Irish With a Mexican Sandwich

"Hmm, that makes four now. 'My first taste of October baseball'... yeah, that's how I should write it."

He carved his own article into the hologram — one of those gadgets that would print the article out for you if you walked up close. On the so-called hologram freeze, Noh In-seong had mounted the story of his very first postseason game.

"Oppa! What are you doing again! Aigoo. Do you really need to toot your own horn like that?"

His little sister Siyeon barged in to burst his bubble, but In-seong couldn't have cared less.

"Well, when your graduation album gets taken, make sure you put on your middle school uniform and pose all prim and proper. All by yourself."

"Ah!"

The funeral custom of now let us celebrate the dearly departed's most legendary moments was apparently still going strong in 2051. His own final journey had already been an icy-road headbanger as it was — stuff like this was exactly the kind of thing you had to prepare in advance. When the funeral procession wound its way past a coffin path lined with all his clippings, everyone was going to be floored.

A perfect game. A no-hitter. The single-game stolen base record. And now, a shutout in his first-ever October start. It was an In-seong memorial stand dedicated exclusively to single-game records so absurd they bordered on criminal.

"...Hold on a second. Don't you have school?"

It was well past time to leave for school, so why was she here? It was ten-thirty already — In-seong fiddling with his own articles the moment he woke up was one thing, but this was usually the hour she'd be getting ready for third period while sneaking a snack, wasn't it?

"I left early!"

She said it with a bright, refreshing smile. This child was out of her mind.

"...Did Mom actually say yes? That's allowed?!"

Even with In-seong doing whatever the hell he pleased his whole life, he'd always kept his attendance in order for one reason: the terror of Mom's loving paddle to the backside.

"You're pitching today, oppa! She was practically glowing about how she scored seats in the best spot in the house!"

"...Ah, damn it. I should've been born second."

Then he could've skipped school with that kind of enthusiasm too. In-seong lamented why he'd never had a superior like that looking out for him.

On any normal day, this would have been a rest day for Noh In-seong. He'd have slept in and recovered properly. The regular season was long — it couldn't replace his talent, but it stretched on and on, and dropping a single game could always be made up in the next one.

"Absolutely not now. Even if I have to wring my players dry, we win."

That was why Jung Im-taek had penciled In-seong into the starting lineup today, batting leadoff at shortstop. Yesterday, with J-Lo on the mound, the opponent's bats had already gone cold, and the manager could feel it. If he babied In-seong today and the game degenerated into a slugfest, there would be no answer at all. He would use him like this for just a few games — his only prayer was that no injury came of it.

"Mm, it's a little stiff, but nothing serious."

Anything involving his left shoulder was still restricted, but everything else held up fine. A little salve, a massage, a few dry swings — and the arm came back around.

"Sheesh. You've got it rough."

In-soo hyung looked at him with eyes that said you're being worked like a mule, and gave his right shoulder a friendly thump.

...That's odd? Everyone here seems to think I'm the one suffering.

"No, no. The suffering starts now — and it's you hyungs who'll be busting your asses through it."

"...?!"

What, exactly, was the reason he'd started Game 1 and was still insisting on playing today?

"Could it possibly be thanks to your pathetic hitting?"

He'd bailed out their one lonely run yesterday with a desperate, ass-clenching pitching performance — so obviously he couldn't afford to give them a day off. You can't win games when your bats don't show up.

"......"

Not a single mouth opened. Coming from the pitcher who'd just thrown a shutout yesterday, the words apparently landed somewhere deep.

Well, except for one man with no sense of the room... no, sorry — one kid.

"I hit a home run yesterday, though? I'd like to be excused, if you don't mind."

In-soo hyung was already staring at Song Jin-wook with murder in his eyes at the smug little performance.

"Right. And that's exactly why I'm not kicking your ass into next week as we speak."

Normally the man got punished the instant he opened his mouth. God, this guy can't read a room to save his life. If this body of mine had delivered a hit today and the team still botched the game, you lot would be facing minimum death sentences — the comment sections would be calling for execution by intelligence quota.

Noh In-seong swept his gaze across his teammates and posed the question.

"So. Are you all going to stay 'Noh In-seong and the assorted other scrubs' — or become the leaders of a great team, alongside Noh In-seong?"

--Figure it out yourselves. Right?

Two hours before first pitch, the morale of the entire Doubles clubhouse was sky-high.

'Damn it, the cocky bastard's actually good, so I can't even talk back.'

'Fine. If only out of sheer spite, I'll show him something.'

"...In-seong-ah. Is this really okay?"

"Ugh, shut it. Their eyes are already on fire. You have an absolutely filthy lack of awareness."

No, the team's chemistry hadn't exactly improved — but something had certainly caught fire. Their batting order was burning. That was worth a toast, wasn't it?

Caleb, the starter for Game 2, took the mound. He'd winced recalling his pregame conversation with Jung Im-taek — but in another sense, his mind was completely at ease.

'Today you go exactly five innings. Just throw full throttle and come out.'

'...What? You're not hoping I go deep into the game?'

'I'd be grateful if you did, but our rotation strategy is about to look a little different from here on.'

Because the snowball Noh In-seong had rolled through Game 1 was about to reveal itself before the bear.

"...What the hell? Why is he throwing full throttle right out of the gate?"

Kim Seong-ju, who'd spent all of yesterday being bulldozed by Noh In-seong and had dragged himself through a miserable day of it, had pumped himself up with 'today will be completely different!' — and then this happened.

And now the opposing mercenary was pitching like he'd mortgaged his very life. Yesterday's lunatic had shown one thing while hiding another; this mercenary seemed to be showing everything for the sole purpose of deceiving you.

A curveball dropped in. Then a sinker-like pitch came boring in immediately after — swing and a miss.

Kim Seong-ju was badly rattled. No. Why is his average velocity so different from normal?

"Damn it. This lunatic is pitching like he's got no tomorrow—"

Wait. No tomorrow?

"...Ah. Right. That bastard threw a complete game all by himself yesterday, didn't he?!"

Only then did Kim Seong-ju understand. This son of a bitch has no intention of staying out there long!

The realization was worthless. The changeup that came right behind it sent his bat spinning like a pinwheel.

"Swing! Strike three — batter out!"

"...Damn it, we're cooked. Who's pitching after this guy, anyway?"

Truly absurd velocity, followed by pitches that were fast and moved unpredictably. Kim Seong-ju hurried his steps back to the dugout. He had to warn the others — fast.

"They caught on. They've adjusted their approach."

That was Jung Im-taek's verdict as he watched the Grizzlies' offense. Gone was the hit-hunting approach of the top of the first; a patient, grinding brand of baseball carried into the second. See as many pitches as possible, grind the opposing starter off the mound.

"Well, to be fair, they didn't climb this far by accident."

Whoever on their roster had noticed it, the feedback had clearly traveled up the line fast.

"...But so what? That was never our real plan anyway."

The 1+1 tandem? He'd been considering that from the very beginning. His hands were full of arms who could reliably eat three to five innings. With his truly trusted high-leverage corps limited to Cho Hyo-jin and Kim Jin-hong, the tandem was a stopgap — the emergency lever you pulled only when your starter absolutely had to chew through seven or eight innings.

The real gambit was something else entirely.

A trick worth deploying the moment In-seong, hitting leadoff, reached base. A bolt-from-the-blue strategy with no data behind it yet — something he'd only gotten his hands on after the regular season had ended.

Rewinding the clock — bottom of the first, Doubles at bat. The mind games Jung Im-taek had played yesterday lingered hard in the bears' skulls.

'...He must hate passing on a challenge, huh? Why else would you bat him leadoff?'

Either way, if they gave up a home run to that cursed freak right out of the gate, he'd be strutting from the very first inning. Unwilling to hand him any momentum, the Grizzlies issued the intentional walk to Noh In-seong without a flicker of hesitation.

"Noh In-seong, take first!"

"If you're going to do this, why hand me a bat at all? If you won't face me, are you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠planning to make me swing at empty air for fun?"

In-seong needled the opposition, then turned to Jeong Han-sol with a taunting grin — psychological warfare, Round Two.

"......"

"Ugh, you're the most boring kind of person alive. There's no fun in rattling you at all."

Silenced or not, he trudged toward first base like a lamb delivered to slaughter.

What happened next carved wounds into the Grizzlies that would run deep in more ways than one.

First, In-seong's steal of second. Hector fired two pickoff attempts at the man standing off the bag with a brazen three-step lead.

"You'd need four legs to catch me, wouldn't you?"

"...Agh, watching this bastard run his mouth every single day turns my stomach."

And then there was the sight of In-seong flicking Sung Ji-chang's glove away with a tap — a rebuke for daring to apply the tag a touch too hard.

"Careful now. You lay a hand on my body even once... and I'll have you shitting blood clear into next spring training."

The broadcast cameras caught the spectacle of a man raising one fist and instantly transforming into a docile teddy bear. When the actual steal came, Jeong Han-sol — who never even got a throw off — wore a face full of self-loathing.

'Damn it, what's the point of busting my ass on throws when every single timing gets read?'

Having his breaking-ball timing picked apart was irritating enough, but the man timed his steals to the exact instant that baited a pickoff attempt. Flustered, the pitcher's release fell apart and his control followed it down the drain.

"Hector — no. Damn it. It's fine. Stay calm. Just treat him like he doesn't exist. You understand?"

"...Yes, Sir."

What good was a catcher nailing his throws and his pickoff footwork when the pitcher kept missing every timing window? Han-sol had every right to explode — but a veteran was a veteran, and his first instinct was steadying his pitcher.

"...Whew. Fine. I braced for this. We write it off as the cost of doing business."

The Grizzlies' bench was annoyed, sure, but what could you do? They'd steeled themselves for exactly this much, so they could swallow it with a bitter smile.

Then allow me to show you something truly unpredictable and deranged — and Jung Im-taek flashed a single sign.

Tak—!

At Song Jin-wook's bunt attempt, nearly every soul in the stadium collectively lost their minds.

"Wait — wasn't this guy incapable of laying down a bunt?!"

"He got absolutely chewed out over his last bunt attempt! He nearly botched it and got ordered to swing away...!!"

"But he's good at it now!"

"There's zero data on this! He hasn't attempted a single bunt since that day!"

Watching the Grizzlies' bench scramble in a panic, Jung Im-taek allowed himself a cold smile.

"...I'm no slouch at defense myself, but even I never imagined someone could pick this up that fast..."

A man hopeless with the glove, but whose batting — the worst on the roster — had somehow dragged even his bunting up by the collar and taught it to soar.

"See? I've got things ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I learn fast too!"

Song Jin-wook erupted in laughter from first base.

From there, the Doubles needed a problem-solver to capitalize on first and third with nobody out — and as it happened, they had two such men waiting in the lineup. One of them was—

CRACK---!!

He fulfilled every ounce of expectation riding on his shoulders and delivered the first runs of the game. The momentum had tipped entirely to one side before the game had even found its footing, and by the end of the inning Hector — forty-five pitches deep and shredded to ribbons — slunk off toward the dugout.

"No wonder that Noh In-seong kid keeps pulling off insane stunts," Jung Im-taek murmured, smiling as he watched the game's control snap into his hands in an instant. Toss a single branch into the gears of the opponent's 'common sense,' and the whole machine seized up on the spot.

Meanwhile, the Grizzlies didn't loosen their pursuit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one bit.

Tak—!

The side effect of full-throttle pitching: Caleb, already at seventy-four pitches, was due to hit his wall before long. Two outs in the fifth, one step shy of qualifying for the win—

"...It's no use. I'm coming out. My arm's completely drained."

"Good work. The next pitcher throws well too — he'll clean up your runners just fine."

Caleb summoned the pitching coach and the manager to the mound a second time and walked off under his own power.

Right behind a power arm that had been blowing triple-digit fastballs came a finesse pitcher cruising in around the 140 km/h mark. Slower than anything they'd seen all day, the ball crawled up to the plate and dropped dead on the corner of the zone.

"Strike!"

"...This is maddening. It's so slow I can't find my timing at all."

After a 138 km/h four-seamer blew past, the batter stood helpless, no idea what came next—

"Swing! Strike two!"

An even slower curveball paid its respects on its way past the bat. Then came the finishing blow: a one-seam sinker — a mutated power sinker—

'...What the hell, is this really sinker velocity?'

133.1 km/h.

His timing surgically stolen, the batter went down without a fight, squandering the rally's last breath.

Yesterday, the bears had spent an entire game having their timing ripped away by genuinely blazing heat against Caleb. They'd finally, finally recalibrated — and cursed the starter who'd fled the scene — but no time was granted to adjust again.

One more chance did arrive in the eighth—

"Pitching change! Cho Hyo-jin!"

"...Ugh, damn it. I knew it'd be this."

Andy's utter lack of hunger for his own win proved their misfortune. After the noodle-balling finesse came a right-handed sidearmer who lived on fastballs and shoved them back with pure force. And Kim Jin-hong in the ninth twisted the knife further — the awkward, elevated release point, and—

"Strike three! Batter out!"

"That's it! It's over!"

"Ki-yahho-!!"

Despite a pitch mix so clueless it screamed this man has never heard of taking something off the ball — shoving, shoving, always shoving — he smothered the opposition with sheer force all the same.

Series lead: 2-0.

The bears, who'd burned their two best arms back-to-back and still couldn't buy a win, mourned the fact that they'd be spending their off day empty-handed.

8-4. Unlike yesterday's humiliating defeat, they'd managed to put runs on the board—

"...But this can't continue."

The Grizzlies' lineup simply couldn't overpower the Doubles' pitchers.

"Bunt more? No — then we'd have to beat their staff the old way, and that's not happening either."

While the manager racked his brain, ready to resort to small ball and scratch out runs if it came to that—

"......There's no other way, is there."

With a capsule sitting in front of him, Kim Seong-ju spent his off day deep in thought.

"What is there to deliberate, sir? There's an off day built into the schedule, and as long as you follow the dosing regimen, you won't be detected."

The conversation continued with the designer across the table — a man he'd known for years. Money wasn't the issue. The man took a percentage anyway, so it wasn't even a particularly large sum. What frightened Kim Seong-ju was the second offense. Just how crushing would the punishment be then? In the worst-case scenario, even a lifetime ban was on the table.

"...If it means shoving a loss down that cursed bastard's throat even once, there's no other way."

The man he wanted dead kept riding high while he himself kept losing. What choice was there? You pawned your career to the devil instead of your soul.

What the capsule contained was cutting-edge technology for the current era. It elevated focus, recovery, balance sense — the whole spectrum. And the compounds, synthesized inside the body, needed only the slightest trigger before flushing themselves out.

"Brain Doping?"

"You wear this, and the trigger builds as you spend a set amount of time in it before the game."

The compound activated the moment a certain trigger was fed into the brain. A wave of nausea, a spell of dizziness — and then, once they passed, the speed of the world turned strange. Fast-moving objects telegraphed exactly where they were going.

Tak—!

In a virtual training simulation against 170 km/h pitches, he could square the ball up dead center of the barrel.

"...Haha. Haha! I can see the ball perfectly! You could say I can feel every single seam on it!"

"Didn't I tell you, sir? This is something else entirely."

His muscles had been maxed out ages ago; maintenance alone was enough. What he'd been missing was the neural hardware to run the software—

With this, it felt like there was nothing on earth he couldn't hit.

"...Just you wait. You thought you'd already won it all, didn't you?"

Kim Seong-ju tucked the small case holding the capsule tenderly against his chest, and let his malice pour out toward Noh In-seong.