Frank Lambert came back to the hotel lobby after the meeting, sat down at a table, and took a mouthful of hot coffee.

His eyes were as deep as ever, and somewhere in them a satisfied smile had spread.

Alan Powell drew out a sheaf of papers and held it out.

“Here’s the relevant paperwork.”

He said it as he handed it over. There was a faint admiration in his voice.

“Two players out of one tryout. I’ve never seen you do that before.”

There was respect in it.

At an independent league tryout like that, finding one player with a real future once a decade counts as success.

This time he had taken Suho and Mark both, and Suho had come out of the KBO farm system at that.

Major league scouts travel the world and look at any number of prospects.

The cases that actually end in a contract are few enough to count on your hands.

And to recommend two players at once, off an unproven independent league stage, to an organization like the Dodgers, was uncommon even for a scout of Frank Lambert’s standing.

Scouts from other clubs, of course, often signed anyone who stood out even slightly, and worried about it later.

And naturally most of those signings failed.

Frank was different.

He saw through to the potential, weighed how well a player would fit the organization’s system.

And above all, he cared whether the man had a true hunger for the game.

Frank set the cup down and said it quietly.

“Yes. I got lucky.”

There was modesty in it, and Alan knew perfectly well it wasn’t simple luck.

Decades of accumulated experience and instinct let Frank see what other scouts couldn’t.

“In any case, we need to send the scouting reports on these two up to the organization.”

The scouting report.

The single most important document by which Major League Baseball evaluates a prospect.

A player’s tools, makeup, and potential are broken out and graded on a scale from 20 to 80, with detailed comments attached.

The report has a decisive influence on front office and coaching decisions about acquiring a player.

For a hitter there were five categories.

Hit tool.

Power.

Speed.

Fielding.

And a catch-all covering the arm, clubhouse fit, and the like.

An 80 here meant a generational talent. An ability nothing else could be measured against.

The power of a Giancarlo Stanton, an Aaron Judge, a Shohei Ohtani.

The eye of a Juan Soto, a Rickey Henderson, a Ted Williams.

The glove of a Nolan Arenado, a Matt Chapman.

The ability to take home an MVP, the award given to the finest player in the league in a given year.

Below that, a 70 meant a very high-end talent.

Talent enough to win a Silver Slugger or a Gold Glove.

A 60 was above major league average.

A 50 was league average.

A 40 was below average. A 30 or a 20 fell short of major league level entirely.

“Give me your read and I’ll write them up. Shall we start with Mark?”

Frank didn’t hesitate.

“Mark. I’d give his hit tool a 50. And the potential is a 70.”

A prospect’s scouting report carries both the present grade and the future one.

“50/70. On contact alone that’s a grade that plays in the majors. Quite high — but the man would certainly have gone in the first round if not for the injury. Power?”

“Power is 60/80.”

“Wow. So you see him as a possible best-in-the-league power hitter? No argument here, mind. The strength really is something.”

Speed came in at 30/40. He was slow.

Fielding, 45/50.

Arm, 50/55.

Makeup, 60/70 — a high mark, drawn from the endless drive he’d kept after the injury knocked him off course.

“This one’s a real jewel. Then again, the other scouts had their eye on him too. Lucky he agreed to our test so readily. Shall we move on? Suho next.”

Frank didn’t wait for Alan’s questions. He began reciting Suho’s grades one after another.

There was unshakable conviction in his voice, and a faint charge of excitement under it.

“Hit tool, I’ll give a 20 at present. The .100-something average in the KBO farm system says all of it. But the potential is 70+.”

Alan’s eyebrow twitched. A present grade of 20 is something you almost never see on a major league scouting report.

It’s a grade that falls well short of league level.

And a future value above 70? He had never seen an evaluation that extreme.

“Frank, this is… isn’t this a bit much?”

Alan made no effort to hide his difficulty with it.

Frank smiled easily, as though he had expected the reaction.

“You aren’t understanding what the number means. The 20 only shows how dire his current state is. But the pure contact ability I saw in his swing yesterday was remarkable. Producing exit velocity like that on arm strength alone is a genuinely significant talent. The potential is there.”

He continued.

“Power, 30 at present, potential 60++.”

Alan couldn’t argue further.

Frank’s eyes were full of conviction.

There were very few players Frank Lambert was this certain about.

“Speed, 80/80.”

“Can’t dispute that one. We saw exactly how fast he runs in the testing.”

“Fielding, 50/80.”

Frank and Alan hadn’t seen Suho play the field, since he’d been in the game as a designated hitter.

So they graded him off video from the KBO farm system.

His range, his agility, and his instantaneous judgment were overwhelming.

Polished, it was talent enough to make a Gold Glove-caliber defender in the majors.

“And the arm I’ll put at 50/60.”

“Good. Makeup?”

Deep admiration came through in Frank’s voice.

“80/80.”

Alan couldn’t keep the shock off his face.

An 80 for makeup. In major league scouting an 80 means a generational talent.

Which is to say a grade handed to Hall of Fame-caliber players.

And an 80 for makeup in particular was something he had essentially never heard of.

“Is this really right…”

There was awe in it, and something that looked like an inability to comprehend it.

Frank nodded.

“As you said yourself. The finest quality a ballplayer can have, and no training can produce it.”

Baseball is sometimes called a mental sport.

“I saw a rough diamond inside him, one that will play in the majors. Which makes him the finest kind of low-pick prospect — the kind with that much return on him.”

A low-pick prospect meant a player nobody expected anything of in the draft.

Alan said nothing more.

He simply conveyed a deep trust in Frank Lambert’s eye.

Last, Frank delivered his overall evaluation of Mark and Suho.

The score for their future worth. Overall Future Value.

“Mark’s OFV is 65+. Without the injury history he was a lock for a high first-round pick. He has the potential to grow into a major league regular, and possibly an All-Star infielder.”

Alan entered the number on Mark’s sheet.

Then—

“Suho’s OFV is 70++. At present he’s a player with extreme strengths and extreme weaknesses at the same time. But his baserunning, his defense, and his makeup are top-of-the-scale tools, rarely seen even in the majors. Correct the hitting and he’s an All-Star who represents the league. A rough diamond who could even be in the conversation for an MVP.”

Alan let out a breath.

“Hold on… a first-round-caliber player grading below a man released from the KBO farm system. Does that make any sense?”

“I’m speaking strictly of the potential if he develops with our Dodgers. Our organization has better coaches and better technology than anyone. Only—”

Frank added it in a lower voice.

“—whether these two pass the club’s test at all is the first question.”

“True enough. They can’t sign if they don’t pass. All these grades could turn out to mean nothing.”

Suho headed to the restaurant to meet Mark.

Mark had finished his nine o’clock meeting and was there waiting.

He shot to his feet the moment he saw Suho.

“How’d it go? Did it go well?”

His face was full of expectation and excitement.

Suho smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. It went well. I’m taking the Dodgers entry test.”

Mark clenched a fist.

“Me too! Wow! That’s incredible! Us, with the Dodgers! Not that we’ve passed yet.”

Suho tilted his head.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering.”

“What?”

“You had other clubs call you, Mark.”

“Sure did. But I told you, I was only looking at Frank.”

“Right. But were all of those clubs offering entry tests too?”

Mark shook his head.

“No. Some of them would’ve signed a minor league deal right away.”

“Then why…”

“Why’d I take the unsafe road? It’s obvious. Frank, first, like I said. And because it’s the Dodgers. You know the Dodgers, right? If somebody else had offered you a deal and the Dodgers were in the mix, I bet you’d have thought the same way I did.”

Suho considered it a moment and nodded.

True enough.

The Dodgers held the finest prospect farm of any organization in Major League Baseball.

Prospects in any organization eventually turn up in the majors, and with the Dodgers the number was conspicuously high.

Which meant they had the best development system there was.

Mark’s choice made sense.

Suho set the thought aside and asked quietly.

“What sort of test is it, though? Who’s coming?”

“Not the drafted guys. Those are all signed. But—”

Mark’s expression turned serious.

“Mostly people like us. Undrafted free agents — guys who went unpicked in the draft but whose potential the club has taken a specific interest in. Hidden gems who either didn’t enter the draft or didn’t get taken. The Dodgers are unbelievable at finding these players. Other clubs’ scouts miss them; the Dodgers have people who are called geniuses at digging them up themselves.”

Mark paused and swallowed.

“And there could be prospects brought in on international deals. Young talents out of Latin America, Europe, Asia. Sometimes guys with pro experience already, released from other minor league systems, show up looking for a chance too.”

In short, it was a gathering of men who were nobodies on the surface and geniuses by the Dodgers’ reckoning.

Tension settled over Suho’s face as Mark explained.

This was a different order of thing from an independent league tryout.

A genuine competitive stage.

Which meant this was no time to be sitting around.

“Mark. Two weeks until the test, right? Let’s train together.”

“D— do we have to? I’m pretty confident without training separately…”

“Then help me. If I want to pass the next test I can’t be the way I am now. I have to win against stronger opponents.”

Suho went on evenly.

“I’m not asking you to just tell me things for free. Food, lodging, whatever I can cover, I’ll cover.”

“Do you know how expensive things are in America…”

Mark shook his head.

Because the look in Suho’s eyes was an active volcano, and it wasn’t going to be moved by a typhoon.

“All right. I’ll help.”

When Mark finally agreed, Suho clenched a fist.

Gaining a helper he could trust on this unfamiliar American ground was going to be a considerable strength.

End of Chapter 7