Thanks for Cooperating Diligently
“Thanks for cooperating so diligently with the interviews over the past month.”
That was what Marsha said as they wrapped up a brief interview after returning to their home stadium following the road trip schedule.
Roy Yoo looked puzzled at her words.
“Are you heading out now?”
“Yeah. Now I’m going back to headquarters to write the article.”
“Being selected as a top prospect by Baseball Research—that’s quite an honor.”
“Hmm. It’s not official yet. There’s an internal meeting first, so don’t get your hopes up.”
Roy Yoo let out a small chuckle as Marsha shrugged her shoulders.
“One last question.”
“...?”
“That strikeout against Joey Barton last year.”
She’s surprisingly persistent.
As Roy Yoo mused to himself, Marsha pressed on.
“What made you decide to throw a fastball there?”
Back then, Roy had struck out the previous year’s Major League home run king with a brilliant display, but throwing a straight fastball in that spot had been a gamble close to recklessness. And from everything Marsha had observed about Roy up to now, he wasn’t the type to make gambling plays.
“Hmm. If I could’ve avoided it, I would have. But the situation didn’t allow for that. Even if Joey Barton was rusty from lack of game action, he’s still a hitter who’s a handful for a Single-A pitcher.”
Marsha nodded in agreement. Smiling at her, Roy continued.
“In that situation, the gamble was the best option.”
“The gamble was the best?”
As Marsha tilted her head in confusion, Roy nodded.
“Turning a situation where you can’t measure the odds into a pure gamble—that’s a win in itself, isn’t it?”
In other words, turning an unwinnable spot into one where victory’s possible but uncertain?
Marsha interpreted it that way and clicked her tongue inwardly.
“You make baseball way too complicated.”
Roy just shrugged at her response, and she couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sight.
After a moment of laughing, she groaned softly, stood up, adjusted her bag, and said,
“Anyway, keep pushing and get to the Majors soon.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Heh, alright, I’m off then. See you later, Roy.”
Roy waved back as she gave a light wave goodbye.
“What? That reporter girl’s gone?”
“Looks like her coverage schedule’s over.”
Roy answered Cole Klaus’s question matter-of-factly.
Cole looked at him with a hint of regret and muttered,
“Should’ve at least talked to her.”
“She didn’t seem to like players hitting on her.”
“Really?”
Cole scratched his head at Roy’s words.
Finishing the conversation, Roy headed straight up to the bullpen.
Thwack!
Moments later, the crisp sound of the ball slamming into the mitt echoed through the bullpen.
Watching him, Cole wore a bitter expression.
He’s fast, as always.
With Cole’s fastball topping out at 91 mph, he couldn’t help envying Roy, who effortlessly touched 96. On Roy’s good days, he even hit 97.
He’d long realized that envying talents he didn’t have was a waste of time, but envy was envy.
As he silently watched Roy’s bullpen session, Tyrone appeared.
“Hey, Cole. Roy here?”
“He’s pitching in the pen right now. What’s up?”
“Nah, just something I wanna ask.”
Tyrone scratched his head while eyeing Roy pitching in the bullpen, muttering under his breath, “Wait a sec or whatever.”
Soon after, Roy finished his bullpen and came down. Tyrone approached him.
“Oh, Roy. Got a question for you.”
“What is it?”
Tyrone spoke to him as he wiped off his sweat, looking puzzled.
“The hitting coach just said that when I step up to the plate, I’m too focused on making contact, making my swing look unnatural. What do you think?”
“Why ask me?”
Tyrone replied flatly to Roy’s reluctant expression.
“You’re the guy who specializes in ripping into hitters’ weaknesses.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
Roy sighed and shook his head. It felt a bit odd, but Tyrone wasn’t wrong. And Roy had noticed Tyrone’s hitting issues lately too.
“He’s right on the money. You’re too contact-obsessed these days. That’s making your swing unnatural, no doubt.”
“I’ve been gripping the bat shorter to raise my average—even singles are fine—but yeah, my average’s up a bit.”
Tyrone was spot on. His slugging had dipped, but his batting average had risen solidly. Slugging showed power, average showed technique, so it aligned with his intent—no big issue on the surface.
“That’s the problem.”
“Raising my average is the problem?”
Roy nodded at Tyrone’s question, and Tyrone’s face shifted oddly. Cole, listening nearby, mirrored the expression.
Tyrone asked, looking baffled.
“Getting the results I wanted is a problem?”
“Getting results as intended is good. But I’m talking about a more fundamental issue.”
Roy began explaining step by step.
“Tyrone, shifting from slugging to average focus is natural for a hitter like you. You’ve got the power to overwhelm pitchers, but your precision’s lacking. And even easing up, you can still clear the fences, so no need to max out every swing.”
Easing power naturally aids contact.
“The issue is you can’t refine your swing just by dialing back power or choking up while keeping your current form.”
Tyrone’s stance was optimized for distance. Roy believed that trying to adjust it toward an average without altering its foundation was impossible—it might bring short-term gains, but would ultimately collapse his long-term balance. That was what the coach had pointed out.
“Hmm, so what you’re saying, Roy, is...”
“You need to overhaul the swing itself. The coach probably thinks so too but held back, figuring you’d stress over changing a long-used form.”
Tyrone fell into thought. Roy was right—he resisted form changes. He’d produced with this stance; switching now bruised the ego.
“What do you think?”
Tyrone asked seriously. Roy met his gaze and answered honestly.
“No one right answer. But the Majors are all about adaptation. To handle it, players need flexibility. My dad changed his swing multiple times in his career.”
The Hall of Fame slugger Jack Brown’s name made Tyrone even more serious.
“Hey, Roy. Pitching coach wants you.”
A bullpen catcher called out then.
“I’m off.”
“Thanks for the advice. Drinks on me next time.”
Tyrone replied gratefully. As Roy left and Tyrone scratched his head, Cole spoke up.
“You consult Roy on this stuff?”
“Yeah. Last year’s slump? Talked it out with him, fixed a lot.”
“Not the coach?”
“Did that too. Coach and Roy say similar things, but Roy’s easier to grasp.”
“Hmm.”
Cole stroked his chin, surprised.
May 17th, Thursday. Final game of a three-game series against the Round Rock Express at Nashville Ports’ home stadium.
Starting pitcher Roy Yoo lightly adjusted his cap. Top of the 6th, two outs, runner on second. Two strikes, two balls. One more out to end the inning, and he fiddled with his cap.
Nashville Ports fans in the stands chanted “K, K, K!”
After a leadoff double, Roy had fanned the next two. And scoreless so far—his first shutout start.
Into his motion, Roy fired. The batter swung early on the changeup. Third straight K, crowd roaring.
Descending the mound, Roy exchanged quick high-fives with the fielders.
Score: 2-0. Leading without runs, fans hoped for more Roy, but up came bullpen reliever Cole Klaus.
Some fans sighed in disappointment as Cole began.
Leadoff hitter: Belly Crove. Alongside Memphis’s Kevin Green, the league’s hottest bat right now.
“Hot hitter” meant “threatening nightmare” for pitchers.
This guy should be in the Majors already—why torment us here?
Cole grumbled inwardly, then sighed deeply.
Guess to make the Majors myself, I gotta handle guys like him.
Cole set on the mound. Belly Crove readied.
Gripping the ball in his glove, Cole whipped his arm—thwack! It burrowed outside into the mitt. A precise 91 mph fastball.
Belly stepped back, thinking, Sharp as ever.
Not just velocity or movement—pure command made it slice.
But light.
Belly reset. Cole threw again. This time, Belly poked a low outside pitch for a single.
Cole sighed watching the easy knock.
Intimidating as hell.
Shaking his head, Cole refocused on the next batter, mulling Tyrone’s words from days ago.
‘Advice easier to understand than the coach’s.’