The next morning. Day two at the AFL.

Suho came back to the apartment as always, having gone out through the dawn air. Normally he'd have dragged a stiff, heavy body back in with him, but today his steps were light.

I feel unusually good today.

The door lock chirped, and when he stepped inside, the living room held a surprise.

Cash and Mark were already up. Bright-eyed, too.

"You're up already?"

"Yeah. My eyes just opened."

Mark stretched and grinned.

A good bed changes the quality of your sleep. No squeaking springs, no noise through a thin wall—even a few hours left you feeling fully recharged.

I slept hard myself.

Sleeping in America had been uncomfortable in every way, starting with the change of environment.

Suho washed up and came back out to the kitchen.

"You're eating, right?"

Breakfast here was do-it-yourself. The three of them had played rock-paper-scissors the night before to set a rotation, one cooking day each. Nothing elaborate—heating up something frozen or putting out cereal was well within all of them. Feeding yourself was a survival instinct in minor league life.

Today's first turn was Suho's.

But—

"Nah. I'll pass."

"Same."

Both of them shook their heads at once.

When Suho gave them a puzzled look, Mark rubbed his stomach and added:

"Got to leave room for lunch."

Suho laughed out loud at that.

Look at these two… they've got their hopes way up.

The club had announced it would provide lunch. If the housing was this good, how good would the food be? That was probably how the two of them were figuring it. Their eyes were shining like kids starving themselves the day before a buffet.

Later, after their individual morning routines, the players drifted into the team cafeteria one by one. Suho and his friends opened the door with high expectations too.

What was in front of them was a little far from the hotel buffet they'd imagined.

The food laid out on folding tables was plainer than they'd expected. This wasn't a lavish major league spread. It was thoroughly designed by…