You couldn't shake the feeling that Yuwen was already in control of this conversation—even though you hadn't even started it. He leaned lazily against the dugout wall, tossing a ball from hand to hand like he had all the time in the world. The smirk on his face was just shy of infuriating, like he found this whole situation wildly entertaining.

"Well?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "You went through all the trouble of tracking me down, so what's it gonna be? Spill your guts, or are you just here to gawk?"

Your jaw tightened. If there was one thing you couldn't stand, it was being underestimated, and Yuwen was clearly enjoying the power imbalance. He knew he had you cornered, and he wasn't above milking it for all it was worth.

"I need your help," you said, forcing yourself to sound more confident than you felt.

"Of course you do," Yuwen said smoothly, tossing the ball into the air and catching it without looking. "Everybody needs something from me these days. What makes you different?"

You hesitated, weighing your words carefully. The note in your pocket was clear: Find Yuwen. Trust no one else. But standing here now, facing the cockiest person you'd ever met, you wondered if the sender had left out some crucial details—like how you were supposed to keep your temper in check.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," you said, trying to keep the edge out of your voice.

"Oh, it's important," Yuwen replied, his smirk widening. "At least to you. Me? I'm still deciding if I care."

The way he said it made your hands curl into fists. He knew exactly how to needle you, and he was enjoying every second of it. "If you'd stop showing off for five seconds, maybe I could explain."

"Showing off?" Yuwen laughed, leaning in closer like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Sweetheart, this isn't even my A-game. Trust me, you'd know if I was showing off."

You bit back a retort, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. Instead, you took a steadying breath and said, "Are you going to listen, or should I find someone who actually takes this seriously?"

That seemed to get his attention. He straightened up, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something sharper. "Alright," he said, tossing the ball into a bin with a casual flick of his wrist. "Here's the deal: you want my help? Prove you're worth my time."

"Prove it how?" you asked warily, already sensing you weren't going to like the answer.

He didn't reply right away, instead grabbing a bat from the rack and twirling it in his hand like it weighed nothing. "Softball," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "One swing. If you can hit my pitch, I'll listen to whatever you've got to say. If not..." He shrugged, his smirk creeping back. "Well, I'm sure you can figure it out."

Your stomach dropped. You hadn't picked up a bat in years—possibly ever, unless you counted PE class in middle school. "You can't be serious."

Yuwen grinned, spinning the bat once before leaning it against the fence. "Oh, I'm dead serious. You think I've got time to waste on every random stranger with a sob story? You want my attention, you earn it. Simple as that."

The chatter from the field had shifted by now, the rest of the team noticing the two of you standing by the batter's box. A few of them were watching openly, nudging each other and smirking like they knew exactly how this was going to go. Great. An audience.

"Fine," you said, your voice sharper than you intended. "But don't blame me if I embarrass you in front of your team."

Yuwen laughed—a loud, unapologetic sound that made you want to wipe that smirk off his face. "Embarrass me? Oh, this I've gotta see."

He stepped onto the mound, his movements loose and easy, like he had nothing to prove. "Alright, rookie," he called, spinning the ball in his hand. "Let's see what you've got."

You grabbed the bat and stepped into the box, your grip tighter than it probably needed to be. The field felt impossibly large, and Yuwen's smirk from the mound didn't help. He held the ball like it was a weapon, his stance relaxed but focused.

"You ready?" he called, his voice laced with mock encouragement. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

"Just throw the ball," you snapped, your jaw clenched.

The first pitch came faster than you expected, a blur of green that zipped past you before you could even swing. The sound of the ball hitting the glove echoed across the field, followed by scattered laughter from the dugout.

"Strike one," Yuwen drawled, spinning the ball on his finger. "You sure you've done this before?"

You glared at him, adjusting your stance and refusing to rise to the bait. "Try that again."

"Oh, you're feisty," he said with a grin, setting up for the next pitch. "I like that."

The second pitch came slower, just enough for you to react. You swung with everything you had, and the satisfying crack of the bat meeting the ball echoed across the field. The ball sailed high into the outfield, clearing the infielders with ease. It wasn't perfect, but it was far better than you'd expected.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Yuwen let out a low whistle, propping his hands on his hips. "Well, color me impressed. Didn't think you had it in you."

You lowered the bat, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. "Does that mean you'll listen now?"

Yuwen walked toward you, his grin as cocky as ever. "Oh, I'll listen," he said, leaning in just enough to make your pulse spike. "But don't get too comfortable. You've still got a lot to prove."

And just like that, the game was over. But something told you Yuwen wasn't done playing yet.