Michael wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his pulse thudding in rhythm with the donation alerts pinging on his phone.
The crowd around the field had swollen to over a hundred students—phones out, voices buzzing. But the real audience was online. Viewer count: 432 and climbing.
Make every second count.
He snatched a water bottle from the dugout, chugging half of it in one gulp. The Phoenix Vial's icy energy still hummed in his veins, but he could feel the first hints of strain in his left shoulder. A warning.
No. Not yet. Not until I hit the goal.
Tyler jogged over, waving Michael's phone like a victory flag. "Dude! We're at $45k! And some MLB scout just DM'd—"
"Camera." Michael pointed to the tripod Jake had set up near home plate. "I'm addressing the stream."
Tyler's grin faltered. "You sure? The chat's already going nuts. What if—"
"Now." Michael strode to the camera, adjusting his cap to shadow his eyes. The lens stared back, a black pupil reflecting his bandaged stump and dirt-streaked face.
Perfect. They want a story? I'll give them a war.
He stepped into the camera feed. The viewer count spiked—543… 672…
"My name is Michael Cobb." His voice carried over the field, sharp and steady. "Three months ago, I lost my arm. Today, I'm proving that's not the end." He held up his left hand, fingers splayed. "This is real. No CGI. No tricks. Just hard work."
Behind him, Landon scowled, tossing his bat into the dirt. Jake zoomed in on the gesture, and the chat exploded:
@BaseballMomma: LANDON SALTY LOL
@UTAlum89: THIS KID'S GOT GRIT
@TrollMaster69: STILL A ONE-ARMED FREAK
Michael ignored them. "Everyone here's a witness. Come see for yourselves." He gestured to the growing crowd spilling onto the field. "Donate if you believe in comebacks. Or don't. But watch."
A freshman in a sorority tank top raised her phone, filming his stump. "How'd you learn to throw like that? Do you have a hidden robotic arm underneath your shirt?"
Someone in the crwod yelled: "ASK HIM TO TAKE HIS SHIRT OFF!"
Michael smirked, and removed his top. He snatched a ball from the bucket, wound up, muscles coiled like springs, and fired.
The ball cracked into the backstop so hard it left a dent.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. A freshman dropped her iced coffee.
"Anyone else wanna step into the box? Or examine my body?" Michael barked, loud enough for the mic to catch.
A lanky engineering student raised his hand. "I'll try!"
"Gloves are in the dugout," Michael said, already grabbing another ball. Keep the momentum. No pauses. No weakness.
But as the kid fumbled with a batting helmet, shouts erupted from the parking lot.
"Shut this down! NOW!"
Crap. Knew they'd come.
Everyone spotted them—Coach Harris and two campus security officers shoving through the crowd. The admin director, Ms. Greene, trailed behind, her heels stabbing the dirt like knives.
"Wrap it up, Cobb!" Coach barked, his face redder than the donation counter. "This circus ends now!"
Ms. Greene clicked her tongue, waving a clipboard. "Unauthorized use of university property. Disruptive behavior. And falsifying a facility booking?" She glared at Tyler, who shrank behind the camera. "You're all facing suspension."
The crowd murmured. Livestream comments surged:
@NewsHound: OOH ADMIN DRAMA
@DeltaQueen: LET HIM STAY!!!
Viewer count now climbed to just over 1,000.
Michael crossed his arms. "We're fundraising. Free speech, right?"
"Not on my field!" Coach stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Kid, you're not cleared to play. One wrong move and—"
"And what?" Michael picked up a baseball, spinning it on his palm. "I'll get hurt? Look around, Coach. I'm the healthiest I've been in months."
Coach's jaw twitched. He knows something's off. But he can't prove it.
Ms. Greene snatched the baseball from Michael's hand. "This is a liability nightmare! If you collapse—"
"I won't."
"You don't know that!" Coach's composure cracked. "I've seen players push too hard. It ends them. You want to die on this mound?"
Michael leaned in, hissing, "Better than dying in a bed."
The crowd pressed closer, phones hungry for drama. Katie pushed to the front, her cheeks flushed. "Ms. Greene, maybe just let him finish? He's raised almost $5k! That's good for the school's image, right?"
Ms. Greene's icy glare shifted to Katie. "This recklessness is the opposite of 'good image.' The university can't endorse—"
"But the media might," a voice called.
A woman in a blazer and press badge strode forward, followed by a cameraman. "Lila Cho, ESPN. Mind if we ask a few questions?"
ESPN? Michael's pulse spiked. Perfect.
Ms. Greene froze, her PR smile flickering. "This… isn't an official university event."
Lila shoved a mic in Michael's face. "True? Are they trying to shut you down?"
Michael shrugged. "Guess they don't believe in second chances." He turned to the crowd. "But you do. Right?"
The students roared. "LET HIM STAY!"
Donation alerts blared—
5k…
6k…6.5k…
Coach grabbed Michael's shoulder. "Enough. You're coming with—"
"Don't touch him!" Katie stepped between them, her voice trembling. "You're only doing this because you think he's weak. But look!" She pointed to the shattered backstop. "He's better than before!"
Livestream comments accelerated:
@UTGrad22: WHOA THIS GIRL FEISTY
@RealJournalist: THIS IS GOLD
Ms. Greene pulled out her phone, wincing at notifications. "The president's office is getting calls. This is out of control!"
Michael hid a smile. Exactly. Viral = leverage.
Lila's cameraman zoomed in on his bandaged stump. "How'd you recover so fast, Michael?"
"Therapy. And spite." He winked. The vial's timer blinked: 01:12:47…
Lila raised an eyebrow. "Spite?"
He glanced at Landon, now sulking by the bleachers. "Some people think losing a limb means losing your fire. I'm here to prove them wrong."
The crowd whooped. Even Ms. Greene looked queasy, calculating the PR fallout of dragging him away on live TV.
Coach stepped closer, his voice a growl. "I'm trying to save you, you stubborn—"
"Save yourself." Michael gestured to the ESPN crew. "You shut me down now, you're the villain. Let me finish, and UT looks like it actually cares about its students. Your choice."