Throw a Pebble in a Pond, Get a Meteor

After the game ended, Jo In-soo, Song Jin-wook, and Jeong In-young stormed over to Noh In-seong, fury written all over their faces.

Yeom Dong-goo's psyche had completely shattered, and Kim Jun-soo was busy trying to console him.

As for Dustin, he was taking Noh In-seong's parting words at face value and rushing home the moment the game ended.

Three furious men sat around a steaming pot of pork bone soup at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a gamjatang joint, simmering exactly like the broth boiling between them.

And one of them — despite having stuffed himself sick at the stadium before the food even arrived — had somehow digested it all already and was shoveling plain rice topped with fresh salad into his mouth.

To anyone who didn't know baseball, the scene looked less like a team dinner and more like a mob interrogation of a debtor.

"Please, next time, tell us before you— actually, no. Just fucking stay out of the stands."

Jo In-soo, the Doubles' starting catcher and team captain, was ladling soup over his rice as he fumed.

"Why? You just realized it yourself — thanks to me, you guys get a buff with an 80% success rate."

"...My blood pressure rises even more than that. For the sake of your longevity, you're officially a person to avoid."

Jeong In-young shot back as he accepted the spoon Song Jin-wook handed him. When Noh In-seong tried to pour him water, Jo In-soo slapped his hand away and poured it himself.

"Tch. A starting pitcher pulling stunts on his rest day? That's how you get accused of slacking. Haven't you learned even the basics?"

"Excuse me, did I get injured? Am I not allowed special treatment on a rest-day evening?"

The two starting pitchers in question were, of course, the one who'd thrown yesterday and the one who'd thrown today.

Jo In-soo, a former catcher himself, had always been particularly considerate toward his starting pitchers — seniority be damned.

"Anyway, what the hell did you do? The internet's in an uproar over you. And then you just vanish in the ninth inning?"

"Right? And the nerve of this guy — when we came looking for him, the staff said he'd left through the back door of the locker room?"

"Well, you see, what happened was..."

Fishing out the quickest-cooked cabbage from the pot, Noh In-seong launched into his story for the three of them.

Noh In-seong's "cheering" (a thin disguise for assorted verbal abuse) proved remarkably effective.

For starters, he technically had the alibi of a starting pitcher who'd labored through yesterday's game coming out to support his teammates.

But above all, it was simply hilarious. A rookie hurling trash talk at a roster where nearly everyone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠outranked him? You almost never saw that.

"Everybody! All of this is a sacrifice of stats made to send you home early! A stat sacrifice! Our captain, ladies and gentlemen!"

Clap clap clap...!!

"Hey! You little punk! I can hear every word!"

"If you can hear me, you shouldn't have grounded into a double play, you crazy bastard...!!"

He wasn't just clapping mockingly from the hostile away bleachers the moment a double play was hit, either.

"Booo!! Boring! So! Boring! And look at our manager, desperately burning through his setup corps just to claw out one win!!"

"...Why you—! Hey! Aren't you coming down?! How do you plan on looking me in the face tomorrow?!"

"Well, if you bench just anyone and rest for about six days, maybe I'll start missing you?"

"......"

When a two-on jam materialized in the eighth inning, he heckled his own team's manager for warming up Cho Hyo-jin. It even escalated to the point of him formally requesting vacation leave from the official disciplinary action that had been publicly promised in front of the broadcast cameras.

The Doubles fans were in heaven, watching live real-time interaction between players and crowd — something you simply never saw at a ballpark.

Their team was winning, and on top of that, one player was playing court jester, dispensing dopamine nonstop.

The other side, meanwhile, was being utterly demolished. There was no better situation in the world.

The broadcasting station, smelling ratings gold, even seated Noh In-seong in the commentary booth for the ninth inning.

Noh In-seong capped off a delightful day with dead-on guest commentary, having read his own team's tendencies like a fortune teller.

Apart from the broadcasting station receiving an official content correction advisory, everyone laughed all the way to the bank thanks to the ratings spike.

"Hey, we're the ones getting chewed out for this!"

"They deserve a chewing-out too. Do me a favor and sacrifice yourselves a little."

And so the broadcast crew wept. The man who created the correction advisory was Noh In-seong — but the ones who'd invited him on air were them.

It was yet another moment when the list of Noh In-seong's victims quietly grew longer.

"And that's what happened."

"Ah. So that's why the commentator told you you're the worst guest he's ever had in the booth."

"Yep... Ah, I've been talking too long. Here... could I get a piece of meat now...?"

By the time Noh In-seong finished talking, the bones had been gone for a very long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time.

Four professional athletes sitting at one table, and the talking stretches past five minutes? Of course the meat survived.

"...Hold it. Everybody freeze. Did you make me talk so you could fish out the bones while I wasn't looking...?!"

"Whoa, your bones are incredible."

"The meat just slides right off. Mm. This place really knows what it's doing."

"Seriously, this is a gem. Should we order a few fried rice bowls?"

A little while later, after Jo In-soo had a full-body shudder at the declaration that instead of the bones he'd missed, your bones would be stripped clean, he ordered another round.

It was a meal rich with lessons — chiefly, that you should read the room before cracking jokes.

Noh In-seong received yet another fine notice, continuing to rake the team called the Superstars over the coals,

while the Doubles, all smiles, resumed 100% payback service on his fine notices.

"Oh dear, we can't very well let you handle that yourself. Allow us to settle it on your behalf right away."

"Didn't you specifically tell me, after the last mess I caused, never to do it again?"

"...Uh... well... I did say that..."

The general manager found himself at a loss for words. They say a man of his word never repeats himself... ah.

"No worries here. As a bottom-feeder whose job description is lying through his teeth, I'm perfectly comfortable retracting it."

The profession of "general manager" is one that averages at least three lies a day, right up until the trade window opens.

For once, the Doubles GM was grateful for the nature of his occupation.

"In any case, it seems that organization has now firmly sworn off any further leakage of playing personnel."

Before this series began, the Superstars had been the subject of no small number of trade rumors in the tabloids.

Kang Ji-hoon? He was only the biggest name on the block — those people had been ready to sell anyone and everyone at the right price.

But now things were rather different. The Superstars fans had grown far more active after the loss in Game 2.

To put a number on it, their fury had reached Busan levels — the same Busan that had pulled off yet another miraculous last-place finish at the end of last season.

The area in front of the front office had turned into a flower field of mockery — signs reading 'The final sale: the team itself...' and 'Since when did this count as a professional organization?' alongside wreath banners wishing a 'speedy ascent to heaven' to the leadership.

"Wow... so it's finally reached us."

"Anyone on staff with a friend in the Busan Marines front office? Ask them how they dealt with this."

HOOOONK—!!

"...This is bad! Trucks are lining up in front of the stadium!"

"What?! Protest trucks?! You've got to be kidding me!"

"This is beyond protest trucks! They've driven enough of them to circle the entire stadium!"

"What the— it's not like this started yesterday! Why now, of all times...!!"

It was precisely because it hadn't started yesterday that this was a problem. It meant the fans had held their tongues as long as humanly possible.

"Augh! Somebody at least turn the volume down! The whole office is rattling like it's about to pack up and leave!"

But no such mercy was granted. The volume did not drop one decibel until every last fan had left the stadium grounds.

"Al~right, screens off, everyone head home! The stadium lights are out!"

"You'll be back tomorrow, right? Honestly, work during a recession — what a blessing!"

"I have no idea who rented out every single truck our company owns, but..."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Having few fans does not mean those fans are poor.

And when the people who had cheered for the team even as it cratered to this depths finally turned their backs...

At that point, a fanbase generally has two options: become the organization's worst enemy, or become revolutionaries determined to burn it all down and build anew.

An entire franchise was now shaking to its foundations from a single stone Noh In-seong had thrown.

"Wow... they really dug in their heels. Every road around here except the players' parking lot has trucks circling it."

Even during warmups before the game, the players who had a routine of taking a light jog around the stadium grounds came back horrified.

Song Jin-wook recounted his tale of going out for a run and ending up on a pants-run through that concentrated madness.

Their opponents were reeling, and they'd already banked two wins. The situation couldn't have been better.

"This is exactly when we should pile up wins. Incheon over the weekend, stomp the Bears midweek next week, then a proper rest. That'd be perfect."

"And for that to happen, I'd love for you to hit a home run today just like yesterday. Kim Jun-soo."

A tablet came down squarely on the head of Kim Jun-soo, whose confidence was still riding high from yesterday's homer.

It was Manager Jeong Im-taek.

"This series is a golden opportunity! Everyone we're facing right now is completely out of their minds!"

--Which means, if you can't win today, consider a Monday off a luxury you haven't earned.

Into the ear of a chuckling Jeong Im-taek, the quiet words of a lunatic slipped in—

"Ah. Don't wanna... If we lose today I'll have to start buttering up Incheon in advance. I've got to bring Siyeon along to watch."

—but he ignored it. Pfft. No way. He can't seriously mean that, right?

Still, a flicker of unease crept into Jeong Im-taek's chest.

The unease, before long, evaporated.

First, the team's slugger, absent from yesterday's blowout, added another long ball to the tally.

"My timing's dialed in today, Coach. Send me up there with total confidence."

It was the day their number-one starter took the mound, and the defense propped up their ace rock-solid.

The opposition, on the other hand, was left with nothing but bad news, and it crushed the team psychologically.

A fan banner fluttering in the breeze, bearing two small quotation marks and the Superstars logo.

It sounded like the fans' declaration that they were no longer even a franchise — just a name in quotation marks.

"Can't get your head in the game, huh. You can't even catch a ball anymore?"

"......"

"Huh. Can't even talk back now. We're really in trouble. Big trouble."

Even Kim Soo-ho, the team's veteran catcher, was too busy swallowing his words to fire anything back.

The Superstars' Game 3 ended in yet another lopsided blowout.

14–0. A shutout loss.

A heartbreaking three-game sweep in which they lost everything and gained nothing at all.

The aftershocks of the Superstars being swept clean through Game 3 were anything but small.

Naturally, they were stuffed, pickled, and endlessly re-fried across every news outlet and YouTube channel.

"From our association's standpoint as well, it is deeply troubling that a single team is maintaining a salary cap so low it borders on market distortion..."

Word even spread that a salary floor might be introduced, basketball-style.

The franchise was forced into a frantic scramble, announcing future roadmaps and explanations of how they'd restore their finances and rebuild their roster.

"You believe that? Sure, and we've only been lied to once or twice. They'll slip up a little more, then sell everyone off and start a rebuild. Watch."

"How— how did you know that?!"

A boycott movement ultimately got underway as well, and the league association — whose very survival hinged on gate attendance — nailed the Superstars to the wall.

"How on earth did it all get this tangled?!"

That every last bit of this had begun with a routine attempt to trade away a single player — and with getting bitten by the wrong lunatic — was something no one on earth could have imagined.

"What can I say — you throw a pebble in a pond and it comes back a meteor. The whole field's a smoking ruin now."

The lunatic grinned. Either way, the goal was accomplished, so all's well that ends well!