Cebu South Tech Gym, Day 4 of the Invitational
Match: Flowstate (Manila) vs. Zamboanga Ironclads
The jeepney dropped them right at the gym gates.
The sun hit like punishment, air thick with smoke and noise.
Locals were already packed near the entrance — kids waving homemade banners, vendors yelling above the hum of tricycles.
"Puto cheese! Ice water! Load, bai!"
Thea walked ahead, clipboard under her arm, head high — half coach, half commander.
Behind her, Flowstate trailed like backpackers who accidentally joined a tournament.
Thea: "Alright, boys. Try not to embarrass my hometown this time."
Jax: "We barely lost last time."
Thea: "You barely functioned last time."
Lars: "She's not wrong."
Riki: "Can confirm."
Inside, the gym was chaos contained — a thousand slippers scraping on cement, air sticky with liniment and popcorn oil.
The Zamboanga Ironclads were already warming up — all shoulders, tattoos, and mean looks.
Jax (muttering): "Are we sure these guys are college students?"
Drei: "They look like they drive the team bus too."
Riki: "Then let's make them work for gas."
FIRST QUARTER — THE WALL
The whistle blew.
Zamboanga pressed immediately — a full-court chokehold.
Two guards trapped Riki before he even hit halfcourt.
Every dribble felt like a decision that could end badly.
Lars tried to blow past them — got stripped clean.
Jax drove into traffic — blocked by a wall of muscle.
Even Drei couldn't create space; every angle collapsed fast.
Score after five minutes: 17–6, Ironclads.
Timeout.
Thea: "You're letting them control your pulse. Play slow, die slow."
Riki: "They're too big."
Thea: "Then make them run."
Simple. Cruel. True.
SECOND QUARTER — SHIFTING TEMPO
Riki started baiting the press instead of dodging it.
He'd let the trap come, wait that half-beat — then slip the ball through a gap that barely existed.
Lars caught it on the run.
Layup.
Then again — hesitation, draw the double, bounce pass.
Kio short roll. Kick-out. Drei for three.
Swish.
Zamboanga looked confused now, like someone changed the song mid-dance.
By halftime: Ironclads 38 – Flowstate 32.
Still behind, but breathing.
LOCKER ROOM
The ceiling fan hummed above the sound of labored breathing.
Lars was lying on the floor, towel over his face.
Jax chewed ice cubes like stress relief.
Riki sat in silence, then said,
Riki: "They're not faster. They're louder. That's all."
Thea leaned against the wall.
Thea: "You're finally seeing it."
Riki: "Yeah. It's not about running. It's about when to stop."
Lars: "So what, paperwork? You want me to stop being fast?"
Riki: "No. I want you to stop being first."
Lars squinted.
Lars: "That... sounds insulting."
Jax: "Nah, it's coach talk for 'wait your turn.'"
Thea: "It's called timing, Lars. Try it sometime."
Lars sighed but smirked under the towel.
Lars: "Fine. I'll wait half a second. For you."
THIRD QUARTER — THE PULSE RETURNS
Flowstate came out different.
Calmer. Colder.
Every dribble from Riki looked like it was pulling gravity with it.
He'd hold the ball just long enough for Zamboanga to think they had him — then slip it through with a flick of the wrist.
Drei got a midrange jumper.
Jax a backdoor cut.
Lars a clean layup.
Zamboanga's press started cracking.
Their coach was shouting.
Their players were getting sloppy.
Riki smiled faintly.
He'd found the tempo again — and the gym could feel it.
End of third: Flowstate 56 — Ironclads 54.
FINAL MINUTES
The air inside the gym thickened.
No one sat. Everyone shouted.
Zamboanga went full man-to-man now, arms everywhere.
Every shot contested. Every rebound a war.
Two minutes left. Tie game.
Riki had the ball.
Lars called for it, wide open.
Riki faked left, passed late — a perfect beat off.
Lars caught it, drove, spun midair, saw the center jump — then tossed it back without looking.
Riki caught.
One dribble.
Pull-up.
The buzzer kissed the sound.
Swish.
Final: Flowstate 72 — Ironclads 70.
The crowd went wild.
Thea didn't even cheer — just exhaled like she'd been holding her breath since Manila.
AFTER THE GAME — BACK STEPS
The gym lights buzzed as the crowd filtered out.
Flowstate sat on the steps behind the building, plastic cups of soda sweating in their hands.
Lars: "We really beat those monsters."
Kio: "Barely."
Drei: "Winning's still winning."
Jax: "My ribs disagree."
Riki didn't laugh. He was still watching the empty gym.
Thea joined him, quiet for once.
Thea: "You're not celebrating?"
Riki: "Not yet."
Thea: "Why not?"
Riki: "Because I'm starting to see how far off rhythm we really were."
She smiled slightly.
Thea: "Good. Means you're back in it."
PORT COURT — LATE NIGHT
They wandered down by the seawall, the night breeze cutting through the noise of the city.
A group of locals were still playing under the lamppost — barefoot, shirtless, laughing like the game owed them nothing.
Lars grabbed a ball.
Lars: "C'mon. One more."
Drei: "We just played a full game."
Riki: "Then this one's for us."
No refs. No time. No crowd.
Just rhythm and laughter against the sea wind.
They played until the tide started touching the sideline.
The ball rolled into the surf.
Kio raised his hands.
Kio: "Game's over. Poseidon wins."
Everyone laughed — even Riki.
TAGUIG — SAME TIME
The Taguig gym glowed dim through a cracked window.
Teo was working the post again, sweat tracing the edges of his frame.
His father sat on the courtside, towel on his lap, voice steady.
Coach Alvarado: "Too high. Lower your shoulder. Own your space."
Teo: "Yes, Coach."
Coach: "Don't call me Coach. I'm your father. That's worse."
Bong chuckled from the sideline.
Bong: "Sir, permission to die watching this?"
Coach Alvarado: "Denied."
Teo caught the next ball, spun baseline, and finished with his left — smooth, balanced.
The old man nodded.
Coach Alvarado: "Good. The Claw's in the rhythm, finally."
Teo: "Still can't hang in the air like you."
Coach Alvarado: "You don't need to. I already did that for you."
He smiled — proud, faintly sad — and blew his whistle once.
Short. Sharp. Enough.
BACK IN CEBU
The Flowstate boys sat by the sea, dead tired.
The glow from the port danced off the water.
Lars: "So what's next?"
Riki: "Pampanga Hornets."
Lars: "The dunk team?"
Riki: "Yeah."
Lars: "Guess I'll bring a helmet."
Riki cracked a small grin.
Riki: "Just bring your rhythm. The rest will follow."
The tide hit the rocks in quiet sync, waves folding into one another — not loud, just steady.
END OF CHAPTER 10 — "The Press Game"