(Epilogue to Riki's Arc — 2029, end of the Cebu Invitational)
Lahug — LARS' HOUSE
The Vergara home sat close to the docks — blue walls, crooked rim above the gate, old net hanging like tired dreams.
His father was outside fixing a tricycle when the van pulled up.
"Pa!" Lars called, grinning. "We didn't die!"
His mother came out, wiping her hands on a towel. "Congratulations. You all look hungry."
Thea stepped forward, papers in hand. "Sir, Ma'am — we'd like to invite Lars to join Flowstate's collegiate team in Manila. Full schedule, training, and school program."
His father eyed Riki, half-joking, half-serious. "You'll look after him?"
Riki nodded. "We'll keep him running, not running off."
Lars: "That's not a guarantee."
Everyone laughed.
They ate a quick meal — fried bangus, rice, and iced tea so sweet it burned memory into the tongue.
Before they left, Mrs. Vergara pressed small food packs into Thea's hands.
"Para sa biyahe," she said softly.
Thea smiled. "Salamat po."
As the van pulled away, Lars waved out the window, eyes soft. "See you soon, Ma."
His father waved back. "Make it worth it, anak."
Cebu — The Ride to the Port
The road back wound through old fishing streets, past boats leaned like sleeping giants.
Kids played half-court on cracked asphalt, shouting through the salt air.
Riki watched them from the van window — that wild, unpolished rhythm.
It felt like looking at himself a lifetime ago.
He murmured, "You ever feel like you only win when you leave?"
Thea glanced over, the sea flashing outside her window.
"Leaving's just part of the game," she said. "Coming back's what decides the score."
Riki nodded. Maybe she was right. Maybe rhythm wasn't about escape — it was about return.
CEBU PORT — DEPARTURE
The morning air buzzed with life — vendors shouting, gulls slicing across the sky, engines coughing like percussion.
The team stood in line for the ferry, medals tucked away like secrets.
Lars yawned. "Feels weird leaving with money for once."
Jax: "Don't jinx it."
Kio: "You can't jinx broke people. We've seen hell."
Drei: "And rented it for two nights."
Thea checked her clipboard.
The breeze caught her hair.
Riki watched her for a moment, quiet.
"You found your rhythm again," she said.
"Nah," he said. "Just stopped fighting the noise."
She smiled. "That's the same thing."
The ferry horn blared.
As they boarded, kids from the dock waved paper flags and yelled the chant that would haunt them forever.
"BANGIS AKONG LUBOT!"
Even the ticket guy laughed.
Riki just shook his head. "We're never living that down."
TAGUIG — FLOWSTATE GYM
The lights buzzed faintly, the same tired hum he'd missed.
Inside, Teo ran post drills while his father watched from the baseline.
Bong sat cross-legged by the wall, counting beats under his breath.
The door creaked.
Riki walked in, followed by Lars, Drei, Kio, and Jax.
The gym froze for a heartbeat — then Teo cracked a grin.
"Look who decided to come home."
Riki: "You still breathing, big man?"
Bong: "Barely. Been holding down the fort."
Lars looked at Teo's size, whistled low. "You didn't tell me you had a cheat code."
Teo laughed. "You'll need one."
Lars: "Good. I brought snacks and trauma."
They all laughed.
It wasn't the reunion of champions — just friends syncing up again, like instruments after a long gig.
Teo tossed Riki a ball. "One game."
Riki caught it, raised an eyebrow. "Teams?"
Bong: "Old guard versus chaos."
Renz (from the corner): "So us versus them."
3v3 — Flowstate Reunion Game
Teo, Bong, Renz — steady.
Riki, Lars, Bornok — loud.
No referees. No crowd. Just sneakers, sweat, and memory.
Teo scored first — post fade.
Riki answered with a step-back jumper.
Lars drove baseline, kicked out behind his back to Bornok — layup.
They weren't playing for points. They were playing to remember.
By the end, no one knew who won.
They just laughed until someone collapsed on the floor.
"Still got it," Riki said.
Teo: "Barely."
Lars: "Barely's enough."
EVENING — MANILA
The court lights buzzed against soft rain.
Thea leaned on the scorer's table, phone in hand.
Coach Alvarado stood nearby, cane resting by his chair, smile faint but proud.
The team packed up slowly.
Bong threw a towel over Lars' head. "Welcome to Manila, chaos kid."
Lars: "Born ready, bai."
Kio: "We'll see."
Riki stayed behind for a moment, dribbling once, twice, letting the echo fill the gym.
It wasn't loud. It was steady — the sound of something returning to place.
His phone buzzed.
THEA [message]:
Governor's Cup Season 2 — starts in 3 months. Don't disappear.
He smirked and typed back:
Wouldn't dream of it.
He stepped outside. Rain tapped against the asphalt — light and rhythmic.
He stopped at the gate, looked back once.
The lights inside flickered, then steadied.
Home again. But not done.
Lars running drills barefoot under the dockside lights, teaching kids how to cross over on rough cement.
Bong sketching new plays on his notepad while delivering food orders on his bike.
Teo practicing mid-post, his father watching quietly from the corner.
Renz, Bornok, and Mario unloading fish crates at dawn, Flowstate shirts under their work vests.
Thea writing by the window, city noise soft outside.
And Riki — walking across the bridge where it all began, ball under one arm.
He dribbles once.
The city hums below.
Rain syncs with his rhythm.
His voice, faint but sure:
"Three months, huh? Guess that's enough time to get louder."
The beat builds — not just rain now, but traffic, laughter, life.
The sound of a city finding its rhythm again.
END OF CHAPTER 13 — "Back to the sound"