The Prodigy Who Rejected the Major League Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

Moon Seungchan of Jeongchun High, who had given up a home run to me, was shaken once more by the cleanup hitter Jin Wuwon.

On the first pitch, he attempted a surprise bunt. It succeeded, and he reached first base. Moon Seungchan then issued a walk to the next batter, putting runners on first and second with one out… another run-scoring threat.

In that crisis, it was ABS that saved Moon Seungchan.

Against Jang Sanghyeon, the pitch clipped the lower outside corner.

“Strike.”

The second pitch missed its intended target slightly but scraped the upper inside corner of the batter’s body-side edge.

“Strike. Two!”

From the batter’s perspective, it was absurd.

But as everyone knows, when a pitch catches the robotic zone, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Already up against a pitcher with overpowering velocity, Jang Sanghyeon found himself in a tough count and couldn’t take his usual swing.

Tick.

On 1 ball and 2 strikes, he got a piece of the fourth pitch, but it rolled straight to an infielder.

It turned into a 6–4–3 double play, and the inning ended.

 

***

 

The fourth inning ended with both teams going down in order.

Maybe it was because the score gap had widened to four runs.

In the top of the fifth, Jeongchun High’s hitters weren’t particularly impressive either.

 

The leadoff hitter grounded out to third.

The second batter popped up foul to first base.

The third out was a comebacker to the pitcher.

 

“I’m the one pitching well and fielding well!”

“Yeah, fine. I admit it. That last one… nice reflexes.”

“I told you, I’m athletic. So you should try blocking better.”

Hyunsu, this guy, was especially relentless today.

“Did I let any balls get past me with runners on? No, right?”

“That’s because I didn’t let anyone on base. Isn’t that true?”

Was he always this self-absorbed?

“If you don’t want to hear it, then block better. You were at least decent at blocking before, and now you can’t even do that. It’s like you’ve become a different person in the last month.”

“Let’s be accurate. It’s not that I can’t block. It’s that I’m good at everything else except blocking. I hit two home runs… that’s enough.”

Trying to catch again after twenty years… of course, mistakes would happen. Even so, I was improving quickly.

“This is pretty good, all things considered.”

“Huh?”

I knew everyone thought I seemed strange. The more that happened, the more shameless I had to be.

Bottom of the fifth.

The inning had started from the two-hole, and it was already two outs.

“Seongjun! Another home run!”

Seunghee was in her usual high pitch. Seunghye was waving her sketchbook sign side to side.

Ha, ha.

But this one might be a bit difficult, sisters.

On the mound, Moon Seungchan had just struck out the previous two batters and was glaring at me.

It was that kind of look, ‘you’re not getting me this time.’

In moments like this, you don’t force it. Just aim lightly for right-center.

Crack!

The ball dropped just inside the foul line for a perfectly placed hit.

Of course, honestly, the placement was lucky. Ha.

I checked the ball rolling into the outfield and rounded first, heading for second. Then the third-base coach kept signaling for me to go.

I ran all the way to third.

“What happened?”

“The right fielder misplayed it.”

“Ah.”

That made sense.

So it would likely be recorded as a double with a fielding error added.

I wasn’t disappointed that it wasn’t a triple.

I was already 3-for-3: two home runs and a double. I’d shown enough offensively.

Seeing Moon Seungchan scowling so hard did make me feel a little bad.

He must’ve wanted to look good in front of the many scouts gathered here.

It felt like I had poured cold water over that.

But if someone had to impress the scouts… if someone had to make it known that I exist…

That someone was me.

Even if Moon Seungchan had a bad outing today, it wouldn’t change the conditions with the team he was heading to.

You learn that after you build experience.

After grinding ten years in the minor leagues, you understand.

So today, I’m taking the spotlight.

 

***

 

I’d reached third with two outs, but no additional runs were scored.

Moon Seungchan stared at me for a moment, then suddenly smirked to himself.

Then he turned to face Jin Wuwon, the batter behind me… and fired.

159 km/h.

He hit his personal best.

159 km/h.

159 km/h.

Three straight 159 km/h fastballs to end it.

“You okay?”

“Ha ha… that was scary.”

Jin Wwon’s expression honestly couldn’t be put into words.

“Hang in there.”

 

***

 

Hyunsu, who had managed his pitch count efficiently, took the mound again in the sixth.

The first batter grounded out.

The second struck out.

“Swinging! strike three!”

Then the coach came out to the mound.

“Good work.”

He patted Hyunsu’s shoulder as he came off. The coach looked extremely satisfied.

And rightly so, Hyunsu had thrown just 71 pitches through two outs in the sixth.

Under tournament pitch-count rules, throwing 75 pitches or fewer meant he could return after two days of rest. (From 76 pitches, three days were required. Over 90 meant four days. He couldn’t exceed 105.)

Honestly, whether throwing over 70 pitches and returning after only two days was something to be pleased about was debatable.

But with the tight high school tournament schedule, it couldn’t be helped. In the past, there hadn’t even been pitch limits… players were simply run into the ground.

Hong Chansik came in as the second pitcher.

His fastball, topping out in the low 140 km/h range, was a bit lacking… but he had good breaking-ball command.

Crack!

But he immediately gave up a double.

Then the third batter drove another double that skimmed past the third-base bag and into the outfield.

As soon as the starter left the game, Jeongchun High scored its first run in the sixth inning.

Then Jeongchun’s cleanup hitter, Yeo Woosung, stepped into the box.

He had power, but not quite enough strength.

We had exploited that in his two previous at-bats and induced two groundouts.

“One! Just get one out!”

I raised a finger to the pitcher and fielders, reminding them it was two outs.

Fielders can sometimes lose track of the count. It’s the catcher’s job to remind them.

“Strike.”

I called for a four-seam fastball on the first pitch.

The batter was patient… he tended to watch the first pitch. The scouting report said so, and it showed in his earlier at-bats.

But Hong Chansik’s four-seamer simply didn’t have much life.

It was risky to use it for anything more than a show pitch or setup.

“Ball.”

“Foul!”

“Ball.”

Two balls, two strikes.

Time for the put-away pitch.

I put down the sign for a curveball.

To set this up, we’d only shown him one slider until now.

Hong Chansik checked the sign and threw the curve.

It should have drawn a large arc downward…

Instead, it stayed in the middle.

Damn!

Crack!

Yeo Woosung lifted it.

The ball flew toward left-center.

The left fielder and center fielder chased it.

It wasn’t a line drive, so it hung in the air a while.

I thought one of them might catch it.

Then…

“Hey!”

“Watch out!”

People who sensed danger shouted.

But the players, eyes locked on the ball, couldn’t hear them.

Crash!

“Ahh!”

“Aaaah!”

With screams from the stands…

The left fielder and center fielder collided and tumbled onto the grass.

The head coach and assistants rushed out.

The umpire immediately stopped the game.

An ambulance entered the field with a nurse.

Fortunately, neither lost consciousness. Seeing them sit up right away meant it likely wasn’t the worst-case scenario.

Center fielder Park Songchan held a towel to his nose. Blood stained the fabric.

I immediately knew… broken nose.

The sophomore who had come in to left field showed no obvious external injuries. But he looked mentally shaken.

“It’s my fault… I didn’t make the call properly…”

“Hey! Whose fault is it supposed to be? Come on…”

Park Songchan tried to stop the self-blame, then winced.

“Don’t talk! Your nasal bone is fractured!”

The nurse scolded him instead.

They administered first aid quickly and loaded him into the ambulance.

The sophomore went along as well.

Even if there were no visible injuries, they had collided and fallen. Concussion symptoms could appear later.

 

***

 

Thankfully, it hadn’t resulted in a major injury.

But the team atmosphere was in complete disarray.

“It ends up like this, Coach.”

Earlier in the third, Kang Seungju had been hit in the ribs. Even though he said he was fine, we substituted him… this wouldn’t be the only game he played.

A sophomore had replaced him in left field.

Then, just now, two more outfielders were gone due to the collision.

There were only three senior outfielders on the team.

Now two of them were out.

On top of that, the most defensively reliable sophomore was gone as well.

With three starting-level outfielders suddenly unavailable…

It was absurd trying to figure out who to send out.

The answer was obvious. Two sophomores would have to move to the outfield.

As the staff debated who to replace, Song Seongjun raised his hand.

“Coach.”

“Hm? What?”

“I’ll play the outfield.”

“What?”

“I can handle outfield defense. I played both catcher and outfield in middle school. And even in high school, for the past three years, I’ve trained for it privately.”

Not just the head coach, but defensive coach Hong Seungwoo also stared at me.

“You trained outfield defense, too? On top of pitching and hitting?”

“Yes.”

“For three years?”

“Yes.”

I hadn’t deliberately shown that I could play outfield at school.

It felt excessive.

And I was confident that pitching and hitting alone would be enough to appeal to the team and KBO clubs.

‘Outfield… I can show that in the pros.’

To be honest, outfield defense was what I was most confident in.

I’d played center field in the majors for fifteen years… until age slowed my speed.

That’s enough justification for confidence.

But the team situation wasn’t good.

We could trust sophomore catcher Choi Minsu. His bat was lacking, but his defense was solid.

The sophomore outfielders, though? Honestly, questionable.

What they’d shown in scrimmages hadn’t been impressive.

“You really can do it? You’re confident?”

“Yes!”

The coach asked again. I answered firmly.

Still, he hesitated.

“Is this right? Hong Coach, is this right?”

Instead of answering, Hong Seungwoo just stared at me.

“Please trust me. I’m confident.”

“Well. You don’t have a reason to lie. But still…”

It was absurd.

Sending out a catcher no one had ever seen play outfield?

Just because he claimed to have trained privately for three years?

Nonsense.

But what Song Seongjun had shown so far made it impossible to dismiss outright.

Hadn’t he hit a home run off Moon Seungchan with just a year of personal batting work?

And after a year of pitching practice, he threw 155.

“Coach, let’s trust him. Without Seongjun, we wouldn’t even be leading.”

In the end, Head Coach Bae Seonggon nodded.

He deliberately avoided glancing toward the sophomores.

“Left field. Understood?”

Left field had the lowest defensive burden.

“Yes, Coach.”

Replacing catcher Song Seongjun with Choi Minsu wasn’t a major issue.

Aside from limited tournament experience, Minsu was defensively solid.

 

***

 

The field was cleared, and the game resumed.

 

Catcher Song Seongjun → Catcher Choi Minsu

Center fielder Park Songchan → Center fielder Choi Seonghu

Left fielder Son Hyeoksu → Left fielder Song Seongjun

 

When the lineup changes were announced, confusion spread.

“Song Seongjun is moving to left field? Why?”

“Does he have any record of playing outfield?”

“No. Not even unofficial games in high school. I’m certain of that.”

The Incheon scout who had been interested in catcher Song Seongjun spoke confidently. No one there knew more about him.

“Then what’s going on? It’s not like they have no outfielders.”

“They could’ve sent out a sophomore.”

“Coach Bae Seonggon’s defensive move is strange.”

“What’s the intent?”

No one could understand.

There was zero data on outfielder Song Seongjun.

The Major League scouts were no different.

All of them had question marks on their faces.

“What? Outfielder, Song Seongjun?”

 

***

 

Baseball has a superstition: the ball always finds the new fielder.

I was hoping it would.

Score: 4–2.

Outs remaining: one.

The lead had shrunk to two, but if we got this final out quickly, the inning would end… and the chaotic atmosphere would settle.

‘I told Minsu their pitcher’s fastball lacked life. Be careful. Let’s see.’

From left field, I focused toward home.

Crack!

The ball rocketed to the outfield.

At the sound of contact, I broke back immediately.

And at the same time…

‘Oh hell. That’s deep.’

If it were completely out of reach, I’d give up.

But it wasn’t that far.

Which meant I wouldn’t quit.

In the majors, we never defended that way.

Not one outfielder I knew ever gave up before the ball cleared the fence. They’d climb the wall if they had to.

Thud-thud-thud!

The fence drew closer. I tracked the ball descending above me.

“For player safety, the outfield fence padding has been reinforced.”

I knew the facility had completed safety upgrades. I’d checked before the game. It looked fine.

Trusting that…

I leapt at the wall.

I planted my spikes against the fence, then pushed upward vertically once more…

And stretched my gloved left hand as high as I could.