As Elias Vance entered his mid-thirties, the baseball world waited for the inevitable. For every other player, this was the age of decline, where nagging injuries compounded and raw tools dulled. Yet, Eli defied it all. His hard work, now perfectly aligned with his system's directives, had transformed into a relentless maintenance protocol, an intelligent calibration of body and mind that left opponents and even his own teammates marveling.
The system's tasks during this period were focused less on aggressive gains and more on optimized efficiency, preemptive recovery, and the mastery of subtle advantages.
Task: Maintain peak defensive range despite subtle physical changes. Prioritize quick first steps and optimal route running.
Task: Increase walk rate to 15% while maintaining power output, forcing pitchers into his zone.
Task: Play 150+ games injury-free for three consecutive seasons, meticulously adhering to recovery protocols.
Eli's morning routine, already legendary, became even more precise. His time in the Yankees' state-of-the-art training facilities wasn't about lifting heavier, but about perfect form, targeted strengthening, and advanced regeneration techniques. His Stamina attribute, honed through two decades of system-guided training, allowed him to absorb the brutal 162-game schedule with remarkable resilience.
On the field, Eli's raw speed might have marginally decreased, but his BaserunningIQ and DefensiveIQ had reached a level of near-telepathy. He still stole bases, but now it was a matter of perfectly timing his jump against the pitcher's delivery, reading the catcher's stance, and exploiting the slightest hesitation from the defense. In the outfield, his routes to fly balls were so direct, so efficient, that he still covered more ground than players ten years his junior. The system had gifted him with insights that made every movement economical, every decision instantaneous.
He continued to win Gold Gloves, the number now nearing an almost comical total. His bat remained a potent force, his PlateVision so sharp that he rarely chased bad pitches, frustrating even the league's most deceptive hurlers. He averaged over .300 with 25+ home runs annually, numbers that would be career-bests for many, but were simply Eli's consistent standard.
By 2035, the narrative around Eli shifted from "how is he doing it?" to "how long can he keep doing it?" He wasn't just a great player; he was a phenomenon of longevity, a testament to what unwavering dedication, subtly guided, could achieve. The league, though still trying to find answers, began to show a grudging respect, acknowledging his almost mythological status. He had not only defied Father Time; he had forced him to reconsider his schedule.