Runner on first, nobody out.

With Suho on first, the Quakes booth came alive.

—A hit! An infield hit! The Quakes’ Magician gets on, and he grabs the momentum!

In baseball, momentum mattered a great deal. You could argue it mattered more than anything. Here was why.

—No doubt about it. That’s a huge time to get on base!

—Most of you probably know this already, but for anyone who doesn’t, maybe we should explain why momentum matters so much.

—Ha ha. Sure. Let me start with why momentum is such a big deal in baseball. Number one, baseball is a sport that’s decided by individuals more than by the team.

Take an at-bat. One individual steps in, then another, then another. Nobody else can step into that duel. So when one guy breaks out, the energy runs down the whole lineup like a chain reaction.

It works the other way, too. A pitcher may work in sync with his catcher, but the one throwing the ball is him alone. An individual. When a pitcher gets rattled, he falls behind in the count. Once he’s forced to come in with strikes, the risk of extra-base hits shoots up, and that turns into runs.

—And these one-on-one battles keep going, one after another, for several minutes an inning.

—But it’s not only the pitcher and the hitter, is it?

—That’s right. When the pitcher gets rattled, the defense gets rattled right along with him, and that includes the catcher.

The catcher’s game-calling gets shaky, or the infield and outfield go stiff on their feet.

—Is there another reason?

—There is. Baseball is a sport with a lot of time when play is stopped.

Baseball has a lot of dead time. There’s the back-and-forth of every single at-bat, and even hitters coming and going from the box add delays.

—During that dead time, the side that has the momentum only gets more fired up. And the side that’s lost it has to sit there shaking with nerves, impatience and fear.

—Can you sum that up for us in plain terms?

—Put simply, momentum in baseball isn’t just a feeling. Think of it as a real variable, one that directly affects how many runs you score, how many you allow, and how your players perform.

Basketball and soccer have momentum, too. But no sport swings on it more than baseball. If one man gets rattled, nine men get rattled. If one man comes alive, nine come alive with him. So a team with momentum on its side plays above its talent, and a team that’s lost it can’t play to its talent, however strong it is.

—So what you’re saying is, the Quakes’ Magician worked his magic again tonight?

—Exactly. That’s what makes Suho Oh special. Why do clubs in the majors pay their superstars astronomical money just to keep them around? Momentum.

A superstar has the ability to grab the momentum in one stroke, however bad the situation.

—And Suho is already doing the job only a superstar can do.

—So would it be fair to say he’s got the makings of a future superstar?

—Ha ha. That’s how I see it. I’m sure this kid is going to be something big someday!

What happened next proved the play-by-play man and the color man right on every count.

Runner on first, nobody out.

Cash was walking up to the plate with the bat resting on his shoulder.

Knew it… it’s weird.

Suho standing on first. And on the mound, Mason White, unable to swallow his anger.

Cash ran the situation back through his own logic.

An infield hit, and off a bat that had blown into pieces. Was that really a great result?

No.

He’d swear it wasn’t. Getting on with a hit deserved credit. But a bat smashed up like that—

That’s proof the hitter got completely beaten by the pitcher’s stuff.

Which meant the pitcher’s ball was that overpowering.

But look at how the two teams were reacting right now.

The San Jose Giants, the home team with a monster first-rounder on the mound, had gone as silent in their dugout as if they’d just given up a walk-off home run. And in the middle of it, the pitcher looked about halfway to tears.

And the Quakes dugout? They were going wild, as if six hours on a bus had never happened.

All this from one lousy infield hit?

By Cash’s common sense, it was nearly impossible to believe.

Momentum was supposed to be a superstar’s job. And it came from home runs and extra-base hits, the things Cash himself was best at. It made sense. A single—a broken-bat single, at that—taking over a game’s momentum?

Nobody in baseball would be able to understand that.

At the level baseball played at these days, what were the odds that one runner on first turned into a run?

But look at this. However little sense it made, the momentum really had come over to their side.

So what?

Cash’s eyes glinted coldly.

Another chance, handed to me.

The man on the mound was a tough opponent, no question—the third pick in the first round, a monster among monsters. But right now that monster’s composure was badly shaken.

If I can’t beat a pitcher like that…

Then he didn’t have what it took to be a future superstar.

Cash was a switch hitter. He stepped in on the left side and ground the dirt of the box under his foot, as if crushing it. He did that when he was confident. And he was. Whatever the pitcher threw right now, Cash was sure he could hit it.

The duel began.

He went after the angry pitcher’s very first pitch.

Craaack.

It went straight over the right-field fence.

Quakes 2–0.

Suho getting on and Cash’s home run had put two runs on the board for the Quakes.

The players swarmed Suho and Cash the moment they crossed the plate.

“That’s insane! Two runs in the first inning again!”

“This is totally our winning formula, isn’t it!”

Suho, the leadoff hitter, got on however he could, and Cash, hitting second, finished the job. There couldn’t be a surer formula for winning than that.

And with one out and the bases empty, the number-four hitter, Mark Williams, stepped in.

…That’s insane.

Mark had watched it all from the on-deck circle.

Honestly, he was damn jealous of Cash’s home run.

A guy way smaller than me…

Every time he saw Cash crank one that easily on nothing but sheer hitting skill, it amazed him.

But that wasn’t what he really envied.

Mark turned his head toward the dugout and found Suho.

He pulled it off again.

He’d grabbed the momentum again, the thing people said mattered most in baseball.

And that was why a question came to him out of nowhere.

What… am I missing?

He thought back to who he’d been, back when he ruled the amateur ranks and people called him the best prospect around.

I hit a ton of home runs back then. I practically carried the team by myself.

But had he been a more influential player then than Suho was now? Not a chance. That was amateur ball, and this was the pros, wasn’t it?

However much you tore it up as an amateur, doing it in the pros is a whole lot bigger.

Sure, he’d put up numbers as a pro that nobody would sneeze at, too. A .350 average, and a .650 slugging percentage that ranked near the top of the league. His stats had the advantage of a small number of plate appearances, of course. Even so, his was a talent Low-A couldn’t really hold.

But Mark knew. Right now, Suho was leaving him completely behind.

There isn’t one single thing I do better.

Why?

Because Suho had already failed once? Because that made him desperate? While Mark, younger, hadn’t even failed yet—so was he less desperate?

So what if he is…

In the end, they were both playing on the same professional stage now. Whoever got ahead here was the better player. Period.

So… I want to be like him.

Not his style of play. It didn’t suit Mark in the first place. Even if he wanted to copy it, he couldn’t.

But I can have his mindset, can’t I?

No. He had to.

The reason was dead simple.

That’s the only way I’ll ever be a major leaguer.

Everyone here had the same dream of becoming a major leaguer. And Mark believed Suho was the one who would show him the way. So this was no time to let his pride get in the way. He had to keep learning, endlessly. He had to grow if he wanted to climb higher.

From the day Mark first met him until now, Suho hadn’t stood still once.

So I’m giving it everything, same as Suho.

And giving it everything, right now, meant keeping alive the momentum Suho had forced into his hands. It didn’t have to be an extra-base hit. He didn’t need a home run. He just had to keep the shaky pitcher tied up a little longer, so he couldn’t recover.

The old Mark would never have thought that way.

It’s fine.

Right now this was the shortest road to a win.

What a shaky pitcher hates most is runners piling up. I’m getting on.

Then Mark took a smooth swing that didn’t use any strength at all.

Crack.

He flicked an easy single into right.

From first, he raised a fist toward the dugout, and Suho and the rest of the team held their fists out right back at him.

Seeing it, the Quakes’ manager, Taylor, lit up with joy.

Ah…

Mark had changed. Besides Suho, the team now had one more player playing for the team.

How could Taylor miss it? Mark was the number-four hitter. In today’s game, a number-four hitter facing a shaky pitcher goes looking for the one big swing. That’s just how it is.

But he shortened up and got on.

Mark was playing for the team, not for himself.

Taylor’s gaze settled on Suho’s back as he cheered wildly.

He really did it!

Suho had said he’d turn even one man around, and in the end he’d kept his word.

That alone is enough.

No—it was more than that. Taylor was living the proudest day of his baseball life.

And after Mark got on, the Quakes strung together two more hits and went up three runs in the first inning.

The Quakes had put up three runs in the first. But their good mood didn’t last long.

That was because their starter, Ryan Pepiot, came apart.

The Giants were strong. As if they couldn’t care less that their own pitcher was rattled, they rode their huge edge in freshness and pounded the Quakes’ pitching.

When the fourth inning was over, the Giants led 7–4, and it wasn’t close.

The shadow of defeat was falling over the Quakes dugout. Maybe that was why the road fatigue they’d thought was gone came crashing down on them.

“That sucks…”

“Ugh. All of a sudden my body won’t do what I tell it.”

“Maybe we just let this one go? Come back tomorrow feeling good and take another shot?”

A few players started talking like they were giving up.

It wasn’t the mindset a professional was supposed to have. But mostly it came down to this: a league championship trophy wasn’t going to do much for any of them.

Mark was furious to see it, but he didn’t raise his voice or say anything. He’d played for the team today, sure, but not long ago he hadn’t been much different from them. He didn’t have the nerve.

Cash, whose home run had put them on the board first, was no different. His face was blank, as though he wasn’t thinking about anything at all—or as though he’d known all along it would end up like this.

Taylor was the same.

I never thought they’d all change in the first place.

He’d figured it was a success if even one of them did. And now, besides Suho, one more Quakes player had played for the team. That alone meant he could lose this series without regretting it.

More than that—

Down the road, Suho’s going to get to spread that influence even further.

From Low-A to High-A, then Double-A and even Triple-A, Suho would surely rub off on a few players the way he had here. And if all of those players became major leaguers someday…

The Dodgers would be one hell of a team then.

But I’m worried about Suho. He’s the one who’s going to take this hardest.

Hadn’t Suho said he wanted a trophy? And sadly, the game had clearly tipped the Giants’ way.

Taylor glanced over at Suho. All he could do was hope the kid wasn’t too crushed.

But what was this?

Taylor swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry. And no wonder…

He, he hasn’t given up?

Suho’s eyes were blazing. And there was no mistaking that fight in them: he meant to turn this game around, one way or another.

I had it wrong.

Taylor caught himself fast.

In baseball, you run up the white flag when everyone has given up on the game. But one man still hadn’t. Better still, that one man was the most influential player on the team—the Quakes’ superstar, maybe. Which meant this game was far from decided.

End of Chapter 37