Chapter Two: What Are Ten Seconds Worth?

The Tides were famously poor. Sea Wind Park held only twelve thousand, its roof leaked, and the clubhouse freezer started only after a kick. They had finished last and sold two starters. Analysts expected them to set a new record for losses. The exhibition had no paying crowd, but a club intern provided Mandarin commentary while the Japanese agents streamed the game online. When both languages entered Cheng's ears, pain pricked his right ear. “Grounder to second. The shortstop misses it,” the Japanese streamer said. Ten seconds later, the ball slipped past the Tides shortstop. Cheng tested it three more times: bunt, stolen base, strikeout. Every prediction landed. When the Mandarin intern muted his microphone, the future vanished.