Miguel had never felt such a high. Making the varsity team had been the culmination of years of hard work, sacrifice, and more sweat than he thought his body could ever produce. But the real challenge was just beginning.
San Andres High School's varsity team had a reputation—one of the best in Manila, but always overshadowed by the top schools in the country. And now, with Miguel on board, they were gunning for something bigger. The team entered a national tournament that brought together the best high school teams from across the Philippines and beyond. They were hungry for victory, eager to prove they belonged at the top.
As the tournament went on, San Andres fought tooth and nail, overcoming each opponent with grit and determination. Miguel quickly became a standout player, his aggressive playstyle earning him the nickname "El Diablo" among the other teams. He was the heart of the squad, driving them forward with his relentless energy.
But then, they made it to the final round—a matchup against Team USA, a group of elite high school players flown in from across the States. These kids were the real deal: towering over Miguel and his teammates, they moved with a precision and confidence that came from years of training in world-class facilities. They weren't just good—they were fucking incredible.
From the moment the game started, Miguel knew they were in trouble. Team USA didn't just play basketball—they owned the court. Their passes were crisp, their shots deadly accurate, and their defense impenetrable. Miguel had faced tough opponents before, but this was a whole different level.
By the end of the first quarter, the scoreboard was brutal. San Andres was down by twenty, and it only got worse from there. Miguel tried everything—attacking the rim, pulling up for threes, dishing out assists—but nothing worked. Every time he thought he had an opening, one of their massive players would shut him down, sending him crashing to the floor.
By halftime, they were down by thirty. Coach tried to rally them, but Miguel could see it in his teammates' eyes—they were defeated, broken by the sheer force of Team USA's skill. The second half was more of the same, and when the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read 112-55. They'd been absolutely destroyed.
The locker room was silent, save for the sound of water dripping from the showers and the occasional sniffle from one of the younger players. Miguel sat on the bench, staring at the floor, his hands still trembling from the adrenaline. He felt a mix of shame and anger boiling inside him. They had come so far, only to get their asses handed to them on the biggest stage.
"Fuck," he whispered to himself, burying his face in his hands. "What the hell happened?"
He barely heard Coach's post-game speech, something about keeping their heads up and learning from the experience. None of it mattered. All Miguel could think about was how small he felt out there, how far he still had to go.
When he got home that night, his father was waiting for him. The usual smell of alcohol was absent, which was a bad sign. It meant his dad had something serious to say.
Miguel dropped his bag by the door and looked up. His father's face was unreadable, a mix of pride and something else—something Miguel couldn't quite place.
"Anak, sit down," his father said, motioning to the worn-out couch. Miguel sat, still reeling from the game.
"I watched the game," his father began. "I know it didn't go how you wanted, but that's not why I'm talking to you."
Miguel looked up, confused. "Then what is it, Pa?"
His father took a deep breath. "I got a job offer. A big one. In Philadelphia."
Miguel blinked. "Where?"
"Philadelphia, in the United States. We're moving, Miguel. I accepted the job."
The words hit Miguel like a punch to the gut. "We're... moving? To America?"
"Yes," his father nodded. "We leave next month. It's a good opportunity, Miguel. Better than anything we could have here. And for you... it's a chance to play basketball in the States. You saw those kids today. If you want to be the best, you need to go where the best are."
Miguel's mind was spinning. America. Philadelphia. It all sounded like a dream, but it was so far from the world he knew. He thought about his friends, his team, the life he'd built here. And yet, deep down, he knew his father was right. If he wanted to compete with the best, he couldn't stay here.
"What about... what about the team?" Miguel asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
His father's face softened. "They'll understand. You've done all you can here, Miguel. Now it's time to take the next step."
Miguel sat there, staring at the floor, trying to process it all. Moving to America? Playing basketball in the States? It was overwhelming. But there was also something else—a spark of excitement. The thought of stepping onto those American courts, of testing himself against the best... it was terrifying, but it was also exactly what he needed.
He looked up at his father, a fire igniting in his chest. "Alright, Pa. Let's do it. Let's go to America."
His father smiled, the first genuine smile Miguel had seen in a long time. "Good. I'm proud of you, Miguel. You're going to do great things over there."
As Miguel lay in bed that night, he couldn't sleep. His mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. Philadelphia. A new school. New teammates. New challenges. But this time, he wouldn't just be another kid from Manila. He'd be the kid who took on Team USA and then moved to their turf. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let them forget his name.
The road ahead was uncertain, and he knew it wouldn't be easy. But for the first time in a long time, Miguel felt ready. Ready to leave his past behind. Ready to make his mark in a whole new world. Ready to show everyone—especially himself—that he had what it took.
Miguel turned over, staring at the dark ceiling above him. America was waiting. And he was ready to fucking take it on.
