Lineup for the Golden Lion Tournament
The first half of the high school weekend league wrapped up on April 24th. Finally, the 36 teams advancing to the Golden Lion Tournament had been selected. The tournament would run from May 5th to May 16th, with all games held at Mokdong Baseball Stadium in Seoul. As the event to crown the top team of the first half, every squad was focusing hard on managing their players' conditions in preparation.
Today, April 29th, marked the end of North Myeong High's survival games to finalize their lineup. Just as Director Park Sung-tae had predicted, the competition among the players was fierce. Some kept practicing late into the night, to the point where the coaches had to send them home. Every player showed real drive, but in the end, competition always divides winners from losers.
Yoo Min-hoo stood on the mound with a calm, impassive expression. Lee Ho-seok was behind the plate. Among North Myeong High's pitchers, Yoo Min-hoo had the weakest velocity, but he'd been one of the biggest surprises to his teammates and coaches this time around. At the plate was Park Chae-min, a second-year non-starter.
After exchanging signs with Lee Ho-seok, Yoo Min-hoo fired his first pitch inside. The batter swung at the slow ball, but it dropped low—a circle changeup. Park Chae-min, caught off guard by the whiff on the first pitch, hurriedly reset his grip. Yoo Min-hoo followed with a fastball to the same spot. This time, Park Chae-min watched it go by, falling behind 0-2.
The count had stacked up in a flash. Yoo Min-hoo threw a curve for the third pitch, drawing another swing and miss. Three pitches, three strikes. He turned his back on Park Chae-min trudging off the mound and adjusted his cap.
Lee Ho-seok, watching from home plate, tossed the ball back to Yoo Min-hoo and muttered to himself. "This guy's pitches... how do I put it?"
Over the past few days of back-to-back games, Lee Ho-seok had caught for him three times as teammates. Each time, he'd felt something subtly off about handling Yoo Min-hoo's stuff. "No, it's his delivery or something?" He sorted through his thoughts.
The biggest beneficiary of Director Park Sung-tae's five-inning survival games was none other than Yoo Min-hoo. Until now, he'd been seen—fairly or not—as a ghost member who only did solo workouts. Suddenly, he had the whole baseball team's attention. The pitchers especially started viewing him as a rival.
And for good reason: at this point, Yoo Min-hoo ranked seventh in team ERA among North Myeong High's pitchers. He mixed a fastball with circle changeups, two-seamers, sliders, and curves—changes so varied it was hard to believe they came from a high schooler. None packed overwhelming power, but blending those four breaking balls made them effective. His pickoff moves and deception were top-notch too.
North Myeong High's hitters, used to facing high school arms with maybe one or two changes at best, found Yoo Min-hoo's lower velocity surprisingly burdensome. His command of those pitches amplified their bite. And though the team hadn't noticed, Yoo Min-hoo already had full data on every North Myeong batter locked in his head: their weaknesses, favorite zones, pre-swing habits, even tiny tells they themselves might miss. It had all been cataloged long ago.
This type of pitcher was rare even in the pros, let alone high school baseball.
Yoo Min-hoo induced a grounder on the two-seamer against the next batter and fielded it himself for the easy out. Velocity aside, he had every other tool a pitcher needed at an elite level. In his past life, scraping by in the minors with lousy stuff, he'd mastered everything but raw power.
The third batter up was first-year Park Chang-sik, North Myeong High's next big hope who'd already locked down a starting spot in the first-half league. Yoo Min-hoo took the mound casually, running through his scouting report. "Chang-sik's a guess hitter—strong tendencies to hunt specific pitches. Good eye for it."
He took a deep breath and set up. "But he's not a pure guess hitter. He swings like one because he's surprisingly patient for a first-year."
Guess hitting was common among hitters weak on contact or plate discipline—and power guess hitters weren't rare. But Park Chang-sik bucked the trend. If Yoo Min-hoo had to name North Myeong's most selective hitter, it'd be the kid at the plate right now without hesitation. And that made him the toughest matchup on the team for Yoo Min-hoo.
Gripping the ball right-handed, Yoo Min-hoo went into his windup, leg up. He scraped his foot off the rubber and whipped his right arm with everything he had.
Crack! Park Chang-sik's bat met the pitch with a sharp ring. Yoo Min-hoo tracked it with his eyes, then sighed and covered his face.
After the game ended, the North Myeong High players headed home right away. Being Friday, they'd wrapped training earlier than usual. To prep for the Golden Lion Tournament, Director Park Sung-tae had banned all weekend practices for rest.
Once the players were gone, the coaches gathered in the director's office. North Myeong High's staff totaled eight, including Park Sung-tae—more than most high school teams. It allowed broader player management, boosting training stability and efficiency.
Park Sung-tae scanned his handpicked coaches and spoke. "Time to lock in the Golden Lion lineup."
The coaches nodded. "Shall we start with the hitters?"
The meeting kicked off. Coaches freely shared opinions, debating players' competitiveness, strengths, and weaknesses in an open forum—exactly the vibe Park Sung-tae encouraged.
"Ha Tae-hoon can handle two-way duties on his own, right?" Park Sung-tae mused.
Pitching coach Han Myeong-hwan nodded. "Yes."
Until last year, North Myeong High carried the stigma of a "corrupt" school—and it lingered. The chairman wanted to fix not just the losing record but the tarnished image. The best way? Broader player usage for equal opportunities.
That's why Park Sung-tae guided two-way players to specialize in one role for training. Beyond fairness, it helped their development. By high school age, they needed to pick a pro-track position. Ha Tae-hoon earned starts in both, but most couldn't.
With hitters settled, they turned to pitchers. North Myeong's staff was thinner than their lineup, so it took longer. One by one, arms were named—until one spot remained.
Park Sung-tae, who'd been absorbing input, spoke first. "What about Yoo Min-hoo?"
The coaches' eyes turned to him. "Yoo Min-hoo?"
Han Myeong-hwan asked, a bit thrown. Park Sung-tae nodded. "Yeah."
"His velocity's a bit light, isn't it?" one coach said, shaking his head.
Park Sung-tae leaned back. "But he mixes a ton of breaking stuff."
"Hmm..."
The room went quiet. Pitchers who could command multiple changes had a huge edge against hitters. But high school arms rarely handled three or more—breaking balls were tough to master and wrecked young arms. Modern youth coaching limited them by age.
That's why Yoo Min-hoo stood out with so many. A third-year with no right-arm wear, and pre-regression reps meant no extra strain now. Park Sung-tae hadn't expected it, but with pitching needs met, it was a win.
"Even with variety, his raw stuff's weak."
"His ERA was solid this time."
"It was just internal scrimmages—too early to say."
Some pushback emerged. Park Sung-tae listened, then turned to Han Myeong-hwan. "Your take?"
As Yoo Min-hoo's direct coach, Han Myeong-hwan pondered. "Not a bad pick. Velocity's down, sure. But command's steady, defense on the mound's flawless, pickoffs are sharp."
He met Park Sung-tae's gaze. "Above all, he pitches—knows how to battle hitters. He covers the power gap with breaking ball usage."
"Mm." Park Sung-tae smiled faintly and nodded. "I agree. And even if it's internal stats, some guys ahead of him in ERA. Same conditions for everyone."
No one argued further. As the meeting wound down, Park Sung-tae clapped lightly and stood. "Alright, that's the lineup. Long time since we did a team dinner—let's go."