After the chaotic scrimmage against the Griffons, Mico decided it was time to bring order — or at least attempt it.
He arrived at the Casa de Imperium gym with a stack of papers, a whistle that only he ever used properly, and the face of a man who hadn't slept since the buzzer broke.
"Gentlemen," he began, setting the papers on the table like sacred scripture, "this—" he tapped the cover, "—is our playbook."
The team leaned in.
Pages filled with arrows, rotations, and defensive sets sprawled across the diagrams like a battlefield of logic. There were flowcharts, contingency plans, even mathematical notes on shot efficiency.
Mico spoke with the conviction of a general. "If we master this, we'll not just compete—we'll dominate."
Silence.
Then Lynx squinted at the diagram, flipped the page sideways, and said, "It looks like a spaghetti recipe."
Uno nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I can almost smell the marinara." Then he took his pen and began doodling hearts around his own name.
Mico inhaled deeply through his nose. "That's not—Uno, stop drawing. This is serious."
Felix, ever the calm one, studied the pages like sacred text. "I understand it," he said quietly. "It's about discipline, spacing, patience."
Jairo raised his hand like he was volunteering for battle. "So basically… Operation Destruction?"
"No," Mico said, already tired. "It's Operation Structure."
"Destruction sounds cooler," Jairo replied. "Let's go with that."
Across the court, Prof. Damaso sipped his coffee while grading philosophy papers. Mico handed him a copy of the playbook for "official approval."
The professor flipped through it, hummed thoughtfully, and finally scrawled something across the cover in red ink:
[ Beautifully delusional ]
Then he handed it back without looking up. "Proceed, gentlemen," he said. "Reality will do the rest."
The team stared at each other.
Uno whispered, "Is that… a compliment?"
Lynx smirked. "It's art. He gets it."
Felix closed the folder carefully. "Then let's make it real."
Jairo cracked his knuckles. "Operation Destruction begins."
Mico sighed, rubbing his temples, but deep down — he couldn't help smiling.
Because even if they turned every plan upside down, even if "discipline" became "disaster," one thing was clear: Castillian might not follow the rules, but they always showed up.
And in their own unpredictable, half-functional, chaos-powered way — they were starting to look like a real team.
---
The posters appeared overnight — bold, golden letters shining from every hallway, bulletin board, and classroom wall:
"Imperial Collegiate League: The Battle for the Crown Begins."
Students stopped to read. Some cheered, others laughed, and most said the same thing: "Wait… Castillian actually signed up?"
Within hours, they became the most talked-about team on campus — not because people expected them to win, but because everyone wanted to see what kind of show they'd turn basketball into.
Uno loved it. He walked through the halls like a celebrity, signing notebooks and posing for selfies. Lynx, meanwhile, spent an entire lunch break standing under their poster, staring up at his own face printed on it like he was studying a masterpiece.
"This," he said dramatically, "is destiny."
"This," Mico muttered, "is propaganda."
But even Mico couldn't hide a flicker of pride. For the first time, Castillian wasn't just a rumor — they were official.
Training suddenly felt different.
Lynx, who once treated warm-ups like optional background music, started showing up early… most of the time. He still found ways to make chaos stylish, but at least now he stretched before causing it.
Uno finally started practicing his free throws — though he refused to do it without a mirror nearby. "I need to make sure my form looks confident," he explained, flexing after every shot.
Jairo, whose motivational speeches usually lasted longer than drills, was given a strict limit: one speech per hour. He treated it like a sacred oath.
Felix became the quiet backbone of the group — the one who brought extra towels, filled water bottles, and made sure everyone actually ate something other than vending machine chips. He even fixed the torn net after practice one night without being asked.
And Mico… Mico smiled. Once.
No one said anything when it happened, but they all saw it.
It wasn't a big smile — just the kind that slips out before you can stop it. The kind that says maybe this isn't impossible after all.
Prof. Damaso noticed too, peering over his cup of coffee. "Ah," he said. "The calm before the philosophical disaster."
By the end of the week, the Castillian gym felt charged.
Their drills were sharper, their passes cleaner, and their energy — though still chaotic — was starting to sync. For the first time, it looked less like random movement and more like rhythm.
Lynx was still unpredictable, Uno was still vain, Jairo was still loud, Felix was still calm, and Mico was still trying to keep his sanity — but together, they were beginning to resemble something dangerous.
Something real.
When they ended practice that Friday, the lights dimmed and the echo of their laughter filled the gym. Lynx threw his arm around Mico's shoulder.
"Captain," he said. "Ready to crown ourselves?"
Mico looked at him — at all of them — and replied, "Not yet. But we're getting there."
And somewhere near the bleachers, Prof. Damaso raised his coffee cup like a toast and murmured, "To miracles… and mild delusions."
---
The rooftop was quiet that night — no music, no laughter, no shouting matches about who had the better haircut. Just five silhouettes standing against the glow of the Casa arena in the distance, its lights dim but waiting.
The wind carried the faint hum of the city — cars, chatter, and the steady beat of life below. None of it reached them. Up here, everything felt still. Like the world was holding its breath.
Lynx leaned on the railing, staring down at the arena as if it were a rival. "Hard to believe that by this time tomorrow," he said, "we'll either be legends… or memes."
Mico smirked, but his eyes were sharp — focused in that way only captains get when everything suddenly becomes real. "Tomorrow," he said, "we prove what we are."
Felix sat cross-legged on the concrete, calm as always. "We are… tired?" He muttered, earning a soft laugh from Jairo.
Lynx grinned. "No, we're legends in progress."
Jairo raised his fist, eyes blazing even in the dim light. "Let's set the court on fire — figuratively, of course."
Uno flipped his hair back, the faint reflection of the city lights dancing on his grin. "And look good doing it."
For once, Mico didn't scold him. He just nodded. "Yeah. Let's."
Behind them, the rooftop door creaked open, and Prof. Damaso stepped out — coffee in hand, cardigan slightly crooked, expression unreadable. He joined them by the railing, looked out at the arena, and sighed.
"You know," he said, "I once thought basketball was all logic and form. Then you people happened."
Lynx smirked. "You mean we expanded your philosophical horizon."
"More like destroyed it," the professor replied. Then, with a faint smile, he raised his cup as if in a toast. "May the gods of basketball forgive what you're about to unleash."
The team fell quiet again — the kind of silence that wasn't empty, but full.
Of nerves. Of hope. Of everything they'd built from nothing.
The lights from the arena flickered once, like a promise.
And as the night stretched over Casa de Imperium, the five members of Castillian stood side by side — chaos incarnate, bound by something deeper than discipline.
Tomorrow, the world would see them. Tomorrow, the league would begin. And whatever happened next… they'd make sure it was unforgettable.