Chapter 320 - 320: Rest Day (1)

​The morning sun shined brightly through the small window of Tristan Herrera's bedroom. He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time in many months, he did not have an alarm clock ringing loudly in his ear. He did not have to jump out of bed, put on his heavy rubber shoes, and run outside for morning sprints.

​He was finally allowed to just rest.

​His body was still very sore from the physical beating he took in the championship game in Thailand. His shoulders felt tight, and his legs were heavy. But his mind felt incredibly peaceful.

​Deep inside his brain, the System interface was completely quiet. It was in deep sleep mode, allowing his human body to recover naturally. There were no flashing blue numbers, no statistics, and no basketball strategies running through his head.

​Tristan smiled. He stretched his arms, let out a long yawn, and reached for his smartphone resting on the small nightstand. It was right next to his shiny glass MVP trophy.

​He unlocked his phone and opened his messaging app. He skipped all the messages from basketball fans and sports reporters. He only clicked on one specific name: Claire.

​He began to type quickly with his thumbs.

​Tristan (9:05 AM): Good morning, beautiful. I hope you slept well. What time does your class end today?

​He hit send and placed the phone on his chest. He closed his eyes, waiting. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed gently.

​Claire (9:08 AM): Good morning, MVP! I am already at the university. My first class just ended. I have a long painting class later, so my classes will end at exactly 3:00 PM today.

​Tristan smiled and immediately typed his reply.

​Tristan (9:09 AM): Perfect. I will be there ten minutes early. I am going to wait for you outside your building so we can get that ice cream you have been craving. I promised you a date, right?

​Claire (9:11 AM): Are you sure? Dasmariñas is quite far from your house! You are supposed to be resting your sore muscles!

​Tristan (9:12 AM): My muscles are fine. Sitting on a bus is easy. Besides, seeing you is the best way for me to recover. See you later. Focus on your painting!

​Claire (9:14 AM): You are too sweet. Okay, see you later! I cannot wait! ❤️

​Tristan locked his phone and let out a happy sigh. He finally pushed the blanket off his legs and stood up. He had a date to prepare for.

​De La Salle University Dasmariñas, commonly known as DLSU-D, was located in the province of Cavite, south of Metro Manila. It was a short commute from Tristan's house, so he did not mind at all.

​After taking a warm shower and eating a heavy breakfast cooked by his mother, Linda, Tristan dressed casually. He wanted to blend in. He wore a simple white t-shirt, comfortable black denim pants, and a clean pair of white lifestyle sneakers. He grabbed a dark blue baseball cap and pulled it low over his eyes to avoid drawing too much attention.

​He rode a jeepney from the jeepney terminal.

​The jeepney ride took almost 30 minutes because of the heavy traffic on the highway. Tristan sat by the window, watching the city buildings slowly change into the greener, more open spaces of Cavite. He put on his earphones and listened to some slow, relaxing acoustic music.

​For the entire thirty minutes, he did not think about basketball. He did not think about the towering centers of the Chinese National Team or the fast point guards of Australia. He kept his promise. Today was just about him and Claire.

​At exactly 2:15 PM, the jeepney finally stopped near the university gates. Tristan stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

​He walked toward the main entrance of De La Salle University Dasmariñas. The campus was famous for being incredibly beautiful and green. Unlike the universities in the crowded city, DLSU-D was filled with massive, old trees, wide grassy fields, and long walking paths covered in shade. It felt like a peaceful park.

​Tristan showed his ID to the security guard at the gate and signed the visitor's logbook.

​"Who are you visiting, sir?" the guard asked politely.

​"A student from the Arts department, sir," Tristan replied with a polite smile.

​The guard looked at Tristan's face, then looked down at the logbook where Tristan had written his name. The guard's eyes widened in sudden recognition.

​"Wait... Tristan Herrera?" the guard gasped. "The captain of the Under-18 National Team? The MVP?"

​Tristan chuckled nervously and put a finger to his lips. "Yes, sir. But please, keep it quiet. I am just here to pick up my girlfriend."

​The guard smiled widely and gave him a thumbs-up. "Congratulations on the gold medal, captain! You made the country proud. The Arts building is straight ahead, past the grandstand, near the large lake."

​"Thank you, sir," Tristan nodded respectfully.

​He walked down the long, brick-paved pathways of the university. The campus was busy. Students in casual clothes were walking around, holding heavy books, laughing with their friends, or sitting on the grass under the shade of the tall acacia trees.

​Even with his baseball cap pulled down, it was hard for Tristan to completely hide. He was tall, athletic, and he walked with the natural, confident posture of a champion. A few students turned their heads as he passed by.

​"Hey, is that the basketball player?" a girl whispered to her friend as Tristan walked past them.

​"I think so! He looks just like the guy on the news last night," the friend whispered back loudly.

​Tristan ignored the whispers and kept walking. He followed the guard's directions until he reached a quiet, beautiful part of the campus. There was a large man-made lake surrounded by green grass and trees. Right next to the lake was a beautifully designed building with large glass windows. Through the windows, Tristan could see wooden easels, canvas boards, and students painting.

​This was the Arts and Design building.

​Tristan checked his watch. It was 2:50 PM. He was exactly ten minutes early, just like he promised.

​He found a quiet wooden bench under the shade of a large mango tree, directly facing the main doors of the building. He sat down, took a deep breath of the fresh campus air, and waited.

​At exactly 3:00 PM, a loud bell rang from the nearby clock tower.

​A few moments later, the large double doors of the Arts building opened. Students began pouring out, looking tired but relieved that their classes were finally over for the day.

​Tristan stood up from the bench, his eyes scanning the crowd.

​Then, he saw her.

​Claire walked out of the glass doors. She looked absolutely beautiful, even though she was clearly tired. She was wearing a simple, light yellow summer dress that flowed gently in the afternoon breeze. She had a large, heavy canvas tote bag hanging over her right shoulder, filled with sketchpads, paintbrushes, and pencils. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and Tristan could see a tiny smudge of dark blue paint on her left cheek.

​On her left wrist, she was proudly wearing the silver elephant bracelet he had given her last night.

​Claire looked around the courtyard, searching the faces of the people waiting. When her eyes finally landed on the tall young man standing under the mango tree wearing a white shirt and a blue cap, her whole face lit up with pure joy.

​"Tristan!" she called out happily.

​She ran toward him, completely ignoring the heavy bag bouncing against her side.

​Tristan smiled widely. He opened his arms and caught her as she jumped slightly into his embrace. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, lifting her a few inches off the ground, and hugged her tightly.

​"You made it," Claire whispered into his neck, laughing softly.

​"I told you I would be ten minutes early," Tristan replied, gently putting her down. He reached out with his thumb and carefully wiped the small smudge of blue paint off her cheek. "You have a little bit of the sky on your face."

​Claire blushed, rubbing her cheek embarrassingly. "Oh no! I was mixing oil paints for my midterm project. It gets everywhere. I must look like a mess."

​"You look beautiful," Tristan said honestly, his eyes locking onto hers. "You look like a real artist."

​Claire smiled, her heart fluttering. She looked at him from head to toe. "And you look like a normal college student. It is weird seeing you without your basketball jersey and your rubber shoes squeaking on the court."

​"For the next three days, I am just a normal guy," Tristan promised, offering her his hand. "No basketball. Just you and me. Now, I believe I promised someone a lot of sweet ice cream. Lead the way."

​Claire happily took his hand. Her fingers perfectly intertwined with his. "There is a really good ice cream parlor just outside the campus gates. It is a favorite spot for the students here. Let's go!"

​They walked together down the shaded brick paths of De La Salle University Dasmariñas. They swung their joined hands gently as they walked. Tristan carried her heavy canvas tote bag on his left shoulder, refusing to let her carry it.

​Some of Claire's classmates walked past them and waved.

​"Bye, Claire!" a girl with short hair shouted. Then she looked at Tristan, her eyes widening in shock. "Oh my god, Claire, is that your boyfriend? The MVP?"

​Claire laughed brightly and waved back. "Yes! Bye, Sarah! See you tomorrow!"

​Tristan chuckled, pulling his cap down a little lower. "You are quite popular here, Miss Artist."

​"Not as popular as you, Mr. Captain," Claire teased, bumping her shoulder against his arm. "Everyone in my class was talking about your interview last night. They were all asking me if you were really that scary and serious in real life."

​"What did you tell them?" Tristan asked, raising an eyebrow.

​"I told them you are a big softie who washes dishes for his mother," Claire laughed out loud.

​"Hey! You are going to ruin my tough reputation," Tristan joked, pretending to be offended. "How can I scare the giants of Asia if they know I wash dishes?"

​"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," Claire giggled.

​They walked out of the university gates and crossed the street. Just a few blocks away, they arrived at a small, colorful cafe named Scoops & Smiles. The inside of the cafe was bright, painted in pastel pink and baby blue. It was filled with small round tables and the sweet, sugary smell of freshly baked waffle cones.

​There was a short line at the counter. Tristan and Claire stood together, looking up at the large menu board filled with dozens of different ice cream flavors.

​"What are you getting?" Tristan asked, looking down at her.

​"I have been craving this all week," Claire said, pointing excitedly at the display glass. "I want a double scoop. One scoop of double dark chocolate, and one scoop of cookies and cream. In a large waffle cone."

​"That is a lot of sugar," Tristan laughed.

​"Do not judge me! My brain needs sugar after mixing paints all day," Claire defended herself playfully.

​"I am not judging," Tristan smiled.

​When it was their turn, Tristan stepped up to the counter. The young cashier looked up at him, froze for a second, and then smiled nervously.

​"Hi," Tristan said politely. "We will have one double scoop of dark chocolate and cookies and cream in a waffle cone. And for me, I will just have one scoop of fresh mango ice cream in a cup, please."

​"R-Right away, sir!" the cashier stammered, quickly grabbing the metal scoopers.

​Tristan pulled out his wallet and paid for the ice cream. A minute later, the cashier handed them their sweet treats. Tristan grabbed some napkins, and they found a quiet, empty table near the large window at the corner of the cafe.

​They sat down across from each other.

​Claire immediately took a huge bite of her dark chocolate ice cream. She closed her eyes and let out a happy, satisfied groan. "Oh my gosh. This is exactly what I needed. It is so good."

​Tristan chuckled, taking a small spoonful of his yellow mango ice cream. It was sweet, cold, and refreshing. "I am glad you like it. You deserve it after working so hard on your midterm project."

​Claire opened her eyes and looked at him. She used a napkin to wipe a small bit of chocolate from the corner of her lips.

​"So," Claire said, leaning forward slightly. "We are really not going to talk about basketball today?"

​"That is the rule," Tristan nodded seriously, eating another spoonful of mango ice cream. "If I mention basketball, I owe you another round of ice cream."

​"Okay," Claire smiled mischievously. "But what if I want to talk about it? I mean, you are going to the Asian Cup! You are going to play against China!"

​Tristan shook his head slowly. "Nope. I am not falling for your trap, Miss Artist. Today is your day. Tell me more about your painting. The one about 'Hope' with the gold streak in the middle. Did you finish it?"

​Claire sighed happily, realizing he was truly dedicated to focusing entirely on her. She rested her elbows on the table, holding her waffle cone.

​"Almost," Claire answered, her eyes sparkling with passion as she talked about her work. "I spent the entire three-hour class today just working on the background. Getting the dark blue and black to blend perfectly is very hard. It has to look like a heavy storm, not just a flat black wall. If the background is not dark enough, the streak of gold in the center will not shine."

​"Contrast," Tristan said softly, understanding the concept. "The light only looks bright because the dark is so deep."

​"Exactly," Claire smiled proudly. "You understand art better than some of my classmates. You see, the gold streak represents the sudden moment when everything changes. When you are feeling lost, or tired, or defeated, and suddenly, there is a spark. It is the moment you realize you can win."

​Tristan looked at her face. He watched the way her eyes moved, the way she used her hands to explain her thoughts. He felt incredibly lucky to have someone so deep and intelligent in his life.

​"It sounds like a masterpiece," Tristan said honestly. "When is the deadline for this project?"

​"Next Friday," Claire replied, taking another bite of her cookies and cream scoop. "I have to present it in front of the whole class and the head professor of the department. I am a little bit nervous. He is very strict. Last week, he made a student cry because her painting lacked 'emotional depth'."

​Tristan frowned slightly. He reached across the small table and gently placed his hand over hers.

​"Do not be nervous," Tristan said, his voice deep and comforting. "Your painting has more emotional depth than anything else in that room because it comes directly from your heart. When you present it, do not look at the strict professor. Just stand tall, explain your feelings, and be proud of your work. You are incredibly talented, Claire."

​Claire looked down at his large, warm hand covering hers. A soft pink blush spread across her cheeks. The cold ice cream in her hand was melting, but her heart felt completely warm.

​"Thank you, Tristan," she whispered. "Hearing you say that gives me a lot of confidence. If the captain of the national team believes in me, then I guess I have to believe in myself."

​"Always," Tristan smiled.

​For the next two hours, they stayed in the little pink cafe.

​They finished their ice cream, but they did not want to leave. They simply ordered two glasses of cold water and continued talking. They talked about everything except basketball.

​Claire told Tristan funny stories about her chaotic classmates in the Arts department. She told him about a boy who accidentally glued his own hand to a piece of wood during a sculpture class. Tristan laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

​In return, Tristan told her stories about his childhood. He told her how he used to ride in the sidecar of his father's tricycle when he was a little boy, pretending it was a race car. He told her about his mother's secret recipe for chicken adobo, and how she refused to tell anyone the exact measurements of soy sauce she used.

​It was a simple, beautiful conversation.

​Outside the cafe window, the bright afternoon sun slowly began to lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and soft purple. The students walking on the streets were heading to the bus stops and tricycle terminals to go home.

​"It is getting late," Claire said softly, looking out the window. "We should probably start heading back to Manila. The traffic on the highway is going to be terrible at this hour."

​Tristan looked at his watch. It was almost 5:30 PM. Time had moved incredibly fast.

​"You are right," Tristan nodded, standing up from his chair. "Let me carry your bag."

​"You carried it the whole way here," Claire protested weakly.

​"And I will carry it the whole way back," Tristan smiled, easily lifting the heavy canvas tote bag and hanging it over his wide shoulder. "I am your official bodyguard for the next three days."

​Claire giggled and stood up. They walked out of the cafe and back onto the busy street.

​The walk to the jeepney terminal was peaceful. The heat of the day had finally faded away, replaced by the cool evening breeze. They held hands again, not caring who saw them.

​As they waited for the jeep that would take them back, Claire leaned her head against Tristan's arm.

​"Thank you for today," Claire said quietly, her voice full of genuine happiness. "Thank you for traveling here just to buy me ice cream. And thank you for keeping your promise. You really didn't talk about basketball."

​Tristan looked down at her and smiled. He gently squeezed her hand.

​"I told you," Tristan said softly. "The Asian Cup can wait. The World Cup can wait. Right now, this is exactly where I want to be."

​A large, jeepney arrived.

​"Ready to go home?" Tristan asked.

​"Ready," Claire smiled.

​They stepped onto the jeepney together, leaving the beautiful green campus of Dasmariñas behind them. Tristan felt completely refreshed. His muscles were resting, his mind was clear, and his heart was full.

​He knew that in three days, Coach Baldomero would blow his whistle, the gym doors would lock, and the brutal, painful preparation for the Asian Cup would begin. The Architect would have to wake up and go back to war.

​But as the jeepney drove into the beautiful sunset, Tristan Herrera closed his eyes and enjoyed the perfect, quiet peace of a simple afternoon date.