For most teams, registration was just a formality. For the Castillians, it was a national holiday.
The moment Lynx handed over the signed form to the league office and heard the satisfying clack of the stamp of approval, it was as if the world tilted in their favor. They didn't even wait for confirmation emails. They just knew.
They were in.
Five minutes later, the Castillian basketball team — newly registered, questionably coached, and dangerously proud — stormed the campus cafeteria like victorious conquerors.
"THIS IS IT!" Lynx shouted, kicking open the door like it owed him money. "CASTILLIAN'S FIRST DAY IN HISTORY!"
Uno followed, waving the receipt like a championship banner. "We are officially official!"
Jairo raised both arms. "And hungry!"
Felix sighed, already heading toward the counter. "Of course."
They pooled whatever cash they had. It wasn't much — mostly coins, a crumpled $5, and one cafeteria voucher from Mico's bag — but it was enough to buy pancit and iced coffee for everyone nearby.
"EVERYONE GET PAN–CIT!" Lynx yelled, mispronouncing it dramatically on purpose.
A few students stared. Then cheered. Because honestly, who says no to free food?
Within minutes, half the cafeteria was celebrating a victory they didn't understand.
Felix raised his cup of water like a solemn knight. "To discipline, persistence, and teamwork."
Lynx immediately clinked it with someone else's iced mocha. "And to caffeine-fueled immortality!"
Uno started handing out tissue papers, scribbling his signature with a borrowed pen. "There you go. Early autograph. Sell it when I'm famous."
"Uno," Mico said without looking up from his notebook, "no one asked."
"That's what makes it valuable."
Meanwhile, Jairo stood on one of the cafeteria benches. "EVERYBODY SAY IT WITH ME—CASTILLIAN!"
A few voices echoed.
He pumped his fist. "LOUDER!"
"CASTILLIAN!"
"AGAIN!"
"CASTILLIAN!!"
The chant grew until the entire cafeteria — even the confused freshmen and janitors — were yelling it in rhythm.
Plates clattered. Cups spilled. And then, predictably, the cafeteria supervisor appeared.
"OUT. NOW."
The entire team froze.
Then Lynx grinned sheepishly. "Worth it."
They were escorted out amid laughter, cheers, and a chorus of "CASTILLIAN! CASTILLIAN!" fading down the hallway.
---
Meanwhile...
While the others basked in their spontaneous fame, Mico sat at a corner, a half-eaten plate of pancit beside his open notebook.
His pen tapped rhythmically as he scribbled in bullet points:
• Jerseys — design, color, logo (ask Lynx, he'll overdo it).
• Team funds — nonexistent. Fix that.
• Equipment — balls, cones, first aid kit.
• Strategy update — tailor drills for league rules.
• Prof. Damaso — confirm if he'll actually attend practices.
He sighed, flipping to a fresh page.
This wasn't a celebration for him — it was a deadline.
Every victory chant reminded him of the pressure waiting around the corner: real opponents, real referees, real games.
And yet… when he looked up at his team — Uno laughing too hard, Jairo still shouting random cheers, Lynx trying to balance a tray on his head, Felix pretending not to know them — Mico couldn't help but smile.
They were a mess. But they were his mess.
---
The noise of the cafeteria still echoed in their ears when they returned to the court.
Mico walked in with a clipboard. The others trailed behind, still buzzing from sugar and adrenaline.
"Alright," Mico started, "celebration's over. From now on, we prepare for the Casa Intra-University League. That means—"
"Winning?" Lynx grinned.
"Surviving," Mico corrected. "We're registered, but we're not ready. We need jerseys, funds, coordination, and—"
"—A miracle?" Uno offered.
Mico didn't even look up. "That's number four on the list."
Felix crossed his arms. "And the schedule?"
"Coming," Mico replied. "But before that, we need a team identity. Something that makes us more than just a bunch of noisy idiots with matching shirts."
Lynx raised his hand. "Can we still be noisy?"
Mico exhaled. "…Within reason."
They all nodded in unison — which was, admittedly, a bad sign for reason.
---
The euphoria of their cafeteria conquest hadn't even cooled when Mico sent a message to the team group chat:
MICO: Meeting. 3 PM. Gym. Strategy session.
FELIX: Got it.
JAIRO: Copy, Cap!
UNO: Can we move it to golden hour lighting?
LYNX: I'll be there in spirit 😎
Mico ignored the emoji. He had learned to translate it as "I won't be there."
By 3:00 PM sharp, only Felix and Jairo were in the gym.
Felix, as always, was calm and prepared — notebook, pen, towel folded neatly beside him. Jairo was sitting upside down on the bleachers, whistling the school hymn through a Gatorade bottle.
Mico stood in front of the whiteboard, marker in hand, drawing clean lines for a simple motion offense. He tried not to glance at his watch too often.
3:15.
3:30.
At 3:40, the gym doors creaked open. Uno entered, wearing sunglasses indoors and carrying an iced latte.
"Sorry, traffic in the hallway," he said dramatically. "Also, I needed natural light for my pre-practice selfie. The lighting here is so harsh, Mico."
Mico stared at him. "You live in the same dorm as Jairo."
Uno smiled. "Exactly. Harsh commute."
Jairo snorted. Felix sighed.
By 4:00 PM, Mico finally asked, "Where's Lynx?"
No one answered — until Jairo checked his phone and burst out laughing.
"Uh, Cap? He just posted a story. Says, 'Repping Castillian pride! Streetball style!'"
Mico's jaw clenched. "Streetball? Where?"
"Outside the campus gate," Felix replied without looking up. "With strangers."
"During our strategy meeting."
"Apparently."
Mico rubbed his temples. "Of course."
Outside, the faint sound of cheering drifted through the open windows. Lynx's name was being chanted by random bystanders. The words "one more dunk!" echoed faintly across the courtyard.
Uno shrugged. "At least he's practicing."
"Uno, he's recruiting fans, not teammates."
"Still builds morale."
Determined not to waste the day, Mico turned back to the board.
"Alright, for those who actually arrived, we'll go over formations. Felix, center anchor. Jairo, we'll use your aggression for defensive rotation. Uno—"
"Lighting expert?"
"—bench."
Uno gasped theatrically. "Rude."
Jairo laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bleachers.
They spent the next hour running skeleton drills with three people. Felix executed every move perfectly. Jairo's energy kept the rhythm alive. Uno, once he stopped fixing his hair reflection on a water bottle, actually contributed… for five whole minutes.
By the time Lynx finally appeared — drenched in sweat, holding a streetball trophy that looked suspiciously like a repurposed soda bottle — Mico was done.
"Where have you been?"
"Winning," Lynx replied, grinning. "We got third place in the streetball rush tournament. That's good luck for the league, right?"
"Right," Mico said flatly. "Because nothing says discipline like random illegal tournaments."
Lynx tilted his head. "You sound proud."
"I sound tired."
---
When the Castillian boys first registered for the Imperial Collegiate League, they didn't have a team uniform yet — just oversized confidence and Lynx's promise that he had "an aesthetic vision."
That, of course, was the first mistake.
According to Lynx, design meetings didn't need sketches. They needed "vibes." So instead of fabric samples, he brought mood boards.
Instead of colors, he talked about "energy palettes."
Felix wanted classic white and gold. Mico suggested navy blue for professionalism. Uno insisted on mirror silver because "it reflects greatness." Jairo just wanted flames somewhere — anywhere.
Lynx, naturally, ignored everyone.
"This," he announced, showing them a sketch he'd made on a napkin, "is visionary."
Mico squinted. "That's… half a lion, half a basketball."
"With wings," Lynx added proudly.
"And… are those rhinestones?" Felix asked.
"Symbolism," Lynx said. "For sparkle and struggle."
Uno clapped. "Genius."
Mico groaned. "This isn't a concert, Lynx. It's a league."
"Exactly," Lynx replied. "So we should look legendary."
---
Mico's Margin:
[ I wanted a meeting about teamwork.
I got streetball, selfies, and sparkly lions. ]