Why Not Just Open With the Ultimate Move
As if you could read it right off the calendar sprinting toward late October, the wind was beginning to stir and the air was slowly turning cold...
"None of that."
With nothing but a thin hoodie on, the temperature was — well, actually just pleasant. It only threatened to dip toward chilly at night; summer hadn't quite loosened its grip yet.
Even so, this was fall baseball. The first real fall baseball Noh In-seong had ever experienced. In his past life, the team had stumbled at the doorstep thanks to problems in every direction imaginable, and in this life he'd been a fresh, raw rookie who had never once tasted the postseason.
"So this is what it's like... playing ball in a stadium packed to the rafters, in front of all these people."
"Nervous? Huh. So you do have a rookie side to you after all."
Jo In-soo walked over and generously splashed vinegar all over the rare moment of emotion Noh In-seong had allowed himself.
"...Nervous? Who?"
"Isn't that it? This is your first postseason. A rookie could get like that... huh? Or not?"
For all that, the kid didn't radiate a single shred of fear. If anything, Jo In-soo found it absurd. This was his playoff debut — how was he not shaking?
"A rookie starting pitcher in Game 1 of the Korean Series is supposed to be trembling in his cleats, no?"
"Why would I tremble? They should be the ones trembling. Some lunatic who could do anything just took the mound."
What kind of self-awareness was this? He knew he was the lunatic?
Jo In-soo stared at him in open disbelief and asked again.
"You're telling me every single insane thing you've done up to now was all part of the plan?"
"Like hell. You an idiot, hyung? I did it because it felt good."
Jo In-soo recoiled in horror a second time. This bastard simply did not possess a conscience.
'Aargh, what was I even worried about. This bastard isn't going to freeze up no matter what he experiences.'
Jo In-soo felt like he'd bought anxiety and gift-wrapped it for nothing.
'Hmm. Didn't seem like a big deal, though. Was I actually nervous?'
For Noh In-seong, it turned out to be excellent advice — a chance to audit his own condition one more time.
Game 1 of the Korean Series. The final check, one hour before first pitch.
The moment the players lined up, removed their caps, and pressed them to their chests, every heart in the stadium swelled. Naturally, the fans online were cheering in their usual somewhat feral state — that was normal. But one team's mood had noticeably deflated, while the other's was flying high.
Unlike the Doubles fans, who had felt reassured whenever Noh In-seong took the mound, the Grizzlies fans had nothing but bad memories triggered at the mere sight of him — so their mood was understandable. And then, to top it off:
"Swing! Strike!"
"...Huh?!"
In a way, the Grizzlies fans' prediction that In-seong would walk people had also come true.
"Swing! Strike three, batter out!"
The Grizzlies hitter never said he was going to swing at it, though. That's on the one who got himself fooled.
Before the enraged Grizzlies fan could even finish typing his post —
Crack!
Kim Seong-ju had jumped on the very first pitch and died before the chat comment could even be completed. Noh In-seong spun around grinning, gave the ball in his hand a few casual pats, and delivered the counter-blow.
"The way he dies this fast, I'd say batting matters about as much to him as his remaining lifespan or his junk."
At that full-audibility jab, a red-faced Kim Seong-ju huffed and stomped off to fetch his fielding glove. For venting his anger, the opponent was simply too insane a target.
Noh In-seong had staked everything on today's outing. It wasn't about resolve or anything so noble. His career? The future was far too bright to be gambling something like that.
"In-seong. I'm giving today's designated hitter slot to Song Jin-wook."
"...?"
Because the manager, Jung Im-taek, had taken drastic measures for the sake of the defense. He simply could not — truly, absolutely could not — tolerate even the whisper of a variable in a game this important.
"Otherwise that living error machine plays first base, no? Wouldn't this be the better option?"
"Whoa, damn. That's exactly it. You truly are the manager."
With In-seong's blessing, the plan was to slot Song Jin-wook in as the DH. In-seong approved. He approved so thoroughly it bordered on respect.
Just glimpsing the man occasionally sent his blood pressure through the roof — better for everyone if he didn't have to look at him at all.
"...Aargh. The manager's listening this time too, so I can't even say anything."
And if things got desperate, they could always abandon the pitcher position and swap him out — batting was still on the table, so there was insurance too. Naturally, In-seong, who wanted no part of any of it, said his piece out loud in the full dugout, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"If we can't score a single run, we might as well kick everyone off the roster. I'm not even batting, so none of it's my fault."
"""......"""
Watching the strength drain from every pair of eyes around him, it was clear the pep talk had landed hard.
'If I carry all the baggage myself, they'll just get in my way and lose it anyway.'
Noh In-seong had no intention of shouldering everyone's load.
Meanwhile, the Doubles' starter was, today, quite openly throwing balls. ...Yes, we mean Noh In-seong. The man who normally painted the strike zone with ease.
From the 1st inning through the 3rd, the ball percentage was alarming, and the opposing team had more or less noticed. Of course they had — every pitch's location was already being shared across tablets in real time.
'This punk can't seem to hit the zone at all, huh?'
Fifteen strikes through two outs in the 3rd. Twenty-two balls. The ratio had gone completely lopsided.
'The machines screen everything anyway, so why not just sit back and take my walks like a good boy?'
At 2-and-2, that was exactly what Sung Ji-chang was thinking — and then, on a whim, he decided to wait it out.
'No way he'd just paint one right here.'
In the very moment he let his guard down, a white streak came screaming into the dead center of the zone.
"Strike! Batter out!"
Because anything was hittable, he'd gotten the fastest pitch in the arsenal — a four-seamer at 167.4 km/h — blown right past him.
From Sung Ji-chang's perspective, a strategy he'd finally cooked up had been buried in the gutter by one pitch, and he was fuming.
"Oh, for — damn it! Ball, strike, ball, strike — which is it, you lunatic!"
"...What? Are you talking to me right now? Sung Ji-chang. You're eje—"
"No! Not you! The starter! I was yelling at our starter!"
Get caught venting at a temperamental umpire and you go straight to the clubhouse. Sung Ji-chang was, above all, a young man who regulated his anger very well. To the genuinely unhinged, and to people who didn't hesitate to cost him real money, he was as meek as a lamb.
When Noh In-seong came back to the dugout having cleanly dispatched the 3rd, he found the manager pacing in agitation.
"...What is it this time? Why all the fuss?"
Unlike In-seong, who couldn't fathom what the problem was, manager Jung Im-taek's nerves were smoldering. One lone hit allowed, and while no walk had technically materialized, there were far too few strikes. A pitcher whose usual strike-to-ball ratio ran roughly 2-to-1, who pounded the zone with authority — that man had abruptly morphed into a 1-to-1.25, away-pitch-baiting trickster, and the cold sweat came pouring out.
"Feeling off? You're being awfully passive out there today."
He asked honestly about his pitcher's condition, and the answer that came back was truly outlandish.
"Today I'm just throwing whatever the PitchCom calls the instant it comes in. Take it up with In-soo hyung."
"...You throw whatever the hell you want every single day."
He was the kind of man who'd argue that whether anyone was calling his pitches or not made no difference. And that man was suddenly deferring to his catcher? Was this real?
"It's not like I hate being called. The data's doing the talking, so I figured I'd go along with it."
"...Haaugh, spare me the bizarre excuses. So why are you suddenly obeying your catcher today of all days?"
In-seong's answer was, in another sense, a masterpiece.
"I'm going for the shutout today. Besides, my command isn't cooperating either, so I outsourced the thinking too. Very convenient."
'What fresh nonsense is this. What do you mean your command isn't cooperating?!'
Jung Im-taek wrestled the words back down past his Adam's apple and swallowed them.
After all, so long as it was working, there was no reason to kill the battery's momentum. He simply found himself pacing back and forth a little more often. Thus began the first game in history where a manager's nerves burned bright with Noh In-seong on the mound.
One look at the manager's face and you could read the thought: You're walking people, you little punk. But honestly, for a pitcher like me, throwing the occasional ball might be the smarter play.
"What kind of bullshit is that? Doesn't throwing balls just waste your pitch count?"
Ignore Song Jin-wook. This is a man pitch tunneling simply does not work on — a creature with the brain of a beast that swings simply because it feels like that pitch, powered by the knowledge Soo-jung stuffed into him. A strange specimen: a barbarian with a textbook.
...By the way, you were a high school ace pitcher yourself. How do you not know this?
"Ugh, this guy pitched and still doesn't get it. You were the type who crammed pitches in by brute force, weren't you, hyung?"
"How'd you know?"
How would I not know? There is zero image of you dueling a hitter pitch by pitch.
What I'm doing today is, strictly speaking, closer to an optical illusion. That's because I've been showing off the dead-center four-seamer as my out pitch fairly often. A sweeping slider, a diving slider, a two-seamer that cuts just off-center. All three appear to come in on the zone's centerline — as if arriving at the same spot — right up until...
Whoomph—!
"Swing, strike! Batter out!"
...they bend on their own, dart elsewhere, or dive away. The human eye, once it grows accustomed to something, has a habit of filtering out everything else. So those moments where fans scream, Why on earth are you swinging at THAT, are you even a real baseball player? — they may actually be nothing more than one polished round of theater between pitcher and catcher. And Jo In-soo, a catcher who wields pitch design like a master illusionist, had once again become 'Peter' — the fisher of men.
"Agh! Hooked again! Those garbage bas—"
Catching himself mid-curse and slapping a hand over his mouth, Sung Ji-chang sat in the net. The swing and the swallow, all in one catch.
BOOOOO...!!
The away side booed with everything they had, but what could they do? The inning was over. All that came back was the Doubles crowd's giddy strikeout chant riding the stadium music.
Fall for this kind of thing and you're guaranteed to become the next punchline. Sung Ji-chang, who'd been played twice in a row and looked about ready to explode, managed to survive only because the umpire was so intimidating.
'Judging by his lips, he meant to curse me out along with the battery.'
I can forgive a lot of things, but not insults aimed at me.
If he let another word like that slip on one of my start days, I'd been planning to deliver a fastball to the crown of his skull. And Sung Ji-chang, having escaped by the skin of his teeth, flinched hard at the murderous aura rising from behind him.
Was it because the DH slot had been handed entirely to Song Jin-wook today?
Crack—!
Even when the ball was in play today, nothing felt scary. At least so far, pitching only had been the correct answer. Run-starved, yes — but rock solid on the mound. And just as a satisfied Noh In-seong was soaking that in, even better news arrived. In the bottom of the 5th, the march of zeroes came to an abrupt end. The DH slot handed to that human paperweight had more than paid for itself.
Crrraaaack—!!
A home crowd roar beyond anything he'd ever heard came crashing down on the second-year newbie.
"I hit it! I HIT IT—!!"
SONG! JIN! WOOK!SONG! JIN! WOOK!SONG! JIN! WOOK!
For a man only in his second year — a man who'd burned an entire season in the minors (to call that "forging" him would be generous, given the defense) — the experience of a first career Korean Series home run was no ordinary electric shock.
The scale tipped by Song Jin-wook, who'd ignored a pitch so far outside it deserved a generous ball call and muscled it over the fence anyway. From that moment on, the Grizzlies' side of the scale would never rise again.
The Doubles did, of course, already boast an elite bullpen — but
"Swing! Strike three!"
"Damn it... the longer I watch him, the less I can tell the two-seam from the four-seam!"
Just as Kim Seong-ju lamented, the drop in velocity was now actively sabotaging pitch recognition. As In-seong tired inning by inning, the four-seamer lost speed — while the two-seamer lost comparatively less. At some point, showing hitters barely a 2–3 km/h difference between the two was enough to leave the visiting batsmen pounding easy grounders.
Ball-in-play situations multiplied, but the Doubles infield — now with no holes left — swallowed them all and slammed the door. The butterfly effect of the bulked-up Sung Hyun-tak sliding out of second and Ji Hak-seong sliding in was this enormous.
The runner on first broke hard for second, sprinting for all he was worth —
Snap—!
Runners, who could never outrun the ball itself, began dying one after another. The Doubles' own offense drying up after Jin-wook's solo shot wasn't a pretty sight either, but before the manager could even get a word of rebuke out, one player's foot did the scolding for him.
"Agh! Watch the ball before you swing, you bulk-up reserve squad screwups!"
"Guhak—!"
Kicking his seniors squarely in the rear, Sung Hyun-tak single-handedly did his part to slash the pitcher's stress levels.
And so it rolled on, a march of zeroes. Noh In-seong stomped the final hitter of the top of the 9th into the dirt — and the game was over.
"Swing, strike three, batter out!"
Watching Noh In-seong — calm in his debut Korean Series, killing the opposition without so much as a tremble —
The commentators were beside themselves.
The Grizzlies fans grieved.
And the people who realized, after far too long, that the hour had finally come to crack open their long-stashed liquor — the Doubles fans — could rejoice with pure, unclouded hearts.
Lunatic or not, so long as their rookie played great baseball, what more could anyone ask? His fans displayed a tolerance on the level of black cats, white cats — or rather, black pitches, white pitches, all the same. A few more wins from that kid, and he'd carry them all to Valhalla... no, to the championship trophy.
"Tomorrow's starter is Caleb."
At the Doubles manager's announcement — delivered with the air of a man stating the obvious — one pointed question came in.
"...Will Noh In-seong be playing as a position player tomorrow?"
Normally, the lineup isn't released at the same time as the starter announcement. It can change with the players' condition on the day, so asking in advance is considered poor form.
"...Heh heh. Well. Since you're asking."
But with a player of Noh In-seong's caliber, Jung Im-taek had done the math: the threat alone could give the opposing brain trust a splitting headache.
"Yes, he'll be in the lineup... though we haven't settled on where in the order."
With an unspoken 'I don't know how much you'll try to dodge him tomorrow, so I'll decide after reading your interviews.' If they dodged him, he'd bat leadoff; if they didn't, he'd hit third. A heads-I-win, tails-you-lose gambit.
"...That sneaky little bastard..."
Whatever kind of tantrum the Grizzlies manager watching this was having in his uniform,
'If I don't do this, they'll see the dodge coming a mile away anyway.'
Gwangju had been burned once. Daegu, too. Jung Im-taek had no intention of walking down that well-trodden road again — and with that, he opened the psychological war.