Monday's grueling training session still lingered in their muscles, but by Wednesday morning, the Black Mambas were back on their home court at Barangay Burol II, their minds sharper than ever. This week was no ordinary week — it was the final stretch before facing the Yellow Submariners, arguably the toughest test yet on their road to the championship.
Tristan pulled his jersey over a damp undershirt, the fabric sticking softly to his skin. The early morning sun cast long shadows over the court, and the chatter of neighbors and children playing nearby was surprisingly soothing.
Coach Gutierrez paced the sideline, clipboard in hand, eyes on every detail as the players warmed up with focused stretches and ball drills.
"Neighbors are already talking about the match," Gab said quietly as he dribbled slowly down the court beside him.
Tristan glanced at Gab, breath rising in gentle puffs. "It's getting real. No more practice games — now every move counts."
Gab nodded, flicking the ball from one hand to the other. "I hope we're ready. Jomar Reyes can be a nightmare inside."
Tristan forced a small smile. "We will be."
Coach called the team to huddle near the bench, voice calm but filled with gravity.
"Alright, Mambas. The Yellow Submariners are dangerous, but not invincible. We've studied their tape, saw their habits, weaknesses, and strengths. This week we sharpen both offense and defense with a clear goal: control the paint, disrupt their big man, and never stop pushing on defense."
Marco, bouncing a ball in rhythm, raised his hand with a confident grin. "How aggressive are we going on Jomar Reyes? Double team from the start?"
Coach's eyes met Marco's. "Steady but firm. He's strong and smart—we trap him carefully, force tough passes but don't gamble carelessly or you give them open shooters."
Kyle chimed in, wiping sweat. "What about their shooters? Santos tends to heat up quick."
Felix nodded. "Pressure on the perimeter has to be tighter, no open looks. Kyle and Gab, that's your battle."
Coach smiled faintly. "Correct. Communication and awareness will win this series. And remember, our strength is teamwork."
Tristan stepped forward. "We've learned a lot from the previous matches, especially ball control under pressure. We have to execute flawlessly — no sloppy passes, no rushed shots."
Coach nodded his approval. "Exactly. We sharpen everything this week: conditioning, shooting, defense. And we grow stronger as one."
The morning unfolded into a blur of targeted drills. Coach pushed the team harder than before but with clearer purpose.
Tristan and Marco ran through ball-handling under double-team pressure, weaving through cones while teammates mimicked traps from simulated Submariner defenders.
"Eyes up!" Coach shouted. "Look beyond the trap. Find your teammates. Control the pace!"
Joseph lunged for a steal that Tristan deflected with a sharp behind-the-back pass to Kyle. Kyle bustled downcourt for a layup.
"Good read!" Coach encouraged loudly. "Keep that vision."
Gab and Felix worked on aggressive post defense — sliding feet, blocking angles, and timing jumps. When Felix timed a solid block on Gab during a drill, players laughed breathlessly.
Coach didn't miss the moment. "Spirit, boys! Play with that fire when it counts."
—
By midweek, the team worked on endurance and scrimmage plays designed to mimic the Submariners' tempo.
Coach called a timeout after a fast break led by Reynaldo, the team's assistant coach filling in as the Submariners' simulated point guard.
"We do not chase rebounds blindly," Coach said during the break. "Box out first, then fight for the ball. Jomar Reyes thrives on second chances."
Tristan wiped sweat from his brow. "We will have to be relentless."
As the sun dipped lower Tuesday afternoon, the team gathered by the bleachers for a break. Thirsty but energized, they sprawled out on benches.
Felix, never one for small talk, surprised them by asking softly, "How are you all holding up? I mean — mentally?"
Gab furrowed his brow. "It's tough. Every day we push harder. Sometimes, it feels like we're carrying the weight of the whole barangay."
Kyle looked uncertain. "I'm nervous. Reyes' style is intimidating — reminds me of some games back in high school when I felt totally outmatched."
Marco laughed, clapping Kyle on the back. "We're all a little nervous. But that's what fuels us."
Tristan sat quietly, listening—and then said, "It's okay to be scared. But we can't let it stop us. We have each other, and that makes us stronger."
Felix nodded approvingly. "We win together, lose together. No one faces Jomar Reyes alone."
Gab offered a smile. "We're a family—like Coach keeps saying."
Joseph, quiet until now, added softly: "I think that's what's different about us. When I play, I don't just think about my points — I think about who I'm passing to, who's covering, who has my back."
—
That night, sitting on the court's worn steps, Tristan found himself alone with Coach Gutierrez.
"Coach," Tristan began cautiously, "how do you keep calm when the pressure mounts? When every possession feels like it could break you?"
Coach's eyes crinkled with a soft smile. "Pressure is the finest fire — it refines you. Remember why you play, who you play for, and that your team is stronger than any one player or moment. Control what you can — then trust."
Tristan nodded slowly, absorbing the wisdom that went beyond basketball.
Thursday's dawn brought drizzling rain outside, but inside the gym, the Black Mambas were burning with energy.
Coach pushed a full-court scrimmage designed to simulate different phases of the Submariners' offense and defense.
Tristan found himself doubled, pressuring defenders, orchestrating plays, each thrust of the ball a reminder of the stakes.
After a tough possession in scrimmage, Marco jogged over, breathing hard.
"You're good with your passes under pressure. That no-look to Kyle a few plays back — textbook."
Tristan chuckled, "Thanks. Had to keep my head clear."
Kyle smiled, "That pass helped me break free, score. We all need those moments."
Gab joined them, "Offense is one thing, but defense wins games. Hold the line tomorrow."
Felix grunted in agreement, "Every rebound, every block — it counts."
—
Coach called the team in close at the end of practice.
"Tomorrow we rest, review, and mentally prepare. You've earned it. But keep your minds sharp."
The team huddled hands in the center.
"Black Mambas!"
"Fight!"
Friday morning was quiet, but the Black Mambas gathered in the basketball court early for light shooting and stretching.
The community had begun to buzz about the Saturday game.
Parents, neighbors, and friends stopped to nod encouragingly.
Tristan absorbed it all, feeling the shared hopes but focusing on the task ahead.
Marco said softly, "One sleep until game day."
Kyle added, "We're ready. We've worked too hard to stop now."
Coach gave a final piece of advice in the group huddle.
"Remember — play your game. Honor every moment. Play for your family, barangay, and yourself."
The teammates looked around at each other, knowing tomorrow was more than a game — it was their proving ground.
Later that evening, the team gathered quietly in their usual spot near the court.
Felix broke the thoughtful silence. "Whatever happens on the court, this team is what I'm proudest of."
Gab smiled widely. "It's bigger than basketball. We carry something in here."
Tristan met everyone's eyes. "We've grown so much since day one. No matter what the scoreboard says on Saturday, that's something no team can take away."
Kyle laughed softly, "Plus, winning is always better."
They all laughed, and for a moment, the pressure lifted.
Saturday morning's light poured softly across the court outside the gym where the Black Mambas gathered before heading to Dasmariñas Arena.
Coach looked each player in the eye.
"Today, you carry the hearts of our community. You carry your own dreams. Be proud — be fearless — be champions."
The team stepped forward together, heads high, hearts steady.
The game against the Yellow Submariners was waiting.
And the Black Mambas were ready.