The television screen, having finished its brightly colored soda advertisement, returned to the arena. The ten-minute halftime break was over. The buzzing, roaring crowd in Davao was on its feet, sensing the tension. In the dim, cold light of the 'Matina' conference room, the Dasmariñas National High Basketball Team sat motionless, notebooks open, pens poised. The score was a taut, precarious 34-33, in favor of Cebu.
"Alright, pencils down for a second," Coach Gutierrez said, his voice cutting through the quiet. The players looked up.
"The second quarter was a stalemate," he continued, pacing slowly behind them. "Both teams traded punches. Both stars, Vicente and Jacob, proved they can carry their teams. Now, you watch the adjustments. The first five minutes of this quarter are not about talent. They are about coaching, discipline, and endurance. Watch what happens when the 'heroes' get tired. Watch who their coaches trust. Watch who disappears."
He stopped at the head of the table, his eyes on Tristan. "Aekley Vicente is a 6'10" monster who can pass, post, and now, apparently, shoot. Emon Jacob is a 6'6" professional scorer in a high school kid's body. They are both... brilliant. But they are also both incredibly arrogant. Their arrogance is their weakness. They believe they have to be the hero. Watch what happens when that belief is tested."
On screen, the teams retook the floor. The third quarter, the hinge of the game, was about to begin.
Start of the Third Quarter: Naga 33 — Cebu 34
Naga City came out with a clear, immediate adjustment. They were going to lean on their giant, but in a new, terrifying way. Aekley Vicente (#50) didn't go to the low block. He set a high ball-screen for his point guard, A. Ruiz (#10), 30 feet from the basket.
"Pick-and-roll... no, pick-and-pop," Tristan said, his voice a low, analytical murmur.
The Cebu center, K. Ramos (#44), who was trained to drop back and protect the paint, did just that. He sagged off, expecting the drive.
It was a fatal mistake.
Ruiz threw the pass back to Vicente, who was now standing all alone at the top of the key. The 6'10" superstar, with the confidence of a point guard, set his feet and launched a smooth, effortless three-pointer.
The net barely moved. Swish.
Score: Naga 36 - Cebu 34
The entire Dasmariñas conference room let out a collective, pained groan.
"You have got to be kidding me," Ian Veneracion said, his voice hollow as he stared at the screen. He, a 6'6" center, was being forced to learn how to guard the three-point line. This... this was a 6'10" center initiating the offense from there.
"He's a 'stretch five'," Cedrick said, scribbling furiously in his notebook. "It's not just a set play. That's his game now. He's pulling the entire defense apart. How do you... how do you even defend that?"
"You don't," Marco said, his voice a high, terrified squeak. "You just... you pray. You go to church. We're gonna need a new game plan, Coach. And maybe an exorcist."
Cebu, unfazed, came back with their own adjustment. Emon Jacob (#23), who had carried the scoring load, now moved off-ball. He wasn't bringing the ball up. He was letting his point guard, J. Abella (#5), initiate, while he ran his defender through a labyrinth of screens.
"They're saving his legs," Tristan noted. "Smart. They're making him a pure finisher, not a creator."
Jacob ran his defender off a double screen, but the Naga guard (T. Morales, #11) fought through, his defense tenacious. The pass to Jacob wasn't there. The offense stalled. Abella, the point guard, was forced to create. He drove, but Aekley Vicente was in the paint, clogging the lane for his own teammate. Abella threw up a wild, off-balance floater. It was an airball.
"Hah!" Marco barked, a small, triumphant laugh. "See! Take the ball out of Jacob's hands, and they're just... guys! Their point guard is scared!"
"He's not scared, Marco," Coach G snapped. "He's inefficient. There's a difference. Their entire system is built for one, and only one, man to take a shot. The machine is flawed. Jacob has to be the creator. Write that down."
Naga, energized, went right back to Vicente. He posted up on the low block. Cebu's coach, unwilling to let his center get abused again, sent a hard, fast double-team from the weak-side guard.
"Here it is," Cedrick said, leaning forward. "The double. Let's see the pass."
Vicente, as he'd done in the first quarter, didn't panic. He stood tall, saw the rotation, and fired a perfect skip pass to his open guard in the corner.
The guard, J. Cruz (#7), caught it. He was wide open. He had time.
And he missed. A clean, open three-pointer, in and out.
Cebu grabbed the rebound.
"See?" Coach G said, a grim smile on his face. "Their guards are just spot-up shooters. They're not true threats. They're just accessories. You can live with them taking that shot. You just pray they miss."
Emon Jacob, seeing his team's offense stall, immediately motioned for the ball. The "rest" was over. He was back in control.
He called for an isolation on the right wing. He was being guarded by Naga's best defender, the tough 6'2" Morales.
Jacob sized him up. He didn't drive. He didn't pass. He simply... rose up. A 6'6" guard with a 6'10" wingspan, shooting over a 6'2" defender. It was a simple, brutal display of physics. The defender's hand was right in his face, a perfect contest.
It didn't matter.
Swish.
Score: Naga 36 - Cebu 36
A collective groan went through the room.
"What do you do about that?" Daewoo asked, his voice full of disbelief. "The defense was perfect. He just... he just scored anyway."
"That's 'Hero Ball'," Gab rumbled, his voice dark. "You can't stop it. You just have to endure it. You let him take that shot twenty times. It's a low-percentage shot, even for him."
"It didn't look low-percentage," Marco countered, nervously chewing on the end of his pen.
The game then descended into the "Hero Ball" phase Coach Gutierrez had predicted. The systems were breaking down, and the two superstars were taking over.
Aekley Vicente, not to be outdone, demanded the ball. He got it at the elbow. His defender, the 6'7" Ramos, was playing him tight, respecting the jumper.
So Aekley just drove. He took one explosive, ground-shaking dribble, lowered his shoulder, and moved Ramos two feet back like he was a chair. He went up and laid the ball in softly off the glass, absorbing the contact. No foul was called.
Score: Naga 38 - Cebu 36
"He's... he's a freight train," Ian said, his own confidence as a big man visibly wilting. "Ramos is a big kid. And Vicente just... moved him."
Emon Jacob came right back. He ran his defender off a screen, caught the ball 25 feet out, and with a hand in his face, launched another deep, beautiful three-pointer.
Swish.
Score: Naga 38 - Cebu 39
The lead had changed hands again. The two titans were trading baskets, and the other eight players on the floor were just spectators.
Aekley was furious. He sprinted down the floor, established deep post position, and demanded the ball, his arm held high. His point guard lobbed it in.
Cebu's center, Ramos, was fronting him. The double-team was coming. Aekley didn't care. He caught the ball, turned, and went up over both defenders, a powerful, contested hook shot that was pure, unstoppable force. It went in.
Score: Naga 40 - Cebu 39
"Okay, this is just... this is a video game," Marco declared, throwing his hands up. "This is ridiculous. They're not even playing basketball. They're just... taking turns."
This furious, back-and-forth exchange continued. Jacob would hit a contested pull-up. Vicente would answer with a monster put-back dunk, drawing a foul.
Score: Naga 43 - Cebu 41
The camera zoomed in on Aekley Vicente at the free-throw line. He was bent over, his hands on his knees, his massive chest heaving.
"Look at him," Coach G said, his voice sharp and sudden.
The team leaned in.
"He's gassed," Tristan said, a note of revelation in his voice. "He's completely gassed. He's played every second, and he's had to carry the entire load. He's tired."
"Exactly," Coach G said. "He's a 6'10", 240-pound kid. He's a monster. But he is not a machine. He's getting tired. Now, watch what happens."
Aekley, breathing heavily, missed the free throw.
Emon Jacob grabbed the rebound and pushed. He was sprinting.
"See!" Coach G yelled. "Jacob sees it! He's attacking the tired giant!"
Jacob flew down the court. Aekley Vicente was jogging, still at half-court, his legs heavy.
Jacob drove into the paint, and with no rim protector, he laid it in easily.
Score: Naga 43 - Cebu 43
The game was tied, and the momentum had shifted on a single, lazy transition.
Aekley, furious at himself, tried to re-establish his dominance. He got the ball on the block. He tried his power-move, but his legs were gone. His spin was slow, sloppy. He lost his footing. The whistle blew. Traveling. A turnover.
He stared at the referee in disbelief, but his teammates had to help him up. He was exhausted.
Cebu, smelling blood, went for the kill. They ran their 'Horns' set. Jacob got the ball at the elbow. He drove, and with Aekley slow to rotate, he got all the way to the rim. But at the last second, Naga's guard, T. Morales, made a desperate, heroic rotation and stepped in to take the charge.
A massive, violent collision. An offensive foul on Jacob. Naga's ball.
"That," Daewoo said, his voice full of respect, "was a perfect charge. He sacrificed his body."
"That's a winning play," Gab added, nodding in approval.
The game became a sloppy, physical grind. The hero-ball phase was over, and the "fatigue" phase had begun. Passes were fumbled. Open shots were missed. It was a war of attrition.
With one minute left in the quarter, the score was still tied.
Score: Naga 45 - Cebu 45
Cebu had the ball, holding for the last shot. The ball, as expected, was in Emon Jacob's hands. He was dribbling at the top, the clock ticking down.
10... 9... 8...
He was being guarded by Morales, who had been hounding him all game.
7... 6... 5...
Jacob made his move. He drove hard right. Morales cut him off. He spun back left. A second defender came. He was trapped.
The entire Dasmariñas team leaned forward. "He's trapped! He's done!" Marco whispered.
But he wasn't.
In a move of pure, transcendent genius, Emon Jacob, while trapped by two defenders, saw his center, K. Ramos, flash to the opposite low block, which had been vacated by Aekley Vicente who was late to rotate.
Jacob leaped into the air, his body twisting. He looked like he was going to shoot a crazy, falling fadeaway. But instead, he threw a one-handed, no-look, 25-foot skip pass that sailed perfectly over the entire Naga defense and landed softly in the hands of Ramos.
Ramos was all alone. He laid it in just as the buzzer sounded.
End of Third Quarter: Naga City 45 — Cebu City 47
The crowd was in a state of stunned silence before exploding. The Cebu players mobbed Jacob, who just walked calmly off the court, his face impassive. Aekley Vicente, who had been the late rotator, just stared at him, a look of pure, frustrated disbelief on his face.
In the conference room, the Dasmariñas National High were just as stunned.
"I..." Tristan started, and then just shook his head. "I don't... I don't even know what to say. That's... that's the best pass I have ever seen. High school, pro, anything. He knew. He knew his man would be there. He drew the entire defense, including the 6'10" giant, and he threw a perfect dime to win the quarter."
"He's a killer," Marco said, his voice a hollow echo. "He's not just a shooter. He's not just a scorer. He's a... he's a general. Just like you, Tris. But... he's 6'6". And he can jump out of the building."
The room was heavy with a new, more profound dread. Coach Gutierrez's analysis had been right. Vicente was lazy on D. Jacob's teammates were inefficient. But it didn't seem to matter. The superstars were so transcendent, so brilliant, that they were covering for all their team's flaws.
Coach Gutierrez stood up. He walked to the whiteboard and erased everything.
"Okay," he said, his voice calm. "So. Our path to the championship likely means we have to go through a 6'5" monster who gets 16 rebounds a game... just to earn the right to play against a 6'6" point-god, or a 6'10" demigod who can shoot threes."
He looked at his team, their faces pale.
"Good," he said, a strange, hard smile on his face. "This is perfect. They're not expecting us. They're not thinking about us. They're only thinking about each other. We are the ambush. We are the trap. And they are about to fall right into it."
He turned back to the screen. "Now, be quiet. The fourth quarter is starting. Let's see which monster has more left in the tank."