The Catcher's Expertise
This was my specialty: 2 balls, 1 strike. I matched the sign again, this time opting for a changeup that would drop into the low-outside corner. Like the previous pitch, it started off looking like a fastball before dropping, making it more of a lure than anything. Whoosh—but the result was the same. Choi Seung-taek didn't budge, and the ball sailed low for another ball. Just like that, the count ran to 3 balls and 1 strike. All I could do was fiddle with the ball in my glove and think.
High school hitters had fallen for these pitches before, but picking them apart made it that much trickier. A walk wasn't ideal either... And throwing one right down the middle? That felt like suicide. Still, I'd have to challenge him eventually. Dodging forever meant nothing. So I went with a fastball low and inside. I figured that spot wouldn't yield an easy extra-base hit. I took a short breath and fired it with everything I had. The ball felt solid leaving my hand, boring straight toward the intended target—low and inside, a tough spot for a righty. Whiiish! "That's a strike!" It caught the perfect spot on the body, and the ump called it a strike.
Nice! Now it was 3-2, full count. For the next one... I'd throw something similar to mess with him. After a flurry of signs from Na-seong, I settled on a sinker that would dart inside off the body. It'd head toward the strike zone before slipping in toward him. Even if it missed, with two strikes already, I'd done my job. A safe bet, you could say? If he swung and missed, great; if he took it, it wasn't a disaster. Alright, let's go with it. I unleashed the pitch. Whiiiish—it left my hand, grazing the edge of the strike zone before tailing sharply inside. Got it!
But... right as I thought it was solid, Choi Seung-taek moved. He unleashed a short, compact swing. Crack! The sound was different. I knew instantly—it was bad. The ball rocketed off the bat, unbelievably fast and high. Instinctively, I whipped my head around and looked skyward. It kept flying toward left field, never losing steam as it approached the wall.
"Whoa..." A collective gasp rose from the Jeon-san High players watching. Then the ball cleared the fence by a mile. A clean home run. I stared blankly in that direction. So this is what a major leaguer's like... That last one was a ball anyway, so it didn't even matter...
"Man, that's a good ball. Most guys would eat that up," Choi Seung-taek said as he slowly walked out of the box, lowering his bat. For some reason, his words lifted my spirits despite the homer.
"Catcher buddy, mind lending me that glove for a sec? And you—grab a bat and step in."
He took Na-seong's glove and planted himself behind home plate. "Throw one. Training time starts now."
* * *
Choi Seung-taek caught my pitches for a while without a word. Only after the last one did he slowly stand. He walked straight toward me. Up close, he eyed me steadily for a moment before speaking.
"Okay. I've got a read on you." Short, but brimming with certainty. He nodded lightly and continued. "No wonder our guys struggle against this style. Rare control artist. Throwing exactly where the glove is... That's precision even the majors would envy."
My heart skipped a beat. Praise felt good, but curiosity burned brighter. "So where do I stand right now? Objectively."
He chuckled. "Objectively? It'll have my bias baked in. Hmm... You're first-team pro material right now. And an interesting type. Modern baseball leans heavy on vertical movement, but you're classic—low and lots of horizontal. That could play even better against hitters tuned to up-down stuff."
Pro first team right away? High praise. But my greed wouldn't settle there. I hesitated, then pressed. "What about the majors?"
He shook his head without pause. "Majors? No chance."
The bluntness hit like a gut punch. Undeterred, he laid it out coldly. "Control's elite—I admit that. But velocity's too low. No pop either. Your edge is basically just command. Sure, the underhand weirdness and solid tunnel make you tough... but that's it. Slow balls with average movement don't survive at high levels. No real standout trait for the majors."
He scanned me head to toe. "One thing's clear, though. No help from Dad."
What? My eyes widened. "How'd you...?"
"None of his strengths in you. Looks like underhand, but styles are worlds apart."
It stung like a slap—something I craved validation on, but now exposed. I clamped my mouth shut, conflicted. He read my face and frowned slightly. "What? You wanna do it without Daddy's help?"
I had no reply. He snorted. "Stubborn nonsense. If you really want the majors, rethink that."
Oddly, defiance flared. I met his gaze. "No advice from you, then? I still don't want Dad's help."
He looked exasperated, then sighed. "Fine. Condition."
"Condition?"
"Yeah. Get called up to the national team? You show, no exceptions."
Caught off guard, I steadied myself. "If I say I'll go next time, you'll tell me?"
"Of course."
I nodded firmly. "Deal. I'll attend whenever possible if the chance comes—barring real issues."
Finally, arms crossed, he gave it. "Alright. Two ways to boost you now. First: learn the upshoot. Deadliest weapon for underhanders. Weird you don't have it yet, son of Kim Jeong-seok. Doesn't matter who teaches—just master it."
I hung on every word, barely breathing. But he wasn't done. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he added, "Second... Tricky. Could ruin you."
"Doesn't matter."
"Hmm... Okay. Raise your arm angle."
"Pardon?"
"Most pitchers drop angle for stability and speed. Underhand's opposite. Many go near sidearm, raising it to amp velocity. Easiest fix for yours. Your dad did it too—underhand, but high like sidearm."
He shrugged. "Catch is, I'm a catcher, not a pitching coach. Can't tweak your balance if it breaks, or fine-tune grip for pop on each pitch. That's the risk... Hope you pull it off. That's all I got."
I bowed deeply. "Thank you. It helps—a lot."
True words. Harsh and cold, but grounded, pointing a clear path. He smirked faintly. "Good. You're done."
"Huh?"
His eyes shifted behind me. He headed straight for Na-seong, who froze tensely. Choi slung an arm over his shoulder casually. "Now, let's chat—you."
Na-seong's face hardened visibly.
"My real specialty's this side."