Chapter 39

Chapter 39

39. Major League Call-Up

September 15.

Minute Maid Park, home of the Houston Apollos.

The first-team standings on General Manager Garp’s office monitor showed Houston at the bottom of the entire league.

Most general managers would be tearing their hair out.

Garp remained calm.

2014... No, at least until 2015. We endure, gather prospects, then rise.

It was a rebuilding strategy.

Keep the team low in the standings and collect valuable draft picks.

No matter what the media said or how much the fans cursed, he was following his plan.

“Still, we’re worse than I expected.”

Current record.

47 wins.

99 losses.

Dead last.

Their losing pace was even worse than the other bottom teams.

He had expected it.

But actually seeing the team lose this much was still depressing.

Then someone knocked on the office door.

The head minor league scout entered with a report.

“This is the final scouting report, including Seo Ji-tae’s cumulative results from three Double-A appearances.”

Garp opened the file with interest.

The very first page was filled with numbers produced by the sixteen-year-old boy who had crushed the minor league ecosystem through pure force.

[Double-A cumulative results, 3 games, 14 total innings]

ERA: 0.60

Earned runs: 0

Hits allowed: 4

K/9: 11.57

WHIP: 0.79

FIP: 0.34

“Only three games, and his last appearance was in relief?”

“His performance was overwhelming.”

The head scout smiled.

But the report continued.

[Left-handed pitcher evaluation]

Maximum velocity: 97 mph, 158 km/h.

Spin rate: 2,750 RPM or higher.

Vertical movement: 22.5 inches.

Pitch types: Rising fastball, curveball, modified slider, splitter.

High fastball usage, over 70 percent. Uses pure force and pitch quality to overpower hitters. Trusts his velocity and spin enough to attack even the middle of the strike zone. However, his preference for direct challenges increases extra-base-hit risk.

[Right-handed pitcher evaluation]

Maximum velocity: 89 mph, 143 km/h.

Underhand release point.

Pitch types: Up-shoot, frisbee slider, slurve, changeup, sinker.

His delivery lies between low underhand and normal underhand. Occasionally uses an even lower release for the upshoot. His pitch mix is more varied and polished than his left-handed repertoire. His ability to attack left-handed hitters with two options, the changeup and slurve, is a major advantage.

It was as if two top-level pitchers existed inside one person.

Garp found it ridiculous.

His eyes stopped on the field scout’s comments, highlighted in red beneath the data.

[Overall Scout Evaluation]

His current pitch quality already grades at an upper Major League level regardless of age. If he learns Major League rules and physical management properly in the minors, he can grow into an outstanding player. If Seo Ji-tae were eligible for the draft, he would be a talent competing for the first overall pick.

“We chose correctly. Maybe that $1.5 million was cheap after all.”

Garp glanced toward the trash can in his office.

“Good talent combined with a ‘good technique’ could even produce a championship.”

“...Technique?”

“I’ll explain later. And...”

Garp had been satisfied with the report.

But there was more.

[One strange detail. Seo Ji-tae’s dominant hand is clearly his left, which produces far superior velocity. However, for reasons we cannot explain, his right-handed pitching, despite being more than 8 mph slower, is far more mature in sequencing and command. His right-handed pitching contains the polished experience of a veteran who has survived Major League battles for more than a decade.]

The head scout added,

“More than his ability, the people in the field rated his mentality extremely highly.”

“His mentality?”

“He is self-centered at times, but that can be the privilege of talent. No matter what anyone said or how veterans treated him, he ignored it and pitched his game. He isn’t the type to support the team quietly. He’s the type who makes the team move around him.”

“Doesn’t matter. Right now this team is already being controlled by losing.”

Garp looked even happier.

So did the scout.

“He’s a great player. Give him a year in Double-A... No, even six more months of physical development and recovery training, and he could become a top Major League starter.”

“Hmm.”

Garp quietly closed the scouting report.

Calling someone up too early definitely carried risks.

But Seo Ji-tae’s minor league performance was beyond normal.

And the team was already approaching one hundred losses, with the postseason completely out of reach.

“He needs a showcase. Keeping him in the minors any longer this year is a waste of time.”

Garp picked up the office phone and dialed the Major League manager.

He was finally going to call Seo Ji-tae up.

“October 3. Seo Ji-tae pitches in the Apollos’ final game. Bring him to the first team and let him train with them!”

“Yes, sir.”

After the scout left, Garp looked again at Seo Ji-tae’s record.

“He’ll still begin next year in the minors. But I’ll let him taste the Major Leagues first. Let him train even harder.”

He smiled while looking down at Minute Maid Park.

Seo Ji-tae was enjoying Tyler’s anger.

“What? You got called up? Don’t screw with me!”

“Looks like I’m going ahead of you again.”

“You’re only going to play one game and come back down. Don’t think of it as a real Major League call-up. Teams do this all the time, letting rookies taste the big leagues.”

“Hahahaha!”

Seo Ji-tae’s victorious laughter traveled through the phone.

After ending the call, he looked at Ian Kim beside him.

“Compared to Josh, Tyler really has no dignity, right? Josh congratulated me.”

A black sedan moved smoothly down the highway toward downtown Houston.

Seo Ji-tae casually looked at the skyscrapers outside.

Ian Kim spoke without lifting his eyes from his tablet.

“Before entering the clubhouse, I need to explain several things.”

“Unwritten rules?”

Ian Kim’s finger paused on the screen.

“...As expected, you catch on quickly.”

He adjusted his glasses.

“American sports look free from the outside. Inside, they can be more conservative than the military.”

“Rookies have to act like rookies, that kind of thing.”

“Exactly.”

Ian Kim counted on his fingers.

“Carry veterans’ luggage, run errands, go through rookie hazing. They are all treated as rites of passage. Refuse, and you can become an outcast in the clubhouse overnight.”

Seo Ji-tae nodded once.

“America is stricter than people think.”

“One more thing.”

Ian Kim finally turned toward Seo Ji-tae.

“The same applies on the mound. Whether you strike someone out or give up a home run, excessive celebration is taboo.”

“Because someone will throw at me later.”

“They see it as disrespect. The retaliation pitch can come immediately in your next plate appearance.”

Seo Ji-tae already knew all of this.

America was far more conservative than many people imagined.

If he had seniority, it would be different.

But he was a newly called-up rookie.

If he disrespected veterans, he could easily be isolated.

“Don’t worry. I know.”

Ian Kim looked back at the tablet.

“Finally, the team situation.”

Houston’s season record appeared on the screen.

“They’re about to lose one hundred games. Worst team in the league.”

“Garp is losing on purpose, right?”

“Officially, we deny that wording.”

Ian Kim paused.

“But Garp is clearly gathering prospects. He’s willing to lose while developing the players acquired through tanking. He’s looking toward the year after next.”

“A clubhouse with no intention of winning. Losing teams already have bad atmospheres, but when they lose this much, people usually stop caring.”

“Exactly. The air is poor. They’re used to losing. And now a sixteen-year-old Asian rookie is entering that room.”

Seo Ji-tae looked out the window again.

The massive stadium wall appeared in the distance.

“Sounds fun. But I’m not going to stop my training because I’m worried about seniors. A pitcher always fights one-on-one. I have to dominate the opponent.”

“I already know your mentality. That part doesn’t worry me.”

The sedan entered the players’ parking lot.

The clubhouse atmosphere was lukewarm.

A team employee guided Seo Ji-tae inside.

Long rows of lockers stood on both sides.

The large lockers in the best positions had veteran players’ nameplates firmly attached.

The employee stopped at the very end of the hallway.

Right beside the shower room.

A cramped locker still damp with humidity.

“This will be Seo Ji-tae’s place.”

There was not even a proper nameplate.

A piece of paper with “SEO” written in marker had been taped on.

Seo Ji-tae looked up and down at the small locker.

Then he shoved his bag inside.

“Nice. Close to the bathroom.”

“You’ll have to get used to it for a while.”

The employee laughed and walked away.

Seo Ji-tae slowly looked around while unpacking.

Players sprawled across sofas.

Groups gathered around tables playing cards.

Nobody was rushing.

Several empty lockers along the wall had clearly lost their owners.

Contracts terminated? Trades? It feels colder than I expected.

Nobody was using strict discipline to intimidate him.

There was simply no tension from a team trying to win.

Only the laziness of men accustomed to losing.

Seo Ji-tae stored the image in his mind like data.

Houston Apollos.

The locker room of the worst team in the league.

At last, he had arrived.