Second Half? Make Way for the Yangban.
It took a surprising amount of time and money for Noh In-seong to smooth things over with the team.
Specifically: enough time to treat the entire roster and coaching staff to shabu-shabu with his All-Star prize money. And the frankly absurd sum of money that comes from buying beef for professional athletes.
Baseball players have some of the most refined palates in sports. These are men who hunt down famous restaurants on a nationwide scale — of course they wouldn't be satisfied by some all-you-can-eat shabu-shabu buffet. No, to genuinely please this crowd, you needed the kind of shabu-shabu you'd pay full menu price for at a proper sit-down restaurant.
...Although, to be perfectly accurate: with his own money, In-seong would have picked the buffet. It was only when someone else was paying that it became the full-price establishment.
"...Yeah, eat it all. Go on, eat up, you insane pigs."
"Hoo-ah!! Thanks, In-seong! Four more orders of beef over here!"
Amid all this festive generosity, the mood around the team thawed considerably — while In-seong's wallet was picked clean to the last won. It was the middle of the season, so liquor was off the table, but the beer flowed freely all night. And with a little alcohol in their systems, their blood sugar dipped and everyone grew hungrier for more side dishes. Orders went in, which meant drink orders went in, which meant more orders went in...
"Ha—hahaha! Damn! What is wrong with this shabu-shabu?! It just keeps sliding down my throat on its own!"
"Beef! Get inside me!"
"This beer is criminally good, though?!"
"Hey! Order another veggie platter! Don't put noodles in that pot — that one's for porridge!"
Everyone was stuffed and in high spirits, and by the end of the night it had become a full-blown 'we'll forget all about that little incident!' situation.
"...Damn it. Now I'm wondering if I even hit that home run for this. Depressing."
His wallet, muttering 'well, I suppose the bill must be paid,' emptied itself in the blink of an eye. Even after a bulk discount, the total came to 7.5 million won — though at least the menu was shabu-shabu, and small mercies deserved counting.
"If it had been a barbecue joint, I'd have had to dip into my signing bonus. Hahh. Those gluttonous bastards..."
Whether the rookies had simply eaten less, or the menu choice had been merciful, he would never know at this point. Wallet hollowed out, Noh In-seong pulled a genuinely tearful face at the register.
Then the All-Star break ended, and the day proper baseball finally resumed had arrived. Thursday — normally the day of a series' third game, but following the All-Star break came a four-game set. The Daejeon Phoenix, whom the Doubles had faced on the road back at Opening Day, were now coming to Jamsil.
So it was, with a hollowed-out wallet and a sullen mood, that Noh In-seong was making his way to the ballpark for the Phoenix series when—
"Noh In-seong! Did you see You Hong-jin's interview?"
"You Hong-jin has thrown down a challenge — any comment on that?"
"Give us one of your usual sharp remarks!"
Noh In-seong! Noh In-seong!
The reporters came swarming out of nowhere.
This was a man who signed autographs for fans wearing Doubles uniforms like he was slashing at paper — and now these vultures, noisier than a fish market at rush hour, wanted a morning-commute interview? Fat chance. Noh In-seong told them to enjoy the view of his retreating backside instead and took off running.
"I'm in a garbage mood, and you want to write an article about it?!"
Views, my ass — I'll make sure you can't even recoup your electricity bill and bus fare!
And so, his spite honed to a razor's edge, Noh In-seong sprinted.
"Hey! Grab him! Someone's running with a drone!"
"Ugh, he could just give us one lousy quote..."
Given how much of his drone terrorism against the tabloid vultures was already public knowledge, launching a drone to film him was outright suicide — and the reporters knew it. While they scrambled to clutch their drones down in their hands, the feet that boasted a 100% stolen-base success rate were already inside the stadium gates.
"Hah... hah... God, what kind of hell is this before the game's even started. You Hong-jin? You're dead today."
Forced into an intensity-4 run he never asked for before lunch, Noh In-seong's grudge ran very deep indeed.
In truth, You Hong-jin hadn't said anything out of line.
The schedule finally had him facing the Doubles again for the first time since Opening Day, and an interview request had come in to match. All he did was answer it earnestly. Asked about the bitter memory of losing back then despite giving up only two runs, he had simply laid out his plain reflections:
"This time, I won't be beaten by bunts or by the way he rattles batters."
"I won't get caught off guard like Opening Day twice. This time, I have to win straight up."
"I have a rough sense of what kind of man he is — one who'll do anything to win. I will win."
That was all. Except the words came from a superstar sitting at the very peak of the league—
"Whoa, he went pretty hard there? Usually it's just 'I'll give it my best' stuff."
"Right? Must've been a lot of pent-up resentment. And what was with the All-Star Game, anyway?"
"I heard he was seated right next to In-seong at the fan signing? Guess they had a spat. Perfect. Makes the article easy to write."
—and were aimed at Noh In-seong, the league's single most notorious problem child, who for once had spoken out of turn. And so:
The problem was that a clickbait goldmine had just been manufactured for every reporter in the country. Naturally, all anyone had to do was squeeze one more reaction out of Noh In-seong, and guaranteed rival content would pop! right into existence.
"...Damn it. How does the guy not lose even once?"
"Quick on his feet, huh? Who knows what he'd do to our cameras — giving interviews however he pleases... Argh."
Whether by luck or misfortune, Noh In-seong simply hadn't been irritated enough to take the bait. The reporters ground their teeth and started manufacturing fresh articles instead.
"Hey, In-seong. You see today's article? Everybody's saying you ran away."
"Argh... fuck."
Just past noon, before team practice, while everyone was loosening up — and Jo In-soo, delighted to finally have fresh teasing material, recited the headline with an enormous grin.
"'Noh In-seong Turns His Back in a Rush Mid-Interview, Offers No Comment on You Hong-jin... A Retreat?'"
"So because I wouldn't give them a reaction, now they're framing it as me bolting with my pants down?!"
It was a headline written out of pure spite, but the situation itself matched closely enough that even a defamation suit would struggle. A masterpiece of malice — carefully skirting falsehood while inflicting maximum damage.
"Argh, these bastards, seriously. My condition's not bad today either — how about I show them something?"
An empty wallet. A miserable commute. A dogshit article. And teammates waving it in his face besides. Noh In-seong's rage gauge touched the sky.
[Good evening, viewers. It has been far too long. Our first baseball broadcast since the All-Star Game!]
[Haha, it's been nearly a week since that All-Star Game with its truly shocking ending.]
The Daejeon Phoenix, somewhat surprisingly, weren't in such bad shape. The middle of the standings was a crowded logjam of roughly evenly matched rosters, which meant the gaps in the table were razor thin. Play just a little well against the first-place team, and you could climb right up the ladder.
Naturally, they needed results from this four-game series, so they sent out their very best starter to hunt for a win. The same man who had started against the Doubles on Opening Day — their unbeatable card of the season. Ten wins, five losses, a 2.21 ERA. A man whose five losses had piled up not because he pitched poorly, but because his team never scored a single run for him.
You Hong-jin took the mound in the bottom of the first.
"You've been honing that grudge of yours for ages — hope you prepared well."
The Phoenix's starting catcher, Jeong Gu-young, went poking at Noh In-seong's nerves. The sign had been called on the assumption that a rookie couldn't possibly have much experience handling a moment like this.
'Rattle that rookie's temper. A flustered man never puts a good swing on anything.'
The manager's read was dead-on. In-seong's face was practically glowing RGB, and he seemed plenty shaken.
At the same time, just in case, the third baseman was brought in tight on the grass. With runs as scarce as they'd been last time, Phoenix intended to shut down any bunt shenanigans at the source.
You Hong-jin's first pitch dove into the strike zone. A circle changeup.
"Strike!"
[Ah, a masterpiece of a pitch, as expected. That late velocity drop and the sharpness of the break at the end — beautiful.]
[His four-seamer is only a hair above league average, but that enormous velocity gap on the changeup is what makes him elite.]
Whether he was frozen stiff, had no intention of swinging, or had simply judged that nothing good would come of a swing anyway — Noh In-seong's bat never so much as twitched.
"Can't hit it, can you? Yeah, I figured. Weather's gotten hot, body's just a little..."
"Shut up and throw. Hyung's blood pressure is through the roof today."
Noh In-seong's low growl, his eyes gone completely feral, was genuinely frightening.
The next pitch came on the same line — a four-seam fastball. If he couldn't react to the changeup, then surely the bat would stay quiet for this one too—
CRRAAACK---!!
[High---!! This ball is headed for the far reaches of the stadium---!! It's GONE! Off the dome ceiling and into the spectator seats!]
[Noh In-seong sends the Phoenix's ace to the depths in his very first at-bat! 1-0!]
The ball soared sky-high, then dropped — every bit as high as the bat its owner had flung just as skyward. You Hong-jin's head sank low, and that lunatic started rounding the bases, arms folding and spreading with every hop.
"EVERY-BODY WANNA SAY! This is my style!"
First base, second base, third base — all the way home. The celebration never paused for a single hop, and everyone's mood began to curdle.
"Either get hit by my home runs, take your cuts against me, or get the hell out of my face."
Instead of Korean baseball's sacred pecking order of senior and junior, this man had come armed with life's own wisdom: a man charging straight ahead has no front and no back.
The bottom of the first, which had crept to the very edge of a full bench-clearing brawl, was suppressed — right in front of In-seong's slowly raised fist.
Tearful though he was, You Hong-jin still managed to escape the inning cleanly. But in the bottom of the third, two runners stood on base ahead of Noh In-seong. And that merciless bat hammered the very changeup he'd been so confident in — this one barely clearing the fence, a home run by the narrowest of distances.
"...Damn it. How the hell does that kid always know when to lift it over..."
On a changeup that fooled nearly everyone in the league, he swung like he was the only man alive who knew what pitch was coming. And in true fashion for a people who demand an encore from anything good, Noh In-seong went hopping down the line all over again, taunting You Hong-jin the entire way.
"Sob... sniff... you hit it damn well... Next at-bat... we settle this."
"...There's no other way. Fine."
After that, both of Noh In-seong's remaining plate appearances ended in intentional balls.
[Ah, Noh In-seong is strolling to first with a smile on his face?]
[He walked on four intentional pitches, but he looks just about as pleased as if he'd homered?]
"Haha, yes! Now that's proper respect! Clear the road, you commoners! The yangban is coming through!"
Jung In-woong, watching this spectacle from first base, opened his mouth to say something — anything. Then he caught sight of the Potato Fist rising quietly from an angle the cameras couldn't see, and closed it again. Deep down, a full peasant uprising was already itching to erupt, but what could he do? The man's fist packed more heat than a mouthful of fire noodles.
'Damn it. I'm the lunatic here — for trying to talk to this lunatic.'
The fire blazing in his heart was promptly doused by the fire extinguisher of a fist held in close proximity.
In the end, buoyed by Caleb's seven scoreless innings, the Doubles won without surrendering a single run. The scoring dried up after the early outburst, and the game finished 4-0.
"You faced You Hong-jin again after quite a while apart — your impressions?"
"It's not that he built his body less — did he just not build it at all? I hit it like it was still sitting on a tee."
"......"
If a god of rage and verbal abuse existed, this was a man that god would ordain as an apostle on the spot.
"He's barely changed since the season started, so next year he'll probably be a little different. See you then."
Noh In-seong held his grudge to the bitter end. Spring training, Opening Day, and now this — the same disaster-summoning mouth and its people-shredding blade had done magnificent work yet again.
"...Sob, sob..."
"Argh, our kid's mentality just exploded! You insane reporters! Why did you have to start all this?!"
"This is bad. Apparently the owner heard about the situation and..."
"...What? No, wait — isn't that actually a good thing?"
The next day, word arrived that the hot-blooded owner of the Daejeon Phoenix had gathered a handful of reporters on a back hill outside Daejeon and delivered a thorough 'lecture.'
"Mr. Song. I'm broke these days, so you're buying dinner, Mr. Song."
"Ugh, this bastard just gets more shameless by the day..."
"You're asking... me... after wolfing down... seven servings... of shabu-shabu...?!"
"...Obviously I'm buying! There you go. So, what would you like to eat!"
For Noh In-seong — the alchemist who conjured full meals out of nothing but a raised fist — the past was already the past. Whatever had happened, it was none of his business.