Chapter 59
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: There Can't Be a No.1 Draft Pick Who Can't Smash Even Second-Team Pitchers, Right? (1)
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"Hey, what do you think of that guy?"
"Who?"
"Ji Maeng-ho. You trained with him, didn't you?"
"Oh, him? The guy's a monster."
The veteran pitcher tabbed as the White Team's starter, Jeong Jin-hong, was scared. He'd heard the rumors about Ji Maeng-ho swirling around camp.
"Come on, don't be so vague about it."
He already knew the guy was a monster... Frustrated by the lack of specifics he wanted to hear, Jin-hong grilled Yoon Sung-tae, the White Team shortstop who'd trained with him in infield group one.
"Well, his raw power's about on par with JIN-cheol sunbae. And his athleticism? Makes you wonder why he's not a shortstop. Not that I'm complaining."
"Yeah? How's his swing look?"
"Swing speed's brutal. But hey, he's still in high school, right?"
Yeah, a high schooler. Ji Maeng-ho was just a kid who hadn't even graduated yet. He'd faced countless rookies like that. The second team was crawling with fresh-faced high school grads.
For Jin-hong, who'd spent nearly his entire pro career in the second team except when he filled in as the sixth or seventh starter due to injuries up top, high school rookies were nothing but easy pickings.
The recipe for handling them was simple. Nibble the edges with borderline pitches, then drop a breaking ball—they'd whiff and self-destruct. Especially after two strikes; it got even easier.
The biggest gap between high school and pro pitchers was control and breaking ball quality. Plus the movement on their stuff. Rookies seeing pro heat for the first time always hit the wall.
'Right, a monster's still just a high schooler. Don't psych yourself out, Jeong Jin-hong.'
But no matter how much he pep-talked himself, the shakes wouldn't stop. The rumors were just too insane.
-"That rookie's got exit velos hitting 200 km/h, they say?"
-"They say the ball off the bat sounds like a damn cannon."
-"He sent one over the fence off a tee, apparently?"
Of course, they had to be exaggerated. No way a guy like that sticks around in Korea.
'Whew. Jeong Jin-hong, your mentality's the problem. You've got good stuff, but you always cave to power hitters! Come on, pull it together!'
That chronic issue of folding against big bats! He had to fix it soon... Jin-hong tried to rally himself.
And once he took the mound and retired the leadoff hitter on a center-field fly, the nerves started to fade.
"Number two hitter! Second baseman, Ji Maeng-ho!"
The coach's call rang out, and the batter he'd been dreading, Ji Maeng-ho, stepped in. As soon as Maeng-ho settled into the box, an unfamiliar pressure hit him.
'What the...? The box feels full.'
He'd seen bigger hitters than Ji Maeng-ho. But this sense that the ball could get crushed anywhere? That was rare, reserved for top sluggers.
'Dangerous...!'
His fragile mentality aside, the instincts that had kept his pro career afloat were screaming. The catcher called for a sign, but Jin-hong shook him off repeatedly.
'Why no breaking stuff on a rook?'
He could almost hear the catcher. But his gut said a breaker would sail out. Jin-hong rejected signs until the fastball came.
In-high inside. Targeting Maeng-ho's uppercut swing path. Only then did Jin-hong nod.
And the first pitch.
"Strike!"
A sharp whoosh cut the air as the pitch zipped past the bat straight into the catcher's mitt.
'Dodged a bullet.'
Jin-hong was starting to regain his confidence.
*
'Why'd you swing at that, you idiot!'
'Nah, he was clearly rattled. You think I've only faced one or two pitchers like that? Took him over ten seconds for the first pitch. He's gonna nibble borders and walk guys. That's their style—feed one strike, then work the zone.'
'You've gotten to where you can think that far ahead? Impressive.'
'Who do you take me for, a real monkey? I can think at that level.'
'If you could think, you'd have taken the walk.'
'Where's the fun in that? Pro ball off the bat—gotta feel it once.'
Just like he'd told Rogers Hornsby, he didn't want his first PA against a pro to end in a walk. Even if it was some no-name second-team scrub, a pro was a pro. He wanted that bat-on-ball feel.
Besides, starting in a blue-white scrimmage meant top-tier second-team arm for the AT Thunderbirds. No way he was passing that up.
'Alright, now he'll wanna throw one in the zone.'
'Slider. Outside.'
Righty pitcher, no need to touch a pitch fading away. He let the second one go.
"Strike!"
"Huh? That one?"
"Yeah, it caught the zone."
'It did, dumbass.'
Looked farther off than it was... Already down 0-2. Snuck one right in on 0-1. Pro is pro, huh?
Normally, you'd waste one here...
'Fastball.'
"Ball."
He knew it tailed off the second it left the hand, so he let the third go. Count now 0-2, one ball.
Good spot for a challenge fastball or breaker.
'What's your read?'
'Breaking ball.'
For a power bat like him, pitchers usually went breaker here. Why? Two strikes and a homer would be catastrophic.
'Bingo. Curve. Mitt's inside, but watch it.'
Curve? He'd feasted on those in Hornsby drills. And from the on-deck circle, this guy's curve looked meh. Totally hittable!
The familiar arc left the pitcher's hand, hung perfectly for a second—prime hitting spot. He'd already committed.
Crack!
Riding the vibration, he tossed the bat. Then jogged lazily to first. Ceremony skipped—same team and all.
"Nice swing."
High-five with the first-base coach,
"Whoa, your swing's money."
"Nah."
Round second, greetings to the White Team's keystone combo.
Clap!
High-five with third-base coach,
"Good one."
Light fist-bump with Woo Kwan-hyung waiting at home.
'Second team? No big deal.'
Easy peasy. Hornsby's help aside, this felt like second-team level.
'Kinda wanna see real first-team heat, though. Bummer.'
In a real game, homer joy would've ruled. But scrimmage? More regret than thrill.
"Solid, Ji Maeng-ho. Good enough to recommend to the skipper."
"Thanks."
"Hold up."
Heading to the bench after greeting the Blue Team's manager—the second-team hitting coach—he called Maeng-ho back.
"Yeah?"
"Two strikes, one ball—what were you sitting on, and why?"
"Uh..."
Usually no quiz after a homer, but scrimmage vibes?
"Well, two strikes one ball gives some ball cushion, so I figured high chance of a chase pitch. Plus, he got the guy ahead on a curve. So I thought he'd air one out today."
Hornsby tipped it, but he'd been on the same page.
"Oh yeah? Pretty sharp for a rook."
"Thanks."
"Don't get cocky. First-team guys don't hang curves like that. If it was sharp, it'd have dropped lower."
"Appreciate the advice."
"Still, hunting the curve? I like it."
'He digs you. Bet you skip second team.'
'Think so?'
'Yeah. Lucky punk, lifting that low one.'
'Luck? Skill.'
'Heh, sure, skill.'
Hornsby called the inside location, but elevating that low pitch? Pure him. Zero shame.
'Cheeky bastard.'
'All that training—bet I don't even need you anymore, Hornsby.'
'Oh yeah? Try solo next at-bat.'
Tch, touchy. Hornsby got pouty sometimes. But no loss—he'd already gone deep once.
'Next PA then.'
'Cocky punk.'
'...You'll still call pitches, right?'
'Scram.'
'...Yes sir.'
Overplayed it?
*
-"Swings at high and chases low, so no real zone. But he squares it up, so careful."
Ji Maeng-ho's second PA. On the mound for the second-teamers, Lee Jun-seong recalled Jeong Jin-hong's words from the first homer.
'Just bait him soft then.'
Jun-seong was in year four, no first-team footprint—if he flopped here, military service could derail his career like the vets. To crack the majors, he needed shine in wrap-up camp.
Top wrap-up performers got spring invites.
'This is it. Impress the coaches. You got this!'
Whoosh. Thwack! First pitch to Maeng-ho smacked the mitt sweetly.
"Ball."
Tsk, ball? But the kid didn't offer. Scared maybe?
'How's that? Different from Jin-hong hyung?'
Jin-hong was a mid-140s crafty guy with breakers galore. Him? Late 140s even in November—power arm.
'Whaddya think, kid? Fresh high school meat never seen this velo?'
Second pitch, no reaction. Ball, sure. But no swing thought. Now 2-0, time for a strike. Confidence surged seeing Maeng-ho frozen.
'Slider?'
'He's spooked by my heat. Straight gas.'
'Risky...'
'Trust me.'
Eye signs with catcher, third pitch fastball. In-high spot. Jun-seong's control sucked overall, but he'd drilled in-high all year.
Third pitch! Blazed from his hand toward the zone.
'Got h...im?'
Crack! He'd imagined the sweet mitt pop. Reality? Cruel. He stared blankly at the ball sailing to the outfield.
"Please, get caught!"
Thud! Ricocheted off the wall into left fielder's glove. Exit velo screamed double if relayed well, but he checked the runner—
'Where...? Past first already?'
Between first and second. Even Gerardi in left—too late. Jun-seong slumped.
'How...? Wasn't that new velo?'
His arrogance? Maeng-ho had homered off near-100 mph stuff. Bad luck? In-high was Maeng-ho's bread-and-butter—all pitchers pounded it thinking uppercut weakness. But monster power and athleticism meant anything in the zone could go.
"Nice hacks!"
"Whoa, would've left if barreled."
"What's with three straight fastballs? Hey! Mix your crap! This a homer derby?"
Manager's bark amid player chatter.
'Screwed again this year. Army time...'
As Jun-seong pondered enlistment at second base, Maeng-ho grinned ear-to-ear.
'See? I win. No Hornsby, still a double.'
'Double? Couldn't turn that meatball into a homer. Still green.'
Wanna call BS! But fair—easy pitch, but overthinking breakers threw timing off, died at the wall.
That 0.1-second edge decided fence or gone. Baseball's cruel like that.
'Tsk tsk, eating a double without my help. Monkey land lives up to the name—primitive level.'
'I'm good at it! Anyway, trying solo in scrimmages feels right? Grows me faster without you.'
'Do you.'
'Cool, solos for scrimmages from now on.'
'You'll learn your limits quick. Heh. But don't break—I've got your back. Can't wait to see you bawl 'I'm worthless monkey trash!' Hahaha.'
'...Annoying.'
Two games left. Maeng-ho vowed to erase that grating laugh.