Jumping to Conclusions, No Questions Asked, and Blaming Some Random Guy
After Noh In-seong's Monday interview.
"Good day to you. A pleasant pregame to us all."
"There he is, In-seong. Doing your routine first, right? Massage later?"
Tuesday morning, before the game against the Phoenix, he stopped by the training room for his usual pregame ritual.
He'd been coming so consistently that the physical training staff could now recite his schedule by heart without being asked.
"Yes. You've got protein left, right?"
"Sure do. Two and a half scoops with granola mixed in? And the chocolate flavor — I already know. Want ice in it?"
Nod.
Utterly familiar with the routine, the trainer rattled off the recipe for Noh In-seong's favorite protein shake without missing a beat.
He felt glad he'd been working out so diligently, and got started on his pregame iron session for the day.
Having eaten well over the weekend and Monday, the next thing his muscles needed to hold onto their size was stimulation.
While cranking out leg curls in the training room, Noh In-seong mulled it over in his head.
'Hm, so who the hell was that guy, anyway?'
Going by the words alone, wasn't it exactly the kind of interview he would give?
The only difference was that he didn't drink — if he'd blacked out drunk and woken up to that interview, he'd have agreed to it without even thinking.
Whatever this guy wanted by leaving that interview behind, it was either attention,
"Or the goal was to screw me over, I'm guessing..."
Not that the screwing over had landed — Noh In-seong's signature brand of rhetoric had out-generated the original story by miles, torching the message boards and dragging every ounce of focus onto his side of the field.
"If a second interview drops, it'll probably come out before today's game."
While Noh In-seong was busy predicting his opponent's next move, the door to the training room swung open.
Bang—!
"Oh? In-seong? Perfect timing! Hey! Spot me on the bench press! It's shoulder day today, and..."
"...Agh, you seriously don't have a partner? What is wrong with you, interrupting someone mid-routine?"
"I had one... and then he was gone..."
The man whose workout partner had been shipped off to another team via sign-and-trade —
Lim Jae-min entered the training room.
Noh In-seong often looked like the type who just trusted his body and played on instinct.
"Know your enemy, know yourself, and you can screw them over a hundred times in a hundred battles."
In truth, he was the kind of player who relished catching opponents off guard.
In the distant past, he'd belonged to a weight class where landing a decisive blow was impossible without the element of surprise.
Those 'lower-tier' players had to sharpen something — their wits, their analysis, something — just to survive.
Which is why, even now that his body had caught up, Noh In-seong remained an analytical player who always started by sizing up his opponent.
...Though instead of the scouting report he was supposed to be doing, all that brainpower had gone into unmasking who the mystery interviewer actually was.
Noh In-seong's scheming mind began to turn.
"Okay, second-year players. If a reporter interviewed them, then at the very least it's one of my draft classmates who's up in the first team right now."
Who in their right mind would scream defiance at the manager while rotting in the minors? That'd be a lunatic.
"Any human being who could escape the minors by kissing the manager's ass would kiss that ass until it shines."
A man who, in the distant past, had clawed through life in the minors himself.
The minors were nothing short of a pit of the damned — lost souls desperate to ascend to the heaven called the first team.
Of course, among them you'd find the occasional player insisting, 'If I just keep working hard, I'll get called up eventually, even if I never bow my head!'
"Then why the hell would a guy like that still be in the minors?"
There weren't many players like that to begin with, and even if one existed, no reporter would bother interviewing him.
Now, digging into the issue that had triggered this interview in the first place, the position was practically a lock: catcher.
Only two players fit all three criteria — 'on the first-team roster,' 'draft classmate,' and 'catcher.'
One of them was the jackass currently wheezing and straining on the bench beside him. Well, Lim jackass, anyway.
Bracing Lim Jae-min's barbell with one hand, Noh In-seong pulled up the Phoenix's team roster.
"Gah! Hey! Get a proper grip on the bar!"
"You're giving me orders? Me?"
"I—I mean, grip the bar properly! I'm yelling because you could get hurt!"
There, on the roster, was a player's face that checked nearly every box.
'Looking at that blank, docile ID photo though? He doesn't exactly seem like the type to pick a fight with his manager.'
All the hard evidence was there, but zero motive.
Normally you'd book them on the evidence alone, but then again, they say the heart has reasons reason knows nothing of.
"Found him, and yet something doesn't add up?"
Well then, he'd simply have to pay Myeong Jeong-ho a visit in person.
"Hear how he talks first, then show him hell. Plenty of time that way."
And he had gotten a solid leg day in, after all — if the guy didn't measure up, he'd show him hell anyway.
A black cloud named Noh In-seong was rolling in on Myeong Jeong-ho's first-ever first-team start.
And not just any black cloud — a category-five one.
Krrrumble...!!
"Ah-choo!"
"Jeong-ho, now is not the time to be sneezing. I told you — get that data into your head!"
"...Y-yes, sir!"
Much like the sky above today: a gloomy, full-weather set of rain, lightning, and wind all bundled together.
"Uuuugh...!!"
A first-team start always meant nerves.
Even someone like Noh In-seong felt a certain amount of tension beneath the surface —
so for an ordinary twenty-year-old kid, a starting assignment?
"What... what am I supposed to do again? Right, when I step into the batter's box first, I bow to the—"
"...Jeong-ho. Jeong-ho!"
"Y-yes sir?!"
"We're batting first. Why are you already crouched into your catcher's gear?"
"Oh. Right."
Of course he wasn't fine. His nerves were written all over his face for anyone to see.
"Strike three! Batter out!"
[And that'll do it — Daejeon goes down in order in the top of the first. He took one big cut, at least.]
"...Never mind. Forget it. Just crouch."
Batting eighth, apparently Myeong Jeong-ho was too far gone to contribute at the plate.
The defense coach clapped him on the back with a sheepish look and told him to hang in there.
Mask pulled down over his face, Myeong Jeong-ho took his position behind home plate for the first first-team inning of his life.
'And now comes the true beginning of my professional—'
He was just getting misty about it when —
"Hey, 5102. That you?"
"...I'm the... catcher..."
The first batter he'd ever face in the pros stepped into the box, spouting absolute nonsense.
The third overall pick of the 2051 draft. Noh In-seong.
"U-uh... hi. Good to meet you?"
"...Is this actually the guy? No, watching him flounder around, I don't think it is."
Going purely by his behavior, this reminded him of Lim Jae-min — the timid kid who'd crawled up to the first team shivering on day one.
This guy was the one who pulled that bold-ass prank on me?
'Or... is he playing me right now?'
Noh In-seong stood there, jaw slack, all the way until the opposing foreign pitcher finished his big windup.
Then he jerked his head back in a hurry.
"...Ball!"
"You son of a bitch. What, you wanna walk out of here covered in blood today?"
"N-no I don't! I don't!"
Watching the catcher frantically fling out his arm to snag the fastball that had drilled in deep toward the batter's body, Noh In-seong revised his thinking.
To think someone with such a fresh-faced, harmless mug would try to deceive him.
'I've never seen such a devious little bastard...'
He's a rookie fresh up from the minors, a draft classmate, a green catcher — so a little chin music should be forgiven!
Noh In-seong was certain that was exactly the logic behind that pitch.
"And what's next? Taking another run at my head?"
"......"
But nothing remotely close to Noh In-seong's prediction happened.
"Strike!"
This time, a four-seamer painting the outside corner. Strike one.
'...??? What is he even doing...'
Noh In-seong, fully braced for another pitch burrowing into his body, couldn't react at all.
'Is he trying to lull me? Or did he change his mind?'
The next pitch was a diving curveball.
It slipped behind the catcher — if that had been the plan, it backfired.
[Ah, Myeong Jeong-ho lets that one get past him. Ball.]
[Well, he is a rookie... his blocking and such are bound to look a little rough.]
Faced with a blunder no one could have predicted, Noh In-seong just stared at it blankly.
Malicious... no, wasn't this guy just way too innocent for that?
Ball four sailed well off the outside corner.
[One ball, three balls — wait, one strike, three balls. Noh In-seong steps into a hitter's count.]
[To be fair, Noh In-seong is a hitter who almost never takes pitches, so you rarely see him in a count like this.]
[Exactly. Usually he either swings before it gets to three balls, or just walks on four.]
Only after watching this clueless excuse for a catcher — sweat pouring down his face, stabbing frantically at his PitchCom over and over — did Noh In-seong finally understand.
"...God damn it. I've just been shadowboxing with the air this whole time."
Every single assumption he'd built up had been a colossal, brain-dead waste of time.
Covering his face with one hand, Noh In-seong experienced shame for the first time since his rebirth.
And sometimes, from exactly that kind of shame, emotions like hatred and vengeance ignite all the more easily.
Crackaaaaaack—!!
[That ball is! Not coming back! A line drive splitting the dome ceiling dead center — HOME RUN—!!]
[Noh In-seong records another leadoff home run! Now we understand why he refuses to take pitches!]
[Haha, you really shouldn't say things like that. Though I do understand the sentiment...]
Down at the plate came Noh In-seong's voice, blade-cold and seething, aimed at the doomed draft classmate who'd humiliated him.
"Before this day is over, I will show you what hell is."
A rage-venting spectacle where the guilty party screws up, and someone else pays the price.
"...What did I even do wrong?!"
From this point on, the misplaced interview was no longer the issue for one man.
The brutal baptism of the Phoenix's rookie catcher, Myeong Jeong-ho, had begun.
Unlike that first at-bat, where facing Noh In-seong head-on beat unleashing him, no one needed to challenge him with runners on base.
"Intentional walk to Noh In-seong! First base!"
"Man, how many times am I going to hear that line? Guess I should start taking it as a compliment."
"Shut it. Move."
A friendly exchange of gripes and dismissals passed between batter and umpire as Noh In-seong strolled down the line at his leisure.
Myeong Jeong-ho was breathing a sigh of relief.
'At least when Noh In-seong's standing on first, he won't be stealing.'
Noh In-seong was the kind of runner even a national-team catcher could only slow down, never stop outright.
And if a catcher lacked the talent for throwing runners out, it wasn't just second base — runners would gleefully swipe third too.
For Myeong Jeong-ho, whose own talent had yet to fully bloom, the burden was no small thing.
But while the catcher was busy feeling relieved —
Daejeon Phoenix's starting pitcher for the day, Jace Valentin, was accumulating grievances by the minute.
His catcher was young, green, and couldn't throw a breaking ball to save his life.
"...WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"
The antics of the runner on first were beyond the pale.
The guy was bouncing around, taunting him with one provocation dance after another.
'Back in the minors, that shit gets a bench clearing on the spot. Why is nobody doing anything about it?!'
A foreign pitcher on his first stint was never going to adapt quickly to a batter type he'd never seen before.
Batter data was shared league-wide, sure — so he knew the numbers: .400 hitter, a 40-40 season, a magnificent two-way player.
But who the hell factors "this lunatic performs circus acts on the basepaths" into a scouting report before signing overseas?
If the regular catcher, Jeong Gu-young, had been behind the plate, he'd have dragged the interpreter over and explained — 'This is the bastard who wrecked another team's playoffs last season with a single punch' — and talked him into giving up on the sequence entirely.
[Jace throws over to first — safe at first!]
[Noh In-seong, well... all his dancing, his little routines, backing off the bag... but his instincts are sharp.]
[The man has never been picked off. The instant the pitcher so much as leans toward first, he's already reacting.]
Today's catcher was a rookie. And not one who spoke particularly good English.
'Sinker! SINKER! Now is not the time for breaking balls!'
'The bench is telling me to throw the breaking ball, though?'
"Argh, this is suffocating...!!"
Poor communication, and a catcher whose only function was relaying whatever sign the bench sent down.
At best, the kid was a wall — one that happened to be able to make throws.
[And Jace, once again from the set position... throws!]
[That's a strike... but hold on, something's happening over at first base?]
"First base ump! Balk! That's a balk!"
"I saw it, son. That's a balk! Runners advance one base!"
"WHAT?!"
How things had arrived here was, in a sense, crystal clear.
[Ah! A balk! The ruling is that he had no complete stop from the set position just now!]
[Yes, it does look that way on review... oh, the Daejeon manager... he's charging out of the dugout.]
"How in the world is that a balk?! He stopped and threw — that's textbook!"
"Doesn't it look completely different from your earlier motion? You rushed it because the runner was extending his lead..."
"And even if you want to complain about something, shouldn't you be yelling at that guy over there?! He's been provoking us this entire game...!!"
The Daejeon manager's index finger jabbed rigidly in Noh In-seong's direction.
"Isn't the real problem the dumbass who took the bait? Genuinely asking. No idea."
Stung by an insult more cutting than a middle finger, the Daejeon manager thrashed about even harder —
"Ah, forget it! You're ejected!"
"You're the one who deserves the ejection! Not him!"
— and got himself tossed in the end.
His arm had gone cold, the runners sat at second and third, and the pitcher he'd been coddling had gotten himself (unfairly?) run out of the game.
Meanwhile, his catcher was flailing like a baby deer. The worst possible situation.
No matter how hard anyone tried to patch this leaky boat, it wasn't going to be easy.
Noh In-seong's successor at the plate drove a fork straight into this beautifully marbled situation.
Crackaaaaack---!!
"Yiiii-HAW! Three RBIs, served up on a silver platter!"
Thanks to the mental wreckage Noh In-seong had left behind, the pitch that came into the heart of the zone had been forced out of sheer desperation —
and Song Jin-wook plucked that sweet, ripe fruit right off the branch.
If this had been the end of it, fine. But Noh In-seong was not a forgiving man.
His next at-bat, when he drew another intentional walk, the runway in front of him sat completely empty.
Walk Noh In-seong with nobody on and one out? What followed was always carnage.
"Jung In-woong will never, EVER steal a base!"
"...This little shit?! Hey! He's running!"
Noh In-seong was no magnanimous gentleman who'd call off a steal out of mercy just because of the circumstances.
Second base — then third — taken without the Phoenix so much as considering a throw, handed over to him limp and unresisting.
"Ha... haha. I'm losing it."
As Myeong Jeong-ho stood there half-checked-out, laughing hollowly at nothing —
The Phoenix fans were losing their minds laughing right along with everyone else.
The latter half of it felt less like laughter and more like a full-blown giggle seizure, but hey — whatever works.
"Everyone's having fun, aren't they? Drinks are on me."
From Noh In-seong's perspective, everyone walked away happy, so it didn't bother him in the slightest.
And now, the crowning moment of today's game.
When the score gap stretched to 8-2, the opposing team rolled out their mop-up crew — essentially a formal surrender.
The god of baseball, who knows better than anyone that the game and the media both love a neat, mirrored ending.
"Balk!"
[Ah! A balk! Noh In-seong faked a sudden charge toward home plate!]
[And the pitcher fell for it completely. You can't start your throwing motion after winding up like that...]
A game that began with a balk, ended with a balk.
"Wow, he actually bought it? I just improvised on a whim — never dreamed anyone would actually fall for it."
That remark, tossed off with a contemptuous smirk as Noh In-seong brushed past Myeong Jeong-ho,
obliterated what remained of Myeong Jeong-ho's psyche.
After the game, when Myeong Jeong-ho received his personal tax bill for the day:
"......"
"J-Jeong-ho. It's okay. All rookies grow up this way."
"That's right. Plenty of catchers have been far worse than that."
His eyes dead and unfocused, Myeong Jeong-ho stared blankly at the ceiling.
"God damn it... from now on, whatever the reporters say, I'm just... genuinely going to say it."
If walking him is what buys me this torture and misery, then maybe challenging him head-on — letting the pitcher take every last lashing — is the true salvation of my baseball life?
A young player's heart was warping. Just a little. Okay, a lot.
Bending the entire sport's code of conduct to fit his own personality was, after all, the sovereign right of the era's ruling tyrant.
Noh In-seong had yet another hot-blooded young baseball soul twisted into a pretzel.
"Great game, by the way. What're we eating for lunch tomorrow?"
"...You're thinking about tomorrow's menu RIGHT NOW?"
The greatest tragedy of all was that Noh In-seong had already forgotten the entire affair and was busy planning lunch.