Road to Single-A
After finalizing his contract with Oakland, Yoo Min-hoo returned to Korea and diligently balanced training with rehab. Jack even visited North Myeong High's baseball team at the request of his old teammate, Director Park Sung-tae. Just having a former Major League power-hitting legend observe their practices was a huge motivator for the North Myeong High players.
The third-years, finally free from the stress of college entrance exams, enjoyed a brief moment of liberation. Park Soo-yeon, who had grown closest to Yoo Min-hoo, easily got into her top-choice university.
Though he'd smoothly achieved his first goal of signing with a Major League organization, Yoo Min-hoo couldn't afford to slack off. The Single-A league he'd been assigned to ran a full season from early April to late August, and the competition level was no joke. Needless to say, it was a world apart from high school ball in every way.
In high school leagues, even powerhouse teams had few real threats beyond their core players. But pro leagues were different. Sure, there were top and bottom of the order, winners and losers, but they were all pros—physically and technically superior to high schoolers. College players might hold their own, but most high schoolers struggled mightily in Single-A.
Yoo Min-hoo's rehab was only just nearing its end. His fastball velocity was recovering, but not yet back to its peak. Control was still spotty, and his breaking balls weren't elite either.
I've got a mountain of homework for the next three or four months, Yoo Min-hoo muttered to himself as he fired from the North Myeong High bullpen.
Thwack! The ball slammed into the mitt with a crisp echo.
Catching for him right now was none other than Lee Ho-seok, who'd asked Director Park Sung-tae to train alongside Yoo Min-hoo at North Myeong High. At Lee Ho-seok's request, he was handling Yoo Min-hoo's practice pitches.
After about 30 full-effort throws, Yoo Min-hoo paused. Lee Ho-seok pulled off his catcher's mask, sticking out his tongue in awe.
"Your fastball's got more pop than Ji-seok's already. What's it clocking?"
"Hit 148 kph yesterday."
"Kek."
A heater nearing 150 kph—rare even in pro leagues. The fastest Lee Ho-seok had seen in Futures was 149.
"Insane."
"Velocity's not the point. It's control." Yoo Min-hoo sighed, flexing his left fist. Even in his glory days as a lefty ace, command hadn't been his strength—at least not by pro standards. High schoolers might call it solid, but it wouldn't cut it in Double-A, let alone Single-A. Single-A was tough, but Double-A was another beast entirely.
Rookie, R+, Short-Season A, Single-A, High-A—they were all for young players building fundamentals. Double-A demanded skill and experience to survive. Cocky prospects breezing out of Single-A often flailed against sharper control and nastier breaking stuff from hitters, or got crushed by pro-level plate discipline and hitting precision from pitchers.
In game terms, R through Short-A was the tutorial. Single-A and High-A? Starter village.
"What was your top velocity before the injury?"
"95-96 mph, so about 153 kph."
Lee Ho-seok whistled. No wonder he was a famous high school ace in the States.
"Once you get that velocity back, minors should be a breeze."
Yoo Min-hoo chuckled at Lee Ho-seok's casual toss-out. "You know better than that."
"..."
Lee Ho-seok paused mid-strip of his gear, looking at Yoo Min-hoo seriously before nodding. "Yeah. It's tougher than I thought."
Yoo Min-hoo listened quietly, sipping from his water bottle.
"It's like... same game, but the vibe's totally different from high school, levels aside." Lee Ho-seok sighed heavily. "Hits you what real competition means."
Yoo Min-hoo smirked. "Pros are just the best ballplayers gathered in one place."
Wiping sweat as he removed his cap, Yoo Min-hoo added, "But saying it's 'tougher than expected' still means it's doable."
Lee Ho-seok burst out laughing. "You'll crush it."
As December brought colder weather, the Yoo family decided to head back to their Seattle home before year-end.
Lee Ho-seok's mom next door was bummed to hear they were leaving the States. "You won't come back to Korea once you're in America?"
Walking to school with overlapping timing, Lee Yoon-ji asked curiously. Yoo Min-hoo replied, "Who knows? Not like I can't."
He'd made plenty of new friends here—especially Lee Ho-seok, who meshed perfectly. They'd even promised to train together next time.
Lee Yoon-ji nodded, a bit disappointed. Yoo Min-hoo laughed watching her.
Soo-yeon and Yoon-ji got close, but she'll miss 'em.
Aside from the team, Park Soo-yeon and Lee Yoon-ji were his only real pals. Walking in silence, Yoo Min-hoo spoke up. "When I make it to the majors, come visit in the States. I'll hook you up with game tickets."
"For real?"
She grinned, and he nodded. "You gotta keep that promise, okay?"
He burst out laughing at her sly smile.
Winter was when Major League front offices kicked into high gear. Stove season brought change to every club, big or small—some lost firepower, others bolstered it. Preseason groundwork. Every team hustled to snag any edge.
Oakland was always the busiest come winter.
"Never thought the GM would sign a high school pitcher," said Mac Camry, Michael's special advisor.
Michael shrugged. "Cheaper than college guys."
"Even so."
A million bucks wasn't pocket change for Oakland. High schoolers had upside but massive risk, so Michael usually favored pricier collegians.
Shelling out for high schooler Roy Yoo? Unusual.
Michael grinned. "Know what all high school rookies share? One big flaw?"
"Your usual spiel."
Mac nodded. "Sky-high egos from dominating high school. Overconfident style, inflexible play."
"Right. They struggle in pros. A few 'real deals' rise, but..."
Those true talents? Rare as hen's teeth. Small-market Oakland couldn't gamble on long shots.
"Roy Yoo's different?" Mac asked skeptically.
Michael leaned back. "Last year, he was typical—arrogant, power-over-everything."
But something shifted. Total 180. Mind more flexible now.
He'd bail on bad matchups. Take hits when needed, allow runs without folding. Key? Not caring.
"He sees the big picture now."
"Meaning?"
"He can complicate baseball." Michael's expression turned knowing. "Game's simple at core: throw, hit, field. Introducing complexity there? Massive power."
"Totally unlike typical high school rookies. Injury history's a plus—shows stability. Rehab was no joke either."
High schoolers flop more than collegians due to experience gap. College leagues toughen them up.
Yoo Min-hoo's method? Beating better hitters. Takes skill and savvy.
"How's that possible?" Mac looked baffled. Total transformation post-injury?
"Beats me. But high-upside signing? Fact. That's why we did it." Michael smirked. "Personally? Sky-high expectations."
Future ace. That's how Michael rated Yoo Min-hoo.