"Shh."
He pressed a finger to his lips, as if telling me not to tell anyone, and chuckled. He was clearly very drunk.
If I left him like this, someone else besides me would recognize him, and he would end up in the internet news tomorrow, caught in unnecessary gossip.
Normally, my personality was to avoid getting involved in troublesome matters, so I would have pretended not to see someone else's business and just passed by.
But this was Woo Seung-geon, the player I respected endlessly.
I absolutely did not want to see him in the sports or society pages for anything other than good news.
"You shouldn't be out here like this. Where did your companions go?"
Woo Seung-geon blinked his drunken eyes and stared at me as I approached and asked.
The first thing I felt when I stood close to him was a strange sense of pressure.
As a famous fireballer, it was a given that he had strong shoulders, and I'd expected him to have a powerful back and thick thighs, but he was tall, too. I found myself admiring that he must not have been pushed around when competing against foreigners in the US.
However, my attitude—approaching him with sparkling eyes—led him to a misunderstanding.
"Seong-ha. You're Seong-ha, right?"
I was so shocked at that moment that I stopped breathing.
How could Woo Seung-geon possibly know me?
Of course, we'd gone to the same high school, so I had seen him—the senior who had already succeeded as a pro—a few times among the crowd of baseball players.
But we had never exchanged any particular words, and several years had passed since then. I was certain there was no way he would remember me.
Wouldn't it be stranger for a big-league Cy Young candidate to recognize a backup player from the domestic league?
But more than my curiosity about how he knew me, my desire to not reveal that I was that junior pitcher, Shin Seong-ha, was stronger.
Because of how pathetic I looked, and because of my inferiority complex.
In the end, I lied.
"I'm not."
"You're not? You look just like him. You're a pitcher, right?"
I squeezed my eyes shut and lied again.
"I'm just… a college student."
If I hadn't played baseball, it was the age where I would have been in college after finishing my military service.
Since I'd hidden my identity this much, the drunken Woo Seung-geon didn't question me further.
"Ah, a college student. Hmm, you look like someone I know."
But honestly, I was curious.
How could a Major Leaguer know me, someone who barely got any attention even in the Korean league, and be so happy to see me?
Did he really remember me just from seeing my face a few times all those years ago?
"Who is this person you're confusing me with?"
Woo Seung-geon didn't answer.
He stared at me with drunken, unfocused eyes, and then smiled.
It was a laugh devoid of energy, as if he was crestfallen.
"Someone I can't have, even if I want to."
Hmm….
It seemed the 'Seong-ha' that Woo Seung-geon knew wasn't me, right?
I wasn't the kind of person someone would make such a lonely expression for, as if nursing a one-sided love.
Once I'd organized my thoughts, I felt much more at ease.
I was able to treat him with the same purpose I'd had when I first spoke to him.
"Where are your companions?"
"Don't know. They went for a smoke and haven't come back."
"Then don't stand out here. Go wait inside somewhere."
"Why do you care? Do you know me?"
"I know you well."
"How does a college student know me? Are you a baseball fan?"
"…Yes, I'm a huge fan of yours, Woo Seung-geon."
"Really? It feels good to hear that from Seong-ha's face."
Woo Seung-geon, mistaking me for someone he knew, smiled.
His smile, his eyes crinkling into crescents, was full of confidence and cheer, unlike me.
"I want to have a drink with Seong-ha. We've never even had a drink together. How about it?"
He was well and truly drunk.
A rational conversation with a drunkard was impossible.
I grabbed his arm.
"If you're just going home, I'll get you a taxi to your house."
"My house? No."
"You need to go in and rest."
"I'm staying at the hotel right in front of us."
It was a one-minute walk.
I felt sheepish, like I had been unnecessarily nosy.
"Then I'll walk you to the lobby. Please go in and rest."
Woo Seung-geon just kept chuckling at my suggestion.
My heart pounded as he kept smiling with that handsome face.
His expression, as he tried to look at me properly even while drunk, felt sincere.
His feelings for the someone he was mistaking me for—they felt real.
"How about one drink? My treat."
Woo Seung-geon continued his sweet temptation.
"We can just drink in my room."
To be able to have a private chat with a Major Leaguer in a room, where we wouldn't have to worry about other people.
It was a golden opportunity, so much so that I wanted to answer 'Yes!' immediately. But I was stuck in the dilemma of having to maintain my false identity, and my mind ground to a halt.
He just stared at me intently, his eyes glazed over with alcohol.
He smiled softly, looking genuinely happy.
"It's just that it's been a while since I've seen such a pretty face, so I don't want to let you go."
That answer was confusing.
'Is he really drunk? Why is he being so foxy? Was he always like this?'
In the end, I couldn't even give a proper refusal and got swept up by him.
"Let's go, hmm?"
"Um…"
"Come on."
He even grabbed my hand.
As he stumbled and pulled me along with his strength, I was afraid he might fall in the street, so I hastily supported him, pulling him into an embrace.
The reason I followed him to the hotel—was it a pure fan's heart, worried that he might really end up in an article for some scandal?
Or was it because I was happy to be able to experience the player I had only seen in articles and videos this up close?
Or maybe it was because I wanted to solve the mystery of 'Just who does he like so much that he's acting this way?'
Even thinking about it now, I don't know which it was.
In the hotel room we entered together, I just accepted everything as Woo Seung-geon, overcome with alcohol, lost his ability to reason.
"Seong-ha."
He kissed me, all while calling the name of his doppelgänger.
I was so surprised that I froze, which Woo Seung-geon misunderstood as a sign of acceptance, and his hands began to move.
"Haah, Seong-ha, Seong-ha…"
Woo Seung-geon wasn't the only one who couldn't stop.
I think I was bewitched by him, too, and not in my right mind.
His face, flushed and panting with arousal, was mesmerizing.
Even though I knew the 'Seong-ha' he was calling as he kissed me was someone else, my heart was pounding like crazy.
But that excitement vanished, like a midsummer night's dream.
When I regained my senses the next day, after having been swept up in an impulsive night with him, I writhed in self-loathing.
'Crazy bastard…'
I cursed myself.
I had never, ever imagined sleeping with… having a one-night stand, with a man, let alone Woo Seung-geon.
I secretly slipped out of the arms of Woo Seung-geon, who was sleeping soundly, holding me tight, and fled the hotel.
'This was just an accident.'
I mumbled to myself, as if to brainwash myself.
If I didn't, the respect and admiration I held for him felt like they would curdle into affection and love.
I didn't want to face my idol with such impure feelings.
'It was an accident.'
I thought we would never cross paths again.
Who would have known that Woo Seung-geon would be invited to our team's game against the Guardians just a few days later?
I also didn't know that I, of all people, would be put on the mound to pitch the 5th and 6th innings that day.
It was a moment where everything felt like a prank played by the gods.
Since such a famous person was watching the game, it was only natural that the stadium and broadcast cameras frequently showed him.
The moment I went up as a reliever, Woo Seung-geon's expression was also caught on camera.
Sitting comfortably, he just watched me, unblinking, the entire time.
His expression was completely unreadable.
How could things get this twisted?
I couldn't handle the situation anymore, so after that, I desperately avoided him.
I thought I just had to run and hide for a little while, since he would be returning to America anyway.
But who knew that well over a year later, Woo Seung-geon would reappear, wearing a Guardians uniform, and start contacting me again.
"Why won't it work with me?"
What happened between us was a mistake, an accident.
At my attitude, which emphasized that point, Woo Seung-geon's voice, which was holding the steering wheel, burst out in a growl.
"Tell me what I'm lacking. Looks, money, skill, a clean relationship history, no messy family drama—what is it about me that bothers you?"
Nothing.
That's the problem.
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