The scoreboard flickered like it was hesitating.
84–84.
Five more minutes.
The noise inside the gym was chaos — students, street kids, scouts, and side bets screaming in unison.
The referees conferred with the table, trying to look calm.
Governor Alcantara didn't blink.
He just adjusted his cufflinks, eyes fixed on the court.
Riki walked back to the huddle, breathing hard, shoes squeaking on polished wood.
Thea crouched low, drawing lines on a fresh clipboard. "Listen. Forget the whistles. Forget the noise. You just play."
Riki wiped his face with his jersey. "Then we'll play louder."
Teo stood silent beside him, chest rising slow, heavy.
His father was there — not in the stands, not in the noise — but in the way he remembered how to breathe before every free throw.
Right foot forward. Exhale. Listen.
Drei leaned in, eyes locked on Riki. "Whatever happens, no hesitation. We play our way."
Coach Alvarez stepped back, letting them lead. "Five minutes," he said. "Make it yours."
Tip-Off — Overtime Begins
Teo and Stone at center.
Whistle.
Jump.
Teo won it clean, but it wasn't just height — it was timing, rhythm, certainty.
Riki caught the tip and swung it to Drei, who curled left and hit a soft floater.
The gym shook.
86–84, Flowstate.
Raf brought the ball up, mechanical as ever.
Prime De Vera slipped a screen, nailed a jumper.
Tie again.
But something had shifted.
The bias, the whistles — they still came, but the momentum didn't care anymore.
Flowstate wasn't reacting. They were composing.
Drei's Flow
On the next possession, Drei stopped thinking.
He saw Raf glance toward the baseline before the pass even came —
He was already there.
Intercept.
Transition.
Pull-up three, quick release, all net.
89–86.
The crowd exploded.
"DREI! DREI! DREI!"
He didn't celebrate. Just turned, eyes empty, locked in.
Every rotation, every angle felt clear — not just where to move, but when.
He was in rhythm — not fast, not slow, just right.
On defense, he read everything. Hands flicked out at the perfect moment.
He wasn't chasing Imperium — he was dictating them.
Then it happened — a drive from Raf, elbow cut. Drei went to contest, but Raf stopped short.
Bodies collided.
Drei hit the floor wrong.
Crack.
The sound wasn't loud — but the silence after was.
Riki was there first, kneeling. "Don't move. Don't you dare move."
Drei grit his teeth, grabbing his knee. "I'm fine. Just—play."
The refs waved for medical, but Drei pushed their hands away.
"I can't walk," he said, voice calm but tight. "So you run."
They carried him to the bench.
Thea's eyes glistened, but she didn't speak.
Riki looked back at him once.
Promise exchanged — no words needed.
Riki's Flow
When play resumed, Riki crouched low, barefoot again.
The crowd murmured.
He closed his eyes for a second.
The gym faded.
He felt the texture of the floor, the sound of breath behind him, the heartbeat of the game.
Everything slowed.
Raf brought it up — straight posture, calm grip.
Riki smiled. "Let's dance, prince."
He darted forward, not chasing — flowing.
Cut off the first pass.
Intercepted the second.
Spin, fake, step-back.
Shot.
Swish.
91–89.
He didn't celebrate — he just walked backward, grinning, eyes burning.
He was inside the rhythm now — chaos made elegant.
Thea mouthed, He's in.
Coach Alvarez nodded. "Finally."
Teo's Flow
Imperium called timeout.
Raf sat at the bench, face unreadable.
Governor Alcantara whispered something in his ear.
Raf just nodded once.
When play resumed, Imperium's tempo tightened again — slow, suffocating, deliberate.
Riki couldn't penetrate. Kio was exhausted.
Three minutes left.
Teo stood at the post, drenched in sweat.
He glanced toward the stands —
And for the briefest second, saw a familiar face.
In the crowd — his mother clutching her phone, streaming from the hospital overseas.
His father's image — pale, smiling, whispering through a screen.
"Play your song, son."
Teo's hands tightened on the ball.
Everything slowed to rhythm — breath, heartbeat, dribble.
He caught the inbound.
Imperium trapped.
He didn't look — just felt.
Spin. Pivot. Fake. Power.
Contact — he didn't even notice.
The rim bent under the dunk.
The crowd roared.
Next play — Raf tried to cut inside. Teo stepped up, reading him half a second before he moved.
Block. Clean. Loud.
"FLOW-STATE! FLOW-STATE!" the crowd chanted.
He turned, chest heaving, neon trim glinting under sweat and light.
No more hesitation.
No more fear.
Smiling.
He blinked — gone.
But the weight on his chest lifted.
He looked down at his hands — they weren't shaking.
Next play — he called for the ball.
Riki hesitated. Teo just said, "Trust me."
He caught it midpost.
Stone pushed. Hard.
Teo didn't fight — he pivoted, passed behind the backboard.
Riki cut in. Easy layup.
The gym erupted again.
93–91.
Thea's pencil froze.
"He's reading the floor... before it happens."
Next possession, Teo blocked Stone so clean the ball rebounded halfway to half-court.
He sprinted after it, caught it on one bounce, and slammed it through the rim.
95–91.
Governor Alcantara stood up this time.
His smile — gone.
Final Minute — Burnout
Imperium adjusted — Raf took over.
Crossover. Fadeaway.
95–93.
Steal.
95–95.
Timeout Flowstate.
Thea's voice trembled but steady. "Listen. They're pressing full-court. Use Teo as a decoy. If he draws two, Riki drives. If not—"
Riki nodded. "We finish it."
Whistle.
Ball inbounded to Bong.
He fed Riki near the logo.
Riki crossed midcourt, eyes darting.
Raf shadowed him — calm, precise.
Teo set a screen so solid it rattled the stanchion.
Riki split between defenders, midair, double clutch—blocked again.
Stone's hand met the ball — clean.
But this time, Teo was there.
He snatched the rebound midair and hammered it home.
97–95.
Four seconds.
Imperium pushed — Raf running full speed, eyes locked on the rim.
Step-back. Fadeaway.
Teo's arm extended — fingertips grazing the ball.
The buzzer.
Silence.
Then — the roll.
The ball circled the rim twice... and dropped out.
Final.
Flowstate 97 – Imperium 95.
Aftermath
No one moved for a heartbeat.
Then the noise came — wild, endless.
The crowd poured over the barricades.
Riki dropped to his knees, laughing breathlessly.
Bong hugged him from behind. "Told you geometry works!"
Thea leaned against the scorer's table, smiling through tears.
Drei sat on the bench, leg iced, grinning faintly. "About time."
Teo stood under the basket, looking up.
No tears, no shouts. Just quiet.
For the first time, he wasn't playing for survival.
He was playing because he loved it.
Riki walked over, hand on Teo's back. "You led us, big man."
Teo shook his head. "We just listened."
Governor Alcantara left without a word.
Raf stayed behind, watching them — silent, calculating, something unreadable in his stare.
As the gym emptied, the scoreboard still glowed faintly.
Neon pink and white jerseys, glistening with sweat and belief.
Flowstate — alive, battered, unshakable.
End of Chapter 21 — "Overtime."