The Florida sun beat down with a vengeance that made the Miami heat feel like a cool breeze. It was just weeks after the draft, and Eli was already immersed in the unforgiving grind of Rookie Ball in the Gulf Coast League. The glamour of draft night felt a million miles away, replaced by cinder block dorms, lukewarm cafeteria food, and endless, repetitive drills.
The level-up system, however, was in overdrive. It saw the raw clay of his talent and the demanding environment as a forge.
Task: Successfully bunt for a hit against a right-handed pitcher in a game.
Task: Go 4-for-5 with at least 2 extra-base hits today.
Task: Throw out a runner at third base from center field on a single hop.
These tasks weren't just abstract goals; they were intensely specific, often appearing at the exact moment he needed to focus. During a game against the GCL Tigers, a runner took a wide turn at third. The system pinged: Task: Throw out runner at third. Execute flawless relay and aim for cutoff man's chest. Eli didn't hesitate. He charged the ball, scooped cleanly, and unleashed a throw that seemed to hum through the air, hitting the cutoff man perfectly, who then spun and nailed the runner by a foot. The dugout erupted.
Task completed. Attribute boost: Arm Accuracy +3. Defensive IQ +2.
He felt it immediately: the subtle but tangible improvement in his throwing motion, the clearer vision of the path the ball needed to take.
He tore through Rookie Ball, then a brief stint in Short-Season A. His numbers were eye-popping. He hit .420 with power and steals, making defensive plays that left scouts scribbling furiously in their notebooks. The word "phenom" followed him like a shadow.
"Kid's different," his GCL manager, a grizzled veteran named Coach Miller, muttered to the High-A manager over the phone. "Never seen anything like it. He just… figures things out, faster than anyone. And he works. Good Lord, does he work. First one here, last one to leave."
The "work" was relentless. Eli was up before dawn, in the weight room, then the cages, then fielding drills under the scorching sun. Even when his body screamed for rest, the system's tasks provided a new surge of determination. It wasn't just physical training; it was mental, too.
Task: Read the pitcher's grip from the windup and anticipate the pitch type. Successfully execute this 5 times in a game.
He spent hours watching replays, his eyes scanning for the subtlest twitch, the slightest rotation of the ball. And then, in the game, the insight would flash, clear as day, giving him that fraction of a second's advantage.
The promotions came in dizzying succession. High-A in Charleston. Double-A in Trenton. Each jump brought better competition, faster pitching, more cunning defensive strategies. Each jump brought new, harder tasks from the system.
In Trenton, a seasoned Double-A pitcher, a former big leaguer trying to claw his way back, struck him out three times in one game with a deceptive changeup. Eli walked back to the dugout, frustrated. The system was already there:
Task: Identify and adjust to Pitcher X's changeup. Make hard contact on it next at-bat.
Task: Learn to hit changeup with different swing path.
He spent the next hour in the cages, working with a pitching machine set to mimic the changeup. He felt his swing adapt, subtly shortening, waiting just a fraction longer. In his next at-bat against the same pitcher, the changeup came. Eli saw it, clear as day, felt his body intuitively adjust, and laced a line drive into the gap.
Task completed. Attribute boost: PlateVision +4. Contact +3.
The Yankees front office couldn't ignore the reports. Eli Vance wasn't just a prospect; he was a phenomenon. His performance was unprecedented. Injuries were starting to plague the big league club in the Bronx. A daring decision began to form.