System Starting

<Baseball Management… Applied.>

<System starting.>

Just when I thought everything was over, a strange sound came along with the light.

"…What kind of nonsense is this?"

Was that my voice? It sounded a little younger than usual.

But what does it matter? After all, I'm already dead.

As emptiness washed over me, so did worries about the people I was leaving behind.

'Grandpa, I'm sorry. Please don't be too sad. Boss, I'm sorry I can't come to work today. I probably won't be able to ever again.'

My body feels weak and sluggish, like it's drained of all energy.

'…Is this what it feels like to die?'

My shoulders and arms feel heavy, and I can't seem to muster any strength.

My fingertips are tingling, and my joints ache with pain.

'…It feels like I threw about 150 pitches.'

This always seemed to happen after pushing myself too hard.

Even with urgent icing and post-game stretches, my shoulders and arms would feel sore and achy, as if I'd caught a cold.

"…Did I push myself too hard yesterday? …Wait, yesterday?"

Suddenly, memories of a friendly game where I pitched a complete shutout flood back to me.

But they're hazy, as if they shouldn't be there.

The opposing team's batting average for the season, the umpire's strike zone, catcher sign patterns.

The pitiful, apologetic look on the coach's face.

And the trashy manager's smug tone. Ugh, that guy!

"Bastard!"

In that moment, my eyes shot open.

The bright light made my vision blurry as my eyes adjusted.

I can see?

What's going on?

Looking around, I see a familiar, or rather, a once-familiar room.

A poster of 'Randy Johnson' is pinned to the wall…

"…My room?"

Am I alive? What is this?

Did I survive?

But this isn't a hospital… I was in a car accident, wasn't I?

How long has it been?

My mind is a mess.

I instinctively reach for the phone I used to keep by my bed, surprised to find an older model.

I check the time.

It's 7:20 AM.

The sun is just starting to rise.

As I fiddle with the strangely familiar yet unfamiliar phone, I check the date…

"…April 27, 2024? Not 2031?"

I was confused.

The concept of "yesterday" in my head was a mixture of both of my memories from 19-year-old and 26-year-old self.

The memory of me as a 26-year-old before the accident is clear—I was reviewing a curriculum for new trainees at the academy.

But another memory, as my 19-year-old self, remembers pitching a complete shutout in a friendly game.

None of it made sense.

And that blue exclamation mark that's been following my vision?

At first, I thought it was the power LED on the air purifier or my laptop in the room, but it moves wherever I look.

'…What the hell is that?'

My mind is already a tangled mess, and now this? That blue mark follows me no matter where I look.

I rub my eyes and refocus, but it's still there.

Ignoring the exclamation mark for now, I try to piece everything together in my head.

I definitely got into a car accident.

Judging by the circumstances, I should be dead.

Yet, somehow, I've survived.

And not only that, I seem to have traveled back almost 7 years in time.

Nothing else can explain the phone's date.

Of course, the fact that I survived and came back as my 19-year-old self is equally baffling.

So, it seems I've come back to life, younger, and before I lost my shoulder.

The pain in my aching shoulder reassures me that this isn't a dream.

Should I be happy?

Of course I should.

For 7 long years, I've regretted and desperately wished to return to this point.

"Yessss!!!"

I jumped up from my bed, almost bumping my head against the ceiling in excitement.

Ahem. Well, I guess it can't be helped—this is good news.

Oh wait, Grandpa?

I opened the door and went out to check. There was a note and 1000 yen on the dining table.

In his neat handwriting, Grandpa wrote:

― Going hiking with the schoolteachers for a day trip. I'll be back by dinner. Make sure you eat.

And don't forget to ice your shoulder.

Even when I was 26, Grandpa was always the same.

He always worried about my meals and checked on my physical condition.

A wave of emotion hits me, and my nose stings with the urge to cry.

Ah—there's no one around to see me, but I force myself to yawn to hide the embarrassment.

I better follow Grandpa's advice.

I took a cold pack out of the fridge, wrapped it in a towel, and placed it on my shoulder.

The coldness helped clear my head a little.

Now, for the next problem.

What's up with that blue exclamation mark that keeps flickering in my view?

The voice I heard in my head earlier—something about a system and training—vaguely comes to mind.

If I remember correctly, it mentioned 'Baseball Management.'

I muttered the words out loud.

"…Baseball Management?"

Nothing changed.

But my face flushed with embarrassment.

'Is this some kind of hidden camera prank?' I thought, looking around in confusion, which only made me feel more self-conscious.

This isn't some kind of middle-school syndrome, right?

'What, do I need to touch it?' I reached out my right hand.

As soon as my hand made contact, the exclamation mark emitted waves of blue light, and several windows opened up on both sides.

"Huh, it's touch-friendly."

I let out an involuntary exclamation.

It was more out of disbelief than anything else.

As I tried to examine the multiple windows that had appeared, I heard the voice again in my head:

<Baseball Management will now begin.>