Chapter 4

Chapter 3

A Sea of Work.

The man, who couldn't even lift his head, finally slumped as he tried to clear the mountain of tasks before him.

This job has no end in sight.

Pratt, the general manager of the Atlanta Braves, thought to himself, "What a miserable job."

"Damn it."

"Why is that?"

"Well, I'm just a bit tired."

"Take a break now and then. It will improve your efficiency."

As the assistant manager tilted his head at the sudden outburst, Pratt waved his hand dismissively and buried himself in the plush chair.

Being the general manager of the Braves is not easy. It's probably the same for all general managers of professional teams.

But because it's my job, it feels even harder, Pratt thought.

'One small mistake and a torrent of abuse will pour in. If the owner is in a bad mood, my neck will be on the line. The workload is disgusting, and the players whine like children when they're a bit upset... It's really not a job for a human.'

To make matters worse, the previous GM had left a mess.

'That damn fool.'

What was wrong with that guy's brain?

In the draft, free agency, and trades, he only brought in pitchers.

It seemed he wanted to build a pitching kingdom like the Maddux-Glavine-Smoltz trio of the 1990s.

The problem was that the starters he brought in all failed. The only ones left were the few who survived in the bullpen.

As a result, the team had no notable position players or starters.

The bullpen was at the top level of the big leagues, but it was a bizarre team.

Even more ridiculous was that the farm system was still full of pitchers.

Pratt had been working hard on trades since he took over, but it was still not enough.

The catchers, infielders, and outfielders were all lacking.

There were big free agents coming up soon,

like Harding, the Flying Dutchman from Pittsburgh, or Hunter from the Tigers.

But would his neck still be attached by then?

Given the current situation, it was uncertain. Pratt shook his head again.

'That level of obsession is almost pathological. Damn dog... No, no, it's ridiculous for me to curse him.'

It seemed the previous GM had left everything to him. Grinding his teeth, Pratt shook his head.

Thinking about it, he had also brought in pitchers from the start of his tenure.

For $2.5 million.

'And he even got injured.'

Jung Woo Lee. A player he had hoped would become a key starter but who lost a year to shoulder rehabilitation.

His rehab results were unsatisfactory, and he was still in Single-A.

His performance was so poor that he could have been sent down to the rookie league.

He was still young, so he needed more time, but honestly, it was a bit scary.

$2.5 million wasn't an unmanageable amount,

but it was a lot of money to spend on an Asian prospect.

So, when it came to the pitchers causing problems in the organization, he had no right to criticize the previous GM.

'But I did bring in a starter...'

Muttering to himself as if making an excuse, he returned to his work.

Then he found something from Single-A.

Reading it with a serious face, he let out a hollow laugh.

"Are these people crazy?"

"What's wrong now?"

As the assistant manager approached and asked, Pratt handed over what he was reading with a nervous gesture.

"Jung Woo Lee, converting to a hitter?"

"How can a player they brought in be converted to a hitter? Maybe it's time for a coaching staff change."

Pratt muttered with a cynical expression.

Converting to a hitter? No way.

He had already heard this suggestion before,

but he had strongly opposed it.

He couldn't understand why the field staff were bringing it up again.

Of course, even expensive prospects sometimes change positions,

but that's usually when they have some hitting record.

Pratt remembered every player he had scouted.

Their hitting records in high school, the scouts' evaluations, and expectations.

A very good player might become a starting hitter, but not an All-Star, MVP, or Silver Slugger.

With a bit of luck, they might just make the 25-man roster.

'Absolutely not.'

Pratt was firm.

In fact, the evaluations weren't bad.

Most players don't even make it to the starting lineup in the big leagues, let alone the minors.

But compared to the expectations for a pitcher, it was a significant drop.

No one would convert a player they brought in as a potential ace or second starter to a hitter after a poor Single-A season following an injury.

So, he had a sour expression.

But the assistant manager thought differently.

He read the report carefully.

Concerns about Lee's struggles and lack of improvement from the scouting team.

The player's reaction, which seemed like giving up on everything. And the expectations if he were to convert to a hitter.

He didn't miss a single detail.

Then he nodded.

"Maybe it could work."

"What are you saying? Are you crazy too?"

Pratt said irritably, but the assistant manager spoke calmly as usual.

"Lee's skills haven't improved as expected."

"That's... "

"It's summer now, and his fastball should be at 90 mph, but it's still in the low 80s. He's giving up a lot of long balls and home runs, which means his pitches are weak. His breaking balls are also easily exploited."

Indeed, all the metrics were at rock bottom.

ERA, home runs allowed, hits allowed, walks per inning. And so on.

Everything related to pitching.

If he were just an average player, he would have been sent to the rookie league by now.

He would have been released soon after.

The only reason he's still in Single-A is because of the significant investment and expectations.

"So, are you really suggesting a conversion?"

"I think it's good to gauge the player's thoughts. He's under a lot of mental stress. It might be better to show him another path and reduce his burden."

Pratt closed his mouth tightly.

It meant he was thinking.

To reduce the burden on the prospect.

The idea wasn't bad.

It could have a positive impact.

"Maybe just bringing it up is okay."

xxxx

When someone makes an unpleasant decision. Lee Jung Woo also decided to make a decision.

"I'll turn off the lights and clean up the training field myself."

"Thank you. Do your best, but don't stay too long."

In the training field, where the players had left due to the late hour, Lee Jung Woo, with the permission of the staff, picked up a bat.

He was feeling restless, perhaps because of the hitting coach's probing.

He wanted to quell this restlessness.

'Do I have the talent to be a hitter?'

For Lee Jung Woo, hitting was simple.

If he hits, great; if not, it's fine. Just throw the ball well.

That was his mindset when he stepped into the batter's box.

Until now.

But now, he might not be able to do that.

'I have no future as a pitcher. I know that from experience.'

He would end up as a third-rate pitcher.

His failures would multiply.

This time would probably be no different.

So, if he wanted to continue playing baseball and avoid repeating his failures,

he needed to find a new path.

He needed to change his crude mindset.

To do that, Lee Jung Woo wanted to see his own abilities.

He entered the batting cage.

Without proper preparation, using a pitching machine for practice was not an option.

There was no one to toss the balls, so the common Korean practice of toss batting was also impossible.

So, Lee Jung Woo chose tee batting.

It wouldn't show his true skills,

but he could do it alone, and simple batting was possible.

'Given the current situation, it's the best option.'

He set up the tee and brought over a bucket of balls.

Filling the bucket with balls,

he awkwardly placed one on the tee.

Having never done this before, his hands were clumsy, and it took a few tries to place the ball correctly.

'Ease up. Naturally. Use your lower body. Impact at the end.'

Repeating the advice from his long-ago high school coach like a mantra, Lee Jung Woo stepped into the batter's box.

And he swung.

'Can I really become a hitter? Leaving the mound I've thrown from for decades?'

A casual swing.

His body was uncoordinated, and his mind had been away from hitting for too long.

The ball hit by the bat rolled on the ground.

But Lee Jung Woo silently placed the ball back on the tee.

Perhaps it was his instinct as a baseball player.

Despite his mind being a mess, his body managed a decent swing.

So, he swung again and again.

'But what if I can't? Will I just repeat the same failures and frustrations?'

The sound of the bat hitting the ball grew louder.

'Will I give up baseball? Will I quit and look for something else?'

Over time, his swings became more centered.

He gave a proper impact at the end.

'Don't you want to hear the cheers? Don't you want to hear the applause?'

He batted in a state of flow.

Sweat poured down his body.

Unused muscles ached.

When he reached his limit, Lee Jung Woo stopped batting.

His body ached, but he wasn't injured.

He didn't know much about hitting, but he could gauge his own injuries.

The bucket was completely empty.

The questions he had been asking himself also stopped.

He still couldn't see any potential.

He might not have the talent.

But his mind was set.

'I want to continue playing baseball. But I don't want to walk the same muddy path again. So, there's only one option left.'

Lee Jung Woo wiped the sweat from his forehead.

He had made up his mind.

'Let's try it, as a hitter.'

He didn't want to wait anxiously for a proposal that might never come.

He wanted to take the initiative and make his own choice.

With his mind made up, it was time to act.

xxxx

The manager of the Rome Braves was a bit taken aback.

Just as he was gauging the timing for the approval from the upper management,

Lee unexpectedly appeared early in the morning and requested a meeting.

This was completely unexpected.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

"Of course, I'm always available for player meetings. That's why I'm the manager. Sit down."

Sitting Lee down, the manager tried to gauge his thoughts.

What did he come to talk about?

What was on his mind?

'Maybe he wants to quit baseball... '

Unless he's released,

a contracted player can't just quit.

But the club can't stop him if he slacks off.

So, the manager couldn't help but be nervous.

'Maybe it's already too late?'

Perhaps he had already given up, as the hitting coach suggested.

If that were the case, he should have made the proposal earlier.

Negative thoughts kept popping up, and sweat started to trickle down from under his white hair.

Then, Lee spoke.

"I want to convert to a hitter."

"Hmm?"

It was an unexpected statement.

The manager was surprised, as he hadn't anticipated it.

To hear such a thing from a player's mouth.

'Was it leaked somewhere? Scott isn't the type to talk loosely. Did the pitching coach hint at it?'

His mind was in turmoil.

The player must make the decision himself.

If he's forced into it, he's guaranteed to fail.

So, the manager wondered if it had leaked from somewhere,

but he soon dismissed the thought.

The serious face, the firm jaw, the eyes looking at him.

It was all his own decision.

If so, he shouldn't be questioning the wrong person.

He needed to ask why the player made this decision.

"Why did you think of this?"

"I know my body. My skills won't come back."

Indeed, that was the case.

"You still have plenty of time. You don't need to worry about this right after rehab."

"It's been almost two months since I finished rehab, but my fastball hasn't increased by even a mile. My pitches are still weak. Unless I learn to throw a knuckleball or something exceptional, I won't become a good pitcher. So, instead of holding onto something that won't work, I want to try a new challenge."

"..."

The manager furrowed his brow.

A sigh escaped him.

How much thought must this promising player have put into such a decision?

How much he must have agonized over it alone?

Even though he was a minor league manager with limited authority,

he felt foolish for not noticing his player's struggles.

"Have you thought about this enough?"

"Yes."

"It will be a tough time. You might have to invest more time than your rehab. You'll have to bear it all alone, and the club won't support you as they did before."

"I don't mind. I'm... already prepared for that."

His face was resolutely firm.

Whatever process he went through,

whatever he saw in his future,

Lee had let go of his past.

The spotlight on a promising prospect.

The guaranteed success as a pitcher.

The glamorous spotlight of a bonus baby who crossed the Pacific.

'Pratt won't like it, but if he's made up his mind, it's our job to support him.'

Pratt would probably go ballistic.

The coaches might yell, accusing him of forcing the player.

But if he was in this position, he had to bear it.

Those who cared only about themselves wouldn't create unnecessary trouble,

but he wasn't like that.

Even if he lost his job and ended up teaching high school or middle school,

it didn't matter to him.

"I understand your decision. I'll call Scott."

He nodded.

If so, it was time to bring in the hitting coach.

He would step back and let the GM handle the shouting.