If I'm Getting Screwed Over, Then You All Do It Too (1)

Noh In-seong was, first and foremost, the only two-way player in the league.

True, in the distant past there had been exactly one player who combined pitching and hitting, but that was back in the sport's founding era.

With the exception of Korean baseball's early days, pitchers and hitters were almost universally split into separate roles.

"Why? Because splitting them is just better."

"...Better at what?"

What do you think — player development difficulty, energy management, injury risk, even which muscles get built up. Everything!

"It's not like the neighboring country's legend lived his whole life stapled to an injury report for nothing, right?"

"And that man still put up a 9+ WAR."

"Yeah — as a designated hitter. In a season he'd quit pitching."

In other words, even the man at the center of the MLB GOAT debate spent his single best season as a hitter, period. Granted, you had to account for the fact that his post-injury pitching seasons were essentially rehab assignments — but the performance gap was glaring. A car leaking oil from both the top and the bottom and a car leaking oil only from the bottom don't get the same fuel economy. Simple as that.

"...So what exactly are you trying to say, you insane excuse for an employer?"

That was Mook Jeong-ho, editor of Yagurix — a channel whose god-awful name he had repeatedly begged to change, to no avail — firing the first shot.

"I genuinely don't get why the June MVP is controversial. Do these people not understand baseball?"

And the channel's owner, Yoo Jin-woo, took that toss and hammered it for a grand slam.

The controversial June MVP — Noh In-seong's June had been a genuinely eventful month.

For starters, he kept coming down with ailments, forcing pinch-hitters and the unprecedented indignity of being subbed out mid-at-bat. On the mound, he was up and down something fierce. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠One day a nine-inning shutout; another day seven innings and four runs; another, six innings and three...

At the very least, nowhere could you find the electric impact of the previous month, or of March and April.

1.13 WAR earned with the bat in June. 0.9 WAR as a pitcher.

There were plenty of pitchers and hitters above him who had been better at any given moment.

"Add them up and that's 2.03, right? Nobody else on the planet produced more than that. So why are people whining about the numbers?"

Just as Yoo Jin-woo said — when one single player posts that kind of combined line, he's earned the monthly MVP. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He had, by all accounts, his worst June, and still mashed it into an MVP-scale stat line. It was, in its own backwards way, proof of how monstrous Noh In-seong was.

Which meant that fans and players from other teams were bound to start complaining. Nobody fails to make an impact for a whole month while he's wobbling, after all. And beyond them were the countless fans who wanted to ride the players they liked while beating down the guy they couldn't stand.

Little by little, the temperature rising among the fans was inflated further still by a reporter hungry for view counts.

"...Why am I the challenger? If you tally the cumulative numbers since the start of the season, I've been a machine gun going off on the mound and in the box."

Such was the sight that greeted the Foul King, Noh In-seong — in the middle of catching his breath — at the road hotel.

With a look of utter, slack-jawed disbelief.

While Busan — flattened by the cold they had summoned upon themselves(?), coughing their lungs out instead of lamenting — was swept off the map, the Doubles checked into their hotel after an evening game to kick off the road trip in Gwangju.

Baseball players, as a rule, tend to reload calories after a game. And that day, by happy coincidence, the pitchers' group dinner converged on one particular menu — which was how Noh In-seong came to join it.

"Should I have just tried harder? Wait, no — being sick isn't exactly my fault, is it?"

It was a rare harmonious occasion: the pitchers, plus the catchers who served as the pitchers' slaves, tearing into roast chicken. And In-seong, using the day's article as a side dish for his zero-calorie soda in place of alcohol.

His original goal had been 'Siiiigh, I've been through so much... someone comfort me...' — but Noh In-seong had made a critical error in judgment.

Men are beasts who only grieve when a friend dies. When you get hurt, the overwhelming majority of them will draw a penis on your cast. Or a middle finger.

"Honestly, you have been pretty tame lately... ah, though that's strictly judging from the outside."

So spoke Jo In-soo — In-seong hadn't beaten anyone up and hadn't drawn a suspension, so yes, he'd been quiet for a spell.

"That's right, In-seong. Try living like a human being from now on. Every day you're gone, my arm gets shaved down another layer."

Cho Hyo-jin nodded along to the words of the bullpen's keystone, Kim Jin-hong. In-seong was the type to eat up innings by the bushel, and every game he didn't take the hill, the bullpen got ground to powder.

"In-seeeong. Next time, either throw enough to keep my rotation slot intact, or just stop throwing punches."

"Yeah, just take the beating yourself instead. Or rather — ah, and stop eating ramen in the dugout."

Caleb, whose groundball rate sat at 62%, and Jeong In-woo, at 60%, piled on with some good old-fashioned ocular pressure.

"Anyway, this is on you, right? Fault ratio 10 to 0, yes? Even Baseball's own Judge Moon-cheol would stamp this one."

And Lim Jae-min — who not long ago had caught a face full of ice water for botching his one job of buddying up with a classmate — of course twisted the knife.

The rest either watched with gleeful interest or offered token agreement. Whether they liked Noh In-seong or not was beside the point; more people simply watched because it was entertaining.

It was like a comedy program where a circle of close friends gathers around to roast a single guy.

"...Fuck. I chose my friends badly. You cursed bastards. Ha. Ha. Ha."

He had sat down to enjoy his roast chicken (Roast Chicken) in hopes of a little comfort — and instead, Noh In-seong got roasted (roast) before the comedy tribunal.

"...Hey. Hold on. Noh In-seong, exactly how many drumsticks is that?"

"You all had your fun messing with me, didn't you? The final winner is me, you imbeciles."

"AH! This bastard stripped every last drumstick!"

Such was the price the players paid for watching him delicately pick clean his tenth drumstick bone. In a certain sense, it was a portrait of human victory — the man who never just takes a fall without collecting something on the way down.

The next day, Noh In-seong took the field for the opener of the Gwangju series.

Granted, the team knew perfectly well that losing a fielder-hitter-starter all in one body would hurt in a dozen different ways. And granted, In-seong could understand the teasing too — he'd brought it on himself.

But he was, at heart, a petty bastard. The type to swaddle every last trivial grievance in cloth, pack it away, and one day unleash it as payback — how else would you describe him? The sight of him striding into the batter's box, his whole face brimming with mischief, was something to behold.

"Hmm. Well, either way — I need myself a venting target."

"...What did he just say? Why is he already off his rocker in the first inning?"

The one sane man present, Tigers catcher Joo Ji-hoon, was already eyeing In-seong's spinning pupils with deep suspicion. His nerves were frayed to begin with, after getting flash-frozen into the annals of Korean baseball history in the last series.

The foreign starter, Jeremy, settled on his first sign. Four-seam. Away.

Both sides ready, the ball left the pitcher's hand.

'Away — it'll probably be called a ball, but as a setup to earn the corner for his next breaking pitch...'

CRACK—!!

"That ball is not coming back!! Before our side could even offer their greetings, Noh In-seong has delivered his own first!"

"Hahaha. I'm fairly certain something like this has happened before. Good evening, dear viewers."

And through it all, there was the damned bastard, flinging his bat skyward and hollering his head off as he rounded the bases.

"DID YOU SEE THAT!! You goddamn fakes! Your master has returned!!"

'...I pulled an outside ball and just swung out of my shoes — and it cleared the fence?'

Before anyone knew it, In-seong had rounded third and stomped on home plate like he was grinding it into the dirt, then turned to Joo Ji-hoon and opened his mouth.

"Pass a message along to that fellow — Oh Yeon-seok, or is it Oh Seok-san?"

"...What?"

"His numbers have been looking rather respectable lately, you see? Feels to me like it's about time for his return trip to the abyss."

With his condition fully restored, Noh In-seong was announcing additional stat-aftercare services for the man he had once broken in half.

Having opened with a first-pitch leadoff home run, Noh In-seong did not stop.

In the bottom of the first, the Tigers did manage to corner the fifth starter, Jeong In-young—

"Ah, and with one out, the bases are loaded... it's a little sad to say, honestly, but Jeong In-young has always been vulnerable in the first inning."

"They don't call it the dreaded first inning for nothing. For most starters, getting through the first is the hardest part of the ballgame."

Wiping sweat in fistfuls, panic written across his face, Jeong In-young threw a slider — and it found the barrel of a bat.

CRACK!

"Hard grounder at the pitcher! Ball kicked off the glove...! Noh In-seong scoops it and tags Jeong Him-chan himself!"

"And just like that, the inning is over! Three left on base! The Tigers let the golden opportunity slip away!"

"Na-na-na-na~ na-na-na-na~ hehehe~ Say-goooodba!"

Noh In-seong waved cheerfully at the home crowd beyond third base.

"Noh In-seong! Provoking the crowd... ah, did he simply get turned around? Watch yourself, son."

And in the very next breath he spun around and waved at his own cheering section instead. A desperate, full-body contortion to dodge postgame discipline — and the second base umpire bought it, hook, line, and sinker.

"...Why the hell is that bastard so amped today?"

"Who knows? He gets like that sometimes. When he's beating somebody up, or doing something certifiably insane."

"Manic episode, for sure. A manic one."

Whatever his teammates muttered behind his back, In-seong — at the absolute peak of his frenzy — couldn't have cared less.

CRACK—!!

"And this time the tables have turned — Noh In-seong delivers the decisive blow! Noh In-seong's GRAND SLAAAM!!"

"The bottom of the first inverts itself in the top of the third! Noh In-seong — two home runs and five RBIs, all by his lonesome today!!"

Whoever it was who said good defense breeds good hitting, I can't recall — but today, the saying rang true one hundred percent.

The man who had strangled the bases loaded in their crib now stepped into one himself and waved every runner home.

The third inning wasn't even finished, and the starting pitcher stood with his head bowed, yanked from the game.

An RBI double in the fifth. Then, in the seventh — with the score stretched to 14–3.

"Bunt! He's bunting! Noh In-seong lays down a safety squeeze toward first!"

"Who on earth would square around to bunt in this situation! Safe at first!"

"My dear teachers — what happens when you fail to prepare for the single most basic bunt defense, hm?"

'I've watched this game for more than a day or two, you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠know. Pull the infield back like that, and of course I'm going to want to drop one down.'

While the entire infield had shaded deep to guard against his power, Noh In-seong peeled off a clean, helpless little hit. And then, the finishing touch.

"I'm going! I'M GOING! You want one more run?! Hold him! HOLD HIM!"

Half-mocking Joo Ji-hoon — the opposing catcher already strangled by PTSD from losing stolen-base records to him — and half-mocking his own flustered draft classmate Song Su-bin, drowning in the blowout, Noh In-seong took a lead of four full strides off first base, advertising to the whole stadium that he was about to run.

"Haha. Surely he wouldn't... take off here, would he? I imagine that would be rather unpleasant."

"That's the wrong question. Here, this is how you ought to phrase it."

'Will this player, perchance, allow an opportunity to humiliate his opponent to slip through his fingers?'

Tap-tap-tap-tap....

"TAKING SECOND! Stop me if you can! Later, classmate!"

And he actually went. But here, the Tigers attempted a counterintuitive gambit.

The pitcher threw from the windup. The catcher caught the pitch and fired it back to the mound. The fielders did not move an inch.

"Ah — they're simply not reacting at all. If this—"

"Yes. Noh In-seong's steal attempt will be ruled defensive indifference — an advancement by fielder's choice."

"...What?!"

The situation that arises when the defense ignores every conceivable check on a stolen base attempt — neither caught stealing, nor a stolen base.

Defensive indifference.

Afterward, Noh In-seong came home on Song Jin-wook's RBI single — but by then, the smile had quietly drained from his face.

The Doubles did take Game 1, 16–4. But Noh In-seong was in a foul mood.

"...Fine. So that's how you want to play it?"

And just like that, Noh In-seong set about drafting his revenge.

The Tigers — who had chosen to deny a petty bastard his little record — now found themselves on the brink of losing far, far more.