Chapter 14
Chapter 14
“Why does the ball move like that?”
The silence was broken by Park Hyun-woo, who let the words slip before realizing.
In Korea, there had been pitchers who claimed to throw knuckleballs, but compared to Park Si-woo, their pitches were child's play.
Less than 110 km/h, incredibly slow, yet the movement was limitless.
“Oh, didn’t that just drop like my forkball?”
“Exactly.”
Lee Dong-hoon didn’t question how a pitch could curve left, then right, and then drop like a forkball. He was too busy marveling.
But as they continued watching Si-woo, something unusual became apparent.
“Hyun-woo.”
“Yes?”
“How many pitches do you think have come out so far?”
Park Hyun-woo fell silent. The knuckleball was unpredictable even for the pitcher. Its movement was extreme, and control was near impossible.
But Si-woo was different.
The strike-to-ball ratio was roughly 8 to 2.
“Wow, I’m getting goosebumps. Look at my arm hairs—they’re all standing at attention.”
Even during practice, Si-woo was showing exceptional control.
However, there was a problem with these stats.
“Ugh.”
No matter how well the bullpen catcher tried, he could handle barely half of the pitches.
At this rate, objective evaluation was impossible.
“Let’s take a break. Coach Park, call Min-seok.”
Eventually, Gwak Gu-beom decided to pause the pitching session and called for Song Min-seok.
As soon as he arrived, Min-seok immediately understood why he was there just by looking at Si-woo in the bullpen.
“Min-seok, you can catch Si-woo’s pitches, right?”
“I can do it!”
“Good. Confidence is strong. Let’s see.”
Clenching his fists quietly, Min-seok approached Si-woo.
“How have you been?”
“After you left, it was tough throwing on bare ground.”
“I know the feeling. Finally, we get to use this.”
“What is it?”
“Your custom mitt, MK 3. I’ve been waiting and breaking it in while you were away.”
Min-seok held out the mitt confidently. His experience in the U.S. had clearly become a huge asset.
He had built his body steadily, and most importantly, catching Si-woo’s pitches improved his skills as a catcher significantly.
He still had gaps in batting, but in the backup catcher competition, he was leading.
“I’m ready.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Min-seok tapped the mitt against Si-woo and donned the integrated helmet.
Even after their long separation, they immediately showed smooth coordination.
“Got it.”
Watching Gwak Gu-beom’s eyes on him, Min-seok silently cheered.
Two months of effort hadn’t been wasted. At this rate, the backup catcher role was practically his.
But he didn’t know one thing: geniuses never wait for those around them.
“Hey… Min-seok, you okay?”
“Yes! I’m fine!”
For the first time, Min-seok dropped a pitch.
He retrieved it cheerfully, but he was visibly shaken.
“The ball feels different…”
“Speed?”
“116 km/h.”
The initially slow pitches around 100 km/h were now gradually increasing.
With the increase in speed, Min-seok began dropping more pitches.
Still, he wasn’t idle.
“I can catch this.”
His mitt barely tracked the ball.
But as Si-woo prepared his next pitch, Min-seok couldn’t believe his eyes.
The ball followed a trajectory that was almost impossible to track and reached him instantly.
He hurriedly raised the mitt, but the ball hit it and slipped past.
“…Must be a fluke?”
Even the knuckleballs up to now were impressive, but this one’s trajectory was different.
Could any batter possibly hit a pitch moving at this speed along this path?
Swallowing hard, Min-seok raised the mitt again.
The moment the next pitch came, Gwak Gu-beom urgently asked,
“Check the speed.”
“Yes… Yes. It’s… huh, 126 km/h.”
If it had happened once or twice, it could have been a coincidence.
But Si-woo’s pitches maintained consistent speed with extraordinary movement.
This was simple to understand:
A slow knuckleball in the 100–110 km/h range and a hard knuckleball exceeding 120 km/h.
Si-woo could throw both at will.
It was immediately clear why a hitter like Eden had praised him so highly.
Yet there was still a problem.
“That’s enough. You both worked hard.”
Even though the session ended, Si-woo remained calm, but Min-seok seemed dazed.
As Si-woo’s hard knuckleball continued, the catching rate plummeted.
Not a single pitch was properly caught.
Recovering from the shock, Min-seok managed a smile and approached Si-woo.
“How did your pitches get even better?”
“Really looks like that? Training with Eden paid off.”
All of that was just a month’s work.
Even after a month, Min-seok would have felt confident catching Si-woo’s ball.
If he had known the gap would be this wide, he might have endured even more in the U.S.
At this rate, even the backup catcher role wasn’t guaranteed.
Unsurprisingly, his fears were validated.
During the coaching staff meeting after Si-woo’s session:
“His pitches are even better than expected. If he throws like this in a real game, it could be a happy problem.”
It was clearly not a pitch anyone could easily hit.
With a shortage of pitchers, Si-woo’s addition was a huge boon.
Yet it also posed a significant challenge.
“Min-seok seems to struggle catching them.”
The hard knuckleball was tough to handle, but it would be problematic if it persisted in actual games.
If all the balls slipped behind him, it would be better not to throw them at all.
“Could it be caught by Min-ki?”
“Do you know his age? He’ll be 40 in two days. Injuries would come first.”
The starting catcher was out of the question.
That meant one of the remaining catchers had to handle it.
In other words:
“If he can throw like this in a game, we’ll need a catcher who can reliably catch his pitches as a backup.”
Gwak Gu-beom’s words left the room momentarily silent.
The Marlins’ starting catcher had held his position for nearly ten years.
But Kim Min-ki’s retirement was approaching.
It was time to find a successor.
So, the winner of the backup catcher competition would likely become the next starter.
After the first spring camp, the team had already declared some games for the backup catcher, and the competition was heating up.
Yet now, that decision was about to be determined by Park Si-woo.
“Any objections?”
No one spoke up. Everyone knew Si-woo’s pitches were worth it.
“Hello.”
“Oh, Si-woo’s here. Sit down.”
“Yes.”
Although he wasn’t particularly close to Lee Dong-hoon, he had no choice but to come when Dong-hoon waved.
Naturally, Park Hyun-woo sat next to him.
“Did you hear the news?”
“Again?”
“The backup catcher competition is crazy right now. The manager said he’ll pick a catcher who can handle your pitches.”
“…Me?”
“Yes. You.”
Suddenly hearing his name was shocking.
“But it makes sense. You threw just enough insane pitches.”
“…Thanks?”
“Yes. Praise.”
Ah.
The atmosphere felt a little awkward.
Back in Phoenix, only Park Chan-hyuk had been around, and he was a batter, so Si-woo spent most of his time alone.
But now…
“Hey, hey. Everyone stop. Come here.”
At Park Hyun-woo’s call, the hesitant catchers quickly approached.
“Why are you here?”
“You know…”
“I know. But this guy just arrived yesterday. Si-woo, how many years pro?”
“Four years this season.”
“Really? Then everyone here with four years or less, raise your hand.”
No one raised theirs.
“See? Now if you ask him to throw, he’ll take it as a request, not a favor.”
“…Sorry.”
“Good. You know my style. I’ll sort it so no one complains. Have one cup of coffee each and let them rest today.”
“Thanks.”
The catchers received Hyun-woo’s card and left.
“Thanks, senior.”
“No problem. It wasn’t my card anyway.”
“Huh?”
Hyun-woo winked at Dong-hoon.
“Now that I think about it, unfair. I got a card, but I still get to drink.”
Then he vanished in an instant.
With the raucous Hyun-woo gone, silence settled.
Dong-hoon didn’t look at him, fiddling with his phone.
Then he called.
“Si-woo.”
“Yes?”
“You and Min-seok close? You seemed tight yesterday.”
“Yes, Senior Song Min-seok. We are. We hadn’t been close before, but we stayed together in the U.S.”
“Good. Then you must have thrown a lot together.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Min-seok has improved a lot. That’s why it’s like that.”
“…Yes?”
“The backup catcher competition is fierce. Kim Min-ki’s retirement is approaching, and if things go well, one could aim for starter.”
Ah…
I get the feeling now. The manager had really lit a fire under them.
“You know how important it is to seize opportunities. They’ll be asking a lot from you for a while. Hyun-woo and I can’t always do this. You have to set boundaries. You’re pro; throwing is your right.”
“Yes. Understood.”
“Good. But don’t let it become too much of a burden.”
After Hyun-woo left, the silence returned, but it no longer felt awkward.
Soon, Hyun-woo returned with three cups of coffee.
“Si-woo, here you go. Senior, your coffee.”
“Ah. Thanks.”
“Next time I’ll come myself.”
“Really? Listen carefully. Our senior is picky: grande size, single shot ristretto, double chocolate sauce bottom, one pump vanilla syrup, nonfat milk with dry steam, thin foam, 60°C. Got it?”
“…Huh?”
“Just kidding. Just iced coffee is fine. Man, it’s cold.”
“Ah, plenty of space. Step aside a bit.”
“Why are you acting so posh all of a sudden, Si-woo? Huh? Are you laughing? Is our senior funny?”
“Oh, sorry.”
Watching them, Si-woo found himself smiling.
Not laughing exactly… more like… relief.
“Eh, laughing again? Who’s 5-year pro? No, Eh, Lee Gun-woo. Didn’t teach you properly in Phoenix?”
“Sorry!”
He just missed this kind of atmosphere.
“Good morning! Hello!”
On the second day of spring camp, the Marlins’ TV main PD, Oh Na-eun, greeted the morning with her spirited voice.
Unlike before, when spring camp updates came only through articles, now fans could watch training and interviews on the team’s YouTube.
Competition among team channels had also emerged.
Phoenix TV had been trending recently.
‘Their record is good too.’
And they prominently featured Choi Jun-woo, the trade star.
These two factors created strong viewer engagement.
Meanwhile, Marlins’ viewership was declining, likely due to poor performance.
‘I have to make this count today!’
Although this didn’t affect evaluations, it sparked a competitive feeling similar to comparing neighbors’ kids’ grades.
Oh Na-eun was determined.
The hottest player of the camp, Park Si-woo, had arrived in Taiwan.
Although she had been busy yesterday, today she intended to interview him.
When she arrived at the pitching field, training was already underway.
“Coach, can I film this?”
“Sure, go ahead. I catch better from the left anyway.”
“Yes! Of course.”
Taking the coach’s word, Oh Na-eun quickly aimed her camera.
Soon she spotted the day’s main character.
‘Oh, nice shot!’
Leading the pack was Lee Dong-hoon, and right beside him, Park Si-woo.
Lee Dong-hoon and Ha Seo-jin were known viewership magnets.
But seeing Si-woo alongside them?
Oh Na-eun excitedly captured the two in frame.
As they arrived first, she hurried with water.
“Here’s water!”
“Why? Viewership down recently?”
“No, you think I only film when I need views. Today is for this side. Park Si-woo! Hello! Marlins TV PD Oh Na-eun here!”
“Yes. Hello. Thank you for the water.”
“You’re working hard, so we have to help! And your stamina is impressive. First time I’ve seen a player coming in with Lee Dong-hoon.”
“Oh, I wasn’t usually this fit, but the team sending us to the U.S. helped.”
‘Good line.’
The team ran its own YouTube mainly for image, and thanks to Si-woo, Oh Na-eun could cover it naturally. She was thrilled.
She asked other questions, then the core one:
“Fans are really curious about your pitches. When will we get to see them?”
“Ah, I’ll throw today.”
“Really?”
Oh Na-eun gleefully continued filming, fueled by the news.
‘Awesome, awesome.’
Even before the main pitching, the footage was already perfect.
Finally, the pitching session she had been waiting for began.
She hadn’t eaten lunch, so she rushed to the field, but the players were already there.
“Uh, what’s everyone doing here?”
Kim Min-ki, Song Min-seok, Ha Young-woo, all the camp’s catchers were already present.
Usually, catchers split into groups, but seeing all of them together was new.
“Line up. PD, stand at the back.”
“Huh? A line?”
Kim Min-ki joked, but it still didn’t make sense to her.
Yet her hands captured the scene.
The reason soon became clear.
From afar, a player ran quickly, soon coming into focus.
“Ah, senior. Sorry.”
“No, you’re taking time to throw anyway, don’t worry. Prepare slowly.”
“Park Si-woo?”
“Oh, PD, you’re filming here too?”
“Yes… but…”
Rather than ask questions, Oh Na-eun quietly filmed the scene.
When the footage was complete, she was certain.
‘Mega hit.’
That night, she stayed up all night uploading the video.
Once it went live, reactions started pouring in from unexpected places.