152. Ugh, Nicolshit (Part 1)

There was a simple reason the three of them were eating grilled meat first thing in the morning.

Noh In-seong, for one, was currently serving a one-game suspension, so he couldn't take the field.

And since he refused to watch the other two miserably grill meat by themselves without him, a man with nothing better to do had tagged along.

"So what are you gonna do about not playing Tuesday?"

"I was planning to rest that day anyway. Doesn't mean a thing to me."

"Yeah, figured as much..."

Lim Jae-min gave him a weary, fed-up look, and that was his mistake.

"Wanna see me roast someone's brain over the coals? Like this."

"Ah—no, Pitcher-nim! No!"

"Do that possessed-by-Satan reaction one more time and I'll deliver a lecture on how to properly grill a Johnsonville."

When tongs came anywhere near his head, a man's neck was guaranteed to bow in humble submission.

Lim Jae-min, who had nearly become a human barbecue for the crime of sarcasm, was in the middle of a serious bulk-up phase.

"A backup catcher behind a starter should just be injecting data into his skull while building his body. That's the job."

"Well, yeah. Captain In-soo's always breaking down around midseason — hemorrhoids, hamstrings, or his spine, one of the three, every year."

"And when that happens, you bust your ass until the healthy starter comes back, then politely step aside. Simple."

He had ambition, sure — but the team's starting catcher wasn't exactly in decline yet.

And no matter how hard he'd worked on his body over the winter, he hadn't worked anywhere near as hard as Noh In-seong had.

"Call it two years? Three? You've got a long way to build."

"Tch. Now I understand why everyone's physical peak shows up late. What an educational morning."

Craving a starting job while your own body wasn't even fully built yet was less ambition and more greed.

"Try fixing your hitting first, you bat-flipping maniac."

"......"

Well, the hitting had been disappointing too, admittedly.

"If I just... eat well and put on strength, maybe it'll get better?"

"I mean, bulking up is a legitimate way to boost your power. So sure."

There was always a reason for eating meat at eight in the morning.

Meanwhile, the reason Yeom Dong-goo was wedged between these two body-transformation brothers was equally simple.

"Damn it, I lost weight again."

Some people hated watching the scale needle drift to the right.

"Aigoo, son. Whatever happened to Yeom-byung-goo, who was bouncing off the walls two weeks ago about gaining two whole kilos?"

"This guy knocks back ramen every night before bed and still doesn't bloat in the morning. What a scam metabolism."

Yeom Dong-goo, however, was the type desperately trying to shove a needle drifting left back over to the right.

"Hey! I told you to stop bringing that up!"

Blessed with a 'high-metabolism JOAT' physique that refused to hold onto weight, his greatest source of stress had betrayed its master yet again.

The Madangsoe reliever role already had him eating multi-inning outings of three innings, two innings at a time.

It was routine for a single pitching appearance to delete kilograms off his frame.

"Ha. Even after stuffing myself like this, the second I throw a few pitches Tuesday, today's feast is basically canceled out."

"Eat the fat cap, not the lean. That's where the calories are."

"I can see you scheming just to gain weight, In-seong."

Such was the sorrow of a leaky bucket that had to retain at least some calories even if you had to pour oil straight into the hole.

Yeom Dong-goo crammed meat into his mouth until his cheeks bulged, over and over.

Being a starting pitcher was an exhausting profession.

This was roughly why Noh In-seong had been dead serious about glycogen replenishment after pitching just a single game.

'Damn it. If I'm not topped off before my next start, my next start is going to eat me alive.'

Meat for breakfast, snacks at lunch, delivered food again for dinner — and even that wasn't enough.

So what about a Madangsoe who had to take the mound constantly?

"What do you think? However much I go out there is however much falls off me."

It was still early in the season, but Yeom Dong-goo had somehow already been called into action an unusual number of times.

Games where Noh In-seong ate seven-plus innings by default, or the returned Andy, or Jeong In-woo — those were fine.

"But the other seniors, and Su-ho down in the minors... they don't exactly eat innings for breakfast..."

For So Dong-yeop as much as Yeom Dong-goo, the pile of innings waiting to grind them down was stacking up like a mountain.

No matter how many fresh slaves arrived, a bullpen arm who could absorb multi-inning outings was a precious commodity.

Even Jung Im-taek, a man genuinely devoted to pitcher management, had no answer when his arms simply couldn't log innings — the anti-fan would say the front office was just screwing him.

"Seriously, when the hell are they signing the foreign player?"

"Right? Hak-seong-hyung at second was practically cussing the manager out to his face about it."

And this was the same man who'd spent two years as a pinch-hitter and defensive sub, planning to retire gracefully and devote himself to developing the young players.

Ji Hak-seong currently felt like grabbing Jung Im-taek by the collar and jumping down a well with him.

"Can't you HEAR my cartilage grinding?! How long until you bring in the foreign player?!"

"Rice has to cook before it's a meal, you insufferable—!"

Perhaps because of that old veteran's ornery stubbornness — senior or junior, survival came first —

even with the team sitting in first place, all sorts of grumbling was starting to circulate among the Doubles players.

Brrring— brrring—

"Huh? Whoa? The Manager's calling at eleven in the morning?"

A summons from Jung Im-taek had landed on Noh In-seong.

And the moment he answered the phone, Noh In-seong's face split into a grin.

"Hey. It's here."

"What's here?"

"The thing you've been praying for. You inning-scrubbing abomination of a human being."

The three of them crammed the leftover meat into their mouths and piled into the only car among them — Lim Jae-min's.

"You could've bought a bigger car. What is this thing, man."

"HEY! You make more money than any of us and you won't even get a driver's license—!!"

An ungrateful freeloader, an enraged driver, and a third man so stuffed and drowsy he'd sprawled out asleep in the back seat.

The luggage those three had been craning their necks for had finally cleared customs at the airport.

Except, in this case, the luggage happened to be people.

"Uh... In-seong, considering their race, doesn't that feel a little... racially charged?"

"Does it? And do I strike you as the kind of person who loses sleep over that?"

Apparently still not full after inhaling all that meat, Noh In-seong raided the manager's office fridge, dug out some cream puffs, and shoved them down his gullet.

Watching a limited-edition product vanish in a blaze of glory before his eyes made Jung Im-taek's stomach churn — but more than that, he prayed.

"Sigh... Please, just don't say anything stupid. Even if you hate someone, use your words."

What the manager truly feared was a rerun of last spring camp's nightmare.

'He's the type to throw hands the second he's annoyed, which is exactly what makes him terrifying. Honestly.'

Such was the grueling life of the Doubles' manager.

"This is Jackson, and this is Nicholas."

The biracial Black pitcher waved cheerfully, flashing a bright smile as he greeted everyone.

Registered name: Jackson. Full name: Vincent Jackson.

"HELLO!"

By contrast, an infielder with a sullen, stony face merely gave a stiff nod in their direction.

Registered name: Nicholas. Full name: Nicholas Straut. A biracial foreign infielder, Black and white.

Put the two of them together and they were reminiscent of some club's former starting forward who couldn't attack his way out of a paper bag —

but that was a different sport entirely, so unless they were truly hopeless, that kind of nickname wouldn't stick.

'...Or would it? Might've already stuck, honestly. These are exactly the people who love handing out ridiculous nicknames.'

Captain In-soo's name barely differed from his own, In-seong.

These were the sort of people who'd christen you GOATT — T for the U — and reserve the mockery for when you were actually playing badly.

Meaning it wouldn't have surprised anyone if one of them was already 'Shin' and the other 'Sseun.'

'Eh. If nobody gives me one, I'll just invent it myself.'

Assuming he felt like it, anyway. What were a couple of mid-season arrivals going to do, cause problems?

Noh In-seong relaxed, thinking things were finally about to get easier.

But the world has a way of making the unspeakable happen the moment you let your guard down.

And so — as every insurance commercial put it — not for ONE! single second could he afford to relax.

A conflict ignited with the new foreign player.

And it was aimed, with surgical precision, directly at him.

"...What the hell did you just say?"

"I said I don't understand why a guy in only his second year gets to puppeteer the entire defense."

It was a Monday afternoon, and the position players had gathered for a light session to fine-tune basic defensive coverage.

With a new foreign player in camp, it was time to sort out which side of the bag everyone preferred to receive throws from, timing signs for cut-offs, all the coordination work that needed doing.

So the infielders had assembled at the minor-league training complex.

"Everybody introduce yourselves, share your signs, get to know each other!"

Before the defensive drills began, the infield coach had set aside talking time for everyone to mingle.

And there, on the training-field grass where the entire infield had gathered,

the newly arrived male — Nicholas — bared his teeth at the alpha of this pack.

It was a challenge to authority.

Nicholas Straut. Out of the Fresno Grizzlies, the Washington Nationals' AAA affiliate.

He had never once been pushed off a starting shortstop job on defense.

'Damn it. Some kid younger than me came up from AA and stole the starting job right out from under me.'

A hitter with far, far higher offensive potential — a young, productive bat — had already been promoted to the big leagues.

And to him, hollowed out and bitter, the Doubles' foreign-player offer had arrived right on cue.

Naturally they want a shortstop, he'd assumed.

All that came back was a second baseman offer. That was it.

The money was decent enough, but they wouldn't use him at short? What kind of nonsense was that?

A flicker of humiliation, and a white-hot anger — so even a place like Korean baseball looks down on me — flooded his brain.

"And why, exactly, do you think I would sign under those terms?"

The blunt retort shot out of his mouth before he could stop it.

He'd taken the meeting because he was desperate for money, sure — but these terms were nothing like what he wanted.

'I hate this. Should I shop around for other offers?'

He was gathering up his things to walk out when—

"Then should I take that to mean you don't think you can push out our starting shortstop...?"

Instead of persuading him, the team's scout chose to provoke.

Of course, a man who fell for bait that transparent wasn't a man. He was a monkey.

Nicholas snorted.

"He's a second-year player! You've obviously been coddling and grooming him! The perks of having your job stolen by a foreigner—"

"—are yours to take. Steal it if you can. Be my guest."

"What?"

It was simply that this particular Doubles scout was infuriatingly, masterfully good at getting under people's skin.

"I mean exactly what I said. Opportunities will be provided in unlimited supply. Go ahead and grind one out and try to take it."

You? You think you can? — the scout stared him down with pitying contempt, and Nicholas's blood boiled.

"HA! What a joke! I'll stake my entire baseball career on taking that job!"

...It was absolutely, positively NOT the case that he'd been baited by the $200,000 bonus clause that paid out upon 'successfully winning the job.'

He had cursed himself out dozens of times over it — a brainless monkey who'd sold out for cash.

But this was it now, so the plan was set: crush everything put in front of him, and force his way back to the majors.

'FXXX. Whatever it takes, I'm ripping that shortstop job out by the roots.'

Which was exactly why he'd picked a fight at his very first practice after arriving—

"Ho... I see. So you're coming at me."

...Was that the right size for a starting shortstop? Did this guy's joints just never wear down?

Nicholas tilted his head up by about thirty degrees to look at him.

A man with far more muscle than he had was glaring down like he was about to commit murder on the spot.

'FXXX. When they said "opportunities in unlimited supply," did they mean opportunities I'd have to punch out of him?!'

A hundred and ten kilos on a mid-190s frame. Unlike Noh In-seong's near-bodybuilder physique, most shortstops were wiry and lean.

Athletic ability aside, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in an actual fight Nicholas could get launched into orbit with one punch.

The new foreign import. A.K.A. 'Shin.' Was paralyzed with fear.

Everyone present had briefly hallucinated a future in which the new import was wheeled off to the hospital before he'd even finished introductions.

But no brawl broke out; no fifteen teeth went rolling across the training-field turf.

"Fine. Do whatever you want. You're saying you can carry the weight of this position, are you?"

Astonishingly, Noh In-seong handed over the shortstop job without a fight.

This was the man who wouldn't surrender it even if Nicholas knelt and swore his entire extended family would die if he didn't keep it.

Nobody — not a single soul — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had predicted he'd give it up this readily.

And while Nicholas stood there dazed, every other player on the team was frozen in horror.

"WHAT?!"

"Wait, wasn't this supposed to be the usual player-assault hour? I literally had the first-aid kit ready."

"Wow, seriously? Is Noh In-seong sick or someth—"

THWACK—!!

"KYAAAAHH...!! My left butt cheek...!!"

One ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crisp, satisfying kick to the backside of the one man who'd crossed the line, and the standoff was over.

"...You're just... letting this go?"

Jo In-soo narrowed his eyes, and Kim Jun-soo, shifting over to second base, eyed Noh In-seong with open suspicion.

"Me? Letting what go?"

Noh In-seong replied with perfect calm, then turned to face Nicholas.

"So, Nicholas. You said the words yourself. You've just taken personal responsibility for 'the position that answers for the entire defense.'"

"Th... that's right."

"Then bust your ass next game. Show us that defensive genius of yours."

He even clapped him on the shoulder, twice, for good measure.

While the entire Doubles roster wore faces twisted as if the world were about to end,

"Haha! Just watch me! I didn't make my name at Triple-A on athleticism for nothing!"

Nicholas had acquired a big-league shortstop job this painlessly.

'Two hundred grand! You're MINE!'

Nicholas was on cloud nine.

He would remain on cloud nine for exactly two more days — right up until the top of the first inning, before defense even began.

Game one of the three-game series against Gwangju was, in any case, a game Noh In-seong couldn't even appear in.

"Oh, right. He's suspended today."

Jung Im-taek treated it like business as usual and penciled Nicholas in at shortstop.

He managed to scrape together a passing grade of roughly 'not bad.'

He even collected his first hit, and the team pulled out a narrow win on the day.

5-3. Fireworks heralded the joyful start of his life as a foreign player.

"Wow. Is it really okay for my life to be going this well?"

Grinning ear to ear, he enjoyed a leisurely dinner that evening and rested easy at the team hotel.

The problem arrived the next day, when the lineup was posted.

'No. 1, Third Baseman — Noh In-seong.'

Noh In-seong was not a man to say two things with one mouth, and he had, after all, obediently handed over shortstop.

The first to erupt, naturally, were the fans.

Thousands of Doubles fans flooded into the online broadcast, utterly unable to adapt to the situation that had changed overnight,

and promptly turned feral.

Next came the broadcast booth.

A shortstop who was defending perfectly well — whose season error count couldn't even fill one hand?

One level deeper still: the return of left fielder Song Jin-wook, the man who only ever appeared in the outfield when Noh In-seong took the mound.

"Alright, then. Let's see if you can shoulder this hellish left-field/third-base combo."

So introduced Noh In-seong, beaming with confidence, gesturing at the defensive hellscape on the left side.

If you were the Doubles' true defensive leader, you ought to be able to play defense even under conditions this garbage.

"...Who the hell would want to play defense in an environment like this, In-seong?"

Having half-surrendered after yesterday's 'persuasion,' Jung Im-taek had submitted today's lineup with a dead-eyed expression.

The lineup was so absurd he felt compelled to turn to Noh In-seong and mutter, Is this really right...?

"Manager, then tell me — why the hell were you trying to station a pile of garbage right next to me while I was playing shortstop?"

"......"

The manager fell silent before a single line: 'Then why the hell did you pull this on ME?'

The original sin of thinking, 'He'll figure it out for me, won't he?' had come home to roost — with the interest compounded in full.

Really, the manager only ever goes quiet at moments like this. Truly brilliant.

Come to think of it — what had he even been thinking? If my defense were merely average, this stunt would've been unthinkable.

"So today, I'm defending strictly as a 'textbook third baseman' and nothing more..."

Which left the 'Shin' portion of the equation responsible for covering half left field and half third base from shortstop.

"This is the defensive core you begged for. Grind it out by any means necessary."

A man who couldn't endure even this had no business calling himself a defensive leader.

"In-seong, wouldn't it honestly have been better to just settle this with fists instead?"

Of course, the single greatest victim of today was Jeong In-young, who had to take the mound as the starting pitcher.

"Keep it down. If you're so upset, strike out all twenty-seven of them."

You strike 'em out if you're upset. Meanwhile, my left fielder is Song Jin-wook in every single game I pitch.

Jeong In-young hung his head in resignation.

'Please, please don't let them hit anything toward left field...'

Jeong In-young didn't believe in any god, on any ordinary day.

But today of all days, he needed one.

"...Or no? Damn it. Do I need alcohol instead?"

Or perhaps Jeong In-young simply wanted to take the mound with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his sanity already in pieces.