The Genius Pitcher Dad Throws for His Daughter - Chapter 99

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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 99
#99.
Manager Bong Jun-sik splashed his face with water repeatedly.
“Ugh….”
Yet it brought no relief.
No, if anything, the world grew darker before my eyes. With each splash of water, I felt myself being dragged deeper into shadows.
“So, what about Mac?”
At Manager Bong Jun-sik’s question, the Pitching Coach spoke.
“He says there’s no problem on his end. He wasn’t aiming for it, and he says it happened while he was competing against the batter—his expression shows no concern.”
From Mac’s perspective, that wasn’t wrong.
It was simply something that occurred while he was pitching tightly against the batter, and in terms of the game itself, there was no issue.
But from the batter’s perspective, it was different.
First of all, it hurt like hell.
Getting hit by a pitch over 150 kilometers. It’s not ordinary impact—it’s the kind of pain that leaves bruises in an instant. You could excuse it once as a mistake. But if it happens consecutively, or every inning, that means there’s a serious control problem.
Moreover, the biggest reason today’s second bench-clearing incident occurred was because that batter got hit twice.
Hit once, then hit again.
Getting hit in an already injured spot naturally made him furious, and that’s how it escalated to ejection.
“So what’s the solution?”
At Manager Bong Jun-sik’s words, the Pitching Coach spoke with evident frustration.
“Well… that’s the thing…. He says he can only see the batter’s body.”
Manager Bong Jun-sik’s mouth fell open.
It was a stunned silence born of exasperation, and soon he let out words dripping with frustration.
“What is he, a racehorse? He can only see straight ahead?!”
Manager Bong Jun-sik was at a loss.
The Strike Zone was so wide, yet he claimed he could only see not even half of it—just the edge of the opposing batter’s body side. It was absurd.
“The Administrative Office says there will be no disciplinary action from this incident. However… they’re asking us to take quick measures to prevent this from happening again.”
The General Manager, who happened to have business in Seoul, said this.
It would cool down for now, but if this continued, it wouldn’t just be the Dolphins’ problem—the opposing team might even refuse to play, so they wanted this handled as soon as possible.
“For now, with Kevin’s help, I’ll have the Senior Coach stick with him for a few days.”
“Yes, Manager.”
In the end, all they could do was try to change things by mixing in pitches appropriately rather than constantly going for the inside corner.
The Manager and coaching staff, with nothing else they could do, concluded the meeting.
‘At least we won the game.’
If they’d lost on top of everything else, the atmosphere would have been far more serious. I let out a sigh of relief at that thought.
* * *
To be honest.
Even I, whose mind was tangled up with issues regarding Ye-jin and Ye-ji and who was unconsciously radiating a gloomy aura, was startled by these two bench-clearing incidents.
Since I was the starting pitcher, I didn’t jump in as aggressively as the other batters, but I still lingered nearby and expressed my willingness to participate to some degree.
And then I asked Kevin.
“Why is he going that far?”
At those words, Kevin’s expression shifted to one of slight awkwardness.
I never got an answer, and after the game that day ended, when I returned to the Dormitory, Kevin called me to his room.
When I entered, he was drinking beer with Meck.
“Bro, you came?”
Kevin greeted me with a smile.
Beside him, Meck had transformed into that sharp impression I knew, leisurely holding a beer glass.
“Hey. I was scared too back there.”
I’m not easily startled by most things.
Having experienced the Big League where monsters abound and real fistfights break out, I’ve seen massive fighters drop from punches and corn kernels fly through the air.
But bench clearings in the KBO are different.
Generally, people hold each other back while respecting seniority and hierarchy, trying to resolve things amicably. In that process, those with deep emotional rifts might grab each other’s collars, but they don’t throw punches.
But Meck just now actually rushed forward as if he was about to swing his fists.
If Do-bin hadn’t quickly stopped him, a real bloodbath might have occurred.
Meck didn’t answer my words.
Instead, looking at his free hand clenched into a tight fist while holding the beer, it seemed there was some story behind it.
After a long moment like that, Meck opened his mouth.
“How do I put it… when I step on the Mound….”
Curious about what came next, I sat down, and the words that had been pressed down came flowing out.
“I hate losing so much.”
In other words, Meck was simply a man with a vicious competitive spirit.
Once on the Mound, there’s no running away or hiding with some timid pitching. He only thinks about wanting to bite, chew up, and discard his opponent.
That’s why he chose the cutter as his pitch.
A pitch aimed at a left-handed batter’s bat, and one that traces a threatening trajectory toward a right-handed batter’s body.
Even when first learning the pitch, it suited his hand well and he picked it up quickly.
The only problem was control, and seven out of ten times it moved as he wanted, but those remaining three times were problematic.
Instead of hitting a left-handed batter’s bat, it hits their hand, and for right-handed batters, it’s supposed to come toward the body then curve inside, but instead it’s a pitch that strikes their ribs directly.
So trying to gain control by any means to catch the borderline, now he can’t see any course other than inside pitches.
I wanted to cry out that this was nonsense, but looking at his serious eyes, I couldn’t.
Those are eyes still burning with competitive spirit.
I’ve never seen someone so desperately wanting to win.
“I know. I know I’m crazy too. But since it’s my nature and I’ve been this way since childhood, I just can’t seem to fix it.”
The reason this nature didn’t show during Spring Camp and exhibition games was simply because he was throwing for inspection rather than for wins, so his nature didn’t emerge.
But now that the season has started, and now that he’s on the Mound, this competitive spirit will burn until the season ends, and he’s ready to take the Mound right now if he could.
There was nothing I could do for him here.
‘His nature and competitive spirit—there’s nothing to help with even if I wanted to.’
Honestly, even if someone beside him told him to pitch outside, Meck would instinctively pitch inside. This is already a habit spanning years—how could it be fixed overnight? It might even break down from stress instead.
So I thought there was nothing I could do but tell him to hang in there, and I was about to open my mouth.
“But you know… I think I need to change now….”
And with that, he showed me a photo on his phone.
Anyone could tell it was an ultrasound image, and there was a photo of a very small fetus curled up quietly in the womb.
“Haha… I’ve become a father…”
I saw a different expression on Meck’s face for the first time.
An expression that mixed disbelief with awkwardness, a sense of deflation, and a desire to deny that this was really happening—all swirling together.
And then that expression transformed into joy.
After all, among everyone I’d seen become a father, I hadn’t met a single one who regretted it.
“I suppose I need to change myself for the sake of my child and Wife, don’t I?”
I nodded at his question.
When you have a family to feed right now, does competitive spirit really matter that much?
Of course he needed to change.
And I knew a method that was quite effective for this.
How did I know?
I too had experienced anger management issues after losing my Daughter, issues that surfaced briefly.
There was a time when I’d climb the Mound like a madman, desperate to win at all costs, throwing with reckless abandon. Back then, someone the team assigned to watch over me—out of concern—helped me find a bit of peace through training alongside him.
What was that method?
None other than a practice of cultivating spirit, heart, and body through 108 movements.
Ah, but he doesn’t go to church, does he?
That was my main concern.
* * *
108 bows.
In Buddhism, it refers to bowing 108 times to the Buddha as a means of severing the 108 afflictions and achieving growth.
This is a tradition that arose organically within Korean Buddhism, and nowadays, with just a little attention, anyone can learn about this training method.
I recommended this to Meck for one reason.
‘While you’re doing this, you won’t have a single other thought.’
This is far harder than it sounds.
No, once you start, you can’t even tell if you’re practicing spiritual discipline or just punishing your body.
And sometimes you find yourself thinking like this.
‘What wealth and glory am I trying to enjoy…’
When only such thoughts come, that’s actually a relief.
Forget the spiritual practice—trembling legs, a lower back that feels like it’s about to snap, and joints creaking with every movement make you want to quit right then and there.
But the effect on me was nothing short of miraculous.
During the 108 bows, all the clutter in my mind—and the negativity—seemed to vanish.
Of course, once I stopped practicing, it all came back, but I’d collapse into such deep sleep beforehand that it wasn’t as difficult as before.
Since I’d experienced it myself and actually done it, I recommended it to Meck.
“Hmm… I’m glad I’m not religious.”
“Right?”
I really was grateful for that.
Asking someone of a different faith to do this would create all sorts of problems.
In any case, Meck started the 108 bows the next day, following my lead.
Kneeling, folding the torso completely forward, then rising again—a movement similar to a slow burpee—that’s what Meck and I found ourselves doing.
“Huff! Huff!”
In an instant, my breath grows ragged and sweat drenches my body.
This demands far more exertion and concentration than I anticipated—it’s not easy at all.
Still, rather than foolishly completing all 108 prostrations in one go, I’ve planned to divide them into three sets of 36 repetitions each.
If we truly sought religious practice, we’d do them all at once, but since this is spiritual training and exercise for us, we adjust accordingly.
The moment the first set ends, Meck collapses to the ground.
“W-will this actually help?”
I don’t bother answering.
Instead, I proceed to the next set, and by the time we finish all three sets of 108 prostrations, Meck lies sprawled on the floor, trembling violently as if utterly exhausted.
Only then do I answer his earlier question.
“It will help.”
There’s only one moment when this becomes useful.
When you step onto the Mound, recall this right before you throw.
“Struggling, aren’t you? When that competitive fire ignites on the Mound, remember what you just endured. And if you think you’ve lost control, remember you’ll have to do this all over again.”
At my words, Meck’s face drains of color.
He’d only done it once today and felt like dying, but imagining that every time he lost control to his competitive urge and threw recklessly, he’d have to repeat this—his body trembled with dread.
“Hey, buddy. I’ll keep a close watch on you from now on,” Kevin says with a grin beside him.
Meck asked Kevin to join him, saying he couldn’t suffer alone, but Kevin casually displays the cross hanging around his neck.
“Sorry. That’s not my faith.”
Meck glares at Kevin as he escapes, citing his different religion, but it’s pointless.
What can’t be done simply can’t be done.
And so Meck’s training begins—a discipline to control his competitive urges and overcome his anger management issues.
Remarkably, it proves effective.
Though that’s something I’d discover later.
It’s something you’ll find out later.

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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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