The cool evening air of Barangay Burol II was a welcome balm to Tristan's tired but satisfied muscles. The walk home, with his new shoes in a bag and the promise of a jersey in his heart, was a walk of quiet triumph. He had a team, an identity, and the tangible fruits of his hard work in his hands. The journey had truly begun.
He arrived at his small, one-story house, and the warm, familiar smells of home greeted him like a hug. His parents were already at the dinner table, a look of quiet love and contentment on their faces.
"Son, you're home," his mother, Linda, said, her voice warm and welcoming. "Sit down, dinner is ready."
As they ate, a delicious chicken adobo with rice, Tristan told his parents everything. He told them about the jersey shop, about how they had saved up five thousand pesos, about the name they had chosen for their team—the Black Mambas—and about their new shoes.
His father, Armando, listened intently, a faint smile on his lips. "Black Mambas," he said, his voice a low, thoughtful rumble. "A good name. It's good to have a symbol to fight for, my son."
His mother just smiled, a look of pure, unadulterated pride in her eyes. "I'm so proud of all of you," she said. "Working so hard to earn your jerseys. That's a good lesson to learn. You'll carry that with you for the rest of your lives."
Tristan felt a warmth spread through his chest. His parents were his biggest supporters, his foundation. Their approval and love were more valuable than any jersey or trophy.
After they finished dinner, Tristan, as was his custom, washed the dishes. He then said a quiet goodnight to his parents and went to his room, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He had finished his pushups and situps, but the mission was not over. He still had a few kilometers left of his 75-kilometer run. He knew he couldn't do it today, but he would do it tomorrow.
He got down on the floor, his muscles protesting with a familiar, but manageable, ache. He did his squats, one after another, his body a blur of determined motion. His new-found Strength and Stamina made the task easier than he had imagined. The pain was there, a dull, nagging presence, but he pushed through it, his mind a focused loop of determination. He was a new person, a new athlete.
He finished his squats, his legs trembling beneath him, and a quiet, triumphant chime sounded in the air. He had completed the final task of his mission. He had earned his reward. He lay on the floor for a moment, his heart pounding against his ribs, a small, satisfied smile on his face. He then sat up and, with a silent command, the floating window appeared. He had a mission to win, a team to lead, and a dream to chase. He closed his eyes, the floating window disappearing into the darkness, and he drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with images of jerseys, basketballs, and the victorious clang of a championship trophy. He was ready.
The next morning, Tristan woke up early, a natural energy buzzing in his veins. He went through his morning routine, his movements feeling a little sharper, a little quicker. He was ready for his run, and he knew he had to finish it. He had a mission to complete, and a team to lead.
He walked out of his house, and there they were. All of his teammates—Marco, Gab, Kyle, Felix, Mark, John, Joseph, Joshua, and Ian—were waiting for him, their faces full of a tired but determined energy.
"Good morning, guys," Tristan said, a wide, genuine smile on his face. "Are you guys ready for our run?"
"Always, Tris," Marco said, a wide grin on his face.
They started their run, a synchronized group of ten boys, their breath a white mist in the cold, pre-dawn air. Tristan ran with a new kind of ease, his movements feeling explosive and effortless. He was faster than he had ever been, his Acceleration a powerful new weapon. Marco and Gab, who had been running with him for a while, were able to keep up with him, their own stamina and determination a silent testament to their newfound commitment. The other seven, who had just started running with them, were also getting better. They were no longer the gasping, exhausted boys from the first day; they were a cohesive unit, their movements a synchronized, rhythmic dance.
Tristan, in his mind, had to complete the remaining 15 kilometers of his mission. He pushed himself harder, his legs a blur of motion, his body a symphony of power and determination. The burning in his lungs was no longer a sign of his weakness, but a testament to his strength. The kilometers flew by, and before he knew it, he had finished. He had completed his mission. A triumphant chime sounded in his mind, and a new message appeared on the floating window. He had done it.
The rest of the team, who had been trying to keep up with him, slowed to a walk, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and awe.
"Dude," Marco said, leaning against a lamppost, his hands on his knees, his chest heaving. "What was that? You were a blur of motion. I thought I was catching up to you, but then you just... took off."
Gab, his face pale and slick with sweat, just nodded in agreement. "He's a monster, man."
Tristan just laughed, a quiet, satisfied sound. "Consistency is the key my friends."
He felt a mix of pride and sympathy for his friends. They had showed up. They were putting in the work. That was all that mattered. The run wasn't just about physical fitness anymore; it was about camaraderie, about building a team, one agonizing step at a time.
They went their separate ways, promising to meet up at their usual spot before school. It was Monday, a new week, a new challenge.
Tristan went home, took a quick shower, and ate a hearty breakfast. He then met up with Marco and Gab, and together, they walked to Dasmariñas National High School.
Their first subject was Science, with their adviser, Ms. Budbud. She walked into the classroom, a look of excitement on her face, and a stack of papers in her hands.
"Alright, class," Ms. Budbud said, her voice clear and precise. "I have an announcement. Next Friday is Valentine's Day, and the school has a series of events planned. We're going to have theater acting, a battle of the bands, and a dance competition. And around the school, we're going to have food stalls and booths, like photo booths, horror booths, jail booths, and wedding booths."
A collective cheer went up from the class, a chorus of shared excitement and anticipation. The thought of Valentine's Day, a day of love and romance, filled the air with a new kind of energy. Tristan, however, just sat there, his mind a quiet, nervous whirlwind. The thought of all those events, of all those people, of all that love and romance, filled him with a mixture of excitement and dread.
The rest of the morning's subjects flew by, a blur of Filipino, T.L.E., and M.A.P.E.H.. The lunch break was a welcome relief. Tristan, Marco, and Gab went to the canteen and ate together, their conversation a loud, boisterous hum of excitement and anticipation.
"Dude," Marco said, a mischievous grin on his face. "Did you hear about the Valentine's Day events? We have to go. It's going to be so much fun."
"Yeah," Gab said, a wide grin on his face. "And there's a wedding booth. We should totally get married."
Tristan just laughed, a quiet, amused sound. "I don't think that's a good idea, guys. You know, since we're all, you know, boys."
"That's not the point, Tris," Marco said, a playful jab in his voice. "The point is, you should invite your crush, Christine, to the wedding booth. You guys were so good together in the dula. It's a sign, man."
Tristan's face flushed a deep, crimson red. The thought of asking Christine to the wedding booth was a terrifying, heart-stopping thought. He was a shy, quiet boy. He was a basketball player, a student. He was not a romantic.
"I can't just do that, guys," Tristan mumbled, his eyes cast down at his plate. "She's... she's Christine. I'm just me."
"Tris, you're the guy who sings like a professional, and you're the monster who runs thirty kilometers a day," Marco said, a hint of a serious tone in his voice. "You can talk to a girl. Just ask her. What's the worst that can happen?"
Tristan didn't answer. He just ate in silence, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The idea of asking Christine to the wedding booth was a daunting one, a new challenge he hadn't prepared for.
After lunch, they went back to their classroom, and the rest of the afternoon subjects flew by in a blur of Math, English, and History. The final bell of the day, a sweet, melodic sound, rang at exactly 3:00 PM. The school, which had been a quiet, focused place, erupted in a flurry of activity.
Tristan and his team met up at the school gates, their faces alight with a shared excitement. It was time for their practice. They were going to the Barangay Burol II basketball court, their second home.
The practice was a focused affair. They had a five-on-five match, a chance for them to hone their skills and learn how to play together as a team.