Between Courts and Nets

Setting: Opening weekend of the UAAP Season 87.

THIRD PERSON’S POV

The Araneta Coliseum thundered with life. Gold-and-white flags clashed against waves of blue, voicing echoing from every corner like a battle cry. It was the opening weekend of UAAP Season 87, and the energy was wild – the kind that rattled the chest and made every cheer feel personal.

The UST Golden Tigresses were at match point, 14 – 13 in the fifth set against the Ateneo Lady Eagles.

The air was electric. One serve could end it all.

At the service line stood Ariana “Yana” De Vera, captain of the Tigresses. Her heartbeat synced with the chant that rolled through the arena:

“GO USTE, GO USTE, GO! GO! GO!”

Sweat trickled down her neck, her ponytail clinging to her skin. Her eyes darted to her best friend and opposite spiker, Tessa Villanueva, whose grin could probably blind nerves.

“Finish it, Captain Bestie!” Tessa shouted, throwing up a peace sign.

Yana exhaled, smirking, “Only if you stop yelling in my ear later.”

The whistle blew.

One breath. One toss. One jump.

Boom.

The ball sliced the air like lightning and dropped untouched on Ateneo’s side.

Ace. Game. Over.

The referee’s whistle cut through the eruption of cheers.

UST WINS.

Golden confetti exploded from the rafters. The tigresses screamed, hugged, and jumped – all except Yana, who stood still, her expression calm beneath the flashing lights and camera lenses. She’d been here before.

Winning was… expected.

It felt almost empty.

She glanced across the crowd and caught sight of Diana, captain of the La Salle Lady Archers, watching from the stands – calm, composed, unreadable.

The rival she couldn’t forget.

The one loss that still burned.

That was the match that stole her sleep last season – the fifth set heartbreak. The block she failed to time.

The championship ring that slipped away.

“Earth to Yana!”

Tessa jogged over, her ponytail bouncing.

“You just saved the entire game and you look like someone stole your pancit canton.”

Yana chuckled, brushing the sweat from her forehead. “We did what we came to do.”

“Girl, you didn’t do it – you owned it.” Tessa hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, can we atleast scream for Instagram? Give the fans something."

Tessa did – loud enough for the entire arena to hear.

YANA’S POV

The locker room buzzed with laughter, water bottles clinking, sneakers squeaking against the floor. But I just sat there – towel over my neck, staring at my reflection in the locker’s metal door.

We won.

And yet…. Why doesn’t it feel like a win?

I wiped the sweat off my face, trying to shake off the weird emptiness. Maybe I was just tired. Or maybe, deep down, I was waiting for something else – something harder, something that would make me feel the fire again.

Diana.

Next time, I’ll meet you in the championship. And this time, I’ll crush you.

No missed blocks, no almost. Just victory. “Care for your thoughts?”

Tessa’s voice pulled me out of my head. She dropped beside me, her hair still damp from the post-game shower, her phone in hand.

“You’ve been staring at the locker for five minutes like it owes you money.”

I laughed quietly. “Just… thinking about last year.”

Tessa softened, her usual chaotic grin turning gentle. “Still about the La Salle game, huh?”

I didn’t answer, but she knew.

“You know,” Tessa started, bumping my shoulder lightly, “you can’t keep living in that match. You’ve already grown so much since then. You’re stronger, smarter – even meaner on defense.” She grinned. “And besides, you’re gonna get your revenge. It’s literally your senior year arc, Captain.”

“Senior year arc?” I raised a brow.

“Yeah! Every athlete gets one. You’ll get your redemption ring, and I’ll be in the background taking your dramatic slow-mo shots for your graduation reel.”

I smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it.”

We shared a laugh, but then Tessa leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Also, speaking of love… I have something that’ll cure your championship blues.”

“What is it this time?”

“The UAAP basketball opening game is later.” Her tone shifted, teasing. “And guess who’s playing?”

I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess – your crush?”

“Migs Alcantara. Star player. Captain of the DLSU Green Archers. Literal walking highlight reel.” She sighed

dramatically. “You need to see him play, Yana. His passes? His form? His smile? Chef’s kiss. I swear, it’ll heal

your broken blocking spirit.”

I laughed so hard my sides hurt. “You just want me to be your wingwoman again.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the volleyball queen needs to see what a basketball god looks like up close.”

“Hard pass,” I said, but she was already grinning like she’d won.

“Fine, but when you fall for his dimples, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Not happening,” I said, grabbing my gym bag. But even as I walked away, I caught myself smiling.

Maybe I’ll watch. Just for once. For Tessa. And maybe… for a little distraction.

THIRD PERSON’S POV

That same evening, after the volleyball game, the Araneta Colliseum transformed into a roaring sea of green and blue. Flags waved like ocean tides, chants collided midair, and the echo of sneakers screeching against the polished court filled every corner.

It wasn’t just a game. It was a war – the kind that split friendships, campuses, and timelines. Ateneo and La Salle has been known as a long time rivalry, that’s the reason why this game is intense despite that the UAAP just starting.

UAAP Season 87: DLSU Green Archers vs. Ateneo Blue Eagles.

Final quarter. Last 15 seconds.

Score 87 – 87.

The Green Archers huddled in a tight circle, jerseys drenched, adrenaline flooding every heartbeat. In the middle stood Migs Alcantara – team captain, shooting guard, and the face of every La Sallian poster this

season.

Coach Lito’s voice sliced through the chaos.

“Alcantara, isolation. Take the shot if it’s open – no hesitation.”

Migs nodded once, jaw tight.

No hesitation. That’s what they all said. But no one ever told him what to do when the cheers got louder than his thoughts.

The whistle blew. Timeout over.

The game clock resumed its countdown – fifteen, fourteen…

He dribbled past half court, the ball pulsing like a heartbeat against the floor. Ateneo’s defense closed in, arms raised, bodies pressing.

Ten seconds.

He pivoted, crossed over, spun left – the crowd’s roar rising and falling like waves.

Nine.

His eyes locked on the rim.

Eight.

The shot clock blinked red at the edges of his vision.

Seven.

He feinted right, stepped back – defender slipped.

Six.

Open look.

Five.

He jumped.

For that half-second in the air, everything went silent.

No crowd. No pressure. No noise.

Just the rhythm of his breath and the weight of the ball leaving his fingers.

Swish.

The buzzer screamed.

90 – 87,

La Salle wins.

The arena exploded – green flags storming that air, drums pounding, fans climbing barriers. His teammates swarmed him, shouting his name like a battle cry. Cameras flashed. Reporters pushed in. Someone sprayed water into the air.

“MIGS! MVP! MVP!”

But Migs didn’t shout. Didn’t raise his arms. He stood frozen, chest rising and falling under the blinding lights, staring up at the scoreboard like he couldn’t believe it.

He won.

Again.

And yet, deep inside – a hollow thud echoed. Another victory. Another performance. Another night where the noise outside drowned the silence within.

His best friend Rafa, jogged up and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You good, bro? You just won us the season opener and you look like you lost your allowance.”

Migs laughed quietly. “Just tired, I guess.”

Rafa eyed him. “Nah. You’re thinking again. Don’t start overanalyzing greatness. Enjoy the moment. That way you will see the beauty of every game. Win or lose.”

Migs grinned faintly. His gaze drifted upward – to the upper stands, where the volleyball teams from earlier were filling out earlier before their match. His eyes caught a flash of gold and white – a girl laughing beside her friend, towel draped over her shoulders.

He didn’t know her name.

But for some reason, the sight of her laughing – calm, grounded, untouched by the chaos – cut through the

noise like a soft whistle.

For the first time that night, he actually breathed.

YANA’S POV

I shouldn’t have stayed.

That’s what I kept telling myself as Tessa dragged me closer to the court. The volleyball games were done, and I could’ve easily gone home – shower, dinner, bed, but no. Here I was, surrounded by thousands of screaming La Sallians, clutching on my jacket like it could shield me from all the green.

“THIS. IS. ART!” Tessa screamed beside me, jumping as the crowd went wild again. “Did you see that shot? Ugh! Migs Alcantara just fed my sould!”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous! Ridiculously hot! And clutch! And wait – oh my God, he’s looking this way!”

I followed her line of sight.

He was there – standing midcourt, sweat-soaked, jersey clinging to his frame, the kind of confidence that came from knowing the world expected you to be perfect.

For half a second, his gaze flicked towards the stands.

Our eyes met.

Just briefly.

I looked away first. Tessa grabbed my arm, whispering like a fangirl possessed. “Tell me you felt that! Tell me you didn’t just

have a moment with Migs Alcantara!”

I shook my head, smiling. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe. But I saw that look. Sparks, baby. Pure UAAP crossover energy.”

I snorted. “The only sparks I need are from my next serve.”

“Uh-uh,” she teased. “We’ll see.”