Demoted Back to Single-A
The bottom of the eighth inning ended, and the teams switched sides. In that offensive half, the home team Beloit had their fourth hitter, Tyrone, crush a go-ahead home run, successfully flipping the score to 4-3 and sending the crowd into a frenzy. Home runs, especially game-changing ones like that, always electrified the fans.
And now came the top of the ninth. A few hundred spectators chanted one player's name in unison.
"Roy Yoo! Roy Yoo! Roy Yoo!"
In response to their calls, a tall East Asian player—Yoo Min-hoo—stepped onto the field. The crowd erupted in cheers at his appearance. Receiving the roar with a calm expression, Yoo Min-hoo made his way to the mound.
With a current ERA of 2.57, nine strikeouts, and five saves already under his belt, Beloit's closer took the mound. The opposing batter tensed up, watching Yoo Min-hoo assume his emotionless pitching stance. At just twenty-something, the pitcher was firmly establishing himself as the team's shutdown guy.
The play ball sign flashed, and he immediately went into his windup.
Thwack!
The first pitch—a 96-mph fastball—buried itself into Tyrone's mitt. Strike.
His command wasn't perfect yet, but Yoo Min-hoo was always aggressive. For most power-pitching rookies, control was the biggest hurdle. Nail that down, and they could rocket through the big leagues. That's why they obsessed over it.
But Yoo Min-hoo walked a different path from your typical fireballers. Instead of forcing corner work he couldn't execute, he blasted the ball right into the strike zone.
Having nabbed first-pitch strike, he jumped right into the next delivery. He kicked off the rubber with his right foot and whipped his arm with everything he had. This time, the batter timed it and swung.
Thwack! Smack!
The bat connected. But the mishit ball rocketed back along the foul line, slamming into the netting and making it ripple. No ball, two strikes. The count was working in his favor.
Splitter? Fastball?
50/50 odds. It seemed simple enough, but Yoo Min-hoo's blank face and quicker-than-average pitching rhythm psychologically cornered the batter.
He reset his stance. Watching, the batter decided on a splitter and shortened his grip for a cut swing. Yoo Min-hoo's eyes flashed for a split second. He read the intent perfectly and, mid-windup, switched his grip.
Crunch! Sand exploded from the mound. Gritting his teeth, he crushed the ball in his left hand with maximum pressure. Full-effort throw.
The batter, prepped for a splitter, realized his mistake as the fastball screamed in—but it was too late to adjust.
Thwack! Whoosh!
The bat whistled through empty air after the ball had passed. Three pitches, three strikes. The crowd roared again.
***
"Ahh~ Another win today."
"That's three in a row already?"
"Tyrone, two-game homer streak? At this rate, you'll be in Double-A by the end of May. Stealing the starter's job from that backup Riddle guy?"
"Hahaha, I'll be waiting in Double-A, boys."
"That guy's got no command on his breaking stuff—he'll be back down quick."
"What?"
"Wahahahaha!"
The clubhouse buzzed with cheerful energy. Late April, and Beloit sat atop their division. Riding that momentum, they'd won their last three games straight, solidifying their lead.
The foundation of Beloit's success was, naturally, last year's second-rounder, Tyrone. The pressure of "hit it and it goes out" weighed heavily on opposing pitchers.
The pitching staff had its aces too. South American starter Carlos, their number one, delivered a Quality Start every time out, anchoring the team. With his early-90s fastball and sharp-dropping curve, he was similar to Yoo Min-hoo in style.
"No game tomorrow—anyone up for drinks?"
"Hell yeah!"
The players started bonding. Indeed, tomorrow was an off day.
"Hey, Roy. You in?"
Tyrone asked amid the excited chatter, but Yoo Min-hoo waved him off.
"Pass."
His teammates didn't push. It wasn't that Yoo Min-hoo didn't get along with the guys—quite the opposite. He bantered in the dugout and shared sharp player analysis that helped several teammates. But he skipped these drinking outings.
As the others filed out, the last to leave, Yoo Min-hoo tidied his locker and headed to his one-room apartment.
Most minor leaguers roomed together—huge signing bonuses weren't the norm, and Single-A pay was laughably low. Some even worked side gigs. Plenty on the team shared places.
Back home, Yoo Min-hoo fired up his laptop. Surfing for info, he furrowed his brow. He was checking minor league news—specifically Double-A.
Lost again.
He sighed at one team's results: Oakland's Double-A affiliate, Midland. A crushing 9-2 defeat. While Beloit soared at the top of their division, their upper-level sister team languished in last place.
It was a total mess.
Not just a weak team, though. They've got the talent.
Hitters: a five-tool prospect who could anchor the cleanup spot, a contact guy with a sweet swing. Pitchers: an innings-eating starter with strikeout stuff. And in the pen, last year's first-rounder, Chamber Ricky.
The problem's Chamber Ricky.
Today's relief outing: walks, hits, then a homer. He blew the game. His ERA sat at 5.34—disastrous. A far cry from his sub-3.00 dominance as Single-A closer.
At this rate, he'll be demoted soon.
Minors didn't coddle underperformers. No competition? Down you go. Harsh reality.
***
Oakland's Double-A squad, Midland. Heading to the mound for a pitching change, manager Blaine Scol glanced at the icy dugout with a heavy heart.
The team vibe was toxic. Endless losses bred pitcher-hitter friction. No squad rife with infighting wins.
Midland was a sinking ship.
At least today's better.
Up 7-0. Starter Brian McKen had thrown six scoreless, and the bats piled it on.
Win this big, and the mood flips.
Blaine craved victory more than anyone.
And the pitcher coming in...
"Chamber, light another fire and that's it—no more chances."
Blaine warned. Chamber Ricky, taking the ball on the mound, shot a dissatisfied look but nodded.
"Yes."
Blaine sighed shortly and stepped off. Play resumed. That day, Midland blew the 7-run lead, surrendering 8 for a brutal loss. Chamber Ricky, tagged for 4 runs, was demoted to Single-A immediately.
***
May 1st dawned. Tyrone arrived early for practice and asked a teammate, puzzled.
"Chamber's here?"
"Yeah, saw him head to the manager's office."
"Huh. Thought he was cruising up."
Tyrone muttered, amused. His teammate scowled.
"Got his ass handed to him in Double-A."
Voice laced with irritation and resentment.
Tyrone blinked, surprised.
"What happened?"
"Greeted him nice this morning, and the prick snaps at me. Total asshole."
"Ah~"
Tyrone gave a wry smile, understanding. Chamber Ricky had stood out in Beloit pre-callup. But his attitude...
"You know how he is. Cut him slack."
Tyrone clicked his tongue. The teammate's face stayed sour.
This could get messy.
Tyrone sighed inwardly.
Manager Wyndham eyed the seated Chamber Ricky, sighing internally.
"How was Double-A?"
"Wasn't feeling great."
Chamber Ricky's curt reply drew a nod.
"I see."
Of course, his real issue was clashing with teammates—but Wyndham skipped that. He knew the guy's personality.
Didn't expect it to escalate to fists, though.
He tsked inwardly before speaking.
"You flew in today—rest up, skip practice."
Chamber Ricky nodded, then remembered something.
"By the way, about my role..."
"Hm."
"I'm the closer, right?"
Wyndham stroked his chin as Chamber Ricky grinned confidently. Predictable from the prideful, arrogant type. No surprise there.
But committing? Tricky.
Yoo Min-hoo wasn't shaky as closer. That was the problem.
"Can't promise that."
"......"
Chamber Ricky's eyes twitched. But he said no more.
Meeting over, he stood. As he turned to leave, Wyndham called.
"Chamber."
"......"
He paused and looked back. Wyndham said flatly,
"Don't cause trouble."
Chamber Ricky shrugged nonchalantly and exited. Watching him go, Wyndham let out a deep sigh.