Manila — The Morning After
The city woke to the loop.
Thea's stumble.
Rico's hand on her shoulder.
Renz's glare.
The crowd's scream.
Played again and again—on feeds, on barbershop TVs, on cracked phone screens reflected in puddles.
Each replay shaved off context, left only noise.
#BigEnergyDrama
#ManagerGirlVsBrandBoy
#WhoStartedIt
In the dorm cafeteria, Renz, Bornok, and Mario sat around a cold breakfast that nobody touched.
Their phones buzzed like mosquitoes they didn't bother to swat.
Bornok: "They cut the part where she walked off."
Mario: "They don't care. They just want something to rewind."
Renz: "Then we stay quiet. Let it die."
Thea entered carrying the new uniforms—creased, unsorted, heavier than fabric should be.
The conversation stopped.
She set the box down gently.
Thea: "Coach says practice like normal."
Renz: "You okay?"
Thea: "I will be when this stops trending."
She turned her phone face-down.
A thumbnail of her falling still glowed beneath her fingers.
BDE Penthouse — Makati
Gold curtains. Gold robe. Gold ego.
Darnell "Big D" Baskin stood before a window that looked like a commercial for success.
Below, the skyline shimmered; behind him, every monitor in the room looped the same viral clip.
Zo tapped on his laptop, half-awake.
Lamel scrolled through comments, grinning at chaos.
Rico sat by the minibar, silent.
Big D: "See that? That's traction. Manila's talkin'. Hashtags spinnin'. That's energy, boys—and what do we do with energy?"
He turned, arms wide like a preacher in a velvet tracksuit.
Lamel: "We sell it."
Big D: "Exactly! We don't run from the storm—we brand it."
He jabbed a finger toward the paused frame on-screen—Rico frozen mid-gesture.
Big D: "That's the spark. We ain't blamin' nobody; we just gonna feed the fire. Make it a movement."
Rico frowned. "They don't even know who we are."
Big D: "Exactly! Mystery sells. You don't sell the truth—you sell the vibe."
He clapped twice. Drones slid from the ceiling and projected a new logo onto the marble floor:
THE MANILA SHOWCASE — POWERED BY BIG DRIBBLING ENERGY™
Zo raised an eyebrow. "A one-on-one thing?"
Big D: "An exhibition. One night only — Manila stage, cameras rolling.
Bring in the local kings, give 'em a spotlight, sponsor the whole thing.
Winner gets fifty grand in gear and a BDE global shout-out."
Lamel's eyes widened. "Fifty thousand?!"
Big D winked. "In pesos, obviously. But say it fast—it sounds rich."
Rico muttered, "You're turning a mess into a commercial."
Big D: "Son, that's called entrepreneurship. Nobody cares how the story started—only who sells the T-shirt."
He hit record on his tablet, voice rolling into performance.
Big D (recording):
"Calling all hoopers of the Philippines—Big Dribbling Energy's bringing the fire!
Streetball kings, barangay legends, college grinders—if you got game, this is your stage.
One court, one crown, one brand."
He stopped the recording, grinned at Rico. "Upload that."
Within minutes, #TheManilaShowcase was everywhere.
The algorithm didn't blink—it smiled.
Flowstate Gym — Afternoon
The gym doors rattled under camera flashes outside.
Reporters leaned on the fence shouting questions through the mesh.
Inside, the air was thick with shoe squeaks and unspoken anger.
Coach Eman scrolled through his phone, expression stone.
Coach: "They turned it into an event."
Renz: "We never agreed."
Coach: "Doesn't matter. We're the clickbait now."
Thea entered, papers clutched to her chest.
Thea: "They called it The Manila Showcase. It's everywhere."
Bornok slammed a ball against the wall. "Let 'em come."
Renz looked up at the faded Flowstate banner, its corners curling in the heat.
Renz: "If we play, we play our way. No sponsors. No cameras."
Thea: "That's not how this works anymore."
Teo wiped sweat from his brow, quiet as ever.
The noise of the city seemed to leak through the windows.
Even silence had a pulse.
BDE Press Event — That Evening
Gold lights. Red carpet. Drone cameras orbiting like satellites.
Big D Baskin stood at a podium carved from confidence, mic in one hand, grin in the other.
Big D: "Big Dribbling Energy is proud to host the first Manila Showcase!
A celebration of Filipino basketball, of grind, of passion!
Whether you hoopin' in the streets or the coliseum—this one's for you!"
The crowd roared on cue.
He pointed toward the banner behind him, where the new logo spun like a halo.
Big D: "We ain't lookin' for pros; we lookin' for legends!
So come get this energy, Manila!"
Flashbulbs popped. Reporters cheered.
Rico stood beside his brothers, jaw tight, already regretting everything.
Big D leaned to the mic again, voice booming.
Big D: "Let the games begin!"
Gold confetti fell.
Manila cheered for a dream it hadn't signed up for yet.
Interlude — The Heartbeat Beneath the Noise
Cubao — Midnight
Rain tapped the tin roof in uneven rhythm.
The court lights buzzed, soft and tired.
Teo Alvarado Jr. stood at center court, dribbling slow, listening.
Each bounce sounded like a question.
In the corner sat his father — Teo Alvarado Sr. — wrapped in a blanket, wheelchair angled toward the hoop.
His pulse monitor blinked faintly, skipping beats.
Teo Sr.: "You still training this late?"
Teo Jr.: "Needed quiet."
Teo Sr.: "Quiet means you're thinkin' too hard."
Teo Jr. smiled. "They want us in that BDE thing. Show match, sponsors, lights."
Teo Sr.: "And you?"
Teo Jr.: "Doesn't feel real."
Teo Sr.: "Noise is still sound, son. Depends what rhythm you make with it."
A cough shook him; the monitor spiked, faltered, steadied.
Teo Jr. moved closer, hand on his father's shoulder.
Teo Sr.: "Don't worry 'bout me. Bad rhythm don't mean the song's done."
Teo Sr.: "Play for sound, not noise. Play so your heartbeat keeps time."
Teo Jr. looked at the hoop, at the banner fluttering above the bleachers, at his father's trembling hand.
He nodded once.
Teo Jr.: "If we play... we win. For us."
Teo Sr.: "Then make it worth the sound."
The rain softened to drizzle.
The ball bounced again — steady, sure.
And for a heartbeat, the old man's pulse matched it.
END OF PART II
(Next — Part III: "The Challenge.")