Here Comes the Money

Winter had only just begun.

For most front offices, this was actually the busiest time of year.

"Is the Song Jin-wook left field thing officially locked in?!"

"If we throw a guy with no defense out there in left, it's going to bury our center fielder... What about right field?"

"Pi Jeong-doo's got right covered, so we just need to develop one outfield backup who can handle defense across the board..."

"Who are we targeting in the FA market?! That's why we're short on positions everywhere!"

"The manager says he's satisfied for now, but he'd like at least one pinch-hit specialist..."

"Would that bastard just shut up already?! Look how many assets we poured into building this bullpen...!!"

Papers clattered and crashed across desks, and somewhere between shouting matches and genuine debate, the work got done.

But the biggest issue of all was this.

"Damn it, Noh In-seong is seriously holding out to negotiate last?!"

"He says if he goes first, everyone can clearly see his numbers get torn apart. Told us to get lost, apparently."

"How the hell does a rookie read the room like a ten-year veteran?!"

Of course. Winter meant one thing: salary negotiation season.

The stove league's furnace had just been fed a fresh load of fuel called work.

Salary negotiations, as a rule, wrap up far earlier than most people realize.

It's only because headlines like 'Player X Refuses to Negotiate!' and 'Is Conflict Brewing?' flood the news every year that people think otherwise.

In reality, the vast majority of deals are settled at the very first meeting.

For a championship team, that goes double.

The player has pocketed generous bonuses, and if next year's outlook looks bright, he's willing to give a little ground. And on the club's side, even if a player underperformed, making the playoffs at all often earns him a salary freeze at worst.

Ah, granted, from the fans' perspective the reaction would be more like, 'This greedy bastard makes THAT much?! Are they insane?!'

"...So. What exactly are you planning to teach me about salary negotiation?"

"Ugh, if you walk in there like this, you're going to come out boiled and braised, boss. Gutted clean like dongpo pork..."

Consider Song Jin-wook as an example — a second-year player with a wedding on the horizon.

When Noh In-seong had asked him for negotiation strategy, the answer had been long, but the essence boiled down to this:

'Get paid. Get paid. GET PAID.'

He needed money for the wedding, money bought the house, and the house made for a good life — so In-seong understood. In theory.

"You lunatic. What kind of idiot negotiates a salary like that?"

This was a man whose eyes went red at the prospect of squeezing out one more won, so Noh In-seong gave him a solid kick.

"Ack! Why'd you kick me?!"

"Nope. You're a lost cause. Get out."

Deciding it would be faster to just call in a professional, In-seong summoned reinforcements.

"Huh? Oppa, you called for me? Oh, hi, In-seong."

"Here's your job: sit down at the negotiating table and recite this man's stats. They'll raise his number on their own."

"Got it! No direct comparables, and I emphasize the positional change stress — that's the play, right?"

"Oh, sharp. While you're at it, point out that when Noh In-seong's out of the lineup, he's the only one producing runs."

"...That's just because you keep starting bench-clearing brawls... wait, no."

While Jeong Soo-jung absorbed In-seong's strategy like a sponge, Song Jin-wook spouted nothing but nonsense — and earned a foot to the face for it.

Despite Jin-wook being the actual ballplayer, it was Soo-jung who grasped In-seong's negotiation strategy faster. A true tragedy.

"Useless piece of work, through and through."

"That's unfair! I only went to high school and Soo-jung has a college degr—"

"No, you moron. I'm a high school grad too, and I'm a year younger than you. That's your excuse?!"

Never once thinking about his own interests, only envying other people's intelligence — this feces factory of a man was truly something else.

If Song Jin-wook had been even slightly worse at baseball, he'd have been laid into the stadium's foundation as a brick by now. That was the level of frustration he inspired.

In-seong himself was delaying his own negotiation specifically so other players couldn't weaponize it — 'Noh In-seong gets that much? And you?'

And this bastard Jin-wook wanted to waltz into salary talks with zero strategy. Was Satan's own bloodline running through this man?

"Ugh, Song Chump-wook. Just go in there, sit down, and keep your mouth shut. You'll probably get more money that way."

"Huh? You're a rookie yourself, so what makes you think you—"

THWACK—!!

As the old saying goes, when someone tells you to hit, you hit. In-seong's affectionate kick landed square on his backside once again.

As it turned out, In-seong's strategy worked exactly as intended.

"Whoa! Fourth-highest non-FA salary on the team! Including every bonus clause, how much does that come to?!"

"Tch. Well, there's still a hierarchy, I suppose. Couldn't leapfrog the captain and the FA guys in one jump..."

He'd spent less than a full year on the first-team roster, and his defensive evaluations were, frankly, loathsome.

So he did get shaved down a bit more than In-seong had originally envisioned...

"Congratulations. Four hundred million won guaranteed."

An eightfold raise event. For Song Jin-wook, who had been playing on a 50-million-won rookie contract,

an 800% base raise, with incentives that could push it to 1,600% — the largest salary increase ever handed to a second-year player.

"Whoa, I can finally get a three-bedroom!"

"Perfect. Cancel every two-bedroom viewing we had booked — we're going straight to the owner-tier units, honey!"

If they'd sent Song Jin-wook in alone, he probably would've gotten slapped around and settled for just under 200 million.

The previous record raise was 400%, set in 2040. Second place was You Hong-jin's 390% back in 2049.

They probably opened with 'You did about as well as You Hong-jin did...' then pivoted to his accolades before carving the number down.

A mid-200-million figure, sweetened with a few bonus perks — that's probably where it landed.

"This counts as your wedding gift, by the way. I don't do favors for people as a rule."

"Thank you, In-seong! Oppa, go bow to him right now!"

"...Huh? What did you even do for— ack!"

In response to that ungrateful garbage, Noh In-seong's middle kick and Jeong Soo-jung's low kick fired simultaneously.

And so Noh In-seong handed Song Jin-wook a windfall absurdly large for a wedding present.

With the strawberry-on-top — Noh In-seong himself — as the only holdout, everyone else had finished signing.

Jo In-soo, a free agent, also re-upped at four years, 7.5 billion won — a deal tailored to the team's declared intention to keep running next year.

Ji Hak-seong was a free agent this winter too, but signed for a modest two years, 1.2 billion.

After the internal FAs, three more signings followed: Cho Hyo-jin, plus Kim Jin-hong and Jeong In-woo with national-team service-day bonuses.

Money seemed like it would run short no matter how carefully they saved, and the luxury tax line was already razor-thin.

"So you're saying there will be no further restructuring from next year until Noh In-seong leaves?"

"...That's correct. Additional funds will be required."

"...Hmm. Well, as long as we can get our hands on that championship trophy..."

The owner — or more precisely, the parent company — promised to secure additional funding, and the shackles came off.

"...If we treat this kid badly and he gets sulky, next season's harvest is ruined..."

A living human bomb who could go UNHAPPY at the faintest hint of mistreatment — they had to handle him with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠care.

"And remember, this is a man fully capable of recording twenty ejections in a single season..."

Granted, if he'd actually been ejected twenty times, he'd have been ejected from professional baseball entirely long before that. But the point stood.

Thus began Noh In-seong's salary negotiation — with the front office crawling in on hands and knees.

"Hmm, let's be direct. We're prepared to offer somewhere in the range of one billion won."

The general manager stared at him blankly. What are you looking at, you... no wait, he's on our side.

"I'm... terribly sorry, but we already gave Song Jin-wook the largest raise in franchise hist—"

"Isn't my WAR roughly two and a half times Song Jin-wook's, exactly?"

And by the way — he pitches, he fields, he hits. Where else were you going to find a multi-purpose tool like this?

"Some are calling it a fluke year?"

"If that's your opinion, General Manager, am I permitted to start asking for an extra two hundred million?"

"Thankfully not. It was one of the new analytics hires. His position won't exist in a few months anyway."

Watching that breathtakingly slick evasion, In-seong could roughly guess where all those trade-market victories had come from.

The GM tried to pivot shamelessly to the next topic, but fat chance.

"If we're talking real value, you'd owe me one and a half billion next year and two billion the year after. Planning on taking me to salary arbitration next winter?"

If you'd offered me this much up front, I'd have been shaking in my boots grateful — you should've been greasing the wheels with bonus perks, no?

Year three? That arrives in a blink. If I file a grievance next year, I hit free agency.

Back in the day, unrestricted free agency didn't exist and players got chained down. Not anymore.

"By pure WAR alone, this is a negotiation I win unconditionally. No need to hold back on my account."

FA Noh In-seong? Ooh, he could already see Jamsil Stadium going up in flames.

Apparently the GM could see that future too, because the sight of him squeezing his eyes shut was a beautiful thing.

"Oh, and if you're worried about what the other clubs think — don't be. I'll handle the media myself."

Revolutionary after-sales service, included free of charge. Truly, no salesman alive could match him.

"...Ugh, damn it. Fine, I give up. Deal. But you'll actually handle the press coverage, yes?"

The Doubles' position: terror of triggering rookie salary inflation across the league.

And In-seong's position: no real desire to bleed them dry when the money genuinely mattered less to him.

They settled at one billion won, agreeing that the Doubles would announce it after the trades wrapped up.

'Right before next year's FA market freezes over completely, I need to snag at least one prime cut off the board.'

A play designed to weaken rival teams and strengthen his own in a single stroke.

For that, conceding a salary he was never going to collect anyway was a fair price.

'I'll make plenty once I get to the majors. Money was never the goal.'

When he died, what was it that had made his situation so miserable?

A resume so barren he couldn't even apply for a coaching job.

That's what he'd been mulling over, right up until he face-planted on the ice drunk.

He'd been reborn out of pure injustice — a belief In-seong held deep in his bones, in a sense.

"In this life, no one gets to put a single scratch on my career."

Not the front office. Not opposing teams. Not opposing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠managers. Not the national team.

He'd live exactly how he pleased and die happy in his own bed, damn it all.

That was how much one man's ambition could shake an entire baseball world.

Granted, the man himself seemed half-insane, but that was hardly news at this point.

Thanks to In-seong's concession, the Doubles front office now had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a meaningful sum to funnel into free agency.

The only problem: it was genuinely unclear where to reinforce.

"Caleb looks set to leave for another MLB shot next year, and Dustin's heading to Nippon Professional Baseball."

"Then we should draft for power potential... A slugging first-base mercenary next season would be ideal, right?"

Andy, Noh In-seong, the Jeong brothers, and Kim Jeong-mook gave them a rock-solid five-man rotation, so one foreign starter was enough. But with the lineup running In-seong, Song Jin-wook, Jo In-soo, Sung Hyun-tak, Kim Jun-soo, Pi Jeong-doo, Song Joo-in...

"How about bringing in a foreign second baseman? We slide Sung Hyun-tak over to first."

The team director had pulled out a counterintuitive reversal — a complete positional overhaul.

'Song Jin-wook converts to left field, and Sung Hyun-tak's weight gain has already wrecked his range anyway — so let's fortify the center of the infield.'

It wasn't a bad idea. In practice, Hyun-tak's defense wasn't exactly helping anyone.

"Ji Hak-seong has been serviceable, but if we run him full-time, he'll be flat on his back by July or August."

"And Sung Hyun-tak's bulk makes his defense look even worse lately... Yeah, this could work."

In the current market, second basmen other than Kim Jin-il were virtually nonexistent — and Kim Jin-il was headed to the posting system.

"In that case, filling it with a foreign player isn't a bad call at all... Submit the report."

"Yes, sir!"

Which meant the remaining FA reinforcement came down to exactly one thing.

Song Joo-in's outfield defense was nothing short of miraculous, and Pi Jeong-doo would have to cover for Song Jin-wook in left.

Catcher, shortstop, third base — a league-elite defensive core. First and second were now settled.

The position-player side was complete.

"A solid rotation arm, or a short-term, league-elite bullpen arm usable in bursts."

"The latter appeals to me more. But no such player exists, does he?"

The Doubles' sinister, ruthless trade machine — their general manager — flashed a grin.

"That's why you use your head."

As it happened, there was a team nearby — practically in their own neighborhood — that needed to scrape together this and that in free agency.

If a sucker exists, you exploit the sucker. That was the operating assumption of this town.

The Doubles' scheming gears began turning in earnest.

First, as the FA season opened, the Doubles approached Jung In-woong, now an eight-year veteran.

"Have you been exploring other teams by any chance?"

"Ah... no, sir. I'm quite happy with my current club."

The goal wasn't to sign him. The goal was to shake things up. His actual opinion didn't matter in the slightest.

All they needed was for the league to believe: 'The Doubles are entering the FA market as a big spender!'

And naturally, Daejeon panicked — 'Oh no, oh NO!' — and threw even more money at Jung In-woong to pin him down.

From the fans' perspective, it was simply: 'There they go, torching the salary cap again. Truly, thank you for your service...'

But the Daejeon Phoenix front office had faith in something too.

"That posting incentive rule is definitely getting ratified this time, right?"

"I'm telling you, yes. We sell Hong-jin next year and our deficit disappears overnight."

Run hard, sell one player, and the debt goes to zero — with magic like that on offer, of course they spent aggressively.

And the Doubles' FA market chaos-mongering didn't stop there.

They made contact with Jin Noh-ryok of the Incheon Astros, a certain free agent this winter.

"Do these sons of bitches have any professional decency?!"

Enraged, Incheon overpaid wildly to keep their ace in town.

Then contact with part of Changwon's bullpen corps, also hitting the FA market.

"...Those bastards know we barely have any players as it is..!!!"

Manager Kim Chang-soo was furious enough to roar, but for a club with no money, things resolved surprisingly fast.

And after all that masterful pot-stirring,

"Hello there! Shall we, er, discuss the terms of a deal?"

"......So your tour of every single team in the league was all in service of negotiating with... us?"

"Oh no, your club might just be stirring material too. Who's to say?"

Either way, if you wait a little longer, we may well succeed in strangling the entire FA market to death. Ha ha.

Jeong Jae-yoon, gripped by the urge to spit in that smiling face, glared at the Doubles' general manager.

His own team — the most desperate of the bunch — hadn't even started yet, and these insane bottom-feeders had muddied the entire pond.

'...And to think I was actually planning to pry Jung In-woong away from the real Phoenix. These bastards...'

"Now then. Kang Ji-hoon. He's trade stock, isn't he? Will you give him up?"

Refuse, and another round of offers would go out to every remaining C-tier free agent on the board, inflating market prices across the league.

A mad fox, burning down the vineyard it could never eat from.

Jeong Jae-yoon capitulated to the sheer, unhinged scale of it.

The player's heart had already left the building anyway, so in exchange for Kang Ji-hoon: two project-type prospects the Doubles' farm system had been developing,

"In-soo. There's no rotation spot left for you on this team anymore. You know that."

"...That's true. And I do want to start..."

"So here's your chance. We'll send you to the Superstars via sign-and-trade. They're short on starters."

"Should I say thank you, or should I say it's bittersweet. Truly."

Jeon In-soo — a fully rehabilitated swingman hitting free agency this winter — was dealt.

Jeon In-soo (sign-and-trade) + two minor-league prospects + 2nd and 3rd round picks in the 2054 draft, in exchange for Kang Ji-hoon.

"Ha, great timing. Come here. Looks like I won't need to fold a losing hand after all, eh?"

"NOOOOO!! Anything but that!!"

There was plenty of noise and no small amount of drama, but with that, the final piece of the pitching puzzle fell into place: the 2051 Hold King had joined the fold.

The Seoul Doubles had plundered a stove league they were still technically fighting in — and walked out early, winners.