Yeorok: Afterstreak

The Doubles had won twenty-three straight games.

The magnitude of that record went without saying. It was a scoop big enough to leap clean over the sports pages and spill into the society and business sections.

"Well, of course it is. Do you have any idea how much economic ripple effect a result this insane has produced?"

It was big news enough that even the Nertube channels devoted to teaching people basic economics were covering it, and word had it that the parent company sponsoring the Doubles was already grinning from ear to ear.

"Whoa, so this is what clawing your way back from the dead looks like!?"

For a conglomerate long derided as the bottom of the industry, it was practically a heaven-sent image makeover for the entire group.

"Number one. An overwhelming number one! And a perfect chance to rub it in the faces of those telecom rivals who never treated us right anyway."

They'd already sold the baseball club, but that didn't matter — post one photo, stamp a single line on it, and it became an instant advertisement: Overwhelming first place. Overwhelming speed.

What's that? They already sold the team, so what's the point?

"Those sponsors were them back then anyway. So what."

Play it cool all you want — we've got nothing to do with them anymore — but consumers weren't going to see it that way.

"You were so pathetic that we crushed you and are now standing on top of your corpse!"

"What!?"

Powerful advertising, the kind that could leave consumers feeling exactly this way.

This was why, after the game, the owner of the parent company had come in person, thrown a dinner for the entire squad, and handed out bonuses on top of it.

"Thanks to you players, I can hold my head high! Wahaha!"

He announced that advertisements featuring the Doubles roster would be rolling out, and even told them to look forward to next year. Beyond that came gifts of every kind — electronics, home appliances... the price of a win streak was very sweet indeed.

A literal sugar daddy!

"When you feel yourself about to collapse from exhaustion, be sure to drink plenty of this red ginseng extract — and take this as well..."

"Oh my, you really didn't have to go this far..."

The Doubles squad, having received a complete set of health supplements on top of everything else, happily grilled premium hanwoo beef, and toasted the record with a round of drinks and mountains of meat.

Then came the morning after.

"Ugh... I can't move."

"...How does a team dinner end up being the final ember of our strength?"

Countless players dragged themselves around whining about the aftereffects. Jeong In-young, who had hardly exerted himself at all, was complaining of a mysterious pain in his backside.

"...When exactly did you get hit by a ball? How did you end up with marks like these?"

"Ahem! Ahem!"

"I-it's nothing. I must have just fallen down wrong or something."

Noh In-seong, whose throat was scratchy, was far too busy coughing to elaborate.

As for starting catcher Jo In-soo, ever since his hemorrhoid flare-up, Lim Jae-min had been starting every few games in his place.

"If it acts up again I'll need to break out the ointment, so I couldn't even drink last night..."

If it relapsed, he might miss fall baseball entirely — so honestly, this arrangement suited him fine. During the streak there had even been stretches where nobody could manage the condition at all. About time somebody took care of it.

"Now, listen carefully. First, you'll want to be diligent about your sitz baths..."

Lim Jae-min, lamenting so that's what my future looks like, sat through an entire lecture titled What's Good for Hemorrhoids.

The bullpen, its stamina completely drained, declared it could no longer throw a single pitch — and the victory corps collectively registered their diagnosis as exhaustion and total energy depletion, leaving the Doubles for ten whole days.

"I have officially been granted! A ten-day vacation!"

"...That's the form where you write down your injury, you know. I think you've lost your mind."

"If I check into a psychiatric hospital, will they write me up for fifteen days?"

"...Get out!"

With the shameless Kang Ji-hoon leading the exodus, out went Cho Hyo-jin, Kim Jin-hong, and Joo Hak-soo as well.

The heart of the heart of the bullpen had vanished entirely. Emergency call-ups from the second team rushed in to fill the gaps.

"...So, in summary, our bullpen is pretty much wrecked?"

"Well, if the gums are gone, you chew with your teeth. What can you do."

He traded jokes with the pitching coach, but for Jeong Im-taek it was a situation that made him want to scream and tear his hair out. No bullpen meant riding his starters deep into games. What was this, ancient baseball?

Ever since the great LaRussa-ization of the sport, the Doubles had been swimming against the current of the times.

Still, Jeong Im-taek believed he could scrape by — muddle through to about this point, at least.

"Diiing...!"

"No, damn it! Not my center fielder!"

The worst-case scenario had arrived. Song Joo-in, the cornerstone of the Doubles' defense, had finally collapsed from his long-standing ailment: a catastrophic lack of stamina.

Granted, since he was playing nearly full-time innings in center field, "chronic illness" was a stretch — this had simply been inevitable from day one.

"Whew. Fine. You go get your rest too."

Diagnosis: exhaustion. Song Joo-in was granted a full ten days of vacation.

"Yeah! I'm pumped--!!"

True to golden retriever form, he bounded off on his holiday with boundless energy.

"How the hell are these bastards perfectly healthy only when it's time to rest?"

Watching Song Joo-in work the miracle of an early exit and vanish toward the taxi stand, Noh In-seong began to suspect that some kind of ley line ran beneath the Doubles' clubhouse.

"We barely have any damn outfielders...!!"

With the trade deadline closed, the list of people who could man the outfield amounted to Pi Jeong-doo, Jin Joong-seok, and Jin Seong-min — and that was the whole list. None of them could cover center field for extended stretches, either.

Pi Jeong-doo handled the corners well enough, but covering the vast expanse of the Jamsil outfield every single day was asking too much.

"And Jin Joong-seok swings the bat like a guy who's never once heard the word 'hitting'."

One of them simply had no offense whatsoever. But throwing a second-team-caliber center fielder out there would only add another bat that couldn't hit. A dilemma, pure and simple. The park was already on the spacious side; put a defender with no range out there and nothing good could possibly come of it.

And with the bullpen this shorthanded on top of everything, Jin Seong-min had to be kept in reserve.

Which left the single biggest problem of all:

"Better to kill off my own offense than watch that and die of a heart attack."

Because Jeong Im-taek had been forced to watch, with his own two eyes, the man ranked No. 1 on the team's own corner-outfield replacement depth chart — Song Jin-wook — fail to catch more than half of his fungoes.

"Wow! A new personal best!"

"Good grief, he caught forty percent! He's really on fire today!"

Celebrating because snagging sixteen out of forty constituted a new record. Taking commemorative photos, declaring it a once-in-a-lifetime day. Watching it all, Jeong Im-taek felt his insides char black.

The Doubles had been winning games all this time with a defense about as airtight as a wheel of Emmentaler.

"No, damn it. This is like that pineapple house at the bottom of the ocean — holes straight clean through it."

Exactly as Noh In-seong complained, a second layer of holes had opened up — ones that would return any water poured in at a full one hundred percent.

"What on earth... no, hold on. How do you even know that cartoon? You've only been a pro for two years."

"...Nertube?"

Jeong Im-taek eyed him with deep suspicion — Noh In-seong was suspiciously well-versed in ancient cartoons — but soon let out a long sigh.

"Damn it all. I have to name that bastard the first-choice left fielder. Is this right? Is any of this right?"

"Right? What's right about it? If he boots a ball at a critical moment, you're the one who gets rocks thrown at your house, Manager."

It stung that the kid wouldn't concede a single word, but Jeong Im-taek had been anxious about the move even as he made it.

"Whew, damn it. Fine. I'm the sinner, a sinner. If he manages to hit, singles or homers, whatever — I'll just yank him for a pinch runner."

The second game against the Superstars was borderline unwatchable — it was genuinely hard to tell whether this was a first-team lineup or a second-team one. Never once since Noh In-seong's debut, on a day he wasn't even pitching, had the defense leaked this badly.

If the starter could just eat innings and keep them in the game, it would be a small mercy. But the world does not bend to anyone's wishes.

"That's it, Kim Jeong-mook! You're out of there!"

Because starting pitcher Kim Jeong-mook got pulled in the very first inning.

"I told you, it wasn't on purpose!"

"Whether it was on purpose or not is irrelevant! This is the how many-th time now!? You're done!"

What was the point of a protest, anyway, when the whole ballpark had watched Jeong Im-taek storm out only to argue it was unintentional?

"Oh, come on, you old fool. Three hit batsmen in the span of two outs — what exactly do you want from him!?"

Having miserably lost the argument on pure logic, Jeong Im-taek crawled back to the dugout with his blood boiling.

"Uh... um. Sorry. My command really has fallen apart."

Kim Jeong-mook scratched his head over and over, apologizing. The shakiness of the sinker he'd only just learned. It was the perfect description: a long-buried bomb had finally caught fire and gone off.

The price of relying on a pitch that was effective but wild — one that produced at least one dead ball every single start. That price had now come due, with interest, right across the Doubles' path.

The man who rescued this whole chaotic mess was none other than the two-way player, Jin Seong-min.

The rookies drafted this year were saving the game today, just as they had the day before. It felt uncomfortably like burning through an excellent defensive resource while the outfield was already running on fumes.

"Damn it. This is taking a stone out of one hole to plug another..."

But what could he do? There was no other way.

One of the only men still attaching a breathing tube to the outfield's dying stamina had, for the moment, redirected it toward the pitcher lying in acute cardiac arrest — the pitching staff being already beyond saving.

Shaky endurance aside, he was still an arm who could hold down an inning.

"Fully warmed up! Sending me in?"

"Incredible. Every single time I watch. Is it because he joins the defensive drills before games? The man's just fast."

And as a bonus, his warm-up speed was so freakish that it shone brightest in exactly these desperate situations.

"Swing! Strike three — batter out!"

With the look of the mound suddenly flipping from a right-handed sidearmer to a lefty throwing three-quarters, the sixth batter of the inning — Seol Ho-jin — whiffed through a mighty, empty swing.

"Why the hell does this garbage have to happen in MY at-bat!"

But before the complaint had even finished leaving his mouth:

"Beats a future where I bury a sinker in the back of your skull, doesn't it?"

This cursed one-year junior of a catcher, a man who had clearly eaten seniority etiquette for breakfast, waved him off and signaled the end of the inning.

Thoroughly cursed out by the fans and dressed down by his own junior, Seol Ho-jin trudged away and glanced back gloomily at the field.

The bottom of the order is called the bottom of the order for a reason. Bases loaded, two outs — he had been the last Maginot line, the final chance for a human being to hit like one.

"Aargh, that bastard, just you wait until..."

Meanwhile, that catcher was busy flipping him the middle finger.

But morons who fail to score a single run with the bases loaded and two outs have forfeited any right to open their mouths.

The next half inning: a groundout for out one, a fly ball to the outfield for out two, and a strikeout to finish off the last batter.

Jin Seong-min had dispatched 1.1 perfect innings, and came off the mound wiping his sweat.

They had been blanked for two full innings, blown to pieces in an instant — and now they readied themselves for the defensive half in a somewhat sullen silence.

It was like rubbing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sticks together desperately, tooth and nail, until at last a wisp of smoke appeared — only for that damned rookie bullpen punk to douse it with water, declaring it a fire hazard.

"Damn it. Right when I was finally starting to get it, he puts it out."

What soured the mood most was winning and walking away at the exact moment things were starting to click.

"Getting what? Get to know yourself first. What in the world is that swing?"

...No, scratch that. This godforsaken catcher bastard was the most irritating thing of all.

Meanwhile, Jeong Im-taek, scowling as he watched the relievers loosen up, had reached a simple conclusion: there was no way he could send Jin Seong-min back out to the field.

Sure, by the eighth inning or so he might have considered it. But this was the third. Manufacturing a pitcher's plate appearance now would take an offense that was already in shambles and bury it deeper.

"We can't use Noh In-seong as a pitcher in this one."

No matter how many off days sat on the schedule, you simply couldn't run him out as the Game 1 starter of the next series.

A second-team pitcher began throwing in the bullpen.

"Hey, In-seong. You can't play shortstop today."

"...Aargh, you're actually going to do this? Then again, if I were the manager, I wouldn't put that guy in left field either."

And so Noh In-seong's defensive position changed for the first time in a very long while.

In the end, the decision to call up second-team pitchers was a stopgap measure and nothing more. Some lumps simply had to be taken.

Ttaaaak---!!

Not a high draft pick, not a phenom — a decently aged pitcher who threw decently well in the minors. For a pitcher like that, the only role available at the first-team level was plugging holes.

And on top of everything else, the starting shortstop's position had just been reshuffled.

The man who cut off the ball rocketing toward the outfield was Noh In-seong.

"Aargh. First time since spring camp this year."

Center fielder Noh In-seong had put on what he himself described as "an ill-fitting suit."

Astonishingly, the Center Fielder Noh In-seong experiment appeared to be working.

Ttaaaak---!!

With feet that fast, as long as he could judge where a batted ball was headed, he could run down anything. Would-be Texas leaguers, line drives laced into right-center so deep that even Pi Jeong-doo would mutter ah... this one's out of my reach — all of it.

"Mine! I said MINE! Mine!"

Watching a hulking frame go rumbling and crashing in to steal the catch, the Superstars players felt their spirits wither on the spot.

"Aargh, why the hell is that bastard so good over THERE!"

Jeong Him-chan, convinced it was at minimum a double, had churned his way to second base with a sloth-like jog suited to his frame — all for nothing. He slouched back to the bench in a sulk.

So why did the experiment look like a success? The answer: because Center Fielder Noh In-seong was draining his stamina at an alarming rate.

"Aargh, these bastards are basically openly skipping work, and I can't even punish them for it."

Especially in the bottom of the sixth, when he single-handedly ranged all over the outfield and recorded every last out by himself, he paid for roaming that vast expanse with a serious toll on his leg muscles.

The second-team pitchers, already prone to serving up loud contact, made the drain that much heavier.

The fans could rave and rage to their hearts' content. But for Noh ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠In-seong, whose stamina was visibly draining in real time, the only wish was for this game to end already.

"Aargh... this is exactly why I hated doing this."

Having abandoned stolen bases for the sake of his future, every plate appearance beyond a single base hit in his first at-bat had come via intentional walk. The ones feasting on all those free opportunities were Song Jin-wook, Nicholas, and Sung Hyun-tak.

The Doubles' offense was crude, but it gnawed away, bite by bite.

Ttaaaak--!!

"Safe! Safe!"

"Hey, the ball clearly hit his hand just now!"

"Contact made in the middle of a slide — there's no way to rule on intent from that! He's safe!"

With a sprinkle of good fortune layered on top, they kept picking up runs methodically, a morsel at a time.

Conversely, whenever the Superstars sent a ball toward the corners, they ran into the two outfielders with above-average gloves out there.

Ttaaaaaak--!!

"Hey! That one is GONE! There's no way that doesn't go out!"

One center fielder out there was putting on a show of marvels that even the national team had never witnessed. Digging his shoe spikes into the base of the fence, climbing it foot by foot, then leaping at the precise final moment to snatch the ball out of the air.

"OUT--!!"

The instant his feet hit the ground after the catch, Noh In-seong rolled to kill his momentum — a break-fall, perfectly executed.

"Hyaaaah--!!"

Roll, pop upright off the rebound, and fire a bullet to second base. It cut through the air in a dead-straight line, Jamsil's punishing distances be damned, and landed squarely in Nicholas's glove.

With the ball already buried in the leather, the runner on first belatedly dove back toward the bag.

"Runner's out! Three outs — side retired!"

An assist. Noh In-seong's first assist of the season was in the books,

And so, once again, the Superstars' golden opportunity went soaring helplessly off into the sky.

Truthfully, though, the man feeling most hollow of all was Jeong Him-chan, who had confidently flipped his bat skyward only to be turned into a Super-star — as in, a star in the night sky, twinkling and gone.

"My home run..."

"I stopped you from hitting yours, so you don't get to hit one either."

What could he do? The man had interfered with a record. He had to pay the price.

Truly the behavior of a man whose grudges never, ever expired.

The Superstars had failed to carve a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠single defeat into the flesh of the absolute powerhouse known as the Doubles.

And so, with their second straight win over the Superstars in the books, the Doubles' streak stretched to twenty-four.

"Tsk. So it went exactly the way he wanted."

No players? Then they'd simply keep winning anyway — with their gums, by making soup out of nothing, whatever it took.

Judged by results alone, everything had unfolded precisely as Jeong Jae-yoon had predicted.

So why did it leave such a bitter taste behind?

The only consolation was that the gap in the standings hadn't widened by much.