Did Noh In-seong Hit One Today Too? (Part 2)
Was it thanks to Daegu's fireworks tribute? Or thanks to a Doubles roster whose bench depth had finally hit the point of 'This can't go on any further, you conscienceless bastards'?
In the second game of the series, the Doubles lost big yet again.
"Huh? The score doesn't look that lopsided, though?" some people questioned, finding 'crushing defeat' a bit of an exaggeration.
"Well, sure — if all you look at is the numbers."
It had been 6-3 in the first game and 5-2 today.
Daegu had used the games to hand their young pitchers save and hold experience, merrily savoring tight little victories, so you could call them 'unremarkable losses.'
The problem was that the opponent was, technically speaking, a team that had only just begun its rebuild.
"No Jong Min-soo means no cleanup hitter, the pitchers are young, the hitters are middling."
Losing to a team like that while putting on a display that bordered on a clown show — that was the problem.
The Doubles fans had clung to one consolation: most of the lineup was gone, but Noh In-seong and Song Jin-wook were still standing!
And as if to slap those fans across the back of the head, Song Jin-wook was busy pounding grounders into the dirt against the downward curve of his returning slump.
Though, to be fair, those grounders came off the bat at some of the fastest speeds in Korean baseball.
"This ball's getting through! The shortstop can't come up with it, and here comes Noh In-seong!"
"A ball that fast — and Noh In-seong is just as fast. There was never a play at the plate; the pitcher needed to cut that off."
It was only because the ball occasionally slipped past the defense and got away that any of it counted.
"...This guy's slowly losing it, isn't he? No, seriously — one road trip and he goes all gloomy? Is this for real?"
"...Sigh... I miss Su-jeong... her belly's really showing now..."
At Song Jin-wook's mental state — depressed enough to live up to his nickname, the Depressed Grounder Hit — Noh In-seong shook his head.
With Song Jin-wook gone in every sense of the word, Noh In-seong received exactly one plate appearance per game and nothing more.
The intentional-walk parade, restarted and looping on repeat.
It was tied to the all-time single-season home run record — Noh In-seong's 56 home runs.
In essence, an act of protecting their own franchise legend.
"...We have no choice! Next year this record turns fifty years old — it's a monument of our franchise!"
Even the normally big-hearted Manager Song Jun-ho couldn't help turning coward on this one particular issue.
They were a rebuilding team with poor results to begin with — surrender a franchise record on top of that and his own neck was on the line.
"Physically on the line, even. Not that a manager getting fired for bad results isn't par for the course."
History and records accumulated over decades by an old, storied franchise.
Faced with Noh In-seong threatening all of it, the only thing left to do was beg: 'Please, go set your records somewhere else.'
"And there it is — Noh In-seong is getting intentionally walked again."
"That's the sad part of it, really. No matter how well he hits in his first at-bat, from the second one on, he never sees another pitch to hit."
"Ugh, here we go again, you bastards."
Noh In-seong flung his bat high into the sky and trudged down the line toward first base.
The problem with Noh In-seong, if you wanted to call it a problem, was that he did collect his hit in those lone at-bats — he just never did anything more with them.
"One hit a game should've been plenty, you baseball-illiterate bastards."
For a man who'd been plunked intentionally countless times before, this was well-worn territory.
'I reached base a hundred percent of the time. Didn't I do everything that was asked of me?' — that was how Noh In-seong had defended his spot in the order.
"...I mean, he's not wrong..."
But something about it nagged at the bench coach, who eyed Noh In-seong with open suspicion.
With the home run record hanging in the balance, not once had there been any real force behind his swing?
"Lacking ambition? No, wait — this is the guy who'd swing away purely to sour the other side's mood... why's he so quiet?"
Unlike Jung Im-taek, the bench coach — who wasn't being tormented around the clock — couldn't read Noh In-seong's mind at all.
If the record tempted him, shouldn't he at least be turning on his swings with abandon?
"Maybe... padding his batting average? Trying to break our franchise legend's mark?"
"No, could be on-base percentage. Pushing past .500 for the all-time record..."
Doubles players on site speculated openly.
And while far more of them were off in bathrooms or at home asking what the hell was going on —
"Sigh. You're all staring at the fingers when you should be reading the chart hanging off the end of them."
Only Manager Jung Im-taek had a rough grasp of the situation, lying sprawled across his bed as he watched the game.
Annoyed by the middle finger thrust proudly up at him, his gaze had drifted to the chart dangling from the tip of that finger —
"...Hold on. How many games is this...?"
The whole scheme came to light in the third game in Daegu.
"...What? A 28-game hitting streak?!"
Daegu's dugout, only now catching up on the news, was razed to the ground.
He'd gone hitless in the first game of the three-game home series against the Grizzlies back at the tail end of June. And he'd been hitting ever since — that was the problem.
Legs strong enough to survive a grounder and beat it out at first base.
A batter who hit ground balls harder than anyone in the history of Korean baseball.
Trusting in those two things and running every ball out to the last step to steal his hits — the true scheme of this son of a bitch had finally been laid bare.
They could practically see Noh In-seong smirking: 'You're only figuring this out now, you idiots?'
Good grief. So that was why the analysis had come up: 'He doesn't appear particularly concerned with making solid contact.'
"So what you're telling me is, that damn bastard is pulling this stunt because he trusts his legs!"
If his speed were ordinary, or his bat-control skills pathetic, he'd simply be racking up outs by the handful.
But Noh In-seong's slugging percentage was high enough that defenses played deep — a hitter who forced the fielders back and then beat them with his legs.
Tchk—!
In other words: a man who leveled his bat without a shred of conscience.
"Noh In-seong... bunts on the very first pitch! The bunt spills out toward third — and by the time they field it, it's far too late! Base hit!"
"Good grief... he makes this game look easy. Play deep, and he drops a bunt. Guard the bunt, and he shoots it through the infield... It must be maddening. Haha."
Daegu's manager raged and hunted for a way to seal it off.
"...Damn it all. It's checkmate, isn't it!"
There was no such thing. What could you possibly do against a guy who piled up more than ten bunt hits a season?
The wheel had turned full circle: now they were the ones who had to offer something up to that lunatic holding two great records hostage.
Let him hit, and he drew one step closer to their own 36-game hitting streak.
Let him homer, and he drew one step closer to their 56-home run record.
And if it graduated from a 'franchise' record to a 'baseball history' record, things got uglier still.
If his next hit happened to be a double, a record even older than the home run mark would come crashing down.
"Forty-nine doubles... insane. The moment you face him now, half the record book explodes."
He stood on the verge of a freak record unseen anywhere in the world since '95.
Even if someone sneered that it took him 143 games, they couldn't — the man had appeared in all 144.
Sit him entirely, then?
"Want to hand me a shot at 50-50? You're already letting me run whenever you walk me with nobody on base."
Exactly as Noh In-seong said — that would only mint a second achievement.
So they'd walked him in the first at-bat, and the damned bastard had been running his legs off ever since, relentlessly.
Daegu's catcher, Song Ji-young, couldn't even attempt a throw — he stood there on the verge of tears, lobbing the ball back to his pitcher.
The stolen base clock, frozen at forty-three, had started ticking again.
Three more today alone.
And that was only when there was a runner aboard ahead of him or the out count was dangerous. Otherwise —
"He's going! The runner's already taken off and the catcher can't throw! He strolls in standing up — no play whatsoever!"
"Ah... yes. Noh In-seong is now dancing on second base. Jin Min-ho looks like a man wondering what, exactly, this guy even is."
At the sight of the stolen base count creeping to four, Manager Song Jun-ho's face twisted.
"If you hate watching this, then use your heads and judge it right~! Be the pitcher who gives it up or the catcher who gives it up, your pick!"
He was pressing not one blade but several — records, a whole arsenal of them — against the opposing team's throat.
Choking back tears, Daegu agonized over which record to sacrifice first.
Thwack—!!
"That ball's through! Base hit! A clean single past the shortstop!"
"Wow — does that make it third all-time? Noh In-seong stands above the two hitters from Incheon! Two men left above him!"
First, sadly, came the next day, when he'd jumped on the very first pitch of Jo Il-yeong — the poor man, toiling away out there all by himself — for his 29th consecutive game with a hit.
At this point, all they could do was pray that some other team would end the streak for them.
"...What happens if we walk him every single at-bat?"
"Then it just carries over to the next day."
But this particular record came with a strange sort of exemption clause.
'If a batter reaches base via walk or intentional walk in every single plate appearance — sacrifice hits excluded — across all his trips to the plate...'
"Ugh. So a team that hates handing him the record would..."
"Walk him every time. And if we're unlucky, that team could end up being us."
At the bench coach's words, Manager Song Jun-ho clutched his head.
What grudge could that damned bastard possibly hold against him?
Three straight intentional walks followed, and the visiting fans busied themselves with boos — but Daegu had absolutely no intention of letting the home run record fall at their own stadium.
"Let some other bastards get drilled for trying!"
With far too much already demanding his attention, Jun-ho couldn't focus on any of it.
The score was 8-3, a comfortable lead — so why did his heart feel like a crushing defeat?
Neither Daegu's fans, nor its players, nor its manager could say.
"Ugh. We got swept."
Drowning in the filthy mood, Noh In-seong sat on a swing at the playground near his house, brooding as he swayed back and forth.
The sky had clouded over for the first time in ages, the temperature had dropped, the wind blew hard — even the kids weren't out playing.
A grown man, alone on a creaking swing: a genuinely bizarre sight.
They had, after all, clinched the regular season title,
extended his records, and pushed his stolen base count all the way to forty-nine in the final game.
Personally, he'd earned a passing grade — and yet the team had been swept. A loss was a loss.
He knew the team was a shattered pile of marbles, and that he couldn't muster his full strength until every piece was gathered back together.
But losing simply didn't sit right with his temperament.
Was that why this sour mood refused to lift, even days after Sunday's game?
It was Monday, his day off, and his energy still wouldn't rise.
Though, admittedly, that was because he'd skipped uploading today's video and gone out to rest instead.
A message absolutely brimming with profanity had promptly arrived from his editor, Joo Han-chul: 'Get it together, you joyless lump, and go cut a video!'
On days like this, quietly resting was also...
"...Huh?"
"Whoa, what are you doing here?"
The neighborhood brat who was always zipping around the block had come poking around the playground.
"...Aren't you a little past playground age?"
"Should a full-grown adult really be the one saying that?"
At the finger pointing accusingly at the swing he occupied, Noh In-seong rose from his seat without thinking.
The tail end of August — summer break had quietly slipped away.
At least once summer break ended and the new term began, the school days ran short.
The brat had spent the entire vacation trailing after his father — Reporter Jeong — as the man chased Noh In-seong from stadium to stadium,
but once school started, he at least had to spin his teacher a line about it all being 'field experience.'
The brat, for his part, still hadn't given up on his dream of catching the ball from Noh In-seong's record-breaking home run.
"I did get scolded for not finishing my vacation homework, though..."
He'd snapped photos of half of it and submitted screenshots as the evidence.
"You didn't do your homework? What am I going to do with you! And here I thought you were such a diligent boy!"
"Agh! We're sorry!"
Siyeon, who'd tried to slap together a quarter of her own pile, got the same scolding.
No wonder the two of them had been ambling home so slowly — it was lunchtime.
"Come on, that stuff is all pointless busywork anyway."
"Right? Why do they always make you write it out by hand until your arm aches. That damn diary."
Knowing full well it would either get tossed out at the next move or pointlessly survive as black-history material,
Noh In-seong was a firm supporter of the homework boycott.
The problem was that he was the only one who thought that way.
"Oppa! Help me!"
"What."
Siyeon, in desperation, was — for the first time in ages — begging her heaven-of-a-brother for help.
'A parent-teacher conference will be held shortly...'
The conference was scheduled for Monday of the following week.
"...But why exactly should I be the one doing this? I'll just hand it straight to Mo—"
No matter how adorable his little sister was, her brother was also the type who never passed up an opening to tease or attack her.
Noh In-seong's attempt to deliver the notice straight to their mother was blocked by Siyeon's frantic lunge.
"This is a block— no, why are you blocking me? It says right here. Deliver it to the 'guardian.'"
A voice pitched high with panic, feet scrambling in place. Noh Si-yeon flung herself at her brother.
"I-I'll... make an appearance!"
No one alive could parse a sentence with the subject deleted and only the verb left standing.
"...Appear in what?"
Noh In-seong's natural follow-up came — and then —
"Your stream! Two homework assignments should cover it, right? I've gotta earn money!"
Fingers spread in a V, Noh Si-yeon fired back with her fantasy-guest-appearance proposal.
Ah, compromise and negotiation. School really was teaching her something.
She seemed to have completed her social studies requirements at least, and Noh In-seong gazed down at his sister with something like pride.
It even meant fresh material to throw to his perpetually noisy editor, Joo Han-chul — a delightful situation all around.
But Noh Si-yeon had failed to read her brother's mind completely.
"...No."
What came out of Noh In-seong's mouth was a condensed version of: 'Do you honestly believe I should be accepting negotiations from the likes of you? Know your place.'
"...WHY!!"
His sister's despairing shriek followed.
He was in a foul mood. He owed no great cause, hadn't performed any good deeds, and he hadn't done his own homework either — setting all of that aside —
"Negotiate? With me? There's no such thing. Only plunder and violence!"
It simply didn't sit right with him that his little sister, of all people, dared to 'negotiate' from the same eye level as him.
For Noh In-seong, it was only a negotiation when he was the one putting a deal on the table.
A man who screwed people over with steady, unwavering consistency and thoroughly enjoyed watching them squirm.
The homework he'd assigned her after the bread incident had been closer to a 'punishment' — and Siyeon, never realizing it, had lost.
"Agh! You absolute maniac...!!"
Needless to say, Siyeon got caught by their mother and took a spike from the 'former volleyball player' square on the butt.
"You little brat, honestly! Have you lost your mind? Skipping homework already?!"
Smack—!!
"Kyaaaaa—!!"
His sister screamed, and Noh In-seong watched the whole spectacle from the sidelines, happily munching popcorn.
"Ahh, now that hits the spot."
Mental fatigue, the grime of the sweep — all of it washed away in this pure, simple pleasure.
Feeling his condition sharpen to a fine edge, Noh In-seong stuffed his mouth full of onion-flavored popcorn and chewed away, loud and content.
It was a rare moment of domestic harmony for the Noh household.