Chapter 6

Chapter 5

The defensive coach was in a difficult situation.

It's not easy to turn a pitcher into a fielder.

Successful cases are rare.

The defense of a pitcher and a fielder are different.

A pitcher fills in at first base when it's open, catches ground balls near the mound, and occasionally avoids or catches line drives.

Unlike pitchers, who generally stay near the mound, fielders have to run around to different positions.

They need to accurately judge the ball and position themselves accordingly.

So, the defensive coach, who has to turn such a pitcher into a fielder, can't help but feel overwhelmed.

'Well, I guess I just need to teach him the basics of left field or first base defense.'

He found the current situation annoying.

He would do it because he was told to.

Honestly, he didn't have high expectations.

He thought he would just teach him the basic positioning for a low-defense position like first base or left field.

"Let's start with fungo."

"Yes, please teach me well."

After a slight bow, the defensive coach, who had been looking at Lee Jung-woo with a complicated expression, casually hit a fungo.

'If he catches two out of ten, it'll be a miracle.'

Actually, even that would be too much.

He thought Lee Jung-woo would drop or miss every ball.

Without much thought, the defensive coach picked up a ball, lofted it, and swung a light fungo bat.

"Ground ball to the left!"

Unlike a regular bat, a fungo bat is long and light.

If you swing it hard, it breaks easily.

So, you need to hit it softly and send it to the player, which requires skill.

But this time, the skill wasn't very good.

'Shit!'

He had intended to roll a gentle ground ball, but somehow hit the center of the ball, resulting in a line drive.

He muttered a curse and then opened his eyes wide.

Lee Jung-woo was moving towards the ball that was flying far away.

'It's not a ground ball.'

Lee Jung-woo, who had crouched down at the coach's instruction, furrowed his brow.

The ball wasn't rolling but flying far to the left.

It was also quite fast.

'Is this a test?'

It was a mistake by the defensive coach, but Lee Jung-woo, unaware of this, thought it was a test.

So, he judged the ball.

Can he catch it or not?

His mind quickly processed this in a split second.

The judgment he made was:

'It will pass right over me, so I don't need to move. I can catch it just by reaching out my hand.'

It was a catchable ball.

He raised his left arm, which he had extended forward, and caught the ball as if he were hitting it.

If this had been a real game, a clean hit would have turned into an out.

The defensive coach, who saw this, doubted his own eyes.

Is what I just saw real?

He was a pitcher, right?

I know he has good athletic ability, but can he do that just with athletic ability?

The defensive coach was confused, but Lee Jung-woo was calm.

'How did I catch it so well? If I had been a bit slower, it would have passed by. Is this how you improve reaction speed?'

His judgment was quick, and his body followed well.

Lee Jung-woo, who made his uniform flutter slightly, glanced at his glove.

The ball was stuck to the glove like a fly on a spider's web.

'Being young is definitely an advantage.'

He was naturally athletic.

He could catch line drives easily, but being young made a difference.

In a tight situation, his body responded as he wanted, making him feel young again.

'This should make a good first impression.'

Lee Jung-woo threw the ball in the glove to the defensive coach, who had just recovered from the shock.

"Sorry, Lee. I hit the ball a bit off."

'Wasn't it a test?'

He thought the coach was testing him, but it seems it wasn't.

The defensive coach, who approached quickly, looked at him seriously.

"Are you hurt anywhere? Is your hand okay? Is your palm fine?"

"I'm fine."

Since he caught the ball perfectly with his glove, his hand was fine.

There were no injuries.

Seeing this, the defensive coach looked at him with a slightly serious expression.

"But how did you catch it? You were already crouched down."

"I saw the direction and speed of the ball and thought I could catch it."

The defensive coach swallowed hard at his answer.

If what he said is true,

He didn't just catch it with reaction speed.

He made a sufficient judgment in that short time.

'He has good athletic ability, and his judgment is fast. This might be... '

A little hope grew from what was initially none.

Fast and accurate judgment and agility are essential talents for a fielder.

"Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine. I caught it with my glove. Please continue."

Impressed by Lee Jung-woo's confident words, the defensive coach nodded.

He also wanted to see more.

The catch just now showed remarkable animal-like instincts.

Of course, it wasn't good to crouch down for a ground ball or just extend your arm to catch it.

'He's a beginner, so I have to consider that. But those are things that can be taught. Instincts can't be taught.'

Outstanding intuition and instincts often turn hits into outs.

'This is better than I thought.'

Nodding briefly,

The defensive coach, as if to show that the previous one was really a mistake,

This time, he sent the fungo exactly as he wanted.

Lee Jung-woo handled all the balls that came his way.

The key here is that they 'came his way.'

'As expected, his basic skills like footwork are completely lacking. But he catches all the balls that come near him. His judgment is good.'

In simple terms, he made up for his lack of basics with his mind and physical ability.

At this level, if he were to play in a game, he wouldn't be a liability in a low-defense position like first or third base.

But he felt a little greedy.

'Fast judgment, animal-like reaction speed. For a former pitcher, his throwing accuracy is high.'

There was a position that suited Lee Jung-woo's talents.

'How about teaching him second base?'

The defensive coach saw the potential for infield defense in Lee Jung-woo.

xxxx

Since he needed to establish a proper batting stance,

Lee Jung-woo, who set up a large full-length mirror in his room, concentrated intensely, sweating profusely.

It had been a little over a month since he switched to being a batter, and it was now August.

The league would end in the first week of September.

Since he was still in Rome and not in the bullpen, Lee Jung-woo felt a bit relieved.

He thought he would probably stay here for this season.

The next season was uncertain, but

'While I can enjoy a good environment, I need to make the most of it.'

He had to learn as much as possible in the remaining month.

'Participating in a few games in the minor leagues or Arizona League is difficult, so I hope to play in a few games here.'

With this thought, Lee Jung-woo, after finishing his posture correction, wiped the sweat and left his room.

As he entered the stadium, Scott called him to the field.

'The field. Probably free batting.'

The new pitching machine was like a rival to Lee Jung-woo.

Having faced it so often, he had developed a certain attachment to the machine.

But as he reached his destination, he noticed a pitcher on the mound.

He also saw a catcher behind home plate.

'Pitcher? Catcher?'

The catcher was someone he knew.

He was the second catcher for the Rome Braves, Michael, who had caught his pitches before and often met him during training.

When Lee Jung-woo greeted him, the catcher nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

'But who is that?'

The pitcher, on the other hand, was a stranger.

He was probably a recent call-up.

Since he hadn't done anything besides training, his future hadn't changed.

He was probably a player who was originally supposed to come up, but Lee Jung-woo didn't remember him.

'People come and go, so there are many. I didn't pay much attention to him before or after the regression.'

He might have seen him a few times, but he looked at the tanned player as if he were seeing him for the first time.

Then he turned his gaze to Scott, who was welcoming him.

"It's a new call-up. I need to check him out, and you've got your stance down, so you need to face a real pitcher, right?"

Lee Jung-woo nodded.

He also needed to face a real pitcher.

The pitching machine always threw the same ball in the same direction.

It made it easy to time the ball, which was a bit disappointing.

But now he would face a real pitcher.

"This isn't free batting; it's a mini-game. You'll face three at-bats, and any ball that drops in the infield is an out, so be careful."

"Ah, yes."

His heart was pounding.

It felt like the real start. Baseball, batting, everything.

Facing only the pitching machine, the results could be bad, but he had to accept it.

Suppressing his racing heart, Lee Jung-woo asked calmly.

"What pitches will he throw?"

"Four-seam, slider. Two pitches. The speed is in the low 90s, and he has good movement."

Two pitches.

Not many options.

The speed isn't extremely fast.

But compared to Lee Jung-woo, who was just taking his first steps, this was a great pitcher.

'I'll just focus on my swing.'

xxxx

Gonzalo Garcia.

His pitching form, with his arm flapping, resembled a bird's wings.

The pitcher, nicknamed 'Pájaro' (bird), scanned the batter who stepped into the box.

'Lee Jung-woo, right? A pitcher who switched to batting.'

Lee Jung-woo didn't know him, but Pájaro did.

He had heard a lot about him.

The new pitchers he met after being called up had been talking about him.

A pitcher who fled to the batter's box after a failed rehabilitation from an injury.

That's how the pitchers referred to him.

Looking at his masculine and handsome face, Pájaro's expression twisted.

'Ha, my pride is hurt. What do they think of me?'

He was bewildered.

He couldn't understand how they judged him to be matched with such a player.

Did they think he was a high school kid?

He thought a promising player would come out for the mini-game.

Someone like Desmond Jennings, whom he had heard of even in the rookie league.

But why did they bring someone like this?

'Well, it's just three at-bats. I'll throw nine pitches and be done with it.'

Pájaro frowned, then composed himself.

He didn't want to be seen as having a bad mental state by the coach.

He decided to strike out all three at-bats.

If he showed his true skills, he wouldn't have to see this face again.

Warming up lightly, he started with a dramatic arm swing.

The four-seam fastball, whipped from his right arm like a whip, came in towards the batter's body.

A deep pitch to a left-handed batter by a right-handed pitcher isn't a good course.

'So what? He can't hit it anyway.'

He thought so, and it should have been.

'This is a strike— huh?'

Why didn't the ball go into the catcher's glove?

Why is it flying far away?

Pájaro couldn't understand.