The morning sun struck the polished glass of the Casa de Imperium Arena, spilling gold across the sprawling campus. Banners stretched over walkways and lamp posts, each one declaring the same message in bold, triumphant letters:
"The Imperial Collegiate League Begins!"
Crowds gathered in waves — students, professors, families, and alumni filling the stands. Every corner pulsed with energy: drums beating, chants echoing, the smell of sweat and coffee hanging in the air.
Each team entered like soldiers — perfectly synchronized, uniforms crisp, their coaches walking tall in polished sneakers and pressed tracksuits.
And then came them.
The crowd didn't see Castillian march in. They arrived.
Lynx Suárez glided through the entrance on a skateboard, wind catching his hair as he spread his arms like a rockstar hitting his cue. Cameras immediately turned his way.
Uno Pérez followed with sunglasses — indoors. He tilted them down just enough to wink at the nearest photographer before tossing his jacket over his shoulder like a celebrity at a movie premiere.
Behind him, Felix Montes carried a giant blue cooler in one arm and a folded bench towel in the other, the image of a man who had accepted his role as everyone's caretaker.
Jairo Roman bounced like a child waiting for fireworks, high-fiving random players from other teams as if everyone was his teammate. "It's game day, baby!" he shouted — for the third time that minute.
And there was Mico Cein Esguerra, at the back, trying to keep the clipboard from falling out of his hands, registration forms flapping wildly like they were also panicking. His expression said it all: pure leadership held together by sheer caffeine and prayer.
Prof. Alaric Damaso trailed behind them, balancing his coffee cup in one hand, his ID in the other. He wore a formal jacket — over basketball shorts.
When the staff at the registration table blinked in confusion, he simply nodded and said, "They told me to wear something athletic."
The woman at the table glanced from him to the team and back. "Sir… are you really their coach?"
He sipped his coffee. "Philosophically, yes."
Lynx leaned toward the group and whispered, "See? We're already iconic."
Uno smirked. "Iconic or delusional, same energy."
Meanwhile, other teams — the Griffons, the Royals, the Sentinels — were whispering among themselves, watching the chaotic entrance unfold. They looked like trained soldiers. Castillian looked like a traveling circus that accidentally wandered into a tournament.
Still, there was something magnetic about them — the way they didn't fit in yet somehow owned the space. Their mismatched shoes, shiny tomato-red jerseys, and absurd confidence drew every eye in the arena.
When the announcer began calling team names for the parade, the crowd cheered politely for each department. But when he reached, "Castillian!"
…the volume jumped.
Students who'd seen their viral practice clips, their ridiculous photoshoots, and Lynx's constant online bragging started chanting their name like they were the main act.
"CASTILLIAN! CASTILLIAN! CASTILLIAN!"
Jairo raised his fist and yelled back, "LET'S GO!"
Uno posed. Felix tried to calm them down. Lynx bowed. And Mico… just buried his face in his clipboard.
Prof. Damaso sighed, muttering to himself, "I should've taught poetry."
But somewhere deep down, beneath all the chaos and embarrassment, Mico smiled — just a little.
Because as they stepped onto that shining court for the first time, with banners overhead and a thousand voices roaring around them, he realized something:
They didn't just arrive. They belonged.
The teams lined up across the gleaming court, the polished floor reflecting the banners above like glass. Each squad stood shoulder to shoulder, disciplined and proud, names echoing through the sound system one by one.
The Engineering Titans received a round of firm applause. The IT Royals earned loud cheers from their fanbase. The Imperium Griffons — reigning champions — got a standing ovation.
Then came the moment everyone didn't know they were waiting for.
The announcer cleared his throat, checking his clipboard twice as though the next line couldn't possibly be real. "Next up… representing—" He squinted. "—uh, Team Castillian?"
A murmur rippled through the stands.
"Who are they?"
"Are they even from a department?"
"I think they're… like, a group project gone wrong?"
Mico stepped forward, trying to maintain what little composure remained in their collective image. He gestured for the team to form a clean line. "Guys. Line up. Straight line."
Jairo immediately flexed. Uno adjusted his sunglasses. Felix complied. And Lynx… was missing.
"Where's—" Mico started, before realizing Lynx had somehow made his way to the sound booth across the arena.
Then it happened.
The speakers exploded with the unmistakable song "Hall of Fame."
The crowd gasped first — then erupted into hyped. Even the announcer froze mid-sentence, unsure whether to continue or join in.
Across the court, Lynx gave a two-finger salute toward the sound operator and mouthed, "Couldn't resist."
Uno started nodding to the beat like it was his theme song. Jairo clapped along, grinning from ear to ear. Felix just covered his face with one hand. Mico closed his eyes and muttered, "We haven't even played yet…"
The opposing teams tried to keep their composure, but smirks were already breaking through. Even the usually stoic Griffons were shaking their heads, half in disbelief, half in amusement.
The announcer, regaining his professionalism through sheer willpower, continued: "Uh—Team Castillian! …from various departments of Casa de Imperium!"
The crowd cheered louder than before. Not because they were the best team. But because, in that moment, they were already the most unforgettable.
Lynx finally skated down to join the group, taking his spot beside a mortified Mico. "See?" He whispered. "Now everyone knows our name."
Mico didn't respond. He just stared straight ahead, silently praying that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
Prof. Damaso, watching from the sidelines, sipped his coffee and said to no one in particular, "I told them to aim for enlightenment. They chose entertainment instead."
And just like that — without dribbling a single ball — Castillian had already stolen the spotlight.