Morning broke slow over Manila.
The storm had passed, but the city still glistened—puddles in gutters, sunlight flashing off tricycle mirrors and stray wires.
Everywhere, cracked radios and café TVs repeated the same headlines:
"Flowstate Defeats Imperium!"
"Bridge Boys Take the Cup!"
"₱500,000 — The Underdogs Rise."
Inside Ate Bebang's carinderia, the team camped in their usual corner.
Plates stacked, rice half-eaten, laughter rising and fading.
Thea tapped the oversized check pinned to the corkboard — ₱500,000 in bold letters.
"So. What's the plan?"
Riki grinned. "Simple. Family, then home court."
Teo nodded. "Dad first."
No one argued.
Scene: Homecoming
A small jeepney eased to a stop by Teo's street.
His father stepped down carefully, thinner than before, but standing on his own.
Neighbors clapped; a kid fired a tiny paper confetti cannon; someone yelled for a group photo.
Teo steadied him at the gate.
"Welcome home," he said, quiet as a prayer.
His dad squeezed his hand. "I watched the final. You finally heard the game."
Later, Teo set the paid-in-full folder on the shelf next to old trophies.
No spotlight. No speech. Just a steady breath in a house that felt whole again.
Scene: The Bridge Rebuilt
One week later, the underpass didn't look like the one they grew up on.
New chain-link fences framed the half-court.
Fresh white paint, crisp lines, working floodlights.
Neon-pink streaks ran the baseline like speed trails.
And across the main beam: a new blast of graffiti—
FLOWSTATE
sharp angles, fast strokes, pink humming under the lamps like a signature the city refused to forget.
Riki stood under it, hands on hips. "Told you we'd make it look like art."
Bong, chewing barbecue, pointed his stick like a mic. "That's not art—that's branding."
Thea squinted up. "At least the spelling's correct."
Drei (still taped, resting) chuckled. "Leave it rough. That's how it started."
Kids looped the court with half-flat balls and unbreakable energy.
Teo, knee wrapped, handed out water cups. "Don't fight the bounce—follow it."
The next dribble from a kid fell in rhythm, not noise. Teo smiled.
Riki nodded at Thea. "These lights gonna hold?"
She patted the humming generator. "If Bong didn't 'borrow' it, yes."
Bong raised both hands. "Community-funded synergy."
Thea rolled her eyes. "Impossible, all of you."
Riki grinned. "Look what 'impossible' built."
Scene: Back Under the Lamps
That night they gathered again—taped joints, tired eyes, lighter hearts.
"No refs. No scoreboard. Just rhythm," Riki said, barefoot at midcourt.
Thea leaned on the fence. "Recovery run only."
"Scout's honor," Riki lied, then winked.
They played half-speed:
Drei one-handed jumpers.
Kio clowning a safe, almost-dunk.
Bong talking nonsense and somehow sinking corner threes.
Teo hitting cutters with touch passes like he'd been doing it for years.
At one point, the ball rolled to Riki. He spun it, glanced up at FLOWSTATE on the beam.
"Not bad for a team that started in the rain," he murmured.
Thea heard. "You didn't just start here. You defined it."
As they packed up, the streetlights flickered.
Above, jeepneys rattled past; below, someone chalked a hopscotch near the sideline.
Ate Bebang's TV, somewhere down the road, crackled through the night:
"Reports say the Governor is forming a new superteam—Imperium Reborn. Bigger names, bigger budget."
Riki laughed, launching one last shot that slid clean through the net.
"Then we'll just beat 'em again."
Thea scribbled a note on her pad:
Off-season: Concrete Beats — 3v3 Street Circuit (Riki lead).
The floodlights steadied, washing the graffiti in a soft pink glow—bold, a little messy, impossible to ignore.
They weren't chasing a dream anymore.
They were the marker on the map.
End of Volume 1 — "Flowstate."
(To be continued in Volume 2: "Concrete Beats.")