The hallway outside the Athletic Affairs Office was silent except for the faint echo of shoes tapping across the marble floor. In Mico's hands was a thick, neatly clipped folder — the official formation form for Castillian. Every page was spotless, perfectly filled, every signature written in the same sharp, deliberate stroke.
Uno trailed behind him, spinning a basketball on his finger like he had all the time in the world. "You know," he said, glancing at Mico's back, "most people actually enjoy this part. The forming stage. Team-building, excitement— that kind of stuff."
Mico didn't answer. His focus was fixed on the office door ahead, the one labeled:
CASA DE IMPERIUM ATHLETIC AFFAIRS — ADMINISTRATION UNIT
He stepped in. The room was lined with glass walls, everything tinted in the signature Casa crimson. The clerk inside barely looked up from her screen.
"Name?" She asked automatically.
"Mico Cein Esguerra," he replied. His voice was quiet but carried the kind of confidence that made people pause. "Team registration form. Basketball division."
That got her attention. The woman took the folder, flipping through it quickly. Her brows furrowed halfway. "You're the Engineering student, right?"
"Yes."
She stopped at the final page, blinking. "Wait… this can't be right." Her finger tapped a line. "You've listed one of your players — Lynx Suárez — as a non-student."
Uno shifted awkwardly behind Mico, trying not to grin. He knew what was coming.
Mico just nodded once. "That's correct."
The clerk looked confused. "You can't do that, Mr. Esguerra. The campus rules state that all team members must be registered students of Casa de Imperium or at least affiliated through an academic permit."
Mico leaned forward slightly, his tone even but unyielding. "The rule also says, 'Teams must maintain a roster capable of representing the university in both skill and discipline.' It doesn't specify that exceptional talent can't come from outside the system."
The clerk blinked, realizing she was being cornered with his exact reading of the handbook. "Still," she said carefully, "it's unusual."
"So is winning," Mico replied. "But Casa likes results."
Uno coughed to cover a laugh.
The clerk sighed, staring at Mico for a long moment before finally nodding. "You're lucky you sound like you know what you're talking about, Mr. Esguerra." She took a stamp and pressed it onto the document — APPROVED.
She then handed him a crimson keycard with a golden seal. "Team Castillian — Room 07-B, Athletic Wing. And for that… non-student of yours," she added, sliding a separate metallic pass across the desk, "this will serve as a temporary access ID. Restricted entry, but it'll get him through the gates whenever necessary."
Mico took both cards without hesitation. "Thank you."
As they stepped out of the office, Uno finally burst into a grin. "You just argued your way through campus regulations in under five minutes."
Mico shrugged. "Efficiency."
Uno looked at the crimson keycard and the metallic one gleaming under the light. "Guess we're official now."
Mico stopped walking, looking at the passes in his hand — the red card for the team, the steel one for Lynx.
"Not yet," he said softly, almost to himself. "We'll be official when the court starts to remember our name."
---
The message came just as Lynx was finishing his late lunch in a cramped apartment above a grocery run by fellow Filipino workers.
[Mico Esguerra]: 6 PM. Filipino restaurant across Casa. Official Castillian meeting. Be there.
Lynx smirked, tossing his phone onto the table. "So he finally moves."
By the time he arrived, the restaurant was already half-filled with chatter — students, employees, families — all clinging to the warmth of home through the smell of garlic rice and adobo. The place was small but alive, red plastic chairs and framed photos of Manila on the walls.
At the corner table sat Mico, Uno, Felix, and Jairo. The moment Lynx pushed the door open, a small bell rang above it.
Uno spotted him first. "Finally, the wild card shows up!"
Lynx grinned and sauntered over, hands in his pockets. "Had to make an entrance, bro. You don't just rush into greatness."
Felix merely nodded in acknowledgment. Mico's eyes flicked up briefly before returning to the notes on his tablet.
"Sit," Mico said simply.
Lynx took the empty chair beside Jairo, who leaned over immediately, his energy practically spilling out. "Yo, yo! I'm Jairo, Jairo Roman. You were insane back there during that street game! I saw the clips, man — Phantom Drive, right? That move was smooth!"
Lynx raised an eyebrow, amused. "You watch my games?"
"Of course! I watch everything basketball," Jairo said proudly, tapping his chest. "It's my love language."
Uno groaned. "Don't encourage him. Once he starts talking, you'll never hear silence again."
Jairo laughed, unbothered. "Silence is boring! Anyway, we're all Filipino here, right? So we gotta make this team feel like home. Like—"
"—like a family?" Lynx teased, smirking.
"Exactly!" Jairo grinned back.
Even Felix's lips twitched slightly — almost a smile. The awkwardness that had been sitting between them slowly melted away, replaced by something warmer.
When the waiter came to take their order — a mix of tapsilog, kare-kare, and lumpiang shanghai — Mico finally set his tablet down.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small metallic card, sliding it across the table toward Lynx.
"Your access pass," Mico said. "It'll get you inside Casa grounds, the Athletic Wing, and our team room. Don't lose it."
Lynx picked it up, inspecting the crimson crest etched into the surface. "Damn. Fancy for a street guy like me."
"You're part of the team now," Uno said, shrugging. "You wear our name, you get the badge."
Mico looked at each of them, his voice even but commanding. "Now that we're complete, we finalize our structure. I'll be Point Guard and Captain. Uno takes Shooting Guard. Felix, Center. Jairo, Power Forward. Lynx, Small Forward."
He paused, eyes sharp as glass. "From this day, Castillian is no longer a concept. We're an official team under Casa de Imperium."
He opened his notebook — pages filled with schedules, diagrams, and court maps. "Training begins tomorrow. Rules are simple: punctuality, precision, respect, and no distractions during drills. We play like machines, but we move like one body."
"Machines, huh?" Lynx muttered. "What happened to passion?"
Mico met his gaze. "Passion is fire. But fire without control burns itself out."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Jairo broke the silence with a grin. "So… when do we start burning other teams?"
Uno snorted. Felix chuckled quietly. Even Lynx cracked a small laugh.
Mico closed his notebook, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "Soon."
The bell over the restaurant door chimed again as the five of them stepped out into the Beijing evening — the cold wind brushing past their shoulders, the sound of their laughter trailing off into the city's noise.
That night, Castillian was no longer just an idea. It was a spark — one that would soon set the court ablaze.
The night air outside the restaurant was cold enough to fog their breath. Streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, the glow of Beijing wrapping the five of them in a faint golden haze.
They had eaten too much, laughed too loud, and somehow, by the end of dinner, the awkwardness was gone. They weren't just strangers anymore.
They were Castillian.
As they walked across the pedestrian lane leading back to Casa de Imperium's gates, Jairo stretched his arms behind his head. "So, Captain," he said with a grin, "what's our first practice gonna be? Sprints? Passing drills? Maybe some—"
"Cleaning," Mico interrupted.
The four froze.
"...What?" Uno blinked.
Mico didn't even look back as he swiped his ID through the campus gate scanner.
He walked ahead, his pace steady. "We're heading to our assigned room. We'll clean and decorate it before training begins."
Lynx laughed under his breath. "You're kidding, right? We're supposed to be ballers, not janitors."
"Clean court, clean game," Mico replied simply. "If the place you build from is a mess, don't expect the foundation to stand."
Uno grinned, nudging Jairo. "See? Classic Mico logic. Don't fight it, just follow the manual."
Felix, who'd been quiet the whole walk, finally spoke. "He's not wrong," he said in his calm, deep voice. "The space you train in reflects your discipline. Architecture 101."
Jairo sighed dramatically. "So what, we're going to mop and sweep before even touching a ball?"
"Pretty much," Uno said, chuckling. "Welcome to Castillian."
The Athletic Wing was dim and mostly empty at that hour. The sound of their footsteps echoed down the polished corridor until they stopped in front of a steel door labeled ROOM 07-B.
Mico swiped the red keycard. The lock clicked, and the door slid open with a faint hiss.
Inside was a wide, bare room — dusty, unlit, and cold. The air smelled faintly of disuse. There were old benches stacked on one side and a cracked bulletin board leaning against the wall.
Lynx whistled. "Well, this is… depressing."
Jairo poked a cobweb in the corner with a broomstick. "I think that spider's been here since the last championship."
Uno rolled up his sleeves. "All right, team. The Captain's orders are clear."
Felix grabbed a mop from the corner 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 at the blank wall.
Jairo burst out laughing. "Make that two — one for me too!"
Mico, who had started unpacking cleaning supplies from a box, allowed himself the smallest, rarest smile. "Do what you want. Just don't ruin the symmetry."
They got to work — sweeping, scrubbing, rearranging old lockers and benches. The empty space slowly began to feel alive. Uno played music from his phone, Jairo started humming along, and Lynx pretended to conduct with his mop. Even Felix cracked a grin when Uno accidentally tripped over the broom handle.
When they finally finished, the once-dull room looked brighter — modest but clean, the floor shining faintly under the ceiling lights.
On the wall by the door, Mico taped a single sheet of paper — a hand-drawn emblem with five lines forming a crown.
At the bottom, in clean block letters:
CASTILLIAN
"Greatness isn't born — it's built."
Jairo crossed his arms, admiring their work. "Now this… this feels right."
Uno grinned, opening his arms dramatically. "From dirt to dynasty."
Lynx leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head. "You really planned this, huh, Captain?"
"I plan everything perfectly, Suárez." Mico answered, almost arrogantly.