(Cubao — Flowstate Gym, Two Nights Later)
The lights in Flowstate Gym buzzed with the kind of noise you could feel in your chest.
This was their home — the same cracked floorboards, the same corners that still smelled faintly of varnish and summer sweat — but tonight it didn't feel familiar.
The stands were packed to the roof. Students from nearby campuses leaned against the glass railings, chanting early.
"Let's go Flow-state!"
Thea's clipboard was already open. On it, she'd written just one word in thick black ink:
CONTROL.
Riki read it over her shoulder and smirked. "That's a first."
Thea didn't look up. "No improvising tonight. They want chaos. We give them silence."
Across the court, the Phantom Wolves of Bulacan University lined up for warmups.
All gray jerseys, no smiles.
Their captain, Zander "Shadow" De León, had the kind of face that didn't flinch under noise.
Next to him, Jeric "Ghost" Limbo dribbled so low his knuckles nearly brushed the floor.
Their defense was a legend — a moving wall, half-court press that ate ball handlers alive.
Renz bounced on his heels, impatient. "So they just press the whole game?"
Bornok grinned. "Press what?"
Drei pointed toward the Wolves' bench. "You'll find out in five minutes."
The whistle blew.
Wolves ball.
They set up their half-court like a trap — two guards pressing high, one shading the middle, wings baiting the pass.
Every Flowstate dribble was met by hands, noise, and contact.
Riki to Renz — tipped.
Renz to Teo — deflected.
Lars shouted from the bench, "Move it faster! Stop staring!"
For a full minute, Flowstate couldn't cross halfcourt cleanly.
Then it happened — turnover.
Ghost stole it, lobbed it forward, dunk.
2–0 Wolves.
Next play — steal again.
Layup.
4–0.
Then another.
6–0.
The gym murmured.
Flowstate's rhythm was gone, eaten alive by the Wolves' precision.
Timeout.
Thea didn't yell.
She just pointed to the word on her clipboard again.
CONTROL.
Riki caught his breath. "They're not faster."
Lars nodded. "They're waiting for us to blink."
Renz wiped his mouth with his wristband. "So we don't blink."
Bornok cracked his knuckles. "Let's howl back."
When play resumed, it wasn't speed that changed — it was timing.
Riki stopped trying to push through the press.
Instead, he dribbled once, turned his back, and waited.
Teo stepped up behind him — a moving wall.
Renz cut in a tight circle, brushing Ghost's shoulder.
Riki slipped the ball through the smallest gap possible — bounce, catch, layup.
2–6.
The next possession, they didn't rush either.
The Wolves lunged for every pass, but the passes came half a beat late — perfectly delayed.
It looked messy at first.
Then everyone realized it wasn't delay — it was flow control.
Riki had changed the tempo.
By the second quarter, Flowstate's passes stopped hitting air; they hit hands.
Bornok began reading defenders like road signs.
Drei drifted to corners, spacing perfectly for catch-and-shoot.
Renz, instead of driving every time, used his gravity to collapse the Wolves' shell — dishing back to Teo for easy finishes.
The crowd started to feel it — the rhythm returning.
Each play sounded different: one beat, silence, two beats, pass.
Basketball turned musical again.
Lars leaned forward from the bench, whispering to himself,
"That's it... they're hearing it now."
Halftime: Flowstate 40 – Wolves 33.
In the locker room, everyone was quiet except for their breathing.
Thea poured water over her hands like she was washing a spell away.
"Do you feel it yet?" she asked.
Renz nodded, eyes sharp. "Feels like... still water."
Riki grinned. "And we're the ripples."
Lars cracked a small smile. "Then drown them."
Third quarter.
The Wolves came out pressing harder, full court this time.
But Flowstate had found the rhythm — a metronome hidden under chaos.
Riki let them come.
Every press was bait.
He'd pivot, spin, release the ball half a second later than expected —
straight to Renz streaking up the lane.
Renz took off, twisted, reverse layup off glass.
Next possession, Bornok faked a screen, slipped middle.
Riki lobbed it just above the reach of Shadow De León.
Bornok caught it midair and powered through two defenders.
Whistle. And one.
The crowd was thunder now.
Fourth quarter.
The Wolves were out of breath, their press collapsing into staggered steps.
Renz was grinning mid-play.
He'd started humming again — not loud enough for anyone to hear, but enough to move with.
Fastbreak.
Riki to Renz.
Renz behind-the-back to Drei.
Drei to Lars, who'd just checked in.
Lars pulled up from deep.
Bang.
The Wolves slumped.
Flowstate never looked back.
Final buzzer.
Flowstate 89 – Phantom Wolves 69.
Thea didn't need to say anything.
The players already knew what had changed.
They didn't win because they outran the Wolves.
They won because they stopped playing against them.
As they walked off the floor, Riki turned to Lars. "That felt different."
Lars nodded. "That's what control sounds like."
Renz grinned, walking backward toward the tunnel, waving to the crowd.
"Two down," he said. "Two that matter left."
The gym lights dimmed.
The noise faded.
Only rhythm remained — steady, patient, like something waiting to rise again.
End of Chapter 5 — "Wolves at the Door"