novelnext Chapter 279: The Orbit System
Chapter 279: The Orbit System
The morning air inside the cold Titan Performance Center did not feel like a normal basketball practice. In a normal gym, you would hear boys laughing, cheering for each other, and clapping their hands. But today, there were no happy shouts.
Instead, the gym was filled with a slow, repeating sound. Thud. Thud. Thud. It was the sound of only one single basketball hitting the wooden floor. Every few seconds, the sharp, scary voice of Coach Dante Baldomero would cut through the quiet air like a knife.
"Start over! Reset the play!" Coach Baldomero yelled loudly. "You are moving too slowly, Palencia! You are floating into the middle area. Get back into your corner! Your only job is to stand far away and stretch the floor, not to stand in the way!"
Joco Palencia, the star guard from Quezon City, closed his mouth tightly and ground his teeth together in anger. He slowly dragged his feet backward until he was standing completely still behind the three-point line in the far corner of the court. He bent down and rested his hands on his knees. Joco looked like a wild, dangerous tiger that had been locked inside a tiny cage. He was a great scorer, but right now, the coach was treating him like a piece of furniture that was just meant to sit in the corner.
"The new System is now turned on," Coach Baldomero announced to the team. He looked down at the silver stopwatch in his hand. "We are going to run the play called 'Orbit-Alpha'. Go."
Tristan Herrera stood exactly at the top of the three-point line, facing the basket. He was holding the bright orange basketball in his hands.
The ball felt incredibly heavy today.
Under Coach Baldomero's new "Orbit System," Tristan was the center of everything. He was the giant Sun in the middle of the sky. Everyone else on the team was just a small planet, forced to spin around him.
Tristan bounced the ball two times hard against the floor. This was his secret signal to start the play.
Immediately, Gab Lagman, who was very tall and strong, and Jonas Singson, who was almost seven feet tall, ran quickly toward Tristan. They stood right next to each other near the top of the key. They looked like the two horns on a bull's head. This special basketball setup was literally called the "Horns" formation.
This simple setup was the main engine of their new offense.
Tristan decided to move to the left side. He dribbled the ball and ran very close to Gab, brushing his shoulder against Gab's huge body. This is called a "screen." Gab was acting like a wall to block the defender.
Tristan's defender was Larson Callao. Larson was playing on the practice team today. Larson fought hard to push his way around Gab's giant body to keep chasing Tristan.
At that exact moment, the giant Jonas Singson ran hard toward the basketball rim. Gab did the opposite; he stepped backward into the open space to be ready for a medium-distance shot.
In the old days, Tristan would have three simple choices right now. He could pass the ball to Jonas running to the basket. He could pass the ball back to Gab for a jump shot. Or, he could keep dribbling and try to score himself.
But in this new Orbit System, the rules were completely different. Tristan had to read the defense like a computer. He had to look at what the "help" defender was doing.
The help defender was Emon Jacob. Emon was standing far away in the corner guarding Marco Gumaba. But Emon saw the giant Jonas running to the basket, so Emon left Marco alone and stepped into the middle to stop the giant.
Tristan's brain processed this instantly.
[Skill Activated: Passing Vision - Level 90]
Tristan saw that Marco was completely alone. Tristan pulled his arm back and threw a wild, incredibly fast pass across the entire court. The ball flew like a laser beam right past two jumping defenders. It landed perfectly into Marco's hands, right where Marco liked to catch it.
Marco caught the ball. He did not take a dribble. He did not wait even one second. He just jumped and shot the ball.
Swish. The ball went perfectly through the net.
"Good shot!" Coach Baldomero yelled out. "But that was too nice, Herrera. You were being too generous!"
Coach Baldomero walked onto the court, waving his arms. "Tristan, you had an open path to the basket. The help defender was late. You could have run into him, forced him to hit you, and drawn a foul!"
Tristan used the back of his hand to wipe the stinging sweat out of his eyes. "But Marco was completely open, Coach," Tristan argued quietly.
"I do not care if your friend is open," Baldomero snapped back. "I only care about perfect math and efficiency. If you run in and force a foul, you get to shoot free throws. You are our best free-throw shooter, so those are guaranteed points. Plus, you get the other team's big players in trouble for fouling. When Marco shoots a three-pointer, it is just a guess. He might miss. A foul on you is a promise. I want promises."
Marco heard this. He slowly lowered his head and kicked the wooden floor lightly with his shoe. He had just made a perfect, beautiful shot, but the coach was still mad because the play was not completely focused on Tristan.
"Do it again!" the coach ordered.
So, they ran the exact same play again. And then they ran it again. And again.
For two straight hours, Tristan had to hold the basketball almost the entire time.
His "usage rate"—which means how much a player touches the ball compared to his team—was incredibly high. Tristan started every single play. Tristan took more than half of all the shots for the whole team.
Standing in the corner, Joco Palencia was starting to lose his mind.
"Coach!" Joco finally screamed at the top of his lungs. This was the tenth time in a row that Joco had run down the court and just stood in the corner without anyone passing to him. "I am getting cold! I have not touched the basketball in five whole minutes! How am I supposed to score points if I am just standing here like a statue?"
Coach Baldomero turned his head very slowly. He looked at Joco. "Are you a professional basketball player, Palencia?"
"I am a scorer!" Joco yelled back, hitting his own chest.
"No, you are a spacer," Baldomero corrected him in a freezing cold voice. "Your only job is to be so dangerous at shooting that the other team's defender is terrified to leave you alone. If the defender leaves you, Tristan will pass you the ball for an easy shot. If the defender stays with you in the corner, then Tristan has a giant empty space to play one-on-one. You are doing your job perfectly just by standing completely still."
"But that is boring!" Joco spat. He was so angry his face was red.
"Winning is boring," Coach Baldomero said plainly. "Losing is very exciting. Losing has a lot of drama and crying. Do you want to have exciting drama, or do you want to wear a Gold Medal around your neck?"
Joco stopped talking. He had no answer for that. But he was fuming mad. He glared at Tristan with eyes full of pure poison.
Tristan felt Joco staring at him. Deep down inside, Tristan actually understood exactly why Joco was so mad. Joco was a player who needed to run and touch the ball to feel good. Standing still in a corner was terrible for a player who loved to attack.
But Tristan did not open his mouth. He did not defend his teammate. He had agreed to be the bad guy. He had accepted his new role.
At 11:30 in the morning, the long practice finally ended.
Tristan walked to the side of the court and collapsed onto the wooden bench. His legs felt like they were on fire. His lungs were burning from running so much while holding the ball.
Suddenly, his magical System screen flickered and popped up right in front of his tired eyes.
[Body Status: Stamina is at 65% and dropping very fast.]
[Mind Status: Mental Fatigue is extremely High.]
[Orbit System Knowledge: You only understand 15% of the new plays.]
"Here, take this," Gab said.
Gab sat down heavily next to Tristan on the bench. He handed Tristan a clean, white towel to wipe his face.
"Thank you, Gab," Tristan said, breathing heavily into the towel.
Gab stared out at the empty basketball court. "This new practice is completely brutal, Captain. I feel like a stupid brick wall out there. All I do is run up and let people crash into me to set screens. Bam. Bam. Bam. I do not even look at the basketball hoop anymore. I am just a blocking tool."
"I know it feels bad," Tristan said between heavy breaths. "But... it is actually working, Gab. Did you see the score? We got a basket on almost every single play we ran."
"Yeah, I know," Gab let out a long, sad sigh. "But are we even a real basketball team anymore? Or are the rest of us just shiny accessories that you wear to look good?"
Tristan took a long drink from his plastic water bottle. He did not answer his best friend. That exact question was haunting Tristan's mind too.
During the entire two-hour practice, the special magic connection they shared—the [Bond of the Brotherhood]—had completely turned off. It did not glow once. The new robotic playstyle did not allow them to use their friendship or their feelings. Every single pass and every single step was planned like a math problem. Everything was cold and calculated.
At 1:00 PM, a voice spoke through the speakers in the ceiling.
"Lunch time is over. Everyone must gather in the Media Room immediately." It was Coach Baldomero.
The fifteen boys walked slowly down the long hallway and entered the Media Room. It looked like a small, dark movie theater. It had soft, comfortable chairs and a giant white projector screen on the front wall.
The boys sat down. The angry feelings from practice were still thick in the air. Joco Palencia made sure to sit in the very back row, as far away from Tristan as he possibly could.
Coach Baldomero stood at the front of the dark room. He was holding a small red laser pointer in his hand.
"The physical training part of our camp is changing," the coach announced loudly. "We have spent time installing the new rules in your brains. You know how to run the Orbit. Now, it is time to look at the battlefield where we will fight."
He clicked a button on his remote control.
The giant projector screen lit up the dark room. A big, colorful logo appeared on the screen: SEABA U-18 CHAMPIONSHIP 2016.
"This is the Southeast Asia Basketball Association Championship," Baldomero explained. "This is a qualifying test. Only the top two winning teams from this tournament will be allowed to move forward to the big Asia Cup Championship. And the winners of the Asia Cup get to go to the ultimate goal: The World Cup."
The coach stopped and looked at everyone. "But listen to me. We are not just trying to finish in the top two. We are going to completely dominate everyone. We are going to destroy them so badly they will never forget us."
He clicked his remote again. The screen changed to show how the tournament was organized.
[TOURNAMENT RULES]
Group Stage: All the countries are split into Two Groups (Group A and Group B). Every team in the group plays against each other.
Knockout Stage: The two best teams from Group A and the two best teams from Group B move to the Semifinals.
Finals: The winners play in the Gold Medal Match to be the champions.
"We just received the official lottery results one hour ago," Baldomero said. "Here is the path you must walk."
The screen changed again to show a list of countries.
[GROUP A]
Philippines
Thailand
Vietnam
Brunei
Myanmar
A low sound of whispering moved through the dark room.
"We are in Group A," Carlo Bedia whispered to the boy next to him. "Playing against Thailand is going to be very tough."
Coach Baldomero pointed his little red laser dot at the word Thailand.
"Thailand," the coach said seriously. "They are very fast. They are incredibly aggressive. They will run and press you all the way across the court for the entire forty minutes of the game. They have a star point guard named Suphawat. He is currently playing in a professional youth program in Japan. Suphawat is their version of Tristan. He is their Sun."
The red laser dot moved down to the next country.
"Vietnam," Baldomero continued. "Their basketball program has gotten much better recently. They play very hard, dirty defense. They are amazing at shooting three-pointers from far away. They have a special team of boys who train together every day at an academy called the 'Saigon Heatwave'. Do not think they are weak, or they will beat you."
The laser dot moved to the last two names.
"Brunei and Myanmar," Baldomero said, waving his free hand like he was swatting away tiny flies. "These are just easy warm-up games. But we will not be nice to them. We will not play slowly just because they are weak. We are going to crush them and win by fifty points. We need to do this to send a scary message to the teams in the other group."
He clicked the remote one more time.
[GROUP B]
Indonesia
Malaysia
Cambodia
Laos
Singapore
"This is Group B," Baldomero said. "People usually call the hardest group the 'Group of Death'. In this tournament, Group A is the Group of Death simply because we are in it. But Group B has our oldest and biggest rival."
He circled the red laser dot around the word Indonesia.
"Indonesia," the coach said, his voice sounding annoyed. "They found a young boy from the country of Senegal in Africa. He is 6'10" tall, and they gave him citizenship so he can play for their team. He plays with their local boys. Last year, the older men's team from Indonesia won the Gold Medal. Now, their youth program is very hungry. They want to steal our crown. They want to be the new Kings of Southeast Asia."
"Malaysia has very tall and heavy players this year," Baldomero quickly added. "And Singapore plays very smart, careful basketball without making mistakes."
Coach Baldomero reached over and turned off the bright projector. The room went completely pitch black for one scary second before the main ceiling lights hummed and turned back on.
"In the first part of the tournament, we have to play four full games in only five days," Baldomero told them. "This is an extreme test of your body and your endurance. You will be more tired than you have ever been in your lives."
He looked directly at Tristan in the front row.
"This extreme exhaustion is exactly why we must use the Orbit System," the coach explained to everyone. "When you play a tournament this fast, your legs feel like heavy mud. Your lungs burn. If we try to run complicated, beautiful plays where everyone passes the ball ten times, you will drop the ball. You will make mistakes because you are too tired to think."
He looked back at the rest of the team.
"Simplicity is how you win. We will give the ball to our very best player. He will make the right, simple choice. And the rest of you will save your physical energy. You might hate your boring jobs right now. You might hate me for making you do this. But I promise you this: when you are standing on the winner's podium with a heavy Gold Medal around your neck, and you look down and see the boys from Thailand crying their eyes out on the floor... you will finally understand why I did this."
"We will fly to Bangkok, Thailand in October," Baldomero announced. "Meeting is over."
At 2:00 PM, the boys walked out of the media room and into the bright hallway.
"Wow, Bangkok," Aiden Robinson said. His young eyes were wide with excitement. "I have never traveled outside of the Philippines before."
"It is very hot over there," Ash Galang told him. "It is even hotter and stickier than Manila. And the cars and traffic on the streets are much worse."
"But the food is so good over there," the giant Josh Manio said with a big, hungry smile. "I cannot wait to eat real Pad Thai noodles and spicy Tom Yum soup."
"Focus your brain, Manio!" Joco Palencia snapped angrily, slapping the giant's arm. "We are not flying to another country just to go on a fun food trip. We are going to war."
Tristan ignored the arguing. He walked quietly over to the water fountain to get a drink.
Suddenly, he felt a heavy hand grab his shoulder.
It was Joco Palencia.
The rest of the team stopped walking. Everyone went completely quiet. The angry rivalry between the two best guards on the team was very obvious. Everyone wanted to see what would happen.
"Herrera," Joco said. His voice was not loud and screaming like it was during practice. It was low, quiet, and very sharp.
"Palencia," Tristan replied calmly, standing up straight.
"Group A," Joco said, looking into Tristan's eyes. "Thailand. Listen to me carefully. I played against that Thai boy, Suphawat, in a special friendly tournament last year. He is incredibly good. He is fast. He is much faster than Larson Callao."
"Okay. I understand," Tristan nodded his head.
"So here is my warning to you," Joco said, leaning his face closer to Tristan. "If your special 'Orbit' system stops working... if that Thai guard defends you so well that you cannot score... I am not going to sit in the corner and wait for Coach Baldomero to call my name. I am going to come over and take the basketball right out of your hands. We are wearing the colors of our country's flag. We do not represent Coach Baldomero's crazy ideas. We represent the Philippines. If we start losing the game, I am taking over."
Tristan looked deeply at Joco. He saw the hot fire burning in the other boy's eyes. Tristan realized that Joco was not just being a selfish jerk. In his own angry, arrogant way, Joco truly loved his country. Joco just wanted to win for the Philippines.
"If I start to fail," Tristan said in a very calm, steady voice, "I will hand the basketball to you myself. But you do not need to worry. I am not going to fail."
Joco stared at Tristan's face for a long second, trying to see if Tristan was lying. Then, Joco let out a short, angry laugh. "We will see about that," Joco said. He turned around and walked away.
It was 8:00 PM.
The large dormitory building was very quiet. Most of the players were in their rooms, packing their dirty clothes or talking to their parents on video calls.
Tristan was sitting outside on the cold metal balcony of his luxury suite. He was looking out at the beautiful city skyline of Bonifacio Global City. The tall glass buildings were glowing. The lights of the busy city flickered in the dark like a million tiny stars.
The glass door opened, and Marco and Gab stepped out onto the balcony to join him.
They were holding two cold cans of sweet soda.
"Cheers," Marco said, pulling the metal tab on his can with a loud pop. "Let us drink to Group A."
"Let us drink to completely crushing Thailand," Gab added with a smile. He clinked his aluminum can against theirs.
"Are you two guys okay?" Tristan asked softly, looking at his best friends. "Practice today was... very rough."
Marco rested his arms on the metal railing of the balcony. He looked out at the city. "I am not going to lie to you, Captain. I feel like a machine. I just run to my spot on the floor. I wait. I catch. I shoot. I run back to play defense. It is so boring. I miss being creative. I miss the fun, crazy plays we used to make back home."
"I miss actually touching the basketball and dribbling," Gab admitted sadly. "But... I have to tell you something. I watched the video film the coach sent us."
"You watched the film?" Tristan asked, surprised.
"Yes," Gab nodded. "Coach Baldomero sent the math numbers to our phones. When we run the Orbit System... our scoring numbers are amazing. Every time we had the ball, we scored an average of 1.4 points. Tristan, those are numbers that professional NBA teams make. It is perfect."
Marco sighed heavily. "Yeah. Gab is right. The system works perfectly. It is boring as hell, and it makes me sad, but it works. And it only works because you make the perfect decision every single time, Tristan."
Marco turned his head and looked at Tristan with a very serious expression on his face.
"But please listen to me, Tristan," Marco said. "Do not lose yourself inside this system. Today, you played exactly like a cold machine. You did not smile a single time today. You did not even smile when you jumped over the giant and scored."
Tristan looked down at his own empty hands.
"Coach Baldomero told me that if I want to win, I have to kill the 'good, nice boy' inside of my heart," Tristan whispered.
"Do not kill him," Marco said softly. As Marco spoke, Tristan suddenly imagined he was hearing the sweet, kind voice of his friend Claire echoing in his mind. "Just tell the nice boy to go sit on the bench for a little while. We still need our real Captain. We do not want a cold Dictator."
Tristan finally smiled. It was a very small smile, but it was real and genuine.
"I will try my best, Marco," Tristan promised. "But for this big tournament... for SEABA... I think I have to be the monster."
As the three boys stood quietly on the balcony, feeling the warm night breeze, the magical System made a soft, pleasant chiming sound inside Tristan's mind. A new blue box appeared in the air.
[NEW MISSION ALERT: THE SEABA CONQUEST]
[Main Objective: You must lead Team Philippines to win the Gold Medal. (It is highly recommended that you do not lose a single game.)]
[Special Side Quest: Become the King of Southeast Asia.]
[Task: You must completely defeat the star Thai player 'Suphawat' in a one-on-one battle during the game.]
[Reward for Winning: Your skills will get a Platinum Badge Upgrade. You will also earn the special Title: 'Regional Warlord'.]
Tristan squeezed his hands tightly around the metal balcony railing.
Thailand. Suphawat. The Japanese professional league.
This was going to be the very first real test of his new Orbit System.
"We are going to win," Tristan said out loud to the night sky. His voice was strong and completely firm. "We are going to sweep every team in Group A."
"And then what?" Marco asked with a grin.
"And then we take the Gold Medal home," Tristan said.
Tristan closed his eyes and looked at the glowing blue letters of the tournament map inside his mind.
"Go inside and get some sleep," Tristan told his brothers. "Tomorrow morning, we have to make the Orbit System even more perfect. Because in six months, we are leaving the country, and we are going to war."
The three friends stood together under the stars for a few minutes longer. The glowing magic of their "Bond of the Brotherhood" was sleeping and dormant for now. It was completely quiet, just waiting for the special moment when the coach's strict rules would finally fail, and the boys would have to trust their hearts and instincts to save the game.