The shrill buzz of the first-quarter buzzer echoed through the packed gymnasium, a brief pause in the symphony of squeaking shoes and roaring spectators. The air in the Dasmariñas High huddle was thick with the metallic scent of sweat and fierce determination. While they held a slim lead, the game was a grinder, every point earned through grit. Coach Gutierrez, his face a mask of calm intensity, knelt before his players.
"Listen up," he began, his voice cutting cleanly through their heavy breathing. "They're physical, and they're trying to slow us down. We're going to inject some pace and unpredictability. For this second quarter, we're making a strong shift." He looked directly at his bench. "Mark Herras, you're in for Tristan. I want you to push the tempo. Break their press before it even sets. Your first step is faster than anyone they have."
He then turned to his other substitutes. "Daewoo Kim, you're replacing Aiden Robinson. They're giving up the mid-range and the corner three to clog the paint. Hunt for your shot; your agility will create space. And Gab Lagman, you're stepping in for Cedrick. Aguilar is a bull down there. I need your strength and fundamentals to stabilize our inside defense and own the boards."
Tristan gave a sharp nod of understanding, clapping Mark on the shoulder as he jogged to the scorer's table. He welcomed the chance to catch his breath and analyze the game from a different perspective, his eyes already tracing the movements of Amadeo's defense. The work was far from done.
The referee's whistle blew, and the second quarter began. Ian Veneracion, the team's defensive anchor, took the ball and inbounded. He saw Mark break free from his defender with a sharp V-cut. The pass was a swift, clean chest pass. Mark caught it on the run, his sneakers gripping the asphalt as he pushed off the baseline. The clock started ticking. Momentum was a fluid, precious thing, and the tension in the arena was thick enough to taste.
Mark dribbled upcourt, a blur of controlled speed. His head was up, eyes scanning, processing the defensive set in a fraction of a second. He saw Daewoo Kim getting ready to make his move on the right wing.
"Daewoo, flare right!" Mark's voice was sharp and clear over the din. "Gab, crash the glass!"
He didn't wait for a screen. Instead, he faked a drive to the right, crossing over hard between his legs and exploding towards the free-throw line. The sudden change of direction drew two defenders towards him. Just as they converged, Mark whipped a one-handed bounce pass to the now-open Daewoo, who had flared out to his sweet spot just inside the arc. Daewoo caught the ball in rhythm, rising into a fluid, picture-perfect jumper. The leather sphere kissed the nylon with a perfect, whispering swish.
Score: Dasmariñas National 19 — Amadeo High 14
Amadeo High's point guard, James Castro, wasn't rattled. He received the inbound and immediately attacked. With a slick hesitation dribble, he got a step on Mark, forcing the defense to react. As Gab stepped up to cut off the lane, Castro delivered a lightning-quick no-look pass to his center, Jake Aguilar, who had sealed Gab on his back.
Aguilar was a powerhouse. He gathered the ball, took one powerful dribble, and went up strong. Gab recovered, his arm stretched high to contest, but Aguilar absorbed the contact, finishing the layup off the glass.
Score: Dasmariñas National 19 — Amadeo High 16
The physicality was escalating. Gab clapped his hands, his eyes burning with intensity as he glared at Aguilar.
"That's the only easy one you get!" Gab shouted, pointing a finger at his own chest. To his teammates, he growled, "Box out! Don't let him even breathe in the paint!"
Ian Veneracion, ever the calm general, positioned himself under their rim, guiding the defensive alignment.
"Stay grounded! Control the rebounds!" Ian commanded. "Protect the paint like it's your own backyard. No second chances!"
On the next possession, Mark pushed the pace again, this time seeing a different opening. He drove hard down the left lane, drawing Aguilar away from the basket to help. At the last second, he lobbed a perfect pass over the top to Marco, who had cut brilliantly along the baseline. Marco caught the ball mid-air, his body already coiled, and threw it down with a thunderous two-handed dunk that made the backboard shudder.
The home crowd erupted, a wave of sound crashing down onto the court.
Score: Dasmariñas National 21 — Amadeo High 16
A grin flashed across James Castro's face; he thrived on this kind of energy. He took the ball and retaliated instantly, hitting Mark with a devastating crossover that left him frozen for a split second. Castro sliced through the lane, lofting a high-arcing floater over Ian's outstretched hand. The ball dropped softly through the net as the whistle blew. Foul on Mark. Castro calmly sank the free throw, completing the three-point play.
Score: Dasmariñas National 21 — Amadeo High 19
As they set up for the next play, Mark exchanged a quick word with Daewoo, wiping sweat from his brow.
"My bad. He's quicker than he looks," Mark admitted. "Keep pressure tight on the perimeter. Watch their cutters."
Daewoo nodded, his breathing steady and controlled. "We got this. We can shut them down. Just keep running."
The game settled into a fierce, grinding rhythm. Dasmariñas's ball movement was crisp. Gab, proving he was more than just a defender, found space at the elbow, received a pass from Ian, and drained a smooth mid-range jumper. On the other end, Aguilar flexed his muscles again, powering through Marco for a contested shot, drawing a foul, and converting two bruising free throws.
Ian rose to the occasion, swatting away a layup attempt from Amadeo's center, Gregory Saffronio, igniting another fast break. The crowd held its breath with every possession.
Mark dribbled with purpose, signaling for a high screen from Daewoo. He used the pick, drove hard across the lane, and kicked the ball out to an open Marco on the wing. Marco's three-point shot flew true—but it caught the back iron and rimmed out.
The battle for the rebound was a warzone. Arms and bodies collided. Gab Lagman, true to his coach's word, fought off two Amadeo players, tipping the ball with his fingertips before securing it. He immediately looked for his outlet, finding Mark.
Mark attacked the basket again, this time with pure aggression. He faked a pass to a cutting Daewoo, getting his defender to lean, then pivoted and powered through for a tough, contested layup that rolled around the rim before dropping in.
Score: Dasmariñas National 29 — Amadeo High 27
The final minute of the half was frantic. James Castro drove furiously for Amadeo, weaving through defenders, but was met by a wall of Dasmariñas players collapsing in the paint. He was trapped. He jumped, passing out to Gregory Saffronio who was wide open in the corner for three.
The shot sailed high, a perfect arc… but it was just long, bouncing off the back of the rim. Gab, boxing out Aguilar with all his might, leaped and snatched the rebound. He passed it to Mark.
"Ten seconds!" Ian yelled from half-court.
Mark didn't panic. He dribbled calmly upcourt, his eyes locked on the ticking clock. Seven seconds. He drove hard down the lane, drawing the entire Amadeo defense towards him. Five seconds. He was airborne, seemingly going for a desperate shot. But in mid-air, he spotted him—Daewoo, relocating to the top of the arc, his feet set, hands ready.
Mark fired a laser pass. The ball slapped into Daewoo's palms with three seconds left. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose. Time seemed to slow as the ball left his fingertips, arcing beautifully towards the basket as the red lights on the backboard flashed.
Swish.
The buzzer sounded as the ball fell cleanly through the net.
The gymnasium exploded.
Score at Halftime: Dasmariñas National 32 — Amadeo High 27
As they walked to the locker room, the team was buzzing with adrenaline. Coach Gutierrez met them at the door, a towel draped over his shoulder.
"Excellent work switching gears," he said, his voice laced with pride. "Our defense stood tall when it mattered, and the offense flowed because you trusted each other. That's our basketball."
Mark, panting but grinning, caught Tristan's eye. "That pace is killer. We've got their number if we keep this teamwork locked in."
Tristan nodded, a look of respect on his face. "You guys tired them out. Keep it up."
Gab Lagman flexed a sore bicep, a grim smile on his face. "Aguilar is strong, but this is our fight now. We're not backing down."
The team disappeared into the locker room, the crowd's roar still echoing behind them. They had seized the momentum. Now, they just had to hold onto it. The battle was only half over.