The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 88

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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 88
#88.
Week two of Spring Training.
Everyone was sweating profusely, preparing diligently for the upcoming season.
There had been several Blue-White Games, and gradually the roster for starting lineups began to take shape.
I could see players who thought they’d start in the 2nd Team again, and those who feared they might be demoted, all training with even more fierce determination.
Among them, Se-jin and I stood apart, focusing solely on conditioning exercises.
“Hey! Bro!”
The foreign mercenary pitchers had finally joined the team.
Kevin, who had played for the Dolphins last year, was the first to sign an extension contract.
The reason for his late arrival was that he had spent considerable time deliberating over an offer from Japan.
Japan was offering more money, but Kevin was worried about adapting to a new environment. After much deliberation, he decided to stay in Korea on his wife’s advice.
“Emma said she really loves Korea. The neighbors are kind too.”
Well, in Busan, everyone loves baseball players.
Of course, this varies somewhat depending on individual or team performance, but at least people rarely complain about foreign mercenaries working hard in Korea.
After much thought, he stayed in Korea, and now he had finally joined us.
“Oh, let me introduce you. This is Meck. We rolled around together in the minors.”
“Meck Suchikida. You speak English well.”
“Nice to meet you, Meck. If you have any difficulties adjusting to life in Korea, just tell me. I’ll help.”
“It’ll be easier to adapt quickly with someone I can communicate with.”
Meck seemed to have a similar disposition to Kevin, who had excellent interpersonal skills.
His first impression wasn’t bad, and with his sharp features, he seemed likely to become quite popular.
“Don’t be fooled by how he looks, bro. Once that guy gets on the Mound, he becomes a fighting dog.”
“Huh? A fighting dog?”
“Yeah, he’s obsessed with winning, so if you challenge him carelessly, you won’t even find your bones.”
Then he showed me a video.
Apparently, Meck was quite well-known for fights in the minors.
Unlike his sharp impression and soft tone, on the Mound he throws with eyes that look like he could kill someone, pitching like a madman.
And when a pitch hit a batter, he didn’t hesitate to throw a punch when confronted, showing a fiery temperament.
“Uh… I hope he doesn’t hit me?”
“Haha. We’re teammates, after all. At least he can tell the difference.”
The eyes I saw in the video didn’t seem to make that distinction, which was frightening.
Anyway, that’s how the two foreign mercenary pitchers were decided and gradually integrated into the team.
The team welcomed Kevin, and Kevin introduced Meck, and we became one team.
My only concern was the foreign batter who hadn’t been decided yet, but that was up to the Front Office, so I just focused on training quietly.
Time passed, and when week three arrived, our first practice game was scheduled.
“We have a practice game against the Elephants tomorrow. There will be internet broadcast too, so get ready.”
At the Senior Coach’s words, everyone looked at him with anticipation.
“Their starter is Jin-heo. So our starter is…”
Looking at Se-jin and me with a contemplative expression, I raised my hand and shouted.
“I’d like to go first.”
“Alright. Then Kang Ho-jin first.”
In exhibition games, pitchers typically throw at most three innings, sometimes as few as one.
Yet there was only one reason I’d volunteered to go first.
‘I need to surprise Jin-heo.’
Then I opened my status window and invested points.
– Points consumed.
– Slider rank increased.
My hands had grown accustomed to it, so it was time to give my mentor a pleasant shock.
* * *
Gwangju Elephants versus Busan Dolphins.
Two rival teams from the Honam and Yeongnam regions, known as the Heritage Series, were about to play a practice game.
Normally, there would be no internet broadcast.
But in mid-February, with fans starving for baseball news, both organizations took action.
More precisely, Shin Se-a, an employee of the Dolphins organization, had personally contacted the Gwangju Elephants front office to plan it.
Other front office staff had thought it would naturally be rejected.
“Why broadcast a practice game?”
“People will just watch other sports or streaming services at this time of year.”
“Besides, there’s no reason for the Elephants front office to agree.”
They’d already tried this several times before.
Having exhausted various methods to revive the plummeting fan interest, one of them was broadcasting practice games online.
But everyone had refused.
It was a conclusion reached after other teams had tested it multiple times—the manpower needed for internet broadcasting, and the fact that doing so wouldn’t improve their image anyway.
The front office staff had naturally expected rejection, but soon heard the confident voice of Shin Se-a.
“They agreed to do it with us.”
Everyone found it hard to believe.
“H-how…?”
Someone unconsciously voiced the question, and Shin Se-a answered very naturally, as if it were obvious.
“There’s someone over there who understands. And more importantly, this time there’s a reason for it.”
At the mention of a reason, the front office staff hurriedly began searching for it.
But finding nothing beyond typical gossip articles and no particular reason, they looked at Shin Se-a with faces pleading for the answer.
All eyes converged on her, but she didn’t answer.
Instead, she declared confidently.
“For that part, I’m planning to gather equipment and supplies and head to Guam. The General Manager has approved it, so I’ll go check it out.”
“Ah, no! That—”
Shin Se-a’s team leader couldn’t say anything more.
She was already gone before he could finish, leaving only the hollow echo of his voice in the office.
In truth, this was only possible because it was Shin Se-a.
Just as she was a granddaughter of a chaebol family, she exploited the fact that other corporations also had granddaughters.
Most importantly, there was a personal motive involved.
‘It’s been a while since I’ve been to Guam, and seeing the players again.’
‘Players’ wasn’t quite right.
Truth was, I just wanted to catch a glimpse of one person in particular, and I was curious how much she’d changed, hearing that she was heading to Spring Training earlier than the others.
And while my curiosity about her was genuine, I’d also made up various excuses to pique my Grandfather’s interest as well.
“Hmm, hmm.”
Before I knew it, I was humming as I gathered the Dolphins YouTube crew and headed to Guam.
My steps felt remarkably light.
* * *
Time passed, and the day of the practice game arrived.
Both teams’ YouTube broadcasts were set up for coverage.
In the meantime, the players from each team exchanged greetings, and the game began.
The Gwangju Elephants batted first, and Kang Ho-jin took the Mound.
Jin-heo, watching quietly from the sidelines, gazed at the Mound with eager anticipation in his eyes.
‘Let’s see how much he’s improved in three weeks.’
Specifically, I was curious how much he’d honed my slider.
In truth, I didn’t hold great expectations.
The reason was simple.
Pitches aren’t developed overnight, and considering it hadn’t even been a month yet, I figured there wouldn’t be major improvements.
If this were mid-season, he could practice between games while recovering, but Spring Training is a period where just keeping up with team drills is demanding.
Moreover, Kang Ho-jin hadn’t learned just my slider this time—he’d also picked up Se-jin’s forkball, Hee-su’s changeup, and even researched curveballs with Myung-hwan.
Trying to master multiple pitches at once when focusing on just one is already difficult—I figured he probably hadn’t made significant progress.
As I watched the Ground, I saw Kang Ho-jin nod his head in my direction.
“Hey, do your best.”
I said that and waved my hand.
I noticed some people around me wondering what was going on, but I paid them no mind and waited to see Kang Ho-jin throw.
A left-handed batter stepped into the Batter’s Box.
For the first pitch, he threw a four-seam fastball tight against the batter’s body. I nodded, thinking I would’ve done the same, and figured the next pitch might aim slightly lower on the same course.
“Strike! Two!”
Just as I predicted, Kang Ho-jin stuffed the ball right there.
The way he fearlessly attacked inside without hesitation was truly impressive. I used to pitch like that in my prime, but now, with my weakened velocity and arm strength, I couldn’t easily throw inside anymore—and that was frustrating.
And now, anyone could see it was time for a finishing pitch.
‘Should he throw the slider here?’
I didn’t think he’d throw a horizontal slider against a left-handed batter.
If a wild pitch came out, it would definitely bury itself in the batter’s ribs, so I expected he’d throw his existing dropping ball rather than the horizontal slider he hadn’t fully mastered yet.
But this time, my prediction was wrong.
Shweeee—!
The ball flew as if aimed at the batter’s body.
The batter instinctively twisted to minimize the impact, but remarkably, the ball curved like a whip and swept right across Home Plate.
“Strike! Batter out!”
At the Umpire’s call confirming a perfect out, the batter stared in disbelief.
I was certain I’d dodged it, yet the fact that the pitch had entered the Strike Zone was incomprehensible.
But Jin-heo, who had observed the entire sequence from start to finish, stood slack-jawed before breaking into a grin.
“Wow… you’ve already elevated it to that level? This is ridiculous. Haha.”
No matter how well he’d taught, that horizontal slider he’d just thrown was something he himself had spent two years perfecting with the Pitching Coach after joining the pros.
The fact that in less than two months, Ho-jin was throwing it at a level comparable to his own was simply astonishing.
But the problem wasn’t limited to the horizontal slider alone.
Against the next right-handed batter, he threw three vertical sliders in succession.
Outside, inside, outside—in that order—and the batter, bewildered by the unfamiliar movement, stood frozen before striking out looking.
“Wow… this too?!”
Jealousy was beginning to kindle within him.
Here was someone who’d acquired in mere weeks what others had spent years honing.
“This one… I didn’t teach him this.”
Jin-heo burst out laughing.
The final batter of the inning.
Against the right-handed hitter, he earned one strike with a backdoor slider, then another by dropping a vertical slider to the same location, and this time a horizontal slider that curved toward the inside corner evaded the bat and nestled into the Catcher’s glove.
“This guy’s insane, seriously.”
Even jealousy had abandoned him.
This was simply a different realm.
This was pure genius.
A monster blessed with both effort and talent.
‘This is… kind of my fault.’
After all, he’d taught the slider to this monster.
Until Ho-jin was pulled from the game, Jin-heo had a premonition that the batters wouldn’t even graze the ball with their bats, and when that premonition became reality after three innings, he quietly retreated behind the Dugout.
He hurried to hide before anyone could grab him and ask questions.

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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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