The Prodigy Who Rejected the Major League – Chapter 15

Author: Cireng

Chapter 15

“Focus! Focus! Get your heads on straight! Are you still half-asleep from this morning?”

“No, sir!”

“Yeah. Obviously not. So play like it. Focus.”

The moment we stepped into the dugout, defensive coach Hong Seungwoo laid into us.

No one had anything to say. We’d committed two errors in the third inning alone.

At least we hadn’t given up the lead.

“And Song Seongjun!”

“…Good job.”

“Ah, yes.”

Getting praised while everyone else was being scolded felt a little awkward.

“You’re leading off this inning, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m counting on you.”

Ah.

***

[Top of the 4th, Seongwoon at bat.]

[Heesu High head coach Woo Tae-geon sends ace Kim Jang-yeon to the mound.]

[He was originally expected to start the final.]

Woo Taegeon briefly considered letting Kim Min, who had settled down after a shaky first inning and held them through three, throw one more frame.

But remembering that Seongwoon’s leadoff hitter was Song Seongjun, he decided to stick with the original plan.

[Kim Jang-yeon is regarded as the top sidearm pitcher in this year’s rookie draft, correct?]

Since the introduction of the ABS, sidearm pitchers hadn’t enjoyed much popularity. Even so, Kim Jang-yeon was projected to be taken in the second round.

[That’s right. At this year’s E-Mart Cup, he recorded a top velocity of 150 km/h. As a sidearm, he consistently throws in the mid-140s.]

From slightly behind the batter’s box, I watched his warm-up pitches.

Arm slot at release. Finger placement. The trajectory all the way into the catcher’s mitt.

I tracked everything I could.

When I first returned, I realized my eyesight had improved.

And that my body could precisely follow what my eyes saw.

They called it coordination.

I worked relentlessly to sharpen that improved vision and reaction, my coordination, and make use of it.

That was why I chased every single warm-up pitch with my eyes like this.

To use what I had.

“Was that last one a changeup?”

Judging by the velocity on the scoreboard, it looked like it… but better to confirm.

“Yeah. That’s right. Nice pitch, huh?”

Heesu’s catcher answered immediately.

You could hear the pride in his voice.

I knew that feeling well. When a pitcher throws a good pitch, the catcher feels it too.

I nodded honestly.

“Yeah. It’s really good. That changeup reminds me of…”

Who in the KBO had a great changeup as a sidearm? After twenty years in the majors, unless I’d faced them in international play, I didn’t know many domestic pitchers anymore.

But there was one retired sidearmer who came to mind whenever someone said ‘changeup.’

“Senior Koo Young-pyo. It feels like watching his changeup.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But I don’t have to worry.”

“???”

“He won’t throw a changeup to a right-handed hitter, right?”

One of the main reasons a right-handed pitcher learns a changeup is to deal with left-handed batters.

But to say he wouldn’t throw it to a righty?

That was nonsense.

And I’d just said it openly.

The opposing catcher looked momentarily baffled.

Anyway, I’d already seen his fastball, slider, and changeup with my own eyes.

He’d kindly shown all three during warm-ups.

Then again, who would think someone could identify pitches and differences just from warm-up tosses?

“Ball.”

I watched the first pitch go by.

145 km/h fastball.

Second pitch, outside slider.

“Ball.”

Off the plate again.

“Is the pitcher not feeling great?”

I asked the catcher with mild concern.

“He’s not fully loosened up. But this one will be different.”

I’d faced five different catchers from the Round of 32 to today’s final.

Today’s catcher talked the most.

“Strike!”

The next slider caught the zone.

Then a quick fastball.

Crack!

“Foul.”

The sharp line drive flew into the third-base side stands.

145 km/h, according to the board.

But it felt slower than that.

Maybe I needed to pull it a bit more inside.

“How is it? He’s already better, right?”

“Yeah.”

Two balls, two strikes.

“It’s going to be a fastball this time. Don’t try to run up the pitch count.”

Even his trash talk sounded cute.

Then again, since we were all only one or two degrees removed from knowing each other, it wasn’t exactly MLB-level jawing.

Crack!

Heesu’s third baseman dove, but the liner shot past him…

“Foul!”

Already foul by the time it passed the bag.

Damn. Too early again.

‘Should I let the ball travel deeper?’

Why did my timing feel so quick today?

…No.

Not today.

Just against this pitcher.

I survived fifteen years in the majors at my position because I could still hit well into my late thirties.

Good eyes. Great coordination.

That brought elite bat speed.

An average bat speed of 77.2 mph, top ten in MLB.

That’s how I sustained consistent numbers.

In the majors, I didn’t try to hit out front.

I tried to hit deep.

It was my answer to those absurd MLB breaking balls.

Thanks to my bat speed, even letting the ball travel deep, I could still drive it.

Crack!

The sixth pitch, a slider, tailed foul outside the pole.

“Ah. Here we go again.”

At this rate, maybe his delivery just didn’t suit me.

There weren’t zero sidearmers in MLB.

But they weren’t common either.

Maybe that unfamiliarity was part of it.

I called time and stepped out.

Took a few dry swings.

Reset the timing.

‘Still, he’s only throwing fastballs and sliders?’

Three fastballs. Three sliders.

And that last one was nearly a huge foul home run.

Was it time for the changeup?

Not that I ever guessed pitches.

Even against 100-mph arms in the majors, I didn’t guess.

145 km/h wasn’t threatening to me.

Still, just reminding myself that a changeup could come.

And then…

It really did.

A changeup starting at the strike zone, dropping vertically into the catcher’s mitt near the dirt.

I scooped it up.

Crack!

The ball took off on a massive arc.

If the first at-bat had been to right field…

This time, the left fielder ran back.

He reached the fence.

The ball kept going.

Over.

[Song Seongjun! Back-to-back home runs!]

[4–3! Seongwoon takes the lead again!]

[That’s already his seventh home run of the tournament!]

[That wasn’t a bad pitch from Kim Jang-yeon! The changeup dropped properly!]

[And he still lifted it out! Incredible power!]

I stepped on each base in order.

When I touched third, another enormous roar erupted.

Too bad I couldn’t hear Seunghye and Seunghee’s high-pitched screams over it.

They were waving wildly… probably shouting something like ‘Amazing! Nice! Home run! Waaah!’

I made a big heart with both arms toward them.

It’d definitely show up on the broadcast.

But so what?

The dugout was chaos again.

I couldn’t even take my helmet off.

Honestly, it was a little embarrassing.

I’d just hit a high school pitcher’s ball out.

Was this much celebration necessary?

There wasn’t even a status window.

It felt like I was using a cheat code.

Regression itself is a cheat code?

Fair enough.

But I’d worked hard.

In my last life, I ran forward as my life depended on it.

And destroyed every relationship around me.

If I hadn’t come back…

“Fuck.”

Just thinking about it made me swear out loud.

That’s how horrifying it had been.

So I’d made a vow.

At the very least, never hesitate to talk.

To express myself.

***

Even after giving up the leadoff home run, Kim Jangyeon pitched boldly, like an ace.

He attacked the fifth hitter, Jang Sanghyeon, inside.

Got ahead one ball, two strikes.

Then hit him.

Judging from the velocity and movement, it looked like he’d meant to throw a slider but lost it.

Runner on first, no outs.

Coach immediately called over the next batter, Nam Woojae.

The moment he stepped in…

He squared to bunt.

Another bunt? It’s only the fourth inning.

“Why?”

Minsu, next to me, must’ve heard me muttering.

“Nothing.”

After years of ‘real men’s baseball’ in America… no bunts unless it was absolutely critical, it was hard to adjust.

Nam Woojae had grounded out in his first at-bat, but he’d been hitting well this tournament.

“Ball.”

High.

“Ball.”

Second pitch in the dirt. Blocked.

They’d said Kim Jangyeon sometimes lost his control.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe hitting the previous batter was the sign.

“Lay it down! Just lay it down!”

I don’t know whose voice it was, but it was pretty loud.

Yeah… maybe it would’ve been better to just give him the bunt.

If you forced it to three balls and then walked the batter, things would only get more complicated.

But as a pitcher, it’s impossible to just lob one in gently and ‘give’ the bunt.

Shouldn’t he aim for the center and throw it with everything he’s got?

[The bunt is shown!]

Nam Woojae squared around, and the bunted ball popped up toward second base.

The catcher caught it without even taking more than a few steps.

A failed bunt. The runner remained stuck at first.

[149 km/h]

Looks like he threw it with full power.

On top of that, with the natural tailing movement of a sidearm delivery, it wouldn’t have been easy for Nam Woojae to deaden that pitch.

Still, I figured this might’ve boosted the pitcher’s momentum.

[Pulled! Right in front of the third baseman! Throw to second!]

Just as expected.

[Step on second and over to first! Out! A 5-4-3 double play! At the top of the fourth, Seongwoon High School’s attack ends with a double play!]

Nam Woojae made a face and tugged his cap down low. As we headed out to take the field on defense, I lightly smacked the back of his head.

“What was that?”

“What the hell, you punk. Don’t get discouraged just because you failed a bunt. We can always score again.”

“I know that.”

“Just knowing is enough.”

But this is, um… what is this?

Is it the same situation?

With no outs and a runner on first, Heesu High School’s manager, Woo Tae-geon, also signaled for a bunt to move the runner along.

[The bunt is shown!]

The bunt floated shallowly into the air, almost identical to before.

The only difference was that it drifted toward the pitcher. But…

[The pitcher makes the catch. Ah! He dropped it!]

The ball that seemed to have settled into pitcher Kim Hyunsoo’s glove slipped right back out and rolled onto the ground.

And where did it roll?

Right in front of catcher Choi Minsoo.

The moment Choi Minsoo picked it up, he fired to first base.

First, the batter-runner was out.

And then…

[The runner at first is caught!]

Because the bunt was registered as a hit, the runner who had advanced naturally tried to get back to first.

Who would’ve expected the pitcher to drop the ball like that?

So the runner got trapped in a rundown between first and second.

Tag out.

That makes two outs.

[Hahaha. Oh… that’s… something strange just happened.]

It was technically a bunt double play.

It was.

But it felt too awkward to laugh about.

“Haa… Hyunsoo, that guy really… Ah.”

Manager Bae Seonggon burst out laughing in disbelief.

I almost grabbed the back of my neck.

Sure, the result was better. Instead of one out with a runner on base, now there were two outs and the bases were empty.

But he had dropped a routine pop-up. It was clearly a mistake. The outcome was just fortunate.

I was out in the outfield, wondering what on earth had happened.

I know it was a bunt.

So how did it suddenly turn into a double play?

Did he catch it and drop it?

That’s the only scenario that makes sense for it to become a double play.

With two outs, the ball was hit into the outfield.

The moment the bat made contact,

I took just five steps from my starting position.

Then simply extended my glove.

Thwack.

The ball dropped neatly into it.

“Out!”

The third out of the inning went up.

“Did you see that defense just now?”

An older-looking man spoke to the gray-haired man sitting beside him.

“He just walked over there and caught it? Yeah, I saw. You’re the head of the Seoul Twins scouting team, aren’t you? Reminds you of Lavin, right? Haha.”

During his playing days, he used to get criticized for lazy-looking defense. People would joke, “Is he heading to the neighborhood mart to buy ramen?”

And yet, he’s now being re-evaluated as someone with the best batting eye in KBO history.

The older scout from the Twins nodded thoughtfully.

Song Seongjun has a sharp batting eye, good speed, and a strong arm.

The outfield defense he just showed reminded him of a certain Twins player from the past.

“That’s too bad. He won’t fall to us, will he?”

“You even won it all last year. Greedy, aren’t you? Haha.”

“When you see this kind of talent, you can’t help it.”

“That’s true.”

“Doesn’t your team still have a shot?”

The Daejeon Hawks had finished ninth last season.

“If Bass chooses Seong Jinseong over Song Seongjun, we’d be grateful. But do you think they will?”

“They won’t.”

Although Seong Jinseong was considered a top-three high school prospect, all the scouts agreed he was a step below Moon Seungchan and Yoo Hyeondo, who had already decided to go to the United States.

And currently, they were saying Song Seongjun belonged in that top three as well.

“There’s a lot of talk about him going to the majors. The Dodgers offered $4 million. The Yankees are reportedly at $4.5 million.”

“Isn’t that just rumour?”

“The Dodgers’ $4 million is confirmed.”

“Huh. Isn’t that way too much? If they keep throwing around numbers like that, how are we supposed to keep any talent here?”

“We need to revise the rules.”

“If that were possible, it would’ve been done long ago.”

The gray-haired man shook his head.

“But I heard there’s been nothing special from Lipco?”

So far, Song Seongjun hadn’t revealed whether he planned to stay in Korea or head to the U.S.

“Maybe he suddenly stood out in this tournament and hasn’t had time to organize his thoughts?”

“That could be. They’ve already signed with an agency. There’s even talk that Director Hong from Basensha is already making moves.”