Finding In-seong (Finding Humanity)

The festival of the stars. The All-Star Game.

Countless players claw their way into this festival, praying for popularity, begging fans to vote them in on the strength of their numbers. But unless you're a genuine superstar, even the most decorated player on the league's most beloved team...

"Get out of the lineup. A rebuilding team? And you're starting in the All-Star Game?"

"Waaah...!! But my stats are better!"

...gets robbed of the honor exactly like that. A festival with no mercy, no blood, and no tears.

And this year was worse than last. Of the five teams with realistic fall baseball hopes — the East's Grizzlys, Busan, Daegu, Incheon, and Suwon — only one looked like a lock for the postseason. That it happened to be Busan was more than a little ironic, but when a nationally beloved, ratings-monster franchise is actually winning?

"Wow. I never thought I'd see this again."

The Busan All-Star mega-festival. From the pitching staff to the starting lineup, nearly every spot was stuffed with Busan players.

"...But I got my votes in Daegu?"

"And now you play for Busan, don't you?"

To be fair, third base belonged to Jong Min-soo, who'd dominated the voting even before his mid-season uniform change — so that one was Daegu's own fault. The West team, meanwhile, was in an awkward spot.

Gwangju had more or less thrown away half the season — they'd already shipped their core hitter and core relief arm to the Superstars. Changwon? Let them dream about October. In a season when 'Busan' goes to the fall classic, Changwon is always the team that takes the biggest beating.

Which left a three-way race: the Doubles, the Superstars, and Daejeon.

The starting pitcher slot went to Daejeon, obviously. Because in the Doubles' entire roster, the only man who could go toe-to-toe with You Hong-jin was Noh In-seong —

"Sir, your primary position is shortstop with pitcher as a sub-position. You saw that in the MVP voting yourself, didn't you?"

All-Star votes for him were cast at shortstop, so this was the natural conclusion.

The DH spot had originally gone to Song Jin-wook by vote, but with Jin-wook resting, Jeong Him-chan climbed to second and took the slot. He'd been the only candidate who could ever push an All-Star nod even back in his Gwangju days, so his selection had been practically locked — but the league transfer meant the Superstars' fanbase threw their weight behind the vote too, and luck and timing aligned perfectly.

The rest of the infield went largely to the Doubles, the outfield to everyone else — and yet the shortstop with the most votes of anyone, the single most-voted player in the entire game, was nowhere to be seen right up until first pitch.

Everyone was dying to know if he'd play. And apart from today's All-Star managers, nobody knew.

The fans grew anxious.

Participants in this festival are, in principle, expected to sign autographs, pose for photos, and deliver every manner of fan service. This year, however, a great deal had changed.

For starters, the guy the fans wanted most hadn't shown so much as a nose hair at the stadium.

"...What the hell, where's Noh In-seong?"

"He wasn't even in the announced starting lineup, was he? Is he really not coming?"

"He wasn't in it last year either, genius."

The most-voted player in the entire fan ballot, a no-show. Naturally, he hadn't shown up to sign anything either. Fans who could no longer shrug it off began to murmur.

The pre-game events were no joke, and if a player was missing at this point, worry was only natural.

The fear that he really might be unfindable at the stadium — just like 'that bastard' — was spreading through the crowd like a contagion.

And worry, as it always does, curdles easily into something else.

"If he really doesn't show, whose name am I supposed to yell? That bastard had rivals lined up right in front of him."

"...He can't exactly say it, can he? Both his character and his stats would be a total disaster."

There were fans already primed to rage if that scenario actually came to pass.

"Sniff... Dad, I don't think Noh In-seong's coming."

"...He'll show up later. He did last time, remember?"

A little kid who'd come to the All-Star Game holding his dad's hand, heart swelling with pure, innocent hope, was on the verge of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tears.

And then, most importantly of all —

There was nothing to film, the All-Star Game was dogshit, and the reporters were hammering their keyboards in fury. Just as this ugly mood threatened to boil over into a seething, murmuring roar from the stands —

"Ah— ah. Can you hear me? Hellooo, it's me, how've you been...? Did that work?"

A single association employee appeared alongside Noh In-seong, and the two of them began working the crowd gathered for that day's All-Star Game.

On the stadium monitors, a crooked grin filled the screen.

"Been well, huh? It's your big bro In-seong. What? You've gotten older? Yeah, well, your big bro proves himself with results, so."

...And of course, even his antics were pure Noh In-seong.

With barely a week left before the All-Star Game, the association's people had come knocking at Noh In-seong's house.

Of course, even before In-seong floated his idea, the small fry at the association had zero leverage over the big shot. If a player says he's hurt, recovery comes first — forced participation? If you don't want to haul corpses off the All-Star field, that's not a card you get to play.

The association had hoped, as always, that he'd join the Home Run Derby and take part in every event on the schedule.

"At the Home Run Derby, I could swing a bat right into someone's hea—"

"NOOO! Absolutely not!"

So they gave up, naturally, and swallowed the bitter pill of accepting Noh In-seong's proposal through gritted teeth and tears. And that pill, of course, came at a steep price. You don't get premium-grade talent like Noh In-seong on the cheap —

"Worst case, what, I quit and go shoot ads for a mobile card game. Whatever."

Naming a price to a man with a Plan B that airtight? Ooh, that's practically suicide.

So what they offered wasn't money. It was privilege.

"The agreement is finalized! We've collected signatures from all nine clubs besides the Doubles!"

"Now that's not bad."

The association brought him a concrete, documented blueprint of the previously floated 'overseas move next ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠year,' and Noh In-seong flashed a gleaming smile and sealed the contract.

They'd brought something like this to the table, so they had to pay at least a commensurate price.

Naturally, both sides walked away from that contract thinking entirely different things.

For the association, the hope was that Noh In-seong would stay at least through next year. The league couldn't afford to hemorrhage a player with this kind of ticket power. They'd need to either unearth the next superstar, or ensure Song Jin-wook had fully secured In-seong's throne before any succession.

"Honestly, this is basically a verbal side deal anyway, so what if we just flake on it?"

"Well, who knows what next year holds, but we'll keep that in our back pocket as one option."

If it came to it, they'd stab him in the back and squeeze at least one more year out of him.

In-seong, for his part, simply didn't trust these bastards on a fundamental level.

What he trusted was the high-quality recorder tucked inside his jacket.

"A recording is legally admissible as long as my own voice is in it, right?"

Even recorded without consent, so long as his own voice was on it, it became legal evidence without breaking any law.

How Noh In-seong's recording habit — the nightmare of amusement parks past — would one day come back to haunt the association of the future, nobody yet knew. Time flowed on until the eve of the All-Star Game.

"...Good lord. If Noh In-seong hadn't shown up tomorrow, our All-Star ratings would've been absolutely obliterated."

"...Tell me about it...?"

The association side nearly went into cardiac arrest over the Home Run Derby's viewership crash — a drop so catastrophic it bordered on a massacre compared to the previous year. Lower than a regular-season game from a mid-tier team on a Tuesday night, with reporters gleefully carpet-bombing them with hit pieces. A full day of getting beat up by the press awaited them tomorrow, and cold sweat poured freely —

"...This video file is going to save us."

"How did we set up the drone feed? Is the livestream going through Noh In-seong's gaming channel?"

"...Yes. Ha... I just hope tomorrow's ratings at least match last year's All-Star Game."

One video file handed over by Noh In-seong, and a live stream tied to his gaming channel. That was the consideration the association received under its contract with him.

Days before the All-Star Game, Noh In-seong had declared, inspired by a certain book, that he would 'take the field.' The catch: nowhere, not once, had he said the words 'attend the All-Star Game.'

"You're playing word games with us?!"

Naturally the association raged — that's breach of contract!

"What word games? If you're sore about it, go draft an attendance clause next time. Or should I just head home right now?"

To an organization that had just received a D-minus on its pre-game report card — status: 'delete your grades, you children!' — Noh In-seong was the only hope on earth. Whatever happened next, they had to cling to that thread of hope.

"Sir, what are you saying! If you'd simply confirm your attendance, we'd be beyond grateful."

Miracle of miracles: spines began bowing on pure reflex. One parliamentary hearing and these shattered, citizen-enraged bureaucrats would be public confetti. The association's people, mouths sealed shut, quietly began cooperating with Noh In-seong's plan.

The book that had inspired it all, by the way, was titled Finding Ali.

"...Is that seriously the title? Why is there a boxer in a picture book?"

Of course, whether the book was a bootleg or a parody didn't matter in the slightest. It was a children's picture book — a brain-development puzzle where you hunt down a hidden character among crowds of lookalikes. That was the part that mattered.

The point was: hide among the crowd and interfere.

The All-Star Game was a lively baseball variety show — no real stakes, no real competition, pure spectacle. But —

"The fact that I can wreck that show whenever *I* want, at the timing *I* choose? That's a massive advantage."

If pure entertainment was what they craved so desperately, then fine — time to serve up some genuinely pure entertainment.

"To ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠start: the stands, the field, the concession stands, and so on. I'll be planted in all sorts of locations."

That part was pre-recorded footage. Afterward, disguised or costumed, the real Noh In-seong would roam at large. Every time someone found him before he could pull something, a discovery counter would tick up —

"Three strikes and I'm outed — and at that point it becomes a perfectly normal All-Star Game, with me hitting or fielding like a regular player."

And if nobody finds him?

"Then the All-Star Game you all love ends in my chaos. It's an audience-participation event, after all?"

The screen cut to footage: a face-painted clown selling Turkish ice cream at a Dondurma stand, who abruptly jammed a freshly purchased scoop of Dondurma straight into the buyer's face.

"Bon appétit!"

"GYAAAH—!!"

Song Jin-wook, who'd braced himself to snatch at the teasing cone, got the full-service treatment — ice cream served directly — and shrieked in horror.

"So if you audience members out there don't want to see ugly incidents between baseball players and one Noh In-seong... you'd best keep those eyes peeled?"

After the spectacle of Song Jin-wook — unable to actually play, but present at the stadium on the strength of his votes — being transformed into a human Dondurma cone, In-seong strolled over and patted his shoulder approvingly, like a job well done.

"Ah, Su-jeong? Here, an In-seong Trouble prize. The voucher goes to the audience member sitting closest!"

The In-seong Joker awarded his prize to 'the audience member sitting closest.'

"Whoa! Department store gift vouchers?!"

Watching his wife delight more in the million-won vouchers in her hand than in her husband's predicament, Song Jin-wook fought back tears. But what could he do? A pregnant woman is the apex predator of the household.

"...Is this right? Is any of this right?"

"He got hit with ice cream. So technically, he got hit."

The chocolate-flavored Dondurma dribbling into his eyes tasted bitter.

Watching all this, you'd think: obviously the players all agreed to it, and this is a coordinated fan-participation All-Star event!

Every spectator could be forgiven for the assumption.

"What the FUCK is happening! Nobody told us about any of this!"

"That lunatic! How is anyone supposed to know what he'll pull next?! We thought the All-Star Game would be one big friendly party!"

The players were in full panic mode.

And no wonder — these were not men who'd endured violence for merely a day or two! If it's his own team, you get ice cream to the face; if it's anyone else, this is a man who'd happily ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pelt you with a flash-frozen tuna from the cold storage.

Trembling from head to toe, the players took the field, and the All-Star Game began.

Before long, the first Noh In-seong was discovered.

"Beerrr!! For saleee!! Ice-cold beer by the cup!! For saleee!!"

"One beer, please... wait. That's Noh In-seong!"

"Ah, goddammit. See, this is why you do at least basic face paint? I'm famous, damn it!"

Unlike Noh In-seong, who immediately blamed everyone else into his earpiece radio —

-- No, sir, if you'd done face paint from the very first scene, even your own teammates wouldn't have recognized you...

His own teammates hadn't recognized him until he'd plastered their faces with ice cream, after all. So from the association's perspective, it was only natural to raise the event's difficulty in stages for the sake of ratings.

The problem was that this was an All-Star Game nobody attended unless they were a baseball fan. Whatever the disguise, the place was crawling with people who'd recognize him.

Noh In-seong had originally planned to grab a beer sprayer and go hee-hee! BEER SHOWER! all over the opposing dugout. Instead, he got caught sitting at the very top of the upper deck — a catastrophe of historic proportions.

The dad who'd come to buy a beer and walked away with a fistful of gift vouchers, and the tiny kid overjoyed just to see Noh In-seong, were both beaming ear to ear. Noh In-seong heaved a deep sigh, signed the kid's Doubles uniform, and vanished.

"Whoa! A game-worn rarity, signed on the spot!"

The little Noh In-seong fan's chest swelled with dreams.

By the time the whole episode played out, the first inning was over.

Top of the second. The West team at bat. Starting pitcher Jang In-ho fired the ball in hard, and Jeong Him-chan got a piece of it — a foul tip dribbling down the line.

"Ooh, it's getting away! Fair territory! The ball's rolling down the foul line — Joo Hyeong-min gives chase, but—"

A ball boy in a mascot costume glanced sideways at the outfielder hustling over to make the play, then—

"Outta my way!"

"AAAGH—!!"

"What— what is this?! The ball boy just KICKED Joo Hyeong-min out of the way! Jeong Him-chan's rounding first! First to second—!"

"The ball boy scoops it up and fires to third—!! OUT! Jeong Him-chan is OUT!"

He'd kicked the right fielder who'd come to make a normal play, then completed the throw himself for the out.

The mascot pulling off its costume was, naturally, Noh In-seong.

"The one who saves them is the one who kills them. Just one of the countless things about to happen today."

"...What? What just happened?"

Only the kicked-over Joo Hyeong-min stood frozen, gaping up from the ground where he'd fallen.

The weather was scorching, so he'd been lying in wait inside a mascot suit fitted with its own air conditioning — and the instant he spotted his opening, he'd punted a player and drifted away again without a trace.

This time, Noh In-seong planned to infiltrate along an entirely different vector.

He stole his own team's mascot costume. Again.

"What the— hey! Has anyone seen the mascot uniform that was right here?!"

Leaving the frantic staff behind, he slipped into a deserted corner of the stadium for some heat-proof retrofitting.

"Slot the cooling unit back in... and done!"

After that, he slid naturally in among the players, dancing, whipping the crowd into cheers.

Several innings drifted by, and when the top of the fifth arrived — the West team's fielding half — Noh In-seong made his move.

He knew the next pitcher would be driven out to the mound by cart. So he'd conspired with the facility manager in charge of the vehicles and switched it to autonomous mode.

"Heh heh. It's the least I could do. Do help me out, won't you?"

"Goodness, with sincerity like that, how could I possibly refuse? Of course I must help!"

He was the 'audience member sitting closest' anyway — a department store voucher pressed into his palm settled everything.

"Since the cart runs on autopilot, you're actually meant to steer it yourself — that's the concept, the pitcher driving out personally."

"Oh, is that it? Some kind of tech showcase?"

"The sponsor is the sponsor. We just do as we're told. And a mascot will be riding along in the passenger seat."

Kang Ji-hoon — Superstars alumnus, now a trusted setup man for the Doubles — climbed aboard, pretending to steer, and rolled out toward the mound.

SLAM—!!

"HURK—!!"

"Didn't I tell you your turn was ruined? From this moment on, this is Noh In-seong United Gallery... no, wait. It's MY turn to pitch!"

Noh In-seong, who'd been riding shotgun, hopped out, punted Kang Ji-hoon off the cart, and forcibly confiscated the baseball.

"Ah, it's Noh In-seong again. So that's twice we've been fooled already? This event is certainly... extravagant."

"He was the Busan mascot earlier, and now he comes out in the Doubles mascot — everyone's getting played left and right."

"...Pitching change. Noh In-seong."

The West team's manager, Jeong Im-taek, held his head in both hands as he cleaned up after that lunatic yet again.

And so Kang Ji-hoon's pitching change got pushed back to after Noh In-seong's. The punted reliever glared at him with eyes full of resentment —

"What's that look, punk? Want another round of Noh In-seong's Muscle Boot Camp?"

"N-nothing... it was nothing at all..."

Because a teammate, it turns out, can become the enemy sitting closest of all, Kang Ji-hoon knew better than to provoke him.

Noh In-seong began pitching without even taking the costume off — mascot suit and all.

His very first pitch registered 141.1 km/h, and the entire stadium gasped.

The velocity alone was astonishing, but the truly jaw-dropping thing was that grotesque spin.

"He can't even get a proper grip in that thing — and somehow it's breaking even MORE viciously because of it!"

"He's gripping it like a four-seam fastball, but the costume's finger sections are bending at release—"

The Doubles mascot's hand section had stitching running across the fingers. That stitching, interlocking with his grip, warped the ball's trajectory until it arrived bending like nothing anyone had ever seen.

And on the receiving end, naturally, was Joo Hyeong-min — a rookie giant in only his first pro year, a man whose professional career was shorter than his lifespan, who had lived exactly one year less than Noh In-seong himself. He was beside himself.

Final tally: three pitches, three strikes. Struck out.

"You absolute turnip! You couldn't hit THAT?!"

"...Aargh, how does that man pitch like that in a MASCOT SUIT?!"

Having successfully heaped fresh humiliation on the very outfielder he'd kicked over, Noh In-seong peeled off the costume, hurled it back into the mascot waiting room, and —

--kzzt... and... and what comes next?

The association had fixated on the phrase 'three times caught' and assumed there would be a round three.

Instead, at that exact moment, Noh In-seong cut his own broadcast feed and killed the drone's power.

Radio switched off too, he changed back into the clothes he'd arrived in, and strolled casually out of the stadium.

"If I get caught three times, it just becomes a normal All-Star Game, right?"

If his walkout got discovered, the game would simply carry on, perfectly ordinary. And if it didn't get discovered — then the players would spend the entire game wound tight, jumping at shadows, never knowing when he'd strike. Which, in its own way, meant the All-Star Game was already wrecked by Noh In-seong's chaos either way.

Slipping away home like this — that was the whole play.

"I never lied. I just... said less than I could have."

The timeless refrain of ten thousand con artists slipped out of Noh In-seong's mouth as he hopped on his electric bike and headed for the nearest station.

By the time every spectator and player in the building realized Noh In-seong was gone —

"...Noh In-seong? Where's Noh In-seong?"

"...Hey, hold on. Did that bastard just no-show on us AGAIN?"

"No way... seriously?"

— it was already the end of the game, and the association was calling his name to the field to present him with a special merit award.