Chapter 11
Chapter 11
For baseball fans, winter was unbearably dull.
Especially in early January, when almost all FA signings were already wrapped up.
Fans would chatter about which teams had made the best acquisitions, which prospects were promising, and impatiently wait for spring.
But even that had its limits.
Even on baseball communities that buzzed all day long, posts were slowing down as the winter dragged on.
Then, a video appeared on the community.
“Is this spring already? Heard it’s an American knuckleballer—this pitch is insane.”
A knuckleballer, said to have disappeared from the scene.
It was more than enough to ignite this dull winter.
“Wow, that pitch is good.”
“At that level, wouldn’t he succeed in KBO?”
“Come on, lol. Batters swinging at that trash pitch just shows how poor they are.”
“Isn’t that batter Aiden Kelly?”
“Yep, no kidding. When did Aiden come back?”
“Looks like it was a charity game at a baseball center in Arizona.”
“Whoa, a pitcher striking out Aiden? He wouldn’t succeed in KBO? Damn.”
“Lol, the video’s already deleted.”
At first, people were just curious, but once the batter’s identity was revealed, the discussion exploded.
“A knuckleballer? 20-something, Asian pitcher?”
“Could be someone the Americans don’t even know; maybe not even in the minors?”
“If he’s Asian, wouldn’t an AQ (Asian Quota) signing be perfect?”
“You think someone like that would come to Korea for 200k dollars? Haha.”
“Really, we don’t know his nationality, name, nothing. No info at all.”
The fact that Park Si-woo was throwing knuckleballs was a secret known only to a very few inside the team.
And the video cleverly hid the pitcher’s face.
The anonymous knuckleballer gave Korean baseball fans a brief but exciting distraction for a day.
Once that teaser passed, the community slowly returned to normal.
By mid-January, teams began announcing their spring camp rosters.
But the Marines’ announcement was unusually delayed.
“Are they always this slow in winter?”
Fans, nearing the edge of their patience, finally saw the roster released.
“Am I seeing this wrong? Where’s Park Si-woo?”
Being excluded from spring camp could mean one of two things: underperformance or injury.
A pitcher brought in at the cost of Choi Jun-woo couldn’t even attend spring camp.
Naturally, fans were outraged.
But the Marines stayed silent.
Watching all this unfold in real time was someone with a keen eye.
“Ha. This must be real.”
Choi Myung-jun had discovered something from what Kim Chan-hee told him about Park Si-woo.
Park Si-woo was not in Korea, and almost no one knew about it.
The intention was obvious.
Park Si-woo really could throw a knuckleball, and the team was deliberately hiding it.
They probably planned to keep it secret until he could throw it reliably.
“If this blows up now, Si-woo is really screwed,” Choi Myung-jun thought.
Holding a grudge against Park Si-woo, he immediately leaked the information to a reporter and waited for a response.
Soon, he got the reply he wanted.
“The team confirmed it’s true. If this breaks, it’ll be chaos.”
Choi Myung-jun promised to remain anonymous.
Soon after, an article was published.
[Exclusive] Ace of the Youth National Team Takes on a New Challenge: Park Si-woo Transitions to Knuckleball!
The content was simple: Park Si-woo was learning the knuckleball.
As soon as this became known, the community literally exploded.
“Knuckleball = the pitch a hopeless pitcher learns hoping for a miracle.”
“So they traded for a guy like that, even giving up Choi Jun-woo?”
“Is the GM out of his mind?”
“No wonder Phoenix traded him away so easily. Damn, we got screwed again.”
“Excluding him from camp was probably to hide the knuckleball. This has to blow up.”
“Truck him.”
Choi Myung-jun spent the day enjoying the community’s furious posts about Park Si-woo and the Marines.
Fans demanding explanations, the team remaining silent—it seemed like nothing would change.
But the mood began to shift when one post appeared.
“But what if the knuckleballer who struck out Aiden is Park Si-woo?”
“According to the article, the charity game was at the Arizona Tread Athletics Baseball Center—the place we send our players. Park Si-woo was sent there recently.”
“Wait, Aiden Kelly?”
“Yeah. Major League hitter, injured last year, suddenly shows up at a charity game and gets struck out by a knuckleballer.”
“Sure, there must be one knuckleballer in America. Nonsense.”
“No, the knuckleballer is a 20-something left-handed Asian. Do you think it’s coincidence?”
“Here’s the video, check it out.”
“Whoa, that pitch… Why isn’t the pitcher’s face shown?”
“Just saw the original video—it’s Park Si-woo, damn.”
“Isn’t that catcher Song Min-seok? The way he handles the pitch looks familiar.”
“Whoa, what is this pitch? Struck out three batters in a row.”
“Found something crazy. (Link) This is an Aiden Kelly interview. They talk about the knuckleballer—he could succeed in MLB immediately, but can’t because the league is different. Crazy.”
Choi Myung-jun immediately checked the video.
And there was Park Si-woo, throwing a knuckleball.
Even from a glance, it looked nearly perfect.
Seeing this, feelings he thought he had forgotten surged within Choi Myung-jun.
“…Damn it.”
That feeling stabbing at his heart was pure, intense jealousy.
“As expected, the article is out.”
“Post it after giving it some time.”
The Marines’ office was unusually tense.
They had every reason to be.
If this went wrong, not only Lee Gyu-tae but higher-ups would be in trouble.
But they were confident.
Fortunately, it was confirmed that the knuckleballer in question was Park Si-woo. Public opinion followed the expected path.
“The reactions aren’t bad.”
Fans were angry only because of uncertainty regarding Park Si-woo.
Even in the first year, players showing potential are common.
But a player learning knuckleballs? That’s clearly a failed trade.
The solution to calm the fans was simple: show certainty.
Sure enough, fans calmed down after seeing Park Si-woo’s knuckleball.
But that wasn’t enough.
They needed to explain why he learned the knuckleball and what the plan was.
Lee Gyu-tae nodded and posted a statement on the team’s website.
Park Si-woo was learning the knuckleball as part of rehabilitation to regain velocity. During this process, he discovered talent for it, so he was learning seriously. Both rehabilitation and knuckleball training were being conducted diligently, and he would be evaluated fairly before being utilized.
Adding Oliver White’s case and achievements to the statement, public opinion quickly shifted positively.
“The reactions are better than expected.”
Aiden Kelly’s endorsement had a huge effect. Mentioning Park Si-woo and vouching for his skill made people even more curious about his knuckleball.
Thus, the long day ended.
“Good work, everyone. I’ll hand out cards, go eat and head home.”
Public opinion was favorable again, but Lee Gyu-tae’s job wasn’t done.
Originally, Park Si-woo’s arrival was planned for at least two years later.
Now, for better or worse, they had to use him.
If he performed poorly, even the favorable public opinion could turn against him.
‘I didn’t expect things to go this way.’
His half-joking comment about “may luck favor us” had turned out true.
Meeting Aiden Kelly at the charity game, hearing good words about Park Si-woo, and Choi Myung-jun revealing the knuckleball—he had foreseen all of it.
But from now on, luck alone couldn’t help.
Baseball players have to prove themselves with skill.
“It won’t be easy. Journalists and fans won’t leave Park Si-woo alone.”
“Yes, we’re prepared.”
But Lee Gyu-tae felt relieved hearing Park Si-woo’s resolute voice over the phone.
‘Even without the knuckleball, he would eventually find himself again.’
Perhaps Park Si-woo’s greatest asset as a pitcher was the mental toughness forged through repeated misfortunes.
After admiring that briefly, Lee Gyu-tae raised a delicate matter.
“I found out—it was Choi Myung-jun who leaked to the reporter.”
“Yes.”
“The reporter has had connections with Choi Myung-jun for some time. But that’s not enough.”
Choi Myung-jun.
If they hadn’t known he would leak, the Marines would still be in trouble.
So Lee Gyu-tae wasn’t planning to remain idle.
But he had no concrete evidence, and public opinion wasn’t fully on the Marines’ side.
There was a way.
Park Si-woo just had to prove himself.
Then public opinion would naturally swing back to the Marines.
Lee Gyu-tae waited for that moment.
“If he produces results, the public will follow. But don’t push him too hard.”
“Yes. Understood.”
“Good. Then we’ll meet in Taiwan.”
Taiwan would host the Marines’ second spring camp.
Park Si-woo would skip the first camp and continue training at the center.
Avoiding excessive attention was one reason, but the bigger one was that there was no one to teach knuckleballs.
Even in the U.S., the knuckleball lineage had almost died out; there was no one in Korea.
With that settled, Lee Gyu-tae couldn’t help but chuckle at a message from the former chairman.
“I see….”
Park Si-woo now had one more reason to succeed.
While the Marines handled this matter smoothly,
“It’s a knuckleball, a knuckleball! If it were something you could learn overnight, all pitchers would throw it!”
Phoenix’s office was still sweating under the influx of calls.
When news first came that Park Si-woo was throwing a knuckleball, Director Oh Gyu-jin had cheered.
“Luck is on our side!”
After Park Si-woo’s trade, Phoenix fans weren’t happy.
It’s normal—before results, what was originally yours seems better, and losing something feels unfair.
Marines fans weren’t happy either, so that was expected.
But news that Park Si-woo was learning the knuckleball was a boon for Phoenix.
Learning the knuckleball is the last resort for a pitcher.
It meant Park Si-woo was cornered, and Phoenix was the real winner of the trade.
But one video changed everything.
Park Si-woo’s knuckleball was astonishing, considering he had only been learning it for a couple of months.
That was fine.
The real problem came with the Marines’ statement afterward.
Claiming Park Si-woo could regain velocity.
“Ridiculous.”
It was just an unproven hypothesis.
And the timing was terrible.
In January, after FA was completed, there was no other issue to distract fans.
All Phoenix could do was hope this wave would pass.
“…How’s social media?”
“Well…”
Hesitant, a marketing employee gave a report, and Oh Gyu-jin checked personally.
[Park Si-woo regaining velocity?]
“Wait, there was a way to recover velocity? But they didn’t know before trading him? How does this make sense?”
“Phoenix figured it out in a few months; our front office wouldn’t have known for years.”
“Lol, just a few months’ patience and we’d have had 1 Si-woo, 2 Myung-jun, 3-4 foreign players, but we just threw it away.”
[What’s this about Park Si-woo’s knuckleball?]
“He’s learning it as rehab and is said to be MLB-level.”
“Huh? That makes no sense. Is this just a PR stunt because the Marines are scared?”
“PR with Aiden Kelly vouching? Could a Korean team do that?”
It was impossible to calm the uproar.
New posts kept flooding in, all bringing up Park Si-woo and criticizing the front office.
Oh Gyu-jin’s phone started ringing furiously.
“…Yes, sir.”
He faced the worst-case scenario he’d been trying to avoid.
“The chairman already knows. What will you do?”
“…Nonsense. Learning knuckleballs doesn’t make him regain velocity!”
Oh Gyu-jin chose denial.
“He’s only been learning for two months. He just got lucky that day. When the season starts, fans will cheer for Choi Jun-woo as if nothing happened.”
“Sir, you’ll have to take responsibility for that statement.”
After the call ended, Oh Gyu-jin laughed like a madman.
Then that laughter turned into anger.
“Immediately! Contact the reporter and find out who gave him the source!”
At that time, Oh Gyu-jin thought the Marines were behind all this to manipulate public opinion.
But when he found out Choi Myung-jun was the culprit, he slumped in his chair, utterly deflated.
Sometimes, a bullet from an ally hurts more than a missile from an enemy.
“…Why? Why? They could have just told us directly. Why make it a big deal?”
Choi Myung-jun’s intention needed no explanation.
But he boldly replied,
“Isn’t this better?”
“…Excuse me?”
“Now Park Si-woo has no choice but to appear. Fans will see for themselves that the other stories were lies. Then they’ll know who’s on our team.”
Hearing that, Oh Gyu-jin squeezed his eyes shut.
He knew it too.
If this hadn’t happened, there would be no remaining options.
In the end, “no matter what, we have to beat the Marines, especially Park Si-woo.”
“Yes. We will.”
Choi Myung-jun’s eyes shimmered, not with confidence, but with a deep, unexplainable emotion.