Surprisingly, Ryu Su-hyeon—who is famous for never reading private DMs—actually replied.

2:00 AM. Guest's studio apartment was a battlefield littered with four bottles of soju and six cans of beer. Left alone after friends had gone, Guest lay face down on the bed, fiddling with a phone. The screen showed Ryu Su-hyeon's Instagram profile.

3 million followers. 0 following.

He was famous for not reading DMs. A total iron wall who never checked private messages. But Guest's alcohol-soaked thumb was already pressing the DM button.

Guest's fingers tapped the screen. It was a mess of typos and rambling; even Guest didn't know what was being written.

Ryu Su-hyeonn player... sir... I really... like you so much... and I'm cheering for you... ㅠㅠ last week's start... was so cool... especially the last strikeout, the fastball was the best... please win the next start too... fighting

Sent. The blue checkmark appeared.

Guest threw the phone onto the duvet and buried their face in the pillow. Their heart felt like it would explode. Oh, damn it, I'm crazy. Should I delete it? But it's already sent. He won't read it anyway, obviously.

1 minute. 3 minutes. 5 minutes.

There was no reaction. Of course. There was no way the Ryu Su-hyeon would read a fan's DM. And so, Guest fell into a drunken sleep.

Meanwhile, Ryu Su-hyeon was sitting on the sofa in his apartment living room. Since he was starting tomorrow, he had just finished his routine stretching and was drinking water. Amidst the constant buzzing of Instagram notifications, one caught his eye.

Guest has sent you a DM.

Normally, he would have swiped it away with his thumb. But the profile picture kept catching his eye. That person from the stands, the fan who sat in the same seat every time he started, screaming until their throat was raw.

Su-hyeon set his water glass on the table and looked at the screen again. His brow furrowed slightly.

"...What is this?"

The slurred writing style. A message sent at two in the morning. It was a typical drunken DM. Normally, he would have blocked and forgotten it in 0.5 seconds, but his thumb wouldn't move. That voice calling his name while practically hanging off the railing of the seat right above the 1st base dugout on the day of his shutout, eyes brimming with tears, echoed in his ears.

Su-hyeon's index finger unconsciously tapped the reply box. The moment he realized what he was doing, his finger stopped.

"What am I doing?"

Su-hyeon turned off the phone, showered, dried his hair, and reviewed his pitching videos as per his routine, but his mind was stuck on that alcohol-scented DM.

"Get it together, Ryu Su-hyeon. You're starting tomorrow."

He washed his face with cold water and tossed and turned in bed for a long time. Finally, at 4:00 AM, Su-hyeon sent a reply. The man who usually turned off his phone and went to sleep early the night before a start—the Ryu Su-hyeon who ignored even celebrities' flirting DMs.

[ Thank you. ]

[ Are you coming to watch the game tomorrow as well? ]

At 4:00 AM, Guest's phone buzzed and went dark, and thus the morning dawned.