Pop!

The ball the left-hander threw hit the catcher's mitt with a report like the leather tearing.

The number on the radar gun read 97 miles an hour.

It was a practice field with no paying crowd, but the seats were packed with scouts and club officials sent from every organization.

"Wow. Look at the life on that ball. Jake Miller, White Sox. Double-A Birmingham. This kid's the real thing."

One white scout wrote in his notebook and turned to the man beside him.

"He's definitely one the White Sox are raising like a treasure. ERA in the twos in Double-A this year, too. Sending him here means they're weighing whether to bring him straight up to the majors next season, doesn't it?"

"With stuff like that you could use him out of the bullpen right now. The Team B kids can't touch him."

Team A's starting pitcher, Jake Miller.

He was pitching as dominantly as his reputation as a top-tier prospect promised. Over the first and second innings he'd faced six hitters and hadn't let one of them reach base—four strikeouts and two ground balls among them.

The score was 5–0. On the mound and at the plate both, Team A was crushing them.

"This is way too one-sided. We're going to get a mercy rule out of this."

About the time the scouts were yawning and getting bored, the top of the third started.

Team B's number-seven hitter, Cash Meyer, was stepping into the box. Mark and Suho were getting ready in the on-deck circle.

Only then did the scouts start murmuring, looking back and forth between the roster sheet and the three of them.

"Huh? Who are these guys? Faces I've never seen."

"Hold on… their club is the Quakes? That's Low-A."

"What? The Dodgers sent three Low-A players? To the AFL?"

Puzzled, the scouts tapped at their tablets and pulled up the three of them.

"Ho. All three have solid numbers, all right. That number-seven hitter especially, Cash Meyer—he's a former first-rounder, and his stats ate that league alive. And the Asian kid hitting ninth joined…