The sun had barely cleared the iron spires of Casa de Imperium when the sound of squeaking sneakers and muffled yawns filled the east court.
The morning air was sharp and cold. Most of the campus remained asleep, but Castillian was already assembled. Four shadows stood on the pavement, stretching or muttering in the dim light.
Mico checked his watch. 4:58 AM.
Right on time. Almost.
Uno rolled his shoulders, humming a low tune, while Felix moved through his warm-ups with mechanical precision. Jairo struggled to balance on one foot as he adjusted his headband.
Then, a skateboard rattled across the concrete. Lynx rolled in with a coffee mug in one hand and a smirk on his face.
4:59 AM.
He kicked the board up, caught it midair, and stopped directly in front of Mico. "See? On time."
Mico didn't look impressed. "You have exactly one minute to regret that sentence."
"Attendance check," Mico announced, his voice cutting through the morning mist. "Anyone late owes a hundred pushups."
Lynx dropped his board on a bench and offered a lazy salute. "Captain, technically, I'm early by—"
"—Twenty seconds," Mico interrupted. "Which you can use to start your penalty."
Lynx groaned but dropped to the ground. Uno laughed so hard he nearly choked on his water.
"Discipline isn't optional," Mico said, pacing before the line. "You'll likely hate me before the season ends, but you'll thank me when you're winning."
Jairo, already sweating from sheer anticipation, raised a hand. "Question, Captain! What if we already love you?"
"Then you'll still do pushups," Mico replied flatly.
5:30 AM
The perimeter of Casa de Imperium was a sprawling circuit of wide roads, towering research facilities, and glass sky-bridges. Their first task: a five-kilometer run around the campus.
Jairo was the first to complain. Uno followed suit, blaming the morning humidity for ruining his hair. Lynx, meanwhile, ran as if he were in a race against gravity—fast, reckless, and grinning through the exertion.
Felix finished first, silent as ever. Instead of resting, he doubled back to jog beside Jairo, matching his pace until they both crossed the finish line.
Mico checked his stopwatch. "Felix, early by forty seconds. The rest of you, delayed by one minute and seven seconds."
"Not bad," Uno panted, leaning on his knees. "For mortals."
Lynx collapsed onto a bench, gaspeing for air. "Captain's stopwatch must be broken. I was flying."
"Your skateboard doesn't count as flight," Mico said dryly.
7:30 AM
The technical drills began. Passing. Dribbling. Footwork.
Mico barked corrections like an engineer fine-tuning a complex machine. Every bounce of the ball echoed sharply in the morning light.
"Jairo, lower your center of gravity," he commanded.
Jairo nodded, then promptly kicked over a cone. Again. Felix moved in and reset the marker without a word.
Lynx, growing restless, spun the ball behind his back in a reverse-dribble pirouette, sending it through his legs and across the floor. Uno caught it midair, laughing. "Stylish, but that's definitely not in the manual."
"It's not supposed to be," Lynx said with a smirk. "That's why it works."
Mico's gaze was sharp. "Do that in a game and you'll be benched."
Lynx winked. "You'll thank me when the points go up."
Mico didn't reply, but for a fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth twitched.
4:00 PM
The afternoon heat was heavy, and the court gleamed under the golden sun.
"Silent gameplay," Mico ordered. "No trash talk, no shouting. Let your moves speak."
The scrimmage began. Passes sliced through the air, and sneakers screeched against the polished floor. Felix guarded the paint like a fortress, claiming every rebound. Uno moved around defenders with an unbroken rhythm, while Lynx disrupted plays with a sense of unpredictable chaos. Jairo provided the explosive speed, acting as the team's spark.
Mico observed it all—calm and analytical, orchestrating every angle like a grandmaster.
For three minutes, the silence was perfect. Then Jairo reached his limit.
"DEFENSE!!!" He screamed.
The ball froze mid-pass. Uno cursed in shock. Lynx dropped to his knees, wheezing from the sudden break in concentration.
Mico pinched the bridge of his nose. "New note," he muttered. "Redefine 'silence.' Possibly remove Jairo's vocal cords."
Jairo raised a hand sheepishly. "Sorry, Captain. It was too quiet."
"Exactly the point," Mico said. There was no real anger in his voice, only a mix of exhaustion and reluctant amusement.
By the time the day ended, the sun had dipped behind the Iron Spire, painting the court in streaks of orange and steel. They were drenched in sweat, muscles aching and hearts pounding, but they were all grinning.
Uno flopped onto the floor, staring at the ceiling. "If this is day one," he panted, "I'm not surviving day two."
Felix leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. "You'll live."
"Barely," Lynx added with a smirk.
Mico gathered his notes at the edge of the court. "Tomorrow, same time. Don't be late."
Jairo offered a salute, still smiling. "Aye, Captain Discipline."
DAY 2
The second morning of training began an hour later than the first—a mercy Mico granted after Lynx nearly fell asleep mid-sprint the previous day. However, mercy had its limits.
The moment they arrived, Mico stood before them with his clipboard and his usual unreadable calm. "Today's focus: precision and logic."
Jairo groaned. "Can't we just do... vibes?"
Mico's eyes flicked up. "You can vibe after you've made two hundred accurate shots."
Uno snorted. "You heard him, sunshine. Grab your ball."
6:00 AM
The court echoed with the rhythmic thuds of basketballs. Every bounce, release, and swish followed a pattern Mico demanded they master.
"Two hundred three-pointers," Mico said, glancing at Uno. "And no mirrors this time."
Uno scowled. "But I shoot better when I'm admiring myself."
"That is exactly the problem."
Meanwhile, Lynx was already at the rim, soaring as if gravity were merely a suggestion.
"Limit of three dunks per session," Mico warned without looking up from his notes. The rim rattled loudly in response. Mico sighed. "That's one violation."
Lynx grinned. "Worth it."
Jairo counted each shot out loud, his voice echoing across the court. Felix, quiet as ever, adjusted his stance and sank one clean basket after another, his movements as steady as his breathing.
When Jairo missed and groaned dramatically, Felix spoke calmly:
"Air ball sings too loud / Wind whispers, try once again / Rim awaits the brave."
Jairo blinked. "Did you just... poetry me?"
Felix nodded. "Haiku improves morale."
8:00 AM
Back in their team room, the air was thick with the scent of coffee and whiteboard markers. A large screen displayed a presentation titled: Offensive Spacing and the Art of Passing Lanes.
"It's too early for art," Uno muttered.
Mico clicked to the first slide. "This—"
He stopped. Lynx was already doodling on the projector printouts—tiny flames in the corners, stickmen performing windmill dunks, and a heroic sketch labeled [ Lynx Saves the Game ]
Mico exhaled slowly. "Lynx."
"Team morale," Lynx said innocently. "Visual aids help me learn."
Jairo leaned closer, admiring the drawing. "You forgot Uno's hair."
"Oh, right." Lynx scribbled a large swoosh across the page.
Felix, meanwhile, filled his notebook with neat lines of text. When Mico glanced over his shoulder, he realized Felix was writing haikus about court geometry:
"The triangle breathes / Player moves, spacing alive / Math is poetry."
Uno looked over at the notes. "You're like if Einstein did slam poetry."
Felix offered a faint smile. "Basketball is geometry in motion."
Mico pointed back at the diagram. "And it's chaos if you all keep talking."
5:00 PM
Evening descended as golden light cut through the high glass walls. The session was quiet and precise, under heavy monitoring. Mico's rule was absolute: three dribbles before passing. No exceptions.
The goal was control over flair. That held firm until the ball reached Lynx.
He took three dribbles—then, pointedly, a fourth.
Mico's eyes narrowed. "That was four."
Lynx held up three fingers. "No, that was three and a half. The last one was invisible."
"Physics disagrees," Mico replied flatly.
Before Lynx could argue, Jairo lunged and tackled him mid-laugh. They both crashed to the floor as the ball bounced away, rolling to Felix's feet. Felix picked it up, turned toward the rim, and sank a perfect jumper—silent and clean.
Uno clapped slowly. "Well, at least someone is following the laws of the universe."
"Barely," Mico murmured, jotting a note in his book: [ Team follows laws of physics… loosely. ]
Lynx groaned from the floor. "Loosely is still technically correct."
Jairo pushed himself up, still laughing. "Then we're winning loosely, Captain."
Mico glanced at them, his expression unreadable, though a faint smirk finally broke through. "Only if you survive Wednesday."
DAY 3
By the third day, the team arrived at the court quieter than usual. Fatigue had settled in. Lynx's hair stuck up in five different directions, Jairo's enthusiasm had dropped to half volume, and Uno had dark circles under his eyes that could pass for eyeliner.
Mico stood before them with his clipboard, his tone firm. "Today, we aren't training your bodies. We're training your minds."
Lynx yawned. "Finally. A break."
"That's what you said before yesterday's 'light' scrimmage," Uno muttered.
Mico ignored them. "Felix will lead the first session."
All eyes turned toward Felix, who stood with his usual serene composure, hands folded behind his back. He offered a single nod. "We begin with silence."
They sat cross-legged in a circle at the edge of the indoor garden, sunlight streaming through the glass panels. Felix's voice was steady, almost hypnotic.
"Empty your thoughts," he said softly. "Let the noise dissolve."
Uno raised a hand lazily. "Can I empty my thoughts but keep my sunglasses?"
Felix opened one eye. "Are they tinted?"
"Always."
"Then yes. They reflect the illusion of ego."
Uno grinned. "I like you more every day."
Meanwhile, Lynx had fallen asleep upright. He was snoring quietly but somehow maintained perfect posture. Jairo, struggling to keep still, suddenly shouted, "INNER PEACE!"
The birds outside scattered.
Felix didn't flinch. "Good. Now find outer silence to match it."
Mico, sitting a few steps behind the group, pressed his fingers against his temple. This is what I get for assigning meditation to athletes.
9:00 AM
The team moved to the training hall, where the air smelled faintly of sweat and concentration.
"Close your eyes," Mico instructed. "Visualize the perfect game. The sound of the crowd. The weight of the ball. The moment before victory."
For a minute, the room was peaceful—until Jairo started mumbling. "And then I shoot—BAM!—game-winner!"
Lynx smirked without opening his eyes. "I'd block that."
"Not in my imagination, you won't."
Mico exhaled. "Focus."
Lynx leaned back, visualizing his own highlight reel. However, his mental image didn't stop at the winning shot, he began picturing the post-game dance, the cheering crowd, and falling confetti. Mico noticed the growing grin on Lynx's face.
"You aren't supposed to imagine the celebration," Mico noted.
"Then what's the point of winning?"
Meanwhile, Uno clearly wasn't visualizing the ball at all. A smirk tugged at his lips, his head tilting slightly.
"Uno," Mico said. "What do you see?"
"The crowd," Uno sighed. "They're chanting my name. It's motivating."
"Imagine the ball," Mico replied flatly.
Uno's grin widened. "The ball's in my hand. The crowd's in my heart."
"Therapy," Mico muttered, jotting another note on his clipboard. [ This team needs therapy. ]
By afternoon, they were back on the court. Shirts clung to skin with sweat, and sneakers squeaked against the polished floor. Mico stood near the sideline, whistle in hand.
"Today's rule: no hero ball," he said firmly.
Jairo frowned. "Define 'hero'."
"Anyone who thinks the game revolves around them."
Uno crossed his arms, glancing sideways. "So... Lynx?"
Lynx tossed him a grin. "I prefer the term 'main character'."
The scrimmage began—fast, sharp, and surprisingly coordinated. Jairo's energy drove the rhythm, Felix's quiet precision balanced it, Uno's clever plays directed the flow, and Lynx's raw power completed the circuit. Even Mico, watching closely, could see the faint spark of unity forming.
They were still rough and occasionally chaotic, but every pass, laugh, and stumble suggested they were beginning to understand one another's timing. When the whistle finally blew, the team collapsed onto the floor in a pile of laughter and exhaustion.
Jairo lay sprawled out, grinning. "So... are we mentally calibrated now?"
Mico didn't look up from his notes. "Barely. But we're getting there."
Felix smiled faintly at the ceiling. "Chaos breathes order when guided by will."
Uno smirked. "Translation: we did great."
Mico allowed himself a small, rare smile. "Close enough."