The Power Hierarchy of the Doubles
Noh In-seong's break amounted to nothing more than filming a single ad and otherwise lazing through the All-Star hiatus,
but the Seoul Doubles as a team could never afford to do the same.
First, they had to explain the once-in-a-lifetime incident of a 'player abandoning the All-Star Game mid-event.'
"I'm sorry? What exactly am I supposed to be sorry for? Um... that I didn't beat up any kid fans on the way home, or crack my phone?"
Of course, the only disaster that ensued was him being told to apologize for failing to fully commit to the bit.
"N-no, In-seong! We meant apologize for walking out halfway through!"
The operator of the official team channel, broadcasting this live in a panic, nearly had a seizure.
"You asked for a clown show, I gave you a clown show. A real *no-show* would've been canceling the same day—"
The mouth detonating the live broadcast in real time spewed nothing but catastrophe after catastrophe.
The stream got cut, and viewers were greeted with nothing but a buffering screen.
Granted, the explanation he gave on the team's official broadcast was so much of a mess that it barely meant anything at all.
The lucky part was that the league, surprisingly, let the whole vague fiasco slide anyway.
"...So, hearing him talk, if he'd really felt like being a jerk, he could've just bailed that same day?"
"...Hah. Yeah. Honestly, this was the better outcome."
Though it felt like everyone had already half given up on him, the mess was smoothed over regardless. Then, the next day, just past noon on Monday, players returning from Sangmu threw the front office into a frenzy.
Three players in total returned to the Doubles from Sangmu.
Joo Hak-soo, Jin Joong-seok, and Song Hak-joo.
Joo Hak-soo had originally been sent to Sangmu because his command kept falling apart, and he'd come back with it at least somewhat reined in.
A true-blue submarine pitcher, a rarity even in Korean baseball.
His second-team numbers: 2 wins, 15 holds, and a 1.14 ERA. Those are not numbers you leave rotting in the minors.
The team was already more or less on track, but a good pitcher is always a welcome addition.
"Either way, this will go a long way toward rebuilding the bullpen the manager's been weeping over all season."
"...Yeah, honestly, he's been grilling us so relentlessly it's gotten annoying. This should keep him satisfied."
Joo Hak-soo, Cho Hyo-jin, Kim Jin-hong. The moment was approaching when a three-man bullpen built for closing out wins would be complete.
Jin Joong-seok was a defensive utility man—a fourth outfielder who could also cover corner infield, plus a pinch-runner.
He had genuine stolen-base ability, and his defense was comparable to Song Joo-in's.
"This one's actually painful to watch. I don't think he can hit at all."
"It's better to just play Dustin in left field, eat the defensive loss, and pocket what he saves us in the field."
A batting average in the low .100s with an on-base percentage barely cracking .200—the kind of line that made anyone watching want to claw their eyes out.
Still, for the Doubles, who needed a fourth outfielder, he was cheap insurance. Nothing wrong with that.
Which left one more.
"Song Hak-joo... huh. Where exactly are we supposed to use this guy?"
Third base/shortstop. His shortstop defense was beyond hopeless, his third-base glovework merely average, and his arm nothing to write home about.
The only reason a player like that had gotten the team's recommendation to serve at Sangmu in the first place was a single asset: raw punch.
In other words, he was a 'Double-A Bonds' type—the kind who torched minor league pitching.
This year in the minors he'd hit in the low .300s with a .500 slugging percentage and 14 home runs.
Most teams would give a line like that at least one call-up chance, but the situation was just too bad.
Sure, if the team were rebuilding at the bottom of the table and starving for offense everywhere, they might give him a look.
But the team was in first place, and the infield's average production had already been propped up by one guy carrying the entire unit.
Even counting the designated hitter, third base could afford to put up league-average numbers and be perfectly fine.
And the most important point of all:
"We're a team running right up against the luxury tax threshold starting this year."
"Right. So in the end, he's trade bait."
At this point, with the final days of July closing in, Song Hak-joo had been ruled expendable.
Even during the All-Star break, there was training.
Morning sessions alternating with days off—that was all.
Since he'd rested the day of the ad shoot, today's morning workout was, naturally, on the schedule.
When Song Jin-wook came up to him bragging about how In-seong's stunt had netted him five hundred bucks, In-seong nearly punted him across the room.
He let it slide in exchange for a free meal.
He'd gotten his cut of the prize money too, so surely he could mooch off the guy three or four times, right?
"So what are we eating today? No coupons left, so maybe just whatever's close by?"
"Wait, you're fine with just anything? No dietary restrictions?"
"As long as I stay off booze and cigarettes, I'm good. I drop up to five kilos every time I take a single start."
"Must be nice. Apparently if I slack on my management even a little, I gain weight."
In-seong and Song Jin-wook's lifting schedules happened to overlap.
Upper-body days where they ground each other into dust, spotting each other's barbells—gym-mates.
The age and service-time gap between them wasn't huge, and the team coach had basically paired them up so they'd have each other's backs when needed.
So there they were, after crushing their upper bodies, lying around shooting the breeze with Jin-wook while waiting for defensive drills to start—
"...Hey. You Noh In-seong?"
A crew-cut near-rookie he'd never seen before in his life materialized in front of him, hovering over In-seong, who was lying flat on his back staring at the ceiling.
His face was beet red. This guy's a commie. What was the number for reporting a spy again?
"Do you need an autograph? Is that why you're standing there?"
"Did nobody ever teach you how to greet your team elders? Hey, Song Jin-wook. Are you serious? This little bastard."
"...My apologies, sunbae-nim."
Oho. Ignoring me entirely and pestering my spotter instead... now where have I seen this type before.
"Ah, you must be the guy who just got out of Sangmu. Makes sense."
"...Song Jin-wook! You don't discipline your juniors?! A hotheaded brat like that—"
So this guy, Hak-joo or Hak-go or whatever his name was,
was pointing a finger in In-seong's face while raising his hand toward Song Jin-wook in a 'time-out!' style threat.
In-seong bent the raised finger back, twisted the arm behind the man's back, took him down flat—
"Khhak?! You son of a—"
then climbed onto his lower back, locked both hands around his neck, and hauled up? Ta-da.
"GYAAAAAARGH—!!"
"Who told you to throw your weight around?! A guy fresh back from the army, pointing fingers at me?!"
The technique: the Camel Clutch. A hold devastating to the spine and lower back had just been born.
"Song Jin-wook!! This lunatic, let g—AAAAARGH—!!"
"Keep yapping! Go ahead, keep yapping! Which gives out first—your spine, or the guys pulling me off you?!"
The commotion in the corner of the field drew the whole team murmuring out of the dugout and the locker room.
"...Yeah. Called it... Hey! Somebody go get the manager!"
"Hak-soo. Don't you touch that lunatic. Craziest bastard I've ever seen in my life. Got it?"
"...Should we really just leave him? Shouldn't someone step in? Sunbae."
"Let it play out. Jin-wook's not stopping him either, just standing there. ...Come to think of it, he got the same treatment once, didn't he?"
Far from breaking it up, everyone just watched across the river like spectators at a house fire.
In the end, the reason In-seong released the hold on this dimwit who hadn't yet sweated the army out of his system was—
"In-seong, that's enough. Fungo's starting, so you're up first."
"Aw, boring... Hey. Climb back on me one more time and next round it's a heel hook. Quiet down unless you want your career to end."
—only when the manager arrived and called for defensive drills. He dropped the guy like a sack of rice.
"Does he still think this is army baseball? Hey, am I your subordinate? If you don't want to fold your little side business, stick to playing ball."
After one last jab at the writhing Song Hak-joo, fungo with the manager began.
"Now then, Noh In-seong. Considering how much time you burned on the field, that's three baskets of fungo for you."
"...Ah, dammit. That useless bastard."
I'm the one dying out here. Next time he pulls this crap, I'm beating him senseless.
Whether it was a blessing that he listened to the manager,
or a problem that he extended 'senior' treatment only when it suited him, In-seong couldn't quite decide.
"...Aaagh... my back..."
The sin, of course, was that the man had only just returned from Sangmu and had no idea some madman had already carved out his own kingdom within the club.
Song Hak-joo, ignorant of the truth that ignorance itself was a crime, lay bent like a drawn bow.
Naturally, whatever happened on the field—officially or unofficially—found its way to the front office.
Even when people swore on the spot never to breathe a word,
the 'this-stays-between-us' network traveled faster than any press release. It was very much alive and well.
By the next day, the Doubles front office knew everything.
Conveniently, this was the same man who'd just been through a trade-asset evaluation. He's our backup this year—our future, they'd told him. But that was nothing more than sugar-coating for a player who'd stay put if no trade materialized.
"...He pulls this one day after getting back from Sangmu? Just when I needed a good cry, he hands me a hook. Wonderful."
"A hook, sir? Not a slap? Anyway—tell him to make the call."
"Call who? There aren't exactly a lot of teams short on infielders."
"Call who? The teams that just lost a starter, obviously."
Ten minutes later, the trade between the Suwon Magicians and the Seoul Doubles was announced.
A 2-for-3 deal headlined by Kim Jeong-mook for Song Hak-joo.
From the team that needed to rebuild: a 1.5-tier player worth stashing away and developing, taxes and all.
And to the team that needed exactly this kind of project prospect: a late-bloomer second-tier player, handed over freely.
In exchange, the Doubles received a sixth starter and a bullpen prospect.
It was a foregone conclusion that their mercenary ace would head back to challenge Major League Baseball again next year.
When imported aces flame out, you need a replacement ready—and a starter is always the right call.
And even if that weren't the case, there was one player the team wanted standing in the batter's box a whole lot more often.
Plus a bullpen prospect to sort the wheat from the chaff once autumn came and rosters expanded, when innings would need to be cycled through.
"So we run a six-man rotation from here, and give In-seong a heavier batting load—"
"...Feels like the team's basically finished, then."
The Doubles had built this roster to win it all this year, and win it all again the next.
A team carried by a single high-wire act could win one championship, but never back-to-back ones.
Looking at the players already brought in, next year's payroll was guaranteed to blow past the luxury tax line.
"Starting this year, for the next three years: fail in the fall, and that season is officially a failure."
The Doubles' trade—trimming the fat, patching the holes at least halfway.
There was, at this point, nothing left the front office could actually do.
All that remained was to pray.
"Please, let everything go exactly the way we projected... please. My job as GM is on the line... please..."
"Please let the director make CEO so I can become GM next... please..."
Before the symbols of whatever faith they happened to hold, praying that an anxious future would never arrive.
Again and again, they pressed their palms together and knelt, and begged.
Bent-backed Song Hak-joo was summoned to the general manager's office the next day, where his future was laid out for him.
"...That's how it is. Do well out there, won't you."
"...Just like that?! You were telling me just days ago how the team planned to use me!"
Being suddenly shipped off from the team that drafted you, no matter what, lands hard.
The feeling that you've been judged useless to the club drains the strength right out of you.
Faced with that, people generally react in one of two ways.
One: accept it, ask where you're going, and pack your bags.
"This is because of that cursed bastard, isn't it?! It's not like I said anything I couldn't say, and some punk rookie is the one rolling around on the floor...!!"
Two: throw a fit like this and nurse a grudge.
"I can't let this stand! I'm spreading this whole story to the press!"
"...Go ahead. Won't mean a thing."
The GM's words jolted him back to his senses.
"Think about it. There's no precedent for dealing with the player you'd be up against."
Talking down to opposing managers, verbal abuse, assault on the field—and lately, abandoning the All-Star Game.
If the man had a public image, it was probably buried at the very bottom of the Han River. What damage could the press possibly do to him?
"We're not in a position to develop you. That's all there was to it."
—From this year, for three years, we can't afford to give at-bats to anyone but proven assets.
Whether it was the sincerity bleeding through those words or not—
"...Understood. Thank you for everything."
Song Hak-joo's resignation came quickly.
Bags packed piece by piece, Song Hak-joo set off for Suwon.
Click. Buzzz...
"I will show them something. I swear it."
Whether the trial that would forge him into something greater would one day circle back to the Doubles as another trade catastrophe—
no one could know, not yet.
The front office had simply done good business, but from the players' perspective, it bred a small misunderstanding.
Think about it. Noh In-seong beats up one guy, and the guy packs his bags the very next day after getting out of the army?
"...Don't tell me he got a kill order from the owner."
"Come to think of it, back when he set that record and got the gold bat, didn't the owner say he'd grant him anything..."
"Whoa. Gotta stay on In-seong's good side..."
It was the perfect breeding ground for exactly this kind of misunderstanding.
"Oh, cut the crap. Then how do you explain that pre-defense disaster of a player getting traded the way he did?"
"...I have a very clear idea of what you think of me. And fair point, actually?"
Noh In-seong felt wronged. He'd just done what he always did—and who knew it would happen to coincide with a trade?
"Figured a few punches was all it took and he'd start hitting like Song, too."
"...Stop talking like getting hit by your fists makes people better at baseball. What are you, Busan's black mercenary?"
Just as a player who's already gone never comes back, a rumor, once it spreads, is over.
Noh In-seong had rewritten everyone's perception of him—into a titan who could shake the entire Doubles organization on a whim.