A dead silence hung over the grounds after Suho’s triple.

The prospects’ chatter, loud a moment ago, and the staff’s intermittent conversation both stopped.

Every eye was fixed on Suho standing flat-faced on third base.

The first to break the silence was Kevin, the Dodgers farm director.

He turned to Frank beside him with a stunned face.

“Frank. What did I just watch? That doesn’t look like a 20.”

Frank’s mouth was up at his ears. His eyes glinted with the certainty of a man whose eye had, once again, not been wrong.

The minor league coach beside him hurried to look at his tablet.

Exit velocity, launch angle, and projected distance were plain on the screen.

“That’s impossible! A hundred miles an hour off that frame. Exit velocity like that out of a body like that is pure power!”

Exclamations broke out from the others all at once.

Which was inevitable.

Who had been on the mound?

Brandon Smith.

A Dodgers prospect currently carrying an ERA in the low ones at Rookie level.

And a man whose top velocity was 97 had opened today at 98.

Meaning he too had come out determined, wanting his promotion to the next level.

And a pitch like that, off a player with a frame that small, on the first pitch, for a triple.

The astonishment didn’t stop there.

“That speed is genuinely frightening! He turned a double into a triple.”

Taking the extra base.

Raw speed alone isn’t enough for that.

Baseball has a distinct thing called baserunning ability.

Suho’s natural instincts and explosiveness on the bases were enough to draw admiration from the staff.

And there was something more alarming still.

Frank put out a hand to his assistant, Alan.

Alan hurriedly passed him the tablet.

The staff’s eyes went to the video playing on the screen.

“Wh— who is this?”

Frank shrugged at Kevin’s question.

“The fellow standing out there on third.”

“What? That’s not possible. This is… this is genuinely 20-grade hitting! When is this from?”

“Two weeks ago. The independent league tryout.”

Their mouths fell open.

The Suho in the video and the Suho of today were entirely different people.

You could have told them the souls had been swapped and they’d have believed it.

Only Kevin managed to keep talking.

“A different person in two weeks. And coming in with mechanics that clean means… memorization.”

Frank nodded slowly.

“That’s my thinking as well.”

“But this is absurd! Even as memorization, mechanics are profoundly deep. How could anyone in a mere two weeks…”

Frank simply laughed it off.

They couldn’t believe it? Couldn’t understand it?

Probably once today’s test was over.

And once Suho signed with the Dodgers, they’d come to understand that this miracle they couldn’t believe in.

Wasn’t a simple miracle at all.

Because they’ll come to understand there is no player in this era who works harder than that man.

Meanwhile, exclamations of shock were breaking out among the dozens of prospects too.

“He looked good on defense as well… and now the bat?”

“Why in the world is a monster like that here…”

The test was absolute, not comparative.

Anyone who cleared the Dodgers’ standard could become a minor leaguer.

But this place was no different from a battlefield.

One man’s overwhelming performance became a blade that ate away at everyone else’s opportunity.

The more unbelievable the performance of the man ahead, the heavier the shoulders of the prospects who had to bat behind him.

There’s a guy that good, so am I really…

They couldn’t help thinking it.

The human mind is more fragile than people suppose.

So fear settled into their eyes alongside envy.

But there was one man watching Suho with nothing but pleasure.

In the on-deck circle, Mark was staggered by what he’d seen.

Insane. Absolutely insane! Does that make any sense?!

Mark’s whole body had gone to gooseflesh.

And inside the shock, his eyes were turning steadily toward confidence.

The nerves that had him thoroughly cowed by Brandon Smith’s stuff a moment ago had been flipped completely by one triple.

Mark stepped in and adjusted his grip.

Nobody out, runner on third. A chance to score.

Right. Who’s the one who should be shaking now?

The corner of Mark’s mouth lifted.

The catcher put down a sign.

The first pitch was a slider drifting slightly outside.

Mark watched it calmly.

“Ball!”

He gripped the bat.

I knew it. Knew he’d get scared and run.

Second pitch.

A fastball down and in. Mark didn’t miss it.

Crack.

With a heavy report the ball shot between the first and second basemen and rolled clean into right field.

On a clean single, Suho broke from third without hesitation and scored.

A combined effort from the two of them in the first inning.

Suho’s triple, Mark’s RBI single. One run in the first.

Their work had produced the first score of the test.

Standing on first, Mark put out a fist toward Suho.

His actual thoughts were different.

Not enough. Not enough!

Suho had tripled.

He’d driven in the run, certainly, and Suho had spoon-fed him the whole thing.

Suho had broken the pitcher’s composure.

Mark had merely sat down at a table already laid and picked up a spoon.

Ugh. A home run was what belonged there…

But the pitcher had thrown a good pitch even while rattled.

Pushed back by the quality of the stuff, a single was the best available.

Which was why.

Suho. You really are something. But I’m just getting started too.

Suho nodded at the look in his eyes.

Their eyes carried trust in one another and a hard determination to tear this test apart.

The game went on.

Suho’s side didn’t score again after the two of them combined for that run.

Or rather, they didn’t manage a single hit afterward.

The other side put up three in the meantime.

Because the pitcher who had been mauled by Suho and Mark in the first went on to pitch overwhelmingly, as though it had never happened.

He was still only at Rookie level in the minors, and he delivered something close to perfect pitching, as if proving his true worth at this test.

But a test is about evaluating a player’s ability rather than the outcome of the game.

And with a great many prospects to look at, various pitchers came to the mound.

Brandon Smith worked two innings and came off.

Top of the third, starting from the nine hole.

Another young pitcher stood on the mound.

His name was Ryan Kelly.

Suho watched his delivery closely from the on-deck circle.

Mark’s assessment came back to him.

—Ryan Kelly? Hmm. Honestly, no idea who that is. Probably in the same boat as us? A pitcher who went undrafted and is looking for his chance here.

This time he was facing a pitcher he had no information on.

The nine hitter’s at-bat began.

First pitch. Fastball.

Suho’s eyes came up sharp.

The fastball isn’t quick. Around ninety.

He analyzed the delivery with his own eyes.

Not the type to overpower you with stuff the way Brandon Smith did.

But after watching a few pitches, he understood why the man was standing on that mound.

The break on his off-speed is sharp.

The slider in particular was far sharper than Brandon Smith’s had been.

The angle of the drop, the speed, the movement.

An entirely different type from a pitcher who pressed down on you with force.

And that could be extremely awkward for a hitter.

Because when a pitcher’s type changes, a hitter needs time to adjust.

A hitter has to get used to a pitcher’s rhythm, his habits, the timing of each pitch.

They had all just gotten accustomed to Brandon Smith’s stuff.

Facing a pitcher with weaker stuff but sharper break could actually be worse for a hitter.

Because before the ball becomes familiar to the eye, it’s easy to get caught by a breaking ball turning at an angle you didn’t predict.

Suho wasn’t rattled.

Ask which pitcher is better in the end and it’s the one before.

The nine hitter grounded out on the fourth pitch.

And Suho’s turn came around.

The pitcher tensed as he stepped in.

Only moments ago this hitter had tripled on the first pitch.

A small frame carrying destructive force.

Stay calm.

The pitcher breathed deep.

If there was one comfort, it was that he had confidence in his off-speed, which was his specialty.

So he decided to open with a breaking ball.

A slider drifting just off the outside corner.

Trying to draw a swing.

Suho didn’t move.

“Ball!”

The umpire’s voice rang out.

A good start.

Suho hadn’t forgotten Coach John’s advice that the opponent would avoid him.

The second and third pitches followed.

“Strike!”

“Strike!”

Luck was with the pitcher.

The second was a fastball down and in, the third a slider down and away, and both caught the zone exactly.

Those are getting in.

Suho was privately annoyed.

Because however much command was a strength for this pitcher.

He also knew the man wasn’t at a level to place the ball that precisely.

If a pitcher really could command like that?

He’d be in the majors, not here.

So luck was with the pitcher.

And luck was not with Suho.

He wasn’t rattled.

Two strikes.

One more and he was out, and even so.

This is exactly when I’m supposed to shrink the zone.

Suho trusted John’s advice.

Fourth pitch. Ryan Kelly came back with the sharp slider. An awkward spot, just off the zone.

Suho let it go calmly.

Hitting it wasn’t going to produce good contact.

The result.

“Ball!”

Fifth pitch. Another slider drifting just off the zone.

There was no reason to swing at it inside the zone he’d narrowed.

Thump.

“Ball!”

The umpire’s call sent a stir through the watching crowd.

Count 3-2. Full count.

Tension was plain on the pitcher’s face.

Suho knew why.

Full count. You have to put this one in the zone, don’t you?

This was a test.

Issuing a walk here would translate into a damaging evaluation for a pitcher.

So there was only one pitch Suho was hunting.

Slider.

The man’s specialty.

On the mound, Ryan Kelly’s arm came around hard.

The ball he released was coming into the strike zone.

And it was a slider.

Suho’s eyes came up sharp.

There it is. You were nervous too, weren’t you?

To leave a mistake like that.

Because the ball’s path looked like slow motion to him.

Craaack.

A heavy, ringing note shook the whole of the grounds.

Struck flush on the barrel, the ball climbed into the sky like some enormous bird.

It carried far over the right fielder’s head, cleared the fence, and disappeared.

A solo home run.

A triple in his first at-bat, and a home run in his second.

Exactly as John had said, and with the smallest frame of anyone gathered here.

He now owned the longest carry of them all.

End of Chapter 15