The gymnasium was a roaring cavern of sound, a sea of competing royal blue and white banners. The air, thick with anticipation and the faint smell of popcorn, vibrated with stomping feet and rhythmic chants. At center court, the referee held the ball aloft, a leather sphere that seemed to contain all the energy of the arena within it.
Referree tossed the ball high, a perfect arc against the bright lights. Ian and Allan's bodies exploded upwards, twin shadows stretching, fingers clawing for the apex. For a split second, they were suspended in the air, a tableau of raw athleticism. Allan's slightly longer reach gave him the edge. His fingertips met the leather first, a sharp, decisive tap that sent the ball spiraling toward his point guard.
Announcer:
"And Antipolo High wins the opening tip! Ed Ramos on the ball, and they will have the first possession of the game!"
The crowd erupted, the royal blue-clad supporters of Antipolo roaring their approval. Ed Ramos collected the ball with practiced ease, his movements fluid and confident. He pushed the pace immediately, a blur of motion heading downcourt as his teammate, CJ Morales, streaked down the wing, pulling his defender with him and creating space.
Antipolo's center, Robert Dela Cruz, moved with surprising speed, setting a bruising screen on Tristan. The contact was solid, jarring. It was all the opening Ed needed. He cut hard into the lane, a path to the basket now clear. Ian rotated to help, but Ed was already rising. He felt the light contact from the recovering defender and adjusted in mid-air, lofting a skillful, high-arcing floater that kissed the glass before dropping softly through the net.
Score: Antipolo High 2 — Dasmariñas 0
Tristan took the inbound pass, his expression unreadable. He calmly dribbled up the court, his eyes scanning the floor, processing the defensive setup in front of him. He wasn't rushed; he was a general surveying the battlefield.
Tristan (commanding, voice cutting through the din):
"Marco, ISO right! Aiden, give us space on the left wing. Cedrick, power post, make him work!"
His teammates moved like clockwork. The ball zipped to Marco, who caught it just outside the three-point arc on the right side. He was now in a one-on-one battle with his defender, a space on the court that was his personal domain. He started with a hard jab step, forcing his opponent to flinch. In that instant of hesitation, Marco leaned into a lightning-quick step-back, creating a sliver of daylight. He rose, his form perfect, and fired a smooth, confident jumper. The defender's outstretched hand was a fraction of a second too late.
Swish. The sound was pure, cutting through the noise.
Score: Tied 2 — 2
The game found its rhythm, a fierce back-and-forth contest of wills. Marco took control of the Dasmariñas offense, a master of his craft. He used deceptive changes of pace, lulling his defender into a rhythm before exploding past him. He'd drive, stop on a dime, and pull up for a midrange shot with an ease that bordered on arrogant. Each basket fell with growing confidence, a clear message to the opposition.
But Antipolo High had their own weapons. Inside, the powerhouse duo of Robert Dela Cruz and Allan went to work. Robert used his wide frame and robust footwork to carve out space in the paint, muscling through Cedrick for tough rebounds and powerful putbacks. Allan, more agile and fluid despite his height, showcased a soft touch, executing a beautiful turnaround jumper over Ian's contest.
Dasmariñas countered with speed. Aiden received a perfectly timed screen from Cedrick, shedding his defender and exploding toward the basket like he was shot out of a cannon. He drove through the lane, absorbing heavy contact from a rotating defender that sent him stumbling sideways. Yet, he kept his focus, twisting his body in mid-air and scooping the ball up for a dramatic, off-balance layup that fell through the hoop.
Score: Antipolo 6 — Dasmariñas 6
Under the basket, during a brief lull, Ian and Allan locked eyes. There was no trash talk, just a silent, fierce acknowledgment of the battle they were in.
Ian (thinking):
"He's not just strong, he's smart. He uses his body perfectly to seal me off. I have to anticipate his spin, beat him to the spot."
Allan's unwavering stare seemed to say the same thing: I see you. Bring your best.
During a quick timeout, Coach Gutierrez gathered his core players.
Coach Gutierrez:
"They're collapsing hard on your drives, Marco and Aiden. Make one more pass if the lane is clogged. Tristan, look for the skip pass to the weak side. Ian, Cedrick, we cannot let them own the paint. Box out on every single shot."
Tristan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked at his teammates.
Tristan:
"He's right. Let's keep them honest. Move the ball, make them chase us. Attack smart, no forced shots."
The game resumed. Robert immediately muscled through Cedrick again, scoring a tough, contested layup that showed his sheer determination. Marco, not to be outdone, responded on the other end, hitting a difficult, fading midrange jumper with a hand right in his face.
Score: 8 – 8
Allan got the ball on the low block, his back to Ian. He posted up heavily, backing Ian down one step, two steps, before spinning baseline into a picture-perfect fadeaway jumper. The shot was so smooth it barely grazed the net as it passed through.
From the bench, Coach Gutierrez clapped loudly, his voice sharp.
Coach Gutierrez:
"Good defense, Ian! Make him hit tough shots! This quarter is ours if we fight for every point. Stay disciplined!"
During a substitution, Marco jogged to the sidelines and caught a word from Daewoo, who had been watching intently.
Daewoo:
"His feet are slow on the closeout. Fake the pass, jab, and he'll give you the lane every time."
Marco nodded, tapping his chest in thanks. He went back in, and on the next possession, he put the advice to use. Aiden drove hard from the wing, drawing defenders toward him like moths to a flame. He kicked the ball out to an open Marco. Marco caught it, faked a pass, jabbed hard, and watched his defender stumble. He rose and drained the open shot. He did it again on the very next play, a lethal back-to-back display of scoring.
Score: Dasmariñas 14 — Antipolo 12
The pressure was mounting. Robert and Allan tightened their grip on the inside, scoring two quick, bruising baskets to reclaim the lead, the fierce contest under the rim leaving players breathless.
Tristan felt his pulse quicken, the familiar adrenaline coursing through him. "This is it," he thought. "This is where games are won or lost. Every move counts. No room for mistakes."
Aiden felt it too. He shoved off a defender, sweat dripping from his chin onto the polished floor. "This is their home court. Their crowd. I have to rise to this moment."
With seconds ticking away in the quarter, Ed Ramos launched a contested three-pointer from the top of the key. The entire gym held its breath. The ball seemed to hang in the air forever before it hit the back of the rim and rattled out. A collective groan came from the Antipolo fans.
Ian, ever the hustler, surged through the tangled bodies in the paint. He leaped, timing his jump perfectly, and snatched the rebound right off the rim's lip, securing a crucial final possession for Dasmariñas.
Tristan didn't wait. He pushed the tempo, his eyes darting across the floor. He saw Aiden sprinting to the corner, his defender a step behind. Without hesitation, Tristan fired a laser-like chest pass. Aiden caught it, his feet already set. In one fluid motion, he rose and released a clutch corner jumper.
The buzzer sounded, its harsh cry echoing through the arena just as the ball was in flight.
Swish.
The net danced. The Dasmariñas bench erupted.
Score at the end of the first quarter: Dasmariñas 16 — Antipolo 14
The players huddled tightly near their bench, chests heaving, energy radiating from them.
Coach Gutierrez:
"That's our quarter! We took their best shot and we're ahead. That's because of our intensity and our heart. But don't get comfortable. They will adjust."
Tristan (locking eyes with each teammate):
"We just showed them we're not here to roll over. We're here to fight for every inch. Let's carry this energy into the second. One play at a time. Let's go!"