Chapter 22
22. Respect
After the game.
The Lexington Swords clubhouse door opened and Seo Ji-tae walked inside.
The atmosphere was completely different from the day before, when everyone had mocked him as a young master.
Seo Ji-tae was stretching near his locker.
His teammates casually approached.
They held out their fists.
“Your stuff was amazing.”
“Did you see the hitters’ faces? That movement could work in the Major Leagues right now.”
Shockingly, they had begun showing Seo Ji-tae respect.
It was not because their opinions changed easily.
This was part of the American culture of respect.
Skin color did not matter.
Age did not matter.
Signing bonus did not matter.
Prove your skill.
Seo Ji-tae had acted arrogant, then backed it with ability.
The hazing disappeared almost instantly.
“….”
Seo Ji-tae did not brag or mock them.
He lightly bumped his fist against theirs.
“Thanks for finally noticing. Let’s do well from now on.”
The atmosphere had completely changed.
The invisible wall around Seo Ji-tae had collapsed after only one game.
Bullpen training before his second start.
Seo Ji-tae worked through his biomechanics program with the dedicated interpreter.
He threw rubber balls of different weights against a wall, carefully adjusting his rotational axis and kinetic chain.
The training always looked unusual.
The interpreter kept moving around, checking camera angles and posture.
But the teammates who had mocked him no longer laughed.
“I’m jealous. If someone checked me that carefully, I’d improve faster too.”
Now they watched Seo Ji-tae with envy.
They had realized the disgusting movement of his right arm came partly from this strange training.
The problem was that only Seo Ji-tae received such detailed attention.
Of course they were jealous.
Mockery had become envy.
Seo Ji-tae had turned hazing into respect.
After warming up lightly, Seo Ji-tae climbed onto the bullpen mound.
He put the glove on his left hand and lowered his body.
Then smoothly threw several pitches with the right-handed submarine form they already admired.
The pitch sharply curved outside near home plate.
“Whoa!”
His teammates watching from behind reacted in admiration.
“That thing really bends like crazy. From the batter’s box, it must look like a snake crawling toward you.”
Then something even stranger happened.
After checking his right-handed mechanics, Seo Ji-tae naturally removed the glove and placed it on his right hand.
He had switched from right-handed pitcher to left-handed pitcher.
Everyone warming up in the bullpen stopped.
“He’s going to throw left-handed now?”
“No way. Is he joking?”
Seo Ji-tae had thrown left-handed a few times mainly in sessions with Josh.
But most teammates had never properly seen it.
Seo Ji-tae breathed out lightly and lifted his left arm sharply.
The baseball exploded from a three-quarter angle toward the catcher.
[97 mph, 156 km/h]
The bullpen radar gun displayed an enormous number.
Completely different from the filthy right-handed submarine movement.
This was power pitching designed to crush hitters with force and speed.
“My God.”
Their mouths opened.
In the 2020s, 160 km/h pitchers would become more common.
In 2012, even in the minor leagues, 156 km/h was extremely fast.
Before the dust in the catcher’s mitt settled, Seo Ji-tae prepared another pitch.
It was not luck.
Again.
Again.
The high-speed splitter and power curve connected smoothly.
Then came a strange pitch breaking sideways at the end.
The unstable new slider missed Josh’s mitt several times.
But the other pitches were nearly flawless.
Especially the rising fastball.
Just watching it felt violent.
“Huh…”
Several teammates watching from only a few meters away looked at each other.
Their laughter mixed relief and disbelief.
“My God. A switch pitcher?”
“I’m really glad he’s on our team.”
“Yeah. If I had to stand in the box against that, I might quit baseball.”
A switch pitcher they thought could never exist.
Now they were staring at one.
August 2.
Charleston, South Carolina.
The second test ordered by Houston’s front office.
The opponent was the Charleston Rivercats, the Single-A affiliate of New York Bronx.
The exhausted Lexington players stepped off the bus.
Seo Ji-tae wore the same tired expression.
“Minor league travel really is the worst.”
The eight-hour bus ride from Kentucky to Charleston had been terrible.
They had spent the night folded into old seats on the highway.
Even strong athletes complained about pain in their backs and knees when they finally got off.
“Damn it.”
Sometimes the complaints were much rougher.
“One road trip like this feels like it’ll break my back.”
“If it’s this far, the league schedule should be reorganized.”
Among the complaining players, Seo Ji-tae stretched his stiff body.
“Ah, I’m tired.”
He loosened the fatigue and looked around.
“A lot of people are coming in.”
The stadium was filled with several thousand fans.
Because Charleston belonged to Bronx, even its Single-A club received passionate local support.
Fans cheered the home team while holding beer.
They hoped the hitters would crush the young visiting pitcher.
“Boooo!”
“Yeah!”
Seo Ji-tae calmly looked across the noisy crowd.
“Loud.”
But there was something none of them knew.
“They probably think I’m right-handed.”
The moment he placed the glove on his right hand, the Charleston dugout became strangely quiet.
Naturally.
For the past several days, their scouting department had prepared specifically for Seo Ji-tae’s right-handed submarine delivery.
The coaches and hitters had expected submarine.
They had not prepared at all for his left hand.
“Sorry, friends.”
Seo Ji-tae smiled.
The sixteen-year-old Asian pitcher mocked their entire scouting report from the mound.
Now he would attack Bronx’s affiliate with his left-handed three-quarter delivery.
Confusion appeared openly across the opposing dugout.
The game had already started.
Seo Ji-tae exchanged a look with Josh.
“Fastball? Of course. The first pitch should be a fastball.”
Josh now respected Seo Ji-tae’s style.
Seo Ji-tae’s right leg rose high.
