Swing! Batter, Batter! Swing!

Chapter 1: A Second Chance

"Come on, Jaune! You can do it! Hit it!" The shout came from his father, whose face he could no longer picture in his mind. It was a voice that echoed in his memory, distant and distorted, yet undeniably his father's. A warmth came with it, a sense of security he couldn't quite place anymore.

"You can do it, sweetie!" His mother's voice followed, just as faint, slipping through the cracks of his fading recollections. He could no longer remember her face, but the love in her words wrapped around him like a blanket of comfort, even though she existed only as a wisp of memory now.

"Go for a homerun, Jaune!"

"You've got this, little bro!"

"Knock it out of the park!"

The voices of his older and younger sisters chimed in, overlapping and blending together in a chorus of encouragement. He could barely recall what they looked like—mere shadowy outlines in his mind, their faces long lost to time—but their voices, their laughter, their belief in him, those remained clear. He couldn't forget the way they cheered for him, the way their support made him feel invincible in that moment.

In that memory, the people surrounding him had faded away like ghosts, leaving behind only their voices and his younger self, standing in the batter's box. It was as if he existed in a dreamscape where everything around him was hazy, except for the game itself. He couldn't remember their faces, but he remembered the bat in his hands—its weight, its rough grip pressing into his palms as he tightened his hold.

He remembered the pitcher, the wind-up, the ball leaving his hand—a blur of white hurtling toward him. Time seemed to slow down. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears. His eyes locked onto the ball as it drew closer, and then, with a grunt of effort, he swung the bat.

Crack!

The sound of impact rang through the air, reverberating in his bones. The ball shot up into the sky, climbing higher and higher. The world erupted around him, the cheers of his family swelling with excitement, a crescendo of anticipation as they waited to see if the ball would soar far enough for a homerun.

And then—

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The sharp, jarring noise snapped him out of the memory, and back to reality. The field was gone. His family, his bat, the game—all of it had evaporated into the void. But the sound, that echo of a moment long passed, stayed with him. It was a fragment of a time he could never truly relive but would always carry with him.

Jaune slowly sat up, blinking against the midday sunlight filtering through his curtains. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was in his room, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember how he had gotten back here. The night before felt like a blur, a foggy mess of scattered memories and exhaustion. Had he fallen asleep on the couch and dragged himself to bed in a daze?

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The sound came again—three loud, insistent knocks that reverberated through the quiet apartment. Jaune frowned, his sleep-addled mind taking a second to piece it together. It was coming from the front door. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, squinting to read the time. 12:00 PM.

He groaned. "Great, I slept in," he muttered to himself, feeling sluggish as he threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wondered who could possibly be pounding on his door so forcefully. Maybe it was Roman or Neo. Or the twins. He sighed, hoping it wasn't trouble knocking.