Morning at the Dodgers minor league testing complex in Thousand Oaks was far more solemn and imposing than expected.

From the main gate set with the enormous club logo, to the immaculate modern training facilities, to the buildings full of advanced analysis equipment.

This was no mere practice ground.

It was a sacred space, the place where the dream of the majors began.

Along with Suho and Mark, dozens of young prospects had gathered on the training grounds.

Their eyes carried uncommon talent and a strong will.

This was a different dimension from an independent league tryout.

Every one of them possessed overwhelming talent and top-tier athleticism.

An aura came off them in a simple game of catch, in a single stretching motion.

The Dodgers would already have testing data on all of them.

But the numbers on a scouting report are not everything.

Nobody can predict who will fully express his ability once real competition starts.

Frank Lambert, the man who had brought Suho and Mark here, could be seen among them.

Along with the Dodgers farm director, minor league coaches, analytics staff.

The organization’s key personnel had assembled to evaluate the prospects with cold, professional eyes.

The farm director standing beside Frank smiled faintly and asked.

“Frank, the players you turned up this time are better than I expected. That Korean in particular, Suho Oh. I read the report and found it quite entertaining. An evaluation that extreme — I’m looking forward to it.”

Frank nodded.

His eyes were already fixed on one prospect out on the grounds.

Suho.

“That one showed us possibility. Where the other players are towers already built, he’s a rough stone just uncovered. If he shows well today and we take him, how that stone gets cut becomes a question of our organization’s capability.”

A minor league coach standing nearby joined in, interested.

“Honestly, looking at the report alone I had my doubts. A 20 hit tool. There’s hardly a case in the history of Major League Baseball of a player like that succeeding, is there?”

Frank’s expression didn’t move.

“Which is why we’re here, and it’s what this organization’s eye is for. Seeing what the numbers can’t tell you. And finding the hidden value inside it. Watch. See what kind of unexpected thing this one shows us.”

The farm director nodded.

“Very good. I hope he manages not to get nervous and shows us something today.”

He left it there and formed the prospects up in a line.

“Good to meet you all. I’m Kevin, the Dodgers’ farm director. Before we begin testing we’ll start with simple introductions. We’ll go from the left. Yes, you.”

Kevin indicated the player furthest to the left.

The first to introduce himself was a Latin prospect with overwhelming physical tools.

“Alejandro Perez. Dominican Republic, nineteen years old, right-handed thrower and hitter. I’d like to play third base.”

The introductions continued.

And eventually Suho’s turn arrived.

He felt the prospects’ eyes turn briefly puzzled at his slight frame, and he stepped forward without flinching.

“Suho Oh, twenty-four. Republic of Korea. Right-handed thrower, left-handed hitter. I can handle every position in the infield and outfield except catcher.”

At his introduction, worry entered the prospects’ eyes.

And in the eyes of the club personnel, a faint interest.

Partly it was his age, higher than his appearance suggested, but more precisely it was the multi-position claim.

A player who can cover various positions is an asset.

But this was America.

Doing a variety of things isn’t what matters.

Doing a variety of things well is what matters above everything.

If a man can’t manage that, the preference is for doing one thing well.

There were disadvantages within the test itself, of course.

He’d be tested at both infield and outfield, which could drain his stamina more than any other prospect before the game portion.

But it wasn’t all downside.

There were advantages too, naturally.

First, if Suho showed well at both infield and outfield?

He would make a stronger impression than anyone else there.

And a mistake in the infield could be made up for in the outfield, or the reverse.

So even with the physical burden of testing at both.

I have to seize the opportunity however I can.

And he was confident.

Suho swallowed a bitter smile.

Because defense is the one thing I’m sure of.

When he was released from the farm team, the manager had said this to him.

—But let me be blunt. What’s your strength? Baserunning you bled for? Speed? You want to spend your career as a pinch runner? Fine, your defense is decent. So you’ll live as a defensive replacement?

That was it.

The man had condemned Suho’s hitting, certainly, and in the middle of it he had praised his legs and his glove.

The club personnel started murmuring.

They were viewing him positively.

Inevitably so.

The multi-position claim, obviously, and the rarity of a right-handed thrower who hits left.

Left-handed hitters are valuable even in the majors, and on defense a right-handed thrower is more valuable still.

Second base, shortstop, and catcher in particular take only right-handed throwers, because of the direction throws have to travel.

A matter of throwing efficiency.

For this reason America also tries to develop right-throwing left-handed hitters, and turning a talented player into one is not easy.

Most people use their comfortable side from childhood, and their athleticism develops around it.

Suho had known about this when he started playing.

Originally a left-handed thrower and hitter, he had worked himself bloody and become a right-handed thrower who hit left.

Just as the other prospects’ stares were sharpening on him further.

Mark, standing beside him, took a step forward and began his own introduction.

“Mark Williams. United States. First baseman, right-handed thrower and hitter. And.”

A little more force came into his voice.

“Three years ago I was MVP of the High School Invitational.”

A sound went through the prospects.

Which was reasonable — not merely appearing at America’s premier high school tournament but taking MVP of it.

Why in the world would a player like that be here?

If that profile were true he should have been a first-round pick, not standing in this line.

The farm director looked at the profile and nodded.

“I remember you as well. Our Dodgers were after you at the time. Is the injury all right now?”

“Completely clean!”

“Good. Show us something today.”

Mark’s confident bearing and solid build seemed to leave a deep impression on the club staff.

“Loosen up, and then we begin.”

With the introductions done, the personnel made notes or exchanged brief words.

Meanwhile Mark went into his final warm-up with Suho.

Suho spoke.

“Mark. Good introduction.”

Mark laughed.

“Good, nothing. I got intimidated because of how you introduced yourself!”

The introduction matters.

Depending on how a man presents himself, the club’s eyes turn more favorable.

The Suho that Mark had come to know was quiet by nature.

And here he was confidently declaring multiple positions.

Which makes you the more impressive one.

Because MVP of the High School Invitational, the tournament called the finest in the amateur game.

That decoration genuinely is significant.

A title every amateur ballplayer wants.

It means being the best player among the amateurs of that year.

But unfortunately, for Mark, all of it was in the past.

It got me some attention, but not as much as Suho.

Suho would be covering two positions in the very test happening today.

That wasn’t past. That was present.

So in the introductions it was surely Suho’s that had made the deepest impression.

Warm-ups finished, and Kevin, the farm director, called the prospects back together.

“Right, we begin the test proper. Defense first. We start with the infield. We’ll run it by position, so move as instructed.”

Dozens of prospects scattered to their primary positions.

First base, second, third, shortstop, and an outfield group, taking up places across the grounds.

Dodgers coaches took charge of each position and began hitting fungoes.

The intensity was beyond imagining.

The coaches drove hard, fast balls without pause, and the prospects threw their bodies at them, fielding and throwing without a moment to breathe.

Dust hung over the grounds, and the sound of ragged breathing and balls hammering into gloves never stopped.

The prospects’ résumés were glittering, and in front of this brutal test all of them were equal.

A few showed flawless defense and drew admiration from the staff, and most made mistake after mistake.

Balls hit hard bounced off gloves. Easy grounders got away.

Throws sailed to strange places, one after another.

“Damn it!”

A shortstop prospect let out a short groan.

He’d fielded a difficult ball and the throw to first went badly wide.

Disappointment was plain on his face.

The staff watching from the side went on making notes with no expression at all.

Their eyes were cold.

This was not a place that forgave mistakes.

The test went on.

The coaches’ voices grew sharper, and the prospects’ stamina drained fast.

Even the players who had been fielding perfectly began showing obvious fatigue.

At last the final turn of the infield test came around.

“Next, Suho Oh!”

Suho breathed deep at his name and headed toward shortstop.

Kevin, the farm director, asked.

“Shortstop? You intend to test there?”

His meaning was: why take the hardest position on the field when you’re claiming multiple ones?

Suho answered by driving a fist into the pocket of his glove instead.

Pop. Pop.

“I’m confident.”

Kevin paused a moment at the short, weighty answer.

Some doubt still hung in his eyes.

But he asked nothing further and nodded to the coach holding the bat.

The coach swung hard.

An awkward bounce.

Everyone watched Suho’s first play.

His feet moved fast in that instant.

Low, stable steps, as though gripping the ground, carried him to where the ball would be.

He never lost the ball’s movement until the last moment, and laid the glove on it smoothly to field it.

At the instant of the catch, his wrist had already come around toward first.

A low, accurate throw.

The ball found the first baseman’s mitt precisely, as though drawn by a magnet.

Clean, economical, flawless defense.

The watching scouts’ attention snapped onto him at once.

The coach immediately hit the next one.

This time a fast grounder that looked to be getting through toward left field.

The kind of ball an ordinary shortstop would give up on.

Suho charged it at unbelievable speed and stretched the glove out.

The ball caught on the edge of the leather and got sucked in, and the throw that followed was faster still.

Perfectly timed, as though he had been ready for it, waiting for it, and it produced another out at first.

The atmosphere on the grounds began to shift.

Gasps broke out here and there at the run of flawless plays.

A faint smile spread at the corner of Kevin’s mouth.

Frank Lambert stood with his arms folded, sharply analyzing every movement.

The fungoes got harder. Balls came without pause, left and right, no discrimination.

Difficult bounces, deep grounders, balls that came up short.

Suho handled every one of them as naturally as water flowing.

His movement was economical with nothing extraneous in it, and his throws were accurate without a fraction of error.

The high point was a double play situation.

Suho fielded a fast grounder, grazed the second base bag with his foot without stopping, and carried the throw straight on to first.

His speed, his accurate judgment, and his strong arm produced a perfect double play, and everyone watching held their breath.

By the time Suho’s work at shortstop ended, a strange silence hung over the grounds.

After that run of flawless defense, nobody could easily find something to say.

The agility, the instincts, the stability coming out of that slight frame had all gone past what anyone expected.

Kevin finally let out a quiet exclamation.

“Wait — he got to all of them?”

Suho was the only player who hadn’t made a mistake.

And at shortstop, at that.

Kevin went over to Frank.

“Frank. Exactly like the report says. Judging on defense alone you could put him in the majors right now and have no problem. His shortstop work is the best of anyone here today, so watching him in the outfield would only be a waste of time.”

Shortstop is the hardest and most demanding position on a baseball field.

His meaning was that the outfield would be far easier for him, so there was nothing to see.

And Suho had played outfield often in Korea, so there was a record of that as well.

“Better to have him conserve his strength and see him in live play. What do you think?”

The corner of Frank’s mouth had lifted slightly.

“Agreed.”

At Frank’s word, Kevin stretched both arms high overhead and waved them side to side.

“Infield defense ends here! We move to the outfield. Except — Suho? You don’t need to test in the outfield.”

Suho, thinking this had come out of nowhere, hurried up in front of Kevin with an urgent expression.

“I’d like to test in the outfield too! I can do it well!”

“That’s not it. I’m saying don’t because you’re good. There’s no need to see it. Better to save your strength and show us in live play instead.”

Color came into Suho’s face.

“Yes! I’ll do that!”

It wasn’t a bad offer for him either.

No — it was as good an offer as he could have hoped for.

The more strength he conserved, the better he could look at the plate.

Suho went over beside Mark and clenched a fist.

I’ve got a good feeling about today.

And the feeling seemed likely to hold until the test was over.

End of Chapter 13