Spring Camp (3) — Even the Mild-Mannered Daejeon Fans Got Angry
Noh In-seong's intrasquad debut sent shockwaves of an entirely different magnitude than the debuts of all the lunatics who had come before him.
'Surely, even if he's a madman, he wouldn't dare throw a tantrum at an older teammate?'
'Pfft, we had one of those crazy bastards back in our day too. He eventually learned his manners once he turned pro.'
'Either way, once he gets ground down by all these people, he'll smooth out sooner or later.'
For the Doubles veterans, these assumptions had always been the correct answers in Korean professional baseball. A rookie daring to defy seniors who stood like the heavens themselves was the ultimate taboo — a textbook case of the underdog biting upward. In any sane sporting world, it was the kind of thing that simply could not happen.
"...But what do you want me to do? By any honest measure, I've got more baseball experience than half the managers out there."
Thus appeared an irregular — a man grown thoroughly jaded by two lifetimes. A rookie who had already been cut and forced into retirement in Korean pro ball once before. The conventional wisdom was ruled incorrect by Noh In-seong, without a shred of mercy.
"Wow. He really was a lunatic."
Lim Jae-min, slumped in a massage chair after a shower and drowning in bone-deep exhaustion following his punishing extra workouts, was approached by Jo In-soo — senior catcher, and the designated sacrificial batter who'd be facing that lunatic whenever the kid took the mound.
"I'm telling you. You know what happened? Our manager cried to a parents' association that he couldn't show his face because of that kid."
"Hah... I'm in my eighth year, practically a veteran myself, and I've never seen a character like him."
Sipping lightly on a can of pale yellow beer, Jo In-soo listened to stories from In-seong's high school days. The man was no ordinary lunatic.
"Still, he never caused trouble against our team during actual games, so I have no idea what got into him today."
"Really? So there's something like teamwork there?"
Nearly two years of close observation of the madman had shown that when they played against him, nothing serious ever happened.
Tap... tap...
"Teamwork? Of course there's teamwork. He listens, and he doesn't throw punches afterward."
As someone once said, walls have ears — and these days, social media has ears for daytime talk, and video platforms for nighttime talk. And true to that modern proverb about the speed of information, the subject of the gossip walked right into the lounge.
"Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me."
"I figured I should talk things over with my catchers, you know. I'll probably be starting on the mound later, too."
--His professional mindset actually passes inspection? What the hell? Does he have intermittent seizures or something?
The more Jo In-soo stared at him, the more In-seong seemed like a madman tilted along the strangest possible axis.
"So, Jo In-soo sunbae. What is it you'd like to ask this humble rookie?"
Perhaps because the man was team captain, the reply came back somewhat gentler than a 'What are you looking at, you punk!'
'Uh... do you have any psychiatric history or hospital visits on record?'
"Mmph...!!"
Starting catcher Jo In-soo barely strangled the words before they could leap off his tongue.
Some time had passed since his submission-tap victory on the mound. He'd had serious talks with both the starting and backup catchers — what pitches he could throw, what kind of pitcher he was, and Lim Jae-min, you don't even scout the data? — along with plenty of chances to trade small talk and game-related shop talk.
And from Dustin, who'd gotten drilled in the back, folded in half, and had his legs swept for sneering at him, came an apology.
"My bad. I went too far with the mouth."
Right. Does this man not know that the dreams of the people never die?
Not jamming a fist into his face had been restraint enough on In-seong's part.
"Well, whatever. You took the hit, so I'll accept your apology."
Truthfully, In-seong knew that excessive takedowns stirred up plenty of controversy even in America, so he let it slide with an apology of his own. Calling someone a blacklist these days — the age of the PC — was a touch too prejudiced, wasn't it?
"...No, you absolute lunatic!"
Hm. I should reflect. Next time I'll change my gender to an attack helicopter first, and then hit him.
He hadn't sharpened his blades against everyone, though — surprisingly, he hit it off with the opponent's leadoff hitter, Sung Hyun-tak, rather quickly.
"He's a nutjob, but at least if a bench-clearing breaks out, I bet he'd actually watch my back!"
"I hope you take one to the ribs. How can one man be this insufferable?"
Protecting your teammates is a player's basic duty — a principle he hadn't forgotten. But if something broke out against another team, letting one or two swings slip through might be fun.
With the rest of the players, he remained polite but distant.
"You're banned from intrasquad games. Sorry, but if a ball catches your body, I'm pretty sure we'll be down one starting pitcher."
A clubwide ban on his participation in internal practice games — an article of law that had the manager himself leading the dislike — was now firmly in place. That is, except when he appeared late in games to check the defense, mostly rotating through shortstop and third base.
Otherwise, nearly all of practice was defensive fungo.
"Alright! In-seong, move from second to center field!"
Just how far does the outfield go? Can he handle center? — and so they ran his outfield defense too.
"Ugh, this is brutally exhausting. Jeez."
Rolling around like a dog until drool dripped from his mouth, diving until he could taste dirt and blood — and just like that, the hours flew by.
Mid-February. At long last, a practice game against another club was on the schedule.
The opponent: the Daejeon Phoenix. Fitting, perhaps, for the team that had eaten last year's second overall pick. Not exactly a powerhouse.
"They're not going to put me in anyway, right?"
Half-resigned, he trudged over to where the manager had gathered everyone.
"Starting pitcher: Noh In-seong. I'm expecting about four innings."
A starting assignment, dropped out of nowhere.
"...So it's forbidden to unleash me on my own teammates, but the other team's fair game?"
"......"
Watching the manager sit there in silence, as if the sore spot had been struck dead center, left a strange taste in the mouth.
"Whew. Well, it'll be good to loosen the shoulder up after a while. Let's give it my best... Hm? Now that I think about it, this is just a practice game, isn't it."
Spring camp games barely matter whether you do well or not — so wasn't he free to do whatever he wanted?
"What if I just stuff everything into the strike zone and use it to stress-test our own defense? Could be fun."
And so Noh In-seong, wearing a perfectly relaxed expression, said something absolutely insane. Had Jeong Im-taek heard it, it was a scheme worthy of yet another wrinkle on his forehead.
"Good day, viewers. This is Okinawa, bringing you the broadcast of the practice game between the Daejeon Phoenix and the Seoul Doubles..."
It wasn't a regular broadcast — the stream had gone live on each club's personal channel.
"On commentary, Lee Chang-young. And I'm your caster, Ju Ki-jeong. Pleasure to have you with us."
Their first broadcast in a long while. Even during spring camp, the curtain had risen on practice games aired by the clubs themselves. Work had been scarce, and now a job had finally landed in their laps. Lee Chang-young, who had diligently crammed mostly on the rookie players' profiles, felt the corners of his mouth curl upward —
"Ahh, baseball is back! To all the fans who've waited so long, we bring you this broadcast carrying your every expectation!"
"Today's Doubles starter would be Noh In-seong, last year's first-round pick, correct?"
At the sound of that name, the corners of his mouth plummeted instantly.
Noh In-seong. A pitcher famous since high school. He'd spent his entire senior year shifting through mysterious position changes, playing mostly shortstop and third base — but he was an all-around prospect with a perfect game under his belt, thrown in the Bonghwangdae National Championship final as a sophomore...
"And, uh... he's quite... yes, somewhat... a player who stands out in quite a few ways."
Lee Chang-young shook his head slowly as he recalled Noh In-seong's high school career. It felt as though the nightmares of those days — tales long enough to fill at least a two-day, one-night retreat — were rising before his eyes all over again.
'Troublemaker aside, if the club is running him out as the starting pitcher, they must privately intend to develop him as a pitcher after all...'
Lee Chang-young's curiosity was answered almost immediately.
"Now, the Seoul Doubles come up to bat. Batting first, Sung Hyun-tak. Second, Dustin Springfield. Third... Huh?"
The caster, reading down the lineup, let the question slip out. Next to the fifth spot in the order floated 'P — Noh In-seong.' Which meant the plate was being erased and the pitcher himself was stepping in.
"Oh — he bats too? Is there some special practice-game rule?"
"No, that's the pitcher taking the plate. They've scrapped the designated hitter slot."
A two-way player. The arrival of a creature rarer than rare — one Korean professional baseball had never once seen.
"Wow, that's bold. Either Manager Jeong Im-taek or the front office is clearly committed to developing Noh In-seong as a true two-way player?"
"Ah... yes, it certainly looks that way."
Of course, for either of their mouths to produce anything resembling praise, the road ahead was still very, very long.
'Is this right? Or does he just bat like this on the days In-seong pitches?'
'He hasn't appeared as a position player yet, so I can't say for certain — but at the very least, that seems to be what In-seong himself intends.'
Two men, in the same booth, thinking entirely different thoughts.
"Play ball!"
The game began, and the Doubles — batting first — worked themselves into a scoring chance... only to land one step shy of fumbling it away entirely.
Sung Hyun-tak reached base, Dustin doubled the trouble to put runners on first and third, and then the third batter grounded out to third. The cleanup hitter, Jo In-soo — striding up as if to display a senior's majesty right before In-seong's eyes — trudged back to the dugout sullying after just three pitches.
Even back when I'd faced him for a single at-bat, I'd thought, ah, this man is a human ceiling fan — so I hadn't expected anything. Still... he really should have kept his mouth shut.
"Whoa, you're seriously a two-way player?"
The opposing catcher — a big body whose name In-seong hadn't bothered to memorize yet — asked the question. What's this? Trash talk?
"Can't you read? It says pitcher in the five-hole, doesn't it?"
Could it be a poor, pitiful soul who couldn't read Hangul? Or illiterate in this day and age? In-seong flashed him a contemptuous sneer and stepped into the box, and the provocation worked like a charm — the catcher's face was already flushing red, a truly lovely sight. The umpire, who ought to intervene, said nothing at all. Small wonder: the umpire was a coach from the Doubles' own staff. This was hardly an official game — the crews were drawn from the clubs themselves.
"Why, you little...!!"
Winning the mental battle through jawing at the opponent before stepping in is a catcher's bread and butter — but this one had none of the fundamentals.
- Shff...
A faint friction sound reached his ear. He caught the subtle scrape of a foot shifting slightly toward the body. So the man had a habit of moving early — it felt like watching an idiot lay out every scrap of his own information on the table.
For some reason it reminded him of the very first at-bat at the old baseball academy he used to attend, and he chuckled a little. In a sport where stealing is a virtue, was it really acceptable to go leaking information like a busted pipe?
"And now, Noh In-seong steps up to the plate. Two outs, runners still at first and third."
"Right, there's really no data on him. He was a feared hitter in high school, mind you..."
'Pro ball is a different animal.' — the two of them had been dying to say it, and Noh In-seong gagged the words down their throats before they could.
"Here's the first pitch, and he deliv—"
CRACK!
He launched one colossal fly ball high, high into the Okinawa sky.
"Deep to left field! The left fielder can only stand and watch! It's... it's GONE! A go-ahead three-run homer by Noh In-seong!"
Before either the caster or the commentator could even finish a sentence, the at-bat was over — ended with all the grace of don't you dare presume to evaluate me.
It hadn't been particularly inside, yet he'd squared up a 143 km/h four-seamer as it caught the zone, as if he'd been waiting for it all day, and sent it over the wall.
"My goodness... he put a proper swing on it. It honestly looks like a pitch he was sitting on from the very start?"
"Doubles fans, you could feast on air and still feel full today! The Doubles take a 3-0 lead!"
Well then, what can you do? Nothing to say, so I suppose I'll have to settle for compliments from the players.
"Man, their catcher really is simple-minded, huh."
He high-fived Sung Hyun-tak and Dustin, trotted back, and gently loosened up his shoulder.
"What are you talking about? Isn't that the first time you've ever even met that sunbae?"
The quality of Lim Jae-min's questions was so pitifully low that In-seong simply ignored him and handed him the ion drink sitting beside him instead.
"...Huh? What's this? For me? Thanks!"
Right. Drink up, and maybe a few brain cells will grow in. Never become a catcher like that guy.
As if determined to grant him no breathing room, the sixth batter was retired before the brief exchange had even fully ended.
Pulling the glove onto his right hand, cap settled low, he walked out at an unhurried pace.
"Alright, off to the mound~"
Today I'm throwing with In-soo sunbae, so he'll call the pitch mix himself, right?
"I'll just come down after throwing without wasting a single ball. You handle the rest, defense. I'm going to jam every pitch into the zone, so block whatever you can."
"Batting seventh, Jeong Gu-young..."
Stepping to the plate in time with the announcement, the Phoenix catcher Jeong Gu-young had a storm raging in his head.
Which was it — that the batters ahead of him had whirled and danced to the opposing pitcher's two-seamer without a single hit, and now it was already the bottom of the third? Or that the opposing starter had stepped into the batter's box and treated him like a complete moron?
No. It was that grinning bastard — the one out there smiling his smug little smile as if to say, oh look, a sucker has arrived. That face was what grated the most.
"Sunbae, what is that guy's deal?"
He asked Jo In-soo — the only one he had any history with, and who had clearly been thinking, how dare this nobody mess with seniors who are like the heavens?
Pop!
"Not a person. And that's the compliment."
The reply was a genuinely infuriating string of words.
"Strike!"
"And not the compliment, either."
The man called for a strike, caught it, and it felt exactly like staring at his own reflection in a mirror — deeply, profoundly unpleasant. Not a corner pitch, either, but that godforsaken slider bearing down on his body. Swinging at it would only produce weak contact, so he'd laid off to watch it —
— only for the bastard to paint the zone, as if to say, 'then eat a strike, why don't you?' Few things were more irritating.
"Four-seamer. Right down the middle."
Wait — this sunbae was never like this before.
Jo In-soo, a catcher of the old school who preferred to say nothing at all and stay silent, had thrown down his very first psychological jab.
"Seriously?"
"C'mon, it's practice. A practice game."
No way — and yet he still keyed on the middle of the plate. But this time the pitch came in noticeably fast.
Pop!
"Strike! Two!"
Damn it. Even the foreign imports weren't this quick.
"Wow, that thing really has some gas on it. He did say he'd pitch, and he's got every right to be confident."
And he's STILL talking out there — so is that lunatic actually calling the signs right now?
"My goodness... the pitch clocked 161 kilometers per hour?"
"A four-seamer, dead center! All he could do was watch it go by!"
A raw rookie making his first start in the first game of his that had ever been broadcast — and he had the sheer gall to jam pitches right down Broadway.
"And the third pitch...! A downward-slider! Swinging strike three! Four strikeouts on the day!"
Jeong Gu-young, certain the pitch was coming right down the middle, flailed his bat through empty air and trudged gloomily back to the dugout.
"The Daejeon hitters just can't get a proper read on these pitches at all, can they?"
"Right — and while that matters, the bigger story is that he hasn't missed the strike zone with a single pitch. What's going through his head?"
Swing if you can. If you can't, sit down on strikes.
What would draw boos even from an elite veteran pitcher — a brash rookie nobody had ever seen was doing it, and that was the most infuriating part of all.
And so, through four innings, Noh In-seong walked off the mound having thrown not a single ball — nothing but strikes, start to finish.
Four perfect innings. He walked off holding the finest scoreline a rookie could ask for.
"And today's Player of the Game — Noh In-seong!"
"Hello. This is Noh In-seong."
And naturally enough, the MVP of the day was also Noh In-seong.
"Yes — four scoreless innings, five strikeouts with no walks, and at the plate you went one-for-two with a home run and three RBIs. What's your secret?"
"Uh... nothing special. I just went up there and threw. Since this was about checking my form, I hated wasting balls, so I just stuffed everything into the zone."
A man whose excessive honesty scratched and clawed at the Daejeon fans' rawest nerves with every syllable. And for the first time in what felt like ages, the bait stirring up the Phoenix fan gallery wasn't about their own players.
"...Ah... yes. It was also your first at-bat since turning pro — how did it feel?"
"Well, the changeup in my second at-bat didn't drop as much as I expected, so I got under it. And in my first at-bat, the velocity was pretty mediocre, honestly."
A rare day dawned in which the galleries filled to the brim with the name Noh In-seong.
Unlike the announcer, who had fallen silent out of fear of the backlash, this doomed bastard buried one tactless-but-factually-true remark after another.
"It seems your timing isn't fully built up yet. You sat back on it and still got under it. Well, I'm sure it'll be different once the season starts."
...Not exactly kind words came out in response. But in any case, he became the emperor of three separate fan galleries, so all in all, it was a good day.