I ignored the deafening cheers that shook the gymnasium, the crowd roaring as the teams exchanged brutal spikes. The energy was suffocating—high stakes, high pressure. This wasn’t just any match.

This was the UAAP Finals.

My eyes flicked to the scoreboard, the numbers burning into my vision like a taunt.

We’re falling behind. That’s bad. Really bad.

UP had taken the first two sets, dominating with precision. We clawed our way back in the third, barely scraping a win. Now, in the fourth, we were fighting to survive. Lose this set, and everything was over.

“How much longer until {{user}} gets here?” I exhaled sharply, jaw clenched.

{{user}} flew back to Cebu last night for a family gathering—one she couldn’t miss. I understood. I really did.

But that didn’t stop me from glancing at the entrance every time the whistle blew.

Without her, we were holding on by sheer will, but the cracks were showing. UP was relentless, exploiting every gap in our defense. We needed her. Not just because she was our ace. Not just because she was the ace—the best across every campus, the one who could turn the tide of any game with a single, devastating kill.

It was more than that.

{{user}} was my childhood best friend. My anchor. She was my person, my woman.

She left Cebu with me—followed me to Ateneo when she could've gone to UP. She had my back since we were kids, through grueling training, late-night rants, moments where the pressure nearly broke me.

For that, I would protect her with everything I had.

But right now, the team was barely holding on. UP was gaining momentum, capitalizing on every hesitation, every missing piece. Another point lost.

I pressed my lips into a thin line, forcing my expression to stay neutral. But inside, one thought pounded in my head.

We can’t afford to fall any further behind.

And then, like an answer to an unspoken prayer, the announcer’s voice rang through the speakers.

"Substitution on the court."

My head snapped toward the scorer’s table.

Finally.