The confetti rain had finally slowed to a sporadic, glittering drizzle, settling on the hardwood floor like snow on a battlefield. The frantic, screaming chaos of the buzzer-beater victory had mellowed into a deep, vibrating hum of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated glory.
Tristan Herrera stood at center court, the massive Palarong Pambansa championship trophy cradled in one arm like a child. His other arm was draped around Aiden Robinson, who was leaning heavily on his crutches but whose smile was bright enough to light the entire arena.
The Dasmariñas National High—the "Dog Pound," the grinders, the ambush predators—were scattered around them, soaking in the moment. Daewoo Kim was sitting on the floor, holding a piece of the net he had just cut down, looking at it with a mixture of reverence and disbelief. Gab Lagman was standing with his family in the stands, for once letting his guard down, a rare, wide grin cracking his stone face.
But the night wasn't over. The announcer's voice, which had narrated their war, boomed once more, commanding the attention of the twenty thousand souls still packed into the King Dome.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! PLEASE TURN YOUR ATTENTION TO CENTER COURT! IT IS TIME TO HONOR THE INDIVIDUAL EXCELLENCE OF THIS TOURNAMENT! IT IS TIME TO ANNOUNCE... YOUR 2015 PALARONG PAMBANSA MYTHICAL FIVE!"
A hush fell over the arena. This was the holy grail of individual achievement. To be named one of the five best players in the entire nation was a ticket to the future—to the UAAP, to the NCAA, perhaps even to the pros.
Tristan felt Marco stiffen beside him. Marco, who had scored 28 points in the semi-final and hit clutch shot after clutch shot in the finals, was vibrating.
"If they don't pick me," Marco whispered, squeezing Tristan's shoulder, "I'm going to steal the microphone. I swear."
"Relax," Tristan murmured. "You're the Dagger."
"AT THE CENTER POSITION!" the announcer roared. "FROM REGION 12, GENERAL SANTOS CITY! THE 7-FOOT MOUNTAIN! THE BLOCKING MACHINE! JOSH MANIO!"
A spotlight hit the massive teenager near the baseline. Manio, who had lost a heartbreaker in the semis but had averaged a triple-double for the tournament, walked out. He looked like a giant among men, his face stoic. He shook the officials' hands and took his place on the podium.
"AT THE SHOOTING GUARD POSITION!" the voice continued. "FROM REGION 7, CEBU CITY! THE SCORING MACHINE! THE MAN WHO DOES NOT MISS! EMMANUEL 'EMON' JACOB!"
The crowd erupted, especially the Visayas contingent. Emon Jacob stepped out. He still wore his jersey, his face as impassive as ever. He walked with that fluid, effortless grace. He didn't smile. He just nodded to the crowd, acknowledging the respect. He stood next to Manio, looking up at the giant but shrinking from no one.
"AT THE SHOOTING GUARD POSITION!"
Marco stopped breathing.
"HE IS THE HEART OF THE CHAMPIONS! HE IS 'THE DAGGER'! FROM REGION 4A, DASMARIÑAS NATIONAL HIGH... MARCO GUMABA!"
Marco let out a yell that was audible even without a microphone. He sprinted to the podium, high-fiving imaginary fans, pointing to the camera, soaking up every light of the spotlight. He looked like he had just won the lottery. He jumped onto the podium, stood next to Emon Jacob, and threw an arm around the stoic Cebu star. Jacob looked at Marco, looked at the arm, and then, surprisingly, cracked a small, genuine smile. The Dagger had earned the Machine's respect.
"AT THE POINT GUARD POSITION!"
The tension in the arena spiked again.
"FROM THE NATIONAL CAPITAL REGION! THE KING OF QC! THE ONE-MAN ARMY! JOCO PALENCIA!"
Joco walked out slowly. He had lost. He had surrendered the ball at the end of the game. His eyes were red-rimmed, the pain of the loss still fresh. But as he walked to the podium, the crowd gave him a standing ovation. They respected the 39-point performance. They respected the fight.
Joco stepped up. He stood next to Marco. He didn't look at the crowd. He looked straight ahead, his jaw set. He was already thinking about revenge.
"AND FINALLY!"
The announcer's voice reached a crescendo.
"THE CAPTAIN! THE FINALS MVP! THE GENERAL WHO LED THE AMBUSH! FROM DASMARIÑAS NATIONAL HIGH... TRISTAN HERRERA!"
The roar was deafening. It was a sound of validation. Tristan handed the championship trophy to Aiden.
"Hold this," he said softly.
"Go get your hardware, Cap," Aiden said, pushing him forward.
Tristan walked to the podium. He felt the eyes of the nation on him. He felt the weight of the Skill Badges in his mind, the new power humming in his veins. He stepped up and stood next to Joco Palencia.
The King and the General.
Joco turned to him. He didn't smile. He just offered a hand.
"You earned the spot," Joco said quietly.
Tristan took it. "We both did."
They stood there—Manio, Jacob, Marco, Joco, and Tristan. The five best high school players in the Philippines. A 7-footer, a scoring machine, a wild card, a king, and a general. It was a terrifying collection of talent.
As the photo ops concluded and the Mythical Five began to disperse, a production crew swarmed the podium. They weren't letting Tristan go. A seasoned sports reporter, a man Tristan recognized from PBA broadcasts, stepped forward with a microphone. The camera lights blinded him for a second.
"Tristan! Tristan, over here!" the reporter called out.
Tristan stepped down, wiping sweat from his brow, trying to compose himself.
"Tristan Herrera," the reporter began, his voice professional and smooth. "Finals MVP. Mythical Five. National Champion. You came into this tournament as underdogs. You faced the giants of Philippine high school basketball—Morales, Jacob, Palencia—and you beat them all. How? How did a team from Cavite take down the dynasties?"
Tristan took a breath. He looked back at his team, who were still celebrating, cutting the net, hugging their parents.
"We didn't beat them alone," Tristan said, his voice steady, projecting the calm authority that had defined his game. "The media called us underdogs. They called us small. But we knew what we were. We were a team. I have guys like Gab Lagman and Daewoo Kim who sacrificed their bodies every single play. I have Ian and Cedrick who battled giants in the paint. And I have Marco..."
He gestured to Marco, who was currently trying to take a selfie with the 7-foot Josh Manio.
"I have Marco, who isn't afraid of any shot on earth. And we had Aiden Robinson."
He pointed to Aiden, holding the trophy.
"We made a promise. When you have a brotherhood like that... size doesn't matter. Talent helps, but purpose wins games."
The reporter nodded, clearly loving the narrative. "You mentioned the competition. You went head-to-head with Joco Palencia tonight. He scored 39. You scored 32 and had 12 assists. It was a duel for the ages. What was going through your mind in that fourth quarter when he tied the game?"
Tristan thought back to the moment. The silence of the Zone. The clarity of the Floor General Skill Badge.
"I just thought... he's tired," Tristan said honestly. "He was carrying the world on his shoulders. I knew if I trusted my teammates, if I shared the ball, we would have more legs at the end. Joco is incredible. He's the toughest player I've ever guarded. But five is greater than one. That was the math."
"It certainly was," the reporter agreed. "Tristan, you've shown incredible growth in this tournament. Your shooting range, your passing, your leadership... scouts are calling you the most complete point guard in your class. The UAAP schools are already lining up. What's next for Tristan Herrera?"
Tristan looked at the reporter. He felt the System humming in the back of his mind. The Update notification. The New Region Detected.
"I'm going to enjoy this," Tristan said. "I'm going to go home, eat my mom's cooking, and celebrate with my team. We earned a rest."
The reporter smiled, sensing the interview winding down, but he had one more question. A big one. The question that always came after the Palarong Pambansa.
"Tristan, one last thing. With this performance, you've undoubtedly secured a spot on the invite list for the upcoming U-18 National Team tryouts. The FIBA U-18 Asian Championship is coming up, and then, potentially, the U-18 World Cup. The Philippines has struggled on the world stage against the giants of Europe and the Americas. Do you think this batch... do you think you... can change that?"
The question hung in the air.
The noise of the arena seemed to fade.
Tristan looked at the reporter. Then he looked past him.
He saw Joco Palencia, walking off the court, his head down, burning with the need for redemption.
He saw Emon Jacob, the Machine, coldly analyzing the game, already preparing to get better.
He saw Josh Manio, the 7-foot wall.
He saw Marco, the fearless shot-maker.
And he felt the power inside himself. His Speed. His Handle. The Skill Badges. The System that had turned him from a good player into a monster.
He realized something. He wasn't just a high school champion anymore. He was the apex predator of this generation. And these other monsters? Joco, Emon, Josh?
They weren't his enemies anymore.
They were his potential teammates.
They were his army.
The reporter waited for the standard answer. We'll do our best. We'll try hard.
Tristan looked directly into the camera lens. His eyes changed. The warmth of the victory celebration vanished, replaced by the cold, metallic glint of the General.
"The Philippines..." Tristan started, his voice soft. "The Philippines will win the U-18 World Cup."
He paused. He frowned slightly. He shook his head. That sounded passive. That sounded like a hope.
The System didn't deal in hope. It dealt in missions. And he was the user.
He straightened his spine. He looked at the camera with a terrifying, absolute certainty.
"No," Tristan said, correcting himself, his voice dropping an octave, resonating with a power that made the reporter take a half-step back. "That's not right."
He gestured to the Mythical Five standing behind him. He gestured to himself.
"I will lead the Philippines to victory in the U-18 World Cup."
It wasn't a prediction. It was a statement of fact. It was a mission objective accepted before the prompt even appeared.
The reporter blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity of the statement. "That's... that's a bold guarantee, Tristan. The World Cup? Against the US? Spain?"
Tristan didn't blink. A small, cold smile played on his lips.
"Let them come," Tristan said. "They haven't seen us yet."
He turned and walked away, leaving the reporter speechless.
As he walked back to his team, Marco ran up to him, his eyes wide.
"Dude!" Marco hissed. "Did you just... did you just guarantee a World Cup? Are you insane? We just won the Palaro! Can we chill for like... five minutes?"
Tristan looked at his friend. He looked at Joco Palencia, who had stopped near the tunnel and was looking back at Tristan, having heard the declaration. Joco wasn't scowling anymore. He was nodding. A slow, dangerous respect in his eyes.
Tristan looked at Emon Jacob, who was watching him with a calculating gaze.
"No, Marco," Tristan said, his blood singing with the anticipation of the next level. "We can't chill. The map just got bigger."
He walked over to Aiden.
"Did you hear that?" Tristan asked.
Aiden was grinning, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're crazy. You're actually crazy. You're going to take on the world?"
"We are," Tristan corrected him. "You're my assistant coach, remember? Start scouting Team USA."
Aiden laughed, a bright, happy sound. "I'm on it, Cap."
Tristan looked up at the scoreboard one last time.
CHAMPIONS.
It was a good word. But he was already looking for a new one.
WORLD CHAMPIONS.
Suddenly, the world around him seemed to stutter. The cheers, the lights, the faces of his teammates... they froze. The air turned cold and static.
DING.
The sound shattered the frozen moment.
The blue window erupted into existence, massive and blinding, filling his entire field of vision.
[SYSTEM UPDATE COMPLETE]
[CALCULATING PLAYER TRAJECTORY...]
[TRAJECTORY CONFIRMED: NATIONAL TEAM]
[NEW ARC UNLOCKED: THE GLOBAL STAGE]
[Mission 14: ASSEMBLE THE LEGION]
[Objective: Secure a spot on the U-18 National Team Roster. Ensure the recruitment of key assets (Palencia, Jacob, Manio).]
[Reward: Platinum Upgrade Badge (Locked)]
Tristan stared at the window.
Platinum.
He didn't even know that existed.
The System dissolved, returning him to the noise and the light of the arena.
Tristan took a deep breath. The exhaustion was still there, but it was buried under a mountain of ambition.
He put his arm around Marco. He signaled to Gab and the others.
"Let's go home," Tristan said. "We have a lot of work to do."
As they walked into the tunnel, leaving the court where they had become legends, Tristan Herrera didn't look back. He was already looking forward, across the ocean, to a war that would make the Palarong Pambansa look like a skirmish.
The General had his army. Now, he needed a world to conquer.