Min-hoo Takes the Mound
Director Park Sung-tae silently watched Pitching Coach Han Myeong-hwan as he climbed the mound, then narrowed his eyes at the coach's signal for a pitching change and headed up himself.
"What's going on?"
Han Myeong-hwan looked troubled as he faced the director's grave tone.
"Ji-seok's index fingernail is split at the tip."
"The nail?"
Park Sung-tae double-checked Kim Ji-seok's fingernail himself and let out a heavy sigh.
For pitchers, nails played a crucial role. Gripping the ball tighter with them improved control and velocity. Pitchers naturally used their nails to anchor the ball. If the index or middle fingernail got damaged during release, it often ruined their command even without other injuries. That's why pitchers had to baby their nails and maintain them meticulously. Once a nail split, they couldn't grip properly—and it could shatter entirely—so they had to stop throwing immediately.
"……."
Kim Ji-seok bit his lip hard. Getting yanked not for shaky stuff or a jam, but for this—it stung. And with his stuff feeling pristine today, the frustration burned even hotter. He considered begging Director Park Sung-tae to let him gut it out, but he knew that wouldn't fly.
Kim Ji-seok trudged off the mound, leaving Park Sung-tae deep in thought.
It was just the first inning. None of their pitchers were properly warmed up.
"Should we bring in Tae-hoon?"
"No. Can't overwork him."
Throwing 100 pitches taxed any arm. Ha Tae-hoon had already fired 102 in the round of 16. Sending him out before full recovery was a bad call. Overuse was non-negotiable—that was Park Sung-tae's philosophy.
Who to bring in?
No time to deliberate. But among North Myeong High's remaining arms, who could throw right now with big-tournament experience?
...One guy.
A pitcher who could fire without warming up and had major-game reps.
"We'll go with Yoo Min-hoo."
"Yoo Min-hoo?"
Han Myeong-hwan's eyes widened, but Park Sung-tae nodded.
"Isn't that risky against Gyeongsang High's lineup?"
"He can mix in a variety of breaking stuff, so one inning's feasible. He's the only one on the team who can take the mound cold."
"……."
It was spot on. North Myeong High had no other options.
"I'll tell Min-hoo to get ready now."
Han Myeong-hwan hustled back to the dugout.
"Me?"
Yoo Min-hoo blurted it out before he could stop himself at the pitching coach's order to prep.
Han Myeong-hwan nodded. "Yeah. You can throw your usual velocity without warming up."
"True, but……."
"Just buy us an inning or so."
"……."
Yoo Min-hoo fell silent at the coach's plea, then donned his cap, grabbed his glove, and stood.
"Got it."
He adjusted his cap and bolted from the dugout straight to the mound.
North Myeong High players in the dugout—and even the fielders—gaped in surprise.
Min-hoo?
Lee Ho-seok, posted at home, looked thrown off.
In the Gyeongsang High dugout, Coach Kang Hak-gyu's eyes sparked with curiosity as he watched.
That pitcher…….
He'd never appeared in weekend league play or the Golden Lion Tournament. Yet Kang Hak-gyu remembered Yoo Min-hoo vividly—from that scrimmage where he'd fanned Kim Yong-su on three pitches.
A high schooler with a remarkably polished circle changeup. But his fastball lacked pop.
Changeups thrived on overpowering fastballs—that was the image. Even pros got owned by a heavy heater followed by a perfect change.
Still, better play it safe.
Kang Hak-gyu knew Park Sung-tae as a cautious tactician. Upping a soft-tosser meant he saw upset potential.
Throws with a weird arm action, that one.
Short stint back then, unremarkable velocity, but it left a nagging unease. With his pro coaching tenure, he'd never seen that vibe in high schoolers—but a few times in the pros. And he knew what hitters those types hated.
Time to tell 'em to swing early and often.
Kang Hak-gyu cracked a knowing smile.
Meanwhile, Park Sung-tae, waiting atop the mound, handed Yoo Min-hoo the ball as he approached.
"Hold 'em for one inning."
"Yes, sir."
Yoo Min-hoo nodded, took the ball, paused, then called after the director descending the mound.
"If I shut 'em down clean, I keep going, right?"
"……?"
Park Sung-tae halted, glanced back, and chuckled. "Couldn't ask for more."
Then he headed to the dugout.
Yoo Min-hoo burst out laughing at the retreating figure, then turned to the plate.
Lee Ho-seok met his gaze from home, then dropped into his catcher's stance, ready for the throw.
Yoo Min-hoo fired warm-up tosses.
Gyeongsang High's lineup is one of the toughest in the nation.
Kim Yong-su was the monster centerpiece. Even so, Daegu High's motley crew edged them out slightly. Daegu High outscored them too.
Yet Yoo Min-hoo rated Gyeongsang's bats trickier, more dangerous.
Daegu High exploded randomly; Gyeongsang scored precisely when needed. Daegu lost flow and fizzled; Gyeongsang stayed steady, racking up runs consistently. Explosive bursts versus sustained pressure.
Gyeongsang's edge: adaptable hitting tailored to the pitcher. Team ball at its finest. Yoo Min-hoo credited veteran coach Kang Hak-gyu.
His eye for talent and in-game adjustments scream experience.
Kang Hak-gyu still drew pro offers—a legendary skipper.
Wonder what he makes of me?
If it was underwhelmed, great—Yoo Min-hoo benefited. Gyeongsang swung with Kang's read, easing his job.
But would a grizzled vet sleep on a mid-tournament arm?
High odds he'll counter with the hitter type weak-pitching guys hate.
Soft-tossers loathed athletic free-swingers trusting raw power. They seemed hackable—simple—but avoided pitcher-batter chess, just hunting fastballs.
Thwack!
Yoo Min-hoo's fastball popped into the mitt.
This should do.
He rolled his right shoulder loosely, signaled Lee Ho-seok he was set, and tugged his cap.
No coach cracks a pitcher perfectly off one look.
Yoo Min-hoo's eyes gleamed.
If Kang's intel was fragmentary, Yoo Min-hoo knew Gyeongsang inside out. Info edge: his.
They swing aggressive? I end the inning quick.
Gyeongsang's #2, sophomore righty Lee Moon-seong, stepped in, eyed Yoo Min-hoo, then glanced to the dugout.
He nodded at the coach's sign.
Swing early.
Kang Hak-gyu built a system maximizing individuals yet drilling team hitting when needed.
Lee Moon-seong took light practice cuts, set up.
He'd seen that scrimmage—Yoo Min-hoo whiffing Kim Yong-su. Impressive circle change for high school, but not elite heat.
Even Yong-su hyung wouldn't whiff twice. That velocity? No biggie.
Play resumed. Yoo Min-hoo set, lifted his leg into windup.
Fastball diving low and in on his body. Better control than expected, Lee Moon-seong thought, offering the bat to cut.
But the ball bit sharply—Gasp!
Crack!
Fouled? No—weak contact, rolling to short left.
Shortstop snagged it, fired to first.
Lee Moon-seong sprinted, but the throw beat him.
"Out!"
The ump signaled, and Lee Moon-seong threw his head back.
Yoo Min-hoo, who'd nailed a perfect two-seamer, shot him a glance, caught Lee Ho-seok's return, and adjusted his cap.
Didn't know about the two-seamer, huh.
He smirked inwardly.
Velocity's meh, but I've got variety—and polish.
No intel.
His biggest weapon right now.