Garage Surprise and Wild Card Tension
At 5 p.m., Jack, who had briefly visited Seattle's home stadium, Safeco Field, for work, spotted an unfamiliar blue sedan in the garage and furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Did we have a guest?"
Muttering to himself, he parked his car and headed inside. There, he found his son sitting in the living room watching TV, and his face lit up with joy.
"Roy, you're back?"
"You just got home?"
Roy Yoo rose from his seat and greeted Jack. Nodding at him, Jack sank onto the sofa and said,
"Great start to your first season. I barely made it to Double-A myself."
Jack chuckled softly, reminiscing about his minor league days. Drafted by Boston in the fifth round out of high school, he fondly recalled those times. Just then, Ella descended from upstairs, spotted Jack on the living room sofa, and greeted him with a beaming smile.
"Dad, hi! You just got back?"
Jack eyed his unusually hyped-up daughter with puzzlement.
"Something good happen today?"
"Yeah!"
Jack tilted his head at Ella's unusually bright greeting after so long.
"By the way, we have a visitor? There was a car in the garage."
At Jack's question, Ella burst into laughter—"huhu"—and dangled a car key triumphantly.
"Ta-da! It's mine!"
Jack's expression went blank.
"Confiscated."
"Why!"
As Ella protested vehemently, Jack explained,
"Your birthday's tomorrow, so you nagged your mom into buying it, right?"
Ella puffed out her cheeks in frustration.
"No! Roy bought it for me!"
Jack's gaze shifted to Roy on the sofa.
"You bought it?"
"Yeah. She helped me a lot during my injury. Just a thank-you gift."
"Right, right! I took such good care of you!"
"I don't recall Ella doing much while I was injured."
The father and daughter bickered in unison. Roy gave a wry smile as he watched them. It was true Ella had helped a lot during his injury—at least in his life before regression. Either way, there was nothing to be done about a gift from his own son, so Jack just sighed. Meanwhile, Kim Mi-hyun emerged from the kitchen.
"You're home? Ella, heading out?"
"Yeah, Mom. Just gonna take a quick spin around the neighborhood."
Mi-hyun nodded at her excited daughter.
"Okay, go ahead."
"What do you think you're gonna do driving solo as a newbie?"
Jack grimaced and stood up.
"Want me to come?"
"Yeah. Be back soon."
While Jack and Ella were out, Roy headed to his room and booted up his computer. Stretching lightly, he logged onto the internet.
Ho-seok hit another homer.
Lee Ho-seok, who had formed a battery with Roy back in Korea, had made the major league roster during September's expansion. He'd already notched three home runs since his debut. Kim Ji-seok, a junior from his second year of high school, had grown even more over the past year and been drafted in the first round. Kang Jae-seong, from the same grade, went in the second round to pro teams.
As Roy checked up on his old high school teammates, he paused at an article about one player, his expression turning serious.
Lee Soo-min.
A left-handed pitcher two years younger than Roy—and in the future, the monster rookie who would dominate as MLB's greatest southpaw. Roy let out a hollow chuckle at the article's headline. It pointed out issues with this second-year pitcher's overreliance on his fastball, topping out at 154 km/h. In 2017 Korean high school baseball, Lee Soo-min stood out the most, earning MVP for pitchers and becoming the top high school arm in the country. But he had flaws: poor control and no breaking balls. The article advised mastering command and offspeed pitches for greater growth.
Roy rested his chin on his hand as he read.
In other words, his fastball alone overwhelms hitters enough.
No need for breaking stuff. He'd posted a 1.57 ERA that year, with a 9.67 K/9. Walks were an issue, but no one could nitpick those numbers. Naturally, he was a prime target for MLB scouts—and he held special meaning for Roy.
Silently, Roy pulled up videos of Lee Soo-min pitching. The form on screen mirrored his own. Simple reason: Roy had copied it.
Though it's his future form.
Every pitcher has a role model. Emulating a respected vet or similar stylist helps. Roy had drawn inspiration from Lee Soo-min, future Cy Young winner and World Series hero for the New York Kingdomz—the best lefty in MLB history. Pinpoint 100 mph heat, diving splitter, changeup for timing, big-breaking curve. On good days, fastball and splitter alone crushed foes.
Am I about a peak Lee Soo-min clone now? Copying a player who doesn't even exist yet. Kinda weird.
Roy smirked to himself.
Every October, after MLB's 161-game grind, teams reviewed their report cards and planned ahead. Top teams shelved it for postseason festivities. This year, Oakland—payroll rank 24th, lower tier—snagged a Wild Card spot: division second, league fifth. Opponent: Boston, league fourth. Game at Boston's Fenway Park.
Oakland GM Michael, there to watch, gazed from the VIP room at Fenway's green expanse packed with roaring fans. He sighed inwardly.
Never gets less intimidating. Can't get used to it.
Shaking his head, someone called out cheerfully.
"Oh, who do we have here—Michael!"
"Hm? Ah, Ben."
It was Boston's GM, Ben. They shook hands warmly, and Michael chuckled.
"You look good."
"Can't complain."
Ben, a burly ex-player, dwarfed Michael, making him seem slender.
Ben eyed the sellout crowd.
"Always a sight, huh?"
"Sure is."
"We'll win today."
Michael replied to Ben's bravado,
"We'll see after the game."
He knew Boston held the edge. Midseason injuries to their bullpen ace and cleanup hitter had weakened them, but timely returns made them division-title contenders.
"One thing I'm curious about."
"What?"
"How'd you snag Roy Yoo?"
Salty much? Michael shook his head inwardly.
October 7th. Wild Card deciding game. Oakland vs. Boston underway. The Yoo family watched on living room TV.
"Who you rooting for?"
Roy smiled at Ella's question.
"The winner."
"You're Oakland's prospect. Shouldn't you root for them?"
He shrugged.
"Oakland winning doesn't really help me."
"..."
True, but so blunt. Ella stared in disbelief. Roy turned back to the game silently. For him, it was study material—analyzing plays, pondering his responses in those spots. His intensity made casual viewer Ella feel a bit cowed.
"Someday, Roy, you'll play in games like that, right?"
All eyes turned to her. Ella flushed awkwardly. Chin in hand, Roy replied,
"Who knows."
"What? No fire in that answer? Not like the hotshot minor leaguer."
"Future's uncertain."
He was different now from pre-regression—younger, with a decade's wisdom. But that didn't guarantee the majors.
"Plenty of guys with more talent than me."
He knew pitchers with strengths he lacked. Beat them to make MLB. And he had the simple answer.
Effort.
Fill gaps through hard work. He craved ace status.
"Can't predict the future, but I want on that stage soon."
Jack nodded as Roy eyed the TV.
"Don't rush. You're advancing faster than anyone."
Roy smiled.