The weight of an entire season, of every practice and every battle, seemed to press down in the confined tunnel as Dasmariñas National High prepared to return to the court. The fourth quarter was not just another period of basketball; it was the final, decisive eight minutes of a war.
The scoreboard's glaring numbers told the tale of a fierce contest: Dasmariñas 47 — Antipolo 40
It was a slender lead, earned through grit and fire, but terrifyingly fragile. In the huddle, Coach Gutierrez looked into the eyes of the five warriors he trusted to carry the fight home. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense, cutting through the roaring echo from the stadium. "This is it. Tristan, control this quarter. No turnovers. Every possession ends with a good shot, you hear me? Ian, you are our anchor. They are going to get desperate. Rebound and protect that rim like your life depends on it. Daewoo, you're the mismatch at the four. Exploit it every chance you get. Aiden, Marco, be ready to fire. This is your quarter. Own it."
Their faces, slick with sweat, held a hardened resolve, their exhaustion burned away by the anticipation of the climactic final act.
Tristan Herrera (PG) Marco Garcés (SG) Aiden Santos (SF) Daewoo Kim (PF) Ian Veneracion (C)
Across the court, Antipolo High's warriors stood unchanged, their expressions grim, their home crowd screaming for a comeback. The referee's whistle blew.
Ian caught the inbound with a powerful, secure grip, immediately turning and swinging the ball to Tristan, who readied himself for one last masterful orchestration.
CJ Morales immediately picked him up, applying suffocating pressure. But Tristan's dribble was a steady, rhythmic heartbeat against the floorboards. He used a sharp crossover and a burst of speed, slipping past Morales's press with steadfast composure.
"Marco, flare right wing!" Tristan commanded. "Daewoo, high screen left! Aiden, cut baseline hard!" His eyes scanned the floor. He saw Marco dart into an open space on the wing. The pass was a perfect spiral, hitting him in stride. Marco caught it, took one hard dribble to set his feet, and pulled up for a smooth midrange jumper.
The first points of the quarter were a statement.
Swish.
Score: Dasmariñas 49 — Antipolo 40
Antipolo, refusing to be rattled, responded with brute force. Robert Dela Cruz received the ball on the low block, battling Ian fiercely for position. He used a powerful drop-step, creating a sliver of space and scoring a tough, contested hook shot over Ian's outstretched arm.
Score: Dasmariñas 49 — Antipolo 42
The crowd roared back to life. But the Dasmariñas offense was flowing with a newfound confidence. The ball swung to Daewoo, who spun gracefully off his defender and stepped back to nail a silky fadeaway midrange jump shot. The ball sliced through the air, a thing of beauty against the backdrop of raw physicality.
On the bench, Gab Lagman jumped to his feet. "THAT'S OUR POWER FORWARD! UNSTOPPABLE!"
Marco, sprinting back on defense, caught Tristan's eye and grinned. "We just keep firing, Tris! They can't stop all of us!"
The intensity ratcheted up. Allan Dela Cruz bulldozed into Ian, drawing contact but clanking the shot off the rim.
Ian, a pillar of strength, grabbed the rebound amidst a sea of bodies and fired a quick outlet pass to Tristan.
Tristan's tight handles were a mesmerizing dance. He broke past half-court, drawing two defenders, then fed a perfectly timed bounce pass to Aiden streaking down the wing.
Aiden caught it in full stride, drove hard for a quick layup, absorbed a heavy foul, and crashed to the floor. The whistle blew. The basket was good. He walked to the free-throw line, the Antipolo student section roaring to distract him. He took a deep breath, blocked it all out, and sank the shot.
Score: Dasmariñas 53 — Antipolo 49
"HOLD THE LEAD!" Coach Gutierrez's voice boomed from the sideline. "PLAY SMART! WATCH THEIR COUNTERS—NO EASY FOULS!"
But Antipolo was a champion team, and they began to fight back with desperate fury.
CJ Morales, with a hand in his face, launched a sizzling three-pointer that found nothing but the bottom of the net.
On the next possession, Sam Lopez hit a contested jumper, fading away from Aiden.
The lead was shrinking.
Score: Dasmariñas 53 — Antipolo 51
Tristan felt the pressure coiling in his stomach, but his expression remained calm. He dribbled the ball slowly up the court, his eyes narrowing. Keep calm. Trust the team. This is our moment.
He surveyed the court, then drove a weaving path toward the basket, a serpent slithering through traffic. He elevated, sinking a tough, high-arcing floater over two towering defenders to stop the bleeding.
Score: Dasmariñas 55 — Antipolo 53
Marco, feeding off the energy, pulled off a sequence of brilliant plays, driving hard to the hoop and hitting precision pull-up jumpers. Aiden used a quick step-back on the baseline, creating just enough space to drain another shot.
Score: Dasmariñas 61 — Antipolo 55
But the Dela Cruz twins were relentless. Robert scored a powerful, rim-shaking dunk that sent the crowd into a frenzy, and Allan's soft post-up jumper cut the lead further.
Score: Dasmariñas 61 — Antipolo 57
With just over a minute left, the game was a frantic blur of action. Daewoo, finding himself with the ball and the shot clock winding down, took a deep breath. With graceful fluidity, he created space and unleashed one more silky fadeaway jumper that silenced the crowd.
Score: Dasmariñas 63 — Antipolo 59
It seemed like a comfortable lead, but Antipolo pushed with a final, desperate surge. A quick three-pointer, a steal, and a fast-break layup. In the span of thirty seconds, the lead was cut to four.
Score: Dasmariñas 63 — Antipolo 61
With 15 seconds left, Ed Ramos drove the lane and scored a tough layup. Dasmariñas' lead was down to two. The crowd was a deafening wall of sound. Antipolo's press was suffocating.
Coach Gutierrez called his final timeout.
Score: Dasmariñas 63 — Antipolo 63
In the huddle, the players gasped for air. "Listen to me," Coach Gutierrez said, his voice a firm anchor in the storm. "They will trap Tristan. They know the ball is going to him. Ian, you're the inbounder. Look for Tristan first, but your second look is Marco at the elbow. Marco, that's your spot. Get there. Take the shot you've made a thousand times. Execute!"
Tristan locked eyes with Marco and gave a single, sharp nod. I trust you.
Ian took the ball. The referee handed it to him. The five-second count began. Tristan was blanketed by two defenders, fighting just to move. He wasn't open.
Marco faked a cut to the basket, then popped back hard to the free-throw line elbow. Ian saw it and delivered a perfect, crisp pass.
Marco caught it with 4.3 seconds on the clock. For a moment, time seemed to slow.
The deafening roar of the crowd faded to a dull hum. He saw the defender flying at him.
He didn't hesitate. He rose into the smooth, practiced motion of his midrange jump shot.
The ball left his fingertips, arcing perfectly toward the basket. The clock ticked... 3... 2... It kissed the front of the rim, bounced softly off the backboard—a gentle shooter's roll—and dropped cleanly through the net.
The final buzzer sounded almost instantly, a shrill, definitive cry drowned out by the eruption from the Dasmariñas bench.
Players stormed the court, hugging and cheering, a small island of green celebrating in a silent sea of blue.
Coach Gutierrez stood on the sidelines, a proud, weary smile on his face. Tristan was the first to reach Marco, grabbing him in a fierce, breathless hug. "CLUTCH! THAT WAS SO CLUTCH, MAN!"
Marco laughed, chest heaving, tears of joy and exhaustion welling in his eyes. "You drew the whole defense! That wasn't my shot, Tris. That was our shot."
Tristan pulled back, clapping him on the shoulder, his own smile wide and exhilarated. "This was our fight—and we won it together." As the team left the court, arms slung around each other, the green of Dasmariñas shone proudly under the bright lights of the stadium—a symbol of passion, unity, and the unshakeable heart of a champion.
FINAL SCORE: Dasmariñas 65 — Antipolo 63