#4. You and I at the Same Exact Time

By now, Yuhwan must have received his acceptance notice too, arriving at the field early to warm up his massive, imposing frame.

If I choose not to go, his pitches will end up being caught by Yoo Gyeong-ho, that third-year Business Administration student.

The mere thought of Yoo Gyeong-ho—the youngest son of a massive chaebol family, a guy who possessed strikingly handsome looks, a slick, smooth personality, and held the absolute adoration of every girl on campus—made Haneul’s stomach violently twist into knots.

Ah, I genuinely loathe the idea.

He would rather die than witness those two coming together. Yet, that deeply uncomfortable standoff from the other day kept relentlessly weighing down on his heart.

"Achoo! ...sniff... Achoo!"

The sharp, stinging glares of his classmates pierced right into him. The clock was aggressively ticking down to the final moments of the lecture.

The mere mental image of Yoo Gyeong-ho wedging himself right into the space between Yuhwan and himself triggered a searing flash of jealousy that felt like actual fire coursing through his veins. He could clearly picture it: Gyeong-ho hovering around Yuhwan with that elegant face and smooth, playful demeanor.

Without a doubt, that bastard would use the pathetic excuse of sharing the same 'Yoo' surname as a petty common denominator to take meticulous, doting care of Yuhwan in this lifetime as well.

Screw it, let's just go! I'm going!

Using his disruptive, endless sneezing as a convenient excuse, Haneul hurriedly packed his bag.

The more he forced himself to face the brutal reality that his remaining days in this life were numbered, the tighter he clenched his fists, driven by a desperate urge to engrave the man's image into his eyes for even a fraction of a second longer. It was a suffocating obsession, so intense that his fingernails dug deep into his palms until they turned completely pale.

***

Yuhwan spent his day completely submerged in the heavy silence of his luxury penthouse in Gangnam. He stayed there until the deep, crimson sunset seeped into the living room, bleeding across the modern space like fresh pools of blood.

He had pushed his physical vessel to its absolute breaking point inside the training room, drenching himself in sweat, but the violent turbulence churning deep within his chest refused to subside.

Every single time his fist violently struck the heavy bag, the lingering afterimage of Haneul Jang's rain-drenched uniform aggressively blurred his vision. The exact, fleeting moment where the sheets of rainwater traced down that slender frame, causing the white fabric to cling so tightly to his skin that it rendered his pale flesh completely translucent—with that thought, a destructive, near-savage force packed itself into Yuhwan's fists.

When he first checked the acceptance message, despite it being a thoroughly guaranteed conclusion, an unpleasant, suffocating thirst climbed straight up his throat. The future where he would inevitably collide face-to-face with Haneul Jang on the dirt field felt terrifyingly vivid, yet entirely volatile.

Every time he chewed on the syllables of that bastard’s name, his adam's apple trembled with a faint, sharp spasm. Every other catcher he had encountered up until now had easily buckled and surrendered before his fiercely intimidating pitches. But Haneul Jang was an anomaly. That arrogant pitch calling—demanding complete and absolute dominion over his throws—inflicted a sense of pure humiliation that felt as if his very soul was being stripped completely naked.

To a monster who could casually drive a 150 km/h fastball straight into the zone with pure, raw strength, passing the tryouts was a basic, expected trophy. Yet, there wasn't a single shred of ecstasy in it.

Exactly one year ago, the day he woke up beneath the freezing, sterile lights of the shoulder surgery table, Yuhwan had swallowed the poison known as 'lack' for the very first time in his existence. From that dark day onward, a baseball ceased to be a simple piece of equipment. It became his one and only weapon, fiercely forged through agonizing, bloody patience.

He had believed that standing on the mound once again after a flawless rehabilitation meant he would finally fly free without boundaries.

Haneul Jang... How dare that cheeky little bastard torment me inside my own dreams?

Yesterday, Yuhwan had experienced a bizarre, highly provocative dream. A raw, foreign sensation where he had attempted to pounce on Haneul Jang like a wild beast inside a rain-swept bullpen.

He couldn't tell if his own brain had finally gone completely insane, or if this was a perverted, repressed lust lurking beneath his primal instincts.

It was a state of pure, chaotic confusion he had never experienced in his entire life. Blessed with the ironclad background of a prestigious family and a physically flawless appearance, his life had been flooded with endless courtship from women, and occasionally, overt, raw confessions of admiration from men.

Everything in his world was an absolute excess. Because he existed in an environment where he could grasp anything on earth by simply extending his hand, he had never truly yearned for anything.

With the sole exception of baseball.

During those pitch-black times when an unexpected anchor called a shoulder injury violently ripped baseball away from him, Yuhwan had finally realized the staggering weight of 'loss' and 'deprivation.'

And now, a completely different type of deficiency was aggressively creeping up on him.

An anomalous existence named Haneul Jang.

Other catchers were always entirely occupied with merely surviving his lethal fastball, their eyes filled with nothing but pure adoration. But Haneul Jang was the sole exception. Those clear, unyielding eyes had brutally dismantled and twisted Yuhwan’s pitching rhythm into scattered shards.

To a pitcher, a catcher was supposed to be nothing more than a solid brick wall meant to take his balls. Yet, Haneul Jang had casually violated that boundary, invading the absolute deepest corners of Yuhwan’s inner self.

His physical condition felt heavier and more wretched than ever.

Furthermore, he held an absolute certainty that even if he did form a battery with that sly, insolent catcher, their relationship would be anything but smooth.

That overbearing, dominant lead—stubbornly demanding sliders, curveballs, and punishingly difficult corners while actively breaking his pride to force absolute control over him.

Ultimately, the legendary senior batters who stepped up to the plate couldn't even properly swing their bats against Yuhwan's pitches, falling away like withered leaves in a harsh autumn wind.

Despite it being a flawless, perfect pitching performance that refused to allow a single runner on base, the aftertaste felt thoroughly disgusting. Because not a single ball thrown contained his own raw will.

He could have easily rejected the signs, but the burning fury toward himself—for allowing Haneul's lead to drag him around simply because he hated the idea of hearing snide remarks about losing his control—boiled over.

The brutal reality that the seniors had been completely suppressed not by his dominant power, but by Haneul Jang’s fiercely brilliant pitch calling, utterly butchered Yuhwan's massive pride.

Haneul Jang. Just wait until I face you!

This time, I will thoroughly crush you under my heel.

Without even realizing whether the foreign emotion raging inside his chest was pure hatred or a powerful, magnetic attraction he desperately refused to acknowledge, Yuhwan stepped out of his house with an aura dripping with lethal intent.

The early March air was razor-sharp and freezing.

On the asphalt road cutting from Gangnam toward S National University, the scenery outside his window blurred past as nothing but a hazy, ash-gray afterimage.

Igniting the engine, Yuhwan cast a freezing, piercing glare at his own reflection in the rearview mirror.

What a pathetic, absolute trainwreck.

He intensely loathed the twisted, distorted expression on his face—one that couldn't even properly conceal the volatile ugliness of his inner thoughts.