The Prodigy Who Rejected the Major League – Chapter 30

Author: Cireng

Chapter 30

Commentator Heo is the type of person people either really like or really dislike. Those who enjoy his style absolutely love him, but those who don’t can’t stand him. He tends to go over the top… very much a love-him-or-hate-him personality.

“Song Seongjun’s home run just now is probably unrecoverable.”

“Why is that, Commissioner?”

“It must’ve flown all the way to the Sea of Tranquility.”

For a split second, the caster wondered what he was talking about. Then it clicked. After all, they’d worked together long enough.

“The Sea of Tranquility? Ah, I see.”

In other words, he meant it had flown to the moon.

The man really was consistent.

“Isn’t LECOM Park quiet right now?”

The cheers supporting the Japanese national team had noticeably died down.

Today’s game was being held at the Pittsburgh Pirates’ spring training stadium.

“Oh my! Hohoho! He says it flew to the moon. That’s witty!”

It seemed to hit exactly her taste. Seunghye’s mother was delighted. It was undeniably a massive home run.

“They said it’s Florida, right? The sunset looks pretty over there.”

Seunghye’s father offered a comment about the Florida scenery. It was his way of saying how comfortably impressive Seongjun’s homer had felt.

The family gathered at Seunghye’s house erupted in cheers and applause that seemed to lift the roof off the living room.

They briefly wondered if the neighbors might complain…

But judging by the cheers drifting in through the slightly open window, they had forgotten to close,

“Oh my. The neighbors must be watching the game too?”

“And the people downstairs as well.”

That didn’t seem likely.

It was the Chuseok holiday, yet apparently no one was sleeping in late.

The home run had truly been a towering blast. refreshingly so.

And as the floating excitement slowly settled, Park Jeongae suddenly felt a strange unfamiliarity with the moment.

“He’s my son, but sometimes he still surprises me.”

“Because he doesn’t feel like Seongjun?”

Seongjun’s mother, Park Jeongae, nodded.

“He’s definitely changed.”

When he heard that the Phillies were interested, he stubbornly insisted that he had to go to the Major Leagues. But from a parent’s perspective, sending him to the U.S. on an ambiguous contract amount didn’t feel right. After persuading him for a long time, they were just beginning to accept the saying that parents can’t win against their children…

When suddenly, at the breakfast table one morning, their son, who had strongly insisted on going to America, declared that he would stay in Korea.

At that time, they honestly wondered if it was some kind of hidden camera prank.

“You know, about Seongjun… wasn’t it okay for him to just go to the Major Leagues?”

They had opposed his MLB move because they believed his chances of success were slim.

But judging by everything he had shown since deciding to stay in Korea…

Truthfully, not just because he was her son, he really did seem like he could’ve succeeded in America.

“He was just so firm about staying. Hahaha.”

“Honey, Seongjun’s already a Baysuns player.”

“Right. The story’s already been settled.”

It was Seunghye’s father, Min Kangwoo, who had even introduced him to an agency.

***

After rounding the bases, I stepped on home plate, then just before entering the dugout, I tossed a remark to the Japanese catcher.

“Why are you even throwing a slow curve?”

The Japanese catcher clearly hadn’t expected me to speak in Japanese.

He didn’t answer, but I continued anyway. That had been the real reason I spoke to him.

“If you’re throwing it, thinking about changing the pace… tell him it’s not that good. It’s light as a feather.”

Then I immediately turned my back. I didn’t wait for a reply.

I’d already lingered at home plate long enough. After hitting a home run and coming in, staying there too long would be bad manners.

“Seongjun, you speak Japanese too?”

Someone had seen me talking to the Japanese catcher.

How do I know Japanese?

There was a Japanese pitcher on my Major League team. His pitching style was interesting, so I wanted to talk to him… and that’s how I learned. We were teammates for several years, and his English never improved at all.

Of course, I didn’t answer like that.

No reason to be called crazy here. So I chose the most basic, common answer.

“I like Demon Slayer. I wanted to listen to Japanese anime in the original language, so I learned it.”

“Demon Slayer? It’s a masterpiece. So you like classic anime.”

Was Demon Slayer considered a classic masterpiece? I’d just thrown out something famous off the top of my head.

“Nice! It always bothered me when people downplayed classic masterpieces. You’re different. From now on, you’re my friend.”

Heo Juwon looked genuinely thrilled.

I had thought he was the smartest baseball mind on the national team. Maybe not.

“But what did you say to him?”

“Nothing much. Just told him their curve sucks.”

“What? You hit the fastball, though.”

Heo Juwon asked.

Wait… was that really the point?

“Didn’t you go after it because his fastball velocity wasn’t coming up?”

Oh? Look at this guy.

He was half right.

The Japanese starter was said to top out at 153 and average mid-to-high 140s. But he was sitting around 145 the whole time.

It was the first inning, sure… but it was true the velocity hadn’t fully come up.

‘He hasn’t thrown a single splitter.’

Not to the previous three batters. Not to me either, until the moment he gave up the home run on a fastball.

The Japanese starter hadn’t thrown even one splitter.

Why is a fact a fact? Because it’s true.

A Japanese pitcher throwing a splitter… that’s basic common sense.

And opposing hitters preparing for that splitter… that’s also common sense.

So maybe they deliberately changed things up.

Or maybe his fastball wasn’t sharp today, so they changed the pitch mix.

That combination…

Slow curve and fastball…

It had thrown off the timing of Heo Juwon and Park Geonhui, and even Woo Leejun, who had managed a hit.

Of course, to me, it was just a trivial trick.

Change speeds drastically so that a 140-kilometer fastball feels like 150?

I understood the intention.

But 140 is still 140.

If you throw a “140 that feels like 150,” does the radar gun show 150?

Maybe I only felt that way because I had spent decades adjusting to a Major League environment where even starting pitchers averaged 94.7 mph (152.5 km/h).

But so what?

To me, 140 was just 140.

Still, I didn’t intend to just hit a home run and call it a day.

That’s why I said something.

I didn’t want the Japanese battery to believe their change-of-pace strategy was working.

There’s nothing more irritating than being dragged along according to the opponent’s plan.

Whether the Japanese catcher would care about what I said or not… I didn’t know.

But it was better than staying silent.

That’s the American-style trash talk I learned.

Who taught me?

There was one particularly ill-tempered veteran catcher on the Phillies.

***

Batting fifth after me, the left-handed Oh Sejin fell behind swinging at a fastball and then a curve from Yamada Sho. With the count against him, he just barely made contact with an outside slider.

Unlike Park Geonhui, he didn’t force a pull. It wasn’t a well-hit ball by any means, a weak roller that slipped past the pitcher’s glove.

It ended up almost like a surprise bunt.

The third baseman charged, fielded it, and threw to first—but Oh Sejin’s feet were faster.

“Safe!”

Then, with that speed, Oh Sejin stole second.

“Wow! He looks faster every time I see him.”

Heo Juwon had been clicking his tongue beside me this whole time. It almost felt deliberate.

“You’re just as fast as Sejin.”

Among the four outfielders selected for the national team, none were slow.

“I’m only fast. Sejin’s good at timing, too. Lucky guy.”

I stared at Heo Juwon.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He was right.

Japanese pitchers are good at holding runners. They know how to tie them down. Stealing against them isn’t easy.

And yet Oh Sejin succeeded… against a left-hander, no less. That meant he had taken the timing perfectly.

“But they still won’t throw the splitter.”

Heo Juwon said.

I had been watching that too.

“So you were actually paying attention to the game?”

“Of course. I’ve heard ‘watch out for the splitter’ so many times my ears are calloused.”

The coaches had emphasized it repeatedly before the game.

Was that why everyone was struggling with the slow curve–fastball combination instead?

Even Shim Jeongwu at the plate now was behind 1 ball, 2 strikes.

Why did no one seem to get ahead in the count?

“But imagine if they suddenly throw a splitter here. That’d be funny.”

“Will they?”

“How would I know?”

Heo Juwon shrugged.

True enough. It’s not like you can look inside someone’s head.

“Swing! Strikeout!”

In the end…

“They threw the splitter.”

The Japanese battery finally pulled out the splitter.

And Shim Jeongwu’s final swing showed zero preparation for it.

Grabbing my glove as we headed out to defend, I walked over to Shim Jeongwu, who was collecting his helmet and glove from another infielder right where he had struck out.

“What was that swing?”

“The coach told me to swing, assuming there wouldn’t be a splitter.”

So, of course… that was exactly when they threw the one pitch they hadn’t thrown all game.

Guess that one’s on the coach.

***

In the bottom of the first, Seong Jinseong got one out on four pitches, then gave up a single through the left side to the number-two hitter, Fujimori Shogo.

“What?”

The Shogo I knew was a left-handed hitter who took full swings. But now he was just tapping it? Was he a contact hitter back in high school?

Anyway, the only name in the Japanese lineup I recognized was now safely on first, which wasn’t ideal.

‘Oh no.’

Seong Jinseong immediately committed a pickoff error.

Then, on a grounder by the third batter, Shogo advanced to third.

Apparently, the BABIP gods had decided to be fair to both teams today.

The fourth hitter, Ryosuke Yota, hit a ball that took one bounce and suddenly died. Shortstop Shim Jeongwu charged and threw, but the batter was already past first.

Meanwhile, the runner from third, Shogo, scored.

Japan cut it to 2–1.

Seong Jinseong retired Yukiya Ryota on a 1–1 grounder to end the inning.

***

One of the worst things in baseball is giving up runs immediately after scoring.

Breaking that taboo meant we absolutely needed to score in the second.

Top of the second.

Leadoff hitter Yeo Eunho opened things up.

On a 1–1 count, he pushed a slider the other way through the left side.

Against Yeo Juhyeok, on 3 balls, a low fastball resulted in a walk.

The scoreboard flashed 88 mph (141.7 km/h).

“Huh?”

Why is the velocity like that?

Then Heo Juwon said,

“They’re really not throwing the splitter. Why are they being so stingy with it?”

He was again glued to my side.

“Did you see that velocity just now?”

“No.”

“88 miles.”

The pitch before the walk had also been 88.5 mph.

So maybe it wasn’t that they were saving the splitter.

Maybe he couldn’t throw it.

“His fastball velocity isn’t normal.”

We were told he topped at 153 and averaged mid-to-high 140s. Mid-140s in the first inning could be blamed on a cold shoulder… but 141, 142 in the second?

“That’s true! Why is he so slow? Wasn’t he the ace of the Koshien championship team?”

That’s what we heard.

“Maybe he got overused at Koshien!”

Oh?

That actually made sense.

Koshien is famous for glorifying overwork.

The coach reacted immediately too. Seeing that velocity and doing nothing would be negligence.

Following instructions, with no outs and runners on first and second, Choi Ilhan stepped in.

And then…

A bunt.

Huh? A bunt?

That’s right. This was student baseball.

“Why? The bunt’s the right call here.”

Heo Juwon said it like it was obvious.

Anyway, Choi Ilhan laid it down well. The bunt rolled softly along the third-base foul line, allowing both runners to advance.

One out. Runners on second and third.

The lineup turned over to the leadoff hitter, Heo Juwon.

The Japanese bench stirred.

The manager came out to the mound. Was he changing pitchers?

‘No, he’s just going back.’

This wasn’t pool play. It was the Super Round.

I thought they might quick-hook him… but they didn’t.

Was the bullpen not ready?

“Juwon! Heo Juwon!”

“What? Why are you yelling?”

“You’re lucky!”

“What?”

Still, it probably only lasted through Juwon’s at-bat.

“Strike.”

First pitch: slider.

Second: curve.

“Ball.”

Then the third would be a fastball.

I was right.

A 142 km/h fastball.

Definitely not normal.

But not missing it… that was skill.

Heo Juwon didn’t miss. He drove the outside fastball hard the other way, past the first baseman’s diving catch.

The ball rolled down the foul line into the outfield.

Both runners from third and second scored.

“Two-run single! Heo Juwon!”

“Right after giving up one in the bottom of the first, Korea puts up two more in the top of the second!”

“The score is 4–1!”

***

Japan’s starter, Yamada Sho, ultimately left after giving up four runs.

The new pitcher was Ishigaki Haruto.

As he threw his warm-ups, Coach gathered Park Geonhui, Woo Leejun, and me in the on-deck circle.

He gave us a brief rundown.

“He throws 158?”

“He’s their ace?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he hit 158 recently.”

Park Geonhui and Woo Leejun clicked their tongues.

Honestly, me? Not much reaction.

“Oh. Okay.”

Looking at the warm-up velocities on the board, if he really let it rip, he probably could hit that.

“He spins it over 2,500 RPM. You should assume the movement isn’t like the usual fastballs you see.”

“Over 2,500?”

“Wow. Better stay sharp.”

“2,500, huh. Got it.”

2,500 RPM with a Japanese ball?

Maybe I’d be impressed if he did that with the slick Major League ball.

Still, I responded appropriately with the others.

But why is the coach staring only at me?

“Did you want to say something?”

“No. Just… watch out for the splitter.”

“Yes. That’s basic. I’ve already put it in my head. Don’t worry.”

I answered again. Maybe I’d been too serious before, so this time I smiled brightly at him.

A small grin.

***

“Manager Jeong Minseok, why that expression?”

“It’s about Song Seongjun.”

“What about him?”

“Doesn’t he seem strange?”

“How?”

“He’s not nervous at all. I just told him the pitcher’s stuff is good, and he needs to be careful… but he looked indifferent.”

“Hahaha. That’s good. What’s better than not being nervous at an international tournament? You know this, staying calm is something you’re born with.”

“That’s true.”

Composure can be built with effort.

But you can’t beat a naturally strong heart.

***

Japan’s second pitcher, Ishigaki Haruto, was fast.

He hit 153 km/h against Park Geonhui.

However…

He had no command.

“Ball four. Based on balls.”

A pitch sailed head-high.

Park Geonhui walked.

“Park Geonhui draws a walk.”