Four days before Provincials
Location: Gubat Coastal High Gym and Courts
The gym smelled like floor wax, determination, and the distinct aroma of Coach Cely's paksiw na bangus reheated in the faculty microwave. The Provincial Tournament was four days away, and tension clung to the walls like condensation on a Gatorade bottle.
Alona was already warming up with Nina, smashing birdies like they owed her money. Nina tried to keep up but gave up after the fifth jump smash.
"I'm not a wall, girl! This isn't therapy!" Nina yelled, ducking.
"It is therapy," Alona replied, breathing heavily. "Birdies don't talk back."
"Neither does your crush," Nina muttered under her breath.
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Across the court, Coach Cely blew her whistle like a war trumpet. "Double drills! Precision net shots! I want feathers flying!"
Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the campus, the basketball team was already halfway through suicides. Coach Dan was not in a good mood.
"Again! Z, your pass was late! Toto, your feet are spaghetti!"
"I like spaghetti," Toto mumbled.
"Not in your footwork!"
Dane wiped the sweat from his face, catching the ball mid-bounce. His mind was elsewhere—somewhere between tactics and the girl currently executing jump smashes like a goddess with aggression issues.
Coach Dan clapped once. "Let's go! We're facing Sorsogon National! Their center's taller than our school building!"
Z groaned. "I swear he dunked on a car last year."
"Work on your screens!" Dane called out. "Don't give him clean angles!"
Coach Dan raised a brow. "Villanueva, you coaching now?"
"Just helping."
"…Fine. Lead the drill."
Later that afternoon
Both teams gathered under the massive acacia tree by the court. It was unofficial team bonding time—code for snacks and synchronized complaining.
"I'm scared I'll mess up," whispered one of the badminton rookies. "What if I do a backhand and hit myself?"
"You do that in practice all the time," Nina said cheerfully. "You've got experience!"
"I'll break my legs if I have to," Z declared between mouthfuls of kwek-kwek.
"I'll break your legs if you don't pass on time," Toto retorted.
Alona sat quietly, unwrapping her towel from her racket grip. Dane passed by, brushing his shoulder just barely against hers.
"You're smashing too early on your returns," he said without turning.
"You're pivoting too slow on defense," she replied without looking up.
He smiled. "Good."
She smirked. "You too."
Yumi, who had been sitting in a tree above them, eating a banana, shouted, "Just date already!"
Everyone looked up.
"Why are you in the tree again?" Dane asked.
"It's peaceful up here. Also, the wifi signal is stronger."
Final Scene: Night Practice
That night, under floodlights that flickered slightly, both teams continued their separate drills. But something had shifted—everyone was sharper, quieter, more focused.
For Alona, every swing was a rehearsal for revenge—for her past losses, for her future glory.
For Dane, every dribble was a silent promise—to his team, and maybe to someone watching from the other court.
Coach Cely crossed her arms and nodded. "They're growing."
Coach Dan cracked open a bottle of water. "Let's hope they peak at the right time."
The night buzzed with crickets, shuttlecocks, sneakers, laughter, and the quiet thunder of a team preparing not just to play—but to fight.