The game finished 7–3. Suho's work had carried the Desert Dogs to the win.

But right after it ended, as he was heading back to the apartment through a corridor still warm with the victory—

"Suho Oh."

Suho turned at the familiar voice.

It was Thomas, the coordinator. And standing beside him was a man Suho had never seen before.

Under a Dodgers cap pulled down low, the face looked to be somewhere in its mid-forties. A loose shirt and shorts. He gave a slightly scruffy impression, but his eyes were sharp and bright.

"Sir. Good evening."

"Do you have a moment?"

"Yes. Of course."

Thomas seemed to be working to hold his usual businesslike face, but he couldn't hide the faint smile spreading over it.

"First, congratulations. Honestly, I was worried, and you showed more than I expected on day one."

He meant it. Thomas was a believer in data. Suho, whom the data had said would probably fail, had gone out and hit a double as if to prove a point. From Thomas's side, it was a pleasant betrayal.

Praise out of a man who looked that fussy made Suho's shoulders lift a little.

That doesn't feel bad.

More honestly, it felt good. Praise is always more of a thrill coming from someone stingy with it.

As the greetings finished, the man beside him cut in abruptly.

"Hey there. I'm Paul. Just a guy passing by."

Passing by?

Suho's eyes settled on the LA logo on the man's cap. A passerby who'd come into the club staff area, in a Dodgers cap, standing next to the coordinator?

He must be a scout.

Suho bowed his head, playing along.

"It's good to meet you."

"Yeah. First off, I had something I was curious about, so I nagged Thomas here into bringing me along. And I thought I'd offer a piece of advice too, for whatever my humble knowledge is worth."

Paul looked Suho up and down, then asked, interested:

"Can I start with the thing I'm curious about?"

"I'll answer as best I can."

That distinctly Korean politeness. Paul…