mynovelweb Chapter 294 294: Philippines vs Vietnam (2)
Chapter 294 294: Philippines vs Vietnam (2)
The loud buzzer sounded loudly, marking the end of the first quarter. But the memory of Tristan Herrera's incredibly long, deep three-pointer seemed to hang heavily in the giant Nimibutr Stadium.
The rabid, angry crowd of Vietnamese fans, wearing bright red shirts, had spent the entire first ten minutes screaming until their throats were completely sore. Now, they were suddenly struck with a collective, quiet, suffocating silence.
Tristan's long shot was not just a regular basketball play; it was a pure psychological attack. It was designed to break the opponent's hope completely.
Tristan walked calmly toward the Philippine bench. His face was completely blank. He did not show any of the loud arrogance or pride that usually accompanied such an amazing play. He did not loudly pound his chest with his fists. He did not point his finger at the opposing team's bench to make fun of them. He simply accepted a quick high-five from Marco Gumaba and grabbed his plastic water bottle.
"The score is twenty-five to eleven," Coach Dante Baldomero stated clearly. His firm voice sliced cleanly through the heavy, tired panting of his starting five players. The coach held his black clipboard tightly against his chest. "You successfully absorbed their initial wave of anger. You took their best, hardest punch, and you broke their momentum. But do not confuse a stunned animal with a dead one. They are going to wake up in this second quarter, and they are going to realize they have absolutely nothing left to lose."
Baldomero looked carefully down the wooden bench at his second unit of substitute players.
"They completely failed to beat you by playing real basketball, and they completely failed to break you mentally with their full-court press," the coach continued, his dark eyes narrowing sharply. "In this upcoming second quarter, they will definitely try to hurt you. They will try to disguise their deep frustration as 'hard fouls.' Remember the plan. We absolutely do not retaliate. We do not fight back. We simply punish them by putting more points on the scoreboard."
He pointed his black marker directly at the substitute players sitting nervously on the very edge of their seats.
"Emon Jacob. You are running the point guard position now. Tristan, you will sit on the bench for the first five minutes. Rest your legs," Baldomero ordered firmly.
Tristan nodded his head once. He draped a thick white towel completely over his head to safely trap the heat inside his muscles.
[System Status: Stamina currently at 88% - Initiating Cool Down]
"Aiden Robinson, you are playing shooting guard," Baldomero went on quickly. "Ash Galang at small forward. LA Morales at power forward. Jonas Singson at center. LA, listen to me closely. I want you to be an absolute, heavy iron anvil inside the paint today. If they try to drive to the basket, they must hit the Wall. If they throw sharp elbows at you, you absolutely do not flinch. You just stand there perfectly still and let them break their own bodies against you."
Louise Andre "LA" Morales did not say a single word. He simply stood up from the bench. His massive, muscular, six-foot-six-inch frame cast a dark, scary shadow completely over the bench area. He slowly cracked his knuckles. The loud, popping sound echoed exactly like dry wooden branches snapping in the quiet huddle. He nodded his head once.
"Let's go," Emon Jacob said, clapping his hands together. "Perfect Orbit execution. Keep the game tempo entirely controlled."
Score: PHI 25 - VIE 11
The referee blew his whistle sharply, signaling the official start of the second quarter.
The Philippine second unit stepped confidently onto the wooden floor. The Vietnam coach had also made several lineup adjustments. He left his angry enforcer, the massive center Nguyen Vu, in the game, while bringing in two much smaller, quicker guards to try and speed up the pace of the game once again.
Vietnam took possession of the basketball. Their new, young point guard, full of fresh leg energy and entirely misplaced confidence, tried to immediately push the fast pace. He blew quickly past the half-court line, completely ignoring the slower offensive set plays his coach was angrily screaming from the sidelines.
The young guard thought he saw an opening lane in the defense and drove incredibly hard to his right side.
He did not see the Anvil waiting for him.
LA Morales had perfectly anticipated the fast drive. He calmly stepped completely outside of the restricted area and planted his massive feet squarely directly in the guard's path. The Vietnamese player, who was moving at an absolute full sprint, tried to initiate a dirty "hard foul" by leading heavily with his sharp shoulder. He was trying to illegally clear LA completely out of the way.
THUD.
The terrifying sound of the physical collision echoed loudly through the entire stadium. The Vietnamese guard violently bounced right off LA's solid chest exactly like a soft tennis ball hitting a heavy brick wall. The guard went flying straight backward, crashing painfully onto the hardwood floor and sliding several feet across the court.
LA Morales did not move a single inch backward. His feet remained perfectly, solidly planted on the floor. He looked calmly down at the fallen player with the exact same detached, bored expression one might use when looking at a spilled glass of plain water.
TWEET! The referee blew the whistle. It was an offensive foul for charging. Player control foul.
"That is a solid brick wall, baby!" Carlo Bedia bellowed loudly from the bench, excitedly waving his white towel in the air like a madman. "You need to apply for a demolition permit from the city just to go through there!"
Emon Jacob calmly retrieved the basketball from the referee to inbound it. "That was a very good hit, LA. Let's run the play."
Emon slowly walked the ball up the court. The Vietnamese defense had entirely collapsed backward into a tight, scared 2-3 zone. They were desperate to protect the painted area near the basket and save their rapidly fading physical energy.
[System Feature: Bench Analysis Activated]
Tristan watched closely from the sidelines. His dark eyes carefully tracked the geometric, invisible lines of the zone defense that his [System] was overlaying directly onto his vision.
[System Alert: Opponent Defensive Flaw Detected - Weak Side Corner is Highly Vulnerable to a High-Post Distraction]
"Emon! Run the high-low play!" Tristan called out loudly from the bench.
Emon heard his team captain clearly. He dribbled the ball over to the right wing, intentionally drawing the entire zone defense directly toward him. Then, he threw a high lob pass directly to LA Morales, who had quickly flashed up to the high post area near the free-throw line.
The exact moment LA caught the basketball, the Vietnamese center, Nguyen Vu, stepped up very aggressively. He started angrily hacking and chopping at LA's forearms in a blatant, dirty attempt to strip the ball away. LA completely ignored the painful, stinging slaps on his skin. He did not even look at the basket to shoot.
With two defenders quickly converging on him to double-team, LA simply held the ball high over his head. He threw a beautiful, crisp, perfect pass directly over the top of the entire zone defense to the opposite block near the basket.
Jonas Singson was waiting right there. Jonas caught the easy pass, took one powerful dribble, and went straight up for a very soft, easy hook shot off the glass backboard.
Swish.
PHI 27 - VIE 11
Vietnam rushed the inbound pass, trying to score quickly. Their angry coach was literally turning purple on the sidelines, screaming at the top of his lungs for them to push the ball up the court faster.
The center, Nguyen Vu, was extremely frustrated by his complete lack of offensive touches. He loudly demanded the ball in the low post area directly against Jonas Singson. The guard nervously dumped the ball down to him.
Vu caught the ball on the left block. He was much heavier than Jonas, and he clearly wanted to prove a physical point. He started aggressively backing Jonas down toward the basket, using vicious, entirely illegal elbow swings to try and clear space for himself.
Bang. Vu slammed his heavy shoulder directly into Jonas's chest.
Bang. He violently dropped his shoulder again, creating a tiny sliver of space.
Jonas gritted his teeth against the pain, bravely refusing to give up the baseline position, but the sheer, heavy weight of the massive Vietnamese center was pushing him deep under the basket. Vu spun quickly toward the middle of the painted lane, raising the basketball high to shoot a short, easy jump shot.
Suddenly, a massive, dark shadow entirely eclipsed the bright stadium lights above Vu's head.
Ash Galang, the Philippines' incredibly lanky, athletic small forward, had completely abandoned his own defensive man out on the perimeter. He swooped in fast from the weak side, perfectly timing his jump into the air.
Just as the ball finally left Vu's fingertips, Ash's incredibly long arm extended exactly like a fast whip. He did not just block the shot; he pinned the basketball violently and loudly against the fiberglass backboard.
"Give me that ball!" Ash yelled loudly, aggressively snatching the ball straight out of the air as he landed back on the floor.
The entire crowd gasped in pure shock. Nguyen Vu stared at Ash in absolute disbelief.
Ash immediately threw a fast outlet pass up the court to Emon Jacob, who was already running out in transition for a fast break. Emon did not push the ball all the way to the rim himself; he correctly recognized the numbers advantage but smartly opted for the safer, high-percentage play. He stopped at the top of the key and quickly swung the ball over to Aiden Robinson, who was trailing the play on the right wing.
Aiden caught the ball in perfect rhythm. There was absolutely no hesitation. The algorithm was set in his mind.
Swish.
PHI 30 - VIE 11
The Vietnam coach immediately called a desperate timeout to stop the bleeding, but there were absolutely no strategic basketball adjustments left for him to make. When the Vietnam players finally returned to the floor, their desperation had completely morphed into pure, dirty malice.
The game quickly devolved into a grueling, painful, physical slugfest. Every single time a Philippine player tried to cut through the lane, they were illegally held, grabbed, or violently hip-checked by a defender. The referees, who seemed completely overwhelmed by the chaotic, fast pace of the game, sadly swallowed their whistles, allowing the game to become terrifyingly physical and dangerous.
Emon slowly brought the ball up against the heavy defensive pressure. A Vietnamese guard reached in aggressively, sharply raking his fingernails straight across Emon's arm. Emon winced in pain but bravely kept his dribble alive.
He loudly called for a screen from LA Morales.
LA jogged up to set the solid pick. The Vietnamese defender, clearly knowing he couldn't fight through the screen legally, decided to take a dangerous, dirty shortcut. As he ran into LA, the defender deliberately brought his sharp elbow up high, catching LA very hard directly in the ribcage.
It was a very dirty, highly dangerous play.
LA stumbled slightly backward, a sharp gasp of breath escaping his lips from the pain. But his facial expression remained a terrifying, entirely blank slate. He did not complain to the referee at all. He did not push the defender back in anger. He simply turned his head and locked his dark, cold eyes directly onto the player who had just hit him.
The Vietnamese guard, who was clearly expecting a loud reaction, a physical fight, or a technical foul, suddenly looked incredibly small and scared. LA's complete, unnatural lack of any emotional response was far more intimidating than a physical shove. It was exactly the cold look of a machine cataloging an error.
On the ensuing offensive play, Vietnam managed to hit a very wild, heavily contested three-pointer from the deep corner.
PHI 30 - VIE 14
"Stay focused! Just run the set play!" Emon yelled loudly, rubbing his painfully scratched arm.
Emon passed the ball to Ash on the wing. Ash saw a completely open driving lane and quickly took it, using his long strides to slice easily right through the tired defense. He elevated high into the air for what looked like an incredibly easy, open layup.
Nguyen Vu, who was rotating over far too late to help, knew he couldn't legally block the shot in time. Instead of making a play on the basketball, Vu reached out and grabbed Ash completely by the jersey while Ash was still in mid-air. Vu violently yanked Ash forcefully downward toward the floor.
It was a highly dangerous, reckless foul that could cause serious injury. Ash lost his balance entirely in the air, crashing incredibly hard onto the hardwood floor and sliding dangerously under the metal basket support.
TWEET! TWEET! TWEET!
The referees immediately rushed in, blowing their whistles furiously to stop the play.
The entire Philippine bench completely exploded in anger. Gab Lagman and Carlo Bedia sprang up to their feet instantly, their eyes burning with pure fury. Even Coach Baldomero took a sharp, highly threatening step directly onto the basketball court.
Tristan was the very first person to reach Ash. He quickly slid down onto the floor right next to his fallen teammate. "Ash, do not move. Are you okay?"
Ash grimaced in pain, slowly rubbing his sore lower back, but he nodded his head. "Yeah. He caught me by surprise. The floor is really hard, though."
Tristan extended a strong hand and pulled Ash safely up to his feet. Tristan turned around and looked directly at Nguyen Vu. The Vietnamese center was actually smirking, slowly walking back toward his bench as the referees went over to the television monitor to review the severity of the foul.
Marco Gumaba was angrily pacing back and forth near the half-court line, shouting loudly at the officials. "That is an obvious flagrant foul! He did not even go for the basketball! Are you guys completely blind?"
Tristan walked quickly over to Marco, grabbing his shoulder very firmly to stop him from pacing. "Marco. Stop yelling right now."
Marco whipped around, his eyes wide with anger. "Captain, you clearly saw that play! He actively tried to injure Ash!"
"I saw it," Tristan said. His voice dropped into a register so incredibly cold it seemed to literally freeze the air around them. The [Ego Meter] in Tristan's mind was glowing a bright, aggressive, angry crimson red, but his exterior remained perfectly, calmly composed. "And if you get a technical foul right now for arguing with the referee, you give them exactly what they want. You give them momentum. You give them the chaos they crave."
Tristan turned away from Marco to face the entire five Philippine players on the floor.
"They are drowning right now," Tristan said very softly, ensuring that only his teammates could hear him speak. "That dirty foul was not a statement of their strength; it was a clear white flag of surrender. They absolutely know they cannot beat us at basketball, so they are trying to drag us down into the mud with them to fight. We do not play in the mud. We execute."
The referees returned to the floor from the monitor. The call was confirmed: Unsportsmanlike Foul on Vietnam. That meant two free throws and continued possession of the ball for the Philippines.
Ash Galang walked slowly to the free-throw line. The Vietnamese crowd booed him mercilessly, loudly shaking the stadium seats. Ash completely ignored them, calmly spinning the ball in his hands, taking a deep, slow breath, and cleanly sinking both free throws.
PHI 32 - VIE 14
During the dead ball after the free throws, the buzzer sounded loudly at the scorer's table.
"Substitution for the Philippines."
Coach Baldomero was bringing the heavy hammer back down. The brief resting period was over.
Tristan, Marco, and Carlo Bedia walked onto the floor, replacing Emon, Aiden, and Jonas.
LA Morales stayed in the game. Baldomero wanted the Anvil to remain on the floor right alongside the Architect.
Tristan received the inbound pass near the half-court line.
[System Status: Optimal]
[Skill Activated: The Architect's Gaze]
[System Objective: Secure Total Psychological Dominance]
Tristan slowly surveyed the floor. The Vietnamese team looked completely exhausted, highly frustrated, and deeply terrified. The dirty unsportsmanlike foul hadn't rallied their spirits; it had completely drained whatever desperate, angry energy they had left.
"Orbit Alpha!" Tristan called out, raising a single finger high into the air.
The machine sprang completely back to life, functioning faster and more precisely than before.
Tristan initiated a pick-and-roll play with Carlo Bedia. Carlo set a screen so thick and entirely immovable that the Vietnamese point guard practically bounced right off it. Tristan used the newly created space to drive incredibly hard into the paint, his eyes glued firmly to the rim.
Nguyen Vu, still feeling falsely invincible from his hard foul on Ash earlier, stepped up aggressively to challenge Tristan directly at the rim.
Tristan did not shy away from the contact. He leaped high into the air, fully extending his right arm exactly as if preparing to challenge the massive center to a dunk contest. Vu took the bait completely, jumping up with both of his arms raised, ready to swat the ball far into the stands.
At the absolute, highest apex of his jump, Tristan quickly pulled the ball back down to his waist. He did not even look. He just flicked a lightning-fast, behind-the-back pass directly into the waiting hands of LA Morales, who was cutting fast along the baseline.
Vu was entirely out of the play, floating helplessly in the air with his arms up.
LA caught the ball, took one devastatingly powerful step, and forcefully threw down a massive, two-handed reverse dunk that physically shook the entire basket stanchion.
WHAM.
LA landed safely on the floor, his face completely devoid of any joy or emotion, and jogged slowly back on defense.
PHI 34 - VIE 14
"That is pure poetry in motion!" Marco yelled loudly, sprinting back to find his defensive assignment.
Vietnam was entirely crumbling. They brought the ball up the court in a total panic. Their shooting guard desperately tried to force a pass through a very tight window to the corner.
Tristan's [Predictive Defense] algorithms fired instantly in his mind. He clearly saw the passing lane opening before the ball even left the guard's hands. Tristan shot the gap, quickly deflecting the ball away with his left hand, cleanly securing it with his right hand, and pushing the ball fast down the court for a fast break.
He was in a full, fast sprint down the absolute middle of the floor. Two Vietnamese defenders were backpedaling furiously, terrified of his incredible speed.
Carlo Bedia was running fast down the right lane like a runaway freight train.
"Feed the beast!" Carlo roared loudly.
Tristan drove straight directly at the two terrified defenders, easily forcing them to collapse inward on him. At the absolute last possible millisecond, he threw a perfectly precise bounce pass straight between the legs of the lead defender.
Carlo scooped the ball up perfectly without breaking his running stride. He did not just lay it up. He leaped high into the air, easily absorbed the desperate, flailing contact from the trailing defender, and banked the ball hard off the glass as the referee blew the whistle for a blocking foul.
And one.
PHI 36 - VIE 14
Carlo aggressively flexed both of his biceps directly at the sad Vietnamese bench, his face completely contorted into a loud, aggressive scream. "You are way too small! You put a tiny baby on me! Somebody get him a high chair to sit in!"
Tristan walked calmly up to Carlo and tapped him gently on the chest. "Save your voice, Bedia. Just hit the free throw."
Carlo happily winked at his team captain, stepped confidently to the line, and calmly sank the bonus shot.
PHI 37 - VIE 14
The final two minutes of the first half were an absolute masterclass in defensive suffocation and cold, offensive efficiency.
Vietnam simply could not generate a single clean look at the basket. Tristan and Marco aggressively trapped the ball handlers out on the perimeter, while LA Morales and Carlo Bedia created an entirely impassable, giant wall inside the paint.
When Vietnam finally managed to get a shot off, it was a heavily contested, desperate heave from thirty feet away that completely missed the rim entirely.
BZZZ! Shot clock violation. Turnover.
The entire Philippine bench was standing up together, a completely united front of navy blue and white, happily watching their starters systematically dismantle the tired opposition.
Tristan brought the ball up the court very slowly, methodically draining the time completely off the clock. He looked up at the large scoreboard.
PHI 43 - VIE 16
One last cut, Tristan thought to himself, the [Ego Meter] purring smoothly in the background of his mind.
He initiated a simple high screen with LA Morales. The tired Vietnamese defense, utterly terrified of LA rolling to the rim again for another dunk, double-teamed the big man the exact moment he set the pick.
It was a fatal, terrible miscalculation by the defense.
They completely left Tristan Herrera, the absolute deadliest shooter on the floor, wide open at the very top of the key.
Tristan did not rush his shot at all. He set his feet perfectly on the hardwood. He intentionally let the basketball rest in his shooting pocket for a tiny fraction of a second, letting the terrified Vietnamese point guard fully realize the terrible mistake he had just made.
The guard scrambled desperately forward to try and close out on the shot.
Tristan rose up into the air, his shooting form textbook perfect, and released the ball with a high, beautiful, smooth arc.
Swish.
PHI 46 - VIE 16
Vietnam sadly took the ball out of bounds for the final possession of the half. They were walking very slowly. Their heads were hanging completely down. The fiery, angry, combative spirit they had clearly shown just thirty minutes ago was completely extinguished.
Their point guard lazily dribbled out the remaining clock near half-court, not even attempting to run a final offensive play. He just desperately wanted the buzzer to sound so they could safely escape to the locker room.
Tristan stood exactly five feet away from him, in a very relaxed defensive stance. He did not try to reach for the ball. He did not press the guard. He simply stood there silently, an immovable presence, forcing the broken opponent to acknowledge the sad reality of their situation.
5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
BZZZZZZZT.
The buzzer echoed loudly through the Nimibutr Stadium, finally signaling the end of the long second quarter.
The entire crowd was practically silent. The massive Vietnamese contingent, who had come hoping to see a dirty street fight, had instead witnessed a cold, perfect execution.
HALFTIME SCORE:
PHILIPPINES: 46
VIETNAM: 16
Tristan turned around and walked calmly toward the dark Philippine tunnel. He did not look up at the scoreboard, and he did not look at the entirely defeated faces of the sad Vietnamese players.
Marco Gumaba happily fell into step right beside him, draping a towel over his shoulders.
"Well," Marco said, a dark, satisfied smile playfully resting on his lips. "I really think they fully understand how the Orbit works now."
"They understand," Tristan replied evenly, his cold eyes fixed straight ahead into the tunnel. "But understanding how the machine works doesn't save you from being crushed by the gears."