(Manila — Afternoon, Two Weeks After La Union)
The rain had been falling since noon.
It blurred jeepney lights, washed the color out of the city, turned the pavement into mirrors.
Inside State U Gym B, the air was thick with humidity and half-serious shouting.
Coach Yssa leaned on a mop like a staff.
"This isn't a practice, this is a charity event. So act human."
Mika Yamaguchi Alvarado checked her clipboard, already smudged from moisture.
Her shirt stuck to her back.
Tom Ramos jogged by, towel draped like a cape.
"Manager, umbrella drill next?"
She didn't look up. "Keep talking and I'll schedule push-ups instead."
He laughed, and she caught herself smiling before wiping it off her face.
Scene 1 — The Scrimmage
The game was half chaos, half showmanship.
Neighborhood kids clung to the bleachers; vendors sold siomai at the door.
Rain hammered the roof so hard the court lights flickered.
Mika moved along the sideline, shouting reminders, clipboard held like a shield.
"Hydration! Rotation! Tom, stop flexing for the audience!"
He pointed at a group of cheering students. "Team morale!"
Coach Yssa muttered, "Flirtation isn't morale," but didn't stop him.
By halftime, the gym smelled of wet sneakers and sugar.
Mika crouched near the cooler, refilling cups, when Tom sat beside her—close enough that their elbows brushed.
She froze.
He pretended not to notice.
"Good job, Manager."
"You're dripping on my notes."
He looked at her, rain in his hair, grin softer than usual. "Then look somewhere else."
The whistle blew. She fled before her heartbeat gave her away.
Scene 2 — The Blackout
Third quarter.
Thunder cracked overhead; the lights blinked once and died.
For a heartbeat, only rain and the squeak of shoes remained.
"Manager!" someone yelled.
Coach Yssa's voice came from the dark: "Mika, control the panic!"
She inhaled, raised her voice. "Everyone, phones up! Exit rows—right side first!"
Light flared from a dozen screens.
She guided people out by glow, soaked halfway through her jacket.
When she turned, Tom was beside her again, flashlight under his chin like a campfire ghost.
"Boo."
She nearly dropped her clipboard. "You're an idiot."
"Effective idiot. No one else was brave enough to scare the boss."
He held the beam steady while she checked the players.
Rain echoed through the rafters.
The flashlight wobbled once; his fingers brushed hers.
Neither moved.
Then the generator kicked in—buzz, light, reality returning like an interruption.
They stepped apart, too quickly.
Scene 3 — After the Game
The scrimmage ended early, the scoreboard blank.
Outside, the rain thickened to curtains of silver.
Coach Yssa handed Mika the keys. "Lock up. I'm taking a tricycle before this turns biblical."
She was gone before Mika could protest.
Tom lingered, spinning a ball on one finger.
"Need help?"
"I'm fine."
"Translation: yes."
They stacked chairs in silence.
The gym lights buzzed.
When the last echo faded, he tossed her a bottle of water.
"Drink. Science recommends it."
She snorted. "Copying my jokes now?"
"Borrowing permanently."
They both laughed—then didn't.
Scene 4 — Walk Home
Outside, the street was a river of headlights.
Mika opened her umbrella; a gust flipped it inside out.
Tom raised his, tilting it over both of them.
"Shared custody again," he said.
"Sixty-forty."
"You're learning."
They walked in rhythm, puddles reflecting yellow light.
At a corner, thunder rolled close.
She flinched; he steadied her arm without thinking.
Neither spoke.
His hand stayed a second too long before he let go.
They stopped under a streetlamp, breath fogging between them.
"You ever stop pretending?" he asked quietly.
"I'm not pretending right now."
"Good," he said.
Then smiled—half-smile, half-retreat.
"Rain check, then."
Before she could answer, he jogged ahead, the umbrella catching the light as he disappeared into the downpour.
Scene 5 — Night
Mika dried her notes under the desk fan.
The city still murmured with rain.
Her phone buzzed.
Tom: [thanks for not panicking.]
Mika: [thank me when we win something.]
Tom: [too practical. fine—rain check accepted.]
Mika: [probability says no.]
Tom: [then let's change the variables.]
She stared at the screen until the message faded into standby glow.
Outside, thunder rolled again—low, patient, like a drumbeat waiting for its next cue.
She didn't smile, not fully.
But the corner of her mouth gave her away.
End of Episode 4 — "Rain Check."
(Next Episode: "Half-Time Hearts." When rhythm becomes reason.)