Chapter Three: The Last-Place Club's Secret Adviser

Her fingers raced. “Changeup. Sixty-four percent.” Cheng watched Han rub his index finger against the outside of his glove—a habit before gripping the changeup. No future. Just film, data, and the tiny grammar of motion a translator knew how to read. “Changeup,” Cheng said. “Wait for it to stay up.” Han delivered. The ball hung above the lower edge. Gao stepped and swept his bat through it. The ball struck the right-field wall. Both runners scored. Gao stood at second with the Tides ahead 3–2. This time, there had been no prediction. Cheng had never enjoyed being right more. The scoreboard still read 3–2 after the ninth. The crowd chanted Gao's and Du's names.