Whispers began the moment Castillian stepped into the arena.
Coaches exchanged glances. Players from other teams paused mid-stretch. The staff at the registration table looked down at their clipboard twice just to confirm the name.
"Castillian?" One official muttered in Mandarin. "Who are they?"
No one seemed to know.
The Dragon Crown Invitational was an exclusive stage — filled with decorated champions from China, Japan, Korea, and Southeast Asia. Every team there had a record, a history, a reputation. But Castillian? They didn't even have a Wikipedia page. No trophies, no stats, no legacy — only a note in their registration file: [ Casa de Imperium University, Mainland China ]
At first, people thought it was a typo. Casa de Imperium — that alone drew attention. It wasn't just another elite university. It was the university — the kind that carried an air of mystery and prestige so thick that no one truly understood how it operated. It produced students who were both brilliant and unpredictable, as if the place didn't just educate but engineered excellence. Rival institutions admired its innovation but feared its secrecy. And now, somehow, this… ragtag team from its halls had entered one of Asia's toughest basketball tournaments.
But that wasn't all.
When the Emperyo logo flashed across Castillian's new black-and-gold warm-ups, the entire gym seemed to take notice. Emperyo Holdings — the powerful conglomerate that could tilt the scales of any industry it touched — was their sponsor.
That revelation alone earned a wave of murmurs. Teams that had spent years courting corporate deals now watched this unknown group stride in with the backing of an empire.
And then there was the captain.
Mico Cein Esguerra — sharp-eyed, calm, and unnervingly collected. While the others laughed, stretched, and bantered like they owned the place, he stood at the sideline, quietly scanning the court as if he was dissecting every movement, every angle. There was something about his posture — confident yet cold — that made even seasoned players pause.
He didn't need to say a word. His presence alone carried weight.
By the time Castillian reached their bench, they were already the talk of the arena.
Who were they? How did they get here? And what kind of madness was Casa de Imperium about to unleash on the Dragon Crown Invitational?
---
The arena lights blazed down on the court, banners of the Dragon Crown Invitational hanging above like testaments of legacy. Across from Castillian stood the Beijing Phoenix — tall, poised, and terrifyingly composed. Their warm-up alone looked like a drill from the military: synchronized footwork, clean rotations, no wasted motion. Every move was rehearsed, precise, and mechanical perfection.
Castillian, on the other hand, looked like they had just crashed the wrong party.
Lynx was spinning his ball on one finger while winking at the cameras. Uno was trying to convince the referee to take a selfie. Jairo was bouncing in place, hyping himself up with a chant that mixed English, Tagalog, and random Mandarin words he learned from Felix. Felix was stretching quietly, his expression unreadable. And Mico — captain, strategist, and reluctant babysitter — was standing at half court, exhaling slowly.
When the whistle blew, it was like watching two elements collide — precision versus madness.
The Phoenix opened strong, running clean triangle sets, screens perfectly timed. The ball never stopped moving — pass, pass, pass, swish. They played like a machine fueled by discipline.
But then Castillian responded — with madness that somehow worked.
Lynx Suárez tore through their formation with impossible crossovers, slicing into the paint and finishing with wild layups that made the crowd erupt. The Phoenix defenders, expecting textbook plays, were caught off guard by his raw unpredictability.
Uno Pérez followed, turning every possession into a performance. Behind-the-back passes, fake lobs, and flashy bounce assists that looked ridiculous until they landed perfectly in someone's hands. Even when he missed, the audience still cheered.
Felix Montes was the team's gravity. Calm, powerful, efficient. Every rebound was his. Every block was a quiet statement — controlled strength against the Phoenix's precision.
Jairo Roman played like he was born for the chaos — sprinting coast-to-coast, diving for every ball, shouting, "This one's mine!" loud enough to echo through the stands. His energy was contagious, feeding the fire that made Castillian dangerous.
And in the middle of it all, Mico Cein Esguerra — the captain, the soul of their storm — ran the court like a tactician in motion. He wasn't barking orders; he was directing tempo.
A gesture here, a look there, a quick tap on the floor that meant "switch." His passes weren't flashy, but they were perfect — threading through defenses, setting up his teammates exactly where they needed to be.
When Lynx drove in for another impossible finish, Mico was already backpedaling to defense, shouting, "Rotate left! Felix, anchor the rim! Uno, pressure high!"
Every time Castillian slipped into madness, Mico's steady voice reeled them back.
Midway through the second quarter, the score was tight. The Phoenix were frustrated — they couldn't predict Castillian's rhythm. It wasn't structure. It was instinct turned into harmony.
And when Lynx hit a deep three from way beyond the arc, the arena exploded.
Even the commentators were stunned.
[ The newcomers from Casa de Imperium — Castillian — are playing like a storm with a mind of its own! ]
Mico didn't smile. He just looked at his teammates, breathless but sharp-eyed. "This," he said quietly between plays, "isn't luck. It's rhythm. Keep it."
And for a brief moment, against one of Asia's most disciplined teams, the outsiders — the misfits of Casa de Imperium — danced their madness into precision.
By halftime, they were only down by six — and that alone felt like victory. The scoreboard glowed in disbelief, the commentators stammering over their headsets.
[ Castillian — the unranked, unsponsored-until-last-week team — is holding their own against the Beijing Phoenix! ]
[ They're… what did he call them? A wild card with impossible rhythm. ]
Even the Phoenix's famously stoic coach was frowning now, flipping through his clipboard like the answers had gone missing. His players, once mechanical and perfect, were now rattled — blinking in confusion every time Lynx pulled off another impossible shot or Uno winked mid-pass.
When the second half began, it was no longer David versus Goliath. It was madness versus control. And madness was winning.
Lynx Suárez opened the third quarter with three consecutive three-pointers, each one deeper than the last. The first stunned the Phoenix bench. The second made the crowd gasp. The third — a leaning fadeaway with a hand in his face — sent the arena into pandemonium.
Uno Pérez followed it up with a perfect fadeaway jumper, turning midair to salute the nearest camera. "You're welcome," he mouthed.
Felix Montes and Jairo Roman turned defense into destruction. They moved like a fortress — one silent, one roaring. Felix swatted every shot that came near him; Jairo chased down rebounds and shouted, "THIS IS OUR HOUSE!" loud enough for even the front row to hear.
Mico Cein Esguerra, the captain in motion, steered it all. He never stopped scanning, adjusting, thinking. Every possession was a chess match in real time — a flick of the wrist for a signal, a quick tap to shift the defense. His plays weren't written anymore; they flowed, improvised, alive.
The crowd began to shift. What started as polite applause became thunder.
"CASTILLIAN! CASTILLIAN!" They chanted in a mix of accents and languages — Mandarin, English, Tagalog, even Korean.
When the final minute came, the score was tied. The air felt electric.
Mico had the ball at the top of the key, heartbeat matching the clock's countdown. The Phoenix defenders closed in, tight formation. He glanced at Lynx — a signal, a trust, an understanding that only two teammates who'd fought through madness could share.
"Now," Mico whispered.
He passed.
Lynx faked left, spun right, ignored every strategy ever written, and — with perfect arrogance — launched a fading three-pointer.
The ball climbed high, almost touching the rafters. For a moment, time stopped.
Then — swish.
Buzzer.
Silence.
Then an explosion of sound so loud it shook the floor.
Castillian had done the impossible. They had beaten the Beijing Phoenix — one of Asia's most disciplined, elite university teams — with nothing but heart, instinct, and uncontainable madness.
Lynx threw his arms up, grinning. Uno jumped onto his back. Jairo screamed in joy. Felix simply bowed his head in relief, and Mico… Mico just stood there, hands on his knees, breathing hard, a small, incredulous smile breaking through.
They weren't supposed to win. But they did. And in that roaring arena, under banners of gold and red, Castillian had just announced themselves to Asia.