Clash of Prodigies
In the top of the first inning, Yoo Min-hoo stepped onto the mound and lightly rolled his left shoulder, loosening up his body. Tyrone, crouched behind the plate with his catcher's mask on, assumed his receiving stance to help with the warm-up tosses. Watching Tyrone, Yoo Min-hoo began his practice pitches.
Winding up, he whipped his arm with all his might. Thwack! The ball rocketed from Yoo Min-hoo's hand and slammed into the mitt. It buried itself dead center in the strike zone with a resounding crack.
From the press box, Lee Young-gon watched the scene and spoke up. "He's looking sharp."
Lee Young-gon, who had been filming Yoo Min-hoo's pitching form with his camera, checked the digital screen and suddenly tilted his head. 'Come to think of it, Yoo Min-hoo's delivery looks subtly similar to Lee Soo-min's. Or rather, in this case, maybe it's Lee Soo-min who resembles Yoo Min-hoo?'
Muttering softly to himself, he let out a sigh and turned his gaze back to the field. The umpire signaled for play ball.
Lee Soo-min, who had signed with the LA Robins this season, had burst onto the scene like a comet three years ago. The unknown high schooler suddenly started hurling fastballs over 93 mph at just 17, drawing rave reviews from the media as potentially Korea's greatest power pitcher ever.
Lee Soo-min lived up to the hype, steadily ramping up his velocity until, by his senior year, he was touching 99 mph—a bona fide monster. He capped off his amateur career with a Perfect Game, reaching the absolute pinnacle.
Of course, MLB teams weren't about to let a prospect of that caliber slip away. Bids poured in, and Lee Soo-min inked a deal with the LA Robins for a record $2.5 million signing bonus for a Korean rookie—the largest ever. He even made it to big-league spring training in his debut year.
And his first opponent? None other than Yoo Min-hoo, the Korean who's been making waves in the majors right now. Korean media couldn't ignore this matchup if they tried. The Robins' front office had probably slotted Lee Soo-min here deliberately to drum up buzz.
'Even so, you've got to have someone worth comparing him to.'
The Korean press was framing this starter's duel between Yoo Min-hoo and Lee Soo-min like a battle of equals. They were even hyping Lee Soo-min's big-league debut prospects for his pro rookie year.
Lee Soo-min was undeniably impressive. He'd dominated high school with overwhelming stats and crushed international prospects multiple times as a youth national teamer. Lee Young-gon himself believed Lee Soo-min had the tools to succeed in MLB.
But comparing him to the current Yoo Min-hoo was way overblown. Even in the majors, packed with top talent, few had rocketed through the minors as fast as Yoo Min-hoo. In a league where "no geniuses" is the motto, he stood out. Equating him with Lee Soo-min, who hadn't even completed a full pro season? Absurd.
Still, the media frenzy showed just how sky-high expectations were for Lee Soo-min.
As Lee Young-gon clutched his face, recalling the headlines flooding Korean baseball news, the umpire's play ball call rang in his ears. A LA Robins batter had already stepped into the box. Shaking off the distractions, Lee Young-gon refocused on the game. To other Korean reporters, Lee Soo-min might be today's star—but for him, it was Yoo Min-hoo. He wanted to see with his own eyes just how much the ace had grown over the winter in this spring camp.
With warm-ups over, Yoo Min-hoo gripped the rosin bag in his left hand and eyed the LA Robins' leadoff hitter stepping in.
Spring training was a chance for players to shake off rust and regain game sharpness—but for teams, it was a lab to test new lineups and strategies post-stove season. You saw more unpredictable tactics here than during the regular season, with less pressure to win, encouraging bold experiments. Plus, it was prime time to scout minor leaguers, who rarely faced big-league arms otherwise.
'Turner Wed, right-handed left fielder. Triple-A last year: .282 average, .354 OBP. Solid hitter who works counts patiently. And the key here...' Yoo Min-hoo's eyes sharpened coldly. 'Sixth-year career minor leaguer.'
He'd been in the Baltimore Browns' system until a winter trade landed him in the Robins' farm chain. Classic No. 2 hitter: great situational player, bunts for hits like a pro. But his numbers screamed leadoff potential too.
Yoo Min-hoo went into his set position and wound up. Turner Wed, matching him by wagging his bat lightly, then froze and pulled it back.
Crack! As his right foot dug in, Yoo Min-hoo's body surged forward. His weight shifted perfectly to his left hand, releasing the ball at the optimal point.
Thwack! The pitch sliced through the strike zone in a flash, embedding in the mitt. Strike one, called the ump.
Turner Wed, watching it go by, inwardly whistled and stepped out. Speed aside, the movement was elite. No way to square it up on a couple looks.
'So this is an A-grade fastball that plays in the majors.'
Turner Wed recalled Yoo Min-hoo's scouting report: Fastball command: A. Off-speed: C. Control: E. Pickoff: A. Fielding: A. Durability: C.
Not balanced across the board—especially that E control. When Turner first saw it, he'd been puzzled. The A fastball made sense, but A pickoff and fielding? Rookies who blitz to the majors usually shone at hitting and pitching but flopped on defense due to inexperience. Defense took reps and grind.
Other scouts found Yoo Min-hoo's glove work ironically solid too. They couldn't know he'd lived a decade as a no-name minor leaguer.
Anyway, those skills had mitigated his control issues last year. Baserunners thought twice against him. And in the field, he'd bailed out jams repeatedly.
Yoo Min-hoo rubbed his fingers on the rosin, dusting it off as Turner Wed stepped back in, then set again. Three-quarters delivery—this one sinking low, unlike the first dead-center heater.
Whoosh!Thwack!
Turner Wed swung at the path but whiffed—the pitch tailed off the zone. Tyrone inwardly cheered. The batter was rattled; you could feel it.
Turner Wed bit his lip at the foolish chase. Not his style—born of spring desperation. Twenty-five years old, six minor-league seasons. Straight from high school draftees hit the wall in their mid-20s. The grind of the bushes, so close yet so far from The Show. That's why they hustled extra hard here.
Yoo Min-hoo had zeroed in on that profile. These guys often overreached, played aggressive.
Turner Wed stared at the dirt, took a deep breath, tapped his helmet brim with the bat, and dug in.
The fastball had spooked him, no doubt—major-league quality hit different. But to climb, he had to solve guys like this. Yoo Min-hoo was barely a No. 5 starter, the majors' weakest.
'Don't flinch. It's intimidating, but hittable. Stay cool.'
Tyrone flashed the sign: 'Attack outside.' Yoo Min-hoo nodded and wound.
Kicking off the rubber, he unleashed his left arm. Thwack!
"Strike three! You're out!"
Three pitches, all strikes—outside black. Tyrone let out a quick "Yes!" and tossed the ball back. Perfect shutdown of a tough out.
Turner Wed lowered his bat and trudged away. Watching him catch the toss, Yoo Min-hoo clicked his tongue inwardly. 'Better watch it next time.'
No reaction to that last one. Not frozen—holding back.
'Thought he'd crack easy.'
Shaking off the second-pitch regret, Yoo Min-hoo focused on the next batter.