The Flaw in Perfection
Their plan to get under Noh In-seong's skin wasn't a bad one.
They had simply made far too many mistakes along the way.
He was a crafty old fox whose baseball career—Little League included—was pushing forty years. He was the kind of man who could have written the textbook on injury psychology, or on dirty play itself. And in front of a man like that, a handful of slip-ups were more than enough for him to scan their intentions in an instant.
First: the catcher should never have tried the dead-ball strategy in the first place.
"You're throwing pitches that keep ending up in the complete opposite quadrant, and you expect me to think that's not just a grudge from the guy I've been teeing off on?"
It was as good as proof that neither the pitcher nor the team as a whole was out for his blood. Which meant the catcher had effectively strong-armed his own pitcher into burying the ball deep inside.
And from there, the suspects emerged.
The two men who'd been pounded into the dirt and couldn't take the field—the catcher and the second baseman.
Second: the catcher drifting toward a direction where his throw would be ambiguous—a place where a collision with the runner was possible.
Sure, no rule says a catcher always gets the ball to second. But a blunder like that from Jeong Mi-ru, a grizzled veteran?
"Yeah, this is a collision on purpose. Blatantly."
Who was supposed to believe that? It was only possible when Korean baseball had degraded to rock bottom.
...Though, come to think of it, there probably was a team bizarrely capable of it. Either way, that catcher didn't make mistakes like that.
There were exactly two suspects, and by pure coincidence, both mistakes implicated those very two men.
So what was the obvious conclusion?
The guy desperately leaping for the catch was planning something, with the catcher's throw as his opening.
"Not a chance."
That fool faking a desperate catch probably expected In-seong to slide or duck. But he had no intention of doing either. Why not simply let it play out as a catcher's throwing error and run him over?
He shoved his shoulder slightly forward, positioning his face as if he'd only just noticed the man—
'Die, damn you--!!'
He flinched as if throttling down, then leaned into the impact with even more force. He felt it, unmistakably—his shoulder driving deep between the man's stomach and ribs.
CRUUUUNCH---!!
When something hits you hard mid-air, there's no breakfall technique, no martial art that saves you. You just fall. A man launched vertically, with a massive horizontal force applied in between.
Song Jeong-woo, who had leapt with everything he had, spun half a rotation in the air and landed face-first.
"Me doing well? Nah. Watching you bastards go down is way more fun."
He lost consciousness the instant he heard Noh In-seong say it, stepping onto second base.
A low murmur rippled through the stadium...!!
Two players had collided, and now one of them was standing there, shamelessly holding up a safe sign at second base?
Naturally, the next step in the sequence was a bench clearing.
Of course, the Incheon pitching staff just stood around spectating, and the Doubles were left going, and what exactly are we supposed to do about that?
People had seen what happened to the man who'd once asked, Doesn't the Doubles protect their teammates?—he'd been knocked out of the lineup for about a week.
"My ribs still ache, you know. You guys just keep anyone who wanders inside his radius away from him."
Sung Hyun-tak, standing well beyond arm's reach of the whole scene, offered this advice to the 'rookies' watching it unfold for the first time.
The experience of getting pummeled while his two foreign teammates traded blows with each other had been as good as a great teacher.
Half the crowd spectating, opponents at peak strength, no element of surprise—charge in head-on and you'd eat one clean shot to the face and be out for the season, minimum.
Under those conditions, no amount of fury from Incheon's hitters meant a thing.
Incheon's acting manager rose to his feet, face grim, and stormed off to yell at the umpires.
"Eject that son of a bitch!"
"It was an in-game collision! How exactly do you prove intent from that?!"
No matter how fiercely the Incheon coaching staff and hitters roared at the umpires like tigers, it changed nothing. The timing and location of Noh In-seong's collision at second were simply too unfavorable.
"An accident at a distance between first and second where sliding is awkward to judge, and you want to prove intent..."
"Impossible. I mean, the last time Noh In-seong even confirmed Song Jeong-woo was there was—"
The camera had caught it all: the moment right before impact, where he'd brazenly shielded his face. Careless, sure. But you couldn't hand down an ejection for it.
In the end, only Incheon's acting manager—the instigator of the bench clearing—got tossed, and the matter was closed.
Spitting, cursing, faces contorted in collective disgust, Incheon retreated to their dugout.
From the Doubles' perspective, it felt like, Looks like nothing else is blowing up today. A sigh of relief.
But the game did not unfold the way they expected.
"Not that this means I'm walking off the field without ripping out you bastards' roots."
The only reason nothing had exploded yet was that the walking bomb named Noh In-seong was busy cooking up something else.
With the ruling of interference by the second baseman, Noh In-seong was awarded second base—and as he took his lead off second, his eyes began to gleam, dark and hungry.
Bottom of the fourth. The Doubles came back to bat, leading 2-0.
Leadoff hitter Kim Jun-soo gave a fielding lesson to the freshly substituted second baseman and went down on the very first pitch.
"Argh, would you look before you swing."
"Tch, I thought I could just aim for the new guy's shaky defense."
That maxim applies to a new pitcher's first pitch, genius. Noh In-seong kicked Kim Jun-soo square in the rear.
"Out. Go!"
"Hkk—!"
Considering that this would be the Doubles' only injury of the day, maybe he should count himself lucky.
Senior or not, the man had just been subjected to 2051-style puppy discipline (the leading digit was a little different) over a bunch of yipping.
Noh In-seong stepped to the plate with his chest out and greeted the catcher, Jeong Mi-ru.
"One, two, three, four—bubble, bubble?"
"...This bastard, did he take that collision with his head? What the hell are you babbling about?"
Break out a song over forty years old, and of course Jeong Mi-ru wouldn't catch the reference. It had been a death threat—I'm going to pop you like a bubble—but it really ought to have been delivered in modern Korean.
Still, a veteran was a veteran.
'That... doesn't sound like something said with good intentions.'
Jeong Mi-ru's face crumpled. He was quite sure this lunatic had not wished him a pleasant at-bat.
"And... here we go. Noh In-seong's at bat—the scene of that... unpleasant incident—has come around again."
"You know, it's honestly strange. If it were Noh In-seong, I'd have expected him to retaliate right there in the middle of the bench clearing..."
The commentators traded bewildered remarks as In-seong's second at bat arrived.
"Could it be that even Noh In-seong values his own numbers?"
"Well... he is chasing .400 this season, and he's short on the minimum plate appearances, too..."
His average had slid all the way down to .392—just shy of the all-time high for a right-handed hitter, and barely missing second on the all-time list.
The first pitch arrived—Jin Noh-ryeok's four-seam, which he'd been holding together admirably until now, up and in toward the right side.
CRAAACK--!!
"Noh In-seong rips the first pitch! The right fielder gives chase, but—"
DOOONG—!
"Off the wall! Down the foul line! Noh In-seong's already through second and sliding into third—!!"
"The fielder finally secures it and fires toward shortstop, but he's already standing on third. Incredible speed."
Back up to .394. Doubles fans watching the average yo-yo up and down could barely breathe.
The fan who'd bought a beer and snacks planning to watch the championship run at a leisurely pace, and the fan who'd finally found a free afternoon to visit the ballpark—both were white-knuckled, glued to the spectacle.
"Oof, I know it's an agonizing record to follow..."
"But one more hit and today looks safe. Are we really about to see .400?"
Faint hope, a winning streak quietly extending—and somewhere along the way, .400 itself. Everyone was happily soaking in the spectacle when Noh In-seong started to move.
"Yes, Song Jin-wook is stepping in. He hit a sacrifice fly his last time up."
"A razor-tight catch almost against the wall—and he picked up an RBI on the play."
Song Jin-wook loosened up slowly, took ball one, and settled in to wait for the second pitch. And then—
"...Huh? Third base! The runner at third is going!"
"Noh In-seong is stealing home--!! The pitcher is already set on the mound!"
Noh In-seong had bolted for home before the pitcher had even released the ball.
A home steal attempt.
A home steal was all but a death sentence. The ball almost always arrives before you do, and the catcher is sitting directly behind the plate. The throw he has to make converges on zero distance—so how could this possibly be a good play?
When the runner at third, Noh In-seong, dove for home, Jin Noh-ryeok had his timing stripped from him perfectly. But the pitch he'd happened to choose was the far-outside corner—the spot farthest from a left-handed hitter.
And it was a four-seam—the pitch he'd thrown most, the one that could arrive fastest.
'Even if I can't do it to you, there was no reason to hand a hittable pitch to Song Jin-wook and his slugging power!'
True to his status as the ace, the ball came in with flawless command. Catch it, apply the tag—automatic out.
'I'll grind him into the dirt as painfully as possible...'
The ball was caught. All that remained was—
'...Wait. Why does this situation feel so damn familiar?'
BOOOOM---!!
"Ever get that déjà vu feeling?"
A sound far too loud for two human bodies colliding rang out. Then came the sensation of his own body being launched somewhere—and after that, the second scream rang through the stadium.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHH----!!!"
"...Out. You're out, you lunatic!"
Unlike last time, Noh In-seong was thrilled with the call and filed no protest whatsoever—and the umpire, watching him celebrate, called him out while laughing out loud in sheer disbelief.
Not a failed home steal—an intentionally failed one.
He'd sacrificed an out and his perfect 100% stolen base success rate as tribute. But in exchange, Noh In-seong had pinpointed exactly the man he despised and taken him off the board.
It was a judgment worthy of a madman who had deliberately carved a flaw into perfection itself.
"...Argh, THAT's why the lunatic didn't throw a single punch earlier?!"
Jeong Im-taek finally grasped the full picture. The collision earlier had been on purpose. This was on purpose. And he'd waited an entire at-bat simply because it was easier to line up the shot!
And the area around the opposing catcher was empty because a home steal from third requires exactly that!
"I'm the idiot for thinking this guy wouldn't cause an incident. Me. I'm the idiot."
The very act of trying to read a madman's mind with a sane man's brain had been the failure.
Sadly for Jeong Im-taek, he had neither the time nor the means to restore his sanity before the next disaster struck.
"YOU DEAD-BRAINED BASTARDS--!!"
"...Argh—HEY! Everybody out! Go shield him!"
With zero time to think, Jeong Im-taek saw the opposing players pouring onto the field and frantically shoved his own men out to intercept.
The second bench clearing had erupted.
Once again, Incheon's players swarmed together, surrounding Noh In-seong.
"Hey, you trash-heap bastard. Where's your professional courtesy?!"
"Didn't have any, that's why I flattened him, you brainless bastard. What'd you open your eyes for?! Where's your brain wired to?!"
Insults answered with insults—one-to-one retaliation, no discounts. The Incheon players couldn't take it anymore.
"Kill him! Drag that son of a bitch out!"
Naturally, they meant to use their numbers to punish the bastard.
'No way he swings—he's worried about his stats, right? He's gotta be scared of an ejection, right?'
Some clung to that hope; others simply assumed he'd take his lumps quietly. They believed the Superstars' mass demotion to the minors had been a byproduct of condition-crushing bench-clearing brawls—that no one could possibly have been beaten bloody in real time inside a crowd.
Their read was reasonable. They'd just misjudged the address.
This time, Noh In-seong had no need to hold back his fists.
Earlier, Jeong Mi-ru had been right in front of him—a man he could hit cleanly, and a punch thrown with that kind of accuracy meant instant ejection. A crowd meant you couldn't reliably target your man, and that was the only reason he'd restrained himself the first time.
"You damn punk! Surround him!"
"Hey! Grab one guy at a time—anyone standing near In-seong!"
Besides, the other side had thrown the first punch, and this time the crowd was packed even tighter than before.
"Face is visible—skip it! Chest! Gut! Groin! Thighs!"
"AAAGH!"
The moment one man dropped inside the crowd, the crowd had no choice but to trample him.
"GAAAH...!! Hey! HEY! I'm getting stomped here!"
"There's a guy under you! There's a GUY under there!"
Then the crowd scattered, and in the gap, Noh In-seong waded back in and started swinging again.
"Break it up! BREAK IT UP! Everyone in that pile is ejected!"
From the umpires somehow dismantling that violent mass, to throwing out every last man who had thrown a punch—the total time elapsed: over fifteen minutes.
"Kill him! KILL HIM!"
"Why are you stopping us?! We're WINNING! Ah, this is driving me insane!"
Even the home fans, deaf to the umpires' labor and hungry for more blood and beatdowns, piled onto the chaos.
And so the final regular-season meeting between Incheon and the Doubles ended in catastrophe: six Incheon players and four Doubles players ejected, with the heftier fine going to whichever side had more men thrown out.
"Next time, I'll hit you harder! Faster! More painful! Look forward to it!"
"Drag him out of here! Gag him!"
Even amid all of it, the man without a single scratch on his body was cheerfully previewing a third confrontation—but really, who on earth was going to volunteer to fight this lunatic?
Noh In-seong had once again succeeded in burning his name, deep and unmistakable, into the minds of every baseball player in the league.
"In one sense, this is actually good news for you."
"Good how? I thought the season was over for me. Ugh."
The next day, in the manager's office, Noh In-seong and Jeong Im-taek sat down to talk. Another red slip—no, a disciplinary notice—had arrived for In-seong, so he'd been summoned and chewed out. That was all.
A six-game suspension and a five-million-won fine. A surprisingly light suspension, all things considered.
"Is it because of your records? Or a courtesy discount since you technically didn't throw the first punch? Honestly, it's hard to say."
"Well, you'll still play the Suwon game and the whole Gwangju series. Twelve plate appearances—you'd squeak by, barely?"
The games remaining on Noh In-seong's schedule: just three. Get through them without an incident, and the qualifying plate appearances were his, guaranteed.
"But if the other teams start acting up because they're banking on that, am I allowed to shatter their backs with their own full-force pitching?"
"...Argh, then you won't be able to play in the postseason! Control yourself, you damn lunatic!"
As of today, the entire baseball world had finally understood one thing: this living human time bomb came with no timer displayed. Cut the wrong wire, and it would detonate evenly—his own team and the opponent's, no favorites.
"What did I do in a past life to deserve this? Barely a few months as a manager, and they hand me this bastard."
Jeong Im-taek lamented as he watched the murderous hamster shamelessly tear into his own bread, stuffing it into its cheeks two fistfuls at a time.