From Now On, Every Win Is History
By the time Noh In-seong slipped out quickly and headed home, the reporters were collectively stunned.
"No interview again today?! Where did the player go!"
"He said he went home?! Wait, they're just letting him leave?!"
As of today, ninety-four wins. A historic day, the one that broke the Grizzlies' all-time franchise record for most wins in a season.
And against the Grizzlies themselves, no less — and the star of the day just... went home?
"Yeah, my arm's a little sore. I'm heading home."
The glorified starter of the day had walked off, leaving the reporters empty-handed yet again.
Above their dumbfounded faces, fireworks were going off.
Every single win the Doubles racked up from this point forward was a step into the history books.
Noh In-seong didn't feel particularly moved by any of it, but for the Doubles organization, it was an endlessly joyful occasion.
In fairness, the team had won championships here and there since then, and had by now built up a respectable standing as a mid-tier franchise. It wasn't the punchline it used to be — but for the long-time fans who had lived through the dark ages, it was genuinely moving.
A team that thrived while they themselves couldn't take the field. There was never a bad time to NTR a rival team's record.
"And in the middle of all that, these guys were groveling just to squeeze out a slightly longer fall baseball run."
They must have felt like their big bravado had been chewed up and spat back at them, no?
The tension on Noh In-seong's face eased a little.
Imagining how painfully they must have typed those posts put him in a good mood.
"Ideally, both of them end up in agony — even if I have to pitch in the last game of the season to make it happen."
His wish remained unchanged: that if things kept going this way, he'd be the one to decide their fate.
The records would keep updating until the season ended anyway, so it might be fun to see just how far they could go.
On the other hand, it bothered him just as much that when an actual opportunity presented itself, he'd failed to seize it.
The next morning, Noh In-seong ambled out of an empty house and hailed a taxi.
He'd never planned on pitching deep into the final game against the Grizzlies — but he hadn't intended to walk off after just five innings either.
"I was aiming for about seven and then done."
What had forced him off the mound the moment he barely cleared the win condition was that inexplicable pain.
"I can still throw, but something's nagging at me. I can't pitch like this."
The young pitcher who'd come out of yesterday's game against the Grizzlies with subtle shoulder discomfort headed for the hospital.
"That'll be 12,300 won. Please tap your card."
"Ugh, taxi AIs... There's a way to get here faster than this and you take the scenic route?!"
Was it the march of technology? Or AI contamination at the taxi companies?
Cursing the ageless, era-proof problem of overpayment for transportation, Noh In-seong got out in front of the hospital.
Pitchers, as a rule, tend to ignore a certain amount of shoulder pain and keep throwing.
It hurts anyway, so might as well throw until I drop! — and no, it wasn't as if only one or two pitchers thought that way.
Your stats were the most direct line to your salary.
"For the team, not the money!" — pitchers who burned on like that until they flared out like sparks were always with us.
Those who burned themselves out for the team rather than the paycheck even became legends.
Noh In-seong was not one of them.
"Are you insane? In my last life I did exactly that, and a position that used to be a king or an aristocrat turned into a commoner!"
Good pitchers were kings. Mediocre pitchers were aristocrats.
Even as a relief pitcher, Noh In-seong had still held a position equivalent to a landed noble — he was the bullpen ace, after all.
The difference was that the latter got cursed out a bit more; either way, both were comfortable positions that never required rolling in the dirt.
It was only when his shoulder completely gave out and he had to grovel through the dirt to keep eating as a pro that he understood.
'Ah. If I'd only never hurt my shoulder, I'd have pitched my whole career...'
So being an infielder wasn't for nothing. Defense was a absolute nightmare.
And since his hitting wasn't exactly stellar either, he'd literally had to roll in the dirt masterfully just to survive.
"This life, I'm milking the honey for as long as I possibly can."
For the sake of self-preservation, Noh In-seong did his best to spare his body.
"...You're here again? I'm pretty sure you came once in the middle of the season."
"This time I came of my own will. Last time I was just dragged here."
Noh In-seong stood before the same screen-swiveling doctor who had seen him before.
Rrrroll...
He pushed his wheelchair in and sat down, but the doctor just stared blankly, showing no intention whatsoever of examining him.
"...No. To get examined, you need to get an X-ray first. What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?"
"Ah. Right."
Eager, if nothing else — that was Noh In-seong.
Changed into a gown, Noh In-seong lay on the cold metal bed, wincing under the glare of the overhead lights.
Click-!
"Now, roll onto your side, please."
"Ugh, how many of these are you taking?"
Click-!
The considerate radiology staff answered his complaints with more shutter clicks, and once the imaging was done, while the doctor ran his analysis—
"Heheh... I wonder who's trash-talking me today. Let's watch something fun."
Noh In-seong turned on a screen and opened a video platform.
At this point in the season, Noh In-seong had already qualified as a title holder.
His hitting still needed more plate appearances, but at least on the pitching side, he'd thrown the required innings.
Needing only 133 innings to qualify, his name was already plastered across the leaderboards.
And now, even if some unforeseen disaster (fists, baseballs, injuries, and the like) kept him out of games,
"The innings needed for the records are all in the books — so what are you going to do about it?"
his season stats could no longer vanish or be buried.
On top of all that, just yesterday his team had proven itself a historically great one, immortalized in the record books.
The butthurt fans of other teams and Noh In-seong's legions of online haters erupted.
But others sucked him off like maniacs.
......
With fans and haters locked in a standoff, there were the experts.
On a broadcast populated by the people who made their living on so-called analysis shows, the topic was Noh In-seong.
"Noh In-seong has finally crossed the qualifying innings threshold. 146 innings."
"He barely cleared it with those five innings against the Grizzlies. The Gwangju series will probably be his last, right?"
ERA+ of 409.05. ERA- of 24.45. An ERA of 1.12.
The counting totals were low, but his rate stats demanded comparison with the ancient monsters of the game.
Granted, one properly disastrous start would send them plummeting, with a much steeper drop than anyone else's—
"His worst beating all season was four earned runs, and more importantly, this player bails out fast."
What everyone had seen in yesterday's game against the Grizzlies: the moment his stuff wasn't there, he was gone.
His willingness to concede was, ironically, a guarantee that his numbers could only get better, never worse.
...Though someone had slapped a "isn't he just copying his own team's legend?" tag on him for it.
"Records are forever, after all."
"Is there anyone left who'd argue the Doubles' beat reporters aren't on the payroll..."
Stirring brown paint into muddy water doesn't exactly change the color, after all.
"You don't think he'll pitch against Gwangju? No — if anything, since it's the final series, he might go even more vicious."
Couldn't he spend the whole game at shortstop and then just stroll out to the mound whenever the mood struck him?
"If my read is right, being the starter isn't what matters to him."
"What do you mean?"
"The 'Noh In-seong Shift' — that looked like a guy who just enjoys crushing opponents for fun, doesn't it?"
Was this what passed for online content from reporters these days? Because against all odds, they'd nailed the right answer.
It came from Reporter Jeong — the man who, notably, had landed several one-on-one interviews with Noh In-seong.
Where his colleagues had waved it off with a dismissive yeah, right, he'd been correct.
"Wow. That lunatic actually gets it."
Noh In-seong was inwardly impressed. He'd assumed nobody would figure it out.
It takes a madman to recognize madness.
That madness — the Noh In-seong Shift.
It was a stunt he regretted pulling, but it had, unexpectedly, helped his title campaign too.
"Those relief wins have done a lot for his wins title. He's 18-2 right now... three of those are bullpen wins."
At a glance, the winning percentage title, the ERA title, and the wins title all looked within reach.
He'd racked up a serious strikeout count too. It was only because three other pitchers had already crossed 200 that his position wasn't higher.
"Strikeouts: 175."
"Fifth in the league. Behind Caleb, You Hong-jin, J-Lo, and Jin Noh-ryek... for now."
The scariest part was that nobody knew what would happen if he'd thrown more innings.
His plate appearances were running low too. Fourteen to go for qualification.
Unlike his home run count — frozen at 42 thanks to a surge of intentional walks—
"Five more stolen bases, 34 on the season... his conversion rate against opportunities is low, admittedly. Still, a 30-30 season, though."
"He's running at a hundred percent success rate, so maybe he's just being selective."
He'd added a bit to the stolen base tally, but recently he hadn't run at all.
Since the Daejeon series and the final game, nothing — completely stalled.
The truth was, after reaching base all game long in Game 6 at Changwon, he'd simply been running on empty and spent the rest of the game just standing there.
But who would ever know that? Only the man himself knew he'd barely managed to play defense that day.
"Going forward, he can keep running against teams that issue intentional walks, so 40-40 looks possible too."
"Then that would be only the second time ever — and the first for a domestic hitter, wouldn't it?"
A high-school-drafted rookie in his debut year, putting up numbers like this.
Everyone was astonished — and, in the same breath, a little worried.
Where there are records, there are always costs on the other side of the ledger.
Whether his body would hold up was the next topic of discussion.
"Honestly, who knows how exhausted this player is right now, or how much injury risk he's carrying."
"He's a rookie. Shouldn't they start managing his workload — his hitting included — before it's too late?"
Just as the panel was voicing shared skepticism about his continued appearances, one man was thinking something entirely different.
'......From everything he's been doing, the body looks just fine. Never mind the head.'
The man who occasionally ran into him around the neighborhood and heard every last piece of local gossip: Reporter Jeong.
And once again, he was dead right.
After watching the reporters bicker on screen for a while, Noh In-seong switched it off.
Beep—
"Ugh, when is this going to be done..."
A very modern-addict observation: easy to fall into, easy to get bored of.
Bored out of his mind, Noh In-seong stretched out on the plush cushioned bench and promptly started snoring.
Ten minutes later.
Just as the doctor finished analyzing the X-rays, a voice finally reached the sleeping man.
"Pati...ent... Noh In-... Patient Noh In-seong? Are you not here?!"
"Ngh—! Ugh, what took you so damn long."
The doctor's summons had finally arrived.
Clunk-!
"Doc! Why did that take forever?!"
"...Please come in."
The grumpy Noh In-seong barged in without knocking, but there was only one patient anyway — who else was going to walk through that door?
Since he counted ballplayers among his patients, the doctor followed baseball now and then himself, so he let it slide as par for the course. He pulled up the X-rays as a hologram.
"Doc, when I was throwing last time, my shoulder hurt a little differently from the usual heaviness..."
"...That's the sort of address that sounds like you expect me to fix a completely different body part."
During the game against the Grizzlies, maybe because he'd been throwing harder than usual, the pain had come from a slightly different direction than normal.
"Yes, well — you said so, so we took the images..."
Gulp.
Was this the omen of something bad? He needed to stay healthy. He wanted to pitch for a long, long time...
Noh In-seong stared at the doctor's mouth, praying for good news — but what came out was a little different.
"...No, it's just that Noh In-seong's shoulder still has a growth plate that's ever so slightly open."
"...I'm sorry, WHAT?"
Wait. I trained weights that hard, and you're telling me that thing is still open?
"...Should I have played basketball?"
"...Granted, even so, you'd grow all of one or two centimeters at most — what you're feeling is growing pains."
...Meaning his wingspan was still expanding. The ball could get a little faster... and so on and so forth.
The doctor launched into an explanation, but it was too complicated, so Noh In-seong skimmed past it and relaxed.
It was just the farce of a man so mildly uncomfortable that he'd mistaken it for the warning sign of an injury.
"Phew. Thank god."
"...I mean, it's certainly better than the people who show up actually injured..."
He felt nothing at all, though his fatigue markers and inflammation levels had come back slightly elevated compared to before...
The day after a start... be careful going forward... proper rest is essential...
Having heard everything worth hearing, the rest of the doctor's lecture never reached Noh In-seong's ears.
'Well, nothing's torn, so we're good!'
An internal debate began: what should I do with my day off?
While Noh In-seong lay resting in the living room after the second taxi ride home from the hospital—
"I'm hoooome! WOO! Holiday!"
His little sister Siyeon came home from school wearing a grin from ear to ear.
With the Chuseok holiday starting this week, she'd gotten an extra-long break — and Noh In-seong watched his blissful little sister with a flat stare.
So while this oppa spends his days running into those gloomy Incheon bastards and those damnable Busan bastards, she gets to eat good food and lounge around all by herself.
"...Must be nice, huh?"
"Yep! While I'm off, you said you'd be grinding all week, right?"
Watching Siyeon beam at him point-blank, the blood vessels stood out on Noh In-seong's forehead.
Whatever gene they shared, she was clearly working it — a little gremlin of a sister, barely ten years old, taunting him with pure glee.
She was cute, yes. It was just that he was the one on the receiving end, which made him that much angrier.
"Would you perhaps like to spend the next great national holiday greeting your elders with an empty New Year's money envelope instead of an empty holiday table?"
A threat: by the time the holiday came, it would be too late to wail, 'You mean there's no allowance for me?! What's the point of bowing then!'
Her head hit the floor in a bow faster than Noh In-seong's fastball.
"I'm sowwy!"
"There we go. Watch yourself if you want your green bills, kid."
The richest person in the family.
Thanks to a few recent ad shoots, the man with the comfortably padded wallet: Noh In-seong.
In any case, with the pre-Chuseok holiday upon them, naturally the In-seong household had to do their big grocery run too.
Even Noh In-seong, busy as he was with baseball, didn't dare turn up his nose at that.
"Hmm~ except for the last four games of the season, it's all home games~"
No road trips planned for that stretch anyway. Of the remaining games, everything but Suwon and Gwangju was at home.
Which was exactly why he was humming a little tune as he trailed along to the mega-mart to pick out his own food.
"Dad! Ribs for me!"
"Need to grab some beef short ribs too... should we leave the pork shoulder out?"
"Honey! Whiskey for me!"
"Have you lost your mind?! We came grocery shopping, not to the liquor center!"
While his mother laid into his father across the back of the head — and minus the whiskey Noh In-seong quietly returned to the shelf —
the Chuseok family feast shopping was more or less complete.
All that remained was dragging the mountain of hover-carts through checkout and scheduling home delivery. Done.
What about preparing the ancestral rites, you ask?
"The ancestors would appreciate the new-meta menu anyway. It's fine."
The family crypt was near Seoul, so they'd visit, pay their respects, and bring back a meal for them. That was all it took.
If they were distant ancestors from the Joseon era, they'd be grateful for a table full of meat. And if they were survivors of the turbulent modern era, they'd delight in foods that didn't even exist back then.
Nobody does the whole red-fruits-west, white-fruits-east debate anymore. In this day and age... huh?
"...No, seriously, what the hell is that."
Lost in his idle musings as the whole family walked home together, Noh In-seong stopped dead in the street, staring blankly at a sign on a building.
"In-seong, watch your mouth... oh my. Your face is on that building, son."
"Oppa, what is this? Did you shoot an ad or something?"
The entire face of a building owned by the parent company of his own ballclub,
papered wall to wall with footage of him screaming during his perfect game.
"...Ugh, I want to die of embarrassment..."
Noh In-seong hung his head.