The Prodigy Who Rejected the Major League Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

I got a call from my father.

“Yes, I’m back at the lodging after the game.”

We beat Gyeongnam Jeil High 14–3 in a seven-inning mercy-rule victory.

Since the semifinals were the very next day, we got rooms, unpacked, and settled in.

“How was the meeting today? Did he seem alright?”

I already knew there was a meeting scheduled with the Bayseons’ general manager.

[It’s not like there was much to judge.]

Well, that was true. How much could you really discuss in detail at a first meeting?

They probably just exchanged positions, intentions, and general conditions.

Father said he’d tried to listen as much as possible. He left it to the agent who accompanied him.

“You did well.”

We had already gone over our demands thoroughly with the agency.

Negotiations with the club were the agency’s responsibility. All we had to do was see whether they were competent.

[The food was very neat and refined.]

“Hahaha. Really?”

At Father’s comment about dinner, I laughed.

It seemed the atmosphere had been fairly amicable.

[But Seongjun. Are you really not considering pitching?]

“No.”

During this tournament, I had been showcasing my versatility in baseball.

At the plate. On defense.

And pitching was part of that.

‘It’s to raise my value.’

The higher your value, the better the treatment you receive.

Wouldn’t sky-high expectations be a burden?

Better that than being overlooked and left to rot.

[They seemed to suggest you reconsider.]

The club had apparently expressed reluctance.

“You told them I absolutely have no intention, right?”

[I did. CEO Lee from the agency said it firmly.]

“Then that’s fine.”

I had no intention of becoming a full-time pitcher.

I’d already experienced switching from catcher to starting pitcher and suffering a major injury.

Rehabilitation failed, and I was released.

Considering that, the fact that I even worked as a bullpen part-timer in my previous life was impressive enough.

Anyway, I’d made it very clear to the agent: I wanted to focus solely on hitting. I asked that it be written explicitly into the contract during negotiations.

The Bayseons’ bullpen hadn’t exactly been strong these past few years.

Of course, they’d want to use me in relief right away if I signed.

‘It’s obvious.’

Even the neighboring club once drafted a two-way player and ran him into the ground as a pitcher. He had Tommy John surgery within a year.

In the majors, I’d worked the bullpen, but except for one season, I’d never thrown more than twenty innings.

If I were going to become a full-time pitcher, I might as well return to Major League Baseball.

Now I understand why my marriage failed.

Because I understood it, I was trying to fix it. Looking back, it wasn’t even a big issue. If I had just paid a little more attention to the people around me, it wouldn’t have snowballed.

Anyway, the current situation favored me.

Earlier this year, a 23-year-old Japanese pitcher dubbed ‘the second Ohtani’ went to the U.S. on an international prospect deal.

Multiple teams competed for him.

Clubs built up their bonus pools through trades to acquire him.

The aftereffects were still being felt.

The problem was the teams that failed to sign him.

Bonus pool money must be spent in that year; it doesn’t roll over.

That was why Texas offered Moon Seung-chan $2 million.

Texas used up theirs and left.

But there were still teams struggling with leftover bonus pool money.

And at that time, a prospect more attractive than Moon Seungchan (me) appeared.

In short, the timing was good… You could say that.

But life was always about timing.

Like how, before the regression, I signed for a bargain $500,000 and was discarded in the minors the very next year.

If it hadn’t been this year, my market value wouldn’t have risen this high.

But what about it?

Right now, my starting price is said to be $3 million. Some even said it could climb higher.

The LipCo agency representative said he would meet every MLB team and secure the best possible terms.

He didn’t know I had already decided to stay in Korea.

Sorry about that.

 

***

 

I was hitting the upper limit daily.

 

◆ “Song Seongjun,” the biggest remaining prize of the year, reportedly offered $3.5 million signing bonus by an MLB club!

◆ Following Yoo Hyundo and Moon Seung-chan… is Song Seongjun headed to MLB as well? A blow to this year’s KBO rookie draft is inevitable!

◆ LipCo Korea CEO Lee Himchan: “Song Seongjun’s move to the U.S. not yet decided. KBO remains open.”

 

┗ $3.5 million, holy… how much is that in won?

┗ 4.88 billion won

┗ That’s KBO free agent money levels, isn’t it?

┗ They say it might go even higher lol

┗ Not even comparable. If it’s a 10× difference, I’d go to America too

 

People usually say you should build your career in the KBO first and then go to MLB. That it’s the safer route.

There was truth in that.

It was a fact that very few players who went straight to the U.S. after high school succeeded.

And realistically, MLB teams don’t pay much attention to players signed for around $1 million.

If they pan out, great. If not, oh well.

They stockpile prospects from around the world in the minors and see who survives.

But it’s different for high-bonus prospects.

If you’ve invested that much money, you have to take responsibility. Proper management follows.

I knew that better than anyone, so I was momentarily tempted.

At this level of treatment… maybe going to America wouldn’t be so bad.

In the U.S., money was treatment.

“No. No. Are you going to make another mistake?”

I shook my head.

Unless my demands were completely ignored, hadn’t I decided from the beginning to stay in Korea and play happy baseball?

“What’s ‘no’? What mistake?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s fine to make mistakes. If you try too hard not to make one, you’ll end up making one. Just play comfortably. Like before. Just throw comfortably. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach.”

With Coach stepping aside to watch, I threw my warm-up pitches.

First, a four-seam fastball.

Next…

I hadn’t pitched in the quarterfinals thanks to the seven-inning mercy-rule win.

In the Round of 16, I only threw four-seam fastballs and changeups.

And today was the semifinal.

I decided to add one more pitch to my repertoire.

“You said it’s a two-seamer, right?”

I’d already checked it once during pregame bullpen warmups, so I didn’t throw it again now.

“Seongjun, no interest in learning a slider?”

“No.”

“Really? Alright.”

Coach clearly regretted that I didn’t throw a slider.

It’s one of the best breaking balls for facing same-handed hitters.

In truth, not only could I throw a slider… I could throw a sweeper too. And well.

Before the regression, I nearly earned a big-league promotion thanks to my sweeper.

But in this life, I had absolutely no intention of throwing it.

As long as you throw a baseball from the mound, the risk of injury is always present.

Some pitchers retire without major injuries, but that’s extremely rare.

Pitchers generally get hurt in two places:

The shoulder and the elbow.

Shoulder injuries are closely related to curveballs and slider-type pitches.

To get into the detailed mechanics would be too complicated, but they affect the rotator cuff and the labrum.

Slider-type pitches… especially sweepers, place high stress on both the shoulder and elbow.

I suspected that in my previous life, my shoulder gave out before my elbow did.

Ironically, fastballs carry a high risk of elbow injury.

‘Just throwing hard, fastballs accumulates damage in the elbow.’

But you can’t be a pitcher and not throw fastballs.

On top of that, forkballs (common among Japanese pitchers) and splitters (common among American pitchers) are also risky for the elbow.

Among them all, the changeup is relatively safer.

Saying it like this makes it sound like everything causes injury… haha.

Anyway, that was why I intended to focus on hitting in the KBO.

Though looking at the team situation, it might be difficult not to pitch at all.

Which was why I wanted it clearly written in the contract.

Still, depending on circumstances, I was willing to make occasional bullpen appearances.

I wasn’t someone who rigidly adhered to principles with no flexibility.

In the majors, once we reached the postseason, I tossed aside my self-imposed 20-inning limit and pitched.

 

***

 

Semifinal against Dongshin High.

Top of the 8th inning.

We were leading 4–3, and I had just finished warming up on the mound.

Dongshin’s leadoff hitter stepped into the box.

‘Four-seam. Inside.’

I gave the sign to Choi Minsu for a fastball and went into my delivery.

Pow!

“Strike!”

The batter visibly flinched at the inside fastball.

The scoreboard read 152 km/h.

For the second pitch, I chose another inside fastball.

“Swing! Strike!”

[154 km/h]

After whiffing at the even faster pitch, the tension on his face was obvious.

It was after my regression that I realized my eyesight had improved.

It used to be 1.0 in both eyes. When I checked again, it was 2.0.

I hadn’t measured recently, but it was probably still 2.0.

Honestly, it might even be better than that… 2.0 is just the highest value on the test chart.

Anyway, I could clearly see the burden the fastball put on the batter’s face.

And then…

I saw him choke up on the bat.

‘You’re just trying to survive, aren’t you?’

The intention was obvious.

But if that was your plan, wouldn’t a surprise bunt on the first pitch have been better?

Not that I would’ve let you reach easily.

Anyway, he knew I threw four-seams and changeups.

So…

I pulled out the two-seamer.

We’d already gone over the signs, so there was no reason to save it.

I went into my windup and threw.

OK!

The feel of the seams in my fingers was perfect.

The ball dove sharply at the plate and cut into the zone.

“Strikeout!”

He probably thought the fastball ran too far outside.

But it was a 152 km/h two-seamer bending back in.

And since it was the first time he’d seen it, there was no chance his bat would come out.

That unfamiliar shock spreads quickly… especially in high school baseball.

Crack.

On the first pitch, another two-seamer caught the end of the bat and rolled into a routine grounder to third. Two outs.

The third batter popped up to the catcher on just two pitches.

Three outs.

“It’s easy.”

Six pitches were enough.

I went back out for the 9th.

“Seongjun, you finish it. There’s nobody behind you, got it?”

“Pardon?”

Coach… even if you trust me, shouldn’t someone be ready just in case?

“Who’s throwing after you, sunbae? The contrast would be insane.”

Choi Minsu said as he put on his catcher’s mask.

“Seriously. After seeing 155, 140 will look like batting practice.”

Bottom of the 9th. Dongshin’s last attack.

Score still 4–3.

“Strike!”

[155 km/h]

Four-seam.

And…

[153 km/h]

Two-seam.

“Strike. Two!”

Even with the inside fastball running in, the batter didn’t bail out. If anything, he leaned forward.

Sure, I respected the resolve to get on base even if it meant taking one off the body.

But did he know his stiff expression betrayed him?

“Swing! Strikeout!”

I could see everything.