I Still Have Three Transformations Left

With the national team call-up wrapped up, the baseball world settled into preparing for the year's end.

Which meant the KBO League's awards ceremony was fast approaching.

"...For all that, the names engraved on the plaques all look pretty much the same, don't they?"

"Well, there simply aren't that many guys besides this one who deserve an award..."

The plaque workshop that engraved names into gilded trophies had, this time, engraved the very same name eleven times over.

A man whose name came up so often that even the plaque shop itself began to wonder.

And so another bait-filled storyline rolled out, with Noh In-seong as its subject.

It began, naturally, with the awards available to pitchers.

"First off, the most wins this season."

"That's right — twenty wins... and the wins-percentage crown is locked in too. Ninety point nine percent."

The triple crown of wins, earned run average, and winning percentage all belonged to Noh In-seong.

Twenty wins and two losses. An ERA of 1.23. A winning percentage of 90.9.

"With so few games under his belt, the strikeout title slipped away from him."

"Right — You Hong-jin took that one. Though frankly, his strikeouts rocketing all the way up to third in this league is impressive in its own right."

Despite barely pitching (154 innings), he'd posted a pitcher fWAR of 5.54 — the kind of numbers that would top most seasons.

On the hitting side, by contrast, he'd hauled in an absurd haul of hardware.

It was no exaggeration to say that every rate stat in the league belonged to Noh In-seong.

"Batting average, home runs, RBIs, runs scored, stolen bases, on-base percentage, slugging..."

"I never dreamed I'd see another seven-crown sweep of Korean baseball — minus the hits title, of course."

The old Busan legend had once failed the full sweep because his body was hopelessly unsuited to stealing bases (...). This time, the legend whose sanity had finally snapped clean off failed the sweep for an entirely different reason.

"He just didn't play enough games. Most hits is basically the one stat where every appearance counts one-to-one..."

"If he'd been a full-time hitter, the sweep would've been an absolute lock... ah, wait. No, maybe not?"

Because with a player who might erupt into action at any unpredictable moment, even a full season offered no guarantees.

Since it was painfully obvious just how much Noh In-seong would rake in,

"Honestly, it'd be faster to count the awards he won't get, wouldn't it?"

"Strikeouts and... ah, right, no saves or holds for the Doubles. They're low in both."

"The fielding title goes to the shadier crowd, unfortunately. What a shame."

Saves and holds were plaques the Doubles would never lay hands on.

"They win by blowout far too often, that's why..."

"The lineup's simply that strong. The pitching staff is upper-tier too, of course, but still..."

Two hitters whose outs came off the bat as line drives hard enough to send the league ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠average soaring into the stratosphere. One slugger sitting at the very summit of the league.

On the days all three fired at once, the opposing team itself blew up. When two fired, it was the opposing manager's stomach that burst.

"And on the days just one of them goes off? Song Jin-wook's backside takes the kick."

"It got so bad there's an actual meme GIF of the butt-kicking circulating..."

The days Noh In-seong went cold were peaceful, sure — but the team usually lost those games.

So had a man collecting this mountain of trophies prepared anything at all for the approaching ceremony?

"In-seong, wasn't the awards ceremony today?"

"Ugh, what a pain. Can't I just send someone else to collect the plaques? Reason for absence: can't be bothered. Put that on the form."

Easy for the guy currently rolling around on his bedroom floor to say. Fat chance.

Noh In-seong scratched his head, yawned, and — upon receiving the pleading request of please, just go get groomed somewhere —

scrunched up his face, heaved a massive sigh, and began getting ready to head out.

"Ugh, whatever. They hand you the plaques and you leave. Simple as that."

A man to whom being annoyed mattered more than every plaque he'd never received in his whole life — a very Noh In-seong sentiment indeed.

In any case, he'd dodged his mother's nagging — 'Think of the other players, at the very least! You should act like you love your awards!'

"Just give me a quick tidy-up, please."

"...Noh In-seong? Are you, by any chance, preparing for the awards ceremony?"

"Ugh, it's a pain and I don't even want to go, but if I no-show it I'll catch endless hell for it."

And so Noh In-seong headed for a shop near the studio.

If you were going to no-show anything, you should save it for somewhere it actually meant something.

For a guy in a position where he collected every award with the word "award" attached to it, a no-show was simply not an option.

"Even that bastard showed up every single time, back when he was collecting his little soccer-ball trophy."

For the star of a ceremony to be absent amounted to spitting on the authority of the awards themselves.

It wasn't that he disliked trophies — he was just lazy — so there was nothing for it.

"There's a fat prize purse on top of it, so I guess I've got no choice."

His attention leaned more toward the shiny trinkets than the cash, but he was still the lowest-paid player in the league.

Extra income like this did his finances a world of good.

Never mind that the MVP prize was, once again, a car he had absolutely no use for.

"That one goes to Dad this time."

Mom's car had gotten a bit long in the tooth, so the Korean Series vehicle had already gone to her with a 'use it for grocery runs, Mom.'

So this time, Noh In-seong made his filial-piety move: he'd set Dad up with a second car.

Never mind that he didn't even have a license, and couldn't drive it himself — the magnanimous Noh In-seong, ladies and gentlemen.

On the day of the ceremony, the venue was, surprisingly, half-empty.

Only a handful of tables — and if anything, the livestream crew and the broadcasters were the busiest people in the building.

"...Well, that tracks."

"There are exactly five people receiving performance-based awards, after all."

It stood to reason. Because outside of Noh In-seong, the award-worthy players had all but vanished from the league!

Jong Min-soo of the Daegu Lions, with the most hits.

You Hong-jin of the Daejeon Phoenix, with the most strikeouts.

And Cho Hoon of the Grizzlies, who'd claimed the saves crown two years running — that was the full extent of the titles handed out at this ceremony.

Surrounding them were nothing but family, relatives, and a few close teammates.

In-seong's family had skipped it entirely, on the grounds that he'd grab his trophies, come straight home, and they'd all have dinner together.

Song Jin-wook had at least asked — 'C'mon, you've got no friends, show up for once, will you?' — but In-seong had refused.

"Like a man busy preparing his own wedding has any time to show up. Tsk. Pathetic."

Noh In-seong, for his part, was considerably more invested in the buffets than in the wedding itself — business as usual.

Meanwhile, across the hall, the Hold King froze mid-step the moment he spotted Noh In-seong and flinched so hard he nearly left the floor.

In-seong had noticed him first and, in lieu of a friendly greeting, served up a fresh plate of abuse.

"......You know, I figured you'd have changed teams before the ceremony even happened?"

"Oh, you son of a—! Because of ONE guy, my standing on my own team is about to completely fall apart...!!"

The Hold King, Kang Ji-hoon — whom In-seong had run into, grimly, at the national team call-up — was now shouting at him in fury.

"Oh? Then you must've also seen a major leaguer take a Kimura Lock on open pavement... what was that? Got something to say to me?"

"Wha—?! No! Stop! This suit is a RENTAL!"

Watching him scamper off in a blind panic, In-seong nodded to himself in approval. At least the man valued his own life.

"Next bench-clearing, I'll do you the courtesy of killing you last."

"...Thanks for NOTHING, you lunatic!"

Kang Ji-hoon — a man who earned his beatings by asking for them — bolted.

Only to go sit at the table directly across the room, of course.

An awards ceremony, rehearsals included, was an event that wasted an impressive amount of time.

By the time the cream In-seong had dutifully patted onto his face had dried to powder and he was getting touched up by the makeup staff yet again,

"Mr. Noh In-seong? You'll be... ah, coming out last, since you're receiving awards in both positions."

"...So I could've slacked off even harder and slept in, then. Ugh. This is an outrage."

Back in the greenroom, In-seong's mood soured all over again.

In print, he was dynamite; seated, a MOAB; in motion, white phosphorus.

The assembled guests had all forgotten the cardinal rule: when a born lunatic is in a bad mood on top of everything else, there is nothing he will not do.

They failed to predict that they'd get it all back with interest, in his acceptance speech.

For all the time it wasted beforehand, the ceremony itself ended surprisingly early.

The rehearsal, ironically, had been the biggest time sink of all.

"...If it was going to end up like this, why did they waste all that time rehearsing?"

With a sulky face, he watched the other winners deliver tearful, heartfelt speeches after receiving their awards.

Yaaawn---!!

One captured yawn, instantly memorialized on the internet, sent online opinion into a frenzy.

No, not that post.

Or these distorted inner voices (which, admittedly, were far too plausible to call distortions).

Posts like these were flooding the popular feed even as the ceremony was still underway.

The remarkable thing was this: under normal circumstances, yawning through an awards ceremony out of sheer boredom would get a person torn apart online.

But whether it was because In-seong's public image was already beyond saving, or because his numbers were simply that good —

Instead of drawing hate, he was becoming a meme, right up until his turn came.

"And now... yes, our next honoree is Noh In-seong!"

"Hnnngh... atten..!!"

Ten trophies, each one heavy enough that the male announcer beside him could only lift it with both arms straining.

Ten trophies — with a five-million-won cash prize attached to each and every one.

"Noh In-seong has claimed seven crowns in batting and three in pitching, and in each of those categories..."

"Yeah, yeah, enough, enough. The only people who want to hear that rundown are the ones who get excited over stat sheets."

A man desperate to give his speech and go home, Noh In-seong threw the rehearsal script and the agreed rundown straight out the window.

"Mic's on, right? Noh In-seong here. Anyone who's ever taken a punch knows what team I'm with. Skipping that part."

Unprecedented, from the very first greeting.

"The MVP announcement is obviously coming next anyway, so I'll finish my speech then."

And with that, he simply carried his trophies offstage.

The announcers stood frozen, gaping, before coughing awkwardly and moving on to the MVP presentation.

"...Yes! The MVP of the 2051 KBO League — with the most votes ever recorded — Noh In-seong!"

Trophies abandoned yet again, prize-money placards lovingly stacked to one side, Noh In-seong took the MVP trophy in a careless grip and delivered his speech.

"I consider this an honor I hardly deserve."

Oh — had he finally decided to display some proper humility and grace? That thought lasted all of a second.

"I'm talking about all of you, of course — everyone living in an era where you get to watch me. Lucky you."

Ah. No. This man is completely unhinged.

"Next year I'll show you something even more spectacular, so feel free to look forward to it. My growth plates have finally closed, you see."

"...I'm sorry — what?"

"It means the bulk-up begins. Next year I'll shatter the 120 intentional-walk record without breaking a sweat."

Noh In-seong carried a decent amount of muscle, but by pitcher standards he was still underweight — a beanpole of a player.

By the standards of players from the old days...

But unlike players who stay skinny despite metabolisms running at furnace speed, Noh In-seong was a slightly different case — he simply hadn't even started his bulk-up yet.

"One leap when the bulk-up begins. Then another when my body reaches its physical peak."

There were already evaluations floating around that this physique could keep climbing its growth curve for years to come.

"And then one more, when the Golden Cross arrives and my skill finally peaks in step with my body... You following? I've still got three power-ups left in the tank."

With those words — shamelessly spitting out lines that brought a certain purple alien to mind — Noh In-seong planted a seed of terror in every corner of Korean baseball.

'That lunatic actually thinks he gets even BETTER from here? So he's not an early bloomer at all?'

'Goddammit, this is insane. As long as that bastard exists, winning the pennant race is off the table for the rest of us.'

'If he posts a 16 WAR every single year, the Doubles just need to build a middling team around him and they win by default.'

Unsurprisingly, the general managers — the men who understood baseball best of all — were hyperventilating.

Paired with a second-year slugger who couldn't field to save his life but raked beyond all reason, a young cleanup core had already taken shape.

The starting catcher was still young, and the rookie catcher behind him showed every sign of a bright future. Green as he was — but with catchers, youth has always been a virtue.

The bullpen was a well-blended mix of old and young, and while there was no telling what next year held for the foreign players—

"Those bastards are even rolling a SIXTH starter! Goddammit!"

The rotation was already fully rebuilt.

A win-now team built on young players — one that could keep running for years on nothing but maintenance of its current roster.

And into the middle of all that, that cursed bastard had just revealed the possibility of growing even further?

"Damn it all, we have to wring that bastard out of the league as fast as humanly possible and dump him onto some other circuit...!!"

Jeong Jae-yoon — the new general manager and CEO of the Seoul Superstars — was sketching out next year's plans with a face like a funeral director's.

Teams, like the moon, inevitably wax and wane.

"At this rate they'll pull off another monster deal in the FA market, flip that player for a pile of prospects..."

A cycle was being completed: a team that waxed at breakneck speed, yet waned with nothing more than a brief tilt before rebounding.

The Doubles had, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at this very moment, secured the final foundation of a permanently strong team.

"...Then there's no other way. We have no choice but to reach a consensus."

After the season ended, at the owners' meeting —

there was one clause that had drifted and died in committee, every single year.

"Proceeds from a traded player may be divided by the number of years the player spent with the club, then counted toward the luxury-tax cap."

This clause was not aimed at domestic cash trades at all.

"Posting. Or, alternatively, an overseas transfer."

The more frequently a team could send players abroad through the posting system, the more irresistibly this sweet bait would hook them.

No team sold players off regularly anymore — but then, in a Korean baseball world where sending a star off to bigger waters was counted a virtue?

"After next season wraps up, Korean players head overseas in droves."

Hitters entering FA would bolt for foreign leagues if they could, and next season would be You Hong-jin's last before his posting.

Daegu and Daejeon, teams with no choice but to go all-in on win-now, would back this clause without hesitation.

"Suwon is the question mark. No telling whether they'll sell Kim Jin-il or not."

The Superstars, meanwhile, had no choice but to swallow the poison — because they needed the chaos that would follow everyone else's mass exodus.

"What stings most, of course, is that we're the one club that can't benefit from that clause at all."

Jeong Jae-yoon licked his lips — but what could he do?

Unlike the clubs living beside a spring of fresh water, he lived somewhere that required ocean-desalination technology.

"A thirsty man digs wherever he can. Yes. Haah."

Truthfully, the ideal move would be acquiring Noh In-seong — but that was a dream Jeong Jae-yoon wouldn't dare to dream.

"Besides, if he came, who knows what kind of havoc he'd wreak on us."

An asset carrying that much risk looked far too dangerous to a finance man like Jeong Jae-yoon.