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Season 85 Awarding.
Niña Ytang stood awkwardly between Jolina and Thea Gagate of the DLSU Lady Spikers, barely processing her own award. The applause had already died down, but she still felt dazed, not because of the recognition—but because she couldn’t care less about trophies right now. Her mind was somewhere else.
Mostly on food.
She stared off into the distance, quietly wondering what they’d order later at dinner. Kare-kare? Sinigang? Milk tea after?
Then a name cut through the fuzz in her mind.
“Angel Canino!”
The sound of clapping startled her—and only then did she realize her hands were moving. On instinct.
She turned toward the voice, and there she was.
Angel Canino.
Niña squinted slightly. Just another player, right? Just another rookie. Another name she’d forget about by the next game.
But something about her lingered in Niña’s mind longer than she wanted to admit.
Still, she shook it off. She struck up a bit of small talk with Jolina while more names were called. She tried to keep it casual, but then:
“Rookie of the Year… Angel Canino!”
The crowd roared. Niña clapped again—this time intentionally. And this time, with more focus.
She looked at Angel for a second, maybe two.
Grabe. Hindi talaga biro ’tong Canino.
Her presence wasn’t just commanding—it was magnetic. There was something in the way Angel stood there, smiling like she belonged on that stage.
And that’s when it happened.
Niña felt her heart falter.
She blinked. Looked again. The big screen zoomed in on Angel at the perfect moment: fixing her hair, smiling wide, looking like the camera was made for her. Everything about it felt staged , and yet it was all real.
Wait. Bakit siya gumaganda sa paningin ko?
She barely noticed Jolina taking out her phone beside her, probably recording the moment. Angel walked back into the lineup, and Niña couldn’t help but glance at the screen on Jolina’s phone—watching Angel again, but from another angle. From closer. From safer.
And for a stupid second, Niña almost waved.
Almost.
Because it felt like Angel was waving at her.
She wasn’t.
She was waving at the camera.
Thank God Angel didn’t see her hesitation, didn’t catch the faint flush on Niña’s cheeks or the dumb smile that lingered on her lips. She told herself to snap out of it.
But then, the crowd erupted again.
Angel Canino—Most Valuable Player.
Rookie-MVP.
Niña’s lips parted slightly, and her hands clapped on reflex again.
She wasn’t just another player. She was the player. The one who would change the league. The one who would haunt Niña’s career.
And suddenly, Niña understood.
Angel Canino wasn’t someone you forgot after a match.
She was someone you remembered even when you swore you didn’t.
Later that night, Niña and the team headed to a nearby restaurant to celebrate. It was supposed to be her moment too. Laughter echoed around the table, plates clattered, iced teas clinked. But Niña found herself staring blankly at her untouched food.
Her thoughts were still back at the arena.
Still on that stage.
Still on her .
Angel Canino.
“Uy, lalamig na pagkain mo,” Bienne teased, nudging her arm. Niña blinked and gave a delayed laugh, throwing out a joke she couldn’t even recall seconds later.
Because no matter what she did, her mind wandered back to that girl in green.
That rookie who suddenly became unforgettable.
And Niña hated how much she cared.
Even if it was just a little.
Even if it was already too much.
That night, sleep didn’t come easy for Niña.
No matter how many times she closed her eyes, her thoughts kept drifting back to Angel Canino—her name, her face, the sound of the crowd cheering for her. It clung to her like static, refusing to leave her mind.
How does someone make you feel everything and nothing all at once?
It was maddening—this strange mix of confusion and curiosity that had wrapped itself around Niña since the ceremony. Her chest felt tight, but empty. Her thoughts raced, but they led nowhere.
Frustrated, she groaned and threw herself onto the bed—only to slam her head into the headboard with a loud “thud!”
“Aray!” she hissed, clutching the sore spot with one hand.
Across the room, Nica peeked over her blanket, brows creased with concern.
Niña quickly threw her a thumbs up, forcing an awkward smile.
Nica just chuckled softly before turning back around and drifting off to sleep, like nothing unusual happened.
But for Niña, nothing felt normal.
She laid back down—slower this time—and pulled her phone into view. The screen lit up her face with a faint blue glow in the dark.
She scrolled aimlessly through her feed, trying to distract herself. But as fate would have it, her thumb led her right into DLSU fan territory—tweet after tweet celebrating Angel’s back-to-back awards.
Photos, fancams, edits.
Smiling Angel. Victorious Angel. Rookie-MVP Angel.
Niña’s brows furrowed, lips tugging downward as she muttered, “Bakit puro Canino ka lang?” The question wasn’t really for anyone. Just a whisper into the quiet night.
“Yun ba tagline niya?” she added, tone flat, though something in her chest felt like it was teasing her.
She rolled her eyes and locked her phone, tossing it onto the nightstand.
Training was early the next day. She needed rest.
But the silence only brought her back to where her mind refused to leave.
Angel.
Why did it feel like she was slowly becoming a permanent part of Niña’s thoughts?
And why did it already feel dangerous?
Training the next day felt off for Niña.
Actually, everything felt off. Her footing was unstable. Her timing was a second too late. Her blocks were either too low or too slow. And every time she tried to make up for it with a stronger hit, it ended up too wild.
Her coach was starting to lose patience.
“Focus, Niña!”
“Ano na, Ytang? Gising.”
“Hindi ‘to ‘yung laro mo last game. Anong nangyayari sa ’yo?”
The sting wasn’t just in the words—it was in the eyes of her teammates too. The way they glanced at her, exchanging subtle looks that spoke louder than their voices. Even those who didn’t usually comment were starting to notice her slipping.
She was slipping.
By the end of the scrimmage, Niña sat quietly on the bench, towel draped around her shoulders, sweat soaking through her practice jersey. Her legs trembled—not from exhaustion, but from frustration.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands gripping her towel like it owed her answers.
What the hell is wrong with me?
But she already knew.
She just didn’t want to admit it.
Angel Canino.
The name dropped like a weight in her chest.
Every time she jumped for a block, she imagined Angel on the other side, reading her. Every time she positioned herself for a dig, she wondered how Angel would spike—where she’d aim, how fast it would come.
It wasn’t even about rivalry anymore.
It was about presence.
Why does she still live rent-free in my head?
Because she does. And it’s messing her up.
Badly.
Days passed, but the ache didn’t. If anything, it got worse. The pull was still there, only now it came with a bitterness Niña couldn’t swallow anymore.
So in the middle of her break from training, sitting against the wall with a sore body and a sore ego, she made a decision.
She was going to block Angel.
Not literally—but digitally. On Twitter, Instagram, wherever Angel’s name could pop up and throw her off track. She was tired of the mental whiplash. Tired of falling into the same spiral of questions she couldn’t answer.
She opened Twitter, determined. She typed “Angel Canino” into the search bar with purpose, thumb hovering over the screen.
And then—she paused.
One of the top tweets wasn’t just her name.
It was a set of photos.
From the awarding ceremony.
Angel, mid-laugh. Angel, holding her trophies. Angel, looking off to the side, bathed in golden lights and camera flashes, like she belonged in some highlight reel of a documentary.
Niña’s chest tightened.
She wasn’t supposed to click.
But she did.
She stared.
And for a few seconds, she could feel it all over again—that small, stupid skip of her heart. That inexplicable warmth creeping up her spine, the same warmth she felt when she looked at Angel through Jolina’s phone, as if it brought her just a little closer to someone untouchable.
“Nakakainis,” she whispered under her breath, thumb frozen mid-scroll.
Her eyes lingered on a candid photo of Angel smiling with her teammates, trophies in hand.
How is she still this pretty in motion?
And why does it still affect me like this?
“Nins, back to training na.”
Niña nearly dropped her phone.
Nica’s voice came from right above her, casual, but sharp enough to cut through Niña’s fog of distraction. She snapped the screen off in a panic, quickly hiding her phone on her lap. Thankfully, she was sitting—and Nica was standing—so she hoped her screen wasn’t visible.
Or at least, she prayed.
Nica raised an eyebrow, suppressing the smirk already forming on her lips. Niña looked up at her cautiously, like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner.
“Halika na,” Nica said, voice casual but laced with amusement. “Break time’s over.”
Niña stood up quickly, trying to look unbothered. But Nica glanced at her, side-eyed, lips twitching.
“You good?” she asked.
Niña nodded too quickly. “Oo naman.”
But Nica didn’t move yet.
She looked at her like she knew .
And after a short silence, she leaned in slightly and whispered, “Nice photos ni Canino, ah.”
Niña’s soul left her body for a second.
“Hindi ko—”
“‘Di ko naman sinabing may ginagawa ka, Nins,” Nica cut in smoothly, finally walking back to the court with a mischievous bounce in her step. “Sabi ko lang… ganda ng lighting sa awarding, no?”
Niña followed, cheeks burning, her jaw tight.
Great.
Now even her friends knew.
And Angel hadn’t even done anything.
That’s what scared her the most.
Niña was once again on her bed, leaned back against the headboard, phone in hand. Her thumb mindlessly scrolled through the results under Angel Canino’s name on Twitter. The photos felt endless—smiling, laughing, mid-game shots—and Niña found herself grinning every time one of them popped up.
Whenever she caught herself smiling, she'd slap her own cheek, just lightly enough to snap out of it.
Nabuang na talaga ako.
She couldn't believe herself. She used to roll her eyes at people who acted this way over volleyball crushes. Now here she was, doing the exact same thing.
Without thinking too hard, Niña opened the compose box on Twitter. Her fingers hovered for a second before she typed:
"Gustong gusto kita 🥺"
It felt dramatic. Cheesy. Stupid, even.
But she hit Tweet anyway.
She waited a few minutes, watching the blank screen. No likes, no retweets. Nothing. Just how she expected.
Perfect. Wala namang makakakita.
Satisfied, she left it up and tossed her phone to the side. She had no idea that it was a huge mistake.
The next morning, Niña’s phone buzzed nonstop.
Notifications flooded in—likes, retweets, quote tweets. DMs. Mentions.
Gagi, ano 'to—
She stared at her lock screen in horror, watching the chaos unfold in real time. The emojis were relentless—angel wings, halos, volleyballs, green hearts. Some even referenced the now-infamous line:
“Canino ka lang?”
Her eyes locked on the most liked reply:
"🏹🟩1️⃣2️⃣"
Niña almost screamed.
Gagi. Sana pala nanahimik nalang ako.
It was too late to delete. Too late to deactivate. The damage was done, and her account was public. She threw her phone on her bed and paced her room like a madwoman.
She went through her day in full-on avoidance mode. No phone. No updates. She focused on training, pushing herself harder than usual—so hard, in fact, that her coach pulled her aside to compliment her effort.
That was new.
She felt slightly better… until she opened her phone during a water break. Not to check tweets, not to post—just to scan through the quote retweets one last time.
Please, sana walang nag-tag kay Angel.
Thankfully, no one did.
But then she noticed something new at the top of her screen.
@angelcanino started following y—
“GAGO?!”
Niña shouted, so loud that Bienne—who was apparently sitting next to her the whole time—nearly dropped her water bottle.
“Bakla ka, andyan ka pala! Sorry!” Niña scrambled to lock her phone, laughing nervously as Bienne blinked at her, trying to process what just happened.
Bienne tilted her head. “Ikaw ah… Canino ka lang? ”
Niña didn’t answer. She just smiled, small and embarrassed.
That was enough of a confirmation.
“Finollow ka talaga? Baka fan account lang yan,” Bienne leaned over, curious as she settled back down next to Niña.
“Hindi ko nga alam eh… fan account lang siguro,” Niña shrugged.
She regretted saying that the moment she tapped on the profile.
It wasn’t a fan account.
It was the Angel Canino. Verified. Real. Legit.
But strangely, the follow notification had disappeared. The profile didn’t say Angel was following her anymore.
Did she unfollow? Did she misclick? Did she stalk her?
The questions started piling up.
Why would Angel be on my profile?
Before Niña could spiral any further, Bienne voiced the one thought she didn’t want to hear:
“Paano kung alam na niya ‘yung ship niyo?”
Niña slapped her on the arm—not hard, but enough for Bienne to yelp.
“Aray! Sinasabi ko lang! It’s not impossible, noh,” Bienne chuckled, rubbing her arm.
Niña rolled her eyes. “'Di nga niya magawang mag-swag sa’kin sa game, ibig sabihin ‘di ako relevant sa kanya.”
But even she didn’t believe that.
Bienne laughed, still teasing her as they got called back into training. Niña tried her best to laugh along.
That night, Niña was back in the same place. Same bed. Same position. Same routine.
She typed Angel’s name into the Twitter search bar. Checked her Instagram. Stalked her TikTok for new uploads.
She even checked the follower list again.
Still no follow back.
Still no explanation.
But that didn’t stop the flutter in her chest every time she saw Angel’s name.
She stared at Angel’s IG profile, thumb hovering over the screen, heart heavier than usual.
She really had a crush.
A big one.
Too big.
Too real.
Too much for someone like her to handle.
Because who was she, really? Just Niña Ytang from UP. A solid middle blocker, but not a star. Not a name people cheered for in the thousands.
Meanwhile, Angel Canino was…
Angel Canino.
Rookie-MVP. Fan favorite. Born for the spotlight.
Niña sighed softly and turned off her phone, the soft blue glow disappearing into the dark.
She closed her eyes, heart still buzzing with everything she was trying not to feel.
But feelings had a way of staying, no matter how hard you try to scroll past them.
The next day, training ran longer than usual. The air in the gym was thick with exhaustion, shoes scraping and bodies falling into rhythm out of sheer habit. Niña powered through, her limbs sore, her mind even more tired.
She did everything right—most of the time. But her attention drifted.
On one particular drill, she spaced out just long enough to miss a dig that should’ve been hers. The ball thudded to the floor.
“Ytang! Focus!” The coach barked.
She nodded quickly, biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t usually like this. But everything—every motion, every serve, every block—seemed to echo one name.
Angel.
She pushed through, wiping sweat off her brow, heart heavy and mind even heavier.
Later that night, the dorm was unusually quiet. Most of the team had turned in early after the grueling training. It was supposed to be movie night—her, Bienne, and Nica. Something dumb and feel-good, just to laugh about and forget the long day.
But Nica had to leave last-minute for errands, promising she’d catch up if she could.
So now it was just her and Bienne, curled up in Nica’s bed with a laptop open, some half-watched rom-com playing, and a bag of chips forgotten between them.
Niña wasn’t really watching. She was just… staring.
Bienne noticed. She always did.
“Hoy.” She nudged Niña’s foot with hers. “Anong iniisip mo?”
Niña blinked. Took a breath.
Then, with a voice so small it almost got swallowed by the background audio, she said, “Crush ko ata si Angel.”
Bienne paused, chip halfway to her mouth.
“Put—HA?”
Niña buried her face in her hands, groaning. “’Wag mo lakasan! Ang ingay mo!”
Bienne dissolved into a quiet laugh, trying to calm herself down. “Sorry sorry sorry—hindi ko kinaya. As in, Canino. ANGEL. MVP. Rookie of the Year. Yun.”
Niña peeked at her from behind her hands, cheeks burning. “Oo. Nakakainis, no?”
“Hindi naman…” Bienne said, still trying not to smile too wide. “Nakakakilig, actually. Bagay.”
Niña let her hands fall, sighing. “Ang hirap kasi, Bienne. Ayokong isipin siya, pero every time I do… parang kinikilig ako tapos gusto ko siyang i-uncrush agad. Pero hindi ko kaya.”
Bienne softened. “Gusto mo siya tapos ayaw mong aminin na gusto mo siya?”
Niña nodded slowly. “Kasi sino ba naman ako, ‘di ba? Hindi niya naman ako kilala. Sa lahat ng pwedeng maka-crush sa kanya, ako pa. Ang weird.”
“Bakit weird?” Bienne leaned her head back against the headboard. “May charm ka naman. Medyo.”
Niña laughed quietly. “Sira. Hindi nga. Ang dami niyang fans. Tapos ako, nandito, stalker mode sa Twitter gabi-gabi.”
“Siya ba yung sinasabi mong ‘Gustong gusto kita 🥺’ tweet?”
Niña gasped, turning sharply to her. “NAKITA MO YUN??? 'DI NGA TAYO MOOTS SA TWITTER???”
Bienne just shrugged, smug. “Finollow kita pagkatapos ko tumawa sa tweet mo.”
Niña buried her face in a pillow, screaming into it.
Bienne chuckled, then nudged her again, this time more gently. “Nins, sa totoo lang. Okay lang kiligin. Okay lang ‘di maintindihan lahat. Kung crush mo siya, edi crush mo siya.”
“Eh paano kung mas lumala?” Niña peeked at her again, voice barely above a whisper. “Paano kung… mahulog ako?”
Bienne gave her a look—soft, understanding, the way only someone who truly knew Niña could.
“Eh ‘di hulog. Ako na bahala sa pulutan.”
Niña laughed softly, then smiled, genuinely this time. It ached a little, but in a good way. Like a weight finally acknowledged.
“Salamat, Bienne.”
“Anytime. Pero pag kayo ni Canino sa dulo, ako maid of honor ha.”
“Ulol,” Niña laughed, shoving her gently. “Di pa nga niya ako finollow ulit.”
They both laughed quietly, the movie long forgotten now, the room warm with the kind of honesty that only comes in the quiet of late nights and soft confessions.
And for the first time in days, Niña felt a little lighter.
A few days passed since Niña’s quiet confession to Bienne, and training had taken on a sharper edge. The team pushed harder, muscles burning but spirits brightened by the small victories in court. Niña felt a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration—like she was learning to carry a secret weight without breaking.
One humid afternoon, as the girls huddled near the sidelines, wiping sweat and catching their breath, Coach called the team to attention. His expression was serious, but there was a spark of excitement in his eyes.
“Okay girls, listen up,” Coach started, arms crossed, looking around the room. “We got an invitation.”
A few heads perked up.
“A joint training camp. A week-long one. Intensive. You’ll be training with some of the top university teams—conditioning, drills, cross-team scrimmages. This is huge for us.”
The room buzzed instantly, tired muscles forgotten as excitement began to spread. Bienne nudged Niña with her elbow, eyes wide with a grin.
Coach held up a hand, clearly enjoying the moment.
“And we won’t be going alone,” He continued. “We’re sharing the camp with…”
He paused.
“…the DLSU Lady Spikers.”
Silence.
Then—
“PUT—” Bienne choked on her water and coughed violently.
Niña nearly dropped the towel she was holding, her mouth slightly open.
The other girls were already reacting—some squealed, others gasped, and a few groaned knowing how intense DLSU’s training reputation was.
But Niña?
She was frozen.
Bienne turned to her slowly, whispering, “NINS.”
“HUH.”
“CANINO.”
Niña blinked, then let out a choked laugh, whisper-shouting, “BAKIT PARANG K-DRAMA TO???”
“Ito na ‘yun!” Bienne hissed, gripping her shoulder. “Manifestation is real!”
“Gagi, ayoko na,” Niña muttered, already staring into the void as she held her head in her hands like she was about to faint.
From across the room, Coach raised his voice again. “You’ll all get the full details later—packing list, schedule, everything. But for now, I want you all mentally and physically ready. We’re not there to mess around. We’re there to represent.”
Everyone nodded seriously, even while murmurs and side glances continued.
When the team broke off to shower and change, Bienne stayed close to Niña, barely able to keep her voice down. “Girl. Do you even realize what this means?”
“No,” Niña said flatly, still in slight disbelief. “And ayokong malaman.”
“You’re gonna breathe the same air as her.”
“OA, palagi naman!”
“Yeah but this time… closer… for a week.”
Niña sighed dramatically. “Lord, kunin mo na ‘ko.”
Bienne grinned, wrapping an arm around her. “Nope. You’re living. You’re suffering. And I’m watching it all unfold.”
Niña groaned into her towel, trying not to smile.
Inside, she was panicking.
But somewhere, under all that noise in her chest—something in her buzzed with anticipation.
Meanwhile, at the DLSU training hall, Angel and her teammates were finishing cooldown stretches when their coach called them in.
“Ladies, quick announcement,” Coach said, his expression not showing much.
Angel exchanged curious glances with Amie and Shevana, expecting another routine update.
“We’ll be attending a week-long joint training camp.”
A cheer rose from the group.
Coach continued, “And guess who we’ll be training with?”
Angel’s stomach tightened just slightly, her pulse quickening.
“The University of the Philippines, Fighting Maroons.”
Angel’s eyes flicked to Shevana, who nudged her with a teasing smirk.
Amie leaned closer and whispered, loud enough for Angel to hear, “In the middle of everything talaga.”
Angel froze, blinking as if caught mid-thought.
She swallowed, unsure how to respond. “Yun ba tagline niya?”
Shevana chuckled. “It's like your Canino tagline, but her version.”
Angel gave a tight-lipped smile, her mind swirling with mixed feelings she hadn’t fully unpacked yet.
The team broke apart to grab their things, leaving Angel quietly caught between anticipation and confusion—knowing that the camp would bring her face to face with Niña in ways neither of them had expected.