Professional Debut

April 3, 2017, Monday. Crowds were gathering at Harry C. Polman Field in Beloit, Wisconsin. It was opening day for Single-A minor league baseball, and Beloit was hosting the home opener.

The people ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠streaming into the stadium were none other than Beloit fans. Sure, it was minor league ball, but Beloit was a professional team with a dedicated fanbase. Folks passionate about baseball bought tickets to watch just like this. Home openers especially came with all sorts of events. Fans could even snag autographed balls and handshakes from prospects the major league clubs had high hopes for.

Yoo Min-hoo stepped out of the dugout onto the field to warm up before the game and silently watched the incoming crowd. A few players stretched while signing for fans calling out from the infield seats. Over in the visitors' dugout, players from today's rivals, the Wisconsin Ironz, were loosening up as well. The vibe was a far cry from spring training, but to Yoo Min-hoo, it was nothing new.

As he stretched with a casual shoulder roll, someone called out.

"Hey."

No one else around, so it had to be him. Yoo Min-hoo looked up toward the infield seats and let out a dry chuckle. There, leaning against the railing, was a stunning blonde beaming at him.

"Mind signing for me?"

She smiled brightly, holding out a ball like any fan. Yoo Min-hoo eyed her.

"School?"

Ella stuck out her tongue. "I come all this way to see you, and that's the first thing you say?"

"Skip too much more, and Dad'll chew you out."

Clicking her tongue at him, Ella crossed her arms defiantly. "It's fine. Dad told me to come!"

She wasn't kidding. Jack and Kim Mi-hyun were off in Europe right now—a world tour courtesy of the signing bonus Yoo Min-hoo had gifted his parents. Jack had been too slammed during his playing days, and Kim Mi-hyun afterward raising him and Ella. Back before the regression, she'd never had a moment's peace cleaning up after her son's grueling pro career. This was his small way of giving back.

Whatever the case, today marked Yoo Min-hoo's pro debut. Whether he'd even pitch was up in the air, but apparently they didn't want him facing it alone without family, so they'd sent Ella.

"Man, you don't have to worry about me."

"I know you're thrilled deep down."

Yoo Min-hoo burst out laughing at her knowing grin. That's when—

"Ooooh! Roy! My best buddy!"

Someone barreled in and threw an arm around his shoulders. Catcher Tyrone Wed, acting like they'd been inseparable forever. Yoo Min-hoo shot him a look.

"What're you doing?"

"Figured you'd be nervous for your pro debut."

"Not really."

Yeah, figures. Guy like him wouldn't sweat it. Tyrone thought to himself. Of course, he had another motive for the chit-chat.

"Anyway, who's this? Girlfriend?"

His tone dripped with implication. The two of them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had sparked this misunderstanding plenty before, so Yoo Min-hoo just shrugged it off.

"My sister," Ella said.

Tyrone's jaw dropped into a perfect O. Then he remembered her family situation and flashed his signature sly grin.

"Hey there, I'm Tyrone Wed."

"Ella Brown."

"Forgive the personal question on first meet, but... got a boyfriend?"

Ella smiled sweetly. "Nope. But sorry, you're not my type."

Tyrone deflated at the blunt rejection—no hesitation whatsoever. Ella giggled, while Yoo Min-hoo shook his head with a pitying tsk.

The biggest spotlight among them? Naturally, No. 4, Tyrone. A catcher hitting cleanup meant he was a legit threat at the plate too.

As a hitter, Tyrone Wed was a pure power machine. His massive frame unleashed raw, brutish swings that could clear the fences even on mishits. Pure power-wise, he outclassed even Kim Yong-soo. Every scout agreed he had the potential for 30 homers in a full season.

Problem is making contact.

Yoo Min-hoo watched Tyrone stride to the plate from the dugout, thinking it over. That was why Tyrone hadn't gone in the first round despite the pop. In college, he'd crushed homers, but his average hovered mid-.200s—not elite contact skills.

But his eye was sharp, and he had the patience to wait for his pitch. Yoo Min-hoo figured he'd cruise to Double-A no sweat.

Triple-A might be a stretch with that swing, though.

Straight-up full cuts built for bombs. Intimidating, sure, but without refining the finesse, Triple-A pitchers would toy with him.

As Yoo Min-hoo pondered, Tyrone stepped in. Top of the 1st, two outs, runner on first. The opposing pitcher tensed at the hulking frame and tree-trunk arms, went into his windup.

Whiff!

Crack!

No hesitation on the first pitch—he unleashed. The ball exploded off the bat with a sharp report that echoed through the park. Teammates in the dugout and fans roared.

The laser shot deep... and kept going. Gone. A two-run blast over the wall.

Dugout erupted in awe at the monstrous power. Tyrone trotted the bases leisurely. Yoo Min-hoo and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the crew stood to greet him at the dugout, high-fiving. A few added goofy ceremonies that cracked everyone up.

"Talk about a hot start!"

Tyrone yanked off his helmet, hamming it up. "Gotta keep this pace, chase down that Chambers punk in Double-A."

Chambers Ricky, Beloit's ex-closer now in Double-A after last year's first-round pick. In a way, a rival for Yoo Min-hoo.

Chambers Ricky, huh...

Mid-90s heat, solid control but meh movement. Righty with slider and circle changeup—classic stuff.

Won't cross paths anytime soon.

"Hey, Roy. Pitch great today, might even see the mound."

"Still top of the first."

Tyrone grinned confidently at Yoo Min-hoo's smirk. "Don't sweat it. I'll make sure you get your shot."

As if he controlled that—but fresh off the bomb, Tyrone was buzzing.

And then top of the 9th. Beloit led Wisconsin 5-3, up two. Umpire signaled the swap. From the bullpen, Yoo Min-hoo adjusted his cap, grabbed his glove, and headed out.

The bullpen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠coach clapped his shoulder—go get 'em—and off he went.

Thud. Thud. Glove on his right hand, he climbed the mound.

"Beloit's off to a strong start."

Oakland GM Michael stroked his chin, scanning minor league results. Every morning kicked off with these—scores and stats. Not every player, but his key prospects? He tracked meticulously.

First up: Single-A.

"Outside-the-park homer... yeah, power's legit. No surprise."

Michael chuckled. Drafting Tyrone last year was pure luck. Teams ahead passed on his bat and glove flaws, letting Oakland snag him. Michael didn't hesitate. That pop was draft-best, and he loved one-tool studs. Tyrone fit his philosophy to a T.

Now, Roy...

1 IP, 2K, 1BB, 0H, 0R. FB 96.

"Solid."

No nerves on pro debut, per the manager's note. Michael nodded approvingly.

"Not bad at all."

Good start, he hummed to himself. But Double-A reports tanked his mood instantly.

Midland Empires won 5-2. MVP: Cliff Lee. 3-for-3, 2HR, 4RBI.

Win plus star prospect shining? Should be great. But the manager's comment...

"Knew it was coming..."

Cracks showed in spring camp. Pitchers vs. hitters friction. Michael had visited to gauge the vibe—it simmered down by end, but the cold war lingered.

A few instigators at the core. This brawl centered on them. No major injuries, but clubhouse damage was bad.

"What a headache."

Irritated, he read on. Simple player scuffle? Fine. But factions split pitchers vs. hitters? Serious. Hurts team play. Michael didn't care about Midland's W-L, but these guys were future Oakland teammates. Building grudges in the minors? Bad news.

He scanned gravely... then hit the end and slapped a hand over his face.

"This guy again."

Michael sighed deeply, headache blooming.