Nightmare for the Dodgers
LA Dodgers were a powerhouse. In the 2020s, they boasted a lineup loaded with three former MVPs and a starting rotation full of Cy Young contenders. Back then, the Dodgers naturally thought they were building their own empire. If it weren't for my dad's Mets, they might have actually done it.
In other words, my father shattered the Dodgers' dynasty dreams.
The Mets spent almost as much money as the Dodgers, but the core of their empire was my dad—the guy they scratched up like a lottery ticket from Korea on the cheap. The prestige of a hitter with four MVPs—and he firmly believed he'd have even more if he hadn't pulled double duty as a two-way player, that cheat code of his—was something else entirely.
Anyway, what I'm getting at is this.
"Crush that damn son of Yusung!"
Then and now, my father was the ultimate villain to the LA Dodgers. Fans swarmed like bees just for a practice game—and not even against Jin Yusung himself, but his son on the mound.
And.
"That guy's fans are noisy even for a damn practice game. Same old unpleasant team as always."
Truth be told, the Mets saw the Dodgers as villains too. The two teams were the top rivals in the National League during the 2020s.
"Howard. You feeling confident?"
My uncle, who'd been watching me pitch from the bullpen, grumbled as he asked.
"Of course."
Even in my previous life before regression, I'd earned the nickname "Dodgers' Nightmare."
"...How the hell did we end up in a practice game against a Major League championship team?"
Titans center fielder and everyday leadoff hitter Jeong Suyeong muttered under his breath, his face unable to hide the tension.
No one answered. Most of the players were in the same boat as him.
"Gordon Coach made it happen himself. Said he goes way back with their manager."
"Whoa... Major League legend class."
"You gonna stand there gaping? If you wanna touch the ball at all, focus up."
"This hyung's not pitching today, so he's talking big. Think you could snap out of it right now?"
Jeong Suyeong shot back in exasperation, but Baek Jeongsu just shrugged. He wasn't wrong—Baek wasn't scheduled to pitch today.
"By the way, hyung, you sure it's okay to be here?"
"What?"
"The guy's who's most nervous is someone else. Shouldn't you go check on him?"
The rookie slated to start today. Jin Yuha.
In Jeong Suyeong's mind, he was the most tense guy on the Titans. Yet here was his pitching senior, parked here cracking jokes instead.
"Ah..."
Baek Jeongsu's reaction to Jeong Suyeong's words was oddly peculiar.
"Doesn't seem like he needs checking on."
"Hyung, you're not sulking 'cause you're scared of losing your ace spot to a native rookie, are you?"
"Am I that kinda guy?"
"Nah, you're not."
Before Jeong Suyeong could ask what the hell then, Baek Jeongsu nodded toward the bullpen.
"Take a look over there."
"Huh?"
Jeong Suyeong turned to where Baek pointed. Emerging from the bullpen, Jin Yuha greeted the players with a bright, sunny smile.
"Hello!"
It was a face radiating pure enjoyment, in stark contrast to Jeong Hanseong's pale, ashen one beside him.
"What the hell is with that guy?"
"Beats me."
Jin Yuha strolled over slowly.
Clap.
Clap.
High-fiving every player he passed.
"Oh, Suyeong hyung. Looking forward to it."
He flashed a cheerful grin and stuck out his palm to Jeong Suyeong, who stood there slack-jawed.
"Uh... yeah."
Clap.
As their palms met with a dazed Jeong Suyeong, Jin Yuha smirked and began prepping for his start.
"Haa..."
Jeong Hanseong, his battery mate for the day, let out a sigh with his still-pale face.
"That's his routine. Thanks for playing along."
It was less an excuse and more a familiar ritual. He looked utterly used to it.
"Uh... yeah. But you okay?"
Jeong Suyeong asked, worried by how rough Jeong Hanseong looked.
"Haa..."
Another deep sigh, then his answer.
"...Yuha'll handle it somehow."
His voice carried a trust as profound as the sigh.
Pitching days always put me in a good mood. At first, anyway.
Teammates used to marvel at how even my sharp personality softened into smiles on the mound.
'That was before the years piled up, though.'
Of course, as the career dragged on, that joy faded.
When was it? Probably after my first MVP, when the team missed the playoffs.
- Failed Wonder Boy Jin Yuha is no Jin Yusung!
People were openly saying crap like that.
'Looking back, it's ridiculous.'
Dad and I were in totally different situations. The Mets were already contenders; my team was the weakest of the weak. But back then, I took it personally, and that's where my mental fragility started cracking.
"Hoo..."
Meaningless memories now.
Whoosh!!
I wasn't MLB's Jin Yuha anymore.
Thwack!!
I was KBO rookie Jin Yuha.
'Sure, I could crack mentally again...'
But I wasn't too worried. I'd grown mentally since then. And above all.
'Come on, can't I carry in the KBO too?'
The Titans weren't a hopeless team.
"Sigh... or are they?"
I shook off the thoughts during warm-up tosses.
'Condition's perfect. Best pitch today feels like...'
I assessed myself.
- Play ball!
The game began.
With every pitch from Jin Yuha that Jeong Hanseong caught, the tension filling his body eased away.
'Ball's filthy good today too.'
Jin Yuha always teased that Jeong Hanseong underrated himself. To Jeong Hanseong, it was laughable. You're the reason I rate myself low.
'Damn genius bastard.'
Blinding talent dims everything around it. Jin Yuha did that.
Ever since teaming up with him, Jeong Hanseong wrestled with doubts: Am I just riding his coattails?
Winning nationals. Youth Baseball World Cup. They were hailed as the ultimate battery.
'Honestly, anyone could've caught for him, right?'
It was Jin Yuha's brilliance, not his own. Peers called him "Jin Yuha's ride"—he couldn't deny it. Even at the plate, Yuha outshone him.
'Not playing offense this year, so no one knows...'
But now, entering pro ball beyond high school, enlightenment hit.
'Leadoff. Left-handed. Great eye. Elite contact... still.'
Tap tap.
Jeong Hanseong tapped the PitchCom to signal.
'First pitch is set anyway, right?'
Jin Yuha grinned and nodded. Windup.
Whoosh!!
The ball rocketed to the plate.
Thwack!!
Nestled in the mitt with a crisp pop.
"Strike!"
The ump called it obviously.
"Holy..."
The batter let out his usual gasp.
'As long as I never face that guy...'
Jeong Hanseong didn't want to oppose Jin Yuha, no matter the "ride" talk.
That's why veteran catchers with years together are gold. They know exactly what you want.
'Opening pitch has to be the fastball.'
Velocity?
'97 miles? Not bad.'
Not bad was underselling it. Great for a practice game.
'But what I like more...'
Hit the exact spot I aimed for.
'How's this guy again?'
MLB guys felt more familiar than KBO players. I'd never left the States before.
The Dodgers' leadoff in the box? I knew him.
'Sees a lot of pitches, huh?'
- Four-seam.
Nodded at Jeong Hanseong's PitchCom call.
Grip.
Stomp.
Lifted the leg, gathered to glove, low release.
Whoosh!!
The pitch.
Bzzz!!
Dodged the bat.
"Swinging strike!"
Top outside corner.
Two strikes. Pitcher's count.
Tap tap.
'Yeah, that'd be fun.'
Stretch.
Jeong Hanseong tapped PitchCom, mitt out. Same motion, same spot.
Whoosh!!
Outside, off the zone. Batter waited, thinking it tailed.
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
But nope—massive horizontal break back into the zone.
"Huh?"
First out vs. Dodgers: strikeout. Backdoor sweeper.
Dodgers leadoff Johnson trudged back to the dugout, brow furrowed.
"Strikeout to a rookie?"
No. 2 hitter Wild, watching from on-deck, sneered.
"Tch. Body's not loose yet."
True enough. Johnson was the everyday starter; spring training was for gradual ramp-up.
But.
"Still embarrassing, right?"
It was. Even if Jin Yuha was scouted heavily from amateurs, he was just a rookie fresh out of high school.
"How's the stuff?"
"Fast."
"We can see that on the gun."
"Throwing 97 already? Korea open earlier than us?"
"Dunno. Last pitch? Sweeper?"
"Yeah. Insane break. Thought it'd tail out, but it came back."
"Hmm... trouble for me too?"
"Worse for you. You're righty."
"Ha! Loser, sit and watch. I'll give Meteor's kid a homer."
But.
Thwack!!
"Strike!"
Cocky Wild at the plate.
Tick!
"Foul!"
Bzzz!!
"Swinging strike three!"
Low-90s fastball and low-80s sweeper toyed with him for three pitches.
"Fuck!"
And that was.
"That kid's a monster? Got Johnson and Wild looking lost?"
Thwack!!
"Strike three!"
No. 3 hitter, Dodgers' best bat O'Hara, same fate.
"Hahaha... real monster. Meteor's son? Or Gordon's nephew?"
Easygoing O'Hara laughed it off back in the dugout.
"..."
But the dugout fell into an eerie silence.
One inning, nine pitches. Three strikeouts.
Last year's World Series champs vs. KBO rookie. First encounter result.