The scoreboard glowed with a deceptive calm: Dasmariñas 15, Lucban 10. As the second quarter began, the five-point lead felt less like a cushion and more like a razor's edge. The brief pause had done little to quell the firestorm of adrenaline. The players returned to the court, muscles coiled tight, lungs still burning, their eyes reflecting a heightened, almost savage, resolve. The regional championship—raw, relentless, and unforgiving—was entering its next crucial phase.

The starting lineups remained unchanged, a testament to the trust both coaches had in their core warriors.

Dasmariñas National High:

№20 Tristan Herrera, Point Guard

№23 Marco Gumabao, Shooting Guard

№7 Aiden Robinson, Small Forward

№21 Cedrick Estrella, Power Forward

№32 Ian Veneracion, Center

Lucban High:

№10 Ronnie Abelardo, Point Guard

№12 Michael Severino, Shooting Guard

№14 Paolo Sison, Small Forward

№22 Gerald Garde, Power Forward

№55 Henry Chaves, Center

The whistle shrieked, and the game resumed with ferocious intensity. Paolo Sison received the inbounded ball, his movements sharp and economical as he sliced toward the frontcourt. Immediately, Ronnie Abelardo became a shadow, pressing Tristan with a suffocating defense that forced him to fight for every inch of space. Seeing his point guard locked down, Paolo whipped the ball back to Ronnie, who used the brief opening to dart past a flat-footed defender. His eyes scanned the court for a split second before firing a pass to an open Michael Severino on the wing.

Severino caught it in rhythm, his form flawless. The ball arced through the air, and the swish of the net was like a dagger.

Score: Dasmariñas 19 — Lucban 17

The two-point game sent a jolt through the Dasmariñas players. Tristan blinked twice, the image of the ball falling through the hoop burning in his mind. He took a deep breath, pushing the frustration down and letting cold focus rise in its place. He clapped his hands, his voice cutting through the arena's din.

"Reset! Run 'Blade'!" he commanded, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Marco, set the screen on the right elbow! Aiden, hard baseline cut! Cedrick, seal the paint, now!"

His teammates moved like extensions of his will. Marco planted his feet, setting a textbook pick that forced Severino to go around. The momentary screen was all the space Tristan needed. He saw Aiden darting hard along the baseline, a blur of green and white. Tristan didn't hesitate, whipping a laser-like bounce pass that threaded through two defenders and hit Aiden perfectly in stride.

Aiden exploded upward, his body contorting in mid-air to avoid a lunging defender. He released a high, arching floater. For a heart-stopping moment, the ball perched on the rim, seeming to weigh the fate of the possession before softly settling in.

Score: Dasmariñas 21 — Lucban 17

The crowd roared its approval, but there was no time to celebrate. On the other end, Gerald Garde, Lucban's bruising power forward, went to work. He backed Cedrick down into the post, his shoulder digging into Cedrick's chest with punishing force. He spun, creating a sliver of space, and launched a tough fadeaway jumper. Cedrick's contest was perfect, forcing the shot just a little long. It clanged off the back iron.

But Henry Chaves, a monster on the glass, crashed in from the weak side. He out-jumped Ian, snatching the offensive rebound with brute strength before kicking it out to a frantic Ronnie Abelardo, who rushed a three-pointer. The shot was all air and desperation, missing everything.

Ian, furious at losing the last rebound, sprinted forward. He grabbed the ball before it even hit the ground and immediately pushed for a fast break. He saw Marco streaking down the right sideline and fired a perfect outlet pass. Marco caught it without breaking stride, danced past a scrambling defender with a slick behind-the-back dribble, and elevated for a clean jumper from the free-throw line that was nothing but net.

Score: Dasmariñas 23 — Lucban 17

As Tristan jogged back to halfcourt, Marco paused beside him, chest heaving.

"This is getting intense," he gasped, wiping sweat from his brow. "Their pressure is insane. If we let up for just a second…"

Tristan met his gaze, his own eyes burning with focus. "We don't. Not now, not ever. Stay with me. Keep your head clear and your shots confident. They bend, we break them."

Their eyes locked, a silent pact of leadership renewed amidst the chaos.

Lucban called a timeout. Their huddle was tight, their coach's voice a low growl. They returned with a clear strategy: isolate Ronnie Abelardo on offense, force Tristan to expend all his energy chasing him, and exploit Gerald and Henry's overwhelming size advantage on the boards.

The plan worked immediately. Paolo Sison swung into a series of aggressive, relentless drives to the basket, drawing fouls and calmly sinking two free throws.

Score: Dasmariñas 23 — Lucban 21

The relentless pressure began to show cracks in the Stallions' defense. Aiden, trying to keep up with Sison, got caught on a screen, leading to an easy layup. He exchanged a frustrated shake of his head with Cedrick. During a quick break in play, he sought out Tristan, his expression a mask of worry.

"Tris, I'm letting him get by me," Aiden said, his voice tight. "My feet feel like they're stuck in mud. How do you stay focused when it feels like you're losing ground?"

Tristan placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression softening from a commander to a teammate. "Breathe, man. Just breathe," he said, his voice calm and steady. "You're thinking about the last play, the next play. Just play this moment. Not the score, not the foul count. Look for the small wins. A good defensive stance, forcing him to his weak hand. That's where you start."

Aiden's shoulders relaxed slightly. He nodded, a new resolve hardening his features. "Right. Small wins. I'll work on it. No more excuses."

Just then, Gab came off the bench, a fresh surge of energy for Dasmariñas. His impact was immediate. Michael Severino drove the lane for what looked like an easy floater, but Gab exploded from the weak side, swatting the shot with thunderous force. The ball sailed into the stands, and the crowd erupted.

Gab landed and let out a roar that echoed through the arena. "DEFENSE! MAKE THEM EARN EVERY SINGLE POINT!"

Tristan rallied his teammates around the newfound energy. "That's it! Keep it tight! No easy buckets!"

The game devolved into a brutal, beautiful exchange of blows. Marco, feeling the rhythm, sank a contested three-pointer with a hand in his face. Paolo answered with a fierce, acrobatic drive, absorbing contact and finishing at the rim. Underneath the basket, Henry and Ian waged a private war, their bodies colliding, arms locked in a fierce battle for every rebound. Neither man gave an inch.

From the sideline, Coach Gutierrez clapped loudly, his voice hoarse. "Good job, Ian! Fight harder on the glass! Every rebound counts! Every single one!"

Marco turned to John, who had just subbed in, his face grim with determination. "We need that energy every second. No breaks."

John nodded firmly. "Not just plays, Marco. We bring the fire. That's what wins games like this."

With two minutes left in the half, the tension was suffocating. Lucban closed the gap again with a silky-smooth jump shot from Gerald Garde over a lunging Cedrick.

Score: Dasmariñas 31 — Lucban 29

Tristan dribbled carefully at the top of the key, the shot clock and the game clock winding down in tandem. He saw Cedrick posting up hard, sealing his defender and creating a small window. Tristan didn't hesitate. He threaded a bounce pass through a forest of arms and legs, a pass that had no right to get through. Cedrick caught it, spun with surprising grace for a big man, and scored with an authoritative dunk that shook the backboard.

Score: Dasmariñas 33 — Lucban 29

The crowd was still roaring when Ronnie Abelardo stripped the ball on the next possession. He was a blur, sprinting downcourt. Tristan gave chase but knew he wouldn't make it. Just as Ronnie launched a desperation three-pointer from near halfcourt, Cedrick—who had sprinted the length of the floor—leaped and blocked the shot from behind!

The arena exploded. The ball caromed into Ian's hands, who immediately pushed it to Marco for a wide-open three that silenced Lucban's comeback hopes. Swish.

Score: Dasmariñas 36 — Lucban 29

Lucban, refusing to quit, hustled back. Paolo cut through a tired defense for a hard, defiant layup just as the halftime buzzer sounded.

Score: Dasmariñas 36 — Lucban 31

The team huddled near their bench, chests heaving, jerseys soaked through with sweat. The five-point lead felt like it had been earned with blood.

Gab leaned in, his voice low and intense. "We're holding them, but we can't get complacent. They're not going away."

Tristan nodded, looking at each of his teammates. "The fight is just beginning. Second half, we come out even stronger. Stay sharp."

As players grabbed water bottles and towels, Marco moved quietly beside Tristan.

"The pace is brutal, man," he whispered, his voice raspy. "But we're in their heads. We're in control."

Tristan nodded, his eyes blazing with a fire that hadn't dimmed for a second. "You lead the first drive of the second half. They'll expect me. We're stronger together. Now let's go finish this."

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