The hallway outside the Athletic Affairs Office was silent, save for the rhythm of shoes against marble. Mico held a thick, clipped folder containing the formation papers for Castillian. Every page was immaculate, filled with sharp, deliberate strokes that left no room for error.
Behind him, Uno spun a basketball on one finger, his pace casual. "You know," he remarked, watching Mico's back, "most people actually enjoy the forming stage. There's usually some team-building or... excitement involved."
Mico didn't answer. His focus remained on the door ahead:
[ CASA DE IMPERIUM ATHLETIC AFFAIRS | ADMINISTRATION UNIT ]
Inside, the room was encased in glass tinted with Casa's signature crimson. The clerk didn't look up from her monitor as they approached.
"Name?" She asked.
"Mico Cein Esguerra," he said. His voice was quiet, yet it possessed a gravity that forced her to pause. "Team registration. Basketball division."
The woman took the folder and flipped through it. Her brows furrowed as she reached the final page. "You're the Engineering student, correct?"
"Yes."
She stopped, her finger tapping a specific line. "Wait, this isn't right. You've listed one of your players, Lynx Suárez, as a non-student."
Uno shifted his weight, suppressing a grin. He knew exactly where this was headed.
"That's correct," Mico said.
"You can't do that, Mr. Esguerra," the clerk explained. "Campus rules require all team members to be registered students or affiliated through an academic permit."
Mico leaned in slightly, his tone steady. "The handbook states: 'Teams must maintain a roster capable of representing the university in both skill and discipline.' It never explicitly forbids talent from outside the system if they meet those criteria."
The clerk hesitated, realizing he had memorized the fine print she usually ignored. "It is highly unusual," she countered.
"So is winning," Mico replied. "And Casa prefers results over tradition."
Uno let out a dry cough to mask a laugh.
The clerk stared at Mico for a long moment before she finally reached for a stamp. The word APPROVED landed firmly on the top sheet. She handed him a crimson keycard embossed with a golden seal.
"Team Castillian, Room 07-B, Athletic Wing," she said. She then slid a separate metallic pass across the desk. "For your guest. This is a temporary ID. It's restricted, but it will get him through the gates."
Mico pocketed both cards. "Thank you."
Once they were back in the hallway, Uno's grin broke through. "You just dismantled campus regulations in record time."
"Efficiency," Mico shrugged.
Uno looked at the passes. "Guess we're official now."
Mico stopped, looking down at the red card for the team and the steel one meant for Lynx.
"Not yet," he said. "We're official when the court remembers the name."
---
The message arrived just as Lynx was finishing a late lunch in a cramped apartment above a grocery store run by fellow Filipino workers.
[ Mico Esguerra ]: 6 PM. Filipino restaurant across Casa. Official Castillian meeting. Be there.
Lynx tossed his phone onto the table with a smirk. "So he finally moves."
The restaurant was already crowded when he arrived. The air was thick with the scent of garlic rice and adobo, a sanctuary for students and families looking for a taste of home. Red plastic chairs and framed photos of Manila lined the small, vibrant space.
At a corner table sat Mico, Uno, Felix, and Jairo. When the bell above the door chimed, Uno looked up immediately.
"Finally, the wild card shows up!"
Lynx sauntered over with his hands in his pockets. "Had to make an entrance."
Felix offered a nod of acknowledgment. Mico's eyes flicked up from his tablet for only a second.
"Sit," Mico said.
Lynx took the empty chair beside Jairo, who leaned in with restless energy. "Yo! I'm Jairo Roman. You were insane during that street game. I saw the clips, that Phantom Drive was smooth!"
Lynx raised an eyebrow. "You watch my games?"
"I watch everything basketball," Jairo said, tapping his chest. "It's my love language."
Uno groaned. "Don't encourage him. Once he starts, you'll never hear silence again."
Jairo laughed, unbothered. "Silence is boring. Anyway, we're all half Filipino here, right? We have to make this team feel like home."
"—like a family?" Lynx teased.
"Exactly!"
Even Felix's expression softened into something resembling a smile. The initial awkwardness began to fade, replaced by the easy comfort of the setting. As they ordered a mix of tapsilog, kare-kare, and lumpiang shanghai, Mico finally set his tablet aside.
He reached into his bag and slid a small metallic card across the table toward Lynx.
"Your access pass," Mico said. "It grants entry to Casa grounds, the Athletic Wing, and our team room. Don't lose it."
Lynx inspected the crimson crest etched into the metal. "Fancy for a street guy like me."
"You're part of the team," Uno said. "You wear the name, you get the badge."
Mico looked at each of them, his voice taking on a commanding edge. "Now that we're complete, we finalize the structure. I'm Point Guard and Captain. Uno, Shooting Guard. Felix, Center. Jairo, Power Forward. Lynx, Small Forward."
He paused, his gaze sharp. "From today, Castillian is no longer a concept. We are an official team under Casa de Imperium."
He opened a notebook filled with schedules, diagrams, and court maps. "Training begins tomorrow. The rules are simple: punctuality, precision, and respect. No distractions during drills. We play with the precision of a machine, but move as one body."
"Machines?" Lynx muttered. "What happened to passion?"
"Passion is fire," Mico countered. "But fire without control only burns itself out."
The table went quiet for a moment while Lynx and Mico stare at each other, before Jairo broke the tension. "So... when do we start burning other teams?"
Uno snorted and Felix chuckled. Even Lynx let out a small laugh.
Mico closed his notebook, the faintest trace of a smile appearing. "Soon."
The bell chimed again as the five of them stepped out into the Beijing evening. The cold wind bit at their shoulders, but their laughter trailed behind them, cutting through the city noise.
The night air was cold enough to fog their breath, and streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, wrapping the group in a faint golden haze. They had eaten too much and laughed too loud, but by the end of the meal, the tension had vanished. They weren't strangers anymore.
They were Castillian.
As they crossed the street toward the gates of Casa de Imperium, Jairo stretched his arms behind his head. "So, Captain," he said with a grin, "what's the move for the first practice? Sprints? Passing drills?"
"Cleaning," Mico said.
The group stopped dead in their tracks.
"What?" Uno blinked, certain he'd misheard.
Mico didn't slow down as he swiped his ID through the campus scanner. "We're heading to our assigned room. We will clean and organize it before training begins."
Lynx let out a short laugh. "You're kidding. We're ballers, not a janitorial crew."
"Clean court, clean game," Mico replied. "If your foundation is a mess, don't expect the structure to stand."
Uno nudged Jairo, grinning. "See? Classic Mico logic. Don't fight it, just follow the manual."
Felix, quiet until now, finally spoke up. "He's right," he said in his low, steady voice. "The space you train in reflects your discipline. Architecture 101."
Jairo sighed dramatically. "So we're mopping and sweeping before we even touch a ball?"
"Pretty much," Uno said. "Welcome to the team."
The Athletic Wing was dim and mostly empty. Their footsteps echoed down the polished corridor until they reached a steel door labeled ROOM 07-B. Mico swiped the red card, and the lock clicked open with a faint hiss.
The interior was wide, bare, and cold. The air smelled of dust and disuse, with old benches stacked in a corner and a cracked bulletin board leaning against a wall.
Lynx whistled. "Well, this is depressing."
Jairo poked a cobweb with a stray broomstick. "I think this spider's been here since the last championship."
Uno rolled up his sleeves. "All right, the Captain's orders are clear."
Felix grabbed a mop and tossed it toward Lynx. "Here. Consider it your first assist."
Lynx caught it with one hand, smirking. "Fine. But when I'm done, I'm putting a poster of myself right here." He pointed to a blank stretch of wall.
Jairo burst out laughing. "Make it two! One for me, too!"
Mico, already unpacking supplies from a box, allowed himself a rare, microscopic smile. "Do what you want. Just don't ruin the symmetry."
They got to work. They swept, scrubbed, and rearranged the lockers. Slowly, the stagnant air began to feel alive. Uno played music from his phone, Jairo hummed along, and Lynx used his mop like a conductor's baton. Even Felix cracked a grin when Uno tripped over a broom handle.
By the time they finished, the room was transformed. It was modest but immaculate, the floor gleaming under the overhead lights.
On the wall beside the door, Mico taped a single sheet of paper featuring a hand-drawn emblem: five lines forming a crown. At the bottom, written in clean block letters, was their creed:
[ CASTILLIAN
"Losing is a sin." ]
Jairo crossed his arms, admiring the view. "Now this feels right."
Uno grinned, gesturing to the room. "From dirt to dynasty."
Lynx leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head. "You really planned all this, didn't you, Captain?"
"I plan everything," Mico answered, his voice bordering on arrogant. "And I plan for us to be perfect."