The halftime locker room buzzed with the raw, chaotic energy of a battle far from over. The five-point lead felt like a fragile truce, not a victory. Coach Gutierrez knew the third quarter was the crucible where championships were either forged or broken. Lucban would be relentless, and he needed to counter their fire with fresh, hungry legs.

He gathered them in a tight huddle, his voice low but charged with intensity.

"The starters did their job. They built the foundation," he began, his eyes locking with the five players he was about to send into the storm. "Now, you five are the reinforcements. You bring the storm. Tristan, you're our leader, you control the tempo. John Manalo, you're at shooting guard; I want your legs, your energy, your hunger. Daewoo Kim, small forward; be the aggressor. Gab, you're our heart at power forward. Felix Tan, you're our wall at center. Fresh legs, fresh minds. Don't just hold the line. Push it."

The five players acknowledged with sharp, determined nods. This wasn't just a substitution; it was a mission. John's knuckles were white as he clenched his fists, Daewoo's eyes were narrowed in focus, and Felix bounced on the balls of his feet, a coiled spring of potential energy.

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of halftime. The roar of the crowd washed over them as they stepped back onto the court.

Felix stood near the baseline, the ball feeling cool and textured in his palms, poised to inbound. He made eye contact with Tristan, who was already orchestrating the floor, a general surveying his battlefield.

With a sharp snap of his wrist, Felix lobbed a perfect pass.

Tristan caught it cleanly, the familiar feel of the leather grounding him. His eyes scanned the court, processing the shifting patterns of defense and offense in a fraction of a second. He dribbled forward, the rhythmic thump-thump of the ball a steadying heartbeat against the chaotic pulse of the arena.

"Blade Right!" Tristan's voice cut through the noise. "John, V-cut left! Daewoo, set a high screen! Gab, you crash the boards like your life depends on it!"

John sprinted, his fresh legs eating up the court. He planted his foot and cut hard to the left, using Daewoo's perfectly timed screen to shed his defender like a second skin. Tristan saw the opening before it fully formed and whipped a one-handed pass that zipped through the air. It hit John square in the hands, right in his shooting pocket. He caught it, rose in one fluid motion, and fired a crisp, confident jumper.

For a moment, the world went silent. The ball spun, a perfect orange sphere against the bright lights, and then—swish. The sound was pure satisfaction.

Score: Dasmariñas 38 — Lucban 31

Lucban didn't flinch. Their point guard, Ronnie Abelardo, took the inbound pass and uncoiled like a viper, exploding downcourt. He slipped past John with a dizzying crossover that left him a step behind. Drawing the defense, he dished the ball to a charging Gerald Garde, who powered through Gab's chest with a brutal drive, absorbing the contact and finishing off the glass.

Score: Dasmariñas 38 — Lucban 33

The fight was on. Gab, refusing to be outmuscled again, clapped his hands. "Lock it down! No more easy baskets!" He and Felix executed a perfect trap on Lucban's center, Henry Chaves, in the low post, forcing him into a rushed, off-balance hook shot that clanked hard off the rim.

Felix boxed out his man, securing the rebound with strong hands before looking immediately for his outlet. He fired the ball to Tristan.

Taking the pass on the run, Tristan pushed the pace. He spotted Daewoo cutting hard along the baseline, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.

"Daewoo, baseline! Now!" Tristan's command was sharp, urgent.

Daewoo caught the bullet pass, his sneakers screeching as he planted his foot, spun around a lunging Paolo Sison, and rose for a tough midrange jumper. He held his follow-through, watching the ball slice through the net.

Score: Dasmariñas 40 — Lucban 33

But Lucban's tenacity was suffocating. A lazy pass was picked off by Michael Severino, who sprinted the other way and found a trailing Ronnie for a slick, step-back three that cut the lead and silenced the home crowd.

Score: Dasmariñas 40 — Lucban 36

John breathed heavily, his hands on his knees during a momentary pause, his chest burning. He glanced at Tristan.

"This pace is insane," he gasped, his voice raspy. "But I'm not backing down. I'm ready to keep fighting."

Tristan gave him a firm nod, sweat dripping from his chin. "I know you are. Stay with me. Every second counts. You're playing solid out there, John. Keep it up."

The encouragement was like a shot of adrenaline. The game became a whirlwind of physicality and will. Gab stood firm in the post, a bulldog battling the twin towers of Garde and Chaves. On the other end, Felix executed a perfect screen for Tristan and rolled hard to the basket. Tristan drew two defenders and dropped a perfectly timed bounce pass. Felix caught it, took one powerful step, and rose above the rim for a thunderous, two-handed dunk that sent a shockwave through the arena.

Score: Dasmariñas 42 — Lucban 36

Ronnie Abelardo answered immediately, weaving through traffic for an aggressive layup and drawing a foul in the process. He calmly sank the free throw, completing the three-point play.

Tristan, unfazed, continued to orchestrate. He rewarded John's sharp cuts with crisp passes and found Daewoo for another tough jumper. The bench was on its feet, living every moment.

Marco yelled from the sideline, his voice hoarse. "That's our game! That's our identity! Fast, precise, and unrelenting!"

The synergy of the new unit was undeniable. Felix posted up, battling a new sub, John Mark Bongon, and hit a tough, spinning turnaround jumper. Lucban pressed, but as Paolo drove, he was met by a wall of Tristan's tight, disciplined defense, forcing a crucial turnover.

John Manalo scooped up the loose ball and pushed forward, leading a three-on-one fast break. He drew the lone defender and dished to a trailing Daewoo for the easy, uncontested layup.

Score: Dasmariñas 48 — Lucban 38

The ten-point lead felt monumental. Lucban, desperate, muscled inside, with Garde scoring and John Mark getting a tip-in on the next possession. But the momentum had shifted. Felix, reading a pass perfectly, leaped and blocked a three-point attempt from Ronnie, sparking another fast break.

Tristan received the outlet pass, the crowd roaring in anticipation. He crossed over, leaving his defender stumbling, drove hard into the lane, and spun into a graceful, high-arcing floater that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before gliding softly through the net.

Score: Dasmariñas 50 — Lucban 42

On the sidelines, Coach Gutierrez allowed himself a broad, proud smile. He clapped his hands, his voice booming over the noise. "Excellent execution! That's our basketball! Keep pushing! We own this moment!"

As the third quarter wound down, the team, breathing heavily but moving as a single, united force, prepared for the final assault. Tristan glanced at John, Daewoo, Gab, and Felix, a swell of pride in his chest.

"This unit," he said softly, a fierce grin on his face. "We're getting stronger every minute."

Together, they stood as one, eyes burning with the fire of a battle they now believed, deep in their bones, they could win. They were ready for the final quarter.

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