The school had organized an interschool e-sports event called "Legends of Arcania." All twelve sections across Grades 7-10 fielded teams to compete in the online mobile multiplayer online battle arena game, and the winners would receive prizes, recognition, and bragging rights that would last until the next competition. The gym buzzed with excitement as teams set up their mobile phones, mobile data, and gaming equipment. Students from all grades filled the bleachers, cheering for their sections.
The Tournament Format
Participating sections: 7-Alpha, 7-Bravo, 7-Charlie, 8-Delta, 8-Echo, 8-Foxtrot, 9-Golf, 9-Hotel, 9-India, 10-Juliett, 10-Kilo, and 10-Lima. The tournament had been set up with brackets and seeding based on preliminary trials, starting with twelve teams and narrowing down through multiple rounds.
Tournament Bracket & Final Standings:
ELIMINATION ROUND (12 -> 8):
Eliminated: 7-Alpha, 7-Bravo, 8-Delta, 9-Golf
Advanced: 7-Charlie, 8-Echo, 8-Foxtrot, 9-India, 9-Hotel, 10-Juliett, 10-Kilo, 10-Lima
QUARTER-FINALS (8 -> 4):
8-Echo def. 8-Foxtrot
9-India def. 10-Juliett
9-Hotel def. 10-Kilo
10-Lima def. 7-Charlie
SEMIFINALS (4 -> 2):
9-India def. 8-Echo (Commanding victory)
9-Hotel def. 10-Lima
3RD PLACE MATCH:
10-Lima def. 8-Echo
GRAND FINALS:
9-India def. 9-Hotel (Champions)
Final Standings:
1st Place: 9-India – Strong, coordinated, and skilled, they moved through the competition with precision and practice born from weeks of preparation. Their victory felt inevitable from the start. Their commanding performance in the semifinals against 8-Echo drew gasps from the crowd. Jerome Barry Sison emerged as the tournament's elite player, earning the tournament MVP with an outstanding 17 kills, 1 death, and 9 assists–a near-perfect display of mechanical skill and game sense. His team stood on the podium, champions, victorious.
2nd Place: 9-Hotel – The team consisting of Justin Ray Abanilla, Carlo Dean Martinez, Mark Michael Agustin, Ramon Anthony Monasterio, and Carl Rodney Talavera proved competent and well-prepared, but ultimately not quite sharp enough when it mattered most. They fought hard through the brackets but fell to 9-India in the finals. Despite their second-place finish, their confidence–and their connections to bullies like John Paul Bartolome and Joaquin Peter Diokno–made them feel emboldened to mock the lower-placed teams. Their victory over others had made them cruel.
3rd Place: 10-Lima – Their teamwork was solid, though lacking the finesse of the top teams. They managed to edge out 8-Echo in the battle for bronze, earning the third-place trophy.
4th Place: 8-Echo – A respectable showing for a Grade 8 team, making it through to the semifinals before falling to 9-India, and then losing the third-place match.
5th-8th Place: 10-Kilo, 10-Juliett, 8-Foxtrot, 7-Charlie – Eliminated in earlier rounds.
9th-12th Place: 9-Golf, 8-Delta, 7-Bravo, 7-Alpha – Eliminated in the very first round.
Of all these teams, 9-Golf placed dead last among all twelve sections–eliminated in the opening round without advancing even a single match. The team consisted of Rianna Montes, Lawrence Allan Solinap, Bobby Ramirez, Simon Joshua Tolentino, and Rico Christian Mantapidan. Despite their loss, Bobby Ramirez posted respectable personal stats of 6 kills, 10 deaths, and 7 assists–second only to Lawrence–but this counted for nothing in a team context where everything had gone wrong. The entire team became a target for ridicule, mocked not just by those who had beaten them fairly, but by teams higher up in the standings who used their elimination as material for jokes and insults.
The announcement came over the loudspeaker after the ceremonies concluded, almost as an afterthought, with what felt like deliberate slowness: "The final team to be recognized is 9-Golf, who was eliminated in the early rounds with significant lag issues, problematic communication during matches, and overall poor coordination." The gym erupted in laughter. For a section already fractured by conflict, already torn apart by bullying and internal division, this loss felt like final, absolute validation: they were failures. Worse–they were laughable failures, humiliated in front of the entire school.
Yet even in last place, there were small measures of redemption. The statistics showed that Lawrence Allan Solinap was the team's most valuable player–the only bright spot in their otherwise dismal performance. His scoreline stood at 5 kills, 12 deaths, and 17 assists–the kind of disciplined, support-oriented play that kept the team's remaining chances alive during their brief matches. He had carried them as best he could, making strategic calls, protecting his teammates, enabling what little success they had managed. It was a recognition earned through genuine effort and skill, a silver lining in an otherwise catastrophic failure.
But Lawrence's MVP status would offer him no protection from what was about to unfold.
And for Bobby, standing in that gym in the middle of the crowd, watching his classmates groan at the announcement, watching Jerome's team celebrate on stage in 9-India, the loss felt deeply, viscerally personal. Jerome was standing there, champion, victorious, everything Bobby had wanted to be. But Jerome had barely acknowledged 9-Golf's existence even in defeat.
Worse still were the snickers coming from the 9-Hotel section–from Justin, Carlo, Mark, Ramon, and Carl. The mocking had started the moment 9-Golf was eliminated, spreading like a disease through the gym. Even John Paul Bartolome and Joaquin Peter Diokno, notorious bullies from their own year level, had joined in, treating 9-Golf's failure as entertainment. The entire gym had turned 9-Golf into a punchline.
As the ceremony continued, the insults intensified. From the stands, students from other sections began throwing crumpled papers at the 9-Golf members, pelting them with small projectiles while laughing. The papers rained down in a chorus of juvenile mockery–teams from 10-Lima, 8-Echo, and others who had advanced further felt entitled to humiliate those they had beaten. It was sadistic and calculating: 9-Golf hadn't just lost; they had become socially acceptable targets for every team that ranked above them.
Bobby's face flushed red with rage watching it happen. He burned with fury not just at his opponents, but at his own team. They had failed him. They had let him down. Lawrence, at least, had tried–the MVP stats proved that much. But the others? Rianna especially. She was a pabigat–a complete burden, deadweight dragging them down with her terrible performance. Simon Joshua Tolentino and Rico Christian Mantapidan had their own struggles too, but Rianna... Rianna's zero kills haunted him. She had been completely useless.
He had put effort into the games. He had strategized with Lawrence. He had wanted them to win so desperately. He had believed they could defeat the other sections, could prove they were worthy of the "star section" designation. And they had failed spectacularly, painfully, publicly–eliminated in the first round without even a real chance to fight back, and then made into jokes by teams that should have been their rivals, not their tormentors.
Something inside him snapped like a guitar string tuned too tight.
"You're all USELESS!" he screamed, his voice cutting through the general noise of the gym. Heads turned. Students fell silent. "ALL OF YOU! You don't care! You don't TRY! You're worthless! LAHAT KAYO!"
His fingers pointed accusingly at Rianna, Simon Joshua Tolentino, and Rico Christian Mantapidan in turn, deliberately excluding Lawrence. His words were weapons, designed to wound everyone except the one person who had actually carried them. "We could have WON! We should have WON! But NONE of you have what it takes! You're all FAILURES! Putang ina ninyo lahat! Shame sa 9-Golf!"
Then his gaze locked onto Rianna Montes with pure vitriol, and his voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "And you–Rianna," he spat her name like a curse. "PABIGAT! Burden! Zero kills. ZERO! Eighteen deaths! You were dead weight out there. A complete and utter pabigat. You didn't kill a single enemy the entire game. Zero out of eighteen. You cost us that match. Your mistakes, your incompetence–that's why we're at the bottom. That's why the whole school is laughing at us. YOU'RE the reason we're dead last!"
Rianna's face went pale. Her eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing. She had gone 0/18/4–zero kills, eighteen deaths, four assists–and the shame of that performance was already crushing enough without Bobby's public humiliation. The others watched uncomfortably, unsure whether to defend her or distance themselves to avoid becoming his next target.
"If any single one of you tests my patience again," he threatened, his voice dropped but no less dangerous for it, "you're going to wish you hadn't. You're going to know what real pain feels like. I'm not joking."
The gym fell absolute silent. Teachers exchanged alarmed glances. Security personnel moved closer, ready to intervene if necessary. This level of rage, directed at an entire section over a game loss, showed a disturbing escalation. This wasn't teenage frustration anymore. This was psychological breakdown happening in real time, witnessed by three hundred students.
As Bobby stormed out of the gym, his face flushed red, his entire body vibrating with barely controlled violence, Lawrence watched him go. His face was etched with worry and something else–a terrible prescience, as if he could sense the darkness gathering in Bobby's mind, preparing to descend.
The tether was fraying.