If Tristan's house was a warm, cozy home, and Gab's house was a practical fortress of solitude, Marco's house was a statement.
Located in the most exclusive subdivision in the city, the "Gumaba Estate"—as Marco insisted on calling it—was a sprawling modern mansion with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a four-car garage, and a landscaping budget that probably exceeded the GDP of a small island nation.
Tristan and Gab stood at the massive narra wood double doors.
"You know," Gab said, adjusting his collar. "I always forget he's rich. He acts like a street hustler when he bargains for fishballs."
"That's Marco's charm," Tristan grinned. "He's a billionaire on a budget."
Tristan rang the doorbell.
It didn't ring. It chimed a melodic sequence that sounded suspiciously like the opening notes of the Chicago Bulls intro music.
The door swung open.
Marco stood there.
He was wearing a silk bathrobe over swimming trunks, sunglasses (indoors), and holding a goblet of orange juice.
"WELCOME!" Marco roared, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer. "Welcome to the Sanctuary of Champions! The Dojo of Leisure! The House that Three-Pointers Built!"
"Your parents built this, Marco," Gab corrected him immediately, walking past him.
"Details!" Marco waved his hand dismissively. "Come in! The boys are already at the pool. We are just waiting for the Captain and the Wall."
They walked through the living room, which was decorated with abstract art and, predictably, a framed jersey of Marco from the Palarong Pambansa.
They stepped out into the backyard.
It was paradise. A massive kidney-shaped swimming pool sparkled in the afternoon sun. Next to it was a half-court basketball setup with a professional glass backboard. A DJ booth (unmanned, just playing a Spotify playlist) was blasting upbeat reggae.
The team was there. The entire roster of the Dasmariñas High "Dog Pound."
Aiden, small forward, was tentatively dipping his toe in the pool.
Daewoo, their Korean sharpshooter, was sitting on a lounge chair wearing a straw hat, diligently applying sunblock to his already pale skin.
The "Bench Mob"—Ian, Cedrick, Felix, Mark, Joshua, Joseph, and John—were currently engaged in a heated game of water volleyball.
"Cap is here!" Aiden shouted, spotting Tristan.
"General on deck!" Ian yelled from the water, spiking the ball into Felix's face.
Tristan smiled, feeling a rush of warmth. These were his soldiers. This was the unit that had defied the odds.
"Relax, guys," Tristan called out. "No ranks today. Just vibes."
Marco led them to a long buffet table set up under a white canopy.
"Gentlemen," Marco announced, gesturing grandly. "I told the caterers: 'Feed them like they just ran a marathon.' Behold!"
It was a spread worthy of a fiesta.
There were three types of pasta (Carbonara, Truffle, and Spaghetti). There were towering platters of Buffalo wings, Calamares, and Gambas. There was a carving station with a Roast Beef sirloin.
And, because it was Marco, there was a dedicated "Street Food Corner" with high-end versions of Isaw, Betamax, and Kwek-Kwek presented on slate platters.
"Is that... Wagyu Isaw?" Gab asked, squinting at the skewers.
"A5 Wagyu cubes grilled on charcoal," Marco confirmed. "Only the best for my brothers."
Gab looked at the food with religious devotion. "I take back everything bad I said about you. You are a good man."
They loaded their plates. The team sat around two large round tables near the pool.
The atmosphere was rowdy.
"So," Cedrick said, chewing on a wing. "Are we talking about the World Cup today? Or is that banned?"
"Banned," Tristan ruled, slicing his roast beef. "For the next six hours, we are not the Basketball Team. We are just the Dog Pound. No tactics. No pressure."
"Thank you!" Mark sighed. "Because I had a nightmare last night that Coach G was making me run suicides until I puke blood."
"That wasn't a nightmare," Felix laughed. "That was a premonition."
After letting the food settle (and Gab eating a second round of roast beef), the madness began.
"POOL BASKETBALL!" Marco announced, throwing a waterproof ball into the water. "Seniors vs. Juniors! Losers drink the... Mystery Smoothie!"
He pointed to a blender where Joshua was mixing ingredients that looked like kale, hot sauce, and raw eggs.
"I'm not drinking that," Aiden said, terrified.
"Then don't lose," Daewoo said, suddenly competitive, taking off his straw hat.
The game was chaos.
Tristan, Marco, Gab, Daewoo, and Ian formed the Seniors team.
Aiden, Cedrick, Felix, Mark, Joshua, Joseph, and John formed the Juniors (they had the numbers advantage).
The pool turned into a battlefield of splashing water and trash talk.
"Box out! Box out!" Gab yelled, treating the water like the paint, physically moving three juniors aside with his broad shoulders.
"Foul! Excessive force!" John cried as Gab dunked the ball over him.
"No fouls in the water!" Marco screamed, attempting a 360-spin move that resulted in him slipping and swallowing a mouthful of pool water.
Tristan was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. He watched Daewoo, who was usually quiet and polite, fiercely guarding Joseph.
"No pass! No pass!" Daewoo shouted.
In the end, the Seniors won 15-12, thanks to a game-winning alley-oop from Tristan to Gab.
The Juniors gathered around the Mystery Smoothie.
"Bottoms up," Marco commanded like a cruel emperor.
Aiden took a sip, gagged, and looked like he saw god. "It tastes like... spicy grass."
The whole team erupted in laughter.
Night fell, and the string lights above the patio turned on, casting a warm amber glow over the party.
The activity shifted to the most important sport in the Philippines: Videoke.
A massive screen was wheeled out. Two wireless microphones were activated.
"Score mode is ON," Marco declared. "If you score below 80, you do ten pushups."
Joseph and John started with a duet of Narda by Kamikazee. They were off-key, loud, and energetic. Score: 85.
Then, Ian took the mic and sang a surprisingly soulful rendition of Simply Jessie, revealing a hidden talent that shocked everyone.
"Ian!" Tristan clapped. "Why are you on the bench? You should be on The Voice!"
"Basketball is my passion, singing is my fallback," Ian grinned.
Then, the chant started.
"DAE-WOO! DAE-WOO! DAE-WOO!"
The Korean looked shy, shaking his head.
"Come on, oppa!" Marco handed him the mic. "Show us the K-Pop training!"
Daewoo sighed, took the mic, and scrolled through the song list. He punched in a code.
The intro to Pusong Bato started playing.
The team lost their minds.
"NO WAY!" Gab yelled.
Daewoo didn't just sing it; he poured his soul into it.
"Di mo alam dahil sa yo... ako'y di makakain..."
His accent was thick, but the emotion was 100% Filipino melodrama. He fell to his knees during the chorus.
Score: 98.
"MVP! MVP!" The team chanted, bowing down to Daewoo.
The energy eventually mellowed. The food was mostly gone. The videoke was turned down to background music.
They sat around a gas-powered fire pit on the patio's lounge area. The night breeze was cool, a reminder that the year was ending.
Marco brought out a cooler of sodas and beers (for those of age, though most stuck to soda knowing Coach G's rules).
"Can I say something?" Aiden asked, his voice cutting through the quiet chatter.
The group turned to the Daewoo.
Daewoo was holding a can of Coke, looking nervous.
"I just... I want to say thank you," Daewoo said, looking at the seniors. "At the start of the year, I thought I was going to quit. I thought I wasn't good enough for Dasmariñas High. But... you guys, especially Cap and Marco... you didn't let me."
Tristan nodded, leaning forward. "You had the talent, Daewoo. You just needed the confidence."
"Yeah," Daewoo smiled. "And now... we're champions. It feels fake. Like, did we really do that?"
"We did," Gab said, his voice deep and steady. "And we bled for it."
Cedrick, one of the starter players, spoke up. "Can I be honest? When Tristan came back from the loss from Inter-Barangay Championship, and then Marco transferred... I thought, 'Okay, I'm never playing again.' I was jealous."
The circle went quiet. It was a brave admission.
"But then," Cedrick continued, looking at Tristan. "You passed me the ball in the practice game. You told me to shoot. You treated the second unit like we were starters. That changed everything. We didn't feel like benchwarmers. We felt like... reserves. Like a secret weapon."
Tristan felt a lump in his throat. The "System" gave him stats for leadership, but hearing it directly was different.
"You guys saved us in the Semi-finals," Tristan said seriously. "When Gab was in foul trouble and Marco was cold... the bench won that game. Never forget that. The trophy belongs to all fifteen of us."
Marco stood up. He wasn't cracking a joke for once.
He raised his glass.
"To the Dog Pound," Marco said softly. "A bunch of rejects, benchwarmers, and weirdos who took over the country."
"To the Dog Pound!" the team chorused, raising their drinks.
Tristan looked around the circle.
He saw Daewoo, who had found a home in a foreign land.
He saw Gab, who had found a purpose beyond just being tall.
He saw Marco, who had found brothers who didn't care about his money.
He saw the rookies and the bench, who had found their pride.
"Guys," Tristan started. The group hushed. When the Captain spoke, they listened.
"2015 was our year. We shocked everyone. We took the Palaro. We took the respect."
He paused, the firelight reflecting in his eyes.
"But 2016... 2016 is going to be harder. The world is watching now. They have tapes on us. They know our plays. They know Marco goes left. They know Gab hates perimeter defense."
"Hey!" Gab protested.
"It's true," Tristan smiled. "The element of surprise is gone. Now, we have to win with pure skill and grit."
He stood up.
"I know I'm going to be busy with the U-18 National Team. But I want you guys to know... this team, this school, is still the priority. We come back stronger. We bring the World Cup experience back here."
He looked at John and the juniors.
"You guys have to step up. When we graduate... this is your house."
John looked terrified but nodded solemnly. "We got you, Cap."
"Wait!" Marco yelled, breaking the somber moment. "I almost forgot! The Year-End Gift!"
He ran into the house and came back carrying a large duffel bag.
"Since I am generous, and since my dad got a tax break..."
He unzipped the bag.
Inside were boxes of shoes.
"New kicks for everyone!" Marco announced.
The team went wild.
"No way!" Mark yelled, grabbing a box. "LeBron 21s?!"
"Kobes!" Felix gasped.
"I got everyone's size," Marco grinned. "Tristan helped me with the list."
Tristan watched as his teammates opened the boxes like it was Christmas morning all over again. The joy was pure. New basketball shoes were the ultimate currency for hoopers.
"Daewoo, look!" Marco handed him a pair of custom-colored shoes. "Red, White, and Blue. Korean flag colors."
Daewoo looked at the shoes, then at Marco. He stood up and hugged Marco.
"Thank you, brother," Daewoo said.
"Don't cry on my silk robe," Marco laughed, hugging him back.
The party continued late into the night. They played Charades (where Gab proved to be terribly uncreative), ate the leftovers, and swam until their fingers were pruned.
As midnight approached, signaling the end of the party, they gathered one last time by the gate.
Drivers were arriving. Parents were picking up the younger ones.
"See you next year!" Joshua waved, clutching his new shoes.
"Practice on January 2nd!" Tristan reminded them.
"You're a tyrant, Cap!" Ian yelled back, but he was smiling.
Finally, it was just the Trio left. Tristan, Marco, and Gab.
They stood on the driveway of the estate.
"Good party," Gab admitted. "The food was... acceptable."
"Acceptable?" Marco scoffed. "It was legendary! I am the Gatsby of Dasmariñas!"
Tristan looked up at the night sky. It was clear.
"We did good, boys," Tristan said.
"We did," Gab agreed.
"Next stop," Marco pointed to the horizon. "The World."
Tristan checked his mental interface.
[TEAM MORALE: MAXIMUM]
[CHEMISTRY: 100%]
[YEAR-END ASSESSMENT: COMPLETE]
[STATUS: READY FOR WORLD STAGE]
He smiled. The System confirmed what he already felt.
"Let's go home," Tristan said. "We have a big year ahead."
They bumped fists—a three-way lock.
The Fire, The Wall, and The General.
The year 2015 ended not with a buzzer-beater, but with laughter, full stomachs, and the silent, unbreakable bond of a team that had become a family.
As Tristan walked to his ride, he looked back one last time at the Gumaba Estate. The lights were turning off, but the energy remained.
The Dog Pound was sleeping for now. But when they woke up, the world better be ready.