DAY 6
By the sixth day, the Castillian had already gotten used to Mico's schedules that sounded like military operations disguised as basketball routines. But when they read "Experimental Concepts" on the board that morning, even Felix looked uncertain.
"Experimental," Uno muttered, stretching lazily. "That word has never ended well in history."
Lynx grinned, spinning a ball on his finger. "That's because history never had me."
Mico crossed his arms. "Precisely why this will be a disaster."
Jairo clapped his hands once, grinning ear to ear. "Let's make it legendary!"
8:00 AM
They started at the gym with Mico explaining the rules:
"Basketball is about control under chaos. So today, I'll be chaos."
Lynx laughed. "So… a normal day for you then?"
Without hesitation, Mico tossed him a blindfold. "You first."
"Blindfolded? Bro, I can't even see the—"
"Exactly," Mico said with a straight face.
And yet, to everyone's surprise — especially Mico's — Lynx performed better.
Blindfolded, he moved purely on instinct. His dribbles were tighter, his spins smoother, his shots somehow… graceful.
Uno whistled. "He's like Daredevil with bad fashion sense."
Lynx pulled off the blindfold, smirking. "Guess I don't need eyes to own this court."
"Or logic," Mico muttered under his breath.
Then came Uno's turn. He decided to challenge himself by shooting only with his left hand. Each time the ball swished through the net, he'd hold the pose dramatically like he was in a photo shoot.
Felix, meanwhile, didn't speak a single word. He silently rebounded every missed shot, passed with precision, and reset the drills like a quiet machine. His composure grounded the chaos around him.
When the drill ended, Jairo wiped sweat from his face and said, "You know what? This was actually fun."
Mico scribbled something in his clipboard. "Noted. Fun detected. Will remove next time."
10:00 AM
Their next task was to simulate a "last five seconds" scenario — game tied, no timeouts, high pressure.
Mico explained, "You have five seconds left. Down by two. Let's see how you handle—"
"DEFENSE!!!" Jairo suddenly screamed, voice booming so loud the shot clock froze.
Everyone blinked. The digital timer flickered, then died.
"…Did you just scare the timer?" Uno asked.
Mico sighed deeply. "Congratulations. You've officially broken time."
Jairo scratched his neck. "Guess I got too hyped."
Lynx chuckled, spinning the ball. "New record — we didn't even start and we already won."
Uno stepped up with a smirk. "No worries, I declare myself the emergency timekeeper."
He held his phone dramatically. "Five… four… three…"
Lynx took off sprinting before Uno even reached two. He leaped, twisted midair — and nailed the shot.
Felix blinked. "That was… precise."
Mico just muttered, "That wasn't even a real timer."
Lynx landed, grinning. "And yet… I still made it."
5:00 PM
By evening, Mico decided to test their creativity — and his patience.
"Everyone invents a move," he announced. "Originality is the goal."
Lynx's eyes lit up immediately. "Finally! Freedom!"
He was the first to step up. Tossing the ball in the air, he sprinted, jumped without touching it, and landed with a dramatic pose.
Uno blinked. "Bro… you forgot the ball."
Lynx smirked. "It's called the Air Dunk. You don't need a ball when you're art."
Mico scribbled something again. "Noted. Artist. Needs leash."
Felix's move was subtle — a fluid, precise pivot that allowed him to intercept any pass within his reach.
He called it Silent Interval.
The others didn't even notice until he stole the ball three times in a row.
Uno's move was pure vanity: a spin-step-back shot that he named The Signature. He took three attempts before declaring, "It's perfect. Because I am."
Jairo, in contrast, introduced The War Cry Drive — basically screaming at full volume while charging toward the basket.
Effective? Yes. Terrifying? Absolutely.
Finally, it was Mico's turn. He simply stood near the baseline, holding the ball, unmoving for a full minute.
Lynx tilted his head. "Uh… you okay?"
"This," Mico said calmly, "is Strategic Patience."
Jairo whispered, "Is he meditating?"
Felix nodded. "Possibly transcending."
No one really noticed when Mico finally scored — a clean, simple layup while everyone was distracted.
Lynx blinked. "Wait, when did he—?!"
"While you were talking," Mico said. "Lesson learned."
The night ended with laughter echoing through the gym, the sound of sneakers scuffing against the floor mixing with their banter.
Uno flopped onto the floor. "I think my soul left my body around the second drill."
Lynx stretched his arms. "Nah, your soul's still posing somewhere."
Jairo laughed until he nearly fell over, and even Felix — calm, unreadable Felix — had a faint smile on his lips.
Mico watched them, arms crossed, clipboard against his chest.
---
DAY 7
By the seventh day, Mico Cein Esguerra had officially run out of synonyms for the word control.
The Castillian had survived six consecutive days of drills, simulations, lectures, and chaos disguised as discipline. And while the others celebrated with energy that could power the entire campus, Mico simply dropped his clipboard on the table and muttered,
"Sunday. No basketball. No strategy. No noise."
Uno raised a brow. "Define 'no noise.'"
Mico's eye twitched. "Don't test me."
It was official — the great Mico Cein Esguerra, genius of the Engineering Department and architect of the Castillian, had reached the end of his patience.
And for the first time since they started training… he surrendered.
8:00 AM — Rest Day, Allegedly
The agreement was simple: No basketball talk. No practice. Absolute rest.
In theory, it sounded peaceful.
In reality? Not even close.
Felix, the ever-composed architecture student, was sitting cross-legged by the campus fountain, eyes closed, breathing slowly as if he was floating.
Uno walked by, camera in hand. "Bro, are you meditating or buffering?"
Felix didn't answer. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled in perfect rhythm.
Uno zoomed in with his phone. "This is peak serenity content."
Across the field, Jairo could be seen jogging around the perimeter, shirt tied around his waist, grin plastered on his face.
Uno shouted, "Yo! What are you doing?! Mico said rest!"
Jairo waved mid-run. "Closure! My body needs closure from yesterday's training!"
Uno groaned. "Closure? You're not in a drama series!"
Meanwhile, Lynx had apparently decided that "rest" meant "challenge authority."
By mid-morning, he was on the basketball court at the edge of campus, dribbling lazily in front of two bewildered campus guards.
"First to five points wins," he declared confidently. "If I win, I get free entrance for a week."
One of the guards sighed, adjusting his cap. "You already have a pass, kid."
"Yeah," Lynx smirked, "but this is for the honor."
Five minutes later, Lynx was celebrating like he'd just won a national championship — yelling, spinning his shirt above his head, and taking selfies with the guards, who looked equally amused and exhausted.
10:00 AM
Uno, of course, documented everything.
"Day Seven," he narrated dramatically while walking backward with his phone. "Our fearless captain declared rest day… but what is rest, truly? Can one rest… when surrounded by idiots?"
He turned the camera toward Lynx, who was posing on the fountain's edge like a hero out of an anime.
Lynx grinned at the lens. "Call this 'The Return of the Street King.'"
"Street clown, maybe," Uno muttered.
Jairo photobombed the frame mid-run, throwing peace signs and yelling, "CASTILLIAN FOREVER!" before nearly tripping on a bench.
Uno stopped recording. "I swear, I'm making a documentary. Title: How My Teammates Ruined Peace."
11:30 AM
Inside the engineering building, Mico sat in front of his laptop, typing what looked like an official report. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp — trying to stay professional.
[ CASTILLIAN PERFORMANCE LOG — WEEK ONE SUMMARY ]
[ Progress: Erratic but notable
Morale: Chaotic good
Leadership stress level: Terminal ]
He sighed, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm the problem."
From outside the window came a distant yell: "UNO! FILM THIS! I'M GONNA DUNK OVER A SECURITY GUARD!"
Mico froze.
He didn't even look up. He simply reached for his phone, opened the note file, and deleted the entire paragraph he was writing.
Then he leaned back on his chair, face expressionless, and said softly to himself,
"…I give up."
3:00 PM
Despite their scattered chaos, the team somehow ended up together again — gathered at the Filipino restaurant across the street, where everything began.
Felix was quietly sipping tea. Jairo was showing videos of his "closure run." Lynx was bragging about his "legendary 1v1." And Uno was editing his day-long footage, muttering to himself about "cinematic tragedy."
Mico entered late, hair slightly messy, expression unreadable.
"Captain!" Jairo greeted, waving eagerly. "You resting well?"
Mico looked at them — his team — laughing, bickering, alive.
He didn't answer. Instead, he sat down, grabbed a menu, and said, "I'll rest when you all graduate."
The others burst out laughing. Even Mico couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.
Sunday, 11:58 PM
Later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Mico opened his digital notepad again.
For a moment, he just stared at the blank page before typing slowly:
[ This team is uncoachable.
Yet somehow, they win.
Revision #9 required — with patience and divine intervention. ]
He hit save, closed his laptop, and leaned back. Groaning as he lean back on his chair.