Morning in Manila always came too loud.
Jeepneys blaring, vendors shouting, sunlight sneaking through the smog like it had something to prove.
Inside the college gym, that noise found its match — sneakers squeaking, balls bouncing, and Coach Alvarez's whistle slicing through the air like a threat.
"AGAIN!"
His voice echoed across the rafters.
Riki groaned mid-drill, chest heaving.
"Coach, we've been running suicides for thirty minutes!"
Alvarez barked, "Should've thought of that before turning SingZone Family KTV into It's Showtime!"
Bong snorted, immediately regretted it. The whistle hit again.
"YOU think this is funny, Velasco?"
"No, Coach! I just— ow— lungs disagree, Coach!"
Thea stood on the sideline, clipboard in hand, expression halfway between guilt and pride.
She hadn't told the coach how exactly the Flowstate vs Iron Tide karaoke war started — only that there had been "an unfortunate musical misunderstanding."
Drei jogged past her, quiet as usual, towel over his shoulder.
"Coach is mad."
Thea nodded. "That's one word."
"He's still humming Noypi under his breath," Drei added.
"Trauma does that," she sighed.
Scene: Drills and Disarray
"Form up!" Alvarez shouted.
The team lined up — Riki, Teo, Bong, Kio, Jax, Drei — still catching their breath.
Alvarez paced. "You want to act like a team? Then move like one.
No karaoke moves, no bridge-court show-offs. Here, it's structure."
He tossed the ball to Riki. "Set one!"
Riki blinked. "What's set one?"
"Exactly!" Alvarez roared. "You don't even have plays!"
Bong muttered, "We got rhythm, Coach."
"Then tap-dance your way through these screens!"
The whistle blew. Motion exploded.
Teo boxed out too wide. Riki over-dribbled. Kio cut early. Jax tripped on a cone.
Bong shouted, "We call that jazz basketball!"
The whistle shrieked again.
"Structured chaos!" Alvarez snapped. "That's what this is!"
But then — something clicked.
Teo caught a rebound mid-drill, handed it clean to Riki.
Riki no-look passed to Kio, who hit a quick jumper off the backboard.
Small rhythm, brief moment — but real.
Alvarez crossed his arms. "Accident?"
Thea smirked. "Flow."
He scowled. "Lucky."
Riki grinned. "Same thing, Coach."
Scene: The Governor's Cup Announcement
A knock on the gym door cut through the noise.
An intern poked his head in, waving a poster still warm from the printer.
"Sir! Bracket's out!"
The entire gym froze.
Even Coach Alvarez stopped pacing.
Thea grabbed the sheet, eyes scanning fast.
Her smile faltered, then returned sharper.
"Well… looks like we don't have to wait long."
She flipped the poster around.
GOVERNOR'S CUP OPENING MATCH — FLOWSTATE vs IRON TIDE
Silence.
Then Bong whistled. "Universe got jokes."
Riki cracked his knuckles. "Good. I still owe them a rematch — mic to rim."
Drei raised an eyebrow. "They're ranked second."
"Then we upset second," Riki said.
Teo adjusted his wrist tape, quiet but focused. "They'll be expecting a mess."
Thea smiled. "Then let's give them controlled chaos."
Coach Alvarez sighed, muttering, "God help me," before blowing his whistle again.
"Alright! You heard the lady! Ten laps, then we run plays until my ears stop ringing!"
Scene: After Practice
Sunlight slanted through the gym windows, catching dust and sweat in gold.
The team sprawled across the bleachers, exhausted but wired.
Bong leaned back. "So… karaoke rematch if we win?"
Thea didn't look up from her clipboard. "If you win, I'll buy the first hour."
Riki grinned. "That's a promise."
Teo smirked. "You planning to sing again, Manager?"
"Only if we win," she said, standing. "And you'll harmonize."
The gym echoed with laughter, sneakers squeaking as they got up.
Outside, the city was still loud, still radiant —
but now, Flowstate moved with its own pulse.
Somewhere across town, under the same Manila sky,
Iron Tide's coach was taping the same bracket to their wall.
The next song wasn't going to be sung.
It was going to be played.
End of Chapter 10 — Structured Chaos