(Narrated by Thea Cruz)
The headlines died faster than the echoes.
Memes burned out.
The noise drifted on to its next victim.
But somewhere beneath the chatter, the rhythm stayed.
That's what the game leaves you—
not glory, not replay, just pulse.
Big D called a week later.
No assistants, no spotlight.
Only his voice, lower than before.
Big D: "You ever build something so your kids don't have to bleed the way you did?"
Thea: "Every day."
Big D: "Guess I just built mine too loud."
He laughed once, tired but warm.
Big D: "Tell your boys they reminded me why we hoop.
Next tour's free.
I'll bring the lights; they bring the heart."
That was the first time he spoke without selling anything.
It sounded better than any jingle.
Rico kept his promise.
He released a track called "Ain't No Highlight — R1CO."
No hooks, no brag.
Just verses about rhythm, noise, and quiet.
Midway through, a line slipped out like a confession:
"She wrote plays while we were playin',
kept us from drownin' in our own noise."
He never said her name.
He didn't have to.
By the start of the new semester, the old gym lights buzzed again.
Renz Alonzo signed his enrollment form with ink still wet.
Bornok arrived late, eating siopao.
Mario argued with the registrar about spelling.
Same team, new walls.
They laughed like kids who didn't know they were carrying history.
I watched from the bleachers, clipboard balanced on my knees.
No one noticed.
Didn't matter.
When the ball hit the court, the sound was the same as it had always been—
clear, honest, alive.
That night I texted Riki one line:
"The sound's still here."
He replied five minutes later:
"Then it never left."
The world moved on.
Highlights aged.
Brands faded.
But the rhythm stayed—
quiet, stubborn, breathing through whoever still played for the right reasons.
You can't own it.
You can only pass it on.
End of Flowstate 3.5 — "The Showcase."
Next Volume IV: The Last Play.