Steady Rehab, Korean Return
Generally, when a player suffers an injury, the first step is identifying the affected area. Then comes assessing the severity and whether surgery is needed. Finally, the quality of post-surgery rehab determines if the player can make a comeback.
In the winter of 2015, Yoo Min-hoo had sensed something off with his shoulder. He himself only felt a bit of pain and nothing else unusual, but when Jack Brown heard about it, he rushed him to the hospital for checks. They discovered damaged shoulder muscles. Fortunately, it was caught before worsening, and it wasn't so severe that surgery couldn't restore his previous form.
But it hit right before high school graduation, smack in the middle of major league scouts' intense evaluations. The injury made Yoo Min-hoo anxious. The surgery went well, but rehab didn't. Overzealous scheduling and mental stress wrecked his shoulder completely.
That was Yoo Min-hoo before time rewound.
So for the past half-year-plus, he'd devoted himself perfectly to rehab. He never once raised his left arm above shoulder height or lifted anything with it. The only exercise it got was grip training. His max grip strength had climbed from 72 kilograms to 78. Considering Kim Ji-seok, North Myeong High's ace, clocked around 70, that was insane. For reference, his right-hand grip was about 65 kilograms.
That superhuman self-control and willpower had carried him through.
Rehab splits into two main phases: recovery, when the injury site heals, and intensive training to regain prior skill. Only after both is rehab truly done. Yoo Min-hoo had just finished phase one.
So he couldn't yet throw like before. But his comeback was certain. Surgery success plus stable recovery meant his shoulder was in top shape. The doctor said completing training would bring back his old velocity—it was just a matter of time.
The happiest to hear that? Naturally, his mother, Kim Mi-hyun. As the wife of a pitcher, she knew how devastating a shoulder injury could be for a hurler. She'd suffered mentally even more than Yoo Min-hoo, though she never showed it. For half a year, she'd worried in silence.
Yoo Min-hoo wasn't blind to it. Before regression, his head was so full of his own thoughts he saw nothing around him. Now was different.
"Still too early for full-on throwing, though."
That evening, at a family dinner—the first in ages with all four together—Jack Brown spoke up, and Yoo Min-hoo nodded.
"Yeah, probably. No harm in being cautious. Better to ramp up the pace gradually."
"……."
Jack Brown gave a strange look.
"You've changed a lot, Roy."
At his father's words, Yoo Min-hoo looked puzzled and met Jack's eyes.
"I figured you'd dive straight into left-arm training to get back on the mound ASAP. More mature... or seasoned, maybe."
"Kid's turned into a total grump."
Ella mumbled around her food.
"Feels like he's grown up a ton since going to Korea."
"Mm. Growth is good."
Kim Mi-hyun's words drew a nod from Jack—who was, for the record, a massive workaholic. Ella watched the pair quietly before turning to Yoo Min-hoo.
"So, finishing rehab in Seattle now?"
Yoo Min-hoo let out a soft hum and shook his head.
"Nah, wrapping it up in Korea too."
"Why?"
Ella looked baffled, and Jack and Kim Mi-hyun eyed him curiously too.
When Yoo Min-hoo first got hurt, Jack and the doctors had urged Korean rehab to escape environmental pressure—basically, clear his head and focus. But with the toughest recovery phase done, a fully healed Yoo Min-hoo would draw major league interest. Or he could take a college scholarship, eye next year's draft. Or build steadily in college before pro—debut later, but MLB favored collegians anyway.
Options aplenty. So sticking in Korea for the rest of rehab was odd.
"Staying in the US would stress me out. Plus, North Myeong's baseball team's been fun."
"Still, America's better for building value," Jack said practically.
Yoo Min-hoo chuckled.
"It's not about the contract money—it's what you do after signing that counts."
"……."
Jack stroked his chin, stunned by his son's words.
When did he change like this?
Kim Mi-hyun and Ella had seen the shift over months, so it felt less jarring. But to Jack, this Yoo Min-hoo was bewildering—not just mature, but like a different person.
He nodded silently at his son.
"If that's what you want, go for it. Guess we'll owe Director Park Sung-tae a bit more."
"Hmph."
Ella narrowed her eyes and huffed lightly.
"Korea's been fun—maybe I take next semester off too?"
Jack and Kim Mi-hyun laughed in unison.
"No."
"Eeeek."
Even Kim Mi-hyun, usually soft on Ella's whining, held firm here.
***
After the first week of August, Yoo Min-hoo boarded a flight to Incheon Airport on the 7th with Kim Mi-hyun and Ella, heading straight back to Korea. Ella, with vacation till late August, planned to linger. Kim Mi-hyun seemed uneasy leaving Jack alone in the US, but he shrugged it off and saw his wife, son, and daughter off at Seattle-Tacoma.
Yoo Min-hoo landed amid the Phoenix Tournament buzz. The 44th edition ran August 3 to 16, so North Myeong High was grinding their schedule at Mokdong Baseball Field.
For Phoenix, they stacked the roster with third-years. Ahead of the August 22 second rookie draft, Director Park Sung-tae worked tirelessly to expose them to pro scouts. College leagues too. Core players like ace Kim Ji-seok, lineup anchors Kang Jae-seong and Park Chang-sik stayed put. It was just prioritizing similar-skilled third-years—no major power drop.
Yoo Min-hoo had voluntarily sat out President's Cup and Phoenix. As a righty, he thickened the pitching staff if not core. He'd earned starting spots in Golden Lion, late high school league, and Blue Dragon on merit.
But with Tampa Bay's scout offer already in pocket, he wasn't rushed like other third-years. Park Sung-tae initially balked at his opt-out but nodded at Yoo Min-hoo's reasoning: give chances to others.
For third-years now, every game mattered. First-round picks weren't guaranteed first-team; lower rounds didn't doom to minors and release. Pro clubs sharing intel with colleges meant watched prospects got options.
No rush for me. Worst case, tryouts.
Having bounced as a "crafty vet" in his past life, a high school senior's path felt trivial. Compared to then, his spot was heaven.
Yoo Min-hoo unpacked at the Korean house, stretched lightly, and relaxed.
***
Major League Baseball. The dream stage paying hurlers tens of millions to over a hundred million dollars yearly. Prove your skill, and you rake in sums civilians can't fathom. Other nations call sports success here the "American Dream."
But that cash demands overwhelming talent. Outside expansion rosters, active MLB players number 750. With over 2,000 drafted amateurs yearly, only decimal-point elites make it. Even bench guys are "geniuses" with elite skills.
Still, every MLB club thirsted for top talent—it was unavoidable reality.