If I Get Screwed Over, You All Try It Too (3)
Leaving the Tigers' players in a state of absolute fury behind, Noh In-seong set off to carry out his last engagement of the week — a quick interview at a café near the stadium.
"Alright, let's knock this out fast... Then once I get through next week's schedule, it's finally the All-Star break... Ah. Damn it."
For one instant, he'd allowed himself the thought that he might actually get to rest during the All-Star break. But a man who proudly held the title of The Player Baseball Fans Most Want Dead Number One could forget about that.
"Ugh, I really shouldn't have packed my schedule so full..."
He'd agreed to film an ad for his friend's company's new product. Sangmu was getting a new teammate, and he'd said he'd go check the guy out too. His only genuinely free days were Monday through Wednesday after the All-Star Game. Three days. That was it.
"If I could just weasel my way out of the Home Run Derby somehow, that'd stretch it to four..."
Impossible. Noh In-seong's numbers were simply too monstrous.
"Christ, what's the point of a first-half 20-20 if I can't lounge around or rest at all?"
It was no accident that a rookie with a shattered sense of patience was locked in a war over first and second place in the All-Star voting.
What infuriated him even more was what he saw when he turned on his phone and checked the standings for that godforsaken Home Run Derby vote.
"...What the hell? I'm in first place by a margin that isn't even worth comparing?"
In the Home Run Derby vote, Noh In-seong was overwhelmingly, crushingly first. His only voting rival was Daejeon's young national team pitcher. Naturally, pitchers don't participate in the Home Run Derby. On top of that, certain fans refuse to give their own team's sluggers Derby votes at all — the Derby fundamentally favors whoever swings the hardest, which naturally means it's easy for your form to fall apart right after. It wasn't without reason that players occasionally declined with excuses like 'I'm worn out' or 'there's injury risk' — but since 2024, skipping a fan-voted Derby required a total indifference to public opinion.
"...I mean, I don't really care."
Noh In-seong was, admittedly, brave enough to say 'so what if I'm tired?' But the prize money was ten million won. Riding the tide of the era, the purse had turned out to be surprisingly, dangerously sweet.
"...Maybe I'll go do it once — before they give me a raise next year, anyway."
It didn't take Noh In-seong long at all to find his motivation. It was far too much money to earn with just a few swings.
The "first half" generally refers to the stretch before the All-Star break. Hitting 20 home runs and stealing 20 bases within that window is called a First-Half 20-20. Noh In-seong dismissed it as 'more useless than rest,' but contrary to his attitude, it was a monumental record.
The legend who loved bread had done it twice. The legend who loved ramyeon, once. The long-bearded foreigner, once. Beyond those... surprisingly, the record's other holder was much closer to home.
"You just played a series against the Tigers. How does it feel to have broken the Tigers' record?"
"Which one? The youngest-ever thing? I just feel good. Feels like things'll keep going well, too."
The youngest-ever record had belonged, until very recently, to Gwangju — the very team he'd been trading kill shots with all week. Sure, a high school rookie in his first pro year breaking it meant nothing to anyone. If anything, it was doubly unfair: Noh In-seong had a late birthday too. Born November 24th, he held every possible advantage in these 'youngest ever' comparisons.
"But alongside this happy news, there's also the matter of you hitting an opposing player three separate times..."
And he was just as well positioned for records of an entirely different kind.
The youngest pitcher ever to plunk the same batter's backside three times in a single game. And this was the youngest ever — measured against the dead-ball era, when nobody outside America was even playing baseball. The claim was that since the birth of professional baseball, if the records were accurate, no one younger had ever done it. It had been a breaking ball, he hadn't thrown at anyone's head, and the slider command had abandoned him all day — that was the only reason the stadium wasn't ashes. When the ball headed in that direction the last time, the manager had to sprint to the mound in desperation.
'No, seriously, it doesn't hurt or anything.'
'...Did your fingers split open or something? The ball keeps coming inside. You keep hitting a human being like this.'
'What human? I'm throwing at a con man.'
There was a reason Manager Jeong Im-taek had yanked him with surgical precision even while Noh In-seong was still fully capable of throwing. Three in a row was already headed for permanent immortality in the annals of Korean folklore. Four? That was premeditation, plain and simple.
"Oh, so no one in the entire world has that record but me? I'm proud of it, then."
'You're the only one on Earth!' — and Noh In-seong, bizarrely, lit up at the words.
'...Normally there's a full-scale bench-clearing brawl before anyone gets that far, that's why...'
'Is he actually insane? I'm starting to believe that rumor that someone at a broadcasting station quit over him the other day.'
'No wonder the veteran reporters only ever send the rookies...'
The journalists were horrified. He was throwing baseballs at a man's back right now — and he was happy about it?
"...In any case. Why did you hit him in the back three times?"
"Well, obviously on purpose. The official story is my breaking pitches just wouldn't finish."
Noh In-seong drained the coffee in front of him and answered the rest with a bored expression.
"This part's off the record. The other side made me an offer I couldn't possibly keep, so I figured I owed them one."
--You didn't like me stealing bases, and you said you'd do whatever it took to stop me from racking them up?
Then shouldn't you have actually stopped me? Like, thrown to second base?
"No aesthetic sense whatsoever. By my standards, that's a disqualification from romance."
If you were going to run your mouth, you should have seen it through to the end and taken responsibility. And if you weren't, you should have just kept your mouth shut.
Noh In-seong's remarks, officially unbroadcast thanks to the off-the-record label, still spread quietly among the reporters — and from there, as whispers across every site on the internet.
"...He's even more of a lunatic than I thought."
Tigers catcher Joo Ji-hoon, who had been sniffling with pain-relief patches plastered across his back, went pale.
"...Next time I see him, I'm just keeping my mouth shut."
Another player had joined the ranks of those who never wanted to speak with Noh In-seong at a ballpark again.
Gwangju had, in Game 3, actually pushed the Doubles to the brink. For one thing, while their starter was the club's number three, the Doubles had thrown their number five. For another, the heart of the team's offense and defense — its two-way pillar — had already gone home early to rest. And no matter how hot a lineup was running, it couldn't stay on fire forever. Compared to the previous two games, it was a genuine back-and-forth slugfest, with both sides trading blows. The score sat at 9-8 — a classic that nobody would have left their seat for, commercial breaks aside.
In the end, the game was decided by two men from the Doubles.
The first was Jeon In-soo, who took over for Jeong In-young — after In-young had coughed up five runs over five innings — and threw 2.1 scoreless. Deployed all season as a patchwork starter and swingman, his four-seamer had been gradually climbing, and it had inched back up to 140 km/h.
The four-seamer from the sidearm slot — the one people had once said was no longer a dragon but still a venomous snake — had returned to him. He lulled the hitters he couldn't overpower and buried the ones he couldn't deceive down in the zone. With a battle of pure defiance — hit me or don't, I'm throwing anyway — he navigated the danger and handed the game off safely.
The other man was Ji Hak-seong. Strictly speaking, this case probably counted as two people at once.
"The hellish defensive regular who's always pressed into duty for his bat whenever Noh In-seong is out of the lineup."
Merely being able to fill a hole deeper than a black hole made you worth more than a 0.0 WAR by itself.
Today, he'd gone all the way to delivering the decisive go-ahead homer — the single biggest contribution to the win. The hallmark of a strong team is winning on backups and role players even when your stars sit out for a stretch. Having proven themselves a true powerhouse with their own two hands, the Doubles wrapped up their final road trip of the first half.
"Have a good weekend, everyone. You all know who we're playing in the last game of the first half, right?"
-- Don't. Cause. Problems.
While Manager Jeong Im-taek clamped down hard on the squad ahead of the rivalry series —
"Die, you filming stalker bastards...!"
-- Kiyaaaak...!! My drone...!! Run!!
— on the other side of the city, Noh In-seong was cheerfully ignoring his manager's resolute team address.
Seoul to Gwangju. Physical distance: roughly 300 kilometers. No matter how small the world had gotten, what couldn't be seen couldn't be stopped.
Winding the clock back: the day after the interview, Noh In-seong had returned ahead of the team from Gwangju to his family home in Seoul. It was late morning when he finally dragged himself out of bed. His parents were out, and his sister had left to hang out with friends until the evening, so the house was all his. He'd been goofing off gaming alone in his room out of sheer boredom, and with the sky going dark overhead, he'd decided to step out for a short walk.
"Noh In-seong! This is Baseball Is Sports TV — YasTV! About the All-Star voting..."
"Noh In-seong! You're featured on the Baseball+ channel! Are you entering the Home Run Derby or..."
"NOH IN-SEONG!!! Noh In-seong! Hey! You deaf?! I said give us an interview!"
"Whoa! It's the day after your start — can't you SEE he's resting?! Get lost!"
He was at the end of his rope over how frequently his neighborhood had become a press junket lately. Strictly speaking, the people swarming him were not people with press credentials. Anyone with an actual press badge sends an interview request to Noh In-seong first. Then they write all manner of garbage about him — but at least there's a procedure.
"No request, just shoving cameras in my face — that's tabloid trash, plain and simple. These bastards."
They weren't famous creators explaining baseball with actual expertise, and they hadn't survived the fifteen-second clip market on the various video platforms because they were that boring. They were near-harmful grifters who would shove a camera drone in your face without warning, fishing for any reaction they could bait out of you.
For the benefit of these lovely people, Noh In-seong made a brief stop at the neighborhood stationery store to prepare a special event.
"Could I borrow a hose? I'll pay the water bill."
"Oh, don't be silly. It was so nice watching you play with my son at the playground."
Brushing past a chance encounter with the mother of the neighborhood kid who'd helped him with the bucket challenge a while back — five minutes later, Noh In-seong's arms were loaded with something distinctly weapon-shaped. Mindful of the environment, he'd transferred the price of a plastic bag and packed the contents in tight against his arm.
--Ker-splash...!!
"Smile!"
Camera drones came swooping back in at Noh In-seong as he kicked open the stationery store door —
PEROOEONG--!!
"...!! AAGH, my drone!!"
The very first drone to get in his face took a direct hit from a dihydrogen monoxide bomb and ceased functioning.
"Your livelihood is bursting into flames as we speak!"
PERUOOEOEONG--!!
Now, water hitting you lightly is, admittedly, within the range of everyday water resistance. The problem was that the thrown water struck at speeds that had to be approaching 100 km/h — seamless, no-stitch water balloons at that. Even throwing left-handed since he'd pitched the day before, Noh In-seong's right arm had plenty of zip. And his target was the propellers — the very source of a drone's lift. The impact ruptures the motor housing, the synthetic rubber sheathing around it splits, water floods the breach. It's genuinely wonderful for machinery: the camera drone could yell 'Ungieit!' and plant a kiss on the pavement in an instant.
"Where do you get off violating people's privacy with drones?! Get over here!"
Those who scrambled to grab their drones and flee received a baptism of water balloons. Some flew theirs high into the sky, out of water-balloon range entirely.
"Ah, but you've flown your drone above the permitted altitude. Time to collect a fine... don't you think?"
A drone is, legally speaking, an aircraft. Some areas are hard to fly in even normally due to dense population; others prohibit flight above a certain height. And this was Seoul — the densely packed heart of the capital region. If a chunk of machinery suddenly fell out of the sky, the odds of it hitting a person were high.
"You don't think I left every drone flying above fifteen meters alone for no reason, do you? Every single one of you is getting your channel suspended."
Noh In-seong had normalized the tabloid vultures.
"My camera drone! What are you going to do about this?! I'm suing!"
The owner of YasTV — case number one, the first to lose a drone to a water balloon — raged and fumed, but Noh In-seong stood tall.
"You were filming me with it, weren't you? That's a privacy violation. I'm suing you right back."
--I'll probably end up paying some settlement money for the drone myself, but at the very least, your channel's gone?
A man who never spared his own body, so long as he could drive a blade into the other side — even if he took a scratch or two in the process. Noh In-seong had succeeded in planting his terror deep into the video platform ecosystem.