Niihama, Japan – November 16, 2031

Vanessa awoke with her brain apparently attempting to bury itself deep within her some hidden cave in the center of her skull. The aching in her head ebbed only slightly as waves of nausea peaked and made her consider exactly how long she’d want this punishment to continue. It’s not often that you get to celebrate a 412% raise with your billionaire boss, and so she regretted nothing. Still, owwwwwww. Vanessa resisted the urge to check her phone, and instead rested for a moment as she tried to recap the day’s events. She remembered calling her dad and his jubilant reaction to her news. She remembered being on the yacht. She remembered tequila. She did not remember getting home. She quickly shoved her discomforts aside and was relieved to see she was in pajamas and that her purse was both on the nightstand and contained her phone. Her mental relief was immediately displaced by a stark lack of physical relief, and she ran to the bathroom as her nausea exceeded a threshold of choice.

After an unpleasant exorcism, Vanessa looked at her phone and caught up on messages. A few messages from family and some of her old college friends made her simultaneously smile and feel the isolation of her expatriation. Another, from her boss, caught her focus:  “First task as assistant GM – find me a counterpart for Kichikawa”. The former outfielder and first year hitting coach of the Ghosts had made a name for himself within the organization as being a great teacher. Certainly some of the credit for the Ghosts offense climbing out of the gutter with mostly castoffs had to go to him. He had solidified the critical position of being a mentor to the young core of position prospects that would hopefully develop into the core of the Ghosts offense. What the organization lacked was a pitching coach with such a reputation.

Vanessa had discussed the matter with Vail, but there was no consensus on where to go for this matter. The two had neither agreed on a process nor on a candidate – or even a profile of what a good candidate might look like. Apparently her new boss’s gift to her was him bowing out of the discussion and leaving it to her. Immediately, Vanessa realized with childlike enthusiasm, I’M HIRING THE GHOSTS PITCHING “CZAR”. The term was one Vail had coined – the pitching coach that would help develop the pitching philosophy of the organization and have a voice in further hires. The choice was hers. No needing to subtly plant the idea in some clueless suit’s mind, no letting another take credit… no one to blame but herself if the choice goes awry. The thrill of it was nearly enough to cure her hangover. She still downed half her medicine cabinet before opening her laptop and booking herself a flight with her new corporate account card.

Boston, MA, USA – 16 November, 2031

There was little Vanessa Chambers could imagine more boring, exhausting, and debilitating than a 24 hour flight schedule executed on a moment’s notice and with the worst hangover of her life. Still, she was invigorated upon landing. Her vision for the future of the Ghosts was about to break ground. Having already downed a pint of Starbucks’s most potent concoction, she exited customs and ordered an UberTesla. The lack of a wait for a vehicle was certainly an welcome improvement over the personal travel options in Japan, but the Boston cold and rain was even bleaker than at home. Vanessa checked her watch and noted the estimated time of arrival – over an hour. Plenty of time to rehearse, again. She considered calling her target ahead, but decided against it. The optimal outcome would be catching him at home and she was willing to gamble.

As Vanessa stepped out of the self-driving vehicle, she made the conscious decision to refrain from paying for it to idle nearby. This will work, damnit. As she watched it drive off, she turned her attention to the estate before her. The black wrought iron gates barred the way to a long, winding drive with juniper accenting either side. At the end of this private road, a stone faceted, three-story modern colonial home blocked the line of sight to the private baseball diamond behind the house. The site was simply majestic – reminiscent of the castles dotting the landscapes of rural Japan.

Vanessa pressed the video monitor and waited patiently for a response. A moment later, and man in his early 40s appeared, saying, “You don’t look like you’re here to deliver my new hiking gear. Something I can help you with, miss?”

“Ms. Chambers, assistant GM of the Niihama-shi Ghosts. I just flew in from Niihama. I would like 15 minutes of your time, and if you don’t like what I have to say, I will leave immediately and fly right back, but I really think you -”

“I see. Quite the journey,” the man stared into the camera and after a moment’s pause continued, “Gate’s open – I’ll meet you out front.”

A few moments later, a tallish man with a long, sweeping overcoat and a wide, black umbrella shielding him from the constitutive misty rain of Northeast Autumns appeared along the drive and approached Vanessa. As he neared non-shouting range, the man spoke loudly over the whistle of the cold November wind, “You just flew across the planet solely to see me? You didn’t think a call or an email, or literally any form of contact ahead of time might be wise?” The man’s neutral tone offered no indication of his feelings about such an approach.

“My father always told me that certain things are best addressed in person. This is one of those things,” Vanessa mirrored the man’s stance and tone, smiling easily in the afternoon sun.

“Who is your father… and what is this thing?”

“My father is Dave Newton, he managed a few years for West Virginia towards the end of your career. He spoke very highly of you, sir. As to this… I’m so, so glad you asked,” Vanessa replied. Her pitch was well-rehearsed. She had practiced every line and delivered it with a conversational ease that most people can’t fake. She detailed a plan to organize the Ghosts pitching development in a more cohesive way than other organizations. She outlined the purchase of standardized equipment for every level of the reincarnated organization and the standardized metrics and data collection that would be employed. She finished by showing off her boss’s favorite new toy, a holographic 3D projector so bright she could display nearly life-size avatars of Yuji Yamashita and Alonso Hernandez pitching in slow motion.

“Wow. First class stuff. I would have loved to have been a part of it when I was coming up,” the man offered earnestly, before switching to a more serious tone, “But I’m failing to see why you would come all the way here to my home to show me your toys. What does this have to do with me?”

“You are one of the greatest strikeout pitchers in PEBA history. You’ve watched as the powerhouses of the league have tapped their former greats to pass on their wisdom to the next generation of baseball legends and yet here you stand – uninvited. I think that’s a travesty and I’m here to correct it, if you’ll allow me,” Vanessa was cutoff partway through her ultimate pitch.

“What makes you think I can help you? Or that I would have any interest in working with – who did you say you’re with? Niihama? They’re back now, too?”As he spoke an air of contempt mixed with a distinct melancholy swirled about his words. Vanessa anticipated this.

Shrugging off the cold reply, Vanessa marched on, “Your 2012 campaign is the stuff of legend: 2.07 ERA, 253 Ks, 0.88 WHIP, 10.27 K/9, and 28 quality starts in 31 attempts – surreal. You dominated your opponents and you captained your team to three consecutive 100 win seasons and flanked those seasons with championships. And it’s for exactly those reasons that we want you in charge of the entire operation.”

Dean O’Monahan, “Fate” to his fans and legend to baseball, looked at her flatly. He exhaled in a half-laugh, “Ms. Chambers? Right? I have more money than I will ever spend and not a care in the world except for how I get to enjoy my kids every single day. Why would I want to start flying all over the world again? What could possibly motivate me to leave this?” he gestured all around him – to his perfect gardens and pristine personal diamond and his mansion and his long, windy drive.

“Since retiring, you installed a baseball diamond in your house and have sponsored weekly pitching camps with high school kids from all over the country – all at your own expense. You’ve been teaching people how to pitch since long before you hung up your uniform. You can’t do it yourself anymore, but that doesn’t mean you don’t still love baseball. You’ve been waiting for the call, but it hasn’t come. You’re 47. You aren’t done enjoying the sport that captured your soul when you were just a kid. If you join us, you won’t have to be done until you decide you are,” Vanessa had a little more she could add to consideration, but her instinct was to stop there. O’Monahan shuffled between staring at her in disdain and, fighting his anger, gazing past his palace.

“And I would have full control over how the organization develops pitching? And I get to decide where I’m coaching – anywhere in the organization?” O’Monahan’s tone lightened almost imperceptibly, but Vanessa took note, nodding once in affirmation.

“I’d have to talk to my wife,” he said a little more softly than he might have liked, “but can I see that second kid’s slider again?”