Spring Training in Tampa was Eli's true awakening to the relentless pace of Major League Baseball. The system, dormant in its higher functions during his brief September call-up, now surged with a new level of complexity. Gone were the basic drills; in their place were layered tasks demanding consistent, high-level execution.
Task: Achieve a .400 batting average through the first 20 Spring Training games. Focus on hitting breaking balls to the opposite field.
Eli felt the familiar, almost magnetic pull of the system. He spent extra hours in the cages, not just hitting, but feeling the difference the system had instilled in his bat path, his eye. He was seeing the ball deeper, recognizing spin out of the pitcher's hand with uncanny precision. When the season started, the baseball world wasn't just impressed; they were mesmerized.
Opening Day at Yankee Stadium was a roar Eli would never forget. He walked up to the plate in the bottom of the first, the stadium alive, a sea of pinstripes. He drove a fastball through the gap for his first official Major League hit, then stole second, sliding in under the tag with a burst of speed that left the second baseman shaking his head.
His performance wasn't a flash in the pan. It was a relentless, day-in, day-out exhibition of all five tools. He hit over .300 for the entire season, his bat a reliable constant in the heart of the Yankees lineup. His home run count steadily climbed, often coming in crucial moments, validating the Clutch attribute that the system constantly honed with tasks like: Deliver a game-tying or go-ahead hit in the 7th inning or later.
Defensively, Eli was a revelation. Playing center field, his Range was breathtaking. He devoured ground, making diving catches that robbed extra-base hits and home runs, turning what seemed like sure doubles into routine outs. His ArmStrength and ArmAccuracy were on full display, cutting down runners at the plate with throws that were both rockets and laser-guided. The system consistently pushed him: Task: Make a diving catch to save a run in a high-leverage situation. Repeat 3 times this month.
By the All-Star break, Eli was a sensation, already an All-Star in his first full season, something almost unheard of. His talent felt preternatural, his learning curve non-existent. Commentators scrambled for comparisons, none quite fitting the sheer, unadulterated completeness of his game.
As the season drew to a close, the accolades poured in. He finished with a .332 batting average, 32 home runs, and 108 RBIs, while leading the league in Defensive Runs Saved.
The postseason delivered the expected news. Eli Vance was the unanimous American League Rookie of the Year. Days later, he was awarded his first Gold Glove Award for his defensive wizardry in center field. And to the astonishment of many, he finished a resounding second in the AL MVP voting, a feat almost unheard of for a rookie. The absolute dominance was undeniable.
The league had seen a prodigy before, but never one so polished, so immediately effective, so utterly devoid of weakness. The whispers had begun to coalesce into a murmur: How? And more importantly, how could they stop him?