Perfect Pickoff
The runner, positioned a step off first base and poised to bolt the instant the batter connected with the ball, dove back toward the bag on the sudden pickoff throw.
But Yoo Min-hoo unleashed a motion so fluid and natural that he fired the ball precisely toward the spot where the runner's outstretched hand reached—right into a position where the first baseman needed only to slap down his glove to record the out. Not a millimeter of error.
The first baseman's glove tagging the runner beat the baserunner's desperate scramble back to the bag. The runner wore a look of utter bewilderment at the textbook pickoff, and the umpire signaled out without hesitation.
Even the first baseman, who had snagged the ball, stared at Yoo Min-hoo with a dazed expression. But Yoo just calmly held out his glove for the ball, unfazed.
"Damn, talk about bad luck," Park Hana muttered, sounding disappointed.
But Lee Young-gon, with his expert eye, knew there was no luck involved in that pickoff. He fully understood its perfection.
This isn't high school level, he thought, stroking his chin with keen interest.
That throw was so convincing it made the out feel inevitable. The timing was spot-on, but what elevated it was the seamless, water-smooth motion. Runners always stay vigilant once they've strayed from the bag. This one was no different— the moment he sensed the pickoff, he lunged back toward first.
Yet the ball arrived even faster, because the runner's reaction time lagged. And that lag stemmed from how natural the pitcher's motion had been. You only see pickoffs that clean from pros.
"First time I've seen this guy..."
"Pardon?"
Park Hana shot Lee Young-gon a puzzled look at his words. He had mental files on every notable Korean high school player, famous or not—so her surprise was warranted.
"Maybe a first-year?"
"Nah, build like that screams third-year."
He looked plenty developed at a glance. And that pickoff suggested serious baseball chops. For such a player to be off Lee Young-gon's radar? Even he couldn't quite wrap his head around it.
He shook off the thought and refocused on Yoo Min-hoo in silence. Anyway, the real draw here—one of the reasons he'd come today—was Kim Yong-su's at-bat. After crushing a home run last time up, expectations ran high for this plate appearance.
Whew.
Yoo Min-hoo let out a deep internal sigh after nabbing the runner. If he'd failed there, he'd likely never get another pickoff chance. It had been a pure gut-call steal attempt.
Body moved better than expected.
He was quite satisfied with that throw himself. To survive in the pros with subpar velocity, you had to excel at everything else. Direct confrontations with hitters were off the table, so he dodged them, tormenting the offense in every other way. In short, he was a master of tricks.
Rubbing rosin into his right hand, Yoo Min-hoo blew on it sharply.
Avoid when you can. But eventually, collisions happen.
If I can't navigate this, I won't cut it as a pro.
His opponent: Korea's top high school power-hitting prospect. But even monsters had exploitable paths for pitchers. The battle was whether you could thread that needle.
Kim Yong-su actually popped out to the outfield plenty on low-velocity stuff. Technique might overwhelm, but physically, he was still a high schooler.
Still, that flaw alone wasn't enough invitation—facing Kim Yong-su felt daunting.
Yoo Min-hoo set, lifted his leg, leaned back, then whipped his arm and drove off the mound.
The ball left his hand, diving low and tight on Kim Yong-su's body side.
Crack!
Kim Yong-su's bat fired without hesitation. But the fouled-off pitch sailed down the line.
"Hmm."
Kim Yong-su eyed Yoo Min-hoo with a strange expression. Perfect location. But it hadn't stayed fair because the pitch wasn't as fast as he'd anticipated.
Fastballs get the bat every time, no mercy.
Yoo Min-hoo muttered bitterly to himself. Great course. With better timing, it'd have been a liner.
One and zero, for now.
He took a deep breath. Any pitch in the zone draws the bat, no matter the spot. And Kim Yong-su had the skill to drive it deep.
Yet Yoo had risked it, banking on a timing mismatch. He'd studied Kim Yong-su's videos the day before for a reason.
Unknown hitters? Kim timed early for mid-130s km/h. With Yoo topping out around 120, no way it synced.
First-pitch strikes eased the pitcher's burden. So he'd gambled on the danger zone.
Coach might aim middle for flyouts...
He glanced at the dugout.
But up here, strikeouts minimize risk.
Hard contact meant hits. Physique was Kim's Achilles' heel, sure. But technique had gaps too—at high school level, could he exploit them?
Yoo steeled himself, recalling Kim's swing mechanics.
Looks brute-force, but he endures what he must.
Another fastball, middle-body.
It burrowed outside the zone but thumped the mitt. Borderline, but the ump called strike.
Good, wearing him down.
Yoo clenched his fist internally.
"Wearing him down?" Han Myeong-hwan muttered incredulously.
A surprise out on the pickoff, now no balls, two strikes on Kim Yong-su. Hard to believe the rally.
"Wearing him down, yeah. But nothing to celebrate."
Park Sung-tae sighed. Han turned to him.
"Kim Yong-su dominates peers in skill and physique—that's why he's top dog. But it's more than that. Seems impatient, but he's sharp."
Smart hitters know their weaknesses.
"He probably clocked Yoo's max velo on that last one."
Pre-knowledge? Park's tricks wouldn't land.
"What now?"
"Drag the count, no choice." Park sighed.
Hmm. Thought that was a ball.
Kim Yong-su hid his gripe but shook it off.
Still, got what I needed.
He smirked inwardly at Yoo on the mound.
Figured the unknown guy was scheming tricks like this?
Those two fastballs shattered North Myeong High's plan. He knew his home run totals dipped on weak stuff.
Max maybe 120? Child's play.
Not that low velo owned him. Swing big for homers and miss? Fine—turn 'em into liners.
Was gonna carve up this velo-challenged hack, but sniffed it out. Useless now.
Yoo eyed Kim from the mound. Cocky aura. No shrinkage despite the count.
Lee Ho-seok signaled ball outside. Yoo nodded, slipping his hand into the glove.
Got my velo? Bench plan's toast. Smart hitter.
He fiddled with the ball.
Head-on with you? My odds are zilch.
Gripping up, he set and warned himself: But pros never duke it out straight-up.
The pitch whipped out, dropping low as Lee Ho-seok called.
Ho-seok thought it sailed a hair high. It had. To Kim, perfect height.
Easy two-RBI!
Slight changeup doubt, but delivery matched the fastball. Elite eyes confirmed it.
But mid-zone, something twisted. The ball dove body-side, plummeting.
Too late to adjust the swing. Too late to check.
Ho-seok dropped the mitt to snag the plunge.
Whoosh!Thwack!
Kim's bat whiffed empty air. The ball buried in the mitt.
Perfect whiff. Korea's top high school slugger, struck out looking by a pitcher who barely cracked 120 km/h.