In the Land of Deserts and Cacti (Part 2 Begins)
Winter is the season when everything halts its activity.
Of course, "everything" did not include human beings.
"Goddamn, I'm gonna freeze to death."
...A bit vulgar, perhaps, but humans are animals incapable of hibernating. The human body is, by its basic design, built to keep swinging at its usual "average" no matter what — and because of that, our wise and brilliant species has been denied the luxury of laziness and deep winter slumber from the prehistoric era straight through to the modern day.
You basically have to be a member of the modern student caste to get anywhere near hibernation — which really just means abandoning your winter homework.
And even that isn't so much hibernation as plain laziness, indulged in while getting your ass beat by your mother.
"But I don't get to hibernate. Goddamn it, what is this? Strength training all winter long?"
"Hey, if you don't work out, fat piles up on your faaace and your boody. You want that?"
"...The guy with the weakest strength out of all of us is giving me this speech. The end times are truly upon us, you brat."
Noh In-seong, Lim Jae-min, and Song Jin-wook.
A madman, a fool, and an idiot, flogging their own bodies without rest even in the dead of winter.
In-seong wasn't the only player ordered to bulk up over the winter, either. There was Song Jin-wook, who'd spent a carefree year in the minors and only just cracked a near-full-time role this season. And Lim Jae-min? The kid's a catcher. Obviously, if his core muscles are weak, he turns into a walking injury list.
"GRAAAAGH—!! What the hell is this insane weight?!"
"Tsk tsk, you have to tear the muscle to rebuild it, no? Push through! Mind over matter!"
"...Jae-min, at your body weight you're supposed to be lifting this, obviously..."
"I'm an intelligence build, damnnn iitt...!!"
Intelligence builds don't whine like that, said Noh In-seong, and added more plates.
"Want to use your brain less? Then what do you need? Muscle! Install muscle, hup!"
"GRAAAH...!! The sheer madness of adding weight mid-set...!!"
The fact that the kid still had breath left to complain was truly admirable for a draft classmate — so In-seong, with a satisfied smile, rolled the number back down.
What kind of accounting was that? Was he secretly British? Lim Jae-min wondered.
"I told you the count doesn't go down? Lift."
"GRAAAH.... Eight...!!"
"Tsk tsk. If the muscle can't take it and you're forcing some other part of your body to do the lifting, does it count? Back to seven."
Noh In-seong had a gift for making the barbell Lim Jae-min raised "un-raise itself."
His draft classmate — all watery muscle and no answer for this villain — had no arrow of strange patterns, no visions floating at his side, no way to defeat him. Neither Noh In-seong, who frowned disapprovingly at his own draft classmate and hammered out consecutive 1RMs, nor Song Jin-wook, who'd made the bold executive decision that a newlywed's protein deficiency was best solved by eating — had changed much in body thickness over these two months.
"Ugh, just thinking about having to trim all this down at spring camp is exhausting..."
But while Song Jin-wook was a beautifully marbled cut of steak — half muscle, half fat —
"Just run a little. Who the hell threatened you with a knife for running?"
Noh In-seong was closer to a rump roast. Tough, muscular, dense rump roast.
"Eat, run, lift; eat, run, lift. Is that so hard? Do it."
On the principle that a pitcher's foundation is his legs, and a foundation of legs is built on running, the daily runs never stopped. That pure, unglamorous fundamental stripped the fat right off Noh In-seong's frame.
"Goddamn it, I'm a newlywed, you lunatic. And then Su-jeong's just going to go 'Yes! Honey, you got this!'?"
All he'd done over the winter was take his little sister skiing and go to a hot spring with his parents. Other than that: eat well, rest well, run well, hit well.
Hit what, you ask? Mostly baseballs with a bat, checking his swing mechanics.
"...Doesn't that sound like bear hibernation for both of you? Oh. So that's why you both look like bears..."
BWAAAAM—!!
That was how he dealt with insults directed at himself — a more efficient form of violence, doubling as equipment inspection.
"GHK...!!"
A diligent training schedule served as powerful propulsion for beating his draft classmate's ass black and blue. The sight of him rolling on the floor, gasping for breath, looked every bit as painful as it was.
'...Maybe this year I should think about keeping my mouth shut unless it's actually necessary...'
That was the impression Song Jin-wook formed watching Lim Jae-min collapse, exhaling a mix of hollow laughs and sighs.
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Time flows on.
No matter how great the achievements you pile up, they belong to the past. If this year's record is a zen garden, then the very bottom stone of that garden is spring camp.
Since Noh In-seong's last murderous run of advertisement shoots, the New Year's bell had come and gone. One late-January morning, well past the new year itself, Noh In-seong was packing his bags when his father came shuffling over.
"Damn it, I have to drive through downtown Seoul on a Monday..."
"Ugh, you lost rock-paper-scissors. Why does the loser talk so much? Scared?"
The grumbling of a father who'd been dog-walked three straight rounds in a death match against his wife.
"...This is exactly why I told you to get your license... ugh...!! Traffic near the Jamsil Dome every single day..."
"...?? Father, how on earth does a man who just entered his mid-forties already qualify for third-grade dentures?!"
"You little—!"
Against a backhand swing overflowing with paternal love, Noh In-seong countered with a swaying dodge.
It was the small, petty irritation of a father who'd lost the draw and gotten stuck with chauffeur duty to the Jamsil apartment and back.
"Besides, we're heading to America this time anyway. What use is a license there?"
Had he forgotten that without an international license, the thing was useless where they were actually going? And who knew how much would get billed after leaving a car parked in a lot for a month or two?
'Of course, if they actually tried to bill ME for parking, I'd leave cleats planted front and back of the general manager's car.'
The benefactor who'd contributed fifty percent of this lunatic's genes — the kind of lunatic who'd absolutely do such a thing without blinking — asked a question.
"Come to think of it, why aren't you kids going to Okinawa this time? Wasn't that your tradition?"
"What tradition? We just went wherever was cheap."
Close, and cheap. It really was nothing more, nothing less than that.
If you stretched for upsides: you might — might — get matched against a Japanese minor league squad, or with luck a Japanese first team. And you got to beat the ever-loving crap out of the guys who came along to Okinawa with you.
'Now that I think about it, Daejeon was tangled up with me from the very start. Is that where this whole cursed chain began?'
The sheer shamelessness of a man who'd started the whole thing himself and then called it a curse — yes, that was Noh In-seong, all right.
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It is national law that while an older brother packs his bags, the younger sister must come poke and prod at everything.
And for an elementary schooler fresh into winter break, her brother's departure (and eventual return) was prime spectator sport.
You saw it last year? Well, seeing it last year never stopped anyone from seeing the cherry blossoms again this year, did it?
"Oppa! Eww, look how pig-fat you've gotten! You look so slow and lumpy!"
She was a little brat you wouldn't hit even with a flower — but a vein popped on Noh In-seong's temple all the same.
This was what his cursed little sister Siyeon dared to say to her heavenly older brother.
'...Was it because I shortchanged her New Year's money like a bastard? Or is puberty already here?'
Noh In-seong — the man who'd attempted a second deal on her envelope, trying to swap a five-thousand-won bill for a fifty-thousand one while honoring their Lunar New Year promise, and who'd nearly lost his neck for it — worried about the grudges of his own bloodline.
"...You feeling sick or something? Why has the era of 'not enough blunt objects to beat you with' arrived so early?"
His body had filled out, but not a gram of it showed on his face — an ambiguous situation.
No, "fat" wasn't even the right word to begin with. He hadn't slacked on a single workout all winter. This was just... his body proportions shifting somewhat?
"KYAAAH!"
Noh In-seong grabbed his little sister by the legs and hoisted her upside down.
"Little-Sister-Pork-Belly Devouring Spirit — Older Brother (2052), Noh Clan. AAANG—"
"EEEIIING! Stop it!"
The drone that normally filmed his daily routine went click! and captured the moment. The spirit was overwhelming.
If Goya himself had seen this — the painter of Saturn Devouring His Son — he'd have muttered, "look at this absolute Goya of a kid." But the dead who passed more than two hundred years ago do not speak. If that bothers you, go reincarnate yourself.
"Seriously, you! Put your sister down?!"
WHAP—CRACK!
"EEEIIYAPH—!!"
And a vicious side-swipe exploded across his rear. Setting the damage aside, the sheer novelty of the sensory input alone startled him.
"Khh... as expected of a woman's self-defense art...!! It hurts too muchhh—!!"
"My, my. One hit doesn't even faze you now? Look at the size of you. Put your sister down, quick."
Noh In-seong, who had achieved muscular growth startling enough to surprise his own mother, buckled to his knees under the follow-up strikes.
"The faaact that Mom played on the attack line of her volleyball team all the way through high school~"
"So that's why you beat me until every tear and drop of snot came out?"
Two Tathagata palm-print welts stamped across his back, Noh In-seong packed his bags, wailing all the while.
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In front of the dome, there was a man shivering, doing something profoundly stupid.
"Brr. Cold."
"Song, why are you sitting out here shivering? Why not go inside?"
"...Because of you, you bastard!"
He'd planned to leave on a hearty, stomach-filling bowl of soup before the flight — and this guy had shown up fifteen minutes late.
"What, my father driving like a dog means I'm at fault or something?"
"He was driving safely! There's no way it's your fault!"
Song Jin-wook tried to work up a proper rage, but Noh In-seong explained himself, and apologies, it seems, are never too late — Tallulah or otherwise. Though, to be fair, part of the delay was Noh In-seong stopping at a convenience store to buy one more thing he'd forgotten to pack. Song Jin-wook, of course, knew none of this.
"...W-whatever. Let's hurry up and get something to eat. Once you're eating American food, you'll miss this."
A man who'd traveled to the southernmost tip of America over the winter remembered the terror of American cuisine.
"Filthy greasy, filthy fatty, and filthy delicious — but you don't actually want it."
"...It's that bad?"
"Anything that isn't costs a fortune. Honestly, the only moment I was ever grateful for that raise you got me was back then."
Just as Noh In-seong raised a foot to kick this ingrate's ungrateful nonsense into orbit, a taxi pulled up beside them.
"Well, well. I knew because of Jae-min, but you kids really did bulk up."
"It's all muscle, Captain. Hit it and you'll know."
One raised his fist, presenting a body primed to convert into pure violence on request.
"...In-seong hyung, and the brat's here too. Anything you'd like to eat?"
And one considerate soul asked what everyone wanted to eat.
By Doubles team standards, the four best eaters on the roster had assembled in one place.
"...Since it's the last one, how about something simple? Kimchi stew with a stir-in egg?"
"...Thinking about not having it for a while... yeah, that sounds about right."
Deciding the menu took all of three exchanges, and they were moving at once.
While Jo In-soo, who'd lost rock-paper-scissors, lugged the heavy bags over to the coaches, swearing under his breath with every step —
"This spot looks good. Want me to order ahead?"
"I'll pay. You grab the taxi."
"Got it!"
The three young ones displayed a speed of execution worthy of the coordination skills they'd shown in pre-arranging their rock-paper-scissors throws behind his back.
It was Jo In-soo's defeat for failing to watch his own rear.
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Four men sat around a table at a kimchi stew joint near the stadium.
They opened by debating when, exactly, to tie Song Jin-wook to a chair and beat the soles of his feet (literally) —
"Ah, we haven't actually met our mercs yet, have we? Have you seen them at all?"
"Those guys? Ah, said hello while they were unloading their bags earlier."
— and the conversation drifted to the foreign players.
"The mercs are here, and honestly the hitters I get, but the pitchers, I really couldn't tell you."
"Mid-fours ERA in Triple A... that's not even the kind of numbers Andy or Caleb had, right?"
"Well, Andy and Caleb threw that well last year. Andy alone went fifteen wins, low-three ERA over 180 innings."
They'd been a cut above merely solid — in any normal year, Andy would have been the Doubles' ace.
He'd simply been buried, was the feeling, because two other guys on the staff had won twenty games apiece.
One of those two was the stupid, violent player currently too busy shoveling stew into his face to look up. The other was, by now, probably enduring the winter in Cincinnati getting the side-eye from Reds coaches.
"The position player was in the majors at least two years ago, spent a year in Japan, and was back in the majors last year."
"With second base empty, the thing that matters most is defense, really."
"Hmm... rated a 65 defender as of last year. They gave him a 70 in his prime?"
"Whoa, good gloves, huh."
Sung Hyun-tak was, after all, a second baseman who could hardly be called a good defender. The shortstop's burden had been nothing short of crushing.
And that was before you factored in the situation early in the season, with a guy far worse — faaar, faaaaar worse — holding down third base.
"On one side there's a goddamn inner core of the Earth, and on the other a goddamn mantle of the Earth..."
"Hey! It's not that bad!"
"Right, it's the sun. A primordial sun. Bright enough to hurt the eyes of anyone who looks directly at it."
Why else would an old Daejeon fan, after watching a compilation of Song Jin-wook's plays, be weeping and reporting symptoms of PTSD?
The position held by that lunatic who drove teammates and fans alike into a frenzy was slated to be designated hitter again next year.
"How's the left fielder's defense?"
"How is it? Goddamn it, the guy drops fly balls sometimes."
"Hey! It's not that bad!"
Noh In-seong had put the newly returned black hole through a few rounds of outfield fungo in the name of "defensive training." The result: three errors out of ten.
"...Hmm, goddamn it. Thank god our center fielder's a 70-plus defender."
— Why our center fielder, Song Joo-in, deserves his starting job despite batting like an absolute goon.
That was how bad it was — bad enough for this kind of self-evaluation.
If third or first base was a 10-to-15, this was hanging at maybe a 20, barely.
"And worst case, he can just yell 'get out of my way, moron!' boot the left fielder aside and take the ball himself, right?"
"Since at first base, he can sprint over right after the pitch and boot the guy out of the way."
Song Jin-wook, nearly moved to tears by his own treatment, stuffed kimchi stew into his mouth, one heaping spoonful after another.
"Damn it, this spring camp, I'm going to show you something."
"Don't show us a horror show. Annoy me enough and I'll strip you of left field too."
Noh In-seong was too busy cramming profanity down Song Jin-wook's throat.
Just thinking about the things those coaches had proposed was enough to make his head ache worse.
'Goddamn it, there was no reason for me to say yes to that.'
The egg-swirled stew he'd shoved in whole in a fit of grievance was, inexplicably, delicious.
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The whole squad milled around in front of the bus, waiting to head to the airport together.
"...Those bastards definitely dropped their bags and walked off an hour ago. Where the hell are they?"
"No, they said they were grabbing a quick bite... ah, there they come."
"Hey! Agh, what kind of captain is late of all people... Huh? Who are these guys?"
Trailing behind Jo In-soo came three hulking masses of muscle nobody had seen before.
Just as Jeong Im-taek was thinking, '...? How many mercs did we sign? Did we have a naturalized player?'
"What are you staring at? It's not like you've never seen a person before. You gawking? Give me some of that bread. Don't hog it all yourself."
The unmistakable cadence of his speech gave the player away.
"No, I've got it. The way this bastard talks — it's Noh In-seong..."
The face was Noh In-seong. But it was Noh In-seong with a frightening amount of new muscle on him.
Knowing his weight in the low-to-mid nineties would impose limits, they'd told him to bulk up to at least 105kg.
"...How much do you weigh right now?"
"Right now? I'd say around 114kg."
Before, there had still been a sleek, panther-like quality to his muscle. Now it was more like... how to put it. Looking at a werewolf, or a bear walking on two legs?
'Goddamn it, the demon-hunting game was half real after all.'
This was a frame that looked like one hit would send lesser men staggering back with a hollow uuuunngh... and splitting apart like zombies.
"...This might be genuinely rude, but."
Sung Hyun-tak's tone turned abruptly, conspicuously polite as he asked the question on everyone's mind.
"Did you juice? Are you insane? You pop hot and you don't get to stand on that mound."
Peerless Noh In-seong awareness, and an instant answer.
"And even if you didn't get caught, they'd draw a red line through your records anyway. What's the point of numbers you can't teabag people with?"
"...Sigh. Yeah. That's our Noh In-seong, all right..."
Seeing that In-seong's core hadn't changed one bit, everyone nodded in understanding. It was the answer of a man whose numbers existed, first and foremost, to mock other human beings.
The transformation that stunned his teammates most: the debut of brand-new Noh In-seong, version 2.0.
But the software remained exactly as it had been on day one. Arrogant, insufferable, shameless — Noh In-seong, through and through.
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Best winning percentage last year. Most wins in the league. Unified champions.
The Doubles set off for their spring camp destination.
Destination: Arizona.
A state famous for its desert, yet vast enough that just about every climate on the continent makes an appearance somewhere within it.
They were headed to the ancestral home of the Cactus League — a place to scrape the worldly vanity off their hides.
And frankly, for a team like the Doubles, there was plenty of vanity to scrape.
For one thing, the roster itself skewed young. But more than that:
"Think about it. This year, the moment you slip up — what happens then?"
Last year had produced the greatest rookie crop in history.
One backup catcher. One hitter with the purest offensive ceiling the league had ever seen. One GOAT-caliber season.
"I'd say we can afford to gamble a little, don't you? The farm looks damned good this year."
"...!!!"
The rookies' numbers had been so absurd that even the established veterans felt threatened. Fires were already burning under everyone's asses.
Everyone threw themselves into spring camp, racing to fill the gaps in their own games.
"Ha! See? People need competition. Nothing gets a man moving like it."
Jeong Im-taek was delighted to watch the whole squad's morale spike with a single flick of his tongue.
...With one exception, of course.
"Augh, fuuuck, what a chore. Hey... it's hotter than hell out here and you want me to play baseball?"
A human-bear, lying on his back in the shade with an arm draped over his eyes, was looking at everyone.
"Noh In-seong! Aren't you running?! You bastard!"
"Ah, you caught me? Yay, off I go. Running now."
Watching the man amble off into a leisurely, take-his-sweet-time jog, Jeong Im-taek clutched the back of his neck.