pertwk Chapter 296: Philippines vs Vietnam (4)
Chapter 296: Philippines vs Vietnam (4)
The short break between the third and the fourth quarter did not feel like a normal timeout in a basketball game. Instead, it felt much more like a quiet, sad waiting room right before a funeral. The energy in the building was completely gone.
On the far side of the basketball court, the Vietnamese team bench was a perfect picture of total sadness and absolute defeat. Their head coach, who had spent the entire first half of the game loudly screaming until his throat was sore, was now totally silent. He sat heavily in his plastic chair. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he was staring blankly at the wooden floor. He did not want to look at his players, and he did not want to look at the scoreboard.
The Vietnamese players were slumped down in their seats. They had thick, sweat-soaked towels draped completely over their heads to hide their faces. They were actively avoiding any eye contact with the thousands of their fellow countrymen sitting in the stadium stands. The ugly, violent "street fight" they had promised to bring to the Philippines had been violently shut down. It had been replaced by a cold, mathematical, and perfect basketball system that had broken their spirits entirely.
However, on the Philippine bench, the atmosphere was entirely different. Even though they were winning by a massive amount, the bench was completely devoid of any celebration. The Philippine Wall did not celebrate until the final buzzer sounded, and even then, they only celebrated briefly. They were disciplined.
Coach Dante Baldomero stood tall before his second unit of players. He looked at Emon Jacob, Aiden Robinson, Ash Galang, LA Morales, and Carlo Bedia. These five boys were going to finish the game.
"We have exactly ten minutes left to play," Baldomero said. His voice dropped down to a very low, intense rumble. The tone of his voice forced all five teenage players to lean in closely to hear him.
"There are ten minutes left in this group stage. I know the giant scoreboard above us says the score is sixty to sixteen. But as far as all of you are concerned right now, the score is zero to zero. Do not play with your food. Do not get sloppy with your passes. If I see anyone taking a crazy, heavily contested shot early in the shot clock just because they want to score points and pad their stats, you will sit on this bench for the rest of the entire tournament. Am I perfectly clear?"
"Yes, Coach," the five players answered together. Their voices blended into a single, highly focused chorus.
Carlo Bedia smiled and slapped giant LA Morales hard on the shoulder. "Let's go put them out of their misery, big guy. Let's keep it nice and clean."
LA did not smile back. He simply grunted softly, bending down to adjust the thick medical brace on his heavy knee. His face remained exactly like a terrifying, emotionless mask. He was ready to work.
Tristan Herrera sat comfortably back on the bench, resting his tired legs. He had a clean white towel wrapped softly around his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment and pulled up his internal [System] interface. He shifted his mental focus away from his own personal performance and looked at the team's overall data.
[Active Roster on Court: Second Unit]
Unit Synergy Level: 88% - Climbing Steadily
Current Tactical Objective: Maintain 'Orbit' System Structural Integrity; Drain the Game Clock
Opponent Morale Level: 0% - Critical Failure
"They look like they just want to go home, Captain," Marco Gumaba whispered quietly. He leaned over to Tristan and nodded his head toward the sad Vietnamese bench. "I honestly kind of feel bad for them right now. Well, almost."
"Do not feel bad for them," Tristan replied very coldly. His sharp eyes were tracking the second unit as they walked onto the bright hardwood floor. "They tried to purposely injure Ash and Gab in the first quarter. They wanted to turn this basketball game into a dirty street brawl. Let them feel the crushing weight of a sixty-to-sixteen scoreboard. It is the absolute best teacher they will ever have."
The Fourth Quarter Begins
Score: PHI 60 - VIE 16
The referee blew his plastic whistle loudly to signal the start of the quarter. The sharp, piercing sound echoed clearly, highlighting just how incredibly quiet the massive Nimibutr Stadium had become. The thousands of rabid Vietnamese fans had completely lost their voice. Many of the fans in the upper rows were already quietly standing up and shuffling toward the stadium exits. They simply could not bear to watch the final ten minutes of this terrible massacre.
The Vietnam team passed the basketball inbounds to officially start the quarter. Their point guard caught the ball and just walked it very slowly up the floor. There was absolutely no urgency in his steps. There were no sharp cuts by his teammates. There were no players calling for screens. They looked like they were moving underwater in slow motion.
Backup point guard Emon Jacob stepped up and met the Vietnamese point guard right at the half-court line. Emon did not pressure him too heavily or try to steal the ball. He simply dropped down into a perfect, textbook defensive stance. He spread his arms wide and dictated the space, forcing the guard to stay back.
"Just play ball," Emon muttered softly, clapping his hands together one time.
The exhausted Vietnamese guard tried to initiate a very slow, half-hearted pick-and-roll play. His center, Nguyen Vu, jogged up to set the screen. Vu looked completely terrible. The giant man looked like he had aged five whole years in the last thirty minutes of basketball. He was dragging his heavy feet.
LA Morales was already waiting for them.
As the Vietnamese guard tried to dribble and turn the corner tightly around his center's screen, LA stepped out directly into his path. LA did not commit a foul, and he did not reach in to grab the ball. He simply positioned his massive, muscular, six-foot-six frame perfectly in the smaller guard's way. His broad chest was squared up, and his thick arms were raised straight up into the air. He was truly the Anvil.
The terrified guard took one single look at LA's scary face, hesitated completely, and picked up his dribble. Trapped and panicked, the guard threw a wild pass blindly over his own shoulder, just hoping and praying that one of his teammates was standing back there.
No one was there. But Ash Galang was already moving.
With his massive, incredibly long wingspan and terrifying ability to read the game, Ash shot out like a rocket into the passing lane. He easily tipped the basketball to himself and instantly ignited a fast break toward the other side of the court.
"This is mine!" Ash yelled loudly.
He sprinted as fast as he could down the completely empty basketball court. Not a single Vietnamese player even attempted to run back and chase him down. They just watched him go. Ash took flight from just inside the painted free-throw line. He soared high through the empty air with effortless, beautiful grace, and he threw down a smooth, incredibly powerful one-handed tomahawk dunk.
PHI 62 - VIE 16
The Philippine bench politely clapped their hands. Tristan nodded his head approvingly at the play.
[System Note: Defensive Transition Time was 2.1 Seconds. Elite Speed.]
Vietnam finally managed to score a single basket. By doing so, they snapped a nearly twelve-minute-long scoring drought that had stretched all the way back to the middle of the second quarter.
It was not a pretty play at all. Their tired shooting guard drove aimlessly and slowly into the painted area near the basket. He immediately got trapped by the strong arms of Carlo Bedia. In a pure panic, the guard threw up a wild, fading, ugly floater shot. The basketball bounced four times on the metal rim before agonizingly and luckily dropping straight down through the white net.
A tiny, highly sarcastic cheer erupted from a very small pocket of the Vietnamese fans who were still remaining in the arena seats.
PHI 62 - VIE 18
"Alright, that is it! That is their scoring quota for the entire quarter!" Carlo Bedia bellowed loudly. He grabbed the basketball as it fell through the net and tossed it casually to the referee on the baseline. "It is time to go back to the torture chamber! Let's go, Emon, set it up!"
Emon Jacob caught the inbound pass and slowly brought the ball up the court. He looked up at the giant red numbers on the shot clock above the basket. He remembered his coach's strict instructions. He was told to bleed the clock dry and waste as much time as possible.
He held the basketball near the center court logo. He directed traffic with his left hand, telling his teammates where to stand.
20... 19... 18...
The Vietnam players stayed packed tightly in a 2-3 zone defense near their own basket. They simply did not want to run around and chase the ball anymore. They were far too tired. They just wanted to protect the area near the rim and avoid getting dunked on again.
"Run Orbit Delta!" Emon called out loudly when there were only twelve seconds left on the shot clock.
The movement of the Philippine players was crisp, sharp, and highly mechanical. Carlo Bedia ran over and set a strong pin-down screen for Aiden Robinson near the baseline. Aiden sprinted incredibly fast right off the screen, curling his body tightly toward the right side of the free-throw line.
Emon delivered a perfect, fast bounce pass that hit Aiden right in his waiting hands.
The tired Vietnamese defense immediately panicked and collapsed entirely on Aiden. They were terrified of his amazing shooting ability. Three players wearing red jerseys swarmed around the rookie, completely abandoning their assigned zones.
Aiden did not panic at all. The Orbit algorithm was deeply ingrained in his young mind. He knew exactly what to do. If the defense overcommits to one side, the weak side of the court is completely empty.
Without even turning his head to look, Aiden fired a fast, one-handed skip pass diagonally across the entire court. It was a very risky, high-level basketball pass, but it hit Ash Galang perfectly in his shooting pocket. Ash was standing deep in the empty left corner of the court.
Ash was primarily known for his lockdown defense and his ability to slash to the basket, but he had been quietly working very hard on his corner three-point shot with Tristan after their regular practices. Ash calmly set his feet on the wooden floor, rose up smoothly into the air, and released the ball with high arc.
Swish.
PHI 65 - VIE 18
"Bang!" Marco Gumaba yelled happily from the bench. He pretended to shoot imaginary arrows up into the air with his hands. "The spider can shoot threes now!"
Aiden pointed his finger at Ash as they quickly ran back to play defense. "Good shot, man!"
"Good find, rookie!" Ash replied with a smile, slapping Aiden's hand as they passed each other.
The basketball game slowly ground into an agonizing, terribly slow crawl. Backup point guard Emon Jacob was putting on an absolute masterclass in clock management. Every single offensive possession took at least twenty full seconds of passing. The Philippine team was just casually passing the ball around the outside perimeter with zero intention of scoring quickly. They were stretching the tired Vietnamese defense until it tore completely at the seams.
With exactly five and a half minutes left in the game, Emon decided it was time to feed the beast inside.
Carlo Bedia found himself matched up against a Vietnamese power forward who was easily two inches shorter than him and at least thirty pounds lighter. Carlo immediately established a very deep post position on the left block near the basket. He sealed his smaller man effortlessly behind his wide back.
"Right here! This is BBQ Chicken! Give me the ball!" Carlo yelled loudly. He waved his big right hand high in the air to call for a pass.
Emon easily dumped the basketball safely down into the post.
Carlo caught it securely with both hands. He did not rush his move. He took one very hard, aggressive dribble, backing his smaller defender down toward the hoop. The loud sound of their bodies hitting each other echoed clearly through the quiet arena.
THUD.
The Vietnamese defender grimaced in pain, instantly giving up two full feet of space on the floor.
Carlo took another powerful dribble. THUD.
He was now standing directly under the metal basket. The Vietnamese center, Nguyen Vu, desperately tried to slide over to help his teammate, but LA Morales completely sealed Vu off with a heavy, immovable, perfect box-out. Vu could not move an inch.
Carlo spun quickly over his left shoulder. He pump-faked one time, easily sending his completely exhausted defender flying helplessly into the empty air. Then, Carlo calmly leaned forward and laid the basketball softly off the glass backboard and into the net.
TWEET.
The referee blew the whistle loudly. It was an "And one" play. The trailing defender had fouled Carlo hard across the arm while he was shooting.
PHI 67 - VIE 18
Carlo angrily flexed his massive, muscular biceps. He let out a loud, guttural roar that completely startled the front row of sports photographers sitting near the baseline.
"You are way too little! You put a tiny child on me to defend me!" Carlo screamed at the opponent. "Tell your coach to sub you out of the game right now before I really hurt your feelings!"
"Settle down, Bedia," Emon said calmly as he walked over, though he was clearly hiding a small smirk on his face. "Just hit the free throw and get back on defense."
Carlo stepped up to the free-throw line. He was still muttering angry trash talk under his breath, but he smoothly sank the free throw, adding one more point to the giant lead.
PHI 68 - VIE 18
The final four minutes of the fourth quarter were a completely surreal display of basketball. It was no longer a competitive sports match between two countries. Instead, it looked exactly like a live-action practice drill for the Philippine second unit.
Vietnam had completely and utterly surrendered.
On offense, the Vietnamese players just passed the ball aimlessly around the outside perimeter. They absolutely refused to try and dribble into the paint where LA Morales and Carlo Bedia stood waiting like twin, scary sentinels. Eventually, the shot clock would run out, and the Vietnam team would settle for a highly contested, terrible jump shot that usually resulted in a long, easy rebound for Ash Galang.
On defense, the Vietnam players barely even moved their feet.
Emon brought the ball up the court once again, just walking it slowly across the half-court line. He looked over at Coach Baldomero on the sidelines. The serious coach gave a slight, downward pushing motion with his hand. The signal was clear: Kill the clock entirely. Take no more risks.
Emon nodded his head in understanding. He stood directly on the center court logo, resting the basketball safely on his hip.
The Vietnamese point guard stood six feet away from Emon. The guard's hands were resting heavily on his own knees. He was staring sadly down at the hardwood floor. Thick sweat was dripping from his nose. He was just waiting for this terrible torture to finally end.
15... 14... 13...
The crowd was completely, totally silent. The only sound in the entire, massive Nimibutr Stadium was the slow, rhythmic thump, thump, thump of Emon Jacob slowly dribbling the basketball against the floor.
With exactly five seconds left on the shot clock, Emon initiated a very lazy, slow pick-and-roll play with LA Morales. The tired Vietnam defense did not even try to switch players. Emon easily drove into the open lane and flipped a very soft floater over the outstretched, lazy arms of the defense.
The ball rattled around the rim and fell in.
PHI 70 - VIE 18
"Fifty-two points," Tristan murmured quietly from his seat on the bench. His cold eyes were glued to the giant scoreboard above. "We are currently beating a real national team by fifty-two points."
"They picked a dirty fight with a solid Wall, Captain," Joco Palencia replied very quietly. "What did they expect was going to happen to them?"
The final two minutes of the game simply vanished into thin air. Vietnam turned the ball over twice just by throwing lazy, careless passes completely out of bounds. The Philippine team rebounded with cold, mechanical efficiency, secured the ball safely, and walked it up the floor as slowly as possible.
With thirty seconds remaining in the entire game, Ash Galang grabbed a long defensive rebound off a badly missed Vietnamese three-point attempt.
The shot clock was officially turned off. The game clock was the only thing left ticking.
Ash passed the ball softly to Emon. Emon walked to the center circle of the court and just stopped moving.
The Vietnamese players did not even pretend to guard him. They literally turned their backs and started walking toward their own bench before the buzzer even sounded. Their angry head coach was already standing up, quickly packing his paper playbook into his black briefcase so he could leave immediately.
Emon held the ball on his hip. He looked over at Aiden, who was standing on the wing, taking deep, calming breaths. He looked at Carlo and LA, who were walking slowly backward toward the center line.
10... 9... 8...
The final seconds ticked away in heavy, suffocating, absolute silence.
3... 2... 1...
BZZZZZZZT.
The final stadium buzzer blared loudly. It was a harsh, abrasive, buzzing sound that officially signaled the end of the total slaughter.
FINAL SCORE:
PHILIPPINES: 70
VIETNAM: 18
There was absolutely no rush to the center of the court to celebrate. There was no wild cheering or jumping up and down. The Philippine bench simply stood up together, grabbed their white towels and plastic water bottles, and walked calmly onto the floor to form the traditional post-game handshake line.
The Vietnamese team walked through the handshake line exactly like brainless zombies. They barely extended their hands out to touch the Philippine players. They absolutely refused to make any eye contact with the young men who had just systematically destroyed and dismantled them on live international television.
"Good game," Emon Jacob said very politely to the Vietnamese point guard as they crossed paths. The guard did not say a single word in response. He just nodded blankly at the floor and kept walking toward the locker room.
However, when Nguyen Vu, the massive Vietnamese center who had tried so hard to bully them in the first half, finally reached LA Morales in the line, he stopped moving for a tiny fraction of a second. The giant center looked slowly up at LA. Vu's dark eyes were completely filled with a complex mixture of total exhaustion and profound, deep respect.
LA did not smile at the center, but he gave him a firm, heavy nod of understanding. It was the powerful Anvil recognizing the heavy hammer that had completely broken against him.
Tristan quickly shook the opposing Vietnamese captain's sweaty hand and immediately turned his body toward the dark exit tunnel. He was not interested in the lingering post-game atmosphere on the court. The group stage of the tournament was officially over. The easy warmup games were completely done.
Nimibutr Stadium - Philippine Locker Room
The heavy metal door of the locker room slammed shut loudly, safely sealing the entire team inside their private sanctuary.
The silence inside the room lasted for exactly three seconds.
Suddenly, Carlo Bedia grabbed a half-empty plastic water bottle and sprayed the cold water high into the air. He let out a massive, deafening roar of pure joy.
"SEVENTY TO EIGHTEEN! WE WON BY A FIFTY-TWO POINT DIFFERENTIAL!" Carlo screamed at the top of his lungs. He aggressively chest-bumped Gab Lagman so incredibly hard that it would have easily knocked a normal person straight to the floor. "We locked those guys in the basement and threw away the key!"
A massive wave of relief and triumph finally washed over the crowded room. The intense, suffocating, serious focus of the basketball game instantly gave way to the pure, unadulterated joy of teenage athletes finally realizing their own total dominance over the competition. Marco Gumaba was happily dancing in the exact center of the room, while Ash and Aiden exchanged a very complex, laughing handshake.
Tristan sat quietly at his locker. He allowed a rare, genuine smile to cross his usually serious face as he watched his teammates celebrate together. He blinked his eyes and opened his internal system interface to review the final data.
[SYSTEM ALERT: MATCH COMPLETED]
Matchup: PHILIPPINES vs. VIETNAM
Final Result: VICTORY (+52 Point Differential)
Group Stage Overall Performance: Flawless Record (4 Wins, 0 Losses)
Team Synergy Plateau Reached: 98%
New Milestone Achieved: The Unbreakable Wall
Milestone Description: Your team has successfully demoralized and destroyed all opponents in the group stage. The psychological impact and fear you will place on future opponents will be highly significant.
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the coach's private office clicked open loudly.
Instantly, all the dancing stopped. Carlo Bedia froze completely mid-shout, his mouth hanging open. The entire room snapped quickly back to rigid, silent attention.
Coach Dante Baldomero walked slowly out of his office. He did not have his usual plastic clipboard in his hands. He looked carefully around the room. His dark eyes took in the heavy sweat, the purple bruises on their arms, and the exhausted but highly triumphant faces of his young players.
For the very first time since the entire tournament began in Thailand, the harsh, hard, unyielding lines of Baldomero's strict face finally relaxed. The corner of his mouth actually twitched upward into something that could almost be described as a small, proud smile.
"Sit down, boys," Baldomero said very softly.
The team scrambled quickly to sit on their wooden benches. The loud sound of squeaking rubber sneakers filled the quiet locker room as they hurried to obey.
"Seventy to eighteen," Baldomero began. His deep voice completely lacked its usual, scary razor edge. "In international basketball play, you simply do not see final scores like that unless a professional team of adults is playing against a high school team. Today, you boys did not just beat the country of Vietnam. You made a very loud, scary statement to the entire continent of Asia."
The coach paced slowly down the center line of the locker room, looking at each player.
"They tried to drag you down into the dirty mud with them. They tried to hit you hard, to foul you aggressively, and to break your mental composure. And you all responded with a level of cold, mechanical, perfect discipline that I have rarely ever seen in players your age," Baldomero said. He stopped and looked directly at LA Morales and Ash Galang. "You took the painful physical hits, and you completely broke their spirit. You proved today that showing emotion is a terrible weakness when faced with flawless, perfect execution."
Baldomero stopped pacing near the large white dry-erase board. He grabbed the felt eraser and completely wiped the entire board clean. He erased all of the complex Orbit system diagrams, the specific defensive assignments, and the word VIETNAM that was written in big red letters.
"The group stage is now over," Baldomero announced. His voice began to harden once again, returning to its strict tone. "Your record is perfectly undefeated at 4-0. You easily have the highest point differential of any team in this entire tournament. You are the absolute number one seed entering the final knockout rounds."
He tossed the eraser casually onto the metal tray. It hit with a sharp, loud clack.
"But you must all understand this very clearly," the coach warned them. His dark eyes narrowed sharply as he scanned the quiet room. "Every single thing you have done up to this point is now totally irrelevant. Tomorrow is a mandatory rest day for everyone. But the day after tomorrow, the real tournament finally begins. The new teams you will face from this point forward will not easily fold up and quit like Brunei did. And they will definitely not break down emotionally like Vietnam did today. You are going to start facing the best teams from Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore. You will face teams that have giant, seven-foot players inside the paint and deadly snipers shooting on the outside perimeter. You will face teams that execute their own systems just as well as you execute ours."
Baldomero turned his head and looked directly into Tristan's eyes.
"The Wall has been successfully built," Baldomero said very softly. His intense gaze locked completely with his young captain's eyes. "Now, we will finally find out if it can withstand a real, dangerous siege."
Tristan nodded his head slowly. His expression turned completely to stone. Deep inside his mind, the [Ego Meter] flared brilliantly with blue light. He was extremely hungry for the true, difficult challenges that lay ahead of them.
"Go take a shower. Put ice on your bruises. Go eat food," Baldomero commanded loudly, turning around to walk back into his private office. "Enjoy this great victory today. Because starting tomorrow morning, we go to real war."
As the coach's door clicked shut loudly, the locker room remained totally silent for a long moment. The heavy gravity of what lay ahead had settled deeply over the players, completely dampening the happy high of the massive blowout victory.
Marco Gumaba stood up slowly, cracking his stiff neck loudly. He looked over at Tristan.
"Well, Captain," Marco sighed heavily, grabbing his wet towel to go shower. "I guess playtime is officially over."
Tristan stood up. His cold eyes were completely focused on the freshly cleaned, empty whiteboard on the wall.
"Yeah," Tristan replied softly. Deep inside, the Architect was already calculating the complex geometry and the heavy risks of the terrible battles to come. "Now we finally get to find out exactly how strong we really are."