PHOENIX — The assumption felt logical, almost inevitable. When Shohei Ohtani began stretching out again as a starting pitcher late last season, when his rehab innings slowly turned into something resembling a traditional workload, Los Angeles Dodgers pitching coach Mark Prior braced for compromise. There would be only so much time, only so much oxygen in the dugout for a player tasked with doing the impossible. Hitting would demand its share. The in-between innings chess matches that define a pitcher’s night would, he figured, be trimmed or sacrificed altogether.

He was wrong.

“Every inning he’d come in,” Prior said, “and it was a review.”

What unfolded down the stretch was not a juggling act. It was an obsession. Unless he was due up to lead off the next half-inning, Ohtani would stride into the dugout, peel off his glove, and immediately convene with his catcher and Prior. They dissected pitch shapes, swing paths, sequencing patterns. He wanted to know how his fastball was playing at the top of the zone, whether the sweeper was backing up, if hitters were spitting on the splitter. Sometimes these conversations happened as he strapped on batting armor, racing toward the on-deck circle. More than once, he left a question hanging in the air — and expected a full answer when he returned from the plate.

“Most guys take a breather,” Prior admitted. “He starts rattling off what’s going on because he knows his time’s limited. He was like every other pitcher — present in the moment.”

That presence has become the buzz of camp. Inside the Dodgers’ complex, executives and teammates describe two distinct versions of Ohtani. The designated hitter is loose, smiling, almost playful. The two-way force is something else entirely — sharper, coiled, deliberate. As he prepares for a full season of pitching and hitting for the first time in three years, there is a sense that the sport’s most singular talent is no longer chasing novelty. He is chasing history.

“He seems like he’s on a mission, pitching-wise,” president of baseball operations Andrew Friedman said. “Whenever we’ve seen him on a mission, good things happen.”

Friedman saw it in 2024, Ohtani’s first season under his seismic 10-year, $700 million contract. Fresh off a second elbow surgery that shelved his pitching, Ohtani pivoted. He became hyper-aggressive on the bases, more than doubling his career high in steals, storming into the exclusive 50/50 club, and becoming the first full-time designated hitter to win an MVP. It was a reinvention born of limitation. Now, fully cleared to build as a starter again, the reinvention may swing the other way.

“There’s no ceiling with him,” catcher Will Smith said. “He can go out there and win a Cy Young this year. I have no doubt.”

That award — the Cy Young Award — remains the one major prize missing from Ohtani’s résumé. Four MVPs in five years. Two championships. Global icon status. Yet no Cy Young. Within the clubhouse, teammates insist it is not a media fabrication. It is a target.

“He wants a Cy Young,” backup catcher Dalton Rushing said. “You can tell by the way he’s carrying himself.”

The radar gun has only fueled the frenzy. During the Dodgers’ first official workout of spring, Ohtani sat comfortably in the mid-90s — unusual for a pitcher who historically eases into velocity. Days later, in a live session, he touched 98 mph in a simulated inning. Rushing called the stuff “electric.” Outfielder Teoscar Hernández predicted “a different Shohei on the mound.”

The numbers suggest that “different” might mean devastating. From 2021 to 2023 with the Los Angeles Angels, Ohtani logged a 2.84 ERA across 428⅓ innings, striking out 542. Among pitchers with at least 400 innings in that span, only Max Fried and Max Scherzer posted lower ERAs. Only Blake Snell boasted a higher strikeout rate. Those were not novelty numbers. They were ace numbers.

Still, there were lessons last year. In an Aug. 13 start against the Angels, he leaned too heavily on his fastball-sweeper mix and paid for it. Weeks later against the Reds, when the heater lacked its usual life, he pivoted — throwing 23 curveballs and carving through a lineup with guile instead of velocity. In October, amid a three-homer barrage in Game 4 of the NLCS, he unveiled his splitter midstream, forcing hitters to recalibrate yet again. Six pitches. Infinite permutations.

Now comes the delicate dance. Ohtani will join Japan for the upcoming World Baseball Classic as a hitter only, compressing his buildup into a tight international window. Travel, tournament intensity, practice-field limitations — all threaten rhythm. The Dodgers, cautious by nature, have no intention of rushing him. With young, optionable arms such as Emmet Sheehan and River Ryan providing depth, they can space out Ohtani’s starts, perhaps limiting him to 25 or fewer. Opportunity alone could dent Cy Young math.

And yet, inside that clubhouse, doubt feels misplaced. The Dodgers believe competition will sharpen him further. Yoshinobu Yamamoto, fresh off a third-place Cy Young finish, looms as both ally and rival. Snell brings two Cy Young trophies of his own. The rotation culture, Prior says, breeds accountability — no weak links allowed.

Ohtani thrives in that crucible.

“He keeps getting put in these spots where you expect something incredible,” third baseman Max Muncy said. “He rarely disappoints.”

The expectations are astronomical again. A 98-mph fastball. Six weapons. A sharpened edge. A singular mission. From 50/50 mythology to the last untouched summit on his personal mountain, Ohtani is not simply returning to the mound. He is hunting. And if history is any guide, the league should brace itself — because when Shohei Ohtani decides something is possible, baseball’s definition of possible tends to change.