#4. You and I at the Same Exact Time

By now, Yuhwan would have also received the acceptance notice and arrived at the field first, warming up that massive frame of his.

If he didn't go, Yuhwan’s pitches would end up being caught by Yu Kyungho, a third-year business administration major.

Recalling Yu Kyungho—the youngest son of a chaebol family who possessed handsome looks, a smooth personality, and gathered the admiration of women all to himself—Haneul's stomach twisted.

‘Ah, I really hate it.’

He would rather die than see those two mingling together, yet that awkward incident from two days ago kept weighing down his heart.

“Achoo! ······Achoo!”

The sharp stares of his classmates pinned onto him. The time announcing the end of the lecture was approaching.

Just the imagination of a presence like Yu Kyungho wedging himself between Yuhwan and himself sparked a surging jealousy that felt like his blood vessels were burning up. The sight of him hovering around Yuhwan with a graceful face and a slick attitude was vivid.

Surely, this time too, he would take care of Yuhwan under the trivial pretext of sharing the same 'Yu' surname.

‘Ah, let's just go! Go!’

Using the sneezes bursting out to the point of being a nuisance as an excuse, he hurriedly packed his bag.

The more he faced the reality that his remaining life was short, the more tightly he clenched his fist, wanting to engrave a single moment more of that guy’s image into his eyes. It was an intense obsession, strong enough for his fingernails to dig into his palms until they turned white.

***

At the same time, Yuhwan was spending time submerged in thought at his penthouse in Gangnam. Until the deep, crimson sunset seeped into the living room, staining the space like blood.

He had pushed his body to its limits in the training room, sweating profusely, but his turbulent inner state showed no signs of calming down.

Every time he struck the heavy bag, the residual image of Jang Haneul’s rain-soaked uniform cluttered his vision. Rainwater trickling down that slender body, and that fleeting moment when the white cloth stuck to his skin, translucently revealing the bare flesh beneath. A destructive power surged into Yuhwan’s fist.

When he checked the acceptance message, even though it was an expected outcome, an unpleasant thirst rose up his throat. Because the future he would face with Jang Haneul on the field was far too vivid and precarious.

Every time he chewed and spat out the guy’s name, his throat trembled faintly. All other catchers he had met until now easily submitted before his overbearing pitch, but Jang Haneul was different. That arrogant pitch selection attempting to master his ball inflicted a humiliation that felt like stripping Yuhwan’s soul bare.

To someone like him who could easily hurl a 150 km/h fastball, passing was an obvious trophy, yet there was no joy.

One year ago, the day he woke beneath the cold lights of the shoulder surgery room, Yuhwan swallowed a poison called 'deficit' for the first time in his life. After that day, the ball was no longer a mere tool. It was the sole weapon forged through desperate endurance.

Believing that after a perfect rehabilitation, standing on the mound again meant only soaring high was left for him.

‘Jang Haneul, that brazen thing haunts me even in my dreams?’

Yesterday, Yuhwan had a bizarre, provocative dream. That unfamiliar sensation in the pouring rain bullpen where he tried to pounce on Jang Haneul like a beast.

Whether his brain had gone mad or whether it was a perverted desire hidden beneath instinct, he had no way of knowing.

It was a confusion he had never experienced once in his life. Thanks to a background as a scion of a prestigious family and flawless looks, he had received courtships from countless women, and at times, even explicit, admiration-filled confessions from men.

Everything was in excess, and because it was an environment where he could grasp anything in the world just by reaching out, he had never craved anything.

Except for one thing: baseball.

During that pitch-black time when an unexpected reef called a shoulder injury robbed him of baseball, Yuhwan finally realized the weight of 'loss' and 'deficit.'

And now, another deficit attacked him.

Namely, the foreign existence called Jang Haneul.

Other catchers were merely busy receiving his fastball with admiring eyes, but Jang Haneul was the sole exception. Those clear, yet firm eyes dismantled and twisted Yuhwan’s pitching rhythm into pieces.

To a pitcher, a catcher should be nothing more than a wall that receives his ball, yet Jang Haneul crossed that boundary and encroached deep into Yuhwan’s inner domain.

His condition was worse than ever.

Furthermore, even if he formed a battery with that sly catcher guy, he was certain it would never be a smooth relationship.

That coercive lead—breaking Yuhwan's stubbornness, persistently demanding sliders, curves, and tricky locations to control him.

In the end, the stellar senior batters who stood in the batter's box couldn't even swing their bats properly against Yuhwan’s pitches, falling like autumn leaves.

Even though it was a perfect pitching performance that didn't allow a single runner, his mood was foul. Because there was not a single pitch containing his own will.

He could have refused, but rising anger at himself for being dragged along by the guy's lead just because he hated hearing sarcasms about lacking control gnawed at him.

The fact that the seniors were overwhelmed not by his powerful pitch quality, but by Jang Haneul’s clever pitch calls mangled Yuhwan’s pride.

‘Jang Haneul, just wait till I run into you.’

This time, I'm going to thoroughly trample you.

Without knowing whether the identity of this unfamiliar emotion boiling inside his chest was hatred or an intense attraction he didn't want to admit, Yuhwan left his home with eyes bearing murder.

The early March air was razor-sharp and chilly.

On the road leading from Gangnam to S University, the scenery outside the window swept past only as blurred, grayish residual images.

Starting the engine, Yuhwan coldly scanned his own face reflected in the rearview mirror.

‘What a pathetic sight.’

He thoroughly disliked his own distorted expression, unable to hide the twisted thoughts inside.