DAY 4
Morning in Casa de Imperium began like a military call. The air was cold, the gym echoing with the low hum of machines and the metallic rhythm of weights hitting the floor.
Mico stood by the clipboard again, expression unreadable, pencil tucked behind his ear. He didn't need to shout—his silence was pressure enough.
"Today," he said flatly, "we defend."
Jairo grinned. "Like knights?"
"No," Mico replied. "Like walls."
Lynx yawned. "Walls don't move, captain."
"Exactly."
7:00 AM
The gym was alive with noise: plates clanking, sneakers squeaking, the sound of determination and mild suffering.
Uno was supposed to be lifting dumbbells, but he vanished halfway through.
When Mico looked up from his notes, the spot where Uno once stood was now empty — only his towel remained, folded suspiciously neatly.
"Where's Uno?" Mico asked.
"Probably blending protein powder," Jairo muttered.
And he was right.
Uno reappeared minutes later, smoothie in hand, straw and all. "Hydration," he said with a smile.
Mico pinched the bridge of his nose. "New rule," he said. "Partner accountability. You move together, you rest together."
Felix raised a brow.
Mico look at him, "Yes. You're paired with Uno."
Uno blinked. "Wait, what?"
Felix smiled faintly — the kind of smile that made Uno regret all his choices. By the end of the session, Uno's smoothie had become a distant memory, replaced by pushups and silent existential questioning.
Lynx whistled, watching. "The Iron Monk strikes again."
9:15AM
"Defense isn't just blocking shots," Mico lectured, tossing the ball into the air. "It's predicting. Reading movement. Thinking one second ahead."
Lynx rolled his eyes. "So… like telepathy?"
"If that's what helps you understand," Mico said without missing a beat.
To make things interesting, Mico introduced something new —
A defense duel.
One-on-one. Whoever stopped the other more times earned bragging rights for the rest of the week.
Suddenly, everyone was motivated.
Felix stood his ground like a fortress, unmoved even when Lynx tried to fake left. Jairo played like a bull, roaring every time he intercepted the ball. Uno defended with flair — blocking a shot, then immediately fixing his hair.
Lynx, at first, complained. "Defense kills creativity!"
But the moment he got a successful steal and Jairo cheered, he smirked. "Okay, maybe not that bad."
The competitive fire spread quickly. The once-chaotic Castillian were now shouting encouragements, diving for loose balls, and celebrating every block like a championship play.
For the first time, defense didn't feel like a chore — it felt like pride.
4:00 PM
By evening, the court looked like a battlefield of focus and sweat.
Mico stood at the sideline, watching the play unfold.
He had adjusted the rule: Every steal counted double.
It was mess — but beautiful mess.
Felix's calm interceptions set the rhythm. Lynx danced through the lanes, stealing passes just to taunt Jairo. Uno and Jairo coordinated somehow through sheer noise and energy.
Mico didn't have to say much. They were learning. Not through lecture, but through instinct.
By the final whistle, everyone was breathless but laughing — a rare sight in the Iron Campus.
Uno leaned on the wall, panting. "So this is defense, huh?"
Felix nodded. "It's discipline."
Jairo grinned. "It's fun!"
Lynx smirked. "It's domination."
---
DAY 5
By Friday, the Castillian were running on caffeine, adrenaline, and the faint illusion of progress.
Their muscles ached, their brains buzzed, and their humor—somehow—survived everything.
Mico stood before them again, clipboard in hand, like a professor about to conduct the world's most unpredictable thesis defense.
"Today," he began, "we integrate mind and movement."
Uno yawned. "So… thinking while sweating?"
"Precisely," Mico replied. "Congratulations. You're evolving."
8:00 AM
The projector flickered to life, showing clips of their previous scrimmages. It was supposed to be serious film analysis.
It was not.
Jairo leaned forward, eyes wide. "Pause! Did you see my rebound there?"
Felix, deadpan: "You missed the follow-up layup."
Uno pointed at the screen. "Zoom in! Look at my hair bounce in slow motion."
"Uno," Mico said quietly, "this is not a shampoo commercial."
Then came Lynx's turn.
The rule was simple: each player picked one clip to analyze — theirs or an opponent's.
Lynx chose… his own dunk. Five times. From five different angles.
Jairo groaned. "We get it, man. Gravity fears you."
Lynx smirked. "And you should too."
Mico scribbled something in his notebook — probably a reminder to limit self-selected highlights forever.
By the end of the session, the team had managed to learn something: Felix noticed spacing errors, Jairo recognized timing issues, Uno finally saw what "defensive rotation" actually meant (sort of), and Lynx—well—discovered his favorite camera angle.
9:00 AM
The tactical formations meeting was supposed to be "structured."
Keyword: supposed.
Previously, they'd used whiteboard markers — which ended in tragedy when one mysteriously vanished into Lynx's hair and reappeared hours later.
So Mico upgraded to PowerPoint.
"Markers are banned," he announced. "Digital only. PowerPoint respected."
He tapped the remote. The first slide appeared: [ Zone vs. Man: Defensive Intelligence and Counterplay. ]
Uno squinted. "That's… a lot of words."
Felix adjusted his glasses. "It's basic theory."
Lynx stretched his arms. "Can we just play instead?"
Mico sighed. "Not until you understand why you play."
The next 45 minutes were a blur of animated arrows, diagrams, and debates that sounded like philosophy class.
Felix dissected each formation like a surgeon. Jairo nodded aggressively at every term he didn't understand. Uno doodled on his notes and labeled his stick figures "Strategic Icons." Lynx… tried to use the laser pointer as a lightsaber.
By the time Mico ended the session, the team had learned something intangible — maybe not tactics, but at least how to sit still for an hour.
Progress, in its own messiness way.
4:00 PM
The final session of the week was Mico's ultimate experiment: Team System versus Team Passion — structured play versus pure instinct.
Mico stood at center court, clipboard ready. "Today's rule: Winner is whoever scores and keeps the rim intact."
Jairo blinked. "Wait. And keeps it—?"
"Don't ask. Just play."
The whistle blew.
Felix led Team System, crisp passes and textbook spacing.
Lynx captained Team Passion, playing like the court was an art form and gravity was optional. Uno, on Lynx's team, was madness incarnate — faking passes that confused even himself.
Jairo tried to dunk through three defenders.
The rim shook.
Mico paused mid-note. "If it breaks again, you're paying for it."
By the last five minutes, something extraordinary happened — Felix's precision and Lynx's improvisation clicked.
The court became a dance of calculation and instinct, structure and emotion, all somehow synchronized.
When the buzzer sounded, the score didn't even matter.
The rim was still standing. No one stormed out.
And for the first time, Mico didn't have to choose between control and madness —
because the Castillian finally balanced both.
The players collapsed on the floor, breathing hard, drenched in victory and exhaustion. Mico leaned on the wall, watching them laugh, argue, and mock each other like brothers.
He looked up again, faint smile on his lips. For the first time all week, everything — the drills, the shouting, the pushups, even the near-destruction of the gym — felt worth it.
The Castillian weren't just a team anymore. They were becoming a system with a soul.