Chapter 1: First Serve

The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but the faint orange glow brushing over the coconut trees behind Gubat Coastal High hinted that it would be another hot day in Sorsogon.

Alona Reyes was already in the open gym, the first one there. The wooden floor creaked under her sneakers as she bounced lightly on her toes. Her racket felt like an extension of her hand—taped, scuffed, and worn from months of solo morning practice. She tugged her bangs under her headband and sighed, tossing a shuttlecock into the air.

Thwack.

The shuttle flew, hit the wall, and ricocheted back. She stepped into a split-step and caught it midair with her racket face. Again.

Thwack.

Birdie. Wall. Catch. Repeat. It was her morning meditation.

Then came a sound that shattered the rhythm—a loud thud, followed by the distinct echo of a basketball bouncing across the court.

Alona turned, just in time to see a ball rolling her way.

"Hoy!" she called out, stepping forward with narrowed eyes.

A tall boy jogged in, wearing a sleeveless hoodie, earphones dangling from one ear. His hair was tousled and sleep-messed, like he'd just rolled out of bed. He paused when he saw her, breath fogging in the morning chill.

"Sorry," he said, voice low and smooth, like it didn't know how to be apologetic.

Alona bent, picked up the ball, and examined it like it had personally insulted her.

"Next time your bola flies over, make sure it doesn't interrupt a championship rally against the wall."

He blinked. "Championship rally against the wall?"

"I was winning."

He cracked a smile. "Sounds intense."

"Do you want the ball or not?"

He walked up and held out a hand. "Dane."

She didn't shake it. Instead, she tossed the ball into his stomach. He caught it with a grunt.

"Alona. Don't crash my court."

"I think it's still the school's court."

She raised a brow. "This half is mine. The other half can be your little NBA fantasy zone or whatever."

Dane chuckled, turning the ball in his hands. "Got it. Next time I'll crash less dramatically."

He jogged back to the far side, where a single hoop sat under the rising sun. Alona watched him briefly—his movement, the way he dribbled with his head up, his lean frame weaving in and out of invisible defenders.

"Good footwork," she muttered.

She turned back to her birdies.

Thwack.

By 7:15, the gym had filled with noise—rubber soles squeaking, volleyballs bouncing, tennis players stretching on the sidelines.

Gubat Coastal High didn't have the fanciest facilities, but the open-air gym stood tall and proud near the shoreline. A few holes in the roof let in strips of light. The salty breeze carried in the smell of seaweed and warm bread from the bakery next door.

Alona sat on the bleachers, toweling off sweat. Nina Adao, her doubles partner and best friend since grade school, dropped beside her with a giant plastic tumbler of pink gulaman.

"Spotted you from the gate," Nina said. "Early again. You're obsessed."

"I like peace."

"Is that why you were arguing with the tall guy playing basketball?"

Alona blinked. "You saw?"

"Heard. His name's Dane, I think? Freshman like us. My cousin Keisha has a crush on him already. She called dibs."

"Tell her she can have him. He has no court etiquette."

Nina sipped. "You like him."

"I like silence," Alona said, standing. "And hitting things really hard."

Across the gym, the basketball team was gathered for warm-ups. Coach Dan Samonte, a stocky man with a whistle and an impressive mustache, paced with a clipboard like he was running a PBA team.

"Listen up! We're forming the Intrams lineup today. Don't play like it's recess, play like your ex is watching!"

Laughter rippled through the team. Dane kept silent, adjusting his arm sleeve.

"Ramos," Coach Dan barked. "You're point guard today. Show me what you got."

As Dane stepped onto the court, his eyes scanned the gym—and landed, just for a heartbeat, on Alona. She met his gaze with a flat look, raised her water bottle, and took a mocking sip.

He smiled.

Later that afternoon, the badminton team had the court reserved. Coach Cely stood with her arms crossed, ponytail tight and clipboard tighter.

"We start seeding matches today for varsity reps. I want killers, not kittens."

The team split into matches. Alona faced Riko, a fellow first-year who looked terrified.

"You're going to be fine," Alona said, gently. "Just hit like you mean it."

Ten minutes later, Riko was sitting on the floor, dazed, after a 21–3 defeat.

"I meant hit the birdie, not dive under it," Alona muttered.

Yssa Montanez, third-year and current captain, called out, "You scare the rookies too much, Alona."

"They'll get used to it."

"Try smiling once in a while."

Alona smirked. "That was my smile."

Coach Cely clapped. "Alona vs Yssa. Exhibition match. Let's see if the first-year is all bark."

Yssa's eyes glittered. "Or if she's ready to be a real wolf."

They stepped onto the court. Spectators gathered—volleyball players, tennis kids, even a few basketball boys cooling down.

Including Dane.

Alona didn't notice him at first. She was locked in. Focused. The first serve went long.

The second rally, she took it. Cross-court smash. 1–0.

Yssa responded with a body shot. 1–1.

By the fifth point, the rallies grew longer, faster. Every time Alona lunged, Dane's eyes followed. When she dove for a drop shot and slid on her knees, he murmured under his breath: "Damn."

Match ended 21–19. Yssa took it. Barely.

But Alona stood tall, grinning. "Next time."

Yssa nodded, extending her hand. "Next time, I'll jump higher."

They shook hands.

From the bleachers, Dane clapped slowly, then lifted his water bottle to her in a mock salute.

Alona didn't return the gesture.

But as she turned to leave, she whispered to herself—

"Show-off."

And smiled.