That afternoon.

Suho and Mark climbed into a black van the Dodgers had provided.

Their destination was Rancho Cucamonga.

A city east of LA.

Home of the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes, the Dodgers’ Low-A affiliate.

Outside the windows the glitter of downtown LA fell away.

And the suburbs came into view, spread wide under a hot sun.

Low-A is where a great many newly signed prospects start climbing from the bottom rung of the enormous pyramid that is Major League Baseball.

The starting line of a brutal fight to survive, in other words.

For the two of them it was the first stage they’d play on in the Dodgers uniform they had dreamed about.

And at the same time the first gate of a cold reality where a great many dreams got broken.

But Mark’s lip was stuck out, as though something displeased him, and he knocked Suho’s shoulder.

“Come on! Who signs a contract and reports the same day? Shouldn’t we have a party for passing first?”

He had a point.

Suho had asked to join immediately after signing.

So Kevin, the farm director, had arranged a vehicle for the two of them.

Mark wasn’t especially pleased about it.

If you got into the Dodgers, wasn’t a party the priority?

“You’ve got no idea how hard it is to get into the Dodgers, do you? Every year thousands of the highest-rated prospects want in!”

There was excitement mixed into his voice.

“And only a handful of them get a contract out of it. Signing off a tryout the way we did is rarer still.”

Suho shook his head.

“Mark, you know my situation.”

“I know, I know. The age thing, you’re in a hurry. But a week, no, a few days later — what’s the harm?”

Suho turned his eyes to the window.

“Right now I just want to play baseball.”

Mark stared at him, eyes gone round as a startled rabbit’s.

“And what have we been doing up to now? Did you take a soccer test yesterday?”

Suho didn’t avoid the look. He met it straight on.

“That was the last of a man thrashing around, afraid he might have to give up baseball. Luckily it turns out I don’t have to give it up yet.”

He went on.

“But I’ve only got a year. If I can’t show them something inside it, I’m packing my bags again.”

Baseball wasn’t just a sport to Suho.

It had been that way since he was a boy — survival, with his life riding on it.

Suho’s voice was firm enough that Mark couldn’t find anything more to say, and he nodded.

Only then did he understand, a little, how much weight Suho was carrying.

“Fair enough. I was only thinking about myself. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. And the reason I wanted to go straight there is that baseball is the most fun there is.”

“Baseball’s more fun than a party?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never been to a party, have you?”

“I haven’t, but I know.”

Mark shook his head, thoroughly fed up.

“Honestly, Suho, you’ve played several years more than me and at a far higher intensity, and you still say baseball’s fun?”

“I do. I don’t think there’s anything in the world as fun as baseball. And anyway, Mark, my situation isn’t yours.”

“What’s different about it?”

“This is my first time playing in America. I want to play real baseball in the place the game came from, as soon as possible.”

He wanted to go up against the best prospects in America himself.

And he couldn’t stop looking forward to how much further he could grow learning the Dodgers’ system.

“Ugh. Put like that I’ve got nothing.”

“Anyway, Mark, you could have come a few days later and it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“How could I do that… I’d feel them watching.”

“Americans worry about being watched?”

“We have to… especially when the one who put up the best numbers at the test was you. Not me! Nobody has to give me a look, I give it to myself.”

And he had a point.

Nothing good ever came of the second-place man lounging around.

“And anyway. Honestly I think joining fast is a good thing too. It’s not like we’re going to be stuck in Low-A.”

Suho turned serious.

Mark flinched at it.

“Wh— why does your face change all of a sudden?”

“It’s not that. Since you’ve made up your mind to do this too, I thought we could set some goals.”

“Wh— what goals?”

“The minors have a ranking system, don’t they? Do you know how it works, by any chance?”

Suho knew the system existed but not the details.

He’d heard the higher the ranking the better, so he wanted to know how it functioned.

“There is. And of course I know.”

Mark thought for a moment and started explaining.

“It’s a report card for prospects. Except the rankings aren’t put out officially by the clubs, they’re assigned by well-known outlets like MLB Pipeline or Baseball America.”

He continued.

“Raising your ranking is simple. It isn’t about hitting a lot of home runs or carrying a high average. There’s a thing scouts look at called tools.”

“Tools. I know them.”

“Right, so — hitting, power, speed, fielding, arm. They grade those five abilities and evaluate you on them. Good numbers raise your tool grades too, obviously. But do you know what matters most?”

Suho shook his head.

“Age. Making the rankings matters, but for you it’s getting in fast and climbing fast.”

For Suho, promotion to High-A inside a year mattered.

And so did getting his name onto a ranking list, Mark explained, to make the Dodgers pay closer attention.

“Getting in fast and climbing fast puts you that much closer to the majors, obviously, so it applies to me too.”

Suho nodded.

So that’s why the club put a limit on me.

He understood again that age, his single greatest handicap, would have to work on him as an accelerant.

“Mark, one more thing I’m curious about.”

“What?”

“The rankings. Are they across the whole minors? Or split up by level?”

“Across the whole thing. Rookie ball through Triple-A, all of it in one ranking. And a high ranking gets you benefits to match, naturally.”

“What benefits?”

“You move up to the higher leagues fast. You get close to being a major leaguer fast.”

“Is that the only benefit for us right now?”

Mark frowned, thinking hard about it, and then his eyes snapped open.

“No. There is one. One benefit we could get.”

“What?”

“The Arizona Fall League. We might be able to take part in that.”

What’s that? Suho asked with his eyes.

Mark answered seriously.

“The minor league season ends earlier than the majors. In Low-A especially it’s early September. Teams that make the playoffs finish mid-September. Put simply, it’s mid-August now, so we’ve got roughly a month left.”

“Right. I’m listening.”

“They send players who showed well in the minors out there. A guy who’s up for promotion but is borderline and they want another look at his ability. Or a guy like us who’s only just joined but has outstanding potential.”

He continued.

“It isn’t just an instructional league. It’s a showcase for the majors, a battlefield for prospective big leaguers. Catch someone’s eye there and promotion is nothing.”

Which is to say the players who go are the ones a club is watching, or is about to watch.

“Our chances of being picked are extremely low, obviously. Know why?”

“Yeah. They’ll send drafted players first, not tryout signings.”

“Exactly.”

“Then the goal’s decided.”

“Don’t tell me… the Arizona Fall League is the goal? It isn’t, right?”

“Is even making it the goal too extravagant?”

Suho’s voice was quiet, and there were sparks going off inside it.

The club had specified that he needed to produce results.

They plainly meant next season.

If I improve substantially within a month, or at least show them the potential, I could go.

He’d been told to produce results within a year.

But faster than that.

Producing results within a month and getting into the club’s good graces was Suho’s goal.

Mark read the look in his eyes and sighed inwardly.

Ugh. Damn it. That look again.

Mark had seen that look on him — the one that says he’s going to do it — several times now.

At the independent league tryout.

And learning John’s swing at the academy.

And at the Dodgers tryout.

Above all.

Every time that look comes out, he’s done it…

Which was why.

“Damn it. My goal is the Arizona Fall League too!”

The club van carrying Suho and Mark finally arrived at the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes’ home park.

Inside was the modest, homely atmosphere particular to a minor league ballpark.

And dozens of young players, deep in their training.

Guided by a club employee, Suho and Mark headed for the manager’s office.

A middle-aged man sat inside.

Taylor, the Quakes’ manager.

He was pressing at his temple with one hand as though thoroughly sick of something, nose buried in paperwork, and he didn’t so much as raise his head when the two of them came in.

Why the hell are they reporting today, of all days.

Taylor grumbled to himself.

It had already been a month since the draft ended.

And there was less than a month left in the season.

Ordinarily draft rookies join Rookie ball immediately.

Or the genuinely outstanding ones occasionally come to Low-A.

And that’s right after the draft.

But these two had turned up out of nowhere a month after the draft.

Wanting to report at the absolute tail end of the season.

“You two, your names are…”

Taylor reluctantly checked the paperwork with their names on it.

What? They were taken out of a tryout?

His eyes went wide.

And not one of them. Two.

Taylor turned the page, checked the profiles and the scouting report grades, and sat up.

Wh— what is this. High School Invitational MVP? Mark Williams? This is insane talent.

A national MVP in high school.

And, he now saw, originally a candidate for a high Dodgers draft pick.

Talent that would already be playing at a higher minor league level if not for the injury.

A faint smile spread over the manager’s face.

Then his eyes went to the Asian standing beside him, skinny as a rail next to Mark.

Suho.

Taylor’s expression froze in shock all over again when he saw the profile.

Wh— what is this now? Why are these grades all over the place?

Suho’s scouting report was full of numbers that made no sense.

Speed, fielding, makeup — top-tier, close to the full 80.

But hitting at 20, beneath league level. Everything at one extreme or the other.

He’d turned up pearls buried in the dirt across decades, and he’d never seen a rough stone like this.

One side a diamond and the other side an ordinary rock.

If it wasn’t a scouting error it was a puzzle of some sort.

But the corner of Taylor’s mouth lifted slightly.

The Quakes were fighting for a playoff berth right now.

What they needed wasn’t a predictable, ordinary prospect. It was a card that could shake up the table.

This could be fun. An unfinished monster like this might be exactly the piece this team needs.

But he’d have to see how it went in live play.

Taylor cleared his throat.

“The fact that you two reported today means you want to play baseball, I take it?”

Suho and Mark nodded at the same time.

“Yes! That’s right!”

“Good. But whether you’re any use to this team isn’t something I can judge off paper. So we’ll run a simple test. I’ll put you in as pinch hitters in this afternoon’s game and decide from that.”

Mark asked.

“Pinch hitter — so one at-bat?”

“That’s right. Two if you’re lucky.”

“And if we don’t produce a satisfying result?”

“What do you mean, what happens? You go squat in a corner and work on your fundamentals.”

“Wait, hold on… we’ve only just got here and we haven’t even adjusted. Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“This isn’t a place that waits around with opportunities for you. It’s a place where the only ones who survive are the ones who prove it when the chance comes. Got a complaint? If you don’t like it, you manage the team!”

Taylor put it harshly.

But the Quakes were in a playoff fight and needed men who could contribute immediately.

The two of them had been picked out of a tryout, so a late arrival was unavoidable.

Even so, he couldn’t waste an important stretch of the season developing players who’d turned up at an awkward time and weren’t ready to contribute now.

Mark started to work himself up for another round of complaints.

Suho caught him by the collar as if to say that’s enough.

“Sir. I understand you. We’ll try to meet your expectations.”

Then the two of them left the office.

Mark’s face had gone blotchy, and he poured out his complaints.

“Hey. These conditions are completely unfair to us!”

“Mark. We were picked out of a tryout to begin with. This isn’t the time to be picking over conditions.”

“Th— that’s true, but… if we don’t show well today we could be throwing away the whole rest of the season.”

“No. It’d be a shame, obviously, but there’s something to learn from watching too. Live play matters most, so showing well today would still be the best outcome.”

“How are you this relaxed about everything?”

“Relaxed… I suppose I’ve adjusted.”

A faint smile crossed Suho’s face.

Adjusted wasn’t really the word for it.

What he felt now was different in kind.

After the release, every hour had been survival.

The test he’d been handed now carried far less weight.

Because falling short here wouldn’t leave him with nothing behind him.

So there’s no pressure.

And above all, a player.

A ballplayer in particular performs at his very best with no pressure on him.

End of Chapter 18