The remnants of lunch—half-eaten plates of adobo and rice—had long gone cold. The 'Matina' conference room was no longer a dining hall; it was a war room, a lecture hall, and a theater of impending dread. The twelve players of the Dasmariñas National High sat in stunned silence, their notebooks open, their pens forgotten. The only light came from the 70-inch television mounted on the wall, its glow painting their faces in pale, flickering blues and greens.
They had just watched the highlights from the other games. They had seen the monstrous 24/16/4 stat line of "LA" Morales, the "Janitor" from CDO—their next opponent.
They had seen the surgical 36-point masterpiece from San Fernando's Carlo Bedia. The sheer, terrifying, national level of talent was settling on them like a physical weight.
"And now, folks," the TV announcer's voice boomed, pulling them from their thoughts, "it's the one you've all been waiting for. The main event of Day One. A game that could easily be a national final! It's the 'Bicol's Pride' the Naga City High, led by their Mythical Five megastar, Aekley Vicente! And they're taking on the 'Cebu City,' led by their own Mythical Five phenom, Emmanuel 'Emon' Jacob! This is the Battle of the Titans, and it is live, right now!"
The screen cut to a wide shot of the arena they had just left. It was packed, the crowd from their own game having stayed, joined by thousands more. The noise was a deafening, unified roar.
"Okay," Coach Gutierrez said, his voice a low growl from the back of the room. "Eyes open. Notebooks out. This is not entertainment. This is class."
The camera panned to the Naga City huddle.
"And there he is," the announcer said, his voice hushed with awe. "Aekley Vicente. Folks, if you're just joining us, you're not seeing things. He is a 17-year-old, and he is every bit of six-foot-ten. A power forward with the build of a center and the heart of a lion."
A collective, sharp intake of breath sucked the air out of the conference room.
"Did he..." Marco whispered, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, "did he say six... ten?"
"He said six-ten," Gab confirmed, his voice a low, disbelieving rumble.
Ian and Cedrick, the team's "Towers" at 6'6" and 6'4", exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated horror. They weren't just big. He was a giant. A legitimate, pro-level giant, playing against high school kids.
"And for Cebu!" the announcer continued. "There's the man himself! Emmanuel 'Emon' Jacob. A six-foot-six shooting guard with a wingspan that seems to go on for days. He's got the purest jump shot in the country, and he is a lock for a spot in Manila's UAAP next season. This is a battle of two future legends, and it's about to begin!"
"Six-six..." Daewoo breathed, his eyes glued to the screen. "He's a shooting guard, and he's as tall as Ian."
"This is a joke," Marco said, slumping in his chair. "We're not in the right tournament. This is the NBA preseason. We have to beat one of these guys just to get out of our bracket."
"Silence," Coach G snapped. "Watch. Learn."
The whistle blew. The game began.
Aekley Vicente (6'10") lined up for the tip against Cebu's center, a kid who was a respectable 6'7" but looked like a child next to the Naga superstar. The ball went up, and Aekley didn't just win the tip; he controlled it, tapping it with contemptuous ease to his point guard.
The Naga team's plan was immediately, brutally obvious. They didn't run a set. They didn't run a play. They just... fed the beast. The point guard threw a simple, high entry pass to Aekley on the low block, who had sealed his man.
"Okay, let's see his move," Cedrick murmured, leaning forward, his pen poised over his notebook.
Aekley didn't have a "move." He caught the ball, took one explosive power-dribble, and dropped-stepped. The 6'7" Cebu center, despite his good position, was sent stumbling back two feet from the sheer, brute force. Aekley rose, his head at rim level, and threw down a two-handed, backboard-shaking dunk.
Score: Naga 2 - Cebu 0
The entire conference room was silent.
Marco was the first to speak, his voice a high-pitched, terrified squeak.
"That... that man... just moved the other man. Like, he didn't go around him. He went through him. That's not a basketball play. That's... that's physics. That's a lesson in mass and velocity."
"His... his drop-step," Ian said, his own voice shaky. "There was no... finesse. It was just... 'I'm bigger than you. Get out of the way.' I... I don't know how you stop that."
"You don't," Gab said simply. "You just foul him and pray he misses one."
Cebu, the machine, was completely unfazed. They collected the ball and moved down the court with a chilling, disciplined poise.
"Okay, now we see the machine," Tristan said, his eyes narrowed. "Look at their spacing. It's perfect. Every player is a threat."
They ran a complex "Floppy" set, a series of screens on both sides of the lane. Emon Jacob, the 6'6" shooter, started under the basket. He had a choice: go left off a single screen or right off a staggered double. He chose right. His defender, a 6'2" guard from Naga, fought bravely, but he was clipped by the first screen.
Emon emerged, catching the ball at the free-throw-line elbow. He didn't dribble. He didn't hesitate. His feet were already set, his shoulders already square. In one fluid, beautiful motion, he caught the ball and rose. His release point was impossibly high, his follow-through a perfect, textbook snap of the wrist.
Swish.
Score: Naga 2 - Cebu 2
"Oh my god," Marco breathed. "That's... that's just pretty. That's the prettiest shot I've ever seen."
"His footwork," Daewoo said, his voice filled with an almost religious awe. "He ran at a full sprint, stopped, and was perfectly balanced. He didn't even rush it. It was... slow. But fast. How is it slow and fast at the same time?"
"It's called efficiency," Tristan said, scribbling in his notebook. "No wasted motion. He doesn't just play basketball. He executes it."
Cebu's coach, clearly having learned from the first possession, made the adjustment.
The moment Aekley got the ball in the post, a hard, fast double-team came from the weak-side guard.
"Here it is," Cedrick said. "Now we see if he's just a brute or if he's a player."
Aekley didn't panic. He stood tall, the ball in one massive hand, held high above the two frantic defenders. He read the floor. He saw the rotation. He saw his own guard, wide open in the opposite corner, the man who had just left to double him.
With a single, effortless motion, Aekley threw a one-handed, cross-court pass that was a perfect, frozen rope. It hit his teammate square in the shooting pocket.
The Naga guard, who probably hadn't touched the ball in practice for a week, was so open he had time to set his feet, take a breath, and fire.
Swish.
Three-pointer.
Score: Naga 5 - Cebu 2
The conference room groaned.
"You're... you're kidding me," Ian said, his voice hollow. "He's 6'10". He's a monster in the post. And he passes like a point guard."
"He's not a player," Marco summarized, sinking lower in his seat. "He's a cheat code. You can't double him. You can't single-cover him. We're dead. It's official. We are a dead-team-walking."
"Coach," Tristan said, turning to the back of the room. "How do you defend that? That's... that's unstoppable."
Coach Gutierrez just stood there, arms crossed. "He's not unstoppable. He's just smart. He's using his gravity. They just showed you their one weakness. Did you see it?"
The team was silent.
"Their guards," the coach said. "They're just spot-up shooters. Their entire offense is 'Aekley, do something.' If you can contain him, you've cut the head off the snake. But Cebu... Cebu is a different animal."
Cebu came down, patient. This time, Emon Jacob didn't run off a screen. He called for an isolation on the wing. He was being guarded by the 6'2" defender, who was giving him everything he had.
Emon just stared him down. He didn't try to drive. He didn't try a crossover. He just... rose up. A 6'6" guard shooting over a 6'2" guard. It was a simple, brutal math problem.
The defender's hand was in his face. It didn't matter. The shot was too high, the release point too pure.
Swish.
Score: Naga 5 - Cebu 4
"That's just not fair!" Marco yelled, throwing his pen onto the table. "What is that?! He's taller than Ian! He's just playing 'keep-away' and shooting over them! How do you guard a 6'6" shooting guard?!"
"You don't," Gab said, his voice grim. "You just... you pray he misses. You pray he has an off night."
The game became a furious, back-and-forth duel, a clash of opposing philosophies.
Naga would pound the ball inside to Aekley, who would either score, get fouled, or find an open shooter. Cebu would respond with a blur of off-ball screens, cuts, and flares, culminating in a pristine jumper from Emon Jacob.
The score was tied, 12-12, with a minute left in the quarter.
"Here it is," Tristan said. "Mythical-on-Mythical."
Cebu had the ball on a fast break. Emon Jacob was leading the charge, a 6'6" gazelle. And the only man back for Naga... was Aekley Vicente, the 6'10" giant. The two titans were on a collision course.
The entire arena was on its feet.
Emon drove straight at the giant. He didn't slow down. Aekley rose from the paint, his arms spread, a total eclipse of the basket.
He was there to send the shot into the stands.
But Emon wasn't attacking the rim. He was attacking the player. He leaped into Aekley's chest, his eyes on the rim. In mid-air, at the last possible fraction of a second, he didn't shoot. He dumped the ball off with a perfect, tiny bounce pass to his trailing center, who had been sprinting the floor.
The center caught it and laid it in, an easy, uncontested basket, while Aekley was still in the air.
Score: Naga 12 - Cebu 14
The conference room was speechless.
"The... the IQ..." Tristan stammered. "He... he knew. He knew Aekley would go for the block. He used the most terrifying defender in the country as a decoy. He's not just a shooter. He's a genius."
Aekley was visibly, terrifyingly angry. He had been embarrassed. He sprinted down the floor, got to the high post, and demanded the ball, his hand held high.
His point guard, looking terrified, threw him the pass.
Cebu's defender, giving him space, respected the pass, the drive.
So Aekley, from 15 feet, just faced up and shot a calm, simple, mid-range jumper.
Swish.
Score: Naga 14 - Cebu 14
The room exploded.
"NO!"
"YOU'RE KIDDING ME!"
"HE HAS A JUMPER?! A 6'10" GUY WITH A POST-GAME AND COURT-VISION HAS A JUMPER?!"
It was Marco, and he was on his feet, pointing at the screen. "That's it. I'm done. We're forfeiting. There's no point. We can't... you can't be that. That's not a 'player.' That's a 'create-a-player' in a video game with all the sliders maxed out."
Ian and Cedrick just stared, their faces ashen. Their entire defensive scheme, their entire identity as players, was useless against a man like that.
The clock was winding down. Cebu held for the last shot. The ball was in Emon Jacob's hands.
Naga, terrified, put their best defender on him. He was playing him tight, physical, denying the jump shot.
So Emon, with ice in his veins, gave a hard jab-step that rocked the defender. Then, an explosive, low crossover. He was past him. He drove the lane.
Aekley rotated over, a massive shadow rising to meet him, to exact his revenge for the earlier embarrassment.
Emon saw him. He didn't care.
He elevated, not away from the 6'10" center, but into him. He absorbed the monumental contact, his body twisting in mid-air. He seemed to hang there for an impossible second, switching the ball from his right hand to his left. He spun the ball off the glass with an insane, acrobatic reverse layup.
The whistle blew.
The shot went in.
And-one.
Score: Naga 14 - Cebu 16
The buzzer sounded. Emon Jacob stood at the free-throw line, his face a mask of cold, arrogant calm, as Aekley Vicente stared at him, his eyes burning with fury.
Emon stepped to the line. The Naga fans were screaming, waving towels.
Swish.
End of First Quarter: Naga City 14 — Cebu City 17
The TV cut to a commercial, a jarringly cheerful advertisement for a local soda brand. The conference room was so quiet, Tristan could hear the hum of the hotel's air conditioning.
The players just sat there, their notebooks empty, their faces pale. They had just watched two high school players play at a level that was, frankly, professional. They had just watched the two players they would have to beat to get out of their bracket.
Marco was the first to speak, his voice a hollow, broken whisper.
"So," he said, staring at the blank screen. "We're dead. Right? I mean... that's... we can't... we can't beat that. Either of them. We're just... we're just here so they have someone to beat up on before the finals. This whole thing... it's a joke."
No one argued. No one had a counter-point. Ian and Cedrick looked like they had seen a ghost. Daewoo looked like he was going to be sick.
Finally, Coach Gutierrez stood up from the back of the room. He walked to the front and stood in front of the blank TV, his arms crossed.
"So. That's it," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "You're done. You're forfeiting. Marco's right. Let's just pack our bags and go home."
The players looked at him, confused.
"You just watched two of the best high school players in the last twenty years," the coach continued. "They are brilliant. They are talented. They are... almost perfect."
He paused, a dark, hungry smile spreading across his face.
"And I am so, so excited. Because they both just showed us exactly how to beat them."
The team stared at him as if he had just grown a second head.
"Coach," Tristan said, his voice shaky, "what... what did you see? I saw two... two unbeatable players."
"You saw the highlights," the coach said. "I saw the flaws. Vicente. The 6'10" giant. He's incredible. And he's lazy. Did you see him on transition defense? He jogs. He's an offensive supernova and a defensive black hole. He doesn't close out. He doesn't rotate unless he's going for a block. His entire team is built to hide him on defense. We don't attack him. We attack around him. We run him until his tongue is on the floor. We run him until he's begging to come out of the game."
He then turned his attention to the other star. "And Jacob. The 'Cebu Machine.' What did you see? I saw a team that is 100 percent reliant on one guy to create offense. Their entire, beautiful, complex system is just a machine to get one guy a slightly open shot. What happens when you put a true, lockdown defender on him? What happens when you face-guard him, deny him the ball, and force the other four guys on that 'machine' to beat you? They can't. They're just role players. You cut the head off the snake, and the machine stops working."
He looked at his team, his eyes blazing.
"We're not here to beat a Mythical Five player. We're here to beat a team. And both of those teams are flawed. They're built around a sun, and everyone else is just a rock revolving around them. We," he said, pounding his chest, "are a constellation. We are a team. We have an answer for them. His name is Daewoo Kim. His name is Gab Lagman. His name is Joseph Rubio. We are going to throw a wave of gritty, relentless, high-IQ defenders at them until they don't want the ball anymore."
He smiled. "They are brilliant. And they are arrogant. And they are about to be very, very surprised."
He pointed to the TV. "Commercial's over. Get your pens out. The second quarter is starting. And this time, don't watch the superstars. Watch the other eight guys. Watch where they fail."
The team, their posture a little straighter, a tiny, fragile spark of hope ignited, turned back to the screen. The task was still impossible. But for the first time... it didn't feel quite as hopeless.