Rain and Tears (Part 1)
The Doubles' parent corporation came down like a hammer on the reporters who had walked straight into Noh In-seong's trap.
"We were already displeased about people trying to shake up our team to begin with — and now, on top of that, you go after our advertising model?"
To think they'd tried to drag a major corporation's image straight into the gutter — not that it wasn't already in the gutter the moment they hired Noh In-seong.
After Noh In-seong's press conference, a mountain of formal complaints had landed on their desks, along with a single message: I trust no one would be brave enough to hand advertising contracts to a pack of lunatics like these.
"Hahaha. We would never dream of doing such a thing. Haha... no, if you could please put that knife away first."
The small and mid-sized businesses, faced with the blade a conglomerate had drawn, were far too busy reading the room to do anything else.
The age of print newspapers was over — and precisely because of that, this was now the age of the advertising cut. If you wanted to bankroll astronomical litigation costs, you needed ad revenue.
"Oh my god, are you insane? Every single one of them is tangled up in something or other..."
With advertisers backing away in droves, these outlets had no future whatsoever.
Noh In-seong hadn't mentioned going out of business for nothing. At this point, declaring bankruptcy preemptively would have been the less painful option.
"We're finished..."
Having had all four limbs torn off for the crime of trying to break in a single player, they wailed on the floor.
And Noh In-seong — that terrifying, hungering beast — would be watching every moment of their ruin.
When Noh In-seong emerged from the press conference hall wearing the deeply satisfied face of a man who had just detonated the entire media, the cloud-choked sky answered him — a freak wind, and then a downpour.
Rumble... krakoom...!!
"Goddammit, look at this weather, it's already gone to hell."
It was as if someone had gathered up every type of weather a baseball player hates and delivered them all at once: an annoying, indecisive rain, a wind howling like a madman, and air so humid it clung to the skin.
Late May — as if the rain front due to start in early June had decided to show up early for a dress rehearsal.
Wind, rain, thunder, all at once.
"Unbelievable. Forget this weekend's home series — we've got a road trip next Monday."
And the cancellation odds were looking razor-sharp.
A typhoon of national scale was gearing up to slam into the baseball world.
Meanwhile, the typhoon wasn't about to limit its damage to baseball.
The teams that needed to scrape together assets like maniacs to invest before the end of June — and July — in other words, the teams that had to buy players through trades and make a run at fall baseball — all felt like they'd just taken a direct hit to the face.
"How high did the price go before you came back?"
Was this a baseball trade, or were they haggling over graphics cards in Yongsan's electronics market? Because every single seller was sitting there with this exact bloated expression, belly out, demanding more.
Busan, which had been considering selling a player or two, now found itself unable to sell anything unless buyers met an absurdly inflated price.
"...Is this real? This can't be real, right?"
"Astonishingly, it is. What on earth happened? Summer's barely begun."
Second place. Solo second, no less — just three games behind first.
At this point, the decision to shore up the catcher position had clearly been the right one. Judged purely by results, they'd won the FA market. And if they could hold second place even while paying the luxury tax... why not?
"This is a gamble worth taking. About time we properly fleeced those bank bastards for once."
The fans wanted to use this very opportunity to rip the arrogant local bank out by the roots and crush it. To graduate from the low-IQ faithful who bought the same old product every year into a savings account owner with foresight.
One could almost see the bank's tears from here.
"Hm? What happens if we take second once? Doesn't matter — they've bled us dry plenty long enough."
That was only because nobody understood that the House never loses.
Busan sat in second in late May — and the traditional powerhouses kept collapsing around them. Daegu was loafing around in a lukewarm fifth, and Gwangju, as if post-championship collapse syndrome had finally arrived, was down in ninth.
"An eight-game losing streak? Me? Me... ME...!"
After getting swept by the Doubles, dropping a losing series to Daegu on the heels of meeting Busan was devastating. In an instant, a fall baseball contender had become a hearings-committee reservation holder.
That's how terrifying momentum is in baseball.
Fourth through eighth place all jammed together within arm's reach — this shocked even the longtime fans. Sure, teams can be close in the standings, but the ones who were supposed to be up top were down below, and the ones down below had pulled off a miracle ascent.
And that wasn't even the most shocking part. The most shocking fact was this:
"Whoa, so it's really those two squaring off for fall baseball this year?"
"Last year the Korean Series was the Jamsil Derby, and now it's the century clash, fifty years in the making."
Sitting right beneath second-place Busan was third-place Daejeon.
So long ago was the last time both had made the postseason in the same year that many people couldn't even remember the term "Y2K virus."
Since the end-of-the-century Korean Series of 1999, these two teams had not faced each other in fall baseball a single time — not once, all the way until 2052.
And why do you suppose that turn of the century earned the name the end of the century? Because Daejeon and Busan met in the postseason — and Daejeon won.
"So the world really was ending... so THAT'S where the phrase came from!"
""No it is not, you fucking idiot.""
With a fan's Shorts simultaneously roasting Daejeon and Busan fans having blown past two million views, Daejeon was ready to run. The young prospects had grown considerably through last year's postseason run, and the draft had plucked solid bullpen arms one after another.
"The posting's next year, right?"
"Yes."
"Good. Let's work hard, then."
After all, no matter how deep they went into debt on player salaries, they'd have a shot at a one-shot, lump-sum player sale to wipe it all clean.
Current standings:
Doubles – Busan – Daejeon – Superstars – Daegu – Grizzlies – Incheon – Changwon – Gwangju – Suwon.
Look at that, and it's crystal clear who needs to buy players.
Busan could, if the situation called for it, buy one more player now and flip him after fall baseball next year.
"If you acquire a player heading into free agency, you get a half-year rental, take the compensation pick, and start your rebuild."
"...But Jong Min-soo looks like he's going overseas, doesn't he?"
"That's the problem. Results versus taking a loss..."
It was giving them a headache, but if you wanted to strengthen the batting order, it wasn't a bad option — naturally, contact with Daegu came first.
Daejeon? What did I tell you. One posting fee and it covers the entire KBO payroll. They can contend next year and the year after.
"The posting fee is prorated across the years the player was under contract for salary cap purposes."
You Hong-jin's posting was an absurd opportunity — even if the bid failed, someone could walk away having bought a solid starting pitcher for nothing but money. From small-market clubs that had finished rebuilding and were ready to run, to big markets already shouting give us your best players!, everyone was salivating. Four years of an unlimited-resources cheat code — every team was banging on the table demanding everything he had.
The Superstars, whose shoddy offseason moves had left their fall baseball hanging by a thread, needed reinforcements like a drowning man needed air.
"Goddammit, those Doubles bastards. Don't tell me they're pulling their crap this time too?!"
Blow up the FA market, scam everyone with the players they traded away, and by the time anyone drafted prospects, the Doubles would already have won the championship.
"If a prospect is ranked tenth, the teams above us can't even take him! Which means this is effectively a fast-track next-round pick...!!"
Championship teams always draft last. The draft picks for next year and the year after that they'd tossed out like charity would crash in value — obviously.
Jeong Jae-yoon, brimming with rage, roared at his staff to bring in the best available asset no matter what it cost.
Suwon, rebuilding confirmed like a student retaking the entrance exam. Changwon, ruthlessly gutting its roster down to prospects. Gwangju, out of resources after running hard for so long. Setting those three aside, the only sellers left were the Grizzlies, Incheon, and Daegu.
"Hold on, these bastards keep jacking the prices up like they've got no shame at all?"
Situations that used to end with a simple player-for-player swap now required draft picks stuffed into the deal before anyone would even talk.
There were three competitors — how were prices supposed to hold?
"But there was the Phantom Thief Doubles."
"Aaargh, look at these lunatics driving the price up while having zero intention of actually buying!"
What else could it be? In the auction house called the trade market, they kept nibbling at the edges and whipping up public opinion to inflate prices.
"Fanning the flames is FUN!"
Future be damned — the Doubles GM, whose craving for a consecutive championship was reaching urgent levels, made his move. And as it happened, public sentiment, having just taken a brutal punch thanks to Noh In-seong, was treading very, very carefully.
'Goddammit, if we don't want that rabid dog tearing into us too, we'd better keep our heads down...'
'And unlike Noh In-seong, this guy actually listens to words! Honestly, the front office is the better option!'
Quiet, discreet "article fees" slipped under the table, a polite tone instead of rabid mauling. Reporters whose necks would normally stiffen to the point of madness — refusing, or demanding even more money — had gone docile.
The theory of comparative angels scored another win today.
Meanwhile, the association was tearing its hair out over how to bury everything Noh In-seong had stirred up.
"Aaargh, how the hell are we supposed to run an awards ceremony over this?"
Excluding the reporters was fine — but now they'd have to hand-pick an entire expert-selection task force from scratch. Vet every candidate, check which players they were friendly with, screen their characters to see who they'd ballot-stuff for...
His head was pounding.
In the end, the March–April MVP, left vacant, had been officially recorded as "No Selection" due to the controversy. If there wasn't a proper overhaul before the May MVP was awarded next month, the association was going to be burned at the stake.
"Come on, he already screwed around with us for a whole year. What more does he want — the All-Star Game too? This time, show us some real Sangam-style class, won't you?"
And in the middle of all this, that bastard Noh In-seong had gone and declared that this year he was truly skipping the All-Star Game.
"Stop him! Goddammit! Somebody stop him!"
The panic at the association's executive level was enough to send hair flying even from the men already on hair-loss medication.
The reason Noh In-seong didn't want to play in the All-Star Game was simple.
"Aaargh, you clownfuckers. You should be on your knees thanking me for playing the fool even once!"
With his old-school conviction that clowning and baseball are two different sports, the All-Star Game was, to Noh In-seong, nothing but a clown show.
Even last year, when his popularity was far smaller than it was now, he'd burned two full days on it — and entered the second half of the season without a single proper rest day, all because he'd been contorting his schedule to fit it in.
This year there was the card game ad, his friend's rice cake shop, the conglomerate collaborations, and on and on...
A mountain of commitments piled high in proportion to his fame, all whispering: you can rest when you're dead!
"I've got a ton of shit to do, you know? If I want to rest after all this, there's no time for something like an All-Star Game!"
Naturally, Noh In-seong wanted to finish every last item on his schedule first, and then rest — not waste time on that nonsense.
Connecting with baseball fans? He could do that in passing any day of the week — what did that have to do with an All-Star Game?
Signing autographs for fans? Easy. A little wiggle of the fingers, and it made people happy — fine.
Taking photos with fans? Sure, let it be a memory for them. Consider it an honor to the family name.
"But I am NOT joining some stupid show where idiots wear idiot costumes and play an idiot game!"
Faced with Noh In-seong's flat refusal, there was precious little the association could do.
"B...but if you skip it again, the All-Star Game ratings are going to get annihilated..."
What else could they do? Beg, gently.
Last year the ratings had gone stratospheric right up until the half-no-show — and then Noh In-seong had walked out, and viewership had been cut clean in half.
The clown act of wearing a soccer uniform and kicking a ball around like a soccer player — only this man could pull that off.
"What kind of talk is that, we ARE the association..."
Unable to overcome public sentiment, the association staffer begging and pleading to persuade Noh In-seong felt his knees go cold.
It was an ordinary weekday, with the rain pouring down.
At the road ballpark in Daegu, having ignored the association staffer's 'Master In-seong, I have fallen to my knees before you...', Noh In-seong prepared to take the field.
He ignored the weeping association official, finished warming up — and even though the clouds had rolled in dark, he wasn't worried.
"Ah, come on. The forecast said a light drizzle at most today."
Trusting the weather service's promise of a barely-there sprinkle, Noh In-seong finished his warm-up routine.
"...Why did I even bother warming up?"
Precisely ten minutes later — five minutes after the first pitch was declared — the typhoon invaded the stadium.
"'When a drizzle falls,' my ass. Turns out it meant go home."
Recalling the old superstition that a drizzle was a host's polite way of telling you to leave, Noh In-seong scowled.
The stadium's drainage couldn't swallow the deluge; they were now sandbagging water out of the dugouts.
Whip... whipwhipwhipwhip... CRACK...!!
"Whoa, so those flags weren't made of nylon? That one just straight-up shredded and flew off."
"What are you enjoying about this? Your nylon ones at the dorm are probably just fine."
"Ah, dammit. Guess I'm buying another one."
When the flag over the stadium went full f-u-c-k-i-t and took flight, the umpires called the game.
With nothing left to play anyway, the Doubles called for their bus driver in the parking lot to head back to the lodging — only to receive the cruelest possible declaration:
"The roads are flooding, sir... I'm afraid we'll have to wait until the rain lets up a bit?"
No game to play, stomachs that could be filled, but no way out. Their bodies were already warm from the workout, and fatigue was beginning to settle in.
"We can't exactly lie down and sleep in the locker room..."
"Hey, look, he's out cold."
"Aaargh, In-seong, that's MY chair... where the hell did he even get that."
Noh In-seong had already pushed four chairs together into an improvised bed and was deep asleep — because athletes who can close their eyes that easily are a rare breed indeed.
Aside from the handful who could sleep anywhere, everyone else had to sit and wait, bored out of their minds.
Five hours after being stranded at the stadium.
The Doubles bus — wading through water that had only barely begun to recede, its undercarriage one bad splash away from drowning — finally arrived at its destination.
"...What the hell? Dammit, that's not a hotel — when did it turn into Zombie Land?"
In the typhoon's wake, the hotel stood with every window — glass, frames, all of it — blown to pieces.
"...Guess we're finding temporary lodging first, then?"
From the very first day, the treacherous Daegu road trip had stuffed their arms full of misery.