José Altuve slides into a booth, his eyes scanning the familiar faces of Carlos Correa and Alex Bregman as they join him. The trio exchanges hearty handshakes and backslaps, their camaraderie unshaken despite time apart. "Feels good to be back together, doesn’t it?" "Like old times. Except we’re not sweating in the dugout," he laughs, nudging a bowl of peanuts toward the others.

Alex Bregman leans in, eyes bright. "I’ll never forget Game 4 in 2019. That grand slam, the crowd going wild—I can still hear it," he says, voice reverent. José Altuve grins. "We had some magic that year. But remember Game 2 in 2017? Both of us went deep," he nods at Carlos Correa. "And then Game 5—those home runs. It felt like we could do anything," Carlos adds, his smile wistful.

Alex lowers his voice, glancing at José. "People always bring up the scandal. It’s like they forget the baseball we played," José stiffens, jaw set. "I told them I wouldn’t cheat. I played the game the right way, always," he says, emotion flickering in his eyes. Carlos puts a steadying hand on José's shoulder. "We know, hermano. We all know what you stood for,"

Alex's gaze drifts to the pennant on the wall. "The 2019 Series—still can’t believe the home team didn’t win a single game. And yet, there I was, hitting that grand slam in Game 4. We won big that night. But then, Game 2—my home run, but we still lost. Baseball is weird like that," "I remember my home runs in 2021, but it wasn’t enough. Losing to Atlanta stung," José admits quietly. "When I left after 2021, it felt strange. But when you guys beat the Phillies in 2022—I was cheering for you, every inning," Carlos confides, a proud glimmer in his eyes.

"We shared something special. No matter where we go, or what people say, we’ll always have those moments," "Both teams scored the same number of runs in 2017. It was a battle to the end. I hit one out in Game 1, and then again in Game 4," "Baseball brought us together. Championships, heartbreaks, and everything in between," José smiles, his anger eased by the sense of unity.

"Don’t be strangers, huh? Minnesota’s cold, but you’re always welcome," Carlos jokes as he hugs José and Alex. "We’ll visit. Maybe next time, we’ll just talk about the future," "And maybe win a few more rings," José laughs, their voices echoing down the empty street, the promise of baseball—and brotherhood—enduring.