2K BASKETBALL SYSTEM

The roar of the Laguna Stadium crowd was a living entity, a wave of hostile sound that crashed against the small, focused island of the Dasmariñas National High basketball team. They gathered in a tight huddle near the bench, the air thick with the smell of floor wax and nervous sweat. The Regional Tournament had begun, and they were in the heart of the lion's den.

Coach Gutierrez stood in the center of their circle, his presence a calming anchor in the storm. His eyes burned with a fierce pride that seemed to push back against the noise.

Coach Gutierrez: (His voice steady yet resonant, cutting through the din)

"Breathe. Listen to my voice, not theirs. This moment, right here, is the culmination of everything. Every suicide sprint you ran when your legs screamed to stop. Every late-night shooting drill. Every drop of sweat you left on our home court. You've earned the right to be here."

He slowly scanned the faces of his players, from Marco's cool confidence to Ian's stoic calm, finally landing on Tristan with an unspoken weight of trust.

Coach Gutierrez:

"They see us as visitors, as the underdogs from the city. Let's show them what Dasmariñas steel is made of. The pressure is real, and our opponent is strong, but our heart is stronger. We fight for each other, for our school, for the dream. No matter what happens out there, you look to the man next to you and you play as one."

His gaze locked onto Tristan, a clear and direct anointment of leadership.

Coach Gutierrez:

"Tristan. This is your floor. Lead us."

Tristan stepped forward, taking a deep breath, swallowing the butterflies in his stomach and channeling them into resolve. The weight of his coach's trust and his teammates' expectant eyes settled on his shoulders.

Tristan: (His voice ringing with conviction)

"Coach is right. We earned this. Look around! This is my family. This is OUR moment to show this entire region who we are. We're not just champions of a city; we're warriors. Let's play smart, let's play hard, and let's play together! Every single second counts. We rise as one, or we fall as one! Dasma on three! One… two… three!"

"DASMA!" The team roared, their hands smashing together in the center of the huddle, a unified explosion of energy.

The announcer's voice boomed over the PA system as the starting fives took the court.

"And now, the starting lineup for your Calamba West High!" The crowd erupted.

"At Point Guard, a blur with the ball, №11, Justin Palano!"

"At Shooting Guard, the silent assassin, №14, JC Mejia!"

"At Small Forward, a battle-tested scorer, №9, Andrei Vicente!"

"At Power Forward, a bulldog in the paint, №22, John Lloyd Mongan!"

"And at Center, the Calamba Skyline, №33, MJ Cariño!"

"And for the visiting Dasmariñas High!" A polite, scattered applause rippled through the stands.

"At Point Guard, their floor general, №20, Tristan Herrera!"

"At Shooting Guard, with ice in his veins, №23, Marco Gumaba!"

"At Small Forward, a fiery competitor, №7, Aiden Robinson!"

"At Power Forward, their rugged post presence, №21, Cedrick Estrella!"

"And at Center, calm under pressure, №32, Ian Veneracion!"

The referee tossed the ball high into the air. Ian and the towering MJ Cariño leaped, their hands stretching towards the ceiling. Ian, with perfect timing, got his fingertips on the leather, tapping it decisively toward Tristan. The game was on.

Tristan collected the ball, the roar of the crowd fading into a focused hum. He dribbled confidently past half-court, his eyes scanning the floor, his voice cutting through the tension.

Tristan:

"Run 'Viper'! Marco, left wing! Cedrick, screen high! Aiden, cut baseline!"

Marco sprinted to his spot on the left, using a firm screen from Cedrick to shed his defender. Tristan saw the opening for a split second and zipped a sharp, precise bounce pass between two Calamba West High players. The ball hit Marco's hands in perfect shooting rhythm. He rose, and with a fluid flick of the wrist, launched a three-pointer. The net barely moved. Swish.

Score: Dasmariñas 3 — Calamba West 0

The home crowd was silenced for a heartbeat. But Justin Palano was having none of it. He took the inbound pass and pushed the ball with electric speed, a whirlwind of motion. Tristan moved his feet, staying in front, but Palano unleashed a slick, lightning-fast crossover that made Tristan momentarily shift his weight. It was all the space Palano needed. He pulled up at the elbow, and his midrange jumper kissed the front of the rim before dropping softly through.

Score: Dasmariñas 3 — Calamba West 2

On the next possession, a defensive breakdown left Ian out of position. JC Mejia, the silent assassin, slipped past him on a backdoor cut and banked a layup off the glass with soft, practiced precision.

Score: Calamba West 4 — Dasmariñas 3

Aiden, seeing the need for an aggressive play, took command. He caught the ball on the wing, faked a shot, and drove hard into the lane, crashing into two defenders. The whistle blew. He stepped to the line and calmly sank both free throws, his expression fierce.

Score: Dasmariñas 5 — Calamba West 4

The first few minutes were a flurry of traded baskets. John Lloyd Mongan, the bulldog, bulldozed his way into the low post, scoring a tough hook shot over Cedrick's outstretched arm.

Coach Gutierrez: (From the sideline)

"Don't let him establish position, Cedrick! Box him out! Make him work for every inch!"

Cedrick gritted his teeth. On the next defensive play, he battled Mongan fiercely, denying him the ball and forcing an errant pass that went out of bounds. It was a small victory, but it sent a message.

Tristan orchestrated the offense, his voice a constant stream of direction.

Tristan:

"Ian, flash to the high post! Marco, flare to the corner!"

Ian cut sharply, receiving a pass from Tristan. He immediately fired it to Marco, who drew a defender before making the extra pass to a cutting Aiden for an easy layup.

Score: Dasmariñas 7 — Calamba West 6

Marco and Tristan shared a quick, knowing nod as they ran back on defense.

Marco:

"They're fast. But we're smarter."

Tristan:

"Every possession. Let's make every possession count."

The battle in the paint between Ian and MJ Cariño was a war of its own. Every rebound was a brutal, physical contest.

Ian: (Grunting as he fought for position)

"Not giving an inch, big guy!"

Cariño just smirked, shoving back with equal force. Their eyes locked—a fierce but respectful duel of giants.

With two minutes left in the quarter, JC Mejia got free for a split second. That's all he needed. He nailed a deep three-pointer from the wing, sending the Calamba crowd into a frenzy.

Score: Calamba West 11 — Dasmariñas 7

The momentum was shifting. The noise was deafening. Tristan, feeling the pressure, knew he had to respond. He brought the ball up court, waved off a screen from Cedrick, and isolated his defender, Palano. A fluid crossover to the right, a hard dribble left, and a sudden, sharp step-back created a sliver of space. He rose up, his form perfect, and released a clean three-pointer. Swish.

The crowd's roar was cut in half.

Score: Calamba West 11 — Dasmariñas 10

But Calamba West's Andrei Vicente answered right back, driving aggressively through the paint, drawing a foul on Aiden, and hitting both his free throws.

Score: Calamba West 13 — Dasmariñas 10

With the clock ticking down, Cedrick battled inside with Mongan again, this time tipping a missed shot to himself for a vital offensive rebound. He kicked it out to Tristan, who immediately swung it to an open Marco. Marco faked the three, drove two steps in, and fired a perfect pass to Ian, who had sealed off Cariño under the basket for a powerful layup.

Score: Calamba West 13 — Dasmariñas 12

Calamba West rushed their final possession. Palano forced a contested shot that clanged off the rim. Ian snatched the rebound and outletted it to Tristan with five seconds left. Tristan flew down the court. He saw Marco sprinting down the right wing. Two defenders converged on Tristan, and at the last second, he dropped a no-look pass behind him to a trailing Cedrick. Cedrick caught it at the free-throw line, took one dribble, and pulled up for a jumper as the horn blared. The ball hung in the air, and dropped cleanly through the net.

Final Score of the 1st Quarter: Dasmariñas 14 — Calamba West 13

The team jogged to the bench, chests heaving, hearts pounding.

Tristan: (Clapping his hands, his voice sharp)

"Good fight! That's our energy! But don't get comfortable. Stay locked in!"

Marco:

"Their number 14, Mejia, is a pure shooter. We can't give him an inch of daylight. We stay glued to him."

Coach Gutierrez met them with a fierce, proud smile, handing out water bottles.

Coach Gutierrez:

"That's how you answer a hostile crowd. Great start, but this war has just begun. They're going to come back at us even harder. Be ready."

The players drank deeply, wiping the sweat from their faces, and steeled themselves for the long journey ahead. The dream stretched far beyond the city, and the road was proving to be as daunting as it was alive with promise.

Tristan: (Quietly, to himself, as he looked at the scoreboard)

"One quarter down. Three more to go."