Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Pitchers who saw the knuckleball grip all said the same thing.
“How can you put any power into it like that?”
But that’s the point of the grip.
It uses the strength of the fingers instead of the shoulder or elbow.
Just as Oliver said.
“Yes. With a knuckleball, you can throw without straining your elbow. It’s perfect for tricking the brain. I practiced knuckleballs myself after losing my velocity.”
But the moment I saw the knuckleball grip, my tension melted away.
Of course, I knew what a knuckleball was.
It’s a pitch long considered obsolete.
In modern baseball, where fastballs with high spin dominate hitters, a slow, spinless knuckleball has lost its place.
It’s hard to control, and even a small mistake can easily become a big hit.
And learning it? That’s a whole other challenge.
But Oliver seemed to have anticipated my expression and smiled.
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not telling you to become a knuckleballer. Being a knuckleballer doesn’t mean you can throw a knuckleball anyway. Think of it just as a kind of rehabilitation.”
“Rehabilitation…”
That made sense.
But deciding immediately was too much.
Learning a knuckleball? Who would look at that positively?
“I’ll talk with the team and think it over. How long do you think it would take?”
“Hmm… at least one to two years. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. You’re the only case we have.”
Two years. It’s long, but if I factor in the military service, it’s not a huge problem.
The real issue was that there was no guarantee my velocity would return.
Besides, James had his suggested method.
145 km/h. Not enough to match my old speed, but enough to serve as a proper pitcher.
“James, if I do that training you mentioned before, how likely is it that my velocity will increase?”
“Hm. Probably around 70–80%. But as Oliver said, if your brain resists… well, who knows.”
I didn’t need him to finish the sentence to understand.
“Pak, until you throw a pitch, both Oliver and I will focus on the same training. Building your body comes first. You can take your time to decide until then.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
A knuckleball, huh.
Hearing something completely unexpected made my head spin.
But the thought that I might get my velocity back made my heart race.
I had one question, though.
“Oliver, when you said knuckleballers can’t always throw knuckleballs, what did you mean?”
“Oh, that? Among knuckleballers, we say you need three kinds of luck to throw one. Talent for the pitch, someone to help you, and whether the sky allows it that day. Every pitch needs a little luck.”
…Luck, huh.
That might play a bigger part in my decision than I thought.
“…A knuckleball?”
Exactly one week after Oliver’s explanation, Ryu Gyu-tae, who had been busy in Busan, heard the news—directly from me.
“Yes. That’s right.”
After holding his head and thinking for a moment, Ryu Gyu-tae nodded.
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
I was the one taken aback.
“…Director?”
“Yes. Speak.”
“…Is it really okay for you to approve so easily?”
“I didn’t decide lightly.”
My trade was the biggest move he’d made since becoming the Marlins’ director.
Fans were still debating endlessly online whether the trade was good or bad.
And now, word spread that I was going to learn the knuckleball?
Fans expected to see me throwing 155 km/h.
But if I threw a knuckleball barely over 110 km/h, chaos would surely follow.
Yet Ryu Gyu-tae didn’t agree without thinking.
“I know Oliver White. He’s why we sent Pak to the U.S. I was disappointed he’d only arrive in a month, so this works out. And anyway, you’re not switching to a knuckleball permanently, right? Then it’s fine. But you’ll need to keep this under wraps.”
The key was my velocity, not the knuckleball itself.
Even if the rehab takes five years, it’s worth it.
Besides, these two years were an inevitable gap anyway.
“While we’re at it, we might as well handle military service too.”
“Yes. I agree.”
Two years fly by once you’re in the military.
“We’ll coordinate your enlistment from Korea. For now, focus on learning there.”
“…Director, thank you so much.”
Hearing the slightly trembling tone on the other side made him chuckle.
He didn’t say it, but I understood the risk he was taking for me.
Still…
“This is what a director is supposed to do. Ah, but I don’t think you’ll make spring training. If it gets out that you’re throwing knuckleballs, it won’t be good. Let’s hide it as long as we can.”
Even for rehab purposes, public perception of knuckleballs wasn’t positive.
They were seen as a pitch that washed-up pitchers tried as a last hope.
“Can I stay here until then?”
“Support is for a month. After that, you’ll need to pay. Is that okay?”
“Yes. I’ve saved some money.”
“Then stay with one interpreter. That’ll do.”
“Thank you.”
“All right. See you from Korea.”
‘It’s going to get noisy for a while.’
After hanging up, Ryu Gyu-tae sighed and removed me from the spring training roster.
For the next two years, I effectively didn’t exist as a player.
Even for a forward-looking trade, letting people know I wasn’t in the spring roster would cause some stir.
But it was still better than rumors of a knuckleball.
Surprisingly, my mind was at ease.
‘I have a good feeling about this.’
No reason. But by chance, a spot opened in the U.S. after the trade, and Oliver White arrived earlier than planned.
I even learned the truth behind my sudden velocity drop.
Could all of this be called coincidence?
‘And a knuckleball.’
Somehow, it suited me perfectly.
‘I hope I can throw it well while I learn.’
Who knew if I could actually use it right away?
Of course, Ryu Gyu-tae knew that was a far-fetched thought and chuckled to himself before getting back to work.
Meanwhile, in the U.S., things were as he thought.
“…Huh. What the…”
Something unusual was happening.
With the director’s approval, nothing else stood in my way.
But I didn’t throw immediately.
“Your condition is worse than expected. A lot of fatigue has built up in your muscles. This was your first full season, right?”
“Yes. The first season was injury-shortened, and last year I returned mid-season.”
“Let’s focus on recovery first.”
Oliver said I should spend almost a month on recovery training.
“Does it always take this long? Others seem to be throwing already.”
“When pitchers try to make up for lost velocity while recovering, they often overstrain. I’ve been there too. Okay, break’s over. Let’s start again.”
This was insane.
This was supposed to be recovery, right?
Even if not “healing,” I expected it to be easier.
But I was wrong.
Worst of all, the food was awful.
I wanted the meals to fuel my recovery, but this was hopeless.
The only comfort was that I wasn’t the only one suffering.
“…Si-woo, how can you eat this so well?”
“I eat to survive.”
“You want some of mine?”
“If you don’t, you’ll be weak this afternoon. Are you sure?”
“…Yeah, okay. Ugh. I really want some fried chicken.”
Sighing, he popped a bland, unseasoned chicken breast into his mouth. That was Song Min-seok, a catcher.
Not a starter, competing for backup with another senior.
Their skills were similar, but I heard Min-seok had suffered injuries every time he got a chance.
So now we chewed the tasteless chicken in solidarity.
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“I’m used to it now.”
I ate holding the ball in my left hand.
The knuckleball grip Oliver taught me.
I had started a few days ago to get familiar with it.
Oliver said to treat it as rehab, but I figured, why not learn it properly?
It wouldn’t be my main pitch, but it could occasionally surprise hitters.
“Hm. Okay.”
“Senior? Where are you going?”
Without answering, Song Min-seok returned wearing his catcher’s mask.
“…What are you doing?”
“I changed to a hockey-style mask. I’ll wear it until I get used to it. How is it? Looks good, right?”
“…Yes. It suits you.”
Later I learned Min-seok was known as a bit of a madman on the team.
Anyway, thanks to him, the month passed quickly.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking out all the must-visit places before going back to Korea. Exhausted already. Are you really not going?”
“Yes. I want to learn a bit more before I go.”
“Ugh. Even if I got paid, I couldn’t stay here longer. I’ll tell you when we’re back. I’ll show you all the Busan hotspots.”
His grin said one thing: it was almost time to throw.
“Hm. I guess it’s time to start.”
Oliver checked my body thoroughly and gave the okay.
Finally, I could throw.
I hadn’t thrown in so long since rehab.
Maybe the recovery training helped—my body felt twitchy.
Oliver seemed to know this and smiled, handing me the ball.
“Pak, as I’ve said, our goal is rehabilitation. The knuckleball is just part of that.”
“I know.”
“Hmph. Judging by your face, I don’t quite believe you… But you’ve got the grip down, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The knuckleball works differently. You don’t snap it at the end to spin—it’s pushed using your fingertips and joints. Each pitcher does it differently. Some spin it opposite to a fastball, some focus on the fingernails.”
“Hm. Sounds hard.”
“Exactly. It’s completely opposite to what you’re used to. That’s why so few throw it.”
And it was true.
A pitch completely contrary to modern pitching principles.
That’s the knuckleball.
“I’ll try one.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Standing on the mound again felt strange.
The only difference was the grip.
But it felt like stepping on a mound for the first time.
After reacquainting myself with the mound, I started pitching calmly.
The motion was more like playing catch, feet narrower, shoulders relaxed.
The only moment of force was when pushing the ball with the tips of my middle and index fingers.
The ball left my hand slower than I could believe I’d thrown it.
And it wasn’t just the speed that shocked me.
I could see the seams as it flew.
A shiver ran down my spine.
The ball wobbled unpredictably, tracing an odd path before dropping.
…This is a knuckleball?
I looked at Oliver to confirm.
“…Huh. What the…”
His expression wasn’t joy—it was closer to astonishment.