Michael stumbled along the gravel road. The sun baked his neck where the thrift-store jacket chafed. His phone buzzed against his thigh—probably Tyler panicking about setup.
He ignored it.
A semi-truck roared past, blasting him with hot wind. He staggered, nearly face-planting into the ditch.
Idiot.
But pride burned hotter than the asphalt. He fumbled for his phone, squinting at the cracked screen. 8:47 AM. Two hours until the car wash. Two miles to campus.
Not happening. He thumbed the ride-share app.
"Screw it." He requested the cheapest option and collapsed onto a guardrail.
The app pinged: Driver Enrique - 4 mins away.
Michael's stump throbbed. He pulled up the game, needing distraction. The loading screen showed Aiko kneeling in her tent, head bowed.
Bond Level: 40%
Then the screen flickered.
[New Scene Unlocked: Memorial of Resolve]
Aiko sat cross-legged on the tent floor, arranging objects with ritual care: Yuriko's broken dagger; a lock of her own hair tied with twine; the Blade of the Tempest's hilt (now cracked); and lastly, wildflowers in a clay bowl.
This is… quite a memorial.
Michael zoomed in. Aiko's fingers trembled as she placed each item. She'd washed her face—the tear tracks were gone, but her eyes still looked raw.
"For my kami-sama," she murmured, bowing.
She brushed ash from the tent floor into a small pile, then wrote in it with a stick. Words flickered on-screen:
Broken chain unravels
Lightning cuts the poisoned root
Dawn breaks—I breathe free
Michael's throat tightened.
[Bond Level Increased! 40% → 50%!]
[Reward Unlocked: Phoenix Vial (1x)]
An item materialized in Michael's palm—a tiny glass vial filled with swirling red liquid.
Michael gasped.
"What the… actual f?"
A horn honked.
"Mike Cobb?" A rusted Honda Civic idled beside him, driver smoking a vape pen. "You my fare?"
Michael stared at the vial icon glowing on his screen.
[Phoenix Vial]
"Hey, you getting in or what?" the driver snapped.
Michael nodded then mindless getting into the backseat. The driver shook his head, and started to drive away.
[Phoenix Vial]
Boosts athletic performance by 300% for 3 hours. Cures all injuries/fatigue temporarily. WARNING: Cannot repair permanent damage. Use wisely.
Words appeared right in front of his iries.
His heart stopped.
This is…
Cures all discomforts. 300% boost.
"You okay back there?" Enrique glanced in the rearview, vaping steam that smelled like rotten strawberries.
"Fine," Michael lied.
[Warning:]
[Phoenix Vial does not belong to this world!]
[If not consumed within next 5 seconds, the vial will disappear!]
[00:00:05]
[00:00:04]
[00:00:03]
What the… ?
Michael thought that he could use it right before he needed to throw, but now it seemed like it isn't an option.
Don't think. Just drink.
He uncorked the vial and downed it in one swift motion.
The liquid burned like whiskey laced with firecrackers. His vision blurred.
For one terrifying second, he thought he'd been poisoned—then ice flooded his veins. His spine snapped upright. Blisters on his feet shrank and vanished. The constant throb in his stump dulled to nothing.
Holy—
[Phoenix Vial Activated!]
[Duration: 2:59:59…]
He flexed his left hand. Veins bulged. Muscle memory from a thousand pitches flooded back. He could feel the seams of a baseball, smell the leather.
"Stop the car."
"What?"
"Here. Now."
Enrique's vape pen hovered near his lips as he braked and watched his passenger leap out of the car.
The scrawny kid in the thrift-store jacket had been twitching and muttering since getting in, but now he was sprinting into the roadside weeds like a methhead chasing a hallucination.
Probably high, Enrique thought.
The missing arm explained a lot—vets, accident victims, they all had that hollow look before spiraling. He'd driven enough of them to rehab centers.
But this kid was young. What a shame to be this broken.
"Hey!" Enrique rolled down the window, smoke curling from his nostrils. "You gonna puke? Do it away from the car!"
Michael ignored him, crouching to grab a fist-sized rock. He stoopd up, adjusted in a familiar pitching posture, and started his wound up.
"Look, man," Enrique's pity softening his tone, "losing an arm sucks, but don't—"
THWACK.
The rock shot through the air like a cannonball, shattering a pine branch fifty yards away.
Enrique's jaw dropped.
What. The. Hell.
Michael flexed his hand. No pain. No tremors. The Phoenix Vile wasn't just masking his injuries—it had erased them. Temporarily.
"Baseball field. Now," Michael barked, scrambling back into the car.
Enrique gaped. "How did you—?"
"Drive."
As the Honda lurched forward, Michael yanked out his phone. His fingers blurred typing:
[Michael]: SCRAP CAR WASH. BOOK BASEBALL FIELD. IM PITCHING A REAL GAME. 2 HOURs. TELL EVERYONE.
Three dots appeared instantly.
[Tyler]: ????????
[Michael]: DO IT. GET CAMERAS. LIVE STREAM. TELL COACH ITS HAPPENING WITH OR WITHOUT HIM.
[Tyler]: UR IN THE HOSPITAL???
Michael hesitated. How to explain the vial? He couldn't. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.
[Michael]: FOUND A TREATMENT. NEED TO MOVE NOW. GET CAMERAS.
[Tyler]: DUDE THIS ISN'T FUNNY.
[Tyler]: YOU'RE INJURED. NOTBODY WILL OK THIS.
[Michael]: THEN SAY YOU'VE TEMPORARILY SCHEDULED A PRACTICE GAME. DON'T MENTION MY NAME.
Then, he scrolled down his photo album and snapped a photo of Tyler wearing a mermaid's costume during a halloween party and press send.
[Michael]: OR… I'LL SEND THIS TO JESS.
[Tyler]: …
[Tyler]: OMFG
[Tyler]: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ARE GETTING THIS LOW.
[Michael]: YOU BET.
[Tyler]: COACH'LL KILL US.
[Michael]: BOOK IT.
A pause. Then:
[Tyler]: Fk it.
[Tyler]: But we're EVEN after this. And delete all your photos with me on it.
[Michael]: DEAL
Michael slumped against the seat, heart hammering.
Three hours. That's all he got.
In the driver's seat, Enrique still couldn't believe that throw just happened.
He'd played minor league ball before blowing out his shoulder. He knew a MLB-fast arm when he saw one. And this one-armed lunatic had just launched a rock harder than Aroldis Chapman.
Screw it. Let's see where this goes.
"Speed up," Michael growled.
Enrique stomped the gas.