Clash of Rivals: North Myeong vs. Gyeongsang
North Myeong High and Gyeongsang High boasted the longest histories among Busan's high school baseball teams, having produced countless pro stars. North Myeong had recently stumbled due to scandals that tarnished its reputation, but its status as a powerhouse wasn't so easily shaken. The two schools had maintained a fierce rivalry, with bench-clearing brawls erupting frequently during games in the past. Even in non-critical matchups, their games always drew attention.
Interestingly, however, they were also the teams that played the most practice games against each other. These days, their relationship had evolved from cutthroat antagonism into a true rivalry of goodwill. As a result, many players from both sides were on friendly terms and had a solid grasp of their opponents' strengths.
After lining up on Gyeongsang High's practice field for greetings, the two teams headed straight to their dugouts to prepare. North Myeong was up to bat first. For the top of the first, the fielders grabbed their gear and took the field.
Director Park Sung-tae approached Yoo Min-hoo, who was preparing in one spot.
"You good to go?"
"No problem, as long as I don't push too hard."
Park Sung-tae nodded at Yoo Min-hoo's calm response. Rising from his seat, Yoo Min-hoo took a light breath and pulled his glove from his bag. He slipped the oddly shaped glove—different from a standard one—onto his right hand and strode to the mound.
"Huh?"
The first to notice something off was third baseman Kang Jae-seong.
Wait, is Min-hoo hyung wearing a lefty glove on his right hand?
The second-year catcher Bae Min-gwan, wearing the mask in place of Lee Ho-seok, voiced his confusion too. As North Myeong players one by one registered the sight of their ace heading to the mound as a lefty, puzzled looks spread. From the opposing dugout, Gyeongsang's director Kang Hak-gyu narrowed his eyes at the scene.
A lefty?
He knew Yoo Min-hoo as a pitcher with mediocre velocity but a diverse arsenal of breaking balls and precise control. Not intimidating, but no pushover either. That was Kang Hak-gyu's assessment. But seeing this pitcher suddenly mount the mound left-handed left him baffled.
Park wouldn't pull a stunt like this for laughs. There's gotta be something up.
Kang Hak-gyu pondered. A veteran of pro baseball and hailed as Korea's top director, he never dreamed the pitcher had switched arms due to injury.
On the mound, Yoo Min-hoo fired a few casual warm-up tosses. Light effort, no strain. Yet Bae Min-gwan felt the speed rivaled Yoo Min-hoo's usual right-handed stuff.
Velocity's about the same as his right hand, but control's way off. Is hyung seriously pitching lefty?
Bae Min-gwan furrowed his brow in confusion. Finishing his warm-ups, Yoo Min-hoo jogged in place on the mound, closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply. Opening them, he glanced at the batter stepping in, then tilted his head down to eye his left hand.
How many years has it been?
In reality, just one. But to Yoo Min-hoo, it felt like over a decade.
He rolled his left shoulder once, slipped his hand into the glove, and gripped a fastball. His left shoulder could handle throws without issue in practice, but in a game, it was dicey. Velocity wasn't fully back, control neither.
But that's enough.
Fixing his gaze on the catcher's mitt, Yoo Min-hoo lifted his right foot, raising both hands high. A dynamic motion unlike his righty form—purely for unleashing maximum velocity.
"Hup!"
Inhaling sharply, he drove off the mound with his right foot. Dirt sprayed up, the recoil surging through his body. The ball, gripped fiercely in his left hand, exploded free and rocketed toward the mitt.
Thwack!
The crisp sound echoed from the mitt. But Bae Min-gwan, who caught it, and even the Gyeongsang batter watching from the plate both flinched. Kang Hak-gyu's eyes widened. The raw power was obvious at a glance.
As everyone in the stadium gawked at Yoo Min-hoo, he casually flexed his left hand and murmured to himself.
Hmm. Feels good.
Rolling his left shoulder again, he extended the glove toward Bae Min-gwan. Snapping out of his shock at the unexpected heat, the catcher tossed it back.
That velocity... felt like Ji-seok's.
No, maybe even faster. What the hell is this guy's deal?
While the catcher reeled, Yoo Min-hoo adjusted his cap on the mound, running through his routine. From the dugout, Park Sung-tae scanned the stunned opponents and muttered.
Min-hoo's lefty velocity right now is 143 to 145 km/h... Pretty solid for a month of serious training. Then again, this is the shoulder that used to fire 150s like nothing. Grip strength's improved too.
"D-Director, what the...?"
A coach stammered in bewilderment. Park Sung-tae shrugged nonchalantly.
"Nothing to get worked up about."
His calm tone belied the dugout's vibe—everyone but pitching coach Han Myeong-hwan thought the same.
How are we not supposed to freak out?
A righty ace suddenly pitching lefty with fireball velocity? Plenty to freak out over.
"He was originally a lefty anyway."
Park Sung-tae said, eyes locked on Yoo Min-hoo, who had just struck out Gyeongsang's leadoff hitter.
But it's still too soon for game action as a lefty.
Being a pitcher wasn't just about velocity. For over a century, baseball equated "power pitcher" with fireballer, measured solely by speed. But as the game grew analytical, that changed. Movement, control, spin rate, breaking ball drop, synergy with fastballs—all factors redefined dominance. A 140s lefty with elite command and movement outshone a mid-150s wild arm.
By that metric, lefty Yoo Min-hoo was just a fastball guy for now. In terms of team value, righty Yoo Min-hoo contributed more. So why the lefty start?
Eccentric? Ingenious?
Recalling yesterday's talk with Yoo Min-hoo, Park Sung-tae chuckled.
No—scary how well he knows himself.
After fanning the first batter straight up, Yoo Min-hoo let out an inward wry laugh.
Feels weird striking him out head-on like that.
His style was deception—stealing timing, fooling hitters. Survival demanded it. Adjusting his cap, he drew a deep breath. Great, he'd whiffed the leadoff, but no room for complacency. His lefty fastball was just speed, no different from a pitching machine. Poor control clustered pitches middle-in. Familiarize yourself, and you could hit it. Worse, the velocity meant solid contact equaled extra bases.
Number two hitter: Lee Mun-seong, faced him before at the Golden Lion Tournament.
Lacks power but great eye and bat control. Reads timing well.
Yoo Min-hoo went into his windup and unleashed.
Thwack!
The ball slammed home. Lee Mun-seong eyed it once.
Fast.
He took a few dry swings, then set up.
Dunno what's up, but it's mid-140s heat. That's for sure.
But.
That's it. Control's off—everything middle. I can hit this.
Gripping the bat tight, he recalled the fastball's timing and locked onto Yoo Min-hoo's windup.
Hands high—count begins.
3.
Crack! Foot drives the mound.
2.
Arm whips—the ball rockets toward the zone.
1. Now!
Crack!
Lee Mun-seong timed it perfectly, but pushing the ball, it sailed foul down the first-base line. Timing spot-on, but shoved due to raw power.
Tracking the flight, Yoo Min-hoo noted inwardly.
Makes contact right away, as expected.
No surprise for someone who knew Lee Mun-seong's contact skills.
But that doesn't mean no counter.
With a smirk, he caught the ump's return toss, then casually removed the odd glove. Everyone on the field blinked in confusion. He switched it to the other hand and lightly rolled his right arm.
The dugout—and field—erupted in shock. Yoo Min-hoo's glove was a custom ambidextrous model, ordered from the States.