The Wounded Coin
Every time the broadcasts brought up the 'prospect' background of Noh In-seong — the man who had so insolently appointed himself the representative of all Korean baseball — fans of the other eight clubs were annoyed, yes, but found themselves nodding along whether they liked it or not.
"...Combined WAR between pitching and hitting is over twenty. Is this guy even human?"
"Sure, it's a small sample. One bad stretch and it plummets right back into the teens. Still completely insane."
Korean baseball had never once produced a legitimate two-way player. And now a man operating on a plane far above the league was churning the entire thing upside down.
Of course he was infuriating. Of course they wanted him dead, prayed nightly for his downfall — but what could anyone actually do about it? If being salty was an option, then go out and sign somebody better than the bastard.
What was even more astonishing, amid all of this, was that the saltiness was not an emotion spreading only through nine teams.
The Doubles faithful rose to their feet in full standing ovation — middle fingers extended — and showered him in the most creative profanity available.
"You cursed son of a bitch, STOP CAUSING SCANDALS!"
It was a reaction on an entirely different plane from the warm encouragement they'd offered Song Jin-wook: There, there. Let's behave and do well from now on.
"ARGH, losing by a lousy two runs — is that acceptable, you bastards?!"
Which was fair, because the sight of the Incheon loss — dropped purely for lack of hitting — was turning his stomach inside out.
11–9. Both starting pitchers spontaneously combusting on the same day: a disaster for the history books. With both of their slugging cornerstones locked out of the lineup, the Doubles had been dragged around at a structural disadvantage all game long.
What was the point of reaching base? Guys with extra-base power couldn't put the bat on the ball, and guys who could hit lacked pop entirely. Whiffs stacked on whiffs, and the moment someone reached base the next batter rolled into a double play. Jung Im-taek's blood was at a rolling boil.
"Damn these sons of bitches who are too goddamn GOOD at baseball..."
He sent up pinch hitters in the bottom of the ninth, but the rally never materialized, and the defeat had to be swallowed whole.
A lineup missing one bat worth 16.37 WAR and another worth 10.15 simply had no answer.
If even one of those bastards had been left behind, they would have won.
"The sample size was already too small, and now this cursed kid picks up ANOTHER suspension for violence? Does he even care about his numbers?"
Jung Im-taek grumbled his complaints at Sung Hyun-tak, who happened to be sitting nearby staring blankly at the ceiling.
"He's filled almost all his plate appearances, so his records should be safe. Just leave it be, skipper.
-- You can't stop those fists of his anyway. Just think of it as paying taxes.
Compared to last year, this was paradise, and Sung Hyun-tak was simply content with that. They'd won the championship. He was on pace for a career year. Who knew how big the bonus would be?
"Should be enough to cover car parts. Now, which engine should I buy this time?"
"Argh... you brat. Aren't you in your sixth year now? Why are you consuming seniority in reverse?!"
Jung Im-taek clutched the back of his neck, muttering that true veterans apparently never materialize, while the captain — Jo In-soo — watched the whole spectacle and sighed.
"Good grief. When did one mental illness evolve into an epidemic? Did we incorporate ourselves as a lunatics' conglomerate or something?"
It was a sorrowful state of affairs: every single kid who'd ever played around that madman had come down with the infection.
The second game, at least, went to the Doubles — thanks to Andy, who put the previous day's humiliation firmly behind them.
"Phew. At least the fans didn't get to be furious two days running."
And from that game, where the whole team exhaled in relief—
"DAMN IT, what is this attendance figure! A record — a record is being WRITTEN right now!"
— the sport of baseball, riding a head-to-head showdown to victory on Noh In-seong's back, was throwing itself an unseasonably early festival.
"Ha-hahaha! At last, at LAST — fifteen million in attendance! It is the age of baseball!"
A crowd surge that should have been flatly impossible — a genuine miracle. The nightmares of years past, when the league agonized every single season over whether the ten-million mark would be crossed, were finally banished for good.
Even last year, crossing 13.5 million had them declaring a second Spring of Baseball. But—
"Who knew one damned man could change the entire landscape like this!"
Granted, the teams with terrible records but enormous fanbases all surging up the standings had played a major role. But this year, thanks to one lunatic simultaneously chasing the home run record, two 50-50 seasons, and the lowest ERA in the league—
the attention of virtually every sports fan in Korea had locked itself onto baseball.
And the fanatics screaming for the home run record ball were guaranteed to show up for number sixty-one as well — which meant at least half a million more bodies through the gates.
"The greatest sports-viewing season in Korean history!"
The sitting commissioner licked his chops. This alone should secure his re-election.
The problem was that the association could not hope to control the very symbol of this boom in popularity.
"If only we could negotiate even a little..."
Negotiations, sh negotiations — the man moved exactly as he pleased. And even more unprecedented: this wasn't a case of a player going overseas because he wanted to. This was a player being shipped abroad because every other team couldn't stomach him anymore.
"...Okay. Whew. Fine. Let's say we did something crazy."
Just yesterday, Superstars GM Jeong Jae-yoon had come calling with the face of a man who had surrendered absolutely everything, carrying a fresh stack of signatures: We don't care what it takes — release that lunatic from this league IMMEDIATELY.
"Everyone except the Doubles has signed. If this continues, we'll all end up as delivery riders."
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"Damn it! That drone called Noh In-seong will pick apart our delivery orders — our PLAYERS — order by order!"
In short: a crisis of not merely being demoted to riders, but of being beaten to death by Noh In-seong himself.
The holographic articles Jeong Jae-yoon floated into the air were, in a word, gruesome.
"...Ah, not that one."
He quietly swiped the Song Jin-wook article off to the side, his glare burning with unmistakable venom.
"...I understand your point perfectly. We will proceed in the most constructive manner possible."
-- But if a player vanishes from this league every single year starting next season, where exactly does this boom go?
Like it or not, they owed the league time to manufacture its next superstar.
'Keeping him one more year — maybe two — isn't that the path forward for Korean baseball?'
The commissioner, venting his objections internally, quickly shook his head.
Backpedal on an already-signed agreement and the club executives would have his head. And if Noh In-seong left, there was every reason to fear the crowds would drain right out after him.
"...Could there be a scenario where the player himself refuses because he doesn't want to go... and sticks around through next year...?"
Truly, a commissioner dreaming a dream that could never come true.
As if the memory of splitting with Incheon had never existed, the Doubles swept a clean two wins off Suwon — and then—
"Yeah, yeah. Good for you. Real happy bunch of bastards."
The Doubles then went and gratefully donated a win to the Phoenix.
The final tally from five games played without Noh In-seong and Song Jin-wook: two wins, three losses. For a team fighting with sixty percent of its WAR under seal, that was a respectable clip — fine, all fine, up to that point.
But the very next game, even with the worst devil in the league returning to the lineup, the Doubles could not escape defeat.
"...No. You absolute lunatics. Where did all that grit — the sweat, the tears, the never-say-die fire you used to play with — where did it all GO?!"
"You madman, can't you SEE we're still burning with anxiety over every single game, every half-game of separation?!"
A political cartoon of the Twins and the Phoenix locked in exactly this kind of scrum would have explained the entire game in one frame.
Noh In-seong's plate appearances kept piling up. His at-bats: zero. Once again, the moment had arrived for Noh In-seong's signature end-of-season shunning games.
Though — unlike before — he stole at will, exactly as always.
"Run all you like. There's no frightening bastard hitting behind you anyway, so I can afford to hand over a run or two."
The Phoenix had come prepared to surrender as many as four runs, and in the second game they deployed You Hong-jin. He coughed up three stolen bases in a single game — but nailed down three runs over nine innings and took the 5–3 win.
"Damn it all, we're one game apart AGAIN."
"We can afford to finish last. What we can't afford is to miss our chance to drop you."
That very day, Busan — freshly and politely ground into the eyes like red pepper powder by Changwon — slipped to third place.
And through it all, the Superstars were suffering genuinely.
At the time of the Doubles series they'd sat four games behind the fifth-place cluster. Just six games later—
"...A... TIE?!!"
A six-game losing streak had sent them tumbling all the way down in an instant.
The current standings: Daejeon in second, Busan in third. The Grizzlys, the Superstars, and Gwangju deadlocked in a three-way tie for fourth, with Daegu one game back in seventh.
Suwon was quietly drifting toward a peaceful, forgettable season's end in no-man's land.
And then there were Changwon and Incheon.
"We do NOT want last place! You're the ones rebuilding! Take last for once!"
"Hey! None of us can even REMEMBER when we were last, you bastards!"
Collars gripped, a full-blown war for dead last waged one game apart. The remaining schedules ran from a minimum of four games to a maximum of six.
The final week of the 2052 KBO season had crept up before anyone noticed.
"...Damn it. Of all the times..."
Busan — welcoming Song Jin-wook back for their second series against the Doubles — had warning lights flashing over the second-place race.
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, JUST LOSE TO US!!"
"Don't you DARE talk crap! It's been an eternity since we got to be second!"
Gwangju, of all teams, had three games — including a rain postponement — left against Daejeon at precisely the worst possible moment.
And here, there was one victim suffering more than anyone.
"...Right! We do this cleanly, and if it doesn't work, we give up!"
The team obligated to play the Doubles for the final three games of the season. Daegu had let go of the rope entirely.
"The bastards took the home run record AND the consecutive-hit streak, and now what else do they want to strip from us..."
The lion stared with hollow eyes, stroking the empty spaces where their hitters used to stand — already sold off. The road to that heaven called autumn baseball had been paved, with deliberate malice, in solid concrete.
And amid all of this: the Doubles' trip to Busan, the first series of the final week. Monday's rest day passed, and with Tuesday afternoon's game underway, Gudo Busan's home stadium of Sajik was, in every possible sense, on fire.
"...Is this right? There's no way THAT guy called for it himself. So which was it — you, or the bench coach?"
"......"
Woooooo----!!
Reading the opposing starter's furious eyes and concluding, surely that wasn't his own call,
Noh In-seong slowly shook his head and walked to first base in his very first plate appearance of the day.
An intentional walk.
The Doubles ran all manner of player experiments heading into autumn, but at heart they were a data-driven club.
Who was utterly useless against left-handed pitching. Whose bat turned to ice against a specific arm. That was simply the culture of the organization.
"Which brings me to you — what exactly is your grudge against the world, that your ERA keeps swelling up like that?"
Today's starter was no exception: Jung In-woo, heading into the Busan road trip, had been carved up like a knife through butter.
"I didn't do that badly..."
"Don't even think about pitching in Daegu or at Busan's park. You're basically a cursed spirit at this point."
Jung Im-taek's fact-bombs, delivered with extra edge after stacking up a losing streak against Daejeon.
And honestly, on the numbers, the man wasn't wrong. Blown to pieces in 'cramped ballparks' — or any park even slightly tilted toward one-swing power — while shining in parks that even slightly favored keeping the ball in play. That was precisely the kind of pitcher Jung In-woo was.
That day, with no one using the weight room, Noh In-seong — who under the nominal pretext of being a pitcher himself had been trading jokes with the arms — casually lobbed out one remark.
"Oh, right — mid-fours in Daegu, high-fours in Busan? Your career ERA, I mean."
"ARGH! That fact is far too painful!"
It was data lethal enough to make the frog called Jung In-woo drop clean out of the sky.
"Still, shouldn't you at least close things out with some dignity? You just need to throw Game 1 at home anyway."
Having somehow dangled a hook in front of his mouth to keep it occupied — the man assigned to fill the resulting gap was the bright-eyed rookie.
With next year's rotation still an open question, Song Soo-ho was being deployed to bank end-of-season experience. And since the opposing starter happened to be Jang In-ho, everyone had expected a magnificent, tit-for-tat slugfest of a ballgame.
"Noh In-seong. Intentional walk. Take first base."
"I'm sorry — no, hold on. Is that guy actually going to admit— no. He wouldn't... would he?"
Jang In-ho stalked the mound, kicking at the rubber, his face twisted as though he were chewing raw gall, while Kim Soo-ho — acutely aware of Noh In-seong's mood — dripped sweat from every pore.
"...Yeah. You must hate it too."
And so a miracle occurred: for the first time in recorded history, Noh In-seong felt something adjacent to genuine empathy — for an opposing player.
For the first time in a very long while, the itch to run simply died inside him.
"...Why are you just standing glued to the bag today?"
Jong Min-soo, the midseason acquisition, had braced himself for a full exhibition of Busan-tormenting theatrics — only to quickly discover that the man wasn't moving an inch, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Today even first base looks new and fascinating. Have you tried playing Jung Jin-gi at third? Might be time to retire."
But Noh In-seong was the king of the con. After all, hadn't he been played any number of times himself?
"Hey, I can't cover defense every single time... Wait. You're really not running?!"
Jong Min-soo stayed coiled head to toe, fully expecting the man to chat him up, seize his attention, and bolt the instant he blinked. But for the first time in ages, Noh In-seong — placed on first by intentional walk — did not run.
"Why would I run? My stolen bases exist to inflict vigilance, pain, and sheer annoyance on the opponent."
Hearing the explanation that followed, Jong Min-soo felt a chill crawl up his spine, and turned to look at his own team's starting pitcher.
There he stood — a young man throwing with eyes brimming with tears, drowning in a rage beyond all description.
"All three of those things, you've already inflicted on yourselves in full measure. Why would I need to run?"
And he meant it, literally. Could anyone not see the pride of a young pitcher, wounded far past the point of enough?
"There used to be a culture where nobody could say a word even after pulling this. But I wonder — how about now?"
While Busan failed entirely to notice that it was already bleeding out from a hundred cuts, Noh In-seong simply stood at first base.
From this spot, with an unobstructed view of the pitcher's face, he stood and watched a pitcher worthy of becoming a Busan franchise icon —
— until the moment that pitcher walked off the mound once more, carrying another great disappointment down with him.
"Happiness and misfortune are two sides of the same coin. Someone once said that, didn't they?"
In which case, Busan today had taken a carving knife and shredded the happiness side of their own coin. To inflict humiliation of this magnitude on a pitcher so proud, so certain of himself.
"Become a man with two faces — or overcome even this, and become something greater."
Noh In-seong, who had spent the entire day observing this endlessly fascinating experiment, packed his bat back into his bag.
"HEY! I asked why you didn't steal today!? We LOST because of you!"
"What, a guy's allowed to have days he doesn't feel like it!"
The teammates who knew nothing of the backstory wrote Noh In-seong off as a lunatic.
Noh In-seong, rather than explain himself to the pathetic teammate too dense to see the bigger picture, simply raised his fist instead.
"So. Do you want the dorm, or the hospital? There's also the combo option — swing by the dorm, then the hospital."
Zoom---
The entire clubhouse's packing speed accelerated noticeably.
He may not have been a Joker with a carved-open grin — but he was, without question, a man with the strength to carve one.