The bus ride to the King Dome was a journey through a city that had stopped breathing. The streets surrounding the massive, state-of-the-art arena were a gridlock of jeepneys, private cars, and thousands of pedestrians wearing the colors of their regions. The Palarong Pambansa Championship was not just a game; it was the heartbeat of the nation for one night.
When the Dasmariñas National High Basketball Team stepped off the bus, the sound hit them first. It wasn't a roar; it was a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to come from the earth itself. It was the hum of twenty thousand souls packed into a single concrete bowl, waiting for a coronation.
Tristan Herrera walked off the bus first, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He looked up at the towering steel-and-glass facade of the arena. It looked less like a gymnasium and more like a fortress.
"Twenty thousand," Marco whispered behind him. For the first time in his life, the team's loudmouth shooting guard sounded small. "That's... that's a lot of people to watch me miss a layup."
"You won't miss," Gab rumbled, stepping down beside them, his face a mask of granite. "And if you do, I'll get the rebound."
They walked through the player's entrance, a tunnel of concrete that shielded them from the noise outside, only to funnel them toward the even louder noise inside. Security guards nodded at them with a mix of respect and pity. They were the Davids walking in to meet Goliath.
The locker room was spacious, professional, and terrifyingly sterile. Coach Gutierrez had already set it up. The whiteboard was blank. There were no X's and O's today. The strategy—The Island Defense—had been drilled into them until it was muscle memory.
Aiden Robinson sat in the corner, his crutches leaning against the wall, his leg propped up. He wasn't smiling. He was staring at the floor, his face pale with the vicarious pressure of the moment.
"Hey," Tristan said, sitting next to him and beginning the ritual of lacing up his shoes. "You good?"
"I'm gonna throw up," Aiden admitted, his voice tight. "I'm not even playing, and I'm gonna throw up. Do you know who's out there? I saw scouts from Ateneo, La Salle, UP... San Beda. They're all there. Front row."
"They're here for Palencia," Tristan said calmly, tying a double knot.
"They're here for the game," Aiden corrected him. "Which means they're watching you, too. Cap... this is it. This is the dream."
Tristan paused. He looked at his hands. They were steady. He felt a strange, cold detachment, as if he were watching himself from a distance.
He closed his eyes for a second.
DING.
The blue window flickered into existence in the darkness of his mind.
[Mission 13: Win Palarong Pambansa]
[Failure Penalty: Severe reduction in all current player statistics.]
[MISSION REWARDS]
[+50 Physical Stat Points]
[+100 Attribute Points]
[3x Silver Upgrade Badge]
[2x Gold Upgrade Badge]
The reward is great and he feels that when he finishes this he will be different. He will be stronger, faster, smarter but their opponent now is a very good basketball player and he is afraid that he might fail.
"Dismiss," he whispered silently.
The window vanished. He would go into the fire as he was. He would trust the Tristan Herrera who had gotten them here.
"Listen up!" Coach Gutierrez's voice snapped the room to attention.
The coach stood in the center of the room. He didn't look like a high school coach today. He looked like a man preparing to send his sons to war.
"I don't have a speech," he said, his voice quiet, forcing them to lean in. "You know the plan. You know the opponent. Joco Palencia is the best player in the country. Quezon City is a dynasty. Nobody... and I mean nobody outside of this room expects you to be within twenty points of them by halftime."
He looked at Marco, Daewoo, Gab, Ian, and Tristan.
"But they didn't see you in the mud. They didn't see you run the suicides. They didn't see you break the Cebu Machine. You are not the favorites. You are the dogs. And dogs... dogs don't care about odds. Dogs just bite."
He paused, his eyes glistening slightly.
"Play for your family. Play for your city. Play for Aiden. But mostly... play for the brother standing next to you. Because he's the only one who knows what it took to get here."
He slapped the whiteboard, a sharp, violent sound.
"Let's go take the crown."
The walk through the tunnel was a journey through a compression chamber. The air grew hotter, thicker, and louder with every step.
When they burst out onto the court, the noise was a physical blow.
Twenty thousand people.
It was a sea of humanity rising to the rafters. The lights were blindingly bright, television cameras mounted on cranes swooping over the court like mechanical birds of prey. The floor was pristine, the 'Palarong Pambansa 2015' logo gleaming at center court.
On the other side, the Quezon City High "Monarchs" were already warming up. They looked huge. They looked sleek. They wore deep crimson uniforms that looked like they cost more than Dasmariñas's entire budget.
And there he was.
Number 1. Joco Palencia.
He was 6'3", lean, and moved with a terrifying, fluid grace. He was shooting three-pointers from the logo, barely jumping, his face bored, his gum chewing rhythmic and nonchalant. He looked like a king surveying his subjects.
Tristan led his team to their layup line. He refused to look at Palencia. He focused on the rim. Thump. Swish. Thump. Swish. The rhythm of the ball was the only thing that made sense.
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" the announcer's voice boomed, echoing like the voice of god. "Please rise for the singing of the Philippine National Anthem."
A hush fell over the arena. It was sudden and absolute, a silence more powerful than the noise.
The two teams lined up at their respective free-throw lines, facing the Philippine flag hanging from the rafters.
Tristan stood between Marco and Daewoo. He placed his right hand over his heart.
The music began. The familiar, stirring notes of Lupang Hinirang.
Bayang magiliw,
Perlas ng Silanganan,
Alab ng puso,
Sa dibdib mo'y buhay.
Tristan felt Marco trembling beside him. He glanced over. Marco wasn't scared; he was crying. Tears were streaming down his face, unashamed. This was the moment. The culmination of every playground game, every scrapped knee, every dream.
Tristan looked at the flag. He thought of his parents back in Cavite, watching on TV. He thought of Claire, probably clutching a pillow in her living room. He thought of the empty space in the lineup where Aiden should be.
He felt a lump in his throat, hot and hard. This wasn't just basketball. This was pride. This was identity.
Lupa ng araw, ng luwalhati't pagsinta,
Buhay ay langit sa piling mo...
Across the court, Joco Palencia stood tall, his hand on his chest, but his eyes were not on the flag. They were locked on Tristan. A predator marking his prey.
Tristan met his gaze. He didn't blink. The anthem swelled to its crescendo.
Ang mamatay ng dahil sa 'yo.
The final note held, and then the silence shattered into a roar that shook the floorboards.
"AND NOW!" the announcer screamed, the lights flashing wildly. "THE STARTING LINEUPS FOR THE 2015 PALARONG PAMBANSA CHAMPIONSHIP GAME!"
"First, the challengers! Representing Region 4A! The Dasmariñas High!"
"At Center... standing 6'6"... the Tower of Power... IAN VENERACION!"
Ian ran out, his face stone, high-fiving his teammates.
"At Power Forward... standing 6'1"... The Pitbull... GAB LAGMAN!"
Gab jogged out, looking like he was ready to run through a brick wall.
"At Small Forward... standing 6'0"... The Defensive Specialist... DAEWOO KIM!"
Daewoo, who had been terrified in the first game, ran out with his head high, pointing to the sky.
"At Shooting Guard... standing 5'11"... The Dagger... MARCO GUMABA!"
Marco wiped his tears, put on his signature grin, and sprinted out, basking in the lights.
"And at Point Guard... standing 5'9"... The Captain... TRISTAN HERRERA!"
Tristan ran into the spotlight. The noise washed over him, but he felt cold. Focused. He joined his brothers at center court. They huddled, arms locked, a knot of green in a crimson world.
"This is it," Tristan whispered. "No regrets. Leave it all here."
"AND NOW! THE DEFENDING CHAMPIONS! THE KINGS OF THE CAPITAL! REPRESENTING THE NATIONAL CAPITAL REGION... QUEZON CITY HIGH!"
The cheers were deafening. It was a home crowd for greatness.
"At Center... 6'8"... Marcus Lee!"
"At Forward... 6'6"... Kevin Quiambao!"
"At Forward... 6'5"... Francis Lopez!"
"At Guard... 6'2"... Forthsky Padrigao!"
"AND..." The announcer let the pause hang. "THE MVP. THE MYTHICAL FIVE. THE KING. 6'3"... NUMBER 1... JOCO... PALENCIA!"
Palencia didn't run. He walked. He strolled to the center circle, chewing his gum, nodding to the crowd like a politician. He radiated an aura of invincibility.
The two teams met at center court for the tip-off. The referee held the ball.
Tristan stood next to Palencia.
Up close, Palencia was even bigger. He was broad-shouldered, long-armed. He looked down at Tristan, a smirk playing on his lips.
"You're the 'General,' huh?" Palencia said, his voice low, smooth. "Cute nickname. Hope you brought your army. You're gonna need 'em."
Tristan looked up. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just engaged his Gold Floor General skill, his mind already mapping the court, calculating the angles, assessing the threats.
"I brought my family," Tristan said calmly.
Palencia chuckled. "Family don't block shots, kid."
The referee blew the whistle.
Ian Veneracion crouched. Marcus Lee crouched.
The ball went up.
Twenty thousand people held their breath.
The war had begun.
Marcus Lee, the QC center, had a three-inch reach advantage. He tapped the ball easily back to Joco Palencia.
The NCR crowd roared.
Palencia caught the ball. He didn't pass. He didn't look at his teammates. He looked right at Tristan.
Coach Gutierrez's plan—The Island—was in effect. The other four Dasmariñas players stayed glued to their men. No help. No double teams. Tristan was alone at the top of the key with the best player in the country.
"Iso!" Palencia yelled, waving his teammates away. "Clear out!"
The floor opened up.
Palencia dribbled. The ball hit the floor with a rhythmic, hypnotic thud. Left. Right. Between the legs. His handle was elite. Faster than Tristan's current stats.
Tristan sat deep in his defensive stance, his eyes locked on Palencia's waist. Don't watch the ball. Watch the hips.
Palencia hit a hesitation move. A subtle drop of the shoulders. Tristan froze for a microsecond.
That was all it took.
Palencia exploded to the right. His first step was blinding.
Tristan shuffled, trying to cut him off, but Palencia was already hip-to-hip. Palencia drove into the lane. Ian Veneracion stepped up to help.
Palencia saw Ian. He didn't stop. He planted his feet and floated into the air. He hung there, defying gravity, and threw up a high-arcing tear-drop floater over Ian's outstretched fingertips.
Swish.
Score: QC 2 - Dasmariñas 0
Palencia smirked as he jogged back. "Too small. Too slow."
Tristan ignored him. He took the inbound from Ian. Okay. He's fast. Faster than I thought.
He brought the ball up. The QC defense was aggressive, swarming.
Tristan signaled "Horns." Gab and Ian came to the high post.
Tristan used Gab's screen. Palencia fought over it instantly. He was strong.
Tristan didn't panic. He dribbled back out, resetting. He saw Marco cutting on the baseline.
He fired a pass. But the QC shooting guard, Padrigao, was long. He tipped the pass.
The ball skittered loose.
Daewoo Kim dove for it. The Dog. He secured it on the floor and called timeout before the jump ball could be called.
"Settle down!" Coach Gutierrez said in the huddle. "That was a good cut, just a deflected pass. Tristan, you see his speed?"
"Yeah," Tristan said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "He's fast, Coach. Really fast."
"Make him work," Gutierrez said. "On defense. Attack him."
Tristan took the ball again. Palencia was pressing him full court.
Tristan used his Tight Handles. He kept his body between the ball and the defender. He crossed half court.
He called for an isolation. He wanted to test Palencia.
Tristan drove left. Palencia slid his feet perfectly, cutting off the angle. Tristan spun back right. Palencia was there, his chest bumping Tristan, stopping his momentum dead.
He's strong, too. My Strength: 65 isn't enough.
Tristan was forced to pick up his dribble. He pivoted, looking for help. He found Gab at the elbow.
Gab caught it, faced up, and hit the 15-foot jumper.
Swish.
Score: QC 2 - Dasmariñas 2
"Good shot, Gab!" Tristan yelled.
Palencia again. Same play. Isolation at the top.
He sized Tristan up. This time, he didn't drive. He hit a quick crossover, stepped back behind the three-point line.
Tristan lunged to contest.
Palencia released the ball with a lightning-quick trigger.
Swish.
From 26 feet.
Score: QC 5 - Dasmariñas 2
Tristan brought it up. He needed to answer. He couldn't let Palencia get comfortable.
He ran a pick-and-roll with Cedrick (who had subbed in early for Ian).
Palencia got caught on Cedrick's massive screen.
Tristan had a sliver of daylight. He pulled up from the mid-range.
It felt good.
Clang. Back rim.
The rebound was grabbed by QC's 6'8" center.
Palencia pushed the pace. He was a blur in transition. Tristan sprinted back, trying to get in front.
Palencia hit him with an in-and-out dribble at full speed. Tristan bit on the fake. Palencia blew by him.
Layup.
Score: QC 7 - Dasmariñas 2
It was happening. The nightmare scenario. Palencia was doing whatever he wanted.
Tristan felt a cold prickle of fear. He looked at the scoreboard. He looked at Palencia, who was laughing with his teammates.
He's better than me, Tristan thought. Right now, he is better than me.
He thought of the blue window. The upgrade.
50 Physical Points. 100 Attribute Points.
He could fix this. He could fix this right now.
He looked at Coach Gutierrez. The coach's eyes were steady. Stick to the plan.
Tristan gritted his teeth. Not yet. I need to see everything. I need to see his bag.
Midway through the quarter. QC lead was 14-8. Palencia had 10 points.
Palencia had the ball on the wing. Tristan was breathing hard. Palencia looked fresh.
"You're tired, General," Palencia taunted.
He drove baseline. Tristan cut him off.
Palencia spun, fading away, drifting out of bounds behind the backboard. He threw the shot up with one hand, a high-arcing prayer.
It dropped in.
The crowd went insane.
Score: QC 16 - Dasmariñas 8
The quarter was winding down. Dasmariñas was hanging on by a thread. Marco had hit a three. Daewoo had a steal and a layup. But they couldn't stop Palencia.
Tristan had the ball. He needed to score. He needed to show his team he could score on this guy.
He used a double screen. He got Palencia trailing.
Tristan drove into the paint. The QC bigs collapsed.
Tristan went up for a layup.
Palencia, recovering with terrifying speed, leaped from behind.
SMACK.
He pinned Tristan's layup against the backboard.
The crowd roared.
Palencia grabbed the ball and threw an outlet pass. QC dunk at the other end.
Score: QC 22 - Dasmariñas 13
The quarter ended with Palencia hitting another step-back jumper at the buzzer.
End of First Quarter: QC 24 — Dasmariñas 15
Joco Palencia: 16 Points, 2 Assists, 1 Block.
Tristan Herrera: 2 Points, 3 Assists, 1 Blocked Shot.
Tristan walked to the bench, his chest heaving, his legs heavy. He sat down, staring at the floor. The gap was real. The skill gap was a chasm.
"He's fast, Cap," Marco said, sitting next to him, looking worried. "He's... he's really fast."
"I know," Tristan said.
He closed his eyes. He had seen enough. He had felt the speed. He had felt the strength. He knew exactly where he was lacking. He knew exactly what he needed to do.
He took a deep breath, centering himself in the chaos of the arena.
He focused his mind.
DING.
The blue window appeared in his mind's eye.
It was time.
[Mission 13: Win Palarong Pambansa]
[Failure Penalty: Severe reduction in all current player statistics.]
[MISSION REWARDS]
[+50 Physical Stat Points]
[+100 Attribute Points]
[3x Silver Upgrade Badge]
[2x Gold Upgrade Badge]
The energy rushed into him, a torrent of cold, electric power.
The General was about to evolve.