The lunch was heavy and silent at first—plates filled with grilled liempo, pancit, fried chicken, and enough rice to feed a barangay. Everyone was too tired to talk, too full to move, but too happy to care.
After everything, they had made it.
Whether that meant Nationals or not, nobody really asked.
The sun hung gently in the sky now—past noon but not yet dipping into gold. The ceremony stage echoed mic tests and speaker fuzz from across the field, a lazy reminder that the games were truly over.
🧺 The Celebration Begins
On the grass behind the main gym, towels laid out like picnic mats, jerseys turned inside out, sneakers unlaced. A half-hearted game of frisbee failed because everyone was too lazy to stand.
"I'm starting to miss Coach's yelling," Mira muttered, resting her head on Clarisse's lap.
"Don't worry," Clarisse said without looking up from her phone. "She'll scream again during Nationals."
"You're assuming we got in."
"Nah," Clarisse replied. "I just know Coach Cely."
In the corner, Karl and Jomar were building a "trophy" out of paper cups, tape, and two shuttlecocks. Nina was drawing their entire team on a scrap of cardboard—stick figures holding medals the size of their faces.
💬 Reflections and Revelations
Yumi sat beside Dane and Alona, offering them candies like she was officiating a wedding reception. Neither refused.
"So you're, like, official now?" Yumi asked, looking between them like a judge.
Dane blinked. "Define official."
Alona smiled. "He confessed. I kissed him. I think that's official enough."
Yumi fist-pumped. "YES. I win the bet with Mira. Gimme my ₱100!"
Mira groaned, "I should've made my bet with Coach Leia."
The mention of Coach Leia earned several glances toward the bench where she sat beaming like a champion, ₱1500 richer and smug as ever. The other coaches nearby grumbled in unison, their wallets lighter and their pride bruised.
"We didn't snoop," Coach Dan muttered. "We monitored developments."
Coach Tonton added, "In the name of emotional support."
"And ₱500," Coach Cely deadpanned.
🎭 The Laughter that Slipped Through
Then came Randy.
Sitting cross-legged under a tree with Eri of San Isidro (yes, that Eri), who had mysteriously wandered over after lunch. Her usual icy expression remained... until—
"So I told the referee," Randy said, miming with exaggerated gestures, "if I win this chess match, you give me a medal. If I lose, you give me a medal for emotional damage."
Eri blinked once. Then twice.
Then—without warning—she laughed.
Not a full belly-laugh. Just a tiny, reluctant huff of air. But for Eri? It was basically fireworks.
The Gubat team froze. Mouths open. Eyes wide.
"She laughed," Mira whispered. "Twice. This is historic."
"Someone write that in the victory log," Nina muttered.
Randy blinked innocently. "What?"
"Nothing," Jomar said. "You're just scary, man. In a good way."
🕊️ For Now, This Is Enough
They stayed like that until the speakers crackled back to life, announcing the start of the Awards and Closing Ceremony.
Someone groaned. Someone else cheered. But nobody rushed.
Because for a moment, the whole team just looked around at each other—teammates, rivals, friends, flirts, fighters—and saw a family.
Nationals or not, they had become something more than a sports team.
They had grown together, cracked each other open, filled those cracks with jokes, assists, shared towels, terrible coffee, bruised ankles, side glances, and shy confessions.
This? This moment?
It was already golden.
And for now…
that was more than enough.