Chapter 49
Chapter 49
As Oliver spoke, Park Siwoo simply blinked, trying to process it all.
“Siwoo. A pitcher like you… there probably won’t be another one until the end of baseball itself.”
“…I still don’t really get it.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to. Just keep throwing.”
Oliver smiled lightly, but his eyes were dead serious.
That look alone was enough.
There was no exaggeration in what he said.
Because what Park Siwoo was doing right now was something that simply shouldn’t exist.
A pitcher who throws a knuckleball.
A pitcher who throws a mid-150 km/h fastball.
And a pitcher who can completely separate the two without any interference.
Even among all the history of baseball, that kind of player had never existed.
And maybe—
Would never exist again.
But to Siwoo, that didn’t really matter.
“What are we doing today?”
“Lower body balance and release point adjustment.”
“…That sounds annoying.”
“It is.”
Oliver answered immediately, making Siwoo let out a small laugh.
Training resumed just like always.
Stretching.
Light throwing.
Repetition after repetition of mechanics.
No dramatic changes, no reckless pushing.
Just steady progress.
Like always.
Like nothing had changed.
But in reality—
Everything had changed.
In the United States, Neal Lindberg couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.
Again.
And again.
He replayed the same clip.
The 153 km/h fastball.
The hitter’s late reaction.
The absurd contrast with the knuckleball thrown just moments before.
“…This is insane.”
Even after watching it dozens of times, the conclusion didn’t change.
If this was real—
Then this wasn’t just talent.
It was something closer to a phenomenon.
“Keep sending me every update.”
“Yes, sir.”
The scout nodded and stepped out.
Left alone, Lindberg leaned back in his chair.
“…Four years.”
It was still far away.
But at the same time—
Not that far.
“If he keeps this up…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
Because the answer was obvious.
They wouldn’t be the only ones moving.
Back in the KBO, the reaction was far more immediate.
Teams didn’t panic.
They adapted.
Or at least, they tried to.
“Again!”
The pitching machine fired.
Another fastball.
Another sharp crack of the bat.
“Focus on the release point!”
The hitters of the Changwon Dolphins were fully locked in.
Unlike the knuckleball, the fastball could be prepared for.
That alone gave them hope.
“If you see it, you can hit it!”
The hitting coach’s voice echoed through the training facility.
And slowly—
Very slowly—
The hitters began to adjust.
Timing improved.
Contact became cleaner.
Confidence started to build.
“Alright… I can hit this.”
One of the hitters muttered under his breath.
If it was just the fastball—
They had a chance.
But then someone spoke up.
“…What if he just doesn’t throw it?”
Silence fell for a moment.
Then the hitting coach clicked his tongue.
“He will.”
His tone was firm.
“Think about it. A pitcher gets his velocity back after an injury. You think he’s not going to use it?”
“…He will.”
“Exactly. So we punish it before he runs away from it. Got it?”
The players nodded.
The plan was simple.
Attack the fastball early.
Score before he switches fully to the knuckleball.
It made sense.
On paper.
And then—
Game day came.
“…What the hell is that?”
The hitting coach of the Dolphins frowned, staring at the mound.
Something was off.
Very off.
“…Did he already change it?”
Park Siwoo stood on the mound.
Same uniform.
Same calm expression.
But—
The motion was different.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
The release.
The timing.
The balance.
Everything had been adjusted.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
They had spent days preparing for one version of him.
And now—
That version no longer existed.
On the mound, Siwoo exhaled slowly.
“Let’s go.”
The glove target settled.
His body moved.
And the ball left his hand—
Like it always did.
Like nothing had changed.
But this time,
No one in the stadium could say what was coming next.