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... join him too.


I looked back to my dugout for help. Garret, who was on deck, waved me over as he slowly moved to Mr. Miller down the third baseline.


"They're probably discussing if they should walk you." Garret whispered under his hand.


I frowned. "It's a 1-2 count." I'm at a disadvantage.


"You look like you're just toying with him." Garret said.


I stiffened, feeling a little guilty.


Mr. Miller chuckled, reaching ...

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“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

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Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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