Ms. Greene's lips pressed into a bloodless line.
The crowd's cheers died as she stepped into the camera frame, her polished heels crunching gravel like bones.
"Rules exist for a reason, Mr. Cobb. The university cannot allow unauthorized use of facilities, no matter how… dramatic your circumstances."
Michael's pulse thudded in his ears, but his face stayed calm. Time to flip the script.
"Rules?" He barked a laugh, sharp enough to make the ESPN reporter lean closer. "Where were those rules when you put my face on every billboard last season? 'UT's golden arm'—remember?"
Coach Harris winced. "Michael, don't—"
"No, Coach. Let's talk." Michael turned to the cameras, voice rising. "Three months ago, I woke up in the hospital missing an arm. Know what the university's first move was?"
He jabbed his left thumb at Ms. Greene.
"She canceled my scholarship. Told my mom to sell our house to pay medical bills. Now you wanna play the rulebook? Fine. Let's show everyone what UT really cares about."
The crowd erupted.
"BOO!"
"SHAME ON YOU!"
Ms. Greene's composure cracked. "That's—that's a gross mischaracterization! If you continue to refuse leave while giving false information while streaming, I have no choice but to advise the school to start a lawsuit."
The air crackled with tension as Ms. Greene's threat hung like a blade over the field.
Michael's jaw tightened, but his mind raced—cold, calculating. She's bluffing. But even if she isn't… the crowd's on my side.
"A lawsuit?" Michael raised his voice so the ESPN mic would catch it. "For what? Using the field I bled on for three years? The same field you plastered my face on for recruitment brochures?"
He stepped closer, the Phoenix Vial's timer pulsing in his vision: [01:08:22…]. Every second counted, but this fight was part of the game now.
Ms. Greene's smile stayed frozen, all teeth and no warmth. "Rules exist for everyone's safety, Michael. Even former athletes." She stressed "former" like a dagger twist. "Your reckless stunt today could've endangered students. The university must act."
Behind her, Coach Harris stared at his shoes, shoulders slumped. The man who'd once slapped Michael's back after no-hitters now looked ready to vomit.
Michael seized the weakness.
"Coach. Tell her how many times you pushed me to pitch through injuries. Torn ligaments? Concussions? 'Winners suck it up,' right?"
The crowd murmured. Livestream comments exploded:
@UTFan4Ever: WAIT THEY MADE HIM PLAY HURT???
@MedStudent101: THAT'S ILLEGAL!!!
Coach's head snapped up, face blotchy. "That's not— I never forced you!"
"But you didn't stop me." Michael turned to the cameras, letting bitterness sharpen his words.
"Three months ago, after the ambulance took me, Coach visited my hospital room. Know what he said?" He mimicked Coach's gruff bark: 'Focus on healing, kid. We'll handle the paperwork.' But the 'paperwork' was cutting my scholarship. The second the doctors said I'd never pitch again."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Katie covered her mouth. Landon, still lurking by the dugout, looked like he'd swallowed a wasp.
Ms. Greene's composure cracked. "This is slander! The university acted within its rights—"
"Rights?" Michael laughed, harsh and raw. "Where were those rights when my mom sold her car to pay my medical bills? When your lawyers made her sign NDAs to 'protect the school's reputation'?"
He yanked his phone from Tyler's trembling hands, pulling up a screenshot of a email chain.
The camera zoomed in:
[Subject: Cobb Scholarship Termination]
[…insurance won't cover post-amputation rehab. Recommend immediate withdrawal of athletic support…]
The crowd erupted. A freshman shouted, "SHAME!" Others took up the chant, fists pounding the bleachers.
Ms. Greene paled. "Those documents are confidential!"
"Not when they're sent to the wrong email." Michael smirked. A lie, but the crowd didn't need truth—they needed a villain.
"The school leeched off my talent, then tossed me like garbage. And now you're mad I'm not staying buried?"
[00:13:45…]
Time's slipping. Need to end this.
Lila from ESPN shoved her mic at Ms. Greene. "Care to respond? Should student athletes worry about abandonment after injury?"
"I— The university prioritizes student welfare," Ms. Greene stammered, a sheen of sweat on her brow. "But we can't condone vigilante fundraising! This… this chaos—"
"Chaos?" Michael spread his arms, addressing the crowd. "They call it chaos when we fight back! When I was winning games, they called me 'gritty.' 'A hero.'" He ripped the pinned sleeve of his jacket, exposing the scarred stump. The cameras ate it up. "Now I'm a liability. A freakshow."
The students roared. A chant began: "LET! HIM! PITCH!"
Donation alerts blared—
7.5k…
7.5k…8k…—as Michael pressed his advantage. "You wanna sue me? Fine. But every lawyer letter you send, I'll post online. Let the world see how UT treats its 'heroes.'"
Coach Harris finally snapped. "Enough!" He stepped between Michael and the cameras, voice low and strained. "Ms. Greene. Let him finish. Please."
"Are you insane?" she hissed. "This is a against—"
"Why not let Michael pitch?" Katie interrupted, her cameraman circling like a shark. "Prove there's no 'danger'?"
Ms. Greene hesitated, eyeing the chanting crowd and flashing cameras. Michael saw the exact moment her PR instincts overruled her anger.
The crowd's chants thundered in Michael's ears like a war drum.
LET! HIM! PITCH! Their phones glowed like fireflies in the midday sun, recording every second of the showdown.
But Michael's focus stayed locked on Ms. Greene's twitching eyelid—a crack in her icy facade.
She's scared, he realized. Not of him. Of the cameras. Of the story.
He glanced at the Phoenix Vial timer burning in the corner of his vision: [01:02:33…]. One hour left. Need to end this fast.
The ESPN reporter, Lila, shoved her mic closer to Ms. Greene's face. "Your student just accused the university of exploiting and abandoning him. Any comment?"
Ms. Greene's smile looked like it'd been stapled on. "The university always prioritizes student welfare. Mr. Cobb's… emotional state may be clouding his judgment—"
"Emotional?" Michael cut in, loud enough for every livestream to hear. "You canceled my scholarship three days after my amputation. Sent lawyers to my hospital room. That's not emotion—that's policy."
The crowd booed. Donation alerts chimed nonstop on Michael's phone:
9,000…
9,000…9,500…
Behind Lila, her cameraman muttered into his headset: "HQ, this is gold. Get it on SportsCenter ASAP. Yeah, cripple pitcher vs. corrupt college—it's made for TV."
Perfect, Michael thought. The bigger the spotlight, the more they'll panic.
Ms. Greene clutched her clipboard like a shield. "This is your last warning, Mr. Cobb. Leave now, or we'll involve the police."