The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 64

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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 64
#64.
The sudden departure of Senior Pitcher Se-jin left the atmosphere unsettled.
But it wasn’t the players who would anchor this mood—it was the Manager and coaching staff.
“Who retired? Weren’t we preparing for next season?”
At Manager Bong Jun-sik’s words, everyone who had been solemn moments before now shouted with renewed determination.
“Yes, sir!”
The thunderous voices echoed, and the coaching staff sprang into action.
“Come on! Let’s warm up quickly!”
“If we lose on a day like this, Se-jin will feel sorry! We must win!”
“Those who came up today, over here!”
“Let’s go! Fighting spirit!”
With the coaching staff’s practiced movements, we entered training.
Our opponent for the three-game series starting today was the Suwon Wolves.
With their magic number dwindling, they had openly declared their ambition to claim a winning streak against us.
At this stage of the season, top teams desperately devour lower-ranked teams and push forward.
One careless moment could mean a collapse, so the Coach and fielders focused intently on defensive drills.
Al had already entered his own routine in preparation for taking the mound tomorrow, while the bullpen pitchers were sweating profusely, conditioning their bodies for tomorrow’s deployment.
I prepared for my own start tomorrow, standing a little apart from the others.
‘Well, I’ve already done the preparation, but…’
I rolled the ball in my hand absently, lost in thought.
My mind held only one concern.
‘Fourteen games… I should have gathered enough data by now.’
I’d thrown seven times as a relief pitcher and seven times as a starter.
By this point, opposing teams should have conducted preliminary analysis of our strengths, and they’d certainly gathered some information about me.
Even if we weren’t in the offseason where teams conduct detailed game-by-game breakdowns, scouts who obsess over analysis every single day would have accumulated considerable data about me as a pitcher.
While Korea hadn’t reached Major League Baseball’s astronomical investment levels, the country was steadily growing through careful development, so basic data on me should exist.
‘I need to introduce some variation soon.’
In truth, this was a risky choice in some ways.
To keep my Daughter alive, I need points. To introduce variation now, I also need points.
I wondered if spending points in this situation was somewhat reckless.
But if I spent the points I currently have, I could create meaningful improvements.
Even a single kilometer increase in velocity throws off a batter’s timing, and upgrading a pitch type increases its effectiveness—it’s not a bad trade-off.
‘How many games are left? About five?’
If I’m lucky enough to earn the win in all of them, I could gain five points.
From November when baseball ends through late March—four months—I only need two points to survive, and considering my Daughter has over 500 days remaining, it’s right to focus on my own growth.
‘Or I could save points to acquire an additional pitch type.’
Learning a new pitch type requires five points.
With three points now, I could acquire a new pitch after just two strong performances, which could give me an advantage in the remaining three games.
The trap is if that new pitch doesn’t suit my hand, or if I can’t master it properly and it registers as a pitch I can’t use in actual games—then I’d waste five points into thin air.
‘If I grow this with points as well, it will eventually fit my hand.’
But that required more points, trapping me in an endless cycle.
My mind churning with complications, I was running across the ground when I noticed the other Senior Pitchers gathered together in one spot.
“What’s going on?”
They’d abandoned their training to huddle together, and as I watched with curiosity, I heard unexpected news.
“The Premier12 preliminary roster for next year just came out.”
Now that I thought about it, the Premier12 would be held after next season ended, and I recalled how South Korea had faced such a humiliating result that the entire nation was furious.
I felt a slight spark of interest, but since I assumed there was no way I’d make the roster, I was about to head back to my running.
“Ho-jin, you’re on the list too.”
“What?!”
It was news I never expected.
* * *
Manager Baek Hae-il, who had taken on the role of manager for next year’s Premier12, reviewed the preliminary roster again.
After staring at it for a while, he turned to the two people sitting beside him and asked.
“What do you think? Seems crazy, right?”
The two coaches nodded without hesitation at his words.
“Yes, sir. You’ve lost your mind.”
“In my opinion, this is definitely crazy.”
At their swift agreement, Manager Baek Hae-il suddenly shifted as if to throw what he held in his hand, and the two coaches instantly moved behind the sofa and hid themselves.
It was a movement that seemed practiced and natural.
“If you threw at the speed you used to—150 kilometers back in the day—we’d be dead.”
“You even maintained that velocity when you retired after turning thirty. That’s terrifying.”
“And you two know that, yet you talk to me like that?!”
At Manager Baek Hae-il’s words, the two coaches gave the same response once again.
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“Goodness, my head.”
The manager set down what he was holding and rubbed his head, and the two coaches, who had cautiously returned to their seats, exchanged glances before speaking.
“Honestly, preparing for a generational shift is only natural at this point.”
“How long can we keep filling the roster with aging, worn-out players? Young players need to gain experience and contribute to the development of Korean baseball on that foundation.”
That was true.
In the preliminary roster that Manager Baek Hae-il had selected, there wasn’t a single name of the veterans who had been picked for the National Team countless times before—it was composed entirely of rookies or low-seniority players.
Of course, there were a few older players.
The problem was that most of those players were mid-career rookies, players who had only shined and performed well this year.
However, Manager Baek Hae-il was drawing up a plan to increase competitiveness with an eye not on the results of this Premier12, but on the World Baseball Classic, Asian Cup, and Olympics that would follow.
“Well, we’re not just looking at this year’s performance.”
Ultimately, it would be decided after seeing the first half of next year’s results, and even if not, for the three of them preparing for a tournament still over a year away, it was a comfortable timeframe.
“Still, don’t we need at least one veteran to fill the ace position?”
“We need to keep games against Japan, Taiwan, and the United States in mind.”
At the two coaches’ words, Manager Baek Hae-il shook his head.
“I’ll give that spot to a prospect with real talent—a young pitcher with the makings of a Major League Baseball player.”
Manager Baek Hae-il envisioned a player who could stamp his passport not just through domestic games, but through international competition as well, marking his journey toward the Big League.
And the face of the most promising candidate appeared on the tablet.
Jersey number 12: Kang Ho-jin.
In his assessment, the pitcher with the brightest future ahead was none other than Kang Ho-jin.
He was a player who reminded him of Ma Dong-jun, a student he had personally trained and developed years ago.
As he found himself thinking of his former pupil, now struggling in the United States, his phone vibrated.
Bzzzzt—!
“Ah, Bong-jun.”
– Manager, how have you been?
“Good, kid. How about you?”
– So-so. I’m getting old now—can’t throw anymore.
“That’s why I cut you from the National Team roster.”
– I love you, Manager.
Manager Baek Hae-il’s face brightened as he spoke with his former student, laughing warmly.
With thoughts of next year’s Premier12 seemingly forgotten, both coaches quietly set down their work and headed for the exit.
It was quitting time.
* * *
I made the Premier12 preliminary roster.
‘But does that really matter?’
That wasn’t what mattered to me right now.
Wearing the national flag and representing the country was important, but what mattered more was today’s game.
The midweek three-game series had begun, and Al took another beating as expected.
“Huff… huff….”
As the season wore on, he showed signs of physical exhaustion.
In particular, he seemed unable to adapt to South Korea’s high humidity, and since summer arrived, his ability to pitch deep into games had deteriorated noticeably.
If our team were aiming for the Korean Series in the postseason, we might have considered replacing the foreign pitcher.
But at this point in our rebuilding phase, swapping out pitchers would have been wasteful, so we simply used him and hoped he could hold down the innings.
Still, since he wasn’t a player who created discord on the team, the players patted his shoulder as he came down after the fifth inning.
“Fxxk….”
A sharp curse escaped his lips involuntarily.
Though normally quiet and not one to converse with others, he made an effort to listen and integrate with the team—so when he expressed emotion like this, everyone was startled, their eyes filled with apology.
Over five innings, he’d given up three runs while our batters hadn’t scored any, so the hitters wore apologetic faces, and the relief pitchers simply moved to the Bullpen to finish the remaining innings.
“Hey. These things happen.”
Kevin approached cheerfully to lighten the mood, but received no response. Still, after venting his frustration with that one curse, he seemed to have composed himself, calling over the Pitching Coach and the interpreter before heading to ice down—the atmosphere was less heavy than before.
“Tsk, that guy really gave it his all.”
Perhaps because Kevin shared the position of a foreign worker, he wore a bitter expression.
Unfortunately, in sports, results always follow, and all I could offer Al, whose results weren’t good, was consolation.
“He’ll overcome it.”
“I agree, bro.”
Noticing Kevin smiling at me with the same thought, I turned my gaze back to the ground.
Crack!
Crack!
With consecutive bat sounds, the batter had instantly put runners on first and second with no outs.
“Ball four!”
A walk came through, and suddenly we had bases loaded with no outs—a golden scoring opportunity.
“Hey, bro. You made the National Team, right?”
As I watched Han Seok-do step into the batter’s box, I heard Kevin’s voice. Looking at him, he flashed a slight smile and spoke to me.
“I’m on the Australian National Team too. So we could share the mound together at Premier12 next year?”
“Oh, Kevin’s on the National Team too? Congratulations. I’m still just an alternate.”
At my words, Kevin suddenly grew serious and spoke to me.
“From what I see, bro, you’re getting selected. No question about it.”
At his firm words, I smiled and looked back at the ground.
Boom!
A massive arc traced through the air off Han Seok-do’s bat, and in an instant, a grand slam soared over the fence.
The Dolphins had instantly reversed the score to 4-3, and the seagulls rose above Sajik Baseball Stadium.
Right now~ from somewhere~ the mighty Dolphins!
“I hope that happens.”
When my daughter wakes up, I want to tell her that her dad is a National Team player.

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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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