The Thing You Mustn't Call by Name

The remaining two games against the Doubles were, for Jin Dong-ha, days of pure suffering.

Well, all right — when had they ever not been? He meant it in the strictly personal sense.

And there on second base, Noh In-seong was turning toward the Busan dugout with a great big grin — a sight so ugly it made Jin Dong-ha's eyes hurt on its own merits.

"Eeegh...!!"

His teeth ground together, blood flooding his face scarlet — but a runner who'd been stripped of his bag has no right to say a single word to the thief. That was the sport called baseball.

'Huh? Couldn't catch him? Isn't that your own fault, buddy?'

A rule of the game that would have made the cowboys of the Old West recoil in horror.

'Stealing is free. No outside input? Go ahead and steal the signs too. Deceiving the enemy? Encouraged.'

Maybe that was why nobody raised much of a fuss even when a pitcher put a baseball in a man's skull — because the rulebook had been riddled with loopholes since the dawn of time.

"...Is there an answer to this?"

Hollow-eyed, Jin Dong-ha rolled the ball around in his hand — a ball he hadn't even gotten to throw.

He couldn't catch the steals, and that damned bastard taunted him every single time. When Noh In-seong took an intentional ball — one Jin Dong-ha hadn't even called for — he spewed filth the entire trip down the first-base line. Just look at what the man shouted before taking off: he'd bellow straight at the opposing manager and coaches without a shred of regard, right in front of their own dugout.

"You gutless sons of bitches! The only man among you is Jang In-ho, and that's the whole list!"

— In response, some phantom apparition spread its fingers and went snip-snip, suggesting they cut the manager first.

Everyone could do was watch it in grim silence.

Things were so bad that even the Busan faithful were growing fed up, the booing swelling a little more with each passing inning.

"Throw it! Throw it! Throw the damn ball home!"

The anti-pickoff chant now erupted every single time Noh In-seong reached base. That was the reality of it.

Of course, it wasn't everyone — only a portion of the crowd — but the important thing was that fan sentiment was souring by the day.

To be fair, the newly returned foreign mercenary Andy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't in peak condition either. They did manage to pound him for runs, and to keep Song Jin-wook desperately strung out at the plate — but.

Woooooo---!!!

In the end, Noh In-seong's stolen base show would not stop. 8-6. Busan had won at home by two, and the boos of the visiting fans — and a slice of the home crowd — rolled on and on.

"...Damn it. We won today. Why am I still getting booed?"

"We won today, so this is where it ends. Lose like this, and they'll be hurling soju bottles onto the field."

"...Ah."

When a veteran's golden rule earns the earnest sympathy of a younger player, you know the atmosphere has turned ugly. The Busan Marines had somehow managed to win and still get booed for it.

The sad reality of the Busan Marines was, astonishingly, pure algorithm gold online.

This was a world where you could stuff nothing but other people's misfortunes into a jar, and if the algorithm blessed it, clear a million views without breaking a sweat.

"This is an opportunity. A chance to leave a good impression on the algorithm."

A talk show that gathered baseball panelists together made this strange phenomenon its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠featured topic. Of course, the conclusion wrapped up nice and easy under the banner of 'isn't the real problem the guys who keep running away?'

"It's obvious, isn't it? The man has eleven home runs this season, and they're just leaving him standing on first base."

"...Still, you have to admit it's terrifying. It might not be twenty stolen bases — it could be twenty home runs off our pitching staff instead..."

Unlike the other panelists wringing their hands, one spoke with perfect ease.

"He's already got his ten-and-ten, for the record. They keep ducking the showdown instead of taking it head-on — you think the fans are happy about that?"

The Busan panelist's head drooped. The Doubles panelist wore the face of a man who'd seen this coming from a mile away.

Such were the privileges of a superstar in the league's entertainment economy.

Even if he hadn't chosen their team, he was a superstar tearing the league apart all the same. A 'for once in a generation' superstar, trailing a comet-tail of gaudy records behind him — the first Korean baseball had seen in ages.

"At this point he's a star among stars. Korea has never produced a rookie like this, not once..."

"You'd have to say the type of human being simply never existed before."

"..."

Not a product of modern baseball — a singularity so rare you couldn't find one even in the pro game of decades past.

"Well, he is the type to settle everything with pure skill... but he does swing that mouth of his around like a weapon."

Manufacturing his own enemies, beating them down, manufacturing fresh ones. Over the entire arc of his baseball life, there might not have been a single day without a fight.

But thanks to all of it, Noh In-seong slipped into the superstar ranks all the more easily. Overwhelming achievements. Overwhelming numbers. And the image forged in the process.

"In this cold, callous modern age, the days of ballplayers all being buddy-buddy are simply over."

'Come on, let's hit the sauna with your sunbae like the old days! Dinner too! We did it all, didn't we!' — none of that flew anymore. People had given their unspoken blessing to the fact that the other man's face was pulp before the sentence could even finish.

"Well, of course. People who grew up on Major League Baseball are well-versed in a little fisticuffs."

There was the fact that he earned more off advertisements and image than off baseball itself, and the fact that his 'everyone else can rot as long as I thrive' mindset was churning out haters and fanboys by the truckload.

By global standards, these were perks reserved for only the very top tier of players in any given league. Noh In-seong had entered the superstar ranks.

Not that a single soul was entirely free of misgivings about it.

"Of course, for viewers who've only ever watched Korean baseball, all this does feel... closer to outright villainy."

"Honestly, in overseas leagues, that much is just normal."

"...Normal?"

That trembling little three-syllable word told the room exactly how everyone felt about that statement.

"Well, no need to look that far afield — even in MLB, half the league openly despises the other half."

"Exactly. The bench-clearing brawls alone are rougher than anything we see here."

"And that's baseball, the most image-conscious sport of them all... don't even get me started on basketball."

Coming from a caster who regularly commentated basketball on the side, that was certified intel. That particular neighborhood was honestly quite... quite something.

Ice hockey? Punch people out at Noh In-seong's rate and you'd be considered a gentleman. That was a sport of 'real ones' — it even had a position dedicated purely to fighting.

"...Whew. He's a lost cause already, isn't he. I just wish he'd hurry up and go overseas."

At the Busan panelist's lament —

'Honestly? I think so too...'

'Busan can have all the hate comments. I'll just quietly mind my own business.'

— a silent war of nerves unfolded, the delicate diplomacy of the nine-team allied nations.

"Hahaha, it's not as if a player can simply up and leave for overseas that easily...?"

Only the Doubles panelist's complexion turned a little green — a most curious phenomenon.

'...I pray he leaves at free agency. If he stays much longer, we might be looking at something worse than a dynasty.'

He'll absolutely never stay... right?

Harboring an emotion that was, in truth, closer to resignation, the Doubles panelist sighed.

In the second game, Andy's return start ended in defeat, but Noh In-seong wasn't really at fault. Well, you'd only be at fault if you were supposed to win the game for them.

Except the first commandment of the K-superstar is this: when the team goes down, it is all his fault, no exceptions.

'My teammates did nothing wrong. Everything was my own inadequacy...'

One line of that and the crowd goes wild while the reporters chant 'Such a humble player...!! A true captain...!!' like a WWE ring announcer.

As Noh In-seong became the center of the team's gravity, a reporter naturally assumed things would work that way.

"Do you believe the cause of today's defeat was that you reached base on an intentional ball?"

It wasn't a strange question at all, really. Answer 'You're right!' — and who do you think you are, greater than the team? Answer 'No!' — and you've got no sense of responsibility. A loaded either-or on the level of 'who do you love more, Mommy or Daddy?'

Either way, it was magnificent copy. The junior reporter's well-drilled instincts, carefully honed by his seniors, shone brightly.

'Plus, well... we are Busan reporters, after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all.' Having watched the team drop one on a rare Busan road trip, watching him squirm would be a nice bonus too.

The problem was that Noh In-seong's baseline K-superstar consciousness converged almost perfectly to zero.

And the other problem: nobody had informed them that a man with In-seong's ego always retaliates.

"Do you perhaps think the cause of tomorrow's defeat will be that I'm absolutely fucking furious right now?"

"Excuse me? Ah... n-no."

That was the reporter's only sin.

"What's your name? Somebody get this man's face on camera. I'm putting out a front-page sports feature tomorrow."

"What?!"

"If I hold them to seven innings and one run or fewer, I will personally tea-bag right in front of your face. Live, on national television."

— Decline, and you're on my blacklist for life. The instant an article about me crosses your desk, it gets killed.

Without the slightest intention of stepping on the trap the reporter had so carefully laid, Noh In-seong simply picked the man up and hurled him onto his own trap instead. And so was born the first-ever case in sporting history of a reporter front-paging himself.

The next day, nearly every idle sports reporter in the nation descended on the Busan Marines' home park.

"...Wow. Unbelievable."

"Is that entire crowd really press?"

The press box had overflowed so badly that reporters had to gather in a corner of the spectator stands.

Countless reporters clawed at each other for the privilege of being first to photograph Noh In-seong's face —

"The photo you're all going to take is the performance I'll be putting on in front of this man after I win."

Noh In-seong refused, flat and final.

...No, seriously — conducting an interview with the day's starting pitcher? Were these people insane?

"Is there somebody here from the society pages? Why did you even come? No wonder he doesn't know the basic rules of the sport."

Having had his sanity quietly siphoned out of him, Noh In-seong took the mound. It was the starting pitcher's time.

"Swing! Strike three — batter out!"

"Oof... that crazy bastard."

Jo In-soo, catching Noh In-seong's pitches, clicked his tongue. His hand already ached, and he'd swapped in a thicker pair of gel-padded mitts, but today, of all days, the ball was sharper than ever.

'If nothing changes, we shut them out today — or give up one fluke run and call it a day.'

He'd retired the first two hitters in quick order. And just as he squared up against the third — the free-swinging slugging flop Jung Jin-gi — that thought crossed his mind.

Perhaps that was exactly why.

Craaack---!!

"Wow, that one's gone. The crazy bastard swung with his eyes closed, I swear."

Noh In-seong stared up at the ball sailing high into the sky, his face the picture of dumbfounded disbelief.

Ptui! Ptui!

"Catcher. Why are you spitting? If you don't want it ruled a spitball, cover it with dirt. Now."

"No sir, I spat so there'd be no suspicion of one. My apologies."

Even as the umpire chewed him out, Jo In-soo spat again anyway — afraid that if he stopped, another home run might come.

Meanwhile, Busan, of course, attempted the intentional-ball strategy against Noh In-seong again today.

"You guys seriously not tired of this yet?"

"Not in the slightest. Every single second is a delight."

Noh In-seong shook his head vigorously and jogged down to first base.

— Woooooo...!!!

Boos rolled and reverberated across the sky above Sajik Baseball Stadium.

Starting a showdown and then chickening out, over and over and over — that was why the crowd was even angrier now. And it was March into April; more than half a month of watching this same circus had thoroughly bored the paying customers.

'You absolute lunatics. Since when was baseball ever this kind of game?'

'Barry Bonds? Move over — Noh In-seong's about to chase the all-time intentional-walk record. For the entire planet.'

With the game damp and sagging, even the flavor of a good ball seemed to drain away.

Be that as it may, Noh In-seong went and did his job.

"Three more steals today. Three intentional balls — an exchange rate of exactly one-to-one."

"...Crazy bastard. Well, of course he's going to steal."

Busan's first baseman stared at Noh In-seong with the face of a man thoroughly sick of life.

Noh In-seong no longer tolerated intentional balls being fed to him. Twenty-six steals in just eighteen games — better than one per game, on average. And in the process, the opposing catchers had to weather his mouth as well.

"Hey, Triple-A. Triple-A. Instead of throwing to second, just roll it back to your own pitcher. Probably faster that way."

"Do you catch because your arm's shot? Or is it that you can't field first base?"

"Why on earth does this man draw a salary? Does absolutely nothing, gets paid anyway... is this what they call baseball's basic universal income?"

Whether it was because of the man who unloaded personal attacks nonstop from the moment he stepped into the box until he took his intentional ball —

— Aargh, you catcher bastard! Try stopping him for once! Is your arm even attached?! —

— Steal 'em all, son! Jes watch! Whether ya stop 'im or not, he's stealin' anyway! —

— Aigoo, why is it that every time our catcher's about to get decent, he gets hurt, he gets pulled! Oh dear, oh dear... —

Or whether the furious crowd had simply maxed out their rage meters at last — either way, a player whose mind had gone somewhere else entirely now appeared on the field.

"...Uhh..."

"Hey! Snap out of it! Hey!"

"R-right... I have to go... yeah... r-right."

A man standing blankly in the dugout, all focus and light gone from his eyes, staring at empty air.

Jin Dong-ha had lost his mind mid-game — and he had broken rather badly.

So this was how badly in-game stress could hollow out a player. Rare indeed is the man who can reassemble the shattered pieces of his psyche in the middle of a live game.

It wasn't Noh In-seong at the plate this time, but Song Jin-wook — one out, two strikes, forced to run for his life to avoid grounding into a double play.

"Aw crap, I can't run to save my life...!!"

What followed was Song Jin-wook taking off during Jo In-soo's at-bat. And naturally so — a slow-footed, run-challenged surplus runner like Song Jin-wook wasn't going anywhere.

"Just get the throw to second and that's an out," the commentary team remarked at their leisure —

Incredibly — not even across an entire inning, but within a single play — throwing error, dropped catch, throwing error, dropped catch. Four errors in one play: a scene so deranged that the fans' insides burst clean open.

"AAAH! What is happening?! I'm so sorry!"

Slow but relentless, Song Jin-wook rounded third base.

"Jin-wook! Run home! HOME! Hey! Come on!"

A man endowed with the top speed of a caterpillar — or an alien species' self-destruct munitions factory — was about to cross home plate. Jin Dong-ha's eyes shook as if in an earthquake.

"...What the hell is this? April Fools'? Or Buddha's birthday?"

Noh In-seong gaped, wondering what possible reason ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there could be for this madness — but April Fools' Day was long past, and Buddha wasn't due until the tail end of April, and even then only to come eat his bibimbap.

A syndrome: the mid-game loss of certain functions brought on by psychological breakdown and assorted traumas. Steve Blass syndrome. Focal dystonia. And the shortened word for it all.

'YIPS...?'

That ominous little word was gnawing away at the back of Jin Dong-ha's mind.

At least, by the time he'd worked through the remaining innings cleanly and walked off the mound —

'Nah. It's not that... it can't be, right?'

He caught himself quietly relieved, telling himself it had just been a one-time flury of errors.

But when the same situation arose again — would it truly not happen again? And was 'that thing' really temporary — or had it settled in for good?

Deep in the recesses of Jin Dong-ha's heart, doubt was quietly carving out its hollow, little by little.

Meanwhile — with runner Noh In-seong and batter Noh In-seong having blasted the opposing catcher's psyche to bits, and the freak accident known as 'runner Song Jin-wook' blasting what little remained —

'starting pitcher Noh In-seong' had gone and blasted the Busan hitters' minds as well.

This was not a request for a gentleman's silence. It was intimidation at the level of 'shut your damn mouth.'

In front of the press box — directly in front of one particular reporter — Noh In-seong began to twerk.

"Go on, take your ugly little paparazzi shots. Caption them 'In honor of our company's induction onto the blacklist.'"

"......"

Click-click--!Click! Amid a forest of drones rattling off frames, the ugliest candids imaginable captured at 120 per second.

A normal man doesn't bother with reporters. A superstar controls them.

But a true superstar whose conscience has been annihilated?

Noh In-seong turned one reporter's entire life into a global punchline — and had it taxidermied for the whole world to admire.

"This is fun!"

And he enjoyed every last second of it.

"...You do realize this constitutes a rules violation, correct?"

"I knew it when I did it. You think I'd have done it without knowing?"

"...Aargh. How many fines are we expected to issue this man?"

"If it stings that much, then don't put my face on your video games, and stop selling my likeness rights too."

But you wouldn't hate that, now would you? Hard to keep the association afloat without likeness revenue, hmm?

Noh In-seong had the association's sweet, sweet moneyline clasped in his fist, and he gave it a good shake.

The kind of power that could make an association official walk away sniffling, muttering, 'That son of a bitch of an MVP...'

Of course, the stunt did earn him a one-game suspension and a five-million-won fine.

"Better than stewing in stress by behaving myself. I'll just hit one more homer and collect the bonus money."

"...You're leaving home runs to chance?"

"Swing enough and they come. You should try swinging sometime too."

"......"

"Aargh, you talent-hogging bastard."

Monday. A day off. Three second-year classmates lazily shooting the breeze over a mountain of sizzling meat.

Yeom Dong-goo, Lim Jae-min.

And Noh In-seong — all three had gathered at the barbecue joint early that morning.