Niihama, Japan – November 18, 2031

“Kiyomitsu, you’ve been done an excellent job so far,” Vail started speaking before Kiyomitsu Kichikawa, the hitting coach for the Ghosts in 2030, had a chance to settle into his seat.

“Thank you, Mr. Vail. You gave me a strong team to work with. I enjoy coaching for the Ghosts. The uniform has also suited me,” Kichikawa smiled and bowed slightly after he spoke.

“About that,” Vail paused a moment and held a friendly gaze upon Kichikawa before continuing, “as we move to PEBA, there are going to be a great number of moving parts. I’m wondering if you’ll be willing to be one of them.”

Kiyomitsu raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was being fired, demoted, or something else all together.

“Assistant GM Chambers has just hired what we’re calling a “czar” for our organization’s pitching philosophy. Dean O’Monahan.” Both eyebrows now raised, Kiyomitsu’s attention was piqued. “And now, we need someone to fill that role for hitting. We think you’re the man for the job, if you’re willing.”

Kiyomitsu was unsettled. Just a year ago he was operating a small tea house on the outskirts of Niihama-shi. After returning to his baseball way of life after several years away, he was just barely getting settled into his role with the Ghosts. Now, he was what? To give up coaching? To abandon his team? These were not appealing ideas. These hitters were only barely adjusted to playing in the WIL, and now would be faced with adjusting to the likes of Henry Carter and Yakamuchi Suitani. A flash of anger and pain arose as he imagined his cohort of young hitters struggling to adjust. He realized, after a moment, that he had not heard the rest of what Vail had been saying.

“Kiyo?” Vail repeated, trying to snap the man out of his mental exile, “Are you okay?”

Kichikawa silenced his mind and replied, “Apologies, Mr. Vail. I was just thinking of the challenges that face our young hitters.”

“Yeah, most of them are screwed. I’m going to be blunt, here, Kiyo. Our team is terrible. I’ve traded one of the few guys that could accomplish anything at the PEBA level – by the way your work with Bernardo was one of the primary reasons we want you in this role – and we’ve voided Hurley‘s option. There is no one left on this team that can realistically match up with the talent in the Rising Sun. It will take years to develop the core of the team that will go on to accomplish that feat. I want you to organize the training of that core. If you accept, we’ll be sending you to Alaska this season to coach our best and brightest.” Vail tossed a short stack of scouting reports in Kichikawa’s lap.
“There’s a few players in there you will want to familiarize yourself with. Stowe and Fernandez especially – they were part of the haul for Gonzalez. I’ll also need your help with hiring the five new hitting coaches that fill our ranks across the reformed organization. I have a few leads so far – but anyone you’d like interviewed will be added to that list. Kiyo,” Vail had risen out of his chair and was pacing about his small office as he spoke, but here paused and approached Kiyomitsu Kichikawa, “Kiyo, I need you to do this with me. I need to know that the foundation is solid as we bet our future on a short stack of prospects.” Vail squatted next to his coach to lower his eye level beneath Kiyomitsu’s and reached his arm out, gently grasping the man’s shoulder, “Are you with me?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Vail, sir,” Kiyomitsu smiled broadly as he accepted the role of Hitting Czar.

“Great, let’s get start-” just as he rose to his feet, the power in Niihama-shi once again shut down. “God damnit. This has got to stop some day,” Vail lamented. “Let’s grab a drink and discuss any ideas you have. The view from the roof during these brownouts offers clarity.”

Vail propped the roof access door with a heavy trash can in addition to having checked the lock, his pocket for the keys, and hooking the door open with the bungee cord maintenance installed at his request. Kiyomitsu stood holding his bourbon, wondering if Vail had a particular fear of being locked on a rooftop for some reason. After his ritual was complete, Vail gestured for Kichikawa to join him near the edge overlooking Oikake Maze. They sat on a low ledge and took in the view of a modern city in nearly complete darkness. The hospital still had power, and the city maintained traffic signaling during the semi-planned rolling brownouts.

Kiyomistu broke the silence, “If I am to have a say in hiring, I have a suggestion.” Vail raised his glass to suggest his attention was Kichikawa’s. “When I played here, we were not a very good team for many years, but we had some good players. I had a few good years, but so too did my counterpart in left field. My friend, Hirano… well perhaps friend is not the right word. He was my competitor. When all other motivation was gone. When the game was lost or when the season was lost. When you were slumping or the only one hitting. When your body ached and your discipline flagged – we always still had motivation. We had to beat each other. You see, we were much the same,” he paused and sipped the warm bourbon, letting it numb his tongue, and savoring the myriad flavors with his mouth’s objections quelled. “Neither of us could hit many home runs, nor did we try to get on base with the free pass. We both were hitters, pure and simple. We used our bats the way they were intended – to defeat our pitching opponent. Always our goals were two: first, beat the pitcher, second beat each other. This man was a competitor to his bones. So much did he want to beat me, that he would teach me his secrets. I would teach him mine. He wanted his best to be better than my best.”

“He sounds like a man we could use on our side,” Vail offered.

“He would be a sound choice to instruct our young hitters,” Kichikawa concurred. “Once the power returns, I will send him a request to meet us here tomorrow.”

“Not too early,” Vail added, gently shaking his glass.

“Not too early,” Kiyomitsu agreed, reaching for the bottle.