CHAPTER 184: SETTING IT UP.

Lukas had barely closed his eyes after a long day—his mind still racing with the latest server installations, the Tokyo expansion plans, and the weight of his Facebook empire—when his phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.

The clock read 1:12 AM.

"Who the hell..." Lukas muttered groggily, half-ready to ignore it. But the name flashing across the screen stopped him: Terry Francona.

The Phillies manager.

He picked up with a reluctant sigh. "Yeah?"

"Lukas," Terry’s voice boomed, too alert for the hour, "we’ve got the city charity event this weekend. Huge crowd, ESPN’s coming. You’re the poster boy. We need you here."

Lukas rubbed his face and sat up, irritation building in his chest. "No, Coach. Not this time. I am very busy, so I’m not attending."

Silence.

Then Terry’s voice turned cold.

"This isn’t optional, son. You’re under contract. You’re a Princeton boy pitching 101s and making headlines, but don’t forget who gave you that mound."

That was it.

"Coach," Lukas said, his tone suddenly firm and cutting. "You gave me a mound. I built a damn empire on it. I’m running a company that will be worth a billion in two months maybe, and I’ve got Japanese engineers landing in 48 hours. You think I can wear a Phillies cap and smile for some press photo while all this burns?"

Terry huffed. "You think you’re bigger than the team now?"

"No," Lukas said, his voice low and sharp. "I am the team. And I’m stepping back, for now. If that gets me benched, fine. I am on the bench anyway. But don’t ever call me at one in the goddamn morning with threats again."

He ended the call.

His hand trembled slightly. The room was quiet, too quiet.

Lukas turned to the window of his Princeton suite, the soft city lights spilling through the sheer curtains. It should’ve been peaceful, but his mind felt like a minefield—business, family, duty, legacy.

He walked over to the coffee machine and brewed a cup, sipping slowly as he stared outside.

This wasn’t just about baseball. It was about him.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his texts.

Annie: "Bella’s sleeping. You’d have loved it beside me."

He smiled, heart softening, and replied:

"I’ll be back soon. For both of you."

Then, as the sun crept across the horizon, Lukas sat at his desk. Alone, wide awake, and fully aware of the life he was building.

And what he was willing to leave behind to protect it.

The morning after the call with Phillies manager Terry Francona, Lukas rose early with a decision weighing heavy on his mind. The confrontation had left a sour taste. He’d never been one to abandon people, but Facebook wasn’t just a company anymore—it was becoming his legacy, and he had to protect it.

By 9 a.m., Lukas was in a black Mercedes with Jay and Roy, driving toward the new Facebook office building in downtown Princeton. It was a sprawling, freshly painted high-rise overlooking Carnegie Lake, not yet operational but already buzzing with preparation. Though furniture still arrived by the truckload and cables hung loose from the ceilings, the energy inside the building was palpable. This was where it all started—back where Lukas had launched the first prototype. Princeton wasn’t just a place on the map for him. It was home turf.

The elevator doors dinged open to the sixth floor, and Lukas stepped into organized chaos. Desks were being assembled, whiteboards rolled in, and teams of interns from nearby universities ran back and forth with Ethernet cords, server equipment, and sticky notes. It was chaos, but the kind that promised something great.

Yaho Nakayama stood in the middle of it all like a conductor, headset on, stylus flicking between screens on her tablet. She didn’t even notice Lukas enter until Jay gave a courteous nod. Turning, she bowed slightly, her expression calm but serious.

"Lukas, we need to talk."

They walked into a makeshift conference room—just a quiet corner partitioned with glass walls and folding chairs. Yaho tapped her tablet and brought up charts: server projections, team onboarding schedules, and ad campaign outlines.

"We’re not ready," she said. "The soft launch we hoped for in two weeks? Impossible. The Japanese servers arrived as scheduled, but calibration is taking longer than we planned. Our new hires—they’re brilliant, but they need more time."

Lukas exhaled slowly, sinking into a chair. "How long?"

"A month. Minimum. And even then, that’s a controlled rollout. Not full public access."

Lukas frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. Delay wasn’t ideal, but a premature launch could be catastrophic.

"And there’s something else," Yaho added, lowering her voice. "The Phillies contract. I suggest you cancel it."

He looked up, surprised. "Now? Why?"

"If we go forward with a full-scale ad campaign using your face, but the MLB holds rights to your image because of the Phillies deal, it could land us in hot water. Not to mention the exclusivity clauses. They could cripple Facebook’s marketing potential."

Lukas clenched his jaw. He had promised Coach Henry. He owed a lot to the Phillies. But...

Yaho stepped closer. Her tone softened. "This isn’t just about contracts. This is about momentum. If Facebook fails at launch, your name will be tied to it. The MLB will pull back. Investors will hesitate. You need to be all in—clean, clear, and focused."

There was a long silence. Lukas looked out the window. The sky over Princeton was gray but full of possibility. The building below him, barely finished, wasn’t just brick and glass. It was a monument to every line of code, every sleepless night.

He nodded slowly. "Alright. Let’s see what I can do to start the termination process. I’ll call Coach Henry myself."

Yaho gave a quiet nod. "I know it’s not easy. But you’re not just building a company here, Lukas. You’re building a future."

He smiled faintly, that familiar bittersweet edge returning to his voice. "Yeah. I just hope the world is ready."

Outside, the cranes continued their work. Cables sparked. Printers buzzed. The Princeton office might not have been live yet—but the heart of Facebook was beating, growing, and preparing for the world. Lukas was ready to give it everything he had.

Later that evening, after a long walk through the unfinished Princeton headquarters, Lukas retreated to the top floor, where a temporary meeting room had been set up with a desk, some folding chairs, and a coffee machine humming in the corner.

Jay and Roy waited just outside the door, giving Lukas space as he made the call that had been on his mind all day.

He picked up his phone and dialed Henry.

The voice on the other end was quick to answer. "Lukas. Everything alright?"

"Could be better, Coach," Lukas said with a tired sigh. "Listen. We need to talk about the Phillies contract. I need to know what my options are."

Henry’s tone shifted. "You’re thinking of pulling out?"

"Not exactly. Yaho suggested something smart. If I’m going all-in on Facebook, I can’t have licensing issues tied to MLB. But at the same time, I don’t want to burn bridges. What if I sponsor the league? Get Facebook’s name out there, officially. A partnership."

There was a pause.

Henry exhaled. "That’s a big play. You’re talking national exposure. Facebook branding in stadiums, player interviews, maybe even halftime ads. It’ll cost you."

"How much are we looking at?" Lukas asked.

"For full league sponsorship? Minimum eight figures. Could be anywhere from $15 to $30 million a year, depending on the package. You’ll need to speak with someone at MLB directly. I can set that up."

Lukas nodded to himself. "Do it. Get me the contact. And check if there’s a way we can keep a limited relationship with the Phillies for charity work or low-scale stuff. Nothing tied to my image."

"Got it," Henry replied. "I’ll get in touch with the MLB sponsorship department and send over the options by morning."

Lukas leaned back in the chair, looking out over the skeletal structure of what would soon be the nerve center of a global empire. He could feel it—the weight, the promise, the risk.

"Thanks, Coach. I appreciate you."

"You’re doing the right thing, Lukas," Henry said. "This is bigger than baseball now."

As the call ended, Lukas stayed still for a moment, letting the silence settle in. Outside the glass walls, Princeton shimmered in the quiet night. Facebook wasn’t ready yet—but every decision like this was another brick in the foundation.

Lukas leaned back in his chair, the call with Henry still fresh in his ears. Sponsoring the MLB could be a bold move, but the price tag might not be worth the risk if the foundation isn’t stable yet. He looked out the office window of the still-bustling Princeton high-rise where Facebook’s new headquarters was slowly taking shape, not operational yet but pulsing with potential.

Just then, Yaho entered with her usual quiet grace. She carried a leather binder, her tablet, and a cup of bitter green tea. Her glasses slid slightly down her nose as she looked up.

"I have the estimates, Lukas," she said calmly, placing the binder in front of him. "Three full floors, complete installation, infrastructure, security, hardware, long-term licenses, and interior for a staff of up to 300."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. "Give me the bottom line, Yaho."

She didn’t hesitate. "For the 2001-year future setup model, which includes next-gen Japanese cooling systems, fiberline data handling, multilingual manual modules for customer interaction, and multi-layered firewalls—we’re looking at 19.6 million dollars."

He sat up straighter. "That much?"

"It’s cost-efficient compared to Silicon Valley or New York," she said quickly. "And unlike Tokyo, Princeton gives us tax breathing room and campus talent from the university. Plus, we’re already rooted here."

Lukas nodded, slowly digesting the number. "And that’s just for three floors. What about expansion later?"

Yaho tapped her tablet. "If we plan the architecture smartly now, vertical and modular expansion later will be cheaper. Another ten floors can be added over time without moving servers."

"And when do you need the green light?"

"Within two days, if we want to stick to a six-month ready timeline. The suppliers have short windows."

Lukas sighed, then smiled. "Fine. Draft a report and have my manager, John Terry, prepare a soft release of 20 million from the holding fund. We’ll call it Project Orion."

Yaho raised an eyebrow. "Nice name."

"Sounds like something people will remember. And Yaho?"

She looked back as she walked to the door.

"Let’s build something that doesn’t just compete with Silicon Valley. Let’s build the reason people leave it."

She nodded, expression unreadable, then left with the same quiet grace with which she entered.

While Lukas looked at the growing economy with a smile on his face.