The moment Castillian's helicopter touched down at the Casa de Imperium campus, the world exploded.
Students surrounded the landing pad in a sea of crimson and gold, waving banners, firing confetti cannons, and shouting their names with a feverish excitement usually reserved for celebrities or returning war heroes. It wasn't just a crowd — it was a celebration fit for emperors. Security had to form thick lines just to make a path for the team to step onto solid ground.
As soon as Mico's foot touched the pavement, the chanting grew deafening.
"CASTILLIAN! CASTILLIAN!"
"IMPERIAL COMMANDER!"
"LYNX-NATION!"
"UNO, NOTICE ME!"
Prof. Damaso had to practically shove his way through the masses, yelling, "Let them breathe! They still have bruises!" But no one listened — this wasn't just school pride anymore. This was hysteria.
Inside the campus, banners hung from buildings, electronic billboards replayed their game highlights every hour, and the university fountain had been dyed gold for the occasion. Professors watched from balconies with fond (and slightly terrified) expressions. Departments held mini-parades. Clubs postponed meetings. Even the notoriously stoic guards at the main gate cracked smiles and snapped pictures.
In the center of it all, Castillian walked like they were in slow motion.
Lynx had sunglasses on again — except this time, it made sense. He could barely walk three steps without a swarm of students screaming his name, asking him to sign shoes, jerseys, notebooks, even one girl's cast on her arm. Someone from the Arts Department ran up and handed him a charcoal portrait of his "game face." He winked. She fainted.
Uno, naturally, thrived. He twirled pens before signing autographs, posed for pictures like a K-pop idol, did finger hearts and smirks, and somehow gathered a line of admirers that wrapped around the fountain twice. Within minutes, fan accounts titled "Unovision," "Unoverse," and "Uno's Angels" were trending on Chinese and Filipino social media.
Jairo was chaos incarnate. He lifted fans off the ground in excitement, participated in three spontaneous dance challenges, and accepted every food item offered to him. Someone handed him a 6-foot banner with his face on it; he carried it like a national flag. And when a group of girls shouted, "Jairo, we love you!"
He genuinely looked confused before shouting back, "YOU DO?! I LOVE YOU ALL TOO!"
They screamed.
Felix became an instant campus mystery heartthrob — the "silent, charming one." Students filmed him quietly bowing to fans, helping an overwhelmed freshman move aside from the crowd, and politely saying "xièxie" whenever someone handed him gifts. Fanpages posted slowed, music-overlaid edits of him rebounding, smiling shyly, or pushing his hair back. He had no idea why they were screaming.
And Mico…
Mico walked at the center, quiet but commanding, every eye on him. His new title — Imperial Commander — followed him everywhere.
Students whispered as he passed:
"That's him."
"The mastermind."
"The Captain."
"He's even more handsome in person—"
Every reporter wanted his quote. Every club wanted him as a guest. Every student wanted a photo. Even professors bowed their heads respectfully. His cold confidence, his sharp gaze, the way he carried himself — it made him magnetic. The kind of presence that wasn't just admired… but revered.
Across Mainland China, news outlets replayed their championship run, breaking down every highlight. Their images were plastered on bus stops, mall screens, and sports channels. Teenagers mimicked Lynx's side-step three, Uno's passes, and Jairo's dunks. Felix trended on Weibo as "籃球冷美男 (Cold Basketball Prince)." Mico became the face of leadership threads, motivational edits, and even business articles labeled:
[ The Imperial Commander: How a Captain Redefined Chaos. ]
In the Philippines, airports displayed welcome banners. Families hosted viewing parties. Schools replayed their games during assemblies. Local celebrities reacted to clips, and old classmates bragged, "I knew them before they blew up." They weren't just athletes anymore — they were national icons.
Back in the Casa campus, standing on the elevated stage built specifically for their return ceremony, the five of them looked out over thousands of cheering students.
They used to be campus crushes — boys admired from afar for their talent or looks.
But today?
They were heartthrobs. Icons. Legends made in real time.
---
Offers came pouring in like a flood the moment Castillian returned to their routines.
Brand sponsorships. Endorsement deals. Interview requests. Collab proposals from influencers. Exhibition game invites from top universities in Korea, Japan, Singapore, and even Australia.
One Chinese pro-development team even offered to fly to Casa de Imperium just to scrimmage with them.
And Castillian? They declined.
Not politely — flat-out declined with the unbothered confidence of newly crowned champions.
"Respectfully, we're tired."
"Maybe next month."
"We'll think about it."
"Jairo can't feel his knees."
"Felix wants to sleep for seventy hours."
But the truth — the real truth — was simple.
They wanted to enjoy their fame while the spotlight was still warm. To scroll through fan edits. To respond with emojis to fan messages. To eat free food students secretly left outside their dorm. To let themselves bask in the surreal reality that they were now Asia's favorite underdog-turned-superstars.
Everyone was content.
Except Mico. Castillian's Captain had no intentions of letting their victory turn into complacency.
While the others lounged in their dorm rooms, Mico was already in the gym at dawn, running drills alone, planning new plays, sketching strategies on an old whiteboard, replaying clips of their performances and muttering, "We can still improve this."
By the second day, he dragged them back into training.
Uno protested dramatically, "Commander, we just won! Let us digest the glory!"
Lynx threw himself facedown on the floor. "I'm dead. I died. This is my ghost."
Jairo simply said, "My legs have filed a resignation letter."
Felix, exhausted but loyal, simply sighed and tied his shoes anyway.
Mico didn't budge. "Champions train," he said. "Every day. Especially now."
And then he discovered the new problem: They no longer trained in private.
Somehow — and no one knew exactly how — word spread that Castillian had returned to their usual practice hours.
By the next afternoon, the gym had an audience.
At first it was a handful of Casa de Imperium students. Then students from nearby universities came. Then students from far-off provinces took day trips. Then vloggers. Then sports analysts. Then local news reporters. Then entertainment reporters. Then international reporters.
And somehow, by the end of the week, their training sessions looked like this: Fans pressed against the glass windows. Tripods and cameras around the court. Students chanting Lynx's name. Vloggers doing live commentary. Journalists comparing Mico to a "young military commander". Professors watching from the balcony like proud parents. Security stationed at every entrance because the gym kept reaching capacity
Mico hated it.
Not the crowd — he didn't mind pressure. But the distraction.
He wanted order. Precision. Discipline.
So he made a rule. "You can watch," he announced loudly, "but no interrupting, no shouting, and no stepping on the court."
The audience went silent.
Then someone whispered, "He's so strict…"
And another whispered, "That's hot."
Mico pretended he didn't hear that part.
Even with exhaustion weighing on every step, the team pushed themselves — motivated by their Captain's intensity and maybe, just maybe, by the eyes watching them.
Every shot Lynx made earned murmurs of awe. Every pass Uno threw — even the messy ones — earned gasps. Every rebound Felix grabbed made people clap. Every dunk Jairo slammed shook the gym. Every direction Mico gave echoed like command from a general.
They were tired. They were sore. They wanted a break.
But as they trained with hundreds watching…
They began to realize.... this wasn't just pressure. This was destiny tightening around them — drawing them forward. They were no longer the misfits of Casa de Imperium.
They were Asia's rising stars.
And under Mico's relentless leadership, they wouldn't let that fire fade.
Not now. Not ever.