Tristan awoke not to the insistent cry of his alarm clock, but to the gentle, insistent rays of the morning sun filtering through his window. For a moment, he lay perfectly still, adrift in that hazy space between sleep and consciousness. Then, a dull, aching throb began to radiate from his shoulders, down his back, and into his legs. Every muscle was a tender, complaining reminder of the brutal war he had waged just hours before.
The soreness wasn't just pain; it was a badge of honor, a physical testament to the price of victory.
His eyes fluttered open. The first things he saw were the glint of gold on his nightstand on his desk. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It hadn't been a dream. The exhaustion, the pressure, the impossible shot, the deafening roar, the chaotic celebration—it was all real. They were Regional Champions.
A profound sense of peace washed over him, deeper and more satisfying than any rest he'd ever known. He had pushed himself to the absolute limit and emerged on the other side. He took a deep, centering breath, the air feeling cleaner, fresher. It was the air of a champion.
Then, he remembered. The victory wasn't just for the trophy or the title. There was another reward waiting for him.
"System," he whispered into the quiet of his room.
As always, the familiar, translucent blue window shimmered into existence before his eyes, its light cool and ethereal. A series of notifications immediately populated the screen, each one sending a jolt of anticipation through him.
[Mission 11: The Final Summit - WIN THE REGIONALS ] - Mission Success
You have faced the fiercest challenge of your career and emerged victorious.
Through grit, leadership, and a single, legendary shot, you have climbed the mountain and claimed the summit. The road ahead is even steeper, but you have proven you have the will to climb.
[Failure Penalty: Severe reduction in all current player statistics.] - AVOIDED
Tristan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The penalty for failure was a terrifying prospect he had tried his best not to dwell on. Seeing the word 'AVOIDED' was a victory in itself. Then came the spoils of war.
Mission Rewards:
[+75 Physical Stat Points]
[+100 Attribute Points]
[1x Bronze Skill Badge]
[1x Silver Upgrade Badge]
[1x Gold Upgrade Badge]
His heart hammered against his ribs. This was, by far, the biggest reward cache he had ever received. It was a treasure trove of potential, the fuel he desperately needed for the even greater challenges that lay ahead at the Palarong Pambansa/Nationals.
"Status," he commanded.
The familiar screen appeared, showing his stats as they were before the game. He scanned the numbers, a clear memory of his limitations in his mind.
STATUS
Name: Tristan Herrera
Age: 15
Physical points: 75
Attribute points: 100
FINISHING
Close Shot: 60
Driving Layup: 60
Driving Dunk: 11
Standing Dunk: 5
Post Control: 18
SHOOTING
Mid-Range Shot: 60
Three-Point Shot: 60
Free Throw: 60
PLAYMAKING
Pass Accuracy: 71
Ball Handle: 56
Speed with Ball: 50
Passing Vision: 60
Off Ball Pass: 60
DEFENSE/REBOUNDING
Interior Defense: 20
Perimeter Defense: 30
Steal: 40
Block: 15
Offensive Rebound: 15
Defensive Rebound: 15
PHYSICAL
Speed: 60
Acceleration: 60
Strength: 50
Vertical: 50
Stamina: 60
Agility: 60
SKILLS
Silver Skill Badge: Floor General (Level 2)
Bronze Skill Badge: Acrobat (Level 10)
Bronze Skill Badge: Tight Handles (Level 9)
Bronze Skill Badge: Dimer (Level 8)
Bronze Skill Badge: Slithery Finisher (Level 2)
Bronze Skill Badge: Post-Fade Phenom (Level 2)
Bronze Skill Badge: Comeback Kid (Level 2)
He didn't hesitate. He knew exactly where the first points had to go. The memory of the fourth quarter, of his lungs burning and his legs feeling like lead as Nasugbu mounted their furious comeback, was still painfully fresh.
"System, allocate Physical Points," he said, his voice firm.
He began with the most critical need. I can't let fatigue be a factor at the Palarong Pambansa/Nationals. I need to be as strong in the final two minutes as I am in the first.
[Stamina: 60] -> Apply 25 Physical Points -> [Stamina: 85]
He immediately felt a subtle shift within his body, a deep, resonant hum in his core, as if a deeper well of energy had just been unlocked. He smiled. With the remaining 50 points, he applied a balanced upgrade across his athletic foundation, making himself a more explosive and agile athlete.
[Speed: 60] -> Apply 10 Physical Points -> [Speed: 70]
[Acceleration: 60] -> Apply 10 Physical Points -> [Acceleration: 70]
[Strength: 50] -> Apply 10 Physical Points -> [Strength: 60]
[Vertical: 50] -> Apply 10 Physical Points -> [Vertical: 60]
[Agility: 60] -> Apply 10 Physical Points -> [Agility: 70]
[Physical Points: 0]
The feeling was more pronounced now. The soreness in his muscles seemed to recede, replaced by a feeling of coiled potential. He felt lighter, stronger, more connected to his own body.
Next came the Attribute Points, his chance to sharpen his skills to a razor's edge. With 100 points, he could make a massive leap.
His strategy was clear: become an undeniable threat from anywhere on the court.
They can't play off me to stop the pass. They can't play me tight to stop the drive. I need to be a weapon from the moment I cross half-court.
He began methodically upgrading his offensive arsenal.
[Close Shot: 60] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Close Shot: 70]
[Driving Layup: 60] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Driving Layup: 70]
[Mid-Range Shot: 60] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Mid-Range Shot: 70]
[Three-Point Shot: 60] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Three-Point Shot: 70]
[Free Throw: 60] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Free Throw: 70]
He had just elevated his entire scoring package to a new tier. He was no longer just a reliable shooter; he was now a legitimately dangerous one from all levels. He then turned to his primary role as a playmaker.
[Pass Accuracy: 71] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Pass Accuracy: 81]
[Ball Handle: 56] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Ball Handle: 66]
[Speed with Ball: 50] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Speed with Ball: 60]
[Passing Vision: 60] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Passing Vision: 70]
[Off Ball Pass: 60] -> Apply 10 Attribute Points -> [Off Ball Pass: 70]
[Attribute Points: 0]
His control over the ball would be tighter, his passes crisper, and his ability to push the tempo even greater. This was a comprehensive evolution.
Now for the badges. He looked at his list of skills, his eyes landing on one in particular: Bronze Skill Badge: Acrobat (Level 10). It was maxed out at its current tier. The Silver Upgrade Badge had a clear purpose.
"System, use the Silver Upgrade Badge on the Acrobat Skill Badge."
[Silver Upgrade Badge] applied to [Bronze Skill Badge: Acrobat (Level 10)].
...Upgrading Tier...
Congratulations! You have unlocked [Silver Skill Badge: Acrobat (Level 1)]!
The bronze icon on the list shimmered and morphed, its edges sharpening and its color deepening into a lustrous silver. This was a significant power-up. Those difficult, circus-like layups in heavy traffic would now have a much higher chance of falling.
Next, he tapped the [1x Bronze Skill Badge] reward. A small, slot-machine-like animation played on the screen as different badge icons blurred past. It slowed, and then clicked into place.
Congratulations! You have acquired a new skill!
[Bronze Skill Badge: Giant Slayer (Level 1)]: Boosts the effectiveness of layups and floaters against taller defenders in the paint.
Tristan's eyes widened. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. He thought of Kris Estrada's massive frame rising up to meet him on that final play. He had been forced into a fadeaway because a direct layup would have been swatted. This badge was the direct counter to that. It was the tool he needed to fearlessly attack the giants who would inevitably be waiting for him at the Nationals.
He looked at the [1x Gold Upgrade Badge], a shimmering, radiant icon that pulsed with power. He was tempted to use it immediately on his most important skill, Floor General. But he hesitated. No. Not yet. This is my ace in the hole. I'll save this for when I truly need it, for the biggest stage.
"System, show me my final status," he said, his voice filled with anticipation.
The screen refreshed, displaying the fruits of his victory.
STATUS
Name: Tristan Herrera
Age: 15
Physical points: 0
Attribute points: 0
FINISHING
Close Shot: 70
Driving Layup: 70
Driving Dunk: 11
Standing Dunk: 5
Post Control: 18
SHOOTING
Mid-Range Shot: 70
Three-Point Shot: 70
Free Throw: 70
PLAYMAKING
Pass Accuracy: 81
Ball Handle: 66
Speed with Ball: 60
Passing Vision: 70
Off Ball Pass: 70
DEFENSE/REBOUNDING
Interior Defense: 20
Perimeter Defense: 30
Steal: 40
Block: 15
Offensive Rebound: 15
Defensive Rebound: 15
PHYSICAL
Speed: 70
Acceleration: 70
Strength: 60
Vertical: 60
Stamina: 85
Agility: 70
SKILLS
Silver Skill Badge: Floor General (Level 2)
Silver Skill Badge: Acrobat (Level 1)
Bronze Skill Badge: Tight Handles (Level 9)
Bronze Skill Badge: Dimer (Level 8)
Bronze Skill Badge: Slithery Finisher (Level 2)
Bronze Skill Badge: Post-Fade Phenom (Level 2)
Bronze Skill Badge: Comeback Kid (Level 2)
Bronze Skill Badge: Giant Slayer (Level 1)
He closed the system window and stood up. The difference was instantaneous and undeniable. The lingering soreness was almost completely gone, replaced by a vibrant, thrumming energy. He felt like he could run a marathon. He shadow-dribbled, his hands moving in a blur, feeling a new level of connection and control. He crouched into a defensive stance, his movements sharper, more explosive. This was the power he had earned.
The delicious aroma of sinangag (garlic fried rice) and tsokolate (hot chocolate) finally pulled him from his room. He walked into the kitchen to find his mother, Linda, humming by the stove, and his father, Armando, sitting at the table, a phone propped up in front of him meticulously arranging her food.
"Good morning, champ," his father said, not looking up from his phone, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable. "Seems you're famous." He turned the phone around. It was a local news site, and the headline article featured a picture of Tristan, hoisted on Ian's shoulders, the ball just having gone through the net. The headline read: "HERRERA'S MIRACLE SHOT CROWNS DASMARIÑAS KINGS OF CALABARZON!"
"Oh, Armando, let the boy eat first," his mother chided, placing a heaping plate of food in front of Tristan. "You look exhausted, son. But so, so handsome in that picture! The whole neighborhood is talking about you! Aling Nelia from across the street said she almost fainted!"
Tristan laughed, feeling a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the system.
"I'm proud of the shot, son," his father said, finally putting the phone down and looking him in the eye. "But I'm more proud of how you handled yourself. The way you trusted your teammates in that third quarter, the way you led them when things got tough in the fourth… that's what makes a champion. The shot was just the punctuation mark."
Tristan felt a lump form in his throat. His father's quiet, measured praise always meant the world to him. "Thanks, Pa."
As he ate, his phone began to buzz incessantly on the table. He picked it up and saw the team group chat had exploded with over a hundred new messages. It was pure chaos. There were memes of his final shot, a blurry video of Marco trying and failing to reenact the fadeaway in his living room, and a message from Coach Gutierrez.
Coach G: No practice today or tomorrow. Rest. Heal. Let your bodies and minds recover. Be proud of what you accomplished. We'll talk about the Nationals next week. Enjoy your weekend, champions.
A flood of relieved and celebratory replies followed. Then, his phone started ringing. It was Marco.
"DUDE!" Marco's voice boomed through the speaker. "ARE YOU SEEING THIS?! WE'RE ON THE NEWS! MY DAD BOUGHT LIKE, TEN NEWSPAPERS! I THINK HE'S GOING TO HAVE ONE FRAMED!"
Tristan chuckled, moving to his room for some privacy. "Morning to you too, Marco."
"Morning? I haven't even slept! I'm still running on pure adrenaline and leftover garlic shrimp! My dad made me watch the replay of your shot like fifty times. Fifty! He breaks it down like he's a professional analyst. 'Look at the footwork, Marco! The elevation! Why can't you do that?!'"
"Tell him it's because you have no vertical," Tristan deadpanned.
"Hey! I have vertical! It's… vertically challenged, that's all," Marco shot back without missing a beat. "Anyway, for real. How are you feeling? You're like, the city hero right now."
"I'm just tired," Tristan admitted, sitting on his bed and looking at the gold medal. "It still doesn't feel completely real."
"Well, it's real, my friend. We're going to the Nationals. The big dance. Can you believe it? A few months ago we were just a team hoping to make it past the city-level qualifiers."
"We worked for it," Tristan said, a new confidence in his voice, fueled by his upgraded stats.
"Damn right, we did," Marco said, his voice turning serious for a moment. "And you led us there, Cap. For real. We all know it."
The simple, heartfelt acknowledgment from his best friend meant as much as the trophy.
"We did it together. I'll see you Monday."
He hung up the phone and fell back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. The praise from his family, the chaotic joy of his team, the pride of his city—it was overwhelming in the best possible way. The System had given him the blueprint, the tools to become a great player. But it was these people, his family, his brothers on the team, who gave him the reason to be one.
The Regional Championship was won. The Final Summit had been conquered. But as he lay there, a new energy coursing through his veins, he knew this wasn't the end. It was the end of the beginning.
The Nationals loomed on the horizon, a mountain range far taller and more treacherous than the one they had just climbed. The players there would be bigger, faster, and more skilled.
But Tristan Herrera was no longer the same player who had started the season. He was stronger now. He was faster. He was a champion. And he was ready for the climb.