Jack Turner rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock, the red digits showing it was just past six in the morning. The minor league pitcher was scheduled for a bullpen session before the regular practice, and despite the familiarity of the routine, today felt remarkably different. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a strange clarity took over, a feeling as if a fog had lifted from his mind.
Lying back, Jack closed his eyes, trying to pinpoint what had changed overnight. It wasn't just physical; it was something deeper, almost like he had tapped into a part of his brain that had been dormant. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed something peculiar—an overlay in his vision, a translucent display showing numbers and trajectories. It was as if someone had installed a high-tech baseball analysis system straight into his eyes. The overlay flickered with stats, probabilities of pitch success, and even the optimal angles for throwing.
Stunned, Jack sat up. His heart raced as he threw off the covers and made his way to the small mirror on his dresser. He stared at his reflection, half-expecting to see some visible sign of change, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Just his usual tousled dark hair, the beginnings of a beard he hadn't bothered to shave, and his old college baseball shirt.
"Is this real? Am I awake?" he muttered to himself, tapping the corner of the mirror where the probability of a curveball strike hovered. The numbers adjusted as he moved, responding to his position and gaze. It was real, or at least it seemed to be.
Intrigued and somewhat apprehensive, Jack decided to test this newfound anomaly. He grabbed the baseball sitting on his cluttered desk, a remnant from last night's practice. Standing in the center of his small apartment, he focused on the wall, the system projecting the trajectory of a throw. It suggested adjustments to his grip and stance.
Taking a deep breath, Jack threw the ball. It spun off his fingers exactly as the system had advised, striking the wall right at the predicted spot with a thud that seemed to echo the pounding in his chest. The ball bounced back, and he caught it effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. A thrill of excitement ran through him, mingled with a knot of confusion and fear.
"Why me? How?" The questions tumbled through his mind as he paced back and forth. There was no explanation, no reason why he, a struggling pitcher in the minor leagues, should wake up with what seemed like a cheat code to baseball wired into his brain.
After several minutes of internal debate, Jack decided he needed to understand this system better before he could even think about sharing it. Revealing such a miraculous change would raise questions he wasn't ready to answer—not yet. He needed to control this, to understand it, before it controlled him.
With the day ahead, Jack prepared himself with a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in a long time. Today's bullpen session would be his first real test under the gaze of his coaches and teammates. He would use the system, but cautiously. He didn't want to suddenly unveil skills that would make his gradual improvements look suspicious.
As he packed his bag, Jack felt a surge of mixed emotions. Excitement, for sure, at the possibilities this system opened up for him. But there was also a deep-seated fear of the unknown, of what it meant to be so abruptly gifted something so powerful. And underlying it all was a determination, a resolve to reach his dream of making it to the MLB, perhaps now more real than ever.
With one last look in the mirror, Jack set his jaw and walked out the door.