Good On-Base Means You're in the In-seong School
An unprecedented situation: one team's starting pitcher had been buried alive by a single team, completely and utterly.
And in truth, the ones most terrified weren't even the Gwangju fans.
"...This kid's trauma isn't going to be easy to shake off."
"If one player after another keeps catching it like this, next year could get even uglier..."
No—it was the Gwangju front office that was suffering the most.
So what's the easiest path to the fall postseason?
Simple. If you can beat the living daylights out of one particular team, you're practically there.
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean? You don't play baseball against just one guy, you know."
True. But what if you could treat one playoff-caliber team—or the first-place club—as your personal punching bag all season long?
Taking it to the extreme: you go even, fifty-fifty, with every other team in the league. And then, against your designated punching bag alone, you rack up something like twelve wins and five losses. That's a fourth-to-sixth-place finish, easy. On a lucky year where the gaps stay tight, you might even scrape into third.
"These days there are barely any seasons where the win percentages get seriously lopsided between teams, so..."
"This year is just a different kind of freak show, is what it is..."
Between the two cellar-dwellers practically donating their wins away, and one team in the twilight of its cycle sitting barely above .340... in this era, a .500 record is as good as a postseason ticket.
"And on top of that, the postseason is a short-series sprint where anything can blow up..."
What if the team that got worked over then goes and beats everyone else, only to come back and try to work you over again?
"Horrifying."
Even if the Doubles weakened down the line, letting this dynamic take root would plant a thorn in their side for years to come. That was exactly why the organization resolved to hand out gold bars today if it had to—so the players' mental armor would be riveted tight.
"Just win. I swear I will repay you!"
Within the bounds of what the club's merit regulations would permit, they'd be compensated to the absolute maximum!
"Oh-ho, then we'd better win. Have to, really."
"I love money the most!"
Dollar signs lit up in every pair of eyes around the room, and that was enough.
The fighting spirit of the Gwangju Tigers shot up to the heavens.
Frankly, even setting money aside, beating the tar out of Noh In-seong had become a team-wide objective for Gwangju.
Getting treated as one team's punching bag is a genuinely terrible thing—but this situation was a little different.
"...Giving up thirty-plus runs to a single team. Really."
Getting not just bullied but outright exploited by one club was, indeed, a franchise-wide dishonor!
This was only Game 5. And considering In-seong had even sat out early in the season, it had taken just four games.
A starting staff that surrendered thirty-plus runs across four games—a humiliating, infuriating state of affairs for the organization.
"My take? Think about how much our In-seong must be hurting right now. We ought to get some revenge on his behalf."
"Right, exactly. He's our guy, after all."
Centered on the pitchers, the veterans with some real tenure on the team banded together and swore vengeance.
People whose blood was boiling—from those who'd watched Oh Yeon-seok walk off the field in tears after a malicious comment compared him to the franchise legend, to those who simply couldn't stand Noh In-seong—gathered together to vent their grievances.
"We beat that guy today. I want my bonus."
"Honestly, isn't it about time we won anyway? I want my bonus."
"The play here is to win one game and strangle that cursed bastard's momentum in its crib. I want my bonus."
The Tigers had, for the first time in a long while, united under a single heart.
If it seemed like a pack of money-crazed lunatics, that was a misreading. Beating Noh In-seong mattered too.
After all, nobody on earth turns down cash plus the chance to pummel the guy they hate most.
It was an excellent motivational scheme—private greed and team interest, fused into one.
'...Because of that bastard, I'm the only one who got turned into the team dog.'
"Hmm? What was that just now, Ji-hoon?"
"N-nothing, sir. Just—let's bring the energy today."
Though there was one scapegoat exception—a man who'd never once received anything good from his own teammates.
"Good afternoon, viewers. This is Jamsil Stadium, where in just a moment the Doubles and Gwangju meet for Game 5 of the season series..."
"Whew. Been a while since I've taken the mound."
Nine days since his last start. Setting aside his physical condition, even In-seong got a certain kind of nervous. He was dusting himself off and getting loose when Lim Jae-min came jogging up.
"In-seong, what's the repertoire looking like today?"
"Four-seamer's kind of flying out of the zone, and the curve's not great either...?"
Jae-min's face scrunched up. Was something bothering him? No, wait—this punk actually dared to make a face at me...
"And the rest?"
"Slider only breaks down, doesn't sweep sideways at all."
Lim Jae-min was staring at him with an expression that said how does a creature like this even exist. Should I kill him? The In-seong inside me, I mean.
"Then maybe don't throw those and just go up there and hit instea—"
"Hit WHAT, you little—!"
THWACK—!
"OW!"
You're supposed to think about getting outs by mixing the pitches that are working. Is this what they call a catcher?
The In-seong inside me doesn't come with a restraint button, you see? Kick him once more, In-sebby... and so on.
"It's not like I have magic days where every single pitch lands perfectly. Even during the perfect game that part was hard."
"Are you serious?! You're telling me this when your four-seamer's hitting 30%, your side-slider 10%, and your curve 15%?!"
Sheesh. That's why you grit your teeth and survive, kid. Low-experience catchers are exactly why this job is insufferable.
"Watch closely. Today I'll show you some genuine denture-baseball."
"...So you're going to plunk people and blame the mood again..."
THWACK—!
"Catch the ball, you peasant punching bag!"
"Grrrrgh...!!"
He'd been slacking on discipline lately, and now his own team's catcher was provoking the starting pitcher's temper before the game even started.
You were supposed to be trained from day one, Jo In-soo hyung-nim, that on the mound a pitcher fears not even God.
Blaming the catcher's union and its code of brotherly solidarity, Noh In-seong began aggressively grinding up his rosin bag.
"Play ball!"
"Watch this, sir. I'm going up there to tattoo that cursed first-year today."
"...Right. Give it your all, son."
"...? What's with the dead fish attitude, sir? You're supposed to say 'attaboy' to your senior!"
As Noh In-seong took the mound as the starter, one rookie was staring him down with what could only be described as audacity.
Jin Sung-joo, second-year pro. Fresh blood called up to replace the slumping Tigers left fielder.
A guy who'd hit .425 in the minors and swiped eleven bags had nothing to fear from anyone.
"Yes, the leadoff man is Jin Sung-joo, and his performance over this two-week stretch has been quite impressive."
"Six-for-twenty with five stolen bases. Right at a .300 clip. For a fresh call-up, he tracks the ball well."
So I can hack it at the top level. I'm not a bad player—I'm a genuinely good one.
The feeling every player knows when he gets his shot and proves himself in it. A young tiger, barely more than a cub grown into its first adult coat, bared its overconfidence at the man standing on the mound.
Of course, no young creature charges a tiger barehanded.
The opponent was the tiger—here with claws called a bat, come to rake a wound across him.
So the GOAT of the primates faced its foe with a ranged weapon in hand.
It was only once humans took up projectile weapons that they could finally hunt tigers in packs at all.
"Pop."
"HYAAAGH—!!"
The faster the projectile, the more the tiger's win rate fell off a geometric cliff—which is why the panicked beast picked a fight with a pitch that had merely grazed past his body.
"...Ball."
"He didn't hit me just now, did he?!"
"Hit you? Hit you where? That thing broke a hair's width off the strike line."
While his senior of one year desperately checked the flexibility of his own lower back, the first-year rookie catcher flashed him a beaming smile.
"Gah, this lunatic first-year has the worst case of diarrhea mouth I've ever—"
"Umpire! The batter is stalling for time while the pitcher is set and ready!"
"Oh, is he now? That'd be a violation of the eight-second pitch clock rule. Strike!"
And stacking a free strike onto the one-ball count, the umpire threw in a side-eye that said 'you idiot, couldn't you hold it for eight seconds?'
"Argh! This is suffocating!"
Suffocating, Jin Sung-joo took a full cut at the next pitch, a low-looking strike—
—and the lateral slider sliced the summer heat right out of the air, whistling coolly through nothing but empty space.
"Ah, he took a big swing there. Two strikes, one ball."
"He needed to stay composed. Look at his face—he's worked up. He is young, though."
"Still, he ought to remember both the pitcher and the catcher out there are his juniors by a single year."
The pitch that could be his last.
In the blink of an eye, a ball dove deep in toward his body, and—toward his body?
"GRK—!"
He jackknifed backward, so far he landed flat on his rear end—
'There we go! I live to fight another at-bat!'
More than salvaging a shred of his pride, Jin Sung-joo was flooded with the relief of having survived—
"Strike three! Batter out!"
—until the umpire spat all over that relieved face with the call.
"Hold on, hold ON. That counted as a strike?!"
"It broke across the zone on your inside. Look at the replay—see yourself ducking?"
On the big screen he'd glanced up at, there he was, flinching away in fright while the ball—
"...Oh, you insane son of a... he's flat-out cheating."
—curved naturally on its running tail and grazed through the strike zone like a whisper.
The rookie catcher had been startled too, lunging over to smother the catch—which was exactly why it had looked like the ball was headed for his body.
The young tiger, Jin Sung-joo, had his pride flayed to the bone.
Truth be told, his command really was in full flight today.
The four-seamer he flashed now and then, the curve he had to show for appearances—everything was sailing for the head or burrowing into the dirt.
"The sweeping slider caught the guy square in the ribs."
Jeong Him-chan had glared at him with eyes that screamed 'what did I ever do to you, you cursed punk?!'
For the first time, In-seong had looked back not with 'so what, get lost!' but with a gaze that seemed to say 'hmm, won't it hurt less if it lands on the belly fat?'
"Hey, did you get a blister on your fingers or something? You're a completely different pitcher from last time."
His command was so shot that even Lim Jae-min was worried—so by the fourth inning, the manager was already angling to pull him.
"I wish I had a reason like that. Then I could just rest."
But he'd come up too solidly built for that. Not a single thing wrong with him.
If he'd had a blister, he could have gone 'ugh, so unfair—next time, then' and headed for the bench with dignity.
Besides, he'd already gotten his shot in at Oh Yeon-seok. He honestly didn't need to push his luck here.
"Fine. First hit I give up, I'll come out."
He'd only said it because until then he had neither the justification nor the gas tank to justify a hook.
"Good, one hit and you come right out, that's the deal..."
"Argh, just catch the ball, you punk. Stop spitting out jinxes!"
THWACK—!!
"OW! That one actually hurt!! You jerk!!"
He had no way of knowing that this would turn out to be an invincibility charm.
By the time he noticed anything, it was somehow already the top of the seventh.
"Huh. These guys can't buy a hit."
"It's...yes, something strange is happening out there. Even the Grizzlys game had good stuff in it, but this..."
"Not a single hit allowed so far. Noh In-seong's line is one walk he gifted them and a hit-by-pitch on Jeong Him-chan."
Naturally, the Tigers—who'd charged in screaming that they would win today—had even laid down bunts.
Not that he had any intention of politely surrendering his records.
"Fourth pitch of the at-bat, a bunt! Off the two-seamer, dribbling awkwardly between the pitcher and shortstop—the shortstop dives and knocks it down!"
"He scoops it off the top of the bounce and fires! Three outs! The record survives!"
"In-seong! You saw that, right?! That was ME!"
"...Then CATCH it properly! Don't knock it down! What is this, basketball?!"
BONK—!
Kim Jun-soo took one to the body as well, but unlike the tigers' mangled faces, Kim Jun-soo was smiling.
"Ah, it hurts down to the bone... this lunatic, does he have steel plates in his feet?"
Granted, smiling and being in agony are not mutually exclusive.
Their next tactic was self-harm.
The time-honored, storied art of the thrown elbow.
Tink—!
"...Hit by pitch! Take your base!"
"Ah, it did look rather like he stuck his elbow into it just now..."
"Indeed. This seems like the moment for a challenge review."
"...You want a challenge?"
The home plate umpire, true to form, had made the call—but wasn't stingy about offering a lifeline.
A record like this was worth that much consideration.
"No need, sir. In-seong's just waving at them to hurry it up."
"...Play on!"
Rather than challenge, Noh In-seong welcomed their aggressive approach with aggressive open arms of his own.
"Arm's tired, it's a grind—so why bother with all that rigmarole?"
"Want to go to first? GO."
FWHUUUUCK—!!
"AH!!! He threw at him! At his back! Joo Ji-hoon has collapsed after taking a ball off the spine!"
"A 161 km/h two-seamer! The fastest pitch of the day, straight into Joo Ji-hoon's back!"
He might be headed to the hospital, true. But he had gone to first, so Noh In-seong had granted his wish in full.
"That was intentional! Deliberate! Umpire! Eject that maniac!"
"Ji-hoon! You okay?! Hey! You punk!!"
Obviously, a pitcher hurling baseballs at opposing backs is a serious matter on every level.
"Shut your mouths, you idiots. Can't you see a record in progress?!"
"Wha—?!"
With the opposing team storming out of the dugout in fury, there was simply no room left to raise the issue.
"You WANT the record broken?! You'll take responsibility for that?!"
"Uh... w-well..."
"Umpire! Aren't those clowns deliberately running our pitcher's arm into the ground right now?!"
Doubles manager Jeong Im-taek was raging up and down the top step, furious in the opposite direction.
Lim Jae-min was shoving the Tigers players back toward their dugout, yelling 'OUT, now!'
The tiger takes the slap to the face, and somehow he's the one being shoved down the mountainside yelling 'this was your fault!'—what a feeling.
"In Seoul, close your eyes and they'll cut off your nose... aigoo, our ancestors' proverbs never miss."
Behind the pile, Noh In-seong was beaming in circles, savoring the enormous chaos.
Lim Jae-min's anger was, in a sense, only natural.
Laying down bunts against a perfect game is only permissible if Noh In-seong allows it.
You're going to get mad at us first because his command is a little shaky during a no-hitter? Did anyone ask permission?
"That's crossing a line, you know."
"...I'm a year ahead of you, hyung."
With a rather aggrieved look, Jin Sung-joo threw out trash talk trying to salvage one of his two remaining chances today—
"So what? Does being a sunbae put food on my table?"
"Argh, your whole team is nothing but lunati—"
"Strike! Two!"
After whiffing on the slider that broke off a big arc, sweeping in from the outer half, he shut his mouth.
A no-hitter in progress, with the defense rattling the opposition this one-sidedly—it's a situation you almost never see.
So one plunked ball early on sets ALL of this up.
Realizing there was truly so much to learn from Noh In-seong, Lim Jae-min put down the sign for the two-seamer in again.
In on the hands, diving deep—and Jin Sung-joo reacted to it.
It was on nearly the same line as the first strikeout.
Not falling for it this time. I WILL swing—
FWHUUUCK—!!
"...Swing, strike three. Batter out."
"AAAAAGH—!!"
Of course, there had been no guarantee whatsoever that the same pitch would come twice.
157 km/h. The two-seamer buried itself square in his backside.
For the young tiger, Jin Sung-joo, this was the worst day of his big-league career.