If It Bothers Me, Why Don't You Try It Too (2)

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The 'defensive indifference' that Gwangju had handed to Noh In-seong became a hot topic everywhere.

Part of it was the thinly veiled treatment of him as a 'nobody,' but there was also the matter of unwritten rules in a blowout. Other teams almost never pulled that move — so what exactly was this guy's problem? That was the tenor of the back-and-forth.

"You're supposed to play your hardest! Aren't you embarrassed in front of the fans?!"

"You talk like you've never pulled guys out of a losing game?! You did the exact same thing!"

If even the fans were raising their voices at each other, one could only imagine how the players felt. Of course, not a single player said any of it to Noh In-seong's face. Nobody knew what the man might do. Opening your mouth in front of a guy who would, worst case, bite your ear off if it got close enough? That was basically suicide.

And so, in perfect harmony, a broadcasting station whose ratings had been struggling decided to take the bait.

"According to the Gwangju side, they 'don't understand why an unwritten rule would exist in the first place.'"

"Honestly, instead of that, they should just admit how many times they've gotten beaten up in the ninth inning and lost."

Fighting on a baseball broadcast against a guy who fired off his mouth like an automatic rifle was a losing proposition in itself.

"In a insane game where a single inning can cough up nearly twenty runs, what the hell is defensive indifference even for?"

What Noh In-seong was really complaining about was, 'So this is a sport where comebacks are impossible?'

It wasn't as if his own team ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had burned through every high-leverage arm — if Yeom Dong-goo had coughed up three runs over three innings, then fine, shut your mouth. But eleven runs? If they'd actually played a little, the gap would have closed further than that.

"In the end, your bats don't turn over, your defense can't field, and you can't protect a lead. Just come out and say it was a day you wanted to lose."

Because Noh In-seong had one of his records swiped from him, he'd dismissed their entire team as pushovers. This was hardly the first day he'd pulled something like this, but the wording was a touch sharper than usual.

"I guess their mentality is just a balloon. One needle prick and — pop! They don't even think about coming back."

As he suddenly redlined, the panelists scrambled to mediate.

"W-well, regardless, that's a lead of more than ten runs, so..."

"And a ten-run lead is exactly when you steal — to cut off their air supply for good. That's the whole point."

With the smug face of a man who'd landed a clean hit, Noh In-seong single-handedly dragged the broadcast ratings upward. Of course, this came with the minor side effect of the message boards exploding and a comment section devolving into an endless blame war.

'Well, the ratings went up, so it's a win...?'

Everyone at the station was happy — except whoever would be writing the formal apology. And since public happiness had undeniably been maximized, Noh In-seong prided himself on having inched one step closer to heaven's gates.

'I've been doing so many good deeds lately. Feels like I'm giving back to society.'

Truly, a statement only possible from a man whose conscience was a triangle that a pizza cutter had sanded into a perfect circle.

The next day, a flood of internet articles swallowed the web whole.

"In-seong, you've gone and poked the opposing team again, I see."

"Ah, shit, they just piss me off so much... I mean — why, hello there, Manager!"

Jeong Im-taek had settled onto the corridor sofa and come looking for Noh In-seong, who was scrolling through the articles.

"Don't push those guys too far. You know as well as I do."

—Because that's how conflicts start. And people get hurt.

When professionals compete, disputes break out far more easily than anyone expects. And every so often, one of those disputes ends in a career-threatening injury.

...Granted, so far, every one of those 'injuries' had happened to befall the opposing team by pure coincidence.

"Someday, if your luck runs out, you could end up hurt exactly like that."

Truly the words of a team manager. Genuinely excellent advice.

"Yeah, I don't see that happening. Take a look at the interview they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gave."

If it hadn't been for the interview Noh In-seong held out, it might have been worth hearing him out.

The interview ended, and the video player auto-rolled into the next article.

"...Oh ho, is that so?"

Noh In-seong's head began grinding toward a very bad place.

"...Every single time this bastard makes that face, something goes sideways in the next game..."

And Jeong Im-taek's head began to ache.

Jeong Im-taek reflected that it was a very good thing he'd recently started taking aspirin.

The game went on — with both sides red-faced, whether from anger or, in a different sense, from the strain of holding it in. The mood was ugly, to say the least, each team staring dead-faced holes through the other.

"Wow, and here I thought you couldn't get any uglier, and now you're scowling too."

Or, on the other hand, there was a certain swollen-faced bastard laughing openly and making a mockery of the opposing catcher.

"......"

Joo Ji-hoon's stern, unyielding face — I will not react! This time, absolutely, I will not take the bait! — crossed paths on the camera drone feed with Noh In-seong's grinning one, bat held horizontally.

Pock—!

"Noh In-seong lays down a bunt! Is he telling them to remember yesterday's final at-bat?!"

"Third baseman fields it! Fires to first — and... he's called safe! The Tigers' manager is requesting a replay review!"

First at-bat, first ball put in play, and a deliberate bunt. It was, for all practical purposes, a calculated taunt, and the manager came boiling out of the dugout.

" overturn it! Overturn it and you'll see!"

He shouted himself hoarse, jabbing a finger at the shameless baserunner standing at first with a lazily bent knee.

"...Yeah, this one's genuinely too close to call."

"Replay time seems right. But is this really within the margin needed to overturn the call?"

While the umpiring crew racked their brains, the commentators were equally flustered. Usually they delivered their ritual neutral lines, careful never to show favor to either club — 'Ooh, that's a tough one...' — 'From this camera angle, it's honestly hard to see...' But today—

"Whoa, that honestly looked like they arrived at virtually the same instant?"

"We've cycled through every camera we have, and this is..."

In the end, with the five-minute review limit nearly exhausted, the verdict came down: call stands.

"So you burned a challenge, bought your pitcher some rest — and what exactly did you get out of it?"

Noh In-seong, too lazy to even stand at first base, sat sprawled across the bag and twisted the knife.

The opposing manager, dying to fire something back, remembered the team's agreed-upon policy of ignoring him and stalked off.

'Hrrrrgh...'

Fists clenched, a face straining to hold it all in.

After the overturned review, Noh In-seong stood at first without taking his lead, simply watching the pitcher. Even as the pitcher readied his delivery, In-seong stayed rooted to the bag, and everyone on the field found it strange.

'Huh? A steal would still get recorded, though? It's early in the game?'

'What's his deal? Is he not running because he assumes it'll get ruled defensive indifference anyway?'

Oh Yeon-seok, today's starter, was rattled too. Given the verbal barrage he'd absorbed yesterday, he'd expected In-seong to sprint from the very first inning and hand him an even deeper humiliation.

'Anyway, this is my chance. Yeon-seok. Right here!'

It was the perfect opportunity: runner on first, a curveball on the very first pitch. The ball flew from Oh Yeon-seok's hand and landed precisely at the bottom of the strike zone.

"Strike!"

And Noh In-seong began strolling, slowly and leisurely, toward second base.

"...??"

"......????"

"Yes, first-pitch curve... huh? Noh In-seong. What is he doing right now?"

"It's not a four-ball count? He just threw the first pitch."

Only when Noh In-seong had walked nearly halfway between first and second did the Tigers finally spring into motion.

"...!! Hey! Second base!"

A flustered Joo Ji-hoon fired a throw to second, and Noh In-seong hurriedly scrambled back to first.

"Yes, and he's retreating... Noh In-seong returns to first. What on earth was that?"

"W-well. Do you suppose he thought he'd drawn a walk?"

Only after the second baseman threw the ball back to Oh Yeon-seok did everyone on the field understand what had just happened.

"Hey! You bastard! You said you wouldn't pitch to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me!"

Because Noh In-seong was glaring at Joo Ji-hoon and raising hell about it.

Defensive indifference, by definition, is only recorded when nobody on the fielding side attempts to defend against the steal. Early in a game, if they declined to stop him, it would simply be recorded as a stolen base — this side's own fault. The interview, in short, had said: once the score tips one way, we refuse to watch you grin about it.

But from Noh In-seong's standpoint...

"As long as I reach first, no defense all the way to third! Wasn't that the deal?!"

It felt like a convenient, self-serving reading — but strictly by the words actually spoken in that interview, it technically held up. Naturally, from the Tigers' perspective, the reaction was 'Yeah, right. You just hate seeing me pad my stats late in a game.'

Unless both sides walked into the ballpark having signed off on identical terms, it was simply an episode born of clashing interpretations.

'Honestly, it's probably one of those all-or-nothing gambit plays. Try it, and if it works, great.'

Or — as Manager Jeong Im-taek, the longest-running observer of Noh In-seong on earth, privately suspected — it was simply a shameless play, full stop.

"Fine. So this is how you fooled me, huh? Go ahead. Give it your best shot."

For a man framing it as 'you trampled my pure, innocent heart,' either interpretation worked just fine.

"Hngh!"

Today's starting pitcher was Noh In-seong, fresh off a long rest granted by the typhoon that had washed out the Busan series. And on the very first pitch to Joo Ji-hoon — the man who'd deceived him — a slider laced with a small, petty grudge buried itself in his backside.

The problem was that this pitch was faster than just about any four-seamer you'd care to name, at 149 km/h.

"It got away from me. My apologies."

"...That wasn't on purpose?"

"If it were on purpose, would I be walking right now?"

"...Right. Let's just play good baseball."

The problem was that it didn't happen only once.

"Whoops, my hand slipped again. Sorry about that."

"......"

Breaking balls hurt just as much when they come in fast. The catcher, now sporting two baseball-shaped welts on his back, was on the verge of tears.

It wasn't as if the Tigers hadn't considered throwing retaliation at that cursed, league-cursed bastard. It was simply that nobody knew what might happen if they threw at the starter currently on the mound.

Crack—!!

"Following Song Jin-wook's home run, Dustin clears the wall as well! Back-to-back home runs!"

"That's six earned runs for Oh Yeon-seok in this inning alone! I don't think he can hold on much longer!"

Besides, the current score differential made retaliation pitches an unaffordable luxury. They couldn't even record an out — sure, there was pain and injury risk to consider, but a free baserunner?

The Doubles' starter was methodically steamrolling the Tigers' lineup, but the Tigers' starter had no way of shouldering that kind of crisis with his own two hands. Single, single. Pile up the runners, then another extra-base hit.

Since finally getting their long rest, the Doubles' hitters had hit full stride, exploding game after game — their average run production now cresting ten per contest.

And so Oh Yeon-seok accepted yet another humiliating line: two and a third innings, eight earned runs.

"...Yeon-seok. Come down."

Manager Chimi, unable to contain his fury any longer, pulled the weeping Oh Yeon-seok from the game.

"Noh In-seong paints the arch again! Back-to-back days with a home run—!! And once again, the run differential balloons!"

"He manufactures his eleventh run with his own two hands! And that batter is today's starting pitcher!"

In his fourth at-bat, he uncorked a three-run homer to make it 11–0.

"Hey — Jujin or Jussi or whatever your name is. Wipe your mouth for the next interview too, yeah?"

The man who'd hit the home run — the same man who, for the entire stretch of his own start today, had done nothing but throw sliders, tagging the catcher's rear end like he was throwing darts. Looking at Joo Ji-hoon glaring up at him, Noh In-seong couldn't hold back his laughter.

One hit allowed. Three hit batters. Ten strikeouts.

Having logged his second straight seven shutout innings and climbed back into orbit, Noh In-seong had driven the Tigers clean out of their natural habitat.

"Hey, at least I didn't hunt them all to extinction. Drinks are on me."

Along with the shameless claim that he had considered the entire ecosystem and taken appropriate 'conservation measures.'

"...Wait, isn't there still a Game 3 left in this series?"

"I've got an interview, then I'm heading home first. You guys handle the rest."

It might have been tolerable, if not for the sheer gall of a man who'd already emptied everything he had to empty, leaving the cleanup to everyone else.