The rain finally broke by morning.
Steam rose from the bridge's underbelly — water dripping from rebar, running off the cracked edges like sweat after a long game.
The city above moved on, but below, something lingered.
Last night's rhythm hadn't left. It pulsed faintly, waiting.
By late afternoon, the half-court was drying — a patchwork of puddles and chalk outlines.
Someone had re-taped the free-throw line using yellow masking tape.
Riki bounced the ball at center, barefoot as always, his grin as constant as the thump-thump of rubber against concrete.
"Alright, skyscraper," he said, tossing Teo a ball. "Warm-up time. Flow check."
Teo caught it clumsily. "Flow check?"
Riki winked. "Means we make sure last night wasn't a fluke."
Teo sighed but dropped his bag near the wall.
Drei was already there, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves rolled up, watching.
Kio and Jax leaned against a pillar, both pretending they weren't invested but clearly taking mental notes.
Scene: Calibration
Teo started dribbling slow, the ball still unfamiliar in his hands.
His fingers adjusted, tracing the grooves, searching for balance.
Step. Dribble. Step.
Riki moved beside him, rhythm matching — sneakers squeaking out a quiet beat.
"Dribble before the step," Riki said. "Let your arms move first — your legs follow the sound."
Teo nodded, trying to mimic.
The ball slipped once, bounced wide.
Riki caught it mid-roll with a lazy spin. "That's fine. Mistakes have rhythm too."
Drei finally spoke. His voice was calm, analytical, but not cold.
"You play too stiff. You're trying to control the ball instead of reading it. Think of it like—"
"—dancing," Riki cut in, flashing a grin.
Drei raised an eyebrow. "I was going to say 'timing,' but sure. Dancing."
Kio snorted. "Man's giving lessons like this is P.E."
Riki ignored him. "Alright, Teo. Again."
Teo inhaled, focusing this time — less on the ball, more on the bounce.
Step. Dribble. Pause. Step.
It clicked, just for a second. Smooth. Light.
Riki nodded. "Better."
Drei watched, quietly impressed.
That movement — rough, imperfect, but alive with motion — wasn't something you could coach. It was something you caught.
Scene: Controlled Chaos
Riki called for a scrimmage — 3-on-3 again, bridge rules.
No refs. No whistles.
Drei, Jax, and Kio versus Riki, Teo, and Bong (who'd just arrived holding a bag of turon like it was Gatorade).
"Bro," Bong said, handing one to Teo. "For luck."
Teo blinked. "You eat during warm-ups?"
"Energy bar," Bong said, already chewing.
The game began with noise — sneakers splashing through leftover puddles, laughter, shouts bouncing off concrete.
Drei opened with his trademark rhythm — short steps, long eyes, reading lanes like a map.
Kio set solid screens, Jax floated around the perimeter.
Every move clean, measured, familiar.
Riki, on the other hand, was messy.
Crossovers too sharp, passes too flashy, plays improvised mid-air.
It shouldn't have worked — but somehow, Teo kept finding the right place to be.
A missed layup from Riki.
Teo boxed out instinctively, caught the rebound with both hands, planted, and went straight up for the putback.
The rim rattled. The crowd of bystanders cheered under the bridge.
Jax wiped rain from his forehead. "Okay, big guy's learning fast."
Riki clapped. "See? I told you! You just gotta feel the air before it moves!"
Teo looked at him. "That doesn't make sense."
Riki grinned. "Doesn't have to."
Scene: Drei's Observation
Drei stepped off the play, leaning against a pillar, quietly studying.
The structure he'd grown up on — systems, set plays, drills — didn't exist here.
Yet these three were building something through instinct.
Not repetition. Not planning.
Just feel.
He could see it in Riki's pace — unpredictable but deliberate.
In Teo's growing awareness — every motion guided by memory, not logic.
Even Bong, ridiculous as he was, filled gaps he didn't realize existed.
Drei muttered to himself, "It's not about control… it's about rhythm."
Kio glanced over. "What?"
"Nothing," Drei said, stepping back onto the court. "Just keep up."
Scene: The Shift
Next play.
Drei took possession. Smooth, steady, his footwork crisp.
He passed to Jax on the wing — sharp cut, quick bounce pass.
But Riki was already there — intercepting mid-motion, flicking it ahead to Teo with a blind pass.
Teo caught it too far from the rim. Instinct kicked in — one dribble, pivot, step through the lane.
Kio jumped to block, but Teo twisted mid-air and laid it in clean off the glass.
The court froze for a second.
Drei exhaled. "That's new."
Riki turned, smiling through his sweat. "Nah, that's flow."
For the first time, Drei didn't argue.
He just smiled — the quiet kind that hides respect.
Scene: Aftermath
The game ended as the floodlights hummed to life, mixing gold with concrete gray.
The rain had stopped completely, but puddles reflected their shadows like echoes of motion.
Riki dropped to sit on the wet pavement, catching his breath. "Not bad for a bridge practice."
Bong sat beside him. "I almost died twice, but worth it."
Kio tossed the ball back to Drei. "You sticking around for this?"
Drei looked at Teo — the way the kid breathed after every play, focused, unsure, but lit from inside.
"Yeah," he said finally. "There's something here."
Teo tilted his head. "Something what?"
Drei smiled faintly. "Something worth building."
Scene: Closing Beat
They stayed long after dark — replaying shots, arguing about calls, laughing between echoes.
The bridge lights flickered above, casting their movements in slow rhythm.
No one said it out loud, but everyone felt it.
Something had started.
Something raw, unstable, but real.
Not teamwork. Not friendship.
Something deeper — a rhythm that didn't belong to any one of them.
The beginning of a flow.
End of Chapter 5 — "Flow Checks."