Triple-A Debut
Spring training had wrapped up, and the regular season schedule was now in full swing. Roy Yoo had earned his passing grade during camp, successfully securing a spot to open the season in Triple-A.
Tyrone Wed, who had been his battery mate all last year, joined him in Triple-A as well. As a hitter, Tyrone was a pure power hitter through and through. His sheer size alone was intimidating. On top of that, he'd elevated his already standout power even further while climbing from Single-A to Double-A last season. For reference, he could bench press 160 kilograms—and that raw power translated directly to the batter's box, where it was unmatched. With his tremendous power and bat speed, Tyrone posed a serious threat to any pitcher.
But Tyrone had weaknesses too. Or rather, glaring flaws. His biggest issue was his lack of hitting ability. If he'd had the contact skills to match that power, he'd have been tearing up the majors by now. Just as pitchers with blazing fastballs often struggled with control, hitting was the Achilles' heel for power hitters like him.
As a hitter, Tyrone still had work to do before cracking the majors. But as a catcher? He was already elite. No speedy runner dared attempt a steal against him. Despite his massive frame, he was surprisingly agile, excelling at fielding bouncers. His pitcher framing put throwers at ease, guiding them to their preferred zones—or, if needed, aggressively exploiting the opponent's weaknesses. In that sense, Tyrone leaned more toward defensive catcher than offensive one.
Oakland had drafted him for his glove work, not his bat. Polish the hitting, and he could slot right into a big-league lineup tomorrow—his catching skills were that sharp.
Triple-A splits into the International League and the Pacific Coast League. The Nashville Ports belonged to the PCL's American Conference Southern Division, alongside the Memphis Airs (St. Louis Perfectors affiliate), New Orleans Zephyrs (Miami Sharks), and Round Rock Mavericks (Texas Senators).
The season kicked off, and by Wednesday, April 11—after some time had passed—Roy arrived earlier than most at their home field, First Tennessee Park. He unpacked lightly and headed to the diamond. Today held special meaning for him. As he stretched and strolled the grass, a voice called out.
"Fancy that. Out here this early."
He turned at the clear woman's voice, eyeing her curiously. She smiled warmly.
"Long time no see, Roy."
"Yeah, it has been."
It was Marsha. Roy blinked at running into the famous magazine reporter so early, curiosity lacing his tone.
"Here for an interview?"
"Yep."
"To see Cabin Green?"
Cabin Green: the opponent's cleanup hitter for the Memphis Airs. Twenty-four years old, college product, first-round pick by St. Louis in '17. He'd started in big-league camp but faltered against breaking balls, landing in Triple-A. Improve that, and he could get called up midseason—evaluators said as much.
Marsha leaned on the chain-link railing of the stands, chin in hand, gazing down at him with an odd expression.
Feature story, huh...
Baseball Research's early-season prospect feature was unique. They picked five pitching and five hitting minor-league standouts, dissecting strengths, weaknesses, personalities—everything in exhaustive detail. Incredibly accurate stuff. And those ten players? They almost always cracked major-league rosters that year.
So Marsha was surprised by the VP's order to cover Roy. Sure, he was rising fast—but still, he lacked that major-league polish. What did the VP—known for his eye for talent—see in him? Pondering that, she said:
"Roy, I'm here to interview you."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Unexpected."
Marsha eyed his puzzled mutter.
"Tell me about it. But you won't stonewall me again, right?"
Remembering how he'd teased her questions last time, she spoke curtly. Roy burst out laughing.
The Memphis Airs were a nightmare matchup for pitchers. Blame St. Louis's farm system. The Perfectors boasted 11 World Series titles—NL record. (AL's was held by the New York Kingdomz with 27.) Longtime powerhouse without massive cash, they'd punched above their weight through masterful prospect development.
Oakland nurtured talent well too, but they'd trade guys ruthlessly when needed—a symptom of tight budgets. St. Louis? They cherished franchise stars, most of whom were homegrown. Right now, the Perfectors thrived on pitching; hitting upgrades were next. Their farm overflowed with bat prospects.
That made facing Memphis tough—especially their cleanup trio, led by Cabin Green, who manufactured runs efficiently.
Top of the first. Post-ceremony, Nashville's starter climbed the mound. Marsha, watching from the stands, looked surprised.
Roy Yoo?
Today's starter: Roy Yoo.
"Hmm."
Atop the mound, Roy scanned the field with a nostalgic air.
"What's up?"
Tyrone, mask off, looked puzzled. Roy shrugged it off.
"Just... it's been forever since I've started an official game."
Last spring training, he'd done a few—but only three innings each. A true start like this? Ages ago.
"Right, no starts since your high school injury? Two years, then?"
"Yeah."
Feels like ten.
Roy chuckled inwardly. Right-handed? He wouldn't have dreamed of starting.
"Tough opponent today, but let's crush it."
Tyrone clapped his shoulder and headed down. Roy watched him go, took a deep breath, and settled his mind. Back to his stoic face, he began warm-ups.
Thwack— Thwack—
The ball smacked the mitt louder, crisper than usual. Moments later, the leadoff hitter stepped in lefty. Roy rolled his shoulders as the ump called play ball. He set, swung—and fired.
Thwack!
"Ball!"
It jammed in but missed the zone.
"...?"
Roy frowned oddly. Tyrone tossed it back. Roy tilted his head, reset, and unleashed again. This one bounced hard. Tyrone swapped balls, puzzled, and returned it.
Hey, Roy—what's with you today?
Tyrone felt off-kilter. Roy's control wasn't elite, but it was steady—no wild swings like this. He was the guy who minimized command issues despite them. A year without this? Natural to be thrown.
Overthrowing.
Pitching coach Wayne muttered from the dugout. He knew this was Roy's first start since the injury—two years out. The weight of it? He got it.
That subtle thrill, tension, anticipation, joy, excitement.
Roy's headspace, probably. Emotions disrupting his mechanics.
Great mental game. You can tell from how he throws normally.
Control ties heavily to mindset. Power guys lose it chasing perfection, tensing up unconsciously. But Roy? Never in the season or camp. Strong mind meant even keels, unconscious mastery.
Hard to believe he's a rookie sometimes.
Wayne chuckled dryly. For once, Roy felt... human.
Might need an early hook today.
He pondered the next arm.
"Hmm."
Two pitches in, Roy had self-diagnosed.
Unconsciously gripping too hard. Pumped up?
He furrowed his brow.
Not good.
This wouldn't end well unchecked.
Need to loosen up.
Exhaling, he raised his left hand, flashing Tyrone a sign that blew everyone's minds.
Tyrone gaped, dumbfounded. Roy's left: thumb tucked, four fingers up.
Number four.
One meaning.
Intentional walk?