The phone call came in late August, after a particularly grueling doubleheader in Trenton. Eli was cooling down, his uniform drenched in sweat, when the manager, Coach Diaz, called him into his office.
"Eli," Diaz started, his voice calm, but his eyes alight with a mix of surprise and pride. "The big club. They want you in New York."
Eli felt a familiar internal ping, sharper and more insistent than any he'd received before. It wasn't a task, not exactly, but a massive, overarching objective.
Objective: Integrate into the Major League environment. Adapt to the highest level of competition. Initiate the next phase of development.
His breath hitched. The big leagues. The New York Yankees. Less than three months after being drafted. It felt surreal, like a dream that had somehow manifested into reality.
He packed his meager belongings in a whirlwind, the bus ride to New York a blur of nervous energy and anticipation. He called his parents, Clara squealing louder than she had on draft night. His father's voice was thick with emotion.
"You earned this, son. Every single bit of it."
But Eli knew it was more than just earning. It was the relentless, guided work.
Walking into the Yankees clubhouse for the first time was like stepping into a legend. The smell of liniment and leather, the hushed reverence of the locker room, the sheer scale of the place. He recognized faces from trading cards, now sharing the same space. Aaron Judge, Giancarlo Stanton, CC Sabathia – titans of the game.
His debut came quickly, a pinch-hit appearance against the Boston Red Sox at Fenway Park, a cauldron of noise and rivalry. He stepped into the batter's box, the roar of the crowd washing over him, a symphony of boos and cheers. The red lights of the scoreboard were a blur.
The system, however, was a calming presence.
Task: Recognize first pitch type. Lay off if outside the strike zone.
He saw the fastball, a blur of white, but the system had pre-calibrated his eyes. It was a ball. He took it.
Task completed. Attribute boost: PlateVision +1.
The next pitch, a slider, was called a strike. Eli fouled off the next two, adjusting his timing. The pitcher, a veteran lefty, grinned, sensing weakness. Eli felt the familiar internal ping.
Task: Make hard contact on the next pitch. Focus on pulling the ball.
The fastball came, up and in. Eli unleashed a practiced, powerful swing, the bat a blur. The ball rocketed off the barrel, a line drive screaming down the right-field line. It hit the wall, just inside the pole, for a double.
The crowd gasped, then erupted. Eli stood on second, chest heaving, the adrenaline coursing through him. He looked towards the Yankees dugout, where his new teammates were cheering. It was a small victory, just one hit, but it was a declaration.
He played the final month of the 2018 season, mostly in a reserve role, getting a taste of the speed and intensity of Major League Baseball. He showed flashes – a diving catch in the outfield that made SportsCenter, a stolen base that changed the momentum of a game, several hard-hit balls. His numbers for the short stint were respectable for a kid fresh out of high school: a .260 average, a few extra-base hits. Nothing that would shatter records or win him awards just yet.
But Eli knew. This was just the warm-up. The true climb, the hard work, the absolute dominance, was about to begin in earnest. The level-up system was already preparing him for what was next. He could feel it, the subtle hum of potential, the quiet promise of the unprecedented season that awaited him in 2019.