(Renz "Air" Alonzo — Pangasinan)
The sun didn't set — it dripped.
Gold turned red, then bled into dust.
The court behind the Lingayen market was already shaking.
Fish vendors, trike drivers, grandmothers in floral dusters — packed shoulder to shoulder.
Speaker coughing out a remix of some old Jay Park track warped through salt air.
Boom.
Clap.
Boom.
It wasn't just noise.
It was heartbeat.
MATCH CARD
Lingayen Locals:
PG — Mario "Fishball" Dela Cruz
SG — Renz "Air" Alonzo
SF — Noel Cabrera
PF — Bornok Rivera
C — Ramil Espiritu
Dagupan Five (The Straitline Crew):
PG — Carlo Villanueva
SG — Mark "Shots" Legaspi
SF — Alan Go
PF — Nino Rivera
C — Tito Ramos
1st QUARTER — Straight Lines vs Tide
Whistle.
Tip.
Carlo caught it mid-air and dropped a dime to Shots — pull-up three before anyone blinked.
Swish.
No celebration. Just silence.
Dagupan didn't move fast; they moved right.
Every step measured, every bounce clean.
Alan Go shadowed Renz's left shoulder like a ghost.
Bornok tried backing down Nino.
Body met body.
Sounded like metal folding.
Nino smiled through the hit. "That all?"
Renz's turn.
Cross.
Stop.
Stutter.
Alan bit.
Drive — then freeze mid-air.
Windmill reverse.
Whole court screamed like a storm breaking.
"ENDING TWO! ENDING TWO!"
Shots hit another three from deep.
Then another.
Then a midrange just because he could.
Metronome rhythm.
No emotion.
End of first: Dagupan 21 – Lingayen 18.
Renz breathed hard, grinning.
"Finally," he muttered. "Somebody worth listening to."
2nd QUARTER — Clash Tempo
Music switched — bass heavier, the kind that rattles bottles.
Mario shouted, "Fishhook left!" again.
Nobody knew what it meant.
Bornok screened Nino into the next barangay.
Renz used it — spin, hang, self alley off glass, Low Tide.
Caught it with one hand.
Hammered it backward.
Speaker glitched.
Crowd lost its mind.
Alan Go didn't flinch.
Next play — body check mid-air.
Renz hit the floor hard.
Alan stood over him. "Pretty moves. Score's still ours."
Renz smirked from the ground. "For now."
Shots walked by, calm.
"Rhythm dies when it gets predictable."
Renz stood. "Then stop trying to count it."
Halftime: Dagupan 42 – Lingayen 39.
3rd QUARTER — The Beat Bites Back
Speaker crackled alive again —
local beat, dirty mix, fast.
Crowd clapped along off-tempo, and somehow that made it right.
Renz's eyes changed.
He started hearing the off-beat.
The ugly rhythm.
The truth.
Cue: Al James — "Norem," low through a half-blown speaker near the fence.
The bass slid into his pulse — lazy, heavy, hypnotic.
Every bounce matched his breath until the court wasn't sound anymore; it was a track only he could hear.
Cross.
Twist.
Step-back three.
Bang.
Alan tried to chase.
Renz cut through him mid-spin — body twisted full 360 — Salt Rush windmill.
Landed light.
Didn't smile.
Bornok and Nino kept colliding, both too proud to fall.
Fishball Mario dropped a corner three and shouted, "Lunch money!"
Momentum flipped.
Crowd roaring, kids hanging from the chain fence.
Speaker skipping, looping four bars forever.
End of third: Lingayen 63 – Dagupan 60.
Shots just stared across the court, eyes narrow, calculating.
"You can't dance forever."
Renz wiped sweat off his chin. "Watch me."
4th QUARTER — Flow vs Formula
Whistle.
Everything slowed.
No more crowd.
No more bets.
Just sound.
Shots ran a high screen.
Three dribbles, corner fade.
Splash.
Tied.
Renz caught the inbound.
The loop hit again.
Same four bars.
He closed his eyes mid-dribble.
Let the beat call the move.
Crossover.
Spin.
Step-back.
Hang.
360 windmill.
Contact mid-air — Alan tried to block.
Renz twisted around him.
Still dunked.
Court lost control.
Speaker blew out.
Static.
Bornok grabbed Renz by the neck, yelling, "YOU'RE INSANE!"
Renz grinned. "Nah. Just on time."
Final seconds.
Score 73–73.
Dagupan ball.
Shots brought it up.
Eyes calm.
Clock ticking.
Cross.
Drive.
Step.
Renz read it, cut the lane.
Stole it clean.
Crowd stood.
He sprinted, beat in his head, whole town in his lungs.
Two steps.
Jump.
Body corkscrewed — Bayan Bounce.
Off glass.
Caught it himself.
Dunked backward.
Buzzer.
Silence.
Then—
"SEVENTY-FIVE! ENDING FIVE!"
Explosion of voices.
People crying, laughing, fighting over pesos.
Kids chasing loose coins.
Grandmothers swearing redemption.
Final: Lingayen 75 – Dagupan 73.
POST-GAME — The Quiet After Rhythm
Renz sat on the seawall barefoot, hair wet, breathing steady.
Bornok beside him, bruised but smiling.
Mario asleep on a bucket.
The sea hummed under the stars.
The beat hadn't stopped — it just changed form.
A motorcycle rolled up.
Headlight sliced the dark.
Mark "Shots" Legaspi climbed off, calm as always.
"Didn't think anyone would make me sweat."
Renz looked over. "You'll get used to it."
Shots tossed him a folded slip of paper.
"My uncle runs a seafood run to Manila. Need extra hands."
Bornok blinked. "You hiring us?"
Shots smirked. "Hiring rhythm. You're lucky you've got one."
Renz caught the slip.
"Pier 17," Shots said. "Truck leaves at dawn."
He put his helmet back on. "See you in the city."
Engine flared.
Gone.
Renz looked at the road cutting into darkness.
Bornok groaned. "Manila traffic, huh?"
Renz grinned. "Manila rhythm."
Next Morning
Truck loaded.
Fish crates stacked.
Speaker wired to the dashboard, low beat humming.
Bornok driving.
Mario eating breakfast from a skewer.
Renz tapping the door to tempo.
Sea gave way to highway.
Highway gave way to skyline.
Concrete.
Noise.
Light.
Renz leaned out the window, wind in his hair.
Eyes wide.
Smile real.
"Let's see if the city's got flow."
End of Chapter 1 — CONCRETE BEATS.
(Next: Chapter 2 — The Bridge and the Air.)