Still Frame
The ball hung too long in the air,
like the world hadn't decided what came next.
Then sound returned—
whistle, breath, sneakers, heat.
Fourth Quarter — Manila Coliseum
Rico's pass hit the floor and died in Teo's hands.
Bornok boxed out.
Renz already running.
Three dribbles, one step, air, release.
Net.
Flowstate 68 — BDE 66.
The crowd didn't roar; it just shifted—
the sound of disbelief trying to keep up.
Big D shouted something about tempo,
but his voice couldn't reach the floor anymore.
Timeout
Lamel wiped sweat from his jaw, jaw tight.
He'd waited all night for one clip.
One highlight to drown the silence.
Lamel: "Next play, give me the ball. I'll make 'em remember."
Zo: "...Just make it count."
Across the court, Coach Alvarez crouched beside Lars.
Coach Alvarez: "Lightning Step. Your cue."
Lars: "Tempo swing?"
Coach Alvarez: "Exactly."
Final Possession
Clock forty seconds.
Tie game.
Big D pacing, headset sliding off.
Big D: "Cameras ready—Lamel's about to end this!"
Inbound.
Zo to Lamel.
Top of the key.
Lars waiting, low, patient.
One bounce.
Two.
Hesitation.
Lars shifted.
Lightning Step.
Lamel bit—too hard.
His ankle went first, then his balance,
then the crowd's restraint.
He stumbled back, hands flailing,
and Lars glided past, kissed it off glass.
Whistle.
Timeout BDE.
For one heartbeat, silence.
Then a thousand phones lit up.
Aftermath on the Floor
Big D threw his headset.
Big D: "Why'd you stop movin'?!"
Lamel didn't answer.
Towel over his head,
he could still hear the playback through the PA—
that single crossover, that single fall.
Flowstate 70 — BDE 68.
Buzzer.
No celebration.
Just breathing.
Online — Minutes Later
Clips hit the net before the players reached the tunnel.
First title: "Lamel got Thea'd."
The caption stuck.
Every slow-mo replay used the same loop:
Lars dropping the shoulder,
Lamel sliding,
the lay-up floating in.
#GotThead trended in twelve minutes.
Editors split-screened Thea's old stumble beside Lamel's fall—
two frames, same angle, same silence after impact.
The internet called it balance.
Backstage
Rico found Thea near the exit, phone still glowing.
She looked up, half-smiling, half-stunned.
Thea: "They're calling it 'got Thea'd.'"
Rico: "Guess you're viral again."
Thea: "At least this time I didn't fall."
He laughed under his breath.
Rico: "Funny how rhythm gets the last word."
Thea: "No—timing does."
Outside, the crowd's chant spilled back through the halls—
playful but merciless.
Crowd (chanting): "Got Thea'd! Got Thea'd!"
Rico glanced toward the sound,
then at her.
Rico: "They'll move on tomorrow."
Thea: "They always do. But we don't forget the beat."
They both smiled—not revenge, just rhythm reclaimed.
Outside
Rain again.
The city's light trembled on wet asphalt.
A jeepney rolled by, radio already playing a remix of the crossover.
Rico pulled his hood up.
Rico: "Guess Manila finally got its highlight."
Thea: "Yeah. And it wasn't branded."
The camera panned up—
neon reflections on puddles,
the echo of laughter turning into music.
END OF PART VI — "THE SHOWDOWN."
(Next — Part VII: "Echoes.")