Velocity Unleashed
With the game start just moments away, Roy Yoo sat at a table off to one side of the clubhouse, silently staring at his laptop screen. Unlike the other players chatting idly, playing cards, video games, or surfing the web, Roy Yoo had a habit of reviewing opponent data on his laptop to prepare for the matchup.
Since his call-up to the majors, gathering intel on opposing teams had become far easier. The analytics team provided standard materials to all players, and if requested, even more detailed breakdowns.
From one corner, where four guys were gathered around a card game, Heison Lawson puffed on his e-cigarette and remarked, “No matter how I think about it, our team's rookie is just too diligent.”
This season, the Athletics had three starters called up from the minors: Jimmy Derren, Burnett Liliano, and Roy Yoo. All three had careers short enough to be called rookies without issue, but since Roy Yoo was by far the youngest, Oakland reserved the rookie label just for him.
“Roy's always been like that,” said Chamber flatly, dealing cards alongside him.
“Huh.” Heison let out an impressed grunt and muttered, “Sometimes he should hang out with us a bit.”
“Don't drag him into the card game.”
“He any good?”
“Far as I remember, I've never seen him lose money.”
Heison clicked his tongue in exaggerated disappointment at Chamber's words. The clubhouse card games were light gambling sessions. No huge stakes, but with money on the line, everyone took it pretty seriously. Some broke even, some lost, some won big. Heison was a loser; Chamber was a winner.
“Alright, we'll skip that guy then.”
The other players around the table chuckled lowly at Heison's declaration.
Meanwhile, Roy Yoo—earbuds plugged into his laptop, listening to Lena's songs while compiling data on Seattle's lineup—organized his thoughts.
Overall, Seattle's bats have been in a real slump lately.
Of course, that didn't make them pushovers by any means.
The key guy is probably their leadoff hitter, Miyamoto Tetsu.
Recalling the Japanese batter who was at least holding his own amid the lineup's struggles, Roy Yoo closed his laptop. It was about time for the game to begin.
The fans filling O.co Coliseum today numbered around 14,000. At first glance, the vast outfield made it one of the classic pitcher-friendly parks. Official capacity was 35,000, expandable to 56,000, thanks to its massive scale. Sharing the stadium with the Oakland Raiders football team meant the field had to be huge too.
A nightmare for hitters, but a dream environment for a pitcher like Roy Yoo. Especially since his stuff carried so well—when he got tagged clean, balls flew far—and he'd benefited from the park's dimensions several times already.
Before the game kicked off proper, the ceremonial first pitch began. Lena, today's guest pitcher, stepped up to the makeshift stage. Backing music swelled, and her clear, bright voice rang out across O.co Coliseum with The Star-Spangled Banner.
As the song wrapped, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers. Lena smiled shyly, waving to them before descending. Escorted by stadium staff, she headed straight to the mound for her pitch.
Roy Yoo, already standing there, handed her the ball. She flashed him a grin, then hurled it just like she'd practiced—straight and strong into the catcher's mitt. With that, Lena bounded down from the mound.
ROY YOO
4 GS | 21 IP | 1-2 | 5.57 ERA
K: 25 | HR: 4 | H: 17 | BB: 11 | WHIP: 1.33
“That ceremonial pitcher's got some real athleticism.”
“Yeah, she's a second-year rookie singer, and she can belt out a tune too. Alright, Roy Yoo beginning his warm-up tosses.”
“Roy Yoo was called up late July and has made five starts so far. He's notched one QS, showing solid form and easing some of Oakland's rotation worries.”
“True, he got yanked early last outing, but he's definitely flashed potential. For a franchise guy like him, he's got some unique traits. High school power arm—exactly the type Michael the GM usually avoids...”
As the announcers dissected the day's pitching matchup, Roy Yoo wrapped up his warm-ups.
He'd lasted just four innings against Texas last time, giving up four runs and getting hooked early. Things fell apart in the fourth—he'd cruised scoreless through three, but then surrendered a crooked number. Facing one of the AL's top lineups, it had been a tall order for his current arsenal.
Texas was a beast; Seattle, by contrast, had a weak offense mired in a deep slump. Today could be Roy Yoo's chance to snag a win.
Of course, that doesn't make 'em a cakewalk.
Post-form tweak, he'd boosted velocity and command—two big wins—but plenty of holes remained. And as a rookie in his debut season, his options were limited.
No backing down easy, though.
The leadoff hitter, righty Miyamoto Tetsu, fiddled with his batting gloves as he stepped in. Age 32, batting .336/.371 with 24 steals—ranked fourth in the AL in average. He covered the whole zone evenly, no glaring hot or cold spots.
Classic average hitter. No ups and downs.
Scary part? He kept that .300-plus clip steady. Technically and mentally airtight.
With batter and pitcher set, the ump flashed the play ball sign.
Roy Yoo took a deep breath, eyeing Tetsu's stance, then went into his windup. Muscles tensed, he unleashed with everything.
Thwack!
Outside corner four-seam. But Tetsu held the bat, watching it go.
“Ball!”
The 96-mph heater had missed the zone.
Hmm. Real pop on that one.
Tetsu muttered internally, tracking the pitch.
Major leaguer or not, he knew Asian ball cold. Ex-Japan League, national team vet with tons of at-bats vs. Korean and Taiwanese arms. Even tangled with Korean and Chinese pitchers in MLB.
Short version: same game, wildly different styles by country.
Feels like facing a pure American arm.
He'd figured a Korean vibe, but nope—total opposite up close.
To him, Korean pitchers packed power. But as East Asians, they covered gaps with finesse. American-Japanese hybrid feel.
Roy Yoo? Zero trace of that. Straight-up American matchup.
20-year-old MLB'er. Korean, so likely national team future. Good to scout early.
Tetsu reset his stance.
Roy noted it with a quiet inward tsk.
Toughest kind for a guy like me. No tricks work. Gotta overpower with raw stuff.
Grip shifted to splitter. Fired.
“Two balls!”
Good pitch, but Tetsu watched it impassively.
Splitter won't cut it here.
Roy adjusted his cap, thinking it over. Most Japan League guys threw forkballs—same as splitters, different name. Japanese hitters had unnatural immunity by MLB standards.
Roy knew it well.
“Hoo.”
Exhaling softly, he eyed the batter.
How we handling this, Roy?
Bill Seller flashed a sign, asking.
No mind games with this one. Simple: smash with heat.
Roy tapped his shoulder, signaling back.
Stuff 'em with velocity.
Bill blinked in surprise. Fifth battery together in a game, but first four times he'd pitched aggressive heat, Roy had shot it down.
Now he was leading with it.
Eh, no other play right now.
Bill got it as Roy set.
Pre-regression, I'd have zero answers in this spot. Total limit.
But now? Ace in the hole: his fastball.
Crack!
Mound dirt exploded as his arm whipped, releasing full throttle.
All-out heave.
Tetsu, timing it, swung at the low heater.
Whoosh!
Thwack!
But the ball beat the bat. Board flashed 98 mph.
Tetsu clicked his tongue, replaying the fastball.
This guy's heater's a weapon all its own.