many footprints, but to my eyes, they told a different story.
‘This is Senior’s fight.’
The difference between when I took the Mound and when Senior Pitcher took it was starkly apparent.
In my case, I fixed my stride and maintained a consistent pitching form while controlling velocity and accuracy.
Of course, as my body grows larger and my muscle mass increases, I plan to extend my stride further—for now, I’m operating at about 70% capacity. Considering I used 85% during my prime, I still have considerable room to grow.
But Senior Pitcher varied his stride deliberately, stealing the batter’s timing. What was truly terrifying was that he adjusted his pitching form in real-time, making subtle changes that the batter couldn’t detect, and he had completely robbed them of their timing.
The proof came the moment I descended from the Mound at the end of the fifth inning.
0 : 0.
The Scoreboard still displayed only zeros, and the game had progressed without a single walk or hit.
For the batters, it was a terrifyingly masterful pitching duel, but in Park Myung-hwan’s eyes and mine, flames of competitive fire blazed intensely.
“Swinging strike three!”
Senior Pitcher closed out the fifth inning cleanly, and the Ground crew took the field for maintenance.
Unlike the cheers echoing through the Stadium, both teams’ Dugouts were deathly silent.

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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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