Beep beep beep beep.
At the repeating alarm, the fingertips of the hand hanging off the bed twitched.
Beep beep beep beep.
Like a snake seeking that familiar sound, my hand slithered and grasped the phone.
Beep beep, swipe.
I swiped the screen to turn off the alarm without even looking.
I lay face down for a long time, then my eyes flew open.
Jolt!
I shot up in bed.
In the room, which was dark from the rain outside, only dust, kicked up from the suddenly thrown-off blankets, floated in the air.
I stood there blankly, then let out a foolish sound.
"Huh?"
I looked down at my body.
I wasn't in a patient gown.
My ribs, which had been so fractured that movement was a struggle, felt no pain at all.
I was in my usual sleepwear: sweatpants and a t-shirt.
I stood still, like a broken robot.
My eyes darted around, taking in the scenery of my room, and then I frowned.
"A dream…?"
It was an absurd, yet incredibly realistic, dream.
Everything from the accident scene to the hospital treatment and the police investigation.
"What was that... that awful dream?"
I knew very well that I wasn't that imaginative of a person.
All I knew how to do were things like training methods to get better at baseball, or watching videos of my role model, Woo Seung-geon, and applying it to my pitching form.
Me, a completely realistic and rational person, creating such a detailed, imaginary scenario where someone died?
I impatiently ran a hand through my hair and turned on my phone screen.
July 7th, Friday, 8:00 AM.
"Hah…"
I let out a sigh, shook my head, and decided to forget the dream and start my daily routine.
I played a video of Woo Seung-geon.
The voice from the video and the voice from my dream overlapped.
"I love you, Seong-ha."
Most of the time, I couldn't even remember what I'd dreamed about after waking up, but this time was different.
The expression and voice from the dream were stuck in my head and wouldn't leave.
I couldn't focus on the video.
It was a restless morning.
Ting-a-ling.
As the bell on the door rang, a familiar greeting was heard.
"Welcome!"
My gaze went to the uniform of the part-timer who was greeting me brightly.
The Triple A Cafe logo was clearly embroidered on it.
'Is it because of that stupid dream? It's bothering me for no reason.'
I lifted my gaze back to the part-timer.
He was a new guy who had started recently.
He looked to be in his early 20s, not even having done his military service yet, but he must have been a baseball fan, because he recognized me immediately and smiled broadly.
"The usual Iced Americano, grande size, for takeout, right?"
I just nodded, unable to even say my order.
After I paid, he smiled brightly again and said, "I'll let you know when it's ready!"
I felt both grateful and uncomfortable to have a part-timer who paid this much attention to me.
'He could've just pretended not to know me. He must have built up a lot of internal-familiarity…'
Still, I'd been coming here since my second-string days and had grown fond of the cafe, so it felt wrong to switch.
I looked around the cafe interior, which had undergone minor renovations over time.
I was struck, as if for the first time, by how large it was.
With the first, second, and third floors combined, it looked like there were over 50 tables.
No wonder it always seemed like there were at least 100 people here when it was crowded; it was big enough to hold them.
Just as the store was spacious, the customers were diverse.
Office workers in suits, homemakers who looked like they were from the nearby apartment complexes, young people in their 20s and 30s working on laptops, and elderly men, all mixed together.
The reason I was suddenly staring at the customers in my daily cafe was, of course, because of that absurd dream.
'Which one of them is the at-fault driver? And the person who dealt the drugs was tall and thin, wearing a hood…'
I couldn't see anyone tall wearing a hood.
'The supplier probably wouldn't deliver the goods while casually drinking coffee at the cafe. They'd slip in and slip out, so it's unlikely to be anyone sitting here now.'
I was running through scenarios like a detective in a mystery novel, and then I inwardly burst out laughing.
'I'm acting like a crazy person. Why am I analyzing a dream in reality, haha.'
My drink was ready.
"Your Iced Americano is here."
As I took it from the pickup counter, the part-timer's eyes met mine and he whispered brightly, "I'm a fan, Shin Seong-ha. Keep fighting!"
I wasn't that great of a player, so receiving cheers was both embarrassing and gratifying.
I gave the kid a small fist pump.
"Fighting."
I left the cafe, leaving the part-timer giggling happily at my small reaction.
'I should find a different cafe starting tomorrow.'
It wasn't the part-timer's fault.
It was just that my social skills were lacking, making me feel burdened by a fan who recognized me.
I opened my umbrella against the pouring rain.
Pang!
With my umbrella in one hand and my coffee in the other, I entered the ballpark.
Just then, I ran into a front-office employee.
It was Park Hyun-ah from the scouting team.
"Shin Seong-ha, you're the first one to clock in again today!"
I froze at her words.
It was the exact same greeting I'd heard in my dream.
Behind her, other front-office staff passed by, holding coffees.
"Shin Seong-ha, you're so diligent!"
"It's not easy to come here this early in the morning during the season."
"If you have time today, would you like to do a shoot? To upload on YouTube!"
I just stood there for a long moment.
My expression was subtly contorted. I was startled, and belatedly bowed my head.
"Hello."
As I walked away, as if fleeing, I heard laughter from behind me.
"Don't you think Shin Seong-ha is cute?"
"Yeah! The other players are so slick, but Seong-ha is still like a kid."
It was strange.
Something was very, very strange.
Thump.
I set my bag down on the practice facility bench and just stood there for a while.
I was supposed to contact Pitching Coach Ahn Soo-hyuk for a one-on-one session before the other players arrived, but I didn't feel like it.
"…What is this?"
I tilted my head to the side.
Was this what they called déjà vu?
I couldn't believe a scene from a dream was actually happening, exactly the same, in reality.
Blink, blink.
Inside the bag I'd set down, my phone, which I'd set to silent, lit up.
I took it out. A call was coming in.
It was Woo Seung-geon.
Normally, I would have ignored it, put the phone face down, and not answered. But I felt, instinctively, that something was wrong.
'It's too identical. Can déjà vu really be like this?'
Everything that had happened, from the moment I woke up to the moment I arrived at the indoor practice facility, matched what I had experienced in the dream.
The order, the time, and the words spoken by every person I met.
This wasn't just a simple feeling of having "been here before."
It felt like I was repeating the exact same events.
So, I answered Woo Seung-geon's call.
"Hello."
It was an abnormal choice, one I made to break out of this bizarre loop.
Woo Seung-geon made a stupid sound in response to my choice.
—Huh?
He seemed very surprised, like he hadn't expected me to pick up.
But he quickly reverted to his usual self and asked gruffly, —What's this, you're actually taking my call? If I couldn't reach you, I was just going to head over to your ballpark.
If he came here, I knew exactly what he would say the moment he saw me.
"Shin Seong-ha, let's talk."
There were too many eyes at the ballpark, so he would try to move outside.
I would end up getting in the car with him.
And then, in front of a crosswalk at a red light, if we got into that horrific accident that I didn't even want to imagine…
Craaaaaash!
The white airbag exploding in front of my face was too vivid.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm myself and catch my breath.
Even though it was clearly something I experienced in a dream, I felt like a patient suffering from PTSD.
I was so confused.
—Shin Seong-ha?
I spoke to Woo Seung-geon, who was calling my name after I'd gone silent.
"Don't come here."
—No.
"I'll come to you."
He must not have expected my response, because Woo Seung-geon asked, dumbfounded, —What? Is something wrong?
"I'll come to you. Yeongdeungpo is about halfway between us. Is that okay?"
The voice on the phone brightened.
—Yeah, I'll reserve a restaurant with a private room.
"A cup of coffee at a cafe is…"
—I'm hungry. Tuna sound okay?
"…Yes, alright."
—Hmm, Junior Shin is being unusually obedient today. This is weird.
"I'm going to practice for a bit, so I'll see you around 12."
—Okay. Don't overdo it.
Woo Seung-geon hung up, sounding pleased.
I stared at the phone I'd just hung up and mumbled, "If I feel this weird, I just have to not follow the dream. If I do this, I'll have nothing to worry about."
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