When Suho reached base on the walk—

"That kid. He's better than I expected."

Someone muttered it behind the backstop.

At that, another club's scout sitting beside him nodded and turned a page on his chart.

"Right? Hard to believe he's Low-A."

The mood today was different from yesterday's intrasquad game. Desert Dogs against Scorpions—five clubs on each side, ten organizations' prospects meeting in one game—so the back of the stands was unusually crowded with scouts. They went carefully through the rosters and data sheets handed out before the game.

Honestly, expectations for Suho had been on the floor. His age was up there, and his data was a textbook slap hitter's.

But when the lid came off, the quality of that slap hitter was something else.

"Well, look at that. KBO style, out here?"

"Honestly, you'd have to call that the final version of KBO style."

One veteran scout stroked his chin, interested.

KBO style, as American baseball people call it. It's a concept at the opposite pole from the major league trend.

If American baseball concentrates on producing extra-base hits with a full swing that isn't afraid of strikeouts, Korean baseball is the reverse. They treat the strikeout as a sin. Get the bat on the ball somehow, put it in play, draw an error out of the fielding side or move a runner along. Playing the percentages and playing to survive, worn into the body.

And being able to do that meant—

"His bat control is… really outstanding."

That Suho's bat control was extremely good.

Saying he had a good eye doesn't cover it. The reaction speed to put the bat face on the path of an incoming pitch in an instant. And the feel in the wrists not to get pushed back by the force of the ball. It meant Suho's mechanics were that perfect too.

American hitters foul off pitches too, of course—foul tips and the rest. But mostly that isn't intended; it happens by accident, from being late or mishitting.

Suho in that at-bat was different. It looked as if he'd fouled the ball…