By the Rules You Demanded, Your Team Shall Be Dismantled

The controversies surrounding the Astros and the Doubles ignited, fittingly, in two entirely different places.

First, after Noh In-seong had all but called his shot by pointing out Jin Sa-rang,

the incident at second base — whether it had been a Lariato or merely a collision, no one could quite say — was brushed aside with surprising ease.

"...No matter how I think about it, that manager isn't in his right mind, is he?"

"That's true, but you know what they say — stick your hand in front of a mad dog and ask it to bite you! And it bites! Well, that's on you, isn't it?"

"Honestly, I thought I'd be playing second base, so coming out at shortstop was the bigger surprise."

A bad bastard had done a bad thing — or rather, he was simply the kind of guy nobody expected anything decent from in the first place.

Apart from a certain connoisseur faction that had genuinely been hoping he'd throw at someone's body, the whole affair was written off as an on-field accident.

Handing your hand over to a rabid dog that doesn't understand words? That's not an attack, that's just getting served the meat instead of the rice. That was the general verdict.

Little by little, people were growing accustomed to whatever Noh In-seong happened to pull next. That was the tenor of the reactions.

The fire that actually spread into a bigger problem came, unexpectedly, from the other side entirely.

'The unwritten rule that you shouldn't hit a base hit and celebrate when the score gap is already big.'

To be fair, this was an issue that had always been controversial.

In a league where the term "massacre game" had earned its own entry in the unofficial dictionary — Korean baseball — one camp argued the rule made no sense,

while another camp, hailing from a country where players flipped their bats after home runs and uppercutted the sky after strikeouts, scoffed: what on earth does a score gap have to do with anything?

Because these types exist on every team, strong or weak, fights over this broke out on a semi-regular basis.

"Exactly! This is a league where the ninth-place team just got flipped after leading by fifteen runs, and you're lecturing us about unwritten rules?"

"Whoa, whoa — isn't the whole point of the rule to keep both sides from wasting their resources?"

"Wasting resources, my ass. What YOU'RE doing right now is wasting resources. Cut his mic!"

Yagurix's Dum and Dummer — Yoo Jin-woo and Mook Jeong-ho — were at each other's throats.

Such was the state of things: even the people running the same channel couldn't agree.

The unwritten rules, passed down like hand-me-down military rations from generation to generation, were actually in pretty weak shape in Korea.

In the bat-flip ceremony category, Korea had inadvertently become a worldwide topic of conversation,

and it had even helped young players across the globe feel emboldened to flip their lumber.

But curiously, two vestiges stubbornly survived: the notion that a senior yelling at a junior was perfectly normal,

and the notion that once the score gap grew too large, you were forbidden from running plays to add insurance runs.

The rule's defenders believed it worked wonders at preventing conflict on the baseball diamond.

"So what you're really saying is, 'I don't want to get punched, so THIS much unwritten rule is exactly the right amount' — is that it?"

"No, look — there has to be SOME line! We were up twelve at that point!"

Mook Jeong-ho's argument — 'Hitting a single is fine, but surely you shouldn't celebrate it?' —

"Uh... but Song Jin-wook couldn't even play third base unless his defense was worth about thirty runs, and he STILL got a hit there...?"

"......"

— was promptly sunk by Yoo Jin-woo's torpedo: 'So who exactly pays that guy's salary — you and your fellow leeches, chipping in?'

Reality proved far too harsh for ideals. The classic squeeze: climbing from below while the people above shouted "don't climb."

"Tch. Feels a little too on-the-nose... stings a bit. I've got somebody above me keeping me down too, you know."

"...Wait. Don't tell me that's aimed at ME. This is a business, you insane co-owner bastard...!!"

The momentarily solemn atmosphere reverted right back to the usual Always WWE.

Seriousness never suited a video platform anyway.

The next day, the rain refused to stop — but baseball flows on regardless.

The peculiar blessing of a domed stadium was quietly erasing countless players' rest.

That's why so many players who'd used the rainout to recover their legs and rebuild their condition regarded the dome with equal parts love and hate.

"Ugh, man, I think my condition is absolutely wrecked today..."

Noh In-seong, complaining of muscle soreness centered on his right shoulder, was one of those players.

"...Excuse me? YOU rested just fine. You spent it beating people up..."

To the team's starting catcher — himself a comprehensive gift set of injuries — the complaint looked utterly laughable.

"Well then, today I'll beat one person and rest right after—"

"But condition is a serious matter, In-seong! Come on! Let's get to recovery training!"

Lesson of the day: watch your mouth around the crazy ones.

Game two unfolded, unexpectedly, into a fierce battle.

The scoreline begged to differ — 'Fierce? It's not fierce at all?' —

but the two starters, Jeong In-young and Jin Sa-rang, were locked in a ferocious duel over a single question: who could anger the opposing hitters less?

Both teams reached base just fine. They hit singles just fine. The problem was how instantly everything went cold afterward.

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

The moment runners stood in scoring position, both lineups began flaunting bats that turned impossibly, gloriously frigid.

"Wow. Unreal. Finally a ball I squared up, and it goes straight at the guy."

The opposing backup second baseman had stopped the liner with his chest, as if his ribcage were a glove.

He gave a small cough as he trudged back toward the dugout, so apparently it had hurt a bit —

but it hurt us plenty too. The runs were jammed tighter than a clogged hose; not a drop would come out.

Top of the fifth, and a single home run was the entire scoring summary for both sides. We were trailing 3–2.

"Tch. This is exactly when somebody's supposed to erupt."

"Why would you say something so ominous?! In-seong-ah, In-seong...!!"

Sung Hyun-tak, walking beside him toward the dugout, shrieked in horror, but In-seong didn't even blink.

After all, hadn't the other side threatened them yesterday, claiming Kim Jun-soo had been hit on purpose to shift the momentum?

So by that logic, couldn't he threaten the opposition in the name of shifting momentum too, and be found not guilty? Right? Right?

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth — a flawless act, fully grounded in the ancient law of equivalent exchange.

"Right? Say it's right, Captain. I want to fight already."

"'Right' my ass, you goddamn lunatic. Go cheer for the team harder instead."

To trample my pure, innocent heart like this — you're truly a wicked man, Jo In-soo.

Top of the seventh, an opening appeared for me. No runners on base — but no outs on the board either.

For a team that had still failed to knock Jin Sa-rang from the mound, it was likely the last chance.

Leading off the inning, I stepped into the box in high spirits, all things considered.

"Oh, what's this. It's the guy who grounded into a double play and jogged straight back to the dugout, making his whole sprint up the line pointless."

"Oh, what's this. It's a team that sends out a backup even though nobody's gone to the hospital from catching my spear."

So you want a taste and a transfer too, huh? I read the desire flickering across his eyes instantly. He looked like a man with no leverage whatsoever.

"Go ahead. Throw one at my body today. I promise you, it won't end as anticlimactically as yesterday."

"...You're not actually planning to charge the mound, right? Noh In-seong."

Excuse me? I trash-talked the CATCHER. Why is the home plate umpire the one having a panic attack?

"Th-that depends. On what they do next."

"...Just bear with it. If you'd borne with it yesterday... ah, no, you didn't bear with it. Well — you didn't throw an actual punch at least!"

If a genuine bench clearing had broken out yesterday, today's home plate umpire — who'd been standing at first base — would have had every right to panic.

"Look, as long as nobody throws at my body, we're fine. I'll save my anger for the proper occasion."

"...You promise? Please, can we just get through this series quietly?"

Of course. Absolutely. This Noh In-seong keeps his promises once he's made them. He does not betray them.

Granted, that only holds if the other side doesn't get provoked into something first... and hey, that wouldn't be ME breaking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the promise.

Noh In-seong flashed a wide, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gleaming grin.

Sure enough, before long, Jin Sa-rang's face had flushed crimson.

"Ah! You son of a—!!"

"Get angrier! Boil over more! What are you even gonna do about it?! I'm just gonna keep hitting you! There we go—there we go!"

Noh In-seong fouled pitches off with the cunning and craftiness of a sewer rat, watching ball after ball sail out past the foul line.

Unlike the placid innings that had come before, Jin Sa-rang could feel his stamina and patience draining away by the second.

In the era since the automatic intentional walk had been introduced, throwing eleven pitches to a single hitter was a rarity.

Usually, you gave up — 'Ugh, fine, you leech. Get to first and get out of my face!' — and just walked him,

or else you decided, 'The body knows the answer! Come out! Correct answer!' and planted one in his back. That was far more common.

But Noh In-seong managed neither. His timing was bad, but at minimum the bat was still finding the baseball.

Pile on the fact that after eight pitches, the pitcher — Jin Sa-rang — had let stubbornness take the wheel, and you had a perfect storm.

It took three more deliveries before he realized the stubbornness had curdled into an error. By then, it was too late.

Normally, an error gets deleted by burying a fastball deep under the hitter's ribs,

but against this particular batter, even that option had been revoked in advance.

"I warned you, didn't I? The moment even ONE pitch touches my body today, your team gets atomized."

"Umpire, this lunatic is issuing threats right now—"

"...Honestly, I can't tell whether that's a threat or a public announcement of intent to commit a crime. I'll issue a warning for now."

Noh In-seong: (on-field-only) violence, aggravated assault, negligent injury, verbal abuse, profanity... a man with a resplendent criminal portfolio.

A guy with a documented record of sending an entire team to the grave with a single fist — currently loaded to the brim with malice.

Just yesterday, he'd come charging out claiming his teammate had been threatened, then scowled and fired back threats of his own.

Said he'd fold their spines one by one like file folders. Said he'd storm the dugout and hold the manager's funeral.

He threatened dugout and players alike without discrimination, forcibly shutting down the bench clearing.

A bench clearing hosted by THAT man? Oof. Nobody wanted any part of that. Everyone went very, very quiet.

"...Fine. We're walking that lunatic."

"Are you sure? There are no runners on. He's going to run, one hundred percent."

At the bench coach's words, Jeong Yong-jun creased his forehead and continued.

"Leave that lunatic out there and Sa-rang's coming off the mound anyway — and Sa-rang still has to face the next batter."

Song Jin-wook was prone to the occasional empty-brained swing, yes, but he was still hitting a touch over .300 with a slugging percentage north of .500.

Had it been anyone but Jin Sa-rang — enjoying a wildly, absurdly hot day — this game would have blown open ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the early innings.

"...There's no way out. Under normal circumstances, we'd just hit him...!!"

The most fundamental unwritten rule of all — never sour the opposing pitcher's mood —

had just been deleted by invoking a second unwritten rule: never, ever hit the other team's pitcher.

This was a man who, once before, had taken a pitch from him, then walked up and fired the ball at his eye.

Hit him now and you gain nothing, while his hitters swing under a standing death threat.

And topping it off, the recently spreading terror of the Noh In-seong Bench Clearing was no small threat in itself.

'Never, under any circumstances, pick a fight with a team that has Noh In-seong on it.'

Among the countless vicious predators of Major League Baseball, a place on an honorable Ten Commandments that only a select few had ever earned.

Little more than two months into his debut, Noh In-seong had successfully carved his name into it.

In the end, game two played out exactly as the opposing bench coach had feared.

Noh In-seong never did manage a hit, but after reaching base he swiped two bags,

sprinted straight to third, and came home to tie the game on a single Song Jin-wook fly ball.

After Jin Sa-rang left, once the pitching change was made, the dam finally crested its limits —

and the whole thing collapsed in a single, thunderous rush.

Once the score gap stretched back to three runs, what awaited them was—

"Hello there! The breeze is just right today, I'm feeling wonderful. Yoohoo~?"

"...Ah, right. That guy existed over here, didn't he..."

As the pitching coach's deepening scowl made plain: the team's former workhorse, Jo Hyo-jin.

Having successfully hunted down his runaway contract, the workhorse had arrived to set the old master's mansion on fire.

Blown out so badly in the first game, he was facing his former club for the first time —

and alongside him was Kim Jin-hong, who'd gone so long without an appearance thanks to lopsided scorelines.

At last deployed under genuine hold-and-save conditions, the setup-closer tandem sang in harmony — and one team laughed while the other wept.

"Our setup man was unreal, right? Oh, I know. Of course you know. Yeah, I said that purely to make you angry."

By the time Noh In-seong left that quote with the reporters, it went without saying which team had done the laughing.