🌙 The Night Before Regionals
The entire Gubat delegation—basketball, badminton, volleyball, tennis, and yes, even chess—was crammed into the community center's main hall. Mats covered the floor, bags and jackets hung on railings, and the air still carried the laughter from earlier games, impromptu dancing, and off-key karaoke.
But now, the room had settled into a hush.
At the front stood four figures:
Coach Dan, tall and rumpled, a basketball strategist with a clipboard, a dry wit, and a soft spot he barely hid.
Coach Cely, calm and grounded—the heartbeat of the badminton team.
Coach Leia, loud, proud, maternal, flanked by her volleyball girls like ducklings in matching hoodies.
And Coach Tonton, youngest of them all, perpetually wearing sunglasses—even indoors at night—smirking behind his iced coffee.
Coach Dan stepped up first, clearing his throat.
"Tomorrow's Regionals," he said. "We're not just showing up to play—we're showing up as Gubat."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"And you all know what that name means."
"It means resilience. It means grit. It means playing with joy—even when you're down by twenty. Fire—even when your shots don't fall."
Karl and Randy exchanged sheepish glances. Yeah, they'd been down by twenty. More than once.
Then Coach Cely stepped forward, voice gentle, steady.
"Some of you picked up a racket for the first time this year. Some of you just learned to serve. And some of you—" she glanced meaningfully at Alona, "—found something deeper than winning."
A few badminton girls elbowed each other, snickering quietly.
Coach Leia was next. She pulled the mic from the stand like she was about to belt a power ballad.
"No tears tomorrow unless they're from joy or a sprained ankle. You hear me?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
"You've fought your way here. We started with players who didn't know what 'rotation' meant. Now?"
She pointed at Clarisse and the twins.
"Now we've got blockers like a brick wall and spikes that sound like thunder."
The volleyball girls cheered, clapping their shoes on the floor like war drums.
Finally, Coach Tonton raised his cup of iced coffee.
"My tennis kids—Mira, Jomar—you've cursed me more times than I can count, but you've also played like warriors."
He gave a crooked grin.
"And to the rest of you—don't think I haven't seen the secret sauce that's kept us all going."
Everyone leaned in slightly.
"It's each other. Look around. This is Gubat."
Silence followed.
A soft, proud silence.
Then came the stomping. The clapping. The whistles. The shout from Nina:
"GUBAT SA LABAN!"
The chant echoed through the hall—loud, proud, and wild with heart.
Somewhere near the edge of the mats, Randy muttered, "Still can't believe I lost that chess game," and Dane gave him a slow, solemn pat on the back.
🌄 The Quiet Sunrise
She couldn't sleep.
Alona wandered out before dawn, sandals in hand, hair still tangled from restless tossing. The air was crisp and salty as she walked barefoot toward the breakwater, guided by the hush of waves.
There, sitting on the rocks, was Dane.
Knees up. Hoodie pulled low. Staring into the dark horizon like it might blink back.
"Knew you'd be here," Alona said, easing down beside him.
"Couldn't sleep," Dane murmured. "Feels like the world's... holding its breath."
She nodded. "I know."
They sat in silence, side by side, as the stars began to fade and the sea turned the color of pewter.
"I used to think I was too quiet to be good at sports," Alona said, her voice just above a whisper. "But now I think... I was just listening. To the rhythm. To my team."
"I used to think I had to carry everything by myself," Dane said. "Turns out I just had to trust them."
He turned to her.
"And trust you."
She met his gaze, cheeks warm, eyes steady.
Quietly, she reached out—slow, uncertain—and laced her fingers with his.
They sat like that as the first rays of sunlight spilled across the sea, turning the waves into gold.
Everything felt a little bigger. A little braver. A little more real.
"Whatever happens at Regionals," Alona whispered, "I'm glad we got here. Together."
Dane squeezed her hand, small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Me too."
Behind them, their teammates were just beginning to stir. Zippers unzipped. Slippers slid. A cough, a yawn, a sleepy laugh.
But for this moment—just this one—the world stood still.