You Are Not Spare Parts

Lin looked at the hand. Over Zhou floated Pain 29, Fatigue 46, Focus 88. Every state was real, and every one belonged to him. “What if you refuse?” “Then we find another way to win together.” Lin clasped his hand. The trade interface opened instantly. Red, blue, gold, and gray chips hung between them, awaiting a choice. For the first time, Lin deliberately closed them all. “Deal,” he said. On wild-card night, blue flags turned Coastal Stadium into a sea. Lin took second base for his first playoff start. The crowd chanted when the announcer called him, but unlike the previous night, he no longer felt like a stranger who had wandered onto the stage. He crouched with his glove near the dirt and heard Zhou's steady breath before the first pitch.