One-Way Train to Hell
"...So THIS is why my timing at the plate got wrecked..."
After playing a full extra-innings game, Noh In-seong had dragged his completely wrecked body home, collapsed into bed, and woken up in the morning with his skull boiling over.
His stomach was turned inside out, cramps kept seizing him like food poisoning, and his whole body ached as if he'd been beaten with a bat.
On top of all that, his throat and tonsils had swollen up so tight that even swallowing saliva was an ordeal.
He had no idea what disease this was, but one thing was certain: every inch of his body was screaming.
"Khhak-khak...!!"
He glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty in the morning — too early for the hospital to open yet, technically. But to shave even a single minute off his suffering, Noh In-seong began layering on clothes.
Hoodie, mask, long pants, and hastily thrown-on sneakers — once he'd trapped enough warmth around himself, he made the call.
"Hello...? Yes, yes. I'm not feeling well. Right."
He urgently contacted the front office.
A baseball player couldn't take just any medicine or visit just any hospital on his own recognizance.
Some shady clinic, if you were unlucky enough to walk into one, could suddenly stamp doping onto your career record. And even at legit facilities, there were medications you couldn't touch without reporting them in advance.
A cold medicine? The moment mahuang or ephedrine compounds showed up in a test, it was an automatic one-month suspension to start. Under normal circumstances, this would've been exactly the moment to crack a joke like A whole month of paid vacation? How generous of you, truly! —
"Khuhm... khhuhm!!"
— but Noh In-seong's body hurt too much for him to think of anything.
He hauled his battered frame into a taxi and dragged himself to the clinic the front office had directed him to.
"It's tonsillitis. It's not a cold."
The doctor said it with an air of boredom, but honestly, the two conditions shared nearly identical symptoms. The high fever from the inflammation came with chills violent enough to make his teeth chatter.
Noh In-seong did his best to clamp down on the clatter of his chattering teeth, but it was a losing battle.
"S-s-s-so wh-what... what do I need to d-do...?"
"First, we'll give the antibiotics by injection. I'll prescribe a painkiller and an anti-inflammatory — take those and get some sleep."
Being an approved team clinic, the doctor explained everything in painstaking detail — this ingredient is fine, this one would trip a doping test so we'll substitute it, and so on — but to the continuously suffering In-seong, it was a dialogue between the deaf and the dumb: God, I don't understand any of this and I'm dying, just fix me.
The doctor finally finished his explanation and handed In-seong off to a nurse to be taken to the injection room — at which point the man, who couldn't even hold his aching body upright, began a desperate rebellion against the needle.
"AAGH...!! No shots...!! Have you never heard the phrase 'the body is given by one's parents'...?!"
"What is wrong with you? Snap out of it!"
Naturally, the nursing profession grants a person the divine authority to plant a needle into someone like this with the precision of an air raid.
"...Th-that h-hurts--!!"
"A grown man throwing a fit like this..."
Unable to conquer his primordial, atavistic terror of syringes, Noh In-seong shed a few measly tears.
From the nurse's perspective, it was a profoundly pathetic spectacle — what kind of lunatic is this guy?
And so the scene unfolded: a man utterly unafraid of beating people to a pulp, trembling like a leaf at the sight of one tiny needle. The irony was exquisite.
However much a needle might trigger instinctive revulsion, its effects always kick in faster than any pill.
His body still throbbed and his mind was still foggy, but at least he could move now.
And so Noh In-seong reported to the stadium with a significantly lowered fever and a condition that felt something like being alive.
"Oh... right, In-seong. You know you can just rest today, right?"
"I'm going to rest — at least from the dugout."
He could walk around without it hurting too badly, and the headache had given way to a kind of numb haze in his brain. There was absolutely no way he could play defense in this state.
"Well, we'll call you if we need you. Though if someone's hitting worse than a sick guy, we're already screwed anyway..."
Noh In-seong requested a spot as a pinch hitter or pinch runner, nothing more.
"Fine. I'll slot you in as a pinch hitter. Don't push it."
From Jung Im-taek's perspective, he would have much preferred the man do neither and just stay home in bed — but he accepted the offer anyway.
"...You're really going to be okay with this?"
"He's sick and out of his mind — so your plan is to keep him out of the game and ship him home?"
"That's exactly what should happen, isn't it? His eyes were completely glazed over."
The bench coach's reasoning was perfectly sensible. Obviously, when you're sick, you lie in bed and rest. Filling the hole Noh In-seong left in the Doubles' lineup wouldn't be easy, but no team on earth was desperate enough to force a sick man onto the field.
No such team existed, not even in the minors. Professional baseball was a meritocracy, always.
But if what the manager actually wanted was for the sick man to stay in the dugout — that was a different story entirely.
"Let him start a personal stream or go on someone else's show — I genuinely cannot predict what might come out of his mouth."
Jung Im-taek didn't want him as a strategic asset. He wanted to keep him locked up — the reverse: he wanted himself locked in a room with Noh In-seong rather than let him loose in public.
After countless statements that pushed every boundary, the man had earned a reputation something like @rated_r_channel_inseong (♡).
A walking hazard-media classification, the kind of name that triggered an instant content filter the moment it appeared on screen.
And that guy — sick, doped up on medication, running on a mushy brain — giving an interview and fumbling one single sentence?
"Best case, it ends as 'the one crazy guy who's still capable of communication.' Worst case, he becomes an antisocial lost cause in the span of one sound bite."
Worse still, the man was an adult. He fell far outside the age demographic for shows like My Precious Angel Has Changed.
When a kid screws up, society sometimes grants a last chance. When a grown man screws up, he gets society's cold, unforgiving stare, immediately.
Sure, he was a lunatic who stole other people's chocolate every single day — but he was their lunatic.
At least he wasn't lighting firecrackers on the field or going AWOL mid-game to run home.
"So let's just leave him alone to do whatever he wants. If he says he feels bad, we send him to the medical room. Done."
And thus Jung Im-taek wrapped the swollen, aching finger that was Noh In-seong in excessive protection.
Meaning: he bandaged him up tight, head to toe, so he couldn't go anywhere.
"...Ugh. My head's pounding."
"......He looks genuinely off today. Like, worse than usual."
Because Song Jin-wook was slotted into the DH spot, someone had been keeping an eye on In-seong during every defensive inning.
He sat slumped on the dugout bench, back against the wall, staring blankly out at the field — then, every so often, he'd lose the thread entirely and snicker to himself, or suddenly shiver like he was cold again.
Just as the team was concluding that having an unpredictable human bomb loitering in the dugout was a genuinely bad idea—
CRACK!!
A thunderous sound in the top of the fourth inning, and the scoreboard numbers flipped.
1–0. The player who'd just knocked a solo home run off Andy rounded the bases to a wall of cheers.
"Aaand it's gone. Andy's face is looking rough..."
"Yeah, something's seriously wrong today too. Since when was Jamsil this hitter-friendly?"
Jeong In-young and Jeong In-woo — tomorrow's starter — were chattering away. Nine straight home games. Naturally, In-woo would face a different opponent tomorrow, but the park stayed the same.
"At this rate, am I about to get the 'only pitches well on the road' label slapped on me at home too?"
"Hey, if that happens your salary gets chopped in half, big brother. You want to watch this family explode?"
While the two brothers bickered and swatted at each other, the inning ended.
"Damn it. Those bastards are being annoyingly persistent today."
"What went wrong? Did they pick up our signs or our pitch mix?"
"If they'd read the signs, we'd be giving up hits left and right, wouldn't we? I don't know what it is, but I keep feeling like they're hunting for something to hit."
Andy and Jo In-soo led the way as the fielders trickled back into the dugout one by one.
"That's not the issue — the kids are all coming out swinging way too aggressively."
Sung Hyun-tak picked up the thread as he unbuckled his glove.
"Right? It's weird — they keep giving us these these weird looks, like we're nothing special. Pisses me off."
Kim Jun-soo took the handoff while staring gravely at his prepared bats, agonizing over which one to use.
"It's been a while since I've seen guys swinging like absolute maniacs. Where's all that confidence coming from..."
Jo In-soo agreed. A bastard with an enormous, wild swing — the kind they hadn't had to deal with in ages — had appeared.
The trouble was, a scene that usually played out only in Incheon series had now shown up against their biggest rival.
"Anyone know the guy who swung at my head? I've never played against him, so I don't really know him."
"Sung Ji-chang? That kid was famous even in the minors."
Pi Jeong-doo, who'd logged a respectable amount of minor-league innings in his day, recognized the opposing first baseman instantly.
A recent hand injury had landed the Grizzlys' starting first baseman on the injured list.
In his place, the club had called up a minor-league first baseman to use as a pinch hitter and late-inning defensive replacement.
A rookie slashing 5-for-20 with 4 walks in 26 plate appearances, already with two home runs under his belt.
Maybe the opposing manager hadn't liked the numbers yesterday's replacement first baseman had put up, or maybe there was some other reason entirely — who could say.
Either way, today the kid wasn't waiting in the dugout for pinch-hit duty. He was in the starting lineup.
"He was famous for being a disrespectful little punk. Word was even his own team couldn't stand him."
Going by Pi Jeong-doo's description, he sounded like the type to swagger around acting like seniority meant nothing to him.
"That about covers it? He used to pick fights with me back in the minors too, acting like I'd be stuck down there forever."
"...This guy is not a normal kind of crazy, is he?"
Once Jo In-soo learned the identity of the man who'd swung at his head, his temples began to throb.
—Of course, there happened to be one certified lunatic on this side of the field too, so he wasn't exactly in a position to criticize anyone.
"Oof. It's freezing in here."
Noh In-seong, wrapped in a blanket from who-knows-where, lay down flat across the dugout bench.
Merely dozing off normally earned a guy a verbal blast in this clubhouse — this was the first time anyone had seen a player outright lie down and sleep.
"...I've genuinely never seen anything like him in my entire baseball life."
It was true. In Jo In-soo's not-so-short thirty years of life, this was a brand-new species of human being.
A lunatic who was technically an ally and therefore mostly harmless; an enemy who was somehow even less remarkable than their own friendly lunatic. Two certified madmen in a single game — his head hurt just thinking about it.
Pi Jeong-doo's scouting report held up.
"His defense is utter garbage — how does a guy like that even play first base? Is he actually a pro?"
"That's how you talk to a draft classmate you haven't seen in ages? Are you out of your mind?"
Song Jin-wook, same draft class, had only ever crossed paths with the kid occasionally in school and the minors, so he just needled him. But Pi Jeong-doo, who had clawed his way tooth and nail to the first team, got openly, brazenly disrespected.
"Wow... I figured you'd rot down in the minors forever. Guess they're short on people up there, huh?"
"......"
But Pi Jeong-doo had never been the type to concern himself with other human beings in the first place, and the taunt simply bounced off him.
"...What the hell, that was no fun at all."
Leaving Song Jin-wook grumbling behind him, Pi Jeong-doo took off running.
[Pi Jeong-doo takes off! And Jo In-soo lines a base hit! Pi Jeong-doo can make it all the way to third!]
[Wow! Great instincts! The defense, the baserunning — this player just looks smart all around.]
[Indeed. The Doubles now have first and third with nobody out and... oh — something's happening at first base. The players are face to face.]
[Is that... are Jo In-soo and Sung Ji-chang getting into it right now?]
"Are you insane? Hey! Say that one more time!"
"Ears stopped working from old age, huh? I said I'm sorry I couldn't hit you square the first time!"
What had started as a war of words with Jo In-soo — the man he'd directly offended — escalated past bickering into mutual snarling, and both drew a warning from the umpire.
Either the kid wasn't just an ordinary troublemaker, or he genuinely believed this kind of chaos helped rattle opponents — Sung Ji-chang was simply left alone to keep doing it.
"...That settles it. That punk is shaking up our starting catcher right now."
"What are you going to do, sir?"
"What do you think? Pull In-soo, move Jin-wook to first, and Jae-min goes behind the plate."
Jung Im-taek, having seen straight through the opponent's scheme, took decisive action.
A kind of mirror therapy — proof that the only cure for a madman is an even madder one.
"Hey. Nice to meet you, rookie? Aren't you going to introduce yourself properly?"
"....Hehehe."
"Hey. Introduce yourself."
"...Hehe?"
And so the man who was furthest from sober today — a walking nuclear warhead — entered the game as a pinch runner in Jo In-soo's place.
It was the single biggest threat Jung Im-taek could send back at the doomed bastard who was messing with his catcher.
His head throbbed dully, and this weird-looking guy next to him kept trying to strike up conversation.
And he was smiling, too — so apparently he liked him or something.
"Hi there. Nice to meet you."
"*&^$%^ ! %% !"
"Right. So what do you do, friend?"
"%#$^@# !"
"Hehe, can't hear you. Come on, speak up a little louder, kid."
"...You insane rookie bastard! Introduce yourself properly! Introductions!"
Oh, an introduction? Like this?
He thrust the Potato Fist — bras d'honneur and all — directly into the kid's face as a warm greeting.
"Nice to meet you, you little punk. What's this garbage about knowing me from somewhere? You want to be crumpled up alive?"
At his sudden acceleration, the kid's face crumpled at warp speed.
He couldn't stand being cursed at. Guess getting away with treating his own teammates like garbage had given him a little too much confidence, huh?
Sure, my body hurts today — I was planning on coasting through this game half-conscious — and out of nowhere you pick a fight with me?
"Just you wait and see what I do in my next at-bat, you bear-cub bastards need to learn some sense."
Noh In-seong declared that he would be collecting payment for the mouth the kid had opened.
When the body aches, the mind finds a way. There was always a method.
The Doubles fans watching the fourth-inning clash between players were not in a good mood.
How was a catcher supposed to stay safe — didn't he just swing the bat on his own?
While fans of the two clubs ripped each other's hair out over those two questions, the bottom of the sixth got underway, and Noh In-seong stepped to the plate as the leadoff hitter.
"Ugh, my body..."
He kept appealing steadily to Jeong Han-sol, praying for a hittable pitch.
"Strike!"
All that came back was silence, and one strike.
"You're really going to do it this way?"
"I trusted you. Honestly, I'd rather believe you're a cheater every single time."
Jeong Han-sol stayed ice cold. He'd long since figured out that ignoring whatever the opponent said was always the best play.
"Hmm... fine. It's not like I stepped up here today trying to pad my stats anyway."
Suddenly, Noh In-seong transformed. He dropped the pity act and squared around for a bunt out of nowhere.
[Noh In-seong squares to bunt toward third... oh, that wasn't quite as perfectly placed as we usually see from him!]
[The third baseman fields it, throw to first... Oh no!! Noh In-seong — you have to watch where you're going!]
Whether it was the illness or something else, Noh In-seong failed to lay the bunt down cleanly the way he normally would — and, wearing the unmistakable face of a man who'd blown it, he took off for first base at a dead sprint with his eyes locked on the ground.
And because he was looking down, he just so happened to fail to notice the first baseman covering the bag — one Sung Ji-chang.
He stomped on first base and collided with him at full force.
"KHHK—!"
"Ghhk...!"
Both players went down in a tangled heap, each howling in pain.
Even with trainers helping him off the field, Sung Ji-chang couldn't walk properly.
Wailing in agony, he disappeared behind the visitors' dugout toward the locker room.
"In-seong! You okay?! This is what I mean — why would you go up to the plate while you're sick...!!"
A friend in need is a friend indeed — Lim Jae-min came sprinting over from the dugout in record time.
"...The cameras are watching, so keep it down. Did the punk leave?"
"...In-seong?"
"Just get me as far as the dugout. I'll do the rest — acting sick."
"...Ugh. I'm the idiot for worrying about you..."
Lim Jae-min's face was still contorted in an expression of perfectly maintained concern, but his eyes had already returned to their usual calm.
Such was Noh In-seong's philosophy of fairness: on the day he suffered, the other guy had to suffer too.