Tojung, I Hear the Han River's Water Temperature Is Just Right
Noh In-seong's fan service had always come with fine print.
Fans who showed up wearing his team's uniform got treated like royalty. Everyone else got flat-out ignored.
Same with autographs — he signed generously for fans in his team's colors. Right up until he boarded the team bus, anyway.
"Ah, on days I pitch, I'll usually pose for photos, but I don't do signatures."
Some fans actually liked him more for it, so fine — call that one a wash.
His other peculiarity was that he wouldn't so much as acknowledge a human being while he was eating.
"But why were you so prickly this time? You could've just told the guy you'd sign after you finished eating."
"Hmm... who knows? Maybe it pissed me off that he acted like he could just hand over a jersey and I'd start signing on command. That about sums it up."
In-seong trailed off vaguely. Even he knew that laying his cards completely on the table would expose just how wrong he was.
Back then, I was busy eating, thank you very much.
It had always been that way. There was a time when every meal was a war.
Before he was born as Noh In-seong — and before the days of scraping by as the ballplayer Jung In-seong, and even before the days when he'd walked into a bachelor athletes' dorm with nothing but his two fists and a meager settling-in stipend — there had been an era when every single person around him was a potential rival, and it remained lodged in Noh In-seong like a vestigial organ.
Even now, he caught himself watching his own back, terrified that the teammate sitting across from him at the table might register as competition. How could anyone possibly understand the kind of man who orders more than enough for everyone, so the table's full and there's leftovers to spare?
"Anyway, you'd better get your story straight for the manager. He's strict about that sort of thing."
"Isn't he unusually hard on me, though?"
It's because of your numbers your head's still attached to your shoulders... Song Jin-wook swallowed the words.
Even across the whole of Song Jin-wook's short life, a man who snuck chocolate out of the manager's office was a first.
Contrary to what Song Jin-wook had predicted on the bus, Jung Im-taek, surprisingly, didn't have much to say.
"Well, tearing up a fan's jersey — granted, that's a problem... but honestly? I braced for something a lot worse."
When your expectations are buried underground, getting off with a single count of property damage counts as a blessing.
He hadn't bitten the guy, either — you don't touch a man while he's eating, after all — and for that much, the manager was grateful.
"Make him pay for the replica later. He was the one being disrespectful first, so you should be in the clear."
When it came to mutual social media blockades, Noh In-seong — a man who considered people like that beneath blocking — held an absolutely crushing advantage.
But they should have been asking about something else entirely.
"You're starting Game 3 against them... and it looks like they've brought in a pitcher you'll want to be careful with this time."
"Oh? That's a rebuilding team, isn't it? They sign a new foreigner?"
A newly arrived import on the other side... what kinds of pitches he threw... which locations he favored...
The analysis, built on his minor league numbers, concluded with one last remark.
"Oh, and apparently he's ex-Mexican gang. Can't say I know much, but word is he caused no end of trouble back in the minors."
"Really? Huh. That's kind of fascinating."
Why on earth would a Mexican gang alum come here? Go play in the Mexican league.
"He's probably a drifter, or just knows somebody here... but don't go getting violent with him on the strength of assumptions like that."
The subtext was don't start trouble with this one — and it went in one of In-seong's ears and evaporated.
Interesting.
For starters, let's go sit next to the person most likely to know something.
"Oooh, In-Sung. Heard a little rumor you went and ate some jjam-stew with Song Jin-wook."
"That's... no, you absolute lunatic. Since when does army stew turn into 'jjam-stew'?"
The man who had singlehandedly rebranded Korea's third-most-beloved stew with a name that somehow left a bad taste in your mouth — Noh In-seong relocated to the seat beside Caleb James.
Born in a border city between Mexico and the United States, half Hispanic. A pitcher who'd ground out quite a few years in the minors. Not that it was prejudice or anything — Hispanics all know each other, don't they?
"You happen to know this bastard? Word is he just came over to Changwon as a new import."
"Oh, Alves? Know him? Yeah, I do. Not exactly fond memories, though."
"You faced him a couple times and it turns out you've actually got history?"
Ha. What is this. It's a monster catch, but it feels less like fishing and more like the fish swam into the net on its own.
"So that's how far down the ladder that guy fell... well, what do you know."
According to Caleb, the one thing about Alves that was beyond dispute was his talent: the man could throw a 160 km/h sinker for an entire ballgame.
"Granted, only for about sixty to eighty pitches, but as I remember it, he rode that one pitch up and down between the minors and the bigs for years."
So basically the premier swingman, first name called the second rosters expand. Lovely.
"So how does a guy like that get bounced out of even the minors?"
"...Uh... beats me? I'm only in my third year here."
How the hell would I know that, In-Sung? That's what the coaching staff is for. And with that, Caleb excused himself to the bathroom.
No, you useless son of a bitch, I need his current condition — what is this nonsense, you damned excuse for an ace.
"Argh, you're useless!"
In-seong fumed, quietly resolving to conduct another round of 'pranks' on Caleb at the earliest opportunity.
"Argh, this is a disaster!"
Changwon's manager, Kim Chang-soo, was at that very moment saying exactly the same thing as Noh In-seong.
His club had dropped into the basement the instant the season began and had been knocking on fifth place ever since.
Even if rebuilding came with official blessing, a man needed some visible future to keep his seat warm.
Along the way, one imported pitcher had come in, served up runs by the bushel with an ERA in the 7.00s, pocketed his signing bonus, and bolted —
and the man they'd mostly settled for was...
"Ay, what am I supposed to do with these numbers?"
A man with perpetually fogged-over eyes who marinated himself in hotel-bar liquor all night, then showed up to practice and threw up on the mound.
They'd gone to the trouble of handing him scouting data on a dangerous opponent, and his entire response was you think those guys can hit my stuff?
"I honestly don't know how monumental he believes his own career to be. The ego on that man is something else."
"That's not ego you're describing — there are rumors he got run out of the other league on a doping violation..."
Kim Chang-soo's stomach was quietly eating itself. At this rate, the one who truly needed a night at the hotel bar might be him.
"Haah... damn it all. Let's just do our best, then..."
In baseball's great game of rock-paper-scissors, his scissors were missing a finger, his rock was only half a fist, and his paper looked suspiciously like a pair of scissors.
It was the chronic sorrow of a rebuilding team, forever trawling for talent.
Before the game, while everyone else was going through their routines —
Andy, in a visibly foul mood today, kept rolling his shoulders over and over.
"What's with you? Why are you winding your shoulders up before the game's even started?"
"Oh, In-Sung. Something feels off today. My shoulder just... doesn't feel like it's turning over right."
Your about-to-take-the-mound starter, wearing a face wrinkled like a dish rag that had been dragged across every corner of the earth?
"Oh, shit. Today's going to be a massacre in more ways than one..."
Through years of hard-won experience and a faint twitch of instinct, Noh In-seong sensed it: today's featured event was about to change.
[My, my... is this right? It's only the fourth inning, and the score is...]
[Haha! Both starting pitchers simply could not withstand each other's firepower! That's the end of the top of the fourth — the Doubles lead it 10-6!]
"...Shit. Called it."
The featured event had just switched, mid-broadcast, from baseball to a full-contact shitshow.
Why is it that gloomy premonitions never miss? It was a genuine mystery.
The Doubles' starter, Andy, had coughed up six runs in the third and been pulled citing condition issues.
The opposing starter, naturally, was in much the same boat: three and a third innings, eight runs, yanked.
And only after cheerfully absorbing more damage while hunting down the final two outs did the inning finally, mercifully end.
The real problem was that the Doubles, riding their recent stretch of good results, had burned through a hefty chunk of their core bullpen.
"Even so, they kept sending out arms I needed, and that's why I've been tearing through the front office making a menace of myself..."
Rebuilding Changwon just happens to be on the schedule — at last, a chance to finally relieve some of the bullpen overload!
Not a chance. Manager Jung Im-taek had failed to consider that his bullpen's 'overload' might already be dressed in mourning — and a situation entirely outside the man's common sense unfolded before his eyes.
[So Dong-yeop is now entering the game. Protecting a four-run lead — this appears to be his first appearance of the season.]
[Well, the starter did come out unusually early — and remember, So Dong-yeop is a pitcher who has never once been on the injured list.]
-- His durability is simply built different. I'd say the coaching staff decided eating innings was the priority here.]
Fair enough. It was true that this was a man with no recorded history, not once in his life, of feeling so much as a twinge of shoulder stiffness on the mound.
It was equally true that his strikes tended to land either dead-center in the zone or three feet outside of it.
The Doubles wept and chose the only option left to them, and the gambit turned over with an audible, grinding creak.
And then the gamble ran out of momentum, and the manager was handed the bill for the dice he'd rolled.
[AHHH--!! CHANGWON!! Seven runs in the bottom of the eighth alone! Jeong Jin-woo with the GRAND SLAM--!! It's 12-14! They've taken the lead!]
[Haha, so this is how it turns out... Well, being overtaken is being overtaken — the Doubles will have to empty the tank in the final inning now, won't they?]
Fumble. The Dice God, smiling warmly, had delivered a steaming pile of it straight to the Doubles and Jung Im-taek.
This is insane. So this is how it all shakes out.
None of it was So Dong-yeop's fault — the man had eaten his two innings and come down long before the collapse.
Sure, the four-run lead had been whittled down to two along the way, but expectations had been low from the start, so that much was survivable.
The only problem was that the pitcher who followed So Dong-yeop proceeded to douse a opposing lineup that had caught fire today in a fresh drum of gasoline.
Next out of the bullpen: Yeom Dong-gu. You couldn't exactly treat this kid as an ordinary pitcher either — but at least, with nobody on base, he threw well.
"Hey. Don't screw up this time. Screw up, and I will personally demonstrate, with my own two hands, why Song has been so docile lately."
"Uh... uhhh...!! Got it! I got it, so please, please put that hand away..!!"
Whether the encouragement(?) had done its job, or whether the kid simply focused better with the bases empty —
[YEOM DONG-GUUU--!! The curveball! STRUCK HIM OUT! Fire's out either way — we head to the top of the ninth!]
[Ooh, that pitch was exquisite! It tumbles from left to right and clips the corner of the strike zone to perfection!]
The last chance was in their hands. The lineup, in order: Sung Hyun-tak, then me, Song Jin-wook, and Chun-sik.
Score what we can score, and if that's not enough... sigh. Is this right? Is any of this right?
[Sung Hyun-tak reaches base. The next batter is... oh my, this is going to be terrifying.]
[One home run today. Two hits. Five runs batted in. Noh In-seong steps into the batter's box.]
"Hey, let's just get this over with quick. Go on — try throwing one down the middle."
"Well, well, someone's sleeping at the wheel. You're just planning to duck, huh."
Riling up the opposing catcher — first failure in a long while, it seemed.
Then again, the kid was only in his second year. One year shy of being worth getting angry at, so maybe he'd let it slide?
"We'll take the intentional walk, umpire."
"Got it. Noh In-seong! Take first! Runner on first, advance to second!"
Unbelievable. An intentional pass, at a time like this?
As In-seong stood there staring back at the plate with sheer incredulity, he caught sight of Song Jin-wook — eyes fully rolled back, still lingering at second base in a haze of fury.
[Well, what on earth is this? First and second, nobody out. Was this the right call?]
[Song Jin-wook does have a hit and RBIs today, but I suppose it means Noh In-seong is simply the more feared of the two.]
Changwon's chosen gambit also turned over, just as the Doubles' had.
They passed on Noh In-seong and chose instead to duel Song Jin-wook — and the result was every bit as miserable.
"I'm hitting .300, am I not?! My slugging's .500, is it not?!"
Song Jin-wook laced a double, finished airing his grievances from second base — and at that moment, the game was tied.
The intentional walk had failed right there, but the truly frightening part was that there were still no outs.
Dustin worked the pitcher, laid off the junk, and trotted to first on a walk. The next batter stepped into the box.
CRAAAAACK--!!
[There's no need to even watch this ball travel! The captain does it! A three-run, go-ahead HOME RUN--!!]
[Haha, he doesn't square them up often — but when he does, they clear the fence like laundry on a line. A bitter one for Changwon.]
From the bat of Jo In-soo — a man who swung every swing as if he were splitting firewood for the winter — the game flipped over yet again.
It was the kind of ballgame that reminded everyone, all over again, that fumbles fall upon the just and the unjust alike.
In the bottom of the ninth, Yeom Dong-gu served up one solo home run, but Changwon's legs gave out one push short of completing the comeback.
17-15. The Doubles had, by whatever means necessary, won the series opener.
"Ah... I honestly thought we had that game locked up..."
"Wow. We seriously barely scraped that one out..."
Both managers' stomachs had flipped, unflipped, and flipped again — a brand of lunacy rarely seen on a diamond.
The fans' innards flipped, unflipped, flipped, and unflipped again — a game that generated PTSD on recall alone, the kind that could drive a man out of his mind.
And in the middle of it all, one particular community stood one breath away from losing their minds completely.
No...!! No!!! Not like this! This isn't how it's supposed to go..!!!
Why the FUCK does every single game I put money on turn into a five-alarm disaster
These Doubles bastards had their number TWO starter out there today — why can't they beat a rebuilding team comfortably?! A REBUILDING TEAM?!
They were, in other words, the people who bet money on sports.