The carinderia buzzed louder than the electric fans.
Plates clattered. Oil hissed. Somewhere in the back, Ate Bebang shouted at the TV, where the Governor's Cup replay flickered between static and heartbreak.
"Hoy! Ref! You blind or just allergic to fair calls?"
The whole carinderia laughed — except Flowstate.
Riki sat slouched at their corner table, chin on his hand.
Even the steam from his rice looked tired.
"Even the replay's rigged," he muttered.
Bong forked into his sisig. "Rigged or not, it's still masarap."
He chewed like nothing in the world could ruin his appetite.
"Losses taste better with suka anyway."
Thea sighed from behind her notebook. "Can we eat without turning this into therapy?"
Riki tapped his spoon against his glass. "This is therapy. We're hydrating with soft drinks and regret."
Across from them, Teo sat quietly, elbows on his knees. His plate was untouched.
He watched the flicker of the TV — Wave's last assist, the one that sealed Flowstate's loss.
Jax muttered, "That guy doesn't even sweat."
Drei replied, "He does. He just makes it look like confidence."
Thea scribbled a few lines in her notes. "Confidence and timing. They never forced plays."
Riki groaned. "Can we not analyze while I'm still emotionally bleeding?"
Ate Bebang dropped a new plate of rice onto their table.
"Eat before I substitute you with my son!"
Right on cue, a small voice from the counter piped up,
"Kuya Riki, you lost again?"
Everyone turned.
There he was — Ate Bebang's kid — maybe seven, sitting on a stool beside the cash box, swinging his legs, halo-halo melting in front of him.
He wasn't shy; he never was.
Riki sighed. "You keeping score now?"
The kid grinned. "Nanay said you'd be here sulking again."
Bong laughed. "Sharp tongue. Definitely her kid."
Thea raised an eyebrow. "Future sports analyst."
Ate Bebang called from the kitchen, "He just repeats what he hears from the grown-ups!"
The boy blinked, watching the team quietly for a moment.
"You still gonna play again?"
Riki looked at him, spoon halfway to his mouth.
"Course we are. You think losing's the end?"
The kid shrugged. "Feels like it."
Riki leaned back, thinking, then smiled a little.
"Listen, little man. Whatever happens — whatever losses come your way…"
He flicked a grain of rice at the kid, playful.
"… ayos lang yan."
The boy frowned. "Ayos?"
"Means it's fine," Riki said. "You just learn, laugh, and go again."
The kid nodded slowly, like storing the word somewhere important.
"Ayos," he repeated, testing the sound.
Bong grinned. "See? He already learned faster than Jax."
"Hey!" Jax protested, mouth full.
The table finally laughed again.
Scene: Rain & Reflection
The rain started outside — thin but steady, drumming softly against the tin awning.
Light from the streetlamps reflected off puddles like faint memories trying to shine again.
On the TV, the announcer's voice cut through the chatter:
"Next up — the Steel Vipers vs. Flowstate in a lower-bracket elimination game. Winner stays glowing."
Kio whistled low. "That's us. Snakes next."
Drei stretched his shoulders. "Venom Lao. Heard he doesn't talk trash — just scores quietly."
Riki leaned back. "I can fix that. I talk enough for both of us."
Thea looked at them, clipboard pressed to her chest.
"This isn't about flash anymore. One mistake and it's over. No more hero moves."
Riki nodded. "Got it."
Bong raised his glass. "So... still chaos, just smarter chaos?"
"Controlled chaos," Thea corrected. "Big difference."
The rain thickened, soft thunder rolling over the bridge nearby.
Riki stood, tossing a few bills onto the counter. "C'mon. I know where we end this night."
Scene: Under the Bridge
They walked through the drizzle — back to where it all began.
The bridge loomed above, humming with the sound of traffic and memory.
The half-court beneath was cracked, muddy, and perfect.
Teo stood under the rim, eyes following the chipped orange metal.
Riki passed him the ball. "Your move, big man."
Teo dribbled once, pivoted, went up — not too hard, just enough to let it drop clean through the net.
Thea watched from under her umbrella. Drei rebounded and passed back without a word.
Soon it was rhythm again:
Pass. Step. Drive. Pivot.
Rain mixing with sweat.
Echoes of loss turning into motion.
From the carinderia doorway, the faint sound of a small voice cut through the rain:
"Ayos!"
Riki looked back, smiling.
Even from that far, it hit like a cheer.
He caught the rebound, spun the ball once on his fingertip, and grinned.
"Next time," he said, "we don't just play hard."
Teo nodded. "We play right."
Thea closed her umbrella and joined them under the drizzle.
Bong smirked. "New team motto?"
Riki chuckled. "Nah. Just practice."
The bridge lights flickered, neon pink trims gleaming faintly through soaked jerseys.
They weren't perfect. They weren't winning.
But for the first time since the loss — everything felt ayos.
End of Chapter 17 — "Carinderia Nights"