(Flowstate vs. Pampanga Hornets — Day 6, Cebu Invitational)
The gym looked different now.
Same walls, same fans, same heat — but the energy had changed.
Where there used to be nervous silence before tipoff, there was now rhythm.
You could hear it in the way Riki's dribble echoed off the floor, how Lars timed his steps behind him like a drumbeat following a melody.
Thea stood by the bench, arms crossed, half-grin forming.
Thea: "They finally sound like a team."
Drei: "About time."
Jax: "I still sound like asthma."
Kio: "You always did."
They laughed — easy, light.
The kind that only comes after surviving hell together.
Then the announcer's voice boomed:
"Next game! Flowstate — Manila! Versus... the Pampanga Hornets!"
The crowd roared.
Pampanga — the high-flyers.
Their highlight reels were viral before they even arrived.
Every player could dunk. Even the coach probably could.
Lars stared at the opposing warm-up line, wide-eyed.
Lars: "They're jumping over each other."
Jax: "Yeah. And we're the ones they're about to jump over."
Riki: "Not if we make them land first."
TIP-OFF
The ball went up.
Pampanga's center, Malik "The Tower" Bayani, snatched it like plucking fruit off a tree.
Riki barely saw his hand move.
One pass.
One lob.
One dunk.
The rim shook.
The crowd screamed.
Thea winced.
Lars: "Okay. That's illegal."
Drei: "Welcome to the sky."
But Riki didn't flinch.
He just wiped his hands on his shorts.
Riki: "Let them jump. We'll dance when they land."
FIRST QUARTER — TURBULENCE
For five minutes, it was chaos.
Pampanga ran every fastbreak like a highlight reel — alley-oops, reverse slams, backboard taps.
Flowstate trailed 20–9 before they even blinked.
Timeout.
Thea slammed her clipboard down.
Thea: "You wanted rhythm? Here's tempo! Now control it!"
Riki looked at Lars.
Riki: "You ready?"
Lars: "Always."
Riki: "Then stop running faster. Run later."
Lars nodded — grin small, sharp.
SECOND QUARTER — THE TURN
Riki slowed everything down.
He dribbled not to move, but to set time itself.
One bounce. Pause. Fake.
Pass late — just as Pampanga's defense committed.
Lars cut diagonally — timing perfect.
Riki lobbed it.
Lars caught midair — not for a dunk, but a hangtime pass to Drei trailing behind him.
Drei banked it in.
Crowd gasped.
Riki pointed.
Riki: "That's rhythm."
Lars: "That's disrespect."
Riki: "Same thing."
The next few minutes were poetry.
Riki drove baseline — dropped a no-look to Kio.
Kio faked, kicked to Jax.
Three.
Then another.
Flowstate's ball movement looked fresh — every pass a beat, every cut a lyric.
Pampanga tried to run again — but Flowstate anticipated every lane.
They weren't reacting anymore.
They were conducting.
Halftime: Flowstate 44 – Pampanga 41.
LOCKER ROOM
Nobody sat.
They were too wired, too charged.
Lars: "Bro, did you see that alley?!"
Jax: "You mean the one that wasn't supposed to be an alley?"
Drei: "Still counts if it looked cool."
Thea: "Less TikTok, more defense."
Riki stood near the whiteboard, drawing invisible shapes in the air.
Riki: "They're expecting chaos. Let's give them silence."
Everyone blinked.
Kio: "What does that even mean?"
Riki: "It means stop reacting to their noise. Make them listen to ours."
Thea watched him.
He wasn't coaching anymore — he was leading.
She smiled, but said nothing.
THIRD QUARTER — THE QUIET STORM
Flowstate came out calm.
No trash talk. No panic. Just rhythm.
Riki held the ball at the top of the key — still as stone.
The Hornets fidgeted.
Then he moved — one step, one pass, one slash.
They broke Pampanga apart without even raising their voice.
Lars sliced through defenders like he'd known their timing since birth.
Drei drilled open shots.
Jax hit floaters that hung just long enough to make the crowd gasp.
Kio boxed out two men twice his weight.
Even the fans went quiet — watching something too precise to interrupt.
When Lars hit a windmill layup off a Riki assist, the crowd erupted.
Even Pampanga's bench stood up like, okay, that was cold.
End of third: Flowstate 71 – Pampanga 56.
FOURTH QUARTER — PAYOFF
Pampanga tried to rally — dunk after dunk — but it didn't matter.
Every time they scored two, Flowstate answered with three or four.
They were finally in the pocket.
Riki's control was masterclass — patient, unhurried.
Every play clicked. Every player shined.
Final minute: Lars caught an outlet pass, dribbled once, looked back at Riki.
Lars: "Same beat?"
Riki: "Same song."
Riki cut left.
Lars dropped the ball behind his back mid-stride.
Riki caught, floated, scored — off glass.
The crowd exploded — Manila rhythm, Cebu stage.
Final buzzer: Flowstate 93 – Pampanga Hornets 68.
AFTER THE GAME
They didn't cheer.
They just stood, catching their breath — stunned by how clean it all felt.
Thea walked over, clipboard under her arm, pretending to stay stern.
Thea: "About time you remembered what Flowstate means."
Riki: "We just stopped forcing it."
Thea: "And?"
Riki: "Started listening again."
She smiled — the rare kind, soft at the corners.
Thea: "Good. You'll need that. Cebu South Tech's next."
Lars whistled low.
Lars: "The Machine of Visayas."
Jax: "Guess it's time to break the gears."
They laughed, shoulders slumping, but spirits burning high.
Outside, the sea wind hit warm across their faces.
For the first time since Manila — they looked like Flowstate again.
END OF CHAPTER 11 — "Vertical Storm"