The steel door of THE STORE clanged shut behind Michael, sealing away the Curator's smug grin and Jane's glowing holograms.
Mason didn't speak as they climbed in. The engine growled to life. Michael slumped in the backseat, staring at his phone.
[142 New Texts]
[89 Missed Calls]
[#CobbComeback Trending - 1.2M Tweets]
Michael ignored them all. His thumb scrolled straight to his contacts, landing on the one person he needed to negotiate with first.
Ms. Greene.
The woman who'd tried to bury him. The woman who held the keys to the fundraiser.
She needs this as much as I do, he thought, fingers tapping the cracked screen. Even if she'd rather eat glass than admit it.
Michael: Truce?
The reply came faster than he expected.
Ms. Greene: Where are you? Campus police searched the field for 3 hours.
Michael: Hiding. Be back soon.
Ms. Greene: The university does not welcome threats.
Michael almost laughed. Threats? He was the one with a cross-dimensional hit squad on his tail. But Greene didn't know that—all she saw was a troublemaker with a viral fanbase.
Michael: Let's step back. I'll post a statement. "Past is past." You reinstate my scholarship.
Ms. Greene: Out of the question.
Liar. He could practically hear her manicured nails clacking against her desk, weighing the optics. The ESPN clips of him striking out pro batters were everywhere. The university's social media had gained 200k followers in 12 hours.
Michael: Admit it. You need me.
Ms. Greene: …
Michael: Did you ever open your social media today?
A pause. Then:
Ms. Greene: …What do you want?
Got her.
Michael: If you want to help the school monetize on this kind of social media influence. Then you do three things. 1. Reinstate my scholarship. 2. Schedule a fundraiser at the event hall next Monday. "Comeback Party." 3. I'm back on the team.
Ms. Greene: Outrageous.
Michael: Outrageous is your lawyers making my mom sign NDAs. Say yes, or I post those emails again. With ESPN on speed dial.
A full minute passed. Rain drummed the SUV's roof. Mason's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "Trouble?"
"Negotiating," Michael muttered.
His phone buzzed.
Ms. Greene: Monday. 7 PM. No press until we approve a statement.
Michael: Fine.
He leaned back, victory bitter on his tongue. She'll use me to clean her mess. I'll use her to set the trap. Everyone wins.
Mason turned onto the highway, Tenesia U's gates looming ahead.
Michael scrolled through his other messages.
Katie's texts piled up—apologies, questions, a blurry photo of the dragon's shadow over the field. He closed her thread. Later. Once she's safe.
Livestream alerts still blared:
[@UTSuperfan: WHERE IS HE???]
[@ESPNReporter: Cobb's agent claims "private training." Rumors of MLB scouts attending Monday's event…]
Michael's thumb hovered over Coach Harris's number.
[Coach Harris]: Should've protected you. Let's talk.
[Coach Harris]: Don't throw away your future!
[Coach Harris]: Answer me, damn it!
Too late, Coach.
The SUV's tires crunched over wet gravel as Mason pulled into the deserted UT parking lot.
Mason killed the engine.
"You sure about this, kid?"
"Yeah." Michael's left hand fumbled with the door handle. "What's the play if Saeko's crew shows up early?"
"They won't." Mason didn't turn around. "Curator's got drones scanning five-mile radius. You see trouble, scream real loud."
Helpful.
Michael stepped into the downpour, hoodie pulled low.
Rain drummed against the hood of Michael's sweatshirt as Mason's SUV rumbled out of sight.
The campus stretched before him—empty sidewalks, darkened lecture halls, and the distant glow of security lights cutting through the storm. His right shoulder ached where the prosthetic lay hidden, a coiled beast beneath his skin.
He flexed his left hand, grounding himself in the chill of the rain.
The familiar path to his dorm felt alien now. Puddles reflected fragments of his silhouette—a lone figure with hunched shoulders, too thin, too tired.
He'd walked this route a thousand times after practices, his old duffel slung over his right arm, the weight of a fastball still humming in his muscles.
He paused beneath an oak tree, its branches clawing at the sky. The dorm loomed ahead. A flicker of movement caught his eye—a security guard's flashlight sweeping the courtyard.
Michael ducked his head, pulling his hood lower.
The guard passed without glancing his way.
Michael climbed the dorm steps. The scent of mildew and burnt popcorn hit him—home. His soaked sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as he pushed through the stairwell door.
Fourth floor.
His legs burned with the climb, but he welcomed the pain.
Voices drifted from the lounge at the end of the hall. Laughter. The greasy smell of late-night pizza. Michael slowed, listening.
"—swear, man, that splitter was nasty," someone said. "ESPN said it's the sickest comeback since, like, forever."
Michael's chest tightened. They were talking about him. Of course. He glanced at his phone—3:07 a.m. The whole campus should be asleep, but not these guys. Not tonight.
He stepped into the doorway.
Six pairs of eyes snapped to him.
A pizza box froze mid-pass. Tyler gaped, a slice dangling from his fingers.
"Holy… Michael?!"
Chaos erupted.
"NO WAY!"
"BRO, YOU'RE ALIVE!"
Bodies surged forward. Michael braced as they mobbed him—backslaps, whoops, someone's soda sloshing onto his shoe.
His left arm got crushed in a bear hug from Luis.
"Dude! Where've you been?!" Tyler yelled, his breath reeking of pepperoni. "Cops were crawling all over the field! We thought you were dead!"
Michael forced a grin, shrugging free. "Had to lay low. You know how it is."
"Lay low?!" Luis shoved his phone in Michael's face. A clip played of him striking out Landon, the pee-pants moment immortalized in meme glory. "You're trending everywhere! MLB scouts are DM'ing the team account!"
The group crowded closer, firing questions:
"How'd you learn to pitch lefty so fast?!"
"Is it true you're suing the university?!"
"Was there really a dragon?!"
Michael's prosthetic arm tingled, sensing his spiking adrenaline. Stay calm. They're just kids.
"Dragon?" He raised an eyebrow, channeling the cool defiance ESPN had captured. "You believe everything you see online?"
They laughed, tension easing. Good. Let them think it was a hoax.
Jaden fist-bumped him. "Man, when you told off Greene on live TV? Chef's kiss." He mimed an explosion. "She's been hiding in her office all day. Total meltdown."
Michael's smile felt brittle. Greene's the least of my problems now.
The group dragged him to the lumpy couch, shoving a pizza box into his hands. He nibbled a crust, listening as they rehashed his "legendary" showdown.
Tyler leaned closer. "So what's next? Scouts are blowing up Twitter!"
"Fundraiser Monday." The words tasted sour. "For… medical bills."
"Sick! We'll be there!" Luis yelled, almost spilling his Mountain Dew. "Front row! Hey, think ESPN'll interview me?"
Michael's headache spiked. They can't come. Too dangerous. But banning them would raise questions. He'll make Ms. Greene takes care of it.
"Sure. Just… don't wear that." He pointed at Jaden's Hooters tank top.
Laughter erupted.
Michael edged toward the hall. "Gotta crash. Long day."
"You're room's how you left it!" Tyler called. "Minus the raccoon."
Raccoon?
The second Michael disappeared around the corner, the whispers started:
"Dude, he looks wrecked."
"Think he's on painkillers?"
"Wouldn't you be?"
Michael tuned them out. His dorm door loomed ahead—still decorated with the faded Cobb #17 sticker. His key shook in the lock.
Breathe.
The second he stepped inside, memories ambushed him.
Trophy shelves. Faded baseball posters. The desk where he'd drafted scholarship essays until dawn. And the bed—still unmade from the morning of the accident.
Six months. Feels like a lifetime.
He collapsed onto the mattress, staring at the water-stained ceiling. The prosthetic arm itched to materialize, but he kept it hidden.
His phone lit up—Katie again.
[Katie]: I know you're back. Can we talk?
His thumb hovered, but did not reply.
Three dots bounced.
[Katie]: Landon's gone. He's going to transferred. It's over.
Like how that's relevant to him?
Michael ignored her.
Rain lashed the window.
Somewhere out there, Saeko's agents were plotting. And Aiko…
He opened the game app.