(Manila — State University Gym, Friday Night)
The gym lights buzzed — not bright, but angry, like bees trapped under glass.
The bleachers swayed with noise — cardboard signs, sneakers, cheap perfume, the smell of cafeteria noodles clinging to the air.
At center court, the State U logo glimmered, wax still fresh enough to catch reflections — a mirror made for pressure.
Iron Tide was already there.
Crisp jerseys. Loud laughter. Sneakers speaking the language of confidence.
Marco "Wave" Herrera hit step-backs like punctuation.
Ethan "Tank" Cruz bullied teammates during warm-up drills, grinning like it was foreplay for violence.
They moved like a song that already knew its chorus.
Then Flowstate arrived.
Late, half-dressed, carrying mismatched bags and the smell of cafeteria dinner.
Bornok came first, adjusting his knee pads.
Renz followed, humming an off-key version of last night's karaoke song.
Mario trailed behind, holding two clipboards and a half-eaten siopao.
Lars walked in last, headphones still in, eyes half-shut but locked on the floor.
The crowd shifted. Half curious, half dismissive.
"Those are the bridge boys?" someone whispered.
Another voice answered, "Yeah. Supposedly legends. Let's see."
The whistle blew.
Renz tapped fists with Teo, quick and low.
"Same old rhythm, big man."
Teo nodded once. "You lead."
Across them, Marco smirked. "Been waiting for this."
Ball up. Tip-off.
Teo won it easily, the ball floating to Renz's hands — but Iron Tide struck first.
Wave read the first pass like a thief.
Steal. Drive. Layup.
2–0 Iron Tide.
Tank barked, "We run tempo! Keep them chasing!"
Flowstate stumbled early.
Bornok's first shot bricked off the back iron.
Renz got trapped twice near the baseline.
Teo, double-teamed, missed a short hook over Tank's shoulder.
The crowd cheered louder with every Iron Tide bucket.
End of first quarter: Iron Tide 21 – Flowstate 12.
Thea didn't speak.
She just stood — clipboard pressed to her chest like a shield — eyes moving from one tired face to the next.
Bornok looked down. "They're bigger."
Lars didn't blink. "They're not bigger. They're cleaner."
Renz wiped sweat off his neck. "Same thing when you're missing shots."
Thea finally breathed. "Then stop forcing. You're trying to play fast in a slow song."
Second quarter.
Iron Tide turned it into a clinic.
Wave danced across the floor, hitting midrange jumpers like exclamation marks.
Tank bullied Teo in the post, talking between breaths. "You don't belong down here, skyscraper."
Renz tried to answer with speed — crossover, spin, air reverse — blocked by Tank's elbow, clean and brutal.
Bornok clapped twice, frustrated.
"Where's the rhythm, man?"
Renz just stared at the scoreboard.
Halftime: Iron Tide 38 – Flowstate 28.
The gym was electric.
Iron Tide fans chanted, "Back to the bridge!"
Riki leaned on the bench, quiet, watching.
Thea crouched near the center of the huddle.
"Look at me."
They did.
She spoke softly, but it cut through the noise.
"You've been chasing their speed all night. What's the one thing they don't have?"
Lars pulled out his earbuds.
"Flow."
Everyone turned.
Renz blinked. "Flow?"
Lars met his eyes. "Yeah. Not tricks. Not tempo. Flow."
He stood, tying his headband tighter. "Let's stop matching them. Make them match us."
Third quarter.
Something shifted.
Renz's dribble slowed — not lazy, but deliberate.
He started letting the ball breathe between moves.
Bornok stopped crashing every rebound; instead, he waited for gaps, for rhythm.
Teo stopped powering through Tank and started stepping around him — one slow pivot, then another.
It looked strange at first.
Then it clicked.
Flowstate wasn't reacting anymore. They were composing.
Renz crossed Wave once, then again — hesitation freeze, pull-up jumper.
Swish.
No celebration. Just a look.
Next possession — Lars picked Wave's pocket clean, dashed coast to coast, and finished with a soft layup.
Crowd murmured.
Mario scribbled numbers faster than his pen could follow.
Tank tried to reassert dominance in the paint, but Teo met him chest-to-chest, no words, no push — just stillness.
Tank forced the hook. Missed.
Teo cleared the rebound, outlet to Renz.
Renz to Lars.
Lars to Bornok.
Bornok, one dribble, off glass.
Flowstate 46 – Iron Tide 45.
The gym started to tilt.
Final quarter.
Wave went for another deep three — clang.
Renz caught the rebound mid-air, took off running.
Lars trailed behind, nodding once — go.
Renz crossed half court, defenders collapsing.
Teo set a perfect seal on Tank.
Bornok cut baseline.
Renz looked left, passed right — behind the back, clean, perfect.
Bornok rose. Slammed.
The rim screamed.
Crowd broke.
For a second, everything froze under the lights.
Then noise hit like thunder.
Thea's clipboard clattered to the floor. Riki grinned without saying a word.
Lars pointed upward, silent cue. They weren't done.
Next play — Lars pushed tempo again.
He didn't need to shout.
Everyone moved with him.
Renz ghosted left, Teo screened low, Bornok pivoted high.
Cut. Pass. Shot. Clean.
Flowstate 60 – Iron Tide 52.
Wave tried to fire back — step-back three — rim out.
Renz grabbed it, dribbled once, then stopped near midcourt.
He looked at Lars.
Lars nodded.
Last possession.
Renz slowed everything to heartbeat tempo.
Spin. Pull-up. Arc.
The ball climbed into the light — higher, slower — long enough for breath itself to wait.
Then —
Net.
For one clean second, sound disappeared.
Then it came back all at once — the roar, the thunder, the name:
Flowstate.
Buzzer.
Not the end. Just release.
Marco caught his breath, shaking his head, sweat running down his chin.
He smiled, tired.
"Guess the city finally caught up."
Renz grinned, shoulders rising and falling.
"Nah. We just stopped running from it."
Tank clapped Teo on the back — hard, honest.
Bornok and Lando swapped jokes like old friends who'd survived a storm.
Thea just leaned against the scorer's table, eyes bright, face calm.
Flowstate didn't celebrate loud.
They didn't need to.
They just stood together in the middle of the court, letting the sound of the crowd wash over them.
Lars stayed last.
He picked up the loose ball, dribbled once, twice, listening to how clean it sounded on wood.
Then he smiled — small, tired, proud — and let it roll to center court.
The ball bounced once, twice, and came to rest under the logo.
Lights dimmed, crowd still humming.
And somewhere in that fading noise, you could feel it —
the warm-up was over.
End of Chapter 2 — "The Warm-Up"