The air in the Dasmariñas Arena was electric, a thick, palpable hum of anticipation and school pride. Thousands of spectators clad in the Dasmariñas High' green and white and the Lucban High' red and gold stamped their feet, creating a rhythmic thunder that vibrated through the floorboards. The glare of the overhead lights was almost blinding, turning the polished hardwood court into a mirror that reflected the fierce concentration etched on every player's face. For the Dasmariñas High, this was more than a game; it was the defense of their home, their title, their legacy.

On the Dasmariñas bench, Coach Gutierrez gave his final words, his voice a low growl cutting through the noise. "Play our game. Smart, fast, and together. Trust the system. Trust each other. Tristan, you're the floor general. Set the tone."

Tristan Herrera (№20) met his coach's gaze, a single, sharp nod his only reply. He glanced at his teammates: Marco Gumaba(№23), bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes already scanning the court for his spots; Aiden Robinson (№7), clenching and unclenching his fists, a coiled spring of aggressive energy; Cedrick Estrella (№21), his massive shoulders squared, ready for war in the paint; and Ian Veneracion (№32), whose serene expression belied the towering defensive storm he was about to become.

Across the half-court line, the Lucban High looked formidable. Their point guard, Ronnie Abelardo (№10), had a predator's smirk, while the twin towers, Gerald Garde (№22) and Henry Chaves (№55), looked like immovable mountains.

The referee took his place at center court, ball held high. The arena's roar subsided to a tense hush. Ian and Henry crouched, muscles screaming with potential energy. The whistle shrieked.

The ball was tossed, a perfect orange sphere hanging in the air for a fraction of a second. Ian exploded upwards, his long fingers stretching just a centimeter higher than Henry's, tipping the ball with surgical precision towards Tristan.

The crowd erupted. The first possession belonged to the Dasmariñas High.

Tristan caught the ball and the game flowed through him. The chaotic noise of the arena filtered into a clear strategic map in his mind. He saw the Lucban defense shifting, saw their small forward, Paolo Sison (№14), cheating a step too far towards the paint.

"Set it up! Motion one!" Tristan's voice was calm but firm, a beacon of order in the storm. "Marco, left wing. Cedrick, come high for the screen. Aiden, watch the baseline cut!"

His teammates moved like clockwork. Cedrick rumbled up from the block to set a crushing screen on Ronnie Abelardo. As Tristan dribbled around it, two defenders were drawn to him. He didn't hesitate. With a flick of his wrists, he sent a crisp bounce pass through the suddenly open lane to Marco, who had ghosted to his favorite spot on the left wing.

Marco caught the ball in rhythm. The defender, Michael Severino (№12), lunged at him, but Marco was a step ahead. A sharp jab step froze Severino, giving Marco the space he needed. He rose, his form a perfect picture of discipline, and released the ball. It sliced through the air with a gentle backspin, dropping cleanly through the net with a satisfying swish.

Score: Dasmariñas 2 — Lucban 0

"Yeah, Marco! That's your shot!" Aiden yelled, clapping his hands.

Lucban didn't waste a moment. Ronnie Abelardo took the inbound pass and blitzed down the court, the ball a yo-yo on a string as he executed a dizzying crossover that left Tristan momentarily off-balance.

"Screen right, Mike!" Abelardo shouted.

Gerald Garde set the pick, and Michael Severino used it to curl to the three-point line. The pass was already in the air. Marco fought to get through the screen, but it was too late. Severino caught and fired in one fluid motion. The ball kissed the front of the rim, bounced high off the backboard, and fell through.

Score: Dasmariñas 2 — Lucban 3

The Lucban crowd roared its approval. Severino pointed a finger at the sky as he jogged back on defense, a silent promise of more to come.

The next few possessions became a brutal, grinding war in the paint. Gerald Garde, Lucban's powerhouse, tried to bully his way to the basket, his shoulders and elbows a battering ram. But Cedrick Estrella gave as good as he got. Their battle was a symphony of squeaking shoes, grunts of effort, and the dull thud of bodies colliding.

"You're not getting this easy, Garde!" Cedrick growled, planting his feet and absorbing a heavy shoulder charge.

"We'll see about that, Estrella!" Garde shot back, spinning for a jump hook.

Cedrick's relentless pressure forced the shot to go wide. Ian Veneracion was there, snatching the rebound from the air over Henry Chaves. Ian's eyes immediately found his point guard. His outlet pass was a perfect strike downcourt to Tristan.

"Push it! Push it! They're not set!" Tristan's voice cut through the roar. "Pressure on Ronnie. Watch their pick-and-roll. Trust the ball movement, guys!"

His calm command settled the team. They weren't going to get into a run-and-gun shootout. They moved the ball with purpose. Tristan to Marco, Marco to Aiden cutting baseline.

"Aiden, backdoor!" Marco yelled, zipping a pass towards the rim.

Aiden caught it mid-stride, but Paolo Sison was glued to him. Seeing the lane clogged, Aiden spun, his pivot foot anchored, and found Cedrick sealing his man under the basket. The pass was high and hard. Cedrick fought for it, wrestling with Henry Chaves, and powered up for a tough, contested layup that rolled in.

Score: Dasmariñas 6 — Lucban 3

"And one!" Cedrick roared, though no whistle came. He didn't care. The message was sent.

Lucban answered again. This time, Michael Severino didn't wait for a screen. He used a quick hesitation move to create a sliver of space from Marco and pulled up for a silky-smooth midrange jumper.

Swish.

Score: Dasmariñas 6 — Lucban 5

Marco clapped his hands in frustration. "My bad! I'll get it back!"

The rising pressure was getting to Aiden. On the next possession, he received the ball on the wing and saw a lane. He drove aggressively, head down, determined to score. But Paolo Sison slid over, planting his feet and creating a solid wall. Aiden crashed into him, fumbling the ball for a split second. The whistle blew. Offensive foul.

Aiden slammed the ball on the floor in frustration, the sharp thwack echoing his anger.

"Aiden, calm down! Head in the game!" Tristan called out, tapping his temple.

"He's all over me!" Aiden muttered, jogging back. He looked at his teammates. "Marco, help me break this wall next time. Give me a screen."

"Got you," Marco nodded, his expression steady.

They executed the plan perfectly on the next play. Marco set a hard screen on Sison. Tristan fed Aiden as he curled around it, catching the ball on the move. He drove hard into the paint, drawing two defenders before he was hacked on the arm. The whistle blew. Two shots. Aiden stepped to the free-throw line, took a deep breath to quell the adrenaline, and sank both.

Score: Dasmariñas 8 — Lucban 5

As Lucban brought the ball up, Tristan was already directing traffic. "Ian, stay on Henry's high side! Cedrick, watch for Garde on the roll! Force a contested shot!"

But Garde was a force of nature. A missed shot from Sison caromed off the rim, and Garde simply outmuscled Cedrick for the offensive board, going straight back up for a powerful put-back layup.

Score: Dasmariñas 8 — Lucban 7

The Dasmariñas High didn't flinch. Cedrick, fired up from the last play, set a bone-jarring screen for Tristan. The point guard exploded past his defender, weaving through the lane. As Henry Chaves stepped up to stop him, Tristan launched into the air, absorbing the contact and finishing with a high, arching teardrop floater that dropped softly through the net. The whistle blew. And-one. The arena erupted.

Tristan flexed as he let out a yell, the passion finally breaking through his calm exterior. In the bleachers, Claire's voice rose above the rest, a clear, encouraging shout. "Let's go, Tris!" He found her eyes in the crowd for a fleeting moment—a silent connection that refueled his spirit. He calmly sank the free throw.

Score: Dasmariñas 11 — Lucban 7

The Lucban High were relentless. Ronnie Abelardo responded with a penetrating spin move that sliced past Marco, forcing the defense to collapse. In that instant, he kicked the ball out to an open Paolo Sison in the corner, who buried an explosive three-pointer.

Score: Dasmariñas 11 — Lucban 10

"Answered!" the Lucban coach roared from the sideline.

Aiden, refusing to be outdone, took the next possession personally. He drove hard, absorbing contact from Sison, and threw up a tough, off-balance layup that somehow found its way in.

Score: Dasmariñas 13 — Lucban 10

The final minute of the quarter was a frenzy. Ian Veneracion, who had been a quiet anchor all quarter, made his presence known with a monstrous block on Henry Chaves, swatting the ball into the third row. The crowd went wild.

On the ensuing fast break, the ball found Marco open on the wing. Feeling the weight of the moment, he launched a bold three-pointer. The entire arena held its breath. The shot looked good, but it clanged off the back iron and bounced high. Marco's shoulders slumped for a second, but Tristan was already there, soaring over two red jerseys to snatch the offensive rebound.

"Reset! Cut quick!" Tristan yelled urgently. "Cedrick, dive! Clear the lane!"

Cedrick rolled hard to the rim, his hand held high. Tristan delivered a perfect no-look pass right into his waiting hands. With a thunderous roar, Cedrick slammed the ball home with two hands, making the backboard shudder.

Score: Dasmariñas 15 — Lucban 10

The dunk sent a jolt of pure energy through the home team. As the players walked back, Marco caught his breath and turned to Tristan, a look of respect on his face. "We're holding them, man, but they're fierce. They don't quit."

"Every quarter is a war," Tristan replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "We just have to keep fighting."

Aiden glanced toward the opposing bench as Paolo Sison took a swig of water, his eyes burning with intensity. "They want this just as much as we do," Aiden said quietly, a newfound respect in his tone.

Ten seconds left on the clock. Ronnie Abelardo sped forward, a red-and-gold blur weaving through traffic. With three seconds left, he drew the defense and whipped a pass to Michael Severino for a last-second three. Time seemed to slow down. As Severino rose to shoot, Ian Veneracion launched himself across the court, his long arm extending impossibly high. The sound of leather on leather echoed through the arena as Ian blocked the shot just as the final horn blared.

FINAL SCORE, 1ST QUARTER: Dasmariñas 15 — Lucban 10

The arena erupted in a deafening cheer as both teams retreated to their benches. Tristan exhaled deeply, the satisfaction of the lead mingling with the exhaustion of the fight.

"Good quarter, good fight," Coach Gutierrez said, handing him a towel. "But it's only the start. We have to be better on transition defense."

Tristan nodded, his eyes already scanning his teammates. He met Aiden's gaze, then Marco's. "He's right. That was just round one."

Marco clapped him on the shoulder. "We're ready," he said, a determined fire in his eyes. "Together."

The intensity of the first quarter had revealed strengths, vulnerabilities, and the undeniable truth that this battle was far from over. It was just getting started.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.