Morning sunlight spilled through the windows of Court Room B, hitting the freshly printed copies spread neatly on the table. The new training schedule — Revision Nine — gleamed like a declaration of war.
Mico stood beside it, clipboard in hand, face calm as if he was about to deliver a sermon instead of a death sentence.
Across him sat his team, still half-awake, their expressions a mix of curiosity and dread.
Jairo leaned forward first. "What's this, Cap?"
"Your future," Mico replied flatly.
Lynx yawned. "If this involves running before sunrise again, I'm out."
"It's better," Mico said, handing each of them a copy. "Version Nine. Discipline meets reality."
Uno took his paper, skimmed the bold lines on top — and immediately squinted.
"Wait, wait. 5:00 AM Roll Call? 100 pushups for lateness?" He looked up, horrified. "Are you trying to kill us before we even qualify?"
"That's Version 1," Mico clarified calmly, as if that somehow made it better.
"Version 1?" Lynx blinked. "There's more than one?"
"Of course."
Mico turned to the whiteboard where he had written two columns:
[ Version 1: The Dream and Version 2: The Damage Control ]
Underneath, neatly written in his signature engineer's handwriting, were the comparisons.
5:00–5:30 AM: Roll Call. 100 pushups for lateness.
7:00 AM: "Flexible Call Time." Early = points. Late = glares.
5:30–7:00 AM: 5 km run.
7:30–8:15 AM: Dynamic cardio & group sprints.
7:30–9:00 AM: Fundamentals.
8:30–10:00 AM: Fundamentals + "Cone Insurance Fund." (Every broken cone = $20 fine.)
4:00–7:00 PM: Silent scrimmage.
4:00–6:00 PM: "Controlled Chaos Drill." Trash talk allowed — as long as it's motivational.
For a long moment, silence filled the room.
Then Uno dropped his copy on the floor. "Nope. I'm done. I'm flying back to the Philippines. I'll just become a motivational speaker or something."
Lynx groaned, rubbing his face. "Who wakes up at five?! Even the sun hits snooze at that hour."
Jairo was reading both columns side by side, looking more confused than angry. "Wait… why's there a fine for cones?"
"Because you broke them," Mico said, not even looking up from his clipboard.
Felix, the only one who wasn't complaining, folded his copy neatly. "I can adjust to either version. As long as there's structure."
Uno turned to him. "Bro, that's not structure. That's suffering with a schedule!"
Lynx raised his hand. "Can we just skip to the one with less cardio? My knees have unionized."
Mico sighed. "You're all dramatic."
He walked toward the whiteboard, tapped the "Version 2" column.
"This is the final plan. Adjusted. Reasonable. And survivable — for most of you."
"Most?" Uno repeated. "So someone's not surviving?"
"Depends on attendance," Mico replied.
Jairo slumped against the bench, mumbling, "Bro's really building the military here."
"Correction," Mico said. "I'm building a system."
---
They stood on the outdoor track at exactly 7:00 AM, the chill biting their lungs.
Mico held his stopwatch like it was divine judgment.
"Welcome to Day One of the new program," he announced. "Version 2. The kinder one."
Uno muttered under his breath, "Define kinder."
Mico ignored him. "Dynamic cardio warm-up — group sprints. Felix, you lead. Jairo, you're the pacer. Lynx, Uno—"
"—the complainers," Uno interrupted.
"—the entertainment," Mico corrected sharply. "Now move."
And just like that, Castillian's first day under the newly balanced schedule began — a storm of panting, shouting, and creative swearing.
Felix maintained perfect stride. Jairo tried to motivate the group but accidentally screamed at a passing janitor. Lynx tripped over a cone. Uno fake-coughed halfway through the sprint, claiming "altitude sickness."
By the time they finished, Mico was scribbling notes furiously. His margin comments, later that night, would read:
[ Results:
- Felix: Consistent.
- Jairo: Loud.
- Lynx: Collateral damage.
- Uno: Missing in action (went to buy iced coffee mid-run) ]
Afternoon
Inside the gym, Mico divided them into two squads: Order and Disorder.
The goal: score, but only after a defensive rebound and a full set pass.
The twist: trash talk is allowed — if it's motivational.
Jairo shouted, "You got this, you beautiful disaster!"
Lynx responded, "Your face motivates no one!"
Uno laughed so hard he missed a layup.
Felix, silent as always, just blocked three consecutive shots and whispered, "Focus."
The scrimmage ended in laughter, sweat, and semi-functional teamwork.
For the first time, Mico didn't look frustrated. He just watched — arms crossed, faint smirk visible.
That night...
Back in his dorm, Mico stared at the revised schedule pinned on the wall. Beneath it, he had written one quiet note:
[ Version 1 = dictatorship.
Version 2 = democracy.
Still ends in mutiny. ]
---
DAY 2
Tuesday arrived with the same cruel honesty as Monday — too early, too bright, and too loud for people who just wanted to sleep.
Mico stood by the gym door at exactly 7:59 AM, clipboard in hand, waiting for his team like an unamused guardian angel.
Felix was already stretching quietly. Jairo came jogging, balancing a half-eaten sandwich. Uno sauntered in at 8:01, holding an iced coffee and his phone angled perfectly for a selfie. And Lynx? He skateboarded through the hall, almost crashing into the water dispenser.
"Well, good morning," Mico muttered.
8:00 AM
The new system had one rule: whoever performs best gets "mirror privileges" — the right to use the gym's wall mirror during breaks.
Mico didn't think it would work. He was wrong.
Uno, motivated by vanity and vengeance, became a machine.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
He shot like a man who believed reflection was a birthright.
"See that form?" Uno bragged after his fifth consecutive three-pointer. "That's cinematic excellence."
Jairo, dripping sweat beside him, groaned. "You look like you're filming a shampoo ad."
"Let me have my art," Uno shot back, posing after every shot.
Meanwhile, Lynx was practicing dunks again despite the "no excessive dunking" note in bold letters on the wall.
He ignored it proudly. "If gravity's not my friend, I'll just make it jealous."
The rim rattled in protest.
Felix stayed in his corner, rhythmically shooting in near silence, every motion perfectly measured. His shots made a calm thump-swish sound that contrasted beautifully with Uno's dramatics and Lynx's chaos.
Mico's pen scribbled notes rapidly:
[ Felix — mechanical consistency
Uno — emotionally motivated
Lynx — defies laws of logic and restraint
Jairo — heart over form
Summary: attempted precision. achieved personality ]
By the time Mico blew his whistle, the scoreboard showed Uno leading by one point — and flexing in the mirror as if he'd just won an Olympic medal.
Lynx threw his towel at him. "Mirror's cracked because of your ego, bro."
Uno winked. "Perfection has reflections, not cracks."
9:15 AM
The next part of the training was supposed to test intelligence and creativity.
Supposed to.
Mico rolled out a giant whiteboard, divided into zones representing offensive and defensive plays. "Design your own strategy," he said. "Simple, effective, visual."
At first, everyone seemed serious.
Felix started diagramming angles.
Jairo was writing arrows and motivational quotes like 'DEFENSE = DESTINY!'
Uno used multicolored markers to make his arrows sparkle.
Then Lynx — of course — began doodling flames around everything.
"Lynx," Mico said sharply, "that's not—"
"Energy, coach," Lynx interrupted. "You feel it? The fire's our spirit."
He added more flames. Then a dragon. Then wings on the basketball icon.
By the time Mico noticed, half of the strategy board looked like an album cover.
Felix stared at it, genuinely impressed. "It's… conceptually bold."
Uno grinned. "Bro just rebranded us mid-training."
Jairo nodded in approval. "We're the Castillian Dragons now?"
Mico pinched the bridge of his nose. "No one is a dragon."
But later that evening, when he finalized the new team logo for their group chat, he reluctantly traced some of Lynx's flames into the border.
Just a little. For aesthetic balance.
4:00 PM
When evening came, Mico announced their final drill of the day: "Efficiency Match. Bonus points for minimal dribbles. Maximum assists."
Uno frowned. "So… no showing off?"
"Exactly."
"That's emotional sabotage," Uno muttered.
The scrimmage began.
Felix played clean, smart passes.
Jairo charged forward with unstoppable enthusiasm.
Uno somehow managed to pose while passing.
And Lynx—
—Lynx discovered yet another loophole.
"Coach said three-dribble limit, right?" he said mid-play.
"Yes."
"So technically, if I spin while holding the ball—"
"That's still one dribble, Lynx."
"But if the spin's stylish enough—"
"It's still one dribble."
"Then I'm fine," Lynx grinned, spinning anyway.
The match ended in laughter, sweat, and Mico's signature disappointed sigh.
When he reviewed his notes that night, his final margin read:
[ Tried to train robots.
Ended up managing artists. ]
And though he'd never admit it aloud, a faint smile crossed his lips.
Because for all their stubbornness and showmanship — the passes were sharper, the teamwork smoother, and for the first time, the court felt alive.
---
DAY 3
The third day was supposed to be quiet.
Keyword: supposed.
Mico came to the gym in a rare moment of optimism — a quiet morning breeze, calm sunlight through the glass roof, and a belief that maybe, just maybe, today would be peaceful.
Then Jairo entered the room yelling, "INNER PEACE!"
That belief died instantly.
8:00 AM
Felix, calm as a monk, sat cross-legged in front of the team. The lights were dimmed, incense faintly burning from the corner. "Focus on your breathing," he said softly. "Let go of distraction."
Uno wore tinted glasses. Lynx sat upright but snored within five minutes. Jairo was trying to hum background music that no one asked for.
Mico's eyes twitched. "Rule update," he said flatly. "Anyone who shouts or hums gets five minutes of silence timeout."
Jairo instantly raised his hand. "What if it's motivational shouting?"
"Five minutes."
"…Understood."
The only one actually meditating properly was Felix, who seemed to exist on a higher plane. Even the sound of Lynx's half-snore didn't faze him.
When Mico checked his watch, thirty minutes had passed.
Miraculously, the team was quiet.
Peace, finally—
Until Lynx mumbled in his sleep, "Pass… ball… fire…" and swung his arm so suddenly that he hit Uno's shoulder.
Uno's glasses flew off. Chaos reawakened.
Mico sighed. "Meditation helps… until Lynx starts levitating emotionally."
9:00 AM
They gathered around the court with eyes closed. Felix led again, voice smooth as water.
"Picture yourself making the perfect shot," he said. "Feel the rhythm. The sound of the crowd fades. You are one with the game."
Uno, of course, raised a hand. "Can my crowd have a spotlight?"
Felix opened one eye. "…If it helps your focus."
"Thank you, sensei," Uno whispered dramatically.
Jairo clenched his fists, whispering, "This is it. Championship. Ten seconds left."
Felix nodded in approval. "Good visualization."
Meanwhile, Lynx's eyes were open the whole time. "I'm picturing a slam dunk so wild they have to rebuild the rim," he said.
Mico didn't even react anymore. "As long as you make it."
Felix smiled faintly. "At least everyone's imagining progress," he said.
Mico muttered, "Imagining, yes. Achieving… we'll see."
4:00 PM
By afternoon, Mico brought out a new drill.
"Today, points double for assists," he announced. "You only score as a team."
Uno frowned. "So no solo highlights?"
"No heroes," Mico confirmed.
"Then who gets the glory?"
"The team."
Uno blinked. "Conceptually confusing."
Still, they played.
Felix controlled the defense like a calm storm, anticipating every move. Jairo chased every ball like his life depended on it.
Lynx turned his flashy plays into assists — reluctantly but effectively.
Uno actually passed. Twice. Without posing.
For a moment, Mico couldn't believe what he was seeing: Teamwork. Real, functioning teamwork.
The ball moved fluidly, every pass connecting like instinct.
When Lynx finally dunked after three perfect assists, even Mico clapped once — discreetly, of course.
When practice ended, everyone collapsed on the court, panting and laughing.
Jairo grinned. "We're unstoppable, man!"
Lynx smirked. "Guess we're evolving."
Uno wiped sweat from his forehead. "Evolution looks good on me."
Mico didn't bother to comment.
And as the sun lowered behind Casa de Imperium's glass walls, Mico realized something quietly profound:
The Castillian weren't meant to be tamed. They were meant to be synchronized.