#1. Prologue: The Tyrant in the Rain

This was undeniably a dream. Yet, the imagery seeping through his retinas was as vivid as reality itself.

Rain struck the bullpen ground in relentless, savage whips. Between the two men standing face-to-face—having abandoned all hope of an umbrella—the sound of their ragged breathing mingled with the suffocating humidity, vibrating with dense, heavy tension.

Yuhwan’s frame seemed sculpted by a god. Standing at an imposing 190 centimeters, his broad shoulders and wet black hair radiated a feral, overwhelming presence. His rain-slicked muscles flexed with explosive tension, like a predator cornering its prey.

Beside him, Haneul’s crimson hair clung wetly along his slender neck and shoulders. Rain soaked through his thin shirt, pasting it translucently to his pale skin. Behind the fine tremors of Haneul’s chest, his every breath was laid bare under Yuhwan’s dark, piercing gaze.

“Yuhwan, ······what did you say?”

“Should I repeat myself? I said I want to hold you.”

The early March air was freezing enough to penetrate bone, yet the words spilling from Yuhwan’s lips were abnormally hot, laced with a lethal intensity.

It had been barely a day since they first met.

After such a fleeting sliver of time, Yuhwan’s demand was violent. Its destructive weight choked Haneul, making his throat spasm in silence.

The innocent face of the teammate he had been casually catching for just moments ago was nowhere to be found. The deep eyes looking down at Haneul swirled with predatory persistence and forbidden desire.

‘I’ve gone mad. That’s the only reason I’m dreaming something like this.’

His consciousness felt dazed by the downpour, and the unrealistic heat filled the dugout. Even the tactile sensation of pitching in the bullpen faded beneath the surface of his mind. Yet, to dismiss it merely as a dream, the cool touch of rain on his skin and the rich, intoxicating scent radiating from Yuhwan were terrifyingly real.

An explicit image of intimacy flashed through his mind, washing over his entire body as a wave of burning shame. But there was not an ounce of hesitation in Yuhwan’s expression. As if declaring that Haneul’s suspicions were entirely correct, he invaded Haneul’s personal space with arrogant, headlong intensity.

Crushed under the weight of this fierce verbal assault, Jang Haneul couldn't even squeeze out a groan. He had thought they were just getting along as ordinary members of the baseball club—yet here he was, trapped in the freezing rain, faced with a raw, suffocating advance.

It had all begun yesterday. The trouble started right after the tryouts for Seoul National University’s baseball club, MaguMagu, during a drinking session in Nokdu Alley initiated by Yuhwan. A childish wager—where the winner got to use the loser as a slave for a single day—proved to be the catalyst.

Haneul had always prided himself on being an arrogant competitor. Grades, part-time jobs, batting at the plate—he had never allowed himself to taste defeat in anything. His sole, god-given flaw was his utter inability to process alcohol.

The price for getting swept up in the atmosphere and emptying his glass was catastrophic. Pledged to Yuhwan’s whims for a day, he was now confronted with this absurd, surreal reality.

In truth, across three lifetimes, Haneul had secretly loved Yuhwan, imagining tens of thousands of times what it would feel like to be held in those arms until his body shattered.

Yet every real encounter had ended in tragedy—either as awkward strangers, or with his life cut short the very moment they drew even a fraction closer.

“Yuhwan, can’t you see it’s pouring? Stop talking nonsense.”

Haneul tried desperately to steady his trembling voice and grasp onto reason, but Yuhwan merely let out a cruel, faint laugh, twisting his wet lips.

“Jang Haneul. Making a face that shameless······ Are you sure you won't regret stopping here?”

Shameless? Look who's talking.

Yuhwan possessed an overwhelming physical build and features more striking than an actor's. He was currently standing there, practically radiating a dark, intoxicating charm. Even the label of a disgraced chaebol heir was transformed into a fatal allure; he was a black hole that swallowed every gaze in his vicinity.

Yet Yuhwan’s true magic resided not in his outer shell, but in his pitching. A terrifying velocity that seemed to rip through ear drums, and a heavy, crushing power that trampled a batter’s pride.

The balls he threw were an absolute terror that made batters break down at the plate—an agonizingly fatal enchantment.

Those who failed to touch his pitch were left with more than just a bitter sense of defeat; they sank into a swamp of self-loathing, losing their minds entirely.

‘The batters who tasted hell because of you thought about dying······.’

And now, that devilish guy was shredding Haneul’s sanity into pieces. This was a ruin beyond all logic. What Haneul had to catch wasn't Yuhwan's fiery sincerity or the heavy pitch from the mound, but the steep, volatile desire bleeding from him.

“Jang Haneul, strip. Fast.”

“Are you insane?”

“We don’t have time.”

“You want to do this to someone you met for the first time yesterday?”

Grab!

Yuhwan’s massive hand seized Haneul by the collar, hauling him forcefully against his chest. Through their soaked clothes, their burning body heat mingled together undisguisedly.

With rainwater running down his eyelashes, it was hard to even keep his eyes open, but the raw determination in Yuhwan’s gaze as he stared down at Haneul was blind and absolute.

Just as Haneul’s thoughts were about to go completely numb, Yuhwan’s large hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, invading Haneul's bare skin—only to freeze abruptly.

“······What’s with that look?”

As if caught in a violent internal war, Yuhwan went rigid as a stone statue. Holding his breath at the touch, waiting helplessly for his next move, Haneul was consumed by an unbearable embarrassment and an aching, silent sorrow.

“Yuhwan, don’t cross the line.”

Haneul barely squeezed out the warning.

He couldn't possibly confess the truth—that he was madly in love with him, or that even a humiliating moment like this felt sweet simply because it was him.

The torrential rain pouring down brought their stormy confrontation to a brief lull. Cutting through the wet silence, Yuhwan murmured softly.

“Did you really just meet me for the first time yesterday? And why the hell is a guy looking at me with those eyes?”

In that instant, Haneul felt his heart plunge into a bottomless abyss.

The deep traces of a love he hadn't been able to hide across three lifetimes—Yuhwan had already seen right through them.