"The past is a ghost. The future is a dream. Only now is real."
Practice ended past five-thirty, but I stayed behind—anticipation and anxiety gnawed at my stomach.
The members of SWAT filtered out in groups, their upbeat chatter fading as they left. I sat alone on one of the plastic chairs lining the courtside, still in my sweat-soaked shirt, badminton racket across my lap.
The now-empty gym felt different. It was larger somehow, shadows stretching longer as evening light streamed through the high windows.
I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.
My heart continued to race as I recalled what happened during the match.
Three times, I saw the world in a blue-tinged light—a world where the present stretched out around me, just enough for me to see things I shouldn't have been able to see. And each time, it had felt less like a fluke and more like... something else. Something impossible.
An aberration.
"Velasco."
Coach B's voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. He walked toward me with his characteristic limp, carrying two water bottles. He tossed me one, then sat beside me with a grunt.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
"Tell me about the motorcycle," he said finally.
I blinked. "What?"
"The one that almost hit you. Tell me exactly what happened." His gray eyes were expressionless as they stayed fixed on the far wall. "Don't leave anything out."
Something in his tone made it clear to me that this wasn't just curiosity—it was important. I took a sip of water, organizing my thoughts, then started talking.
I told him everything. How a speeding motorcycle had zipped through traffic before veering straight toward me. How I'd frozen. How the world had seemed to... expand. The impossible moment of clarity where I saw every detail—the tire tread, the rider's panic, the angle of approach and trajectory and how I moved through that moment with a certainty that shouldn't have been possible.
Coach B listened without interruption, his expression neutral, but his fist trembled as he held the water bottle.
"And during the match?" he asked when I finished. "You felt it again."
It wasn't a question. He already knew.
"Three times," I admitted. "But they were all so random, I couldn't control it. It just... happened. Then when I stopped trying to force it and simply focused on the moment…" I shrugged, unsure how to finish the thought. "Am I going crazy?"
"No." His voice was gentle yet firm.
"You're not crazy."
Relief washed through me, followed immediately by confusion. "Then what—"
"Have you ever heard of Resonants, Velasco?"
The word hung between us, strange and unfamiliar. I shrugged once more then shook my head.
Coach B was quiet for another moment, obviously weighing something in his mind. When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of dangerous knowledge.
"Most people go their entire lives without knowing about Resonants or that they even exist. They're rare—maybe one in a hundred thousand." He paused. "A Resonant is someone who's awakened a consciousness or ability that goes beyond what many consider normal. Some call it a gift. Others, a curse. I call it what it is: a burden."
My mouth went dry. "An ability. Like... superpowers?"
"Not quite so dramatic." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "More subtle. Resonants develop powers related to their passions, their experiences, their core being. And these abilities fall into categories." He held up his hand, counting off.
"Neural—abilities that affect the mind and its perception."
My heart gave a sudden quiver. That sounded far too close to what I felt.
"Manual—dexterity and precision."
My grip on the SaberArc S racket on my lap suddenly tightened. With that Resonance, my precision and placement game can get to a whole new level.
"Kinetic—agility and speed."
I recalled struggling horribly to keep up with Carlo's footwork.
"Cognitive—heightened senses and pattern recognition."
A valuable Resonance, especially when facing different opponents with different styles.
"Dynamic—power and energy."
I had to take a moment to swallow and regulate my breathing.
Each word clicked inside me like gears unlocking something hidden. Things started to make sense in a new and terrifying way.
"What you experienced today was most likely Neural Resonance," Coach B continued. "Specifically, your perception of time mentally. You didn't slow down time; it doesn't work that way. But you altered your perception of it, mentally prolonging the present moment, allowing you to take in information and react in ways that otherwise would be impossible."
I stared at him. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" He finally turned to look at me. "You experienced it. You know it's real. The question isn't whether it's possible. The question is what you're going to do about it."
My mind was in overdrive. Resonants. Neural abilities. Time perception. It sounded like manga, not real life in Quezon Province.
"Why me?" I asked. "What caused it?"
"That's the tricky part. No one really knows. Some say it's trauma. Others, passion meeting the right circumstances." He paused. "Tell me about the drowning."
My pulse skipped a beat. "How did you—"
"You mentioned it. When you told me about the motorcycle."
He was right. I could feel that old memory even now, trying to resurface from the depths of my consciousness. I'd been six, playing at the beach in Sariaya or Real—I forgot which one for certain. I waded out too far, got caught in a current, then went under. Those moments underwater—lungs burning, sunlight filtering through the surface, knowing I was sinking—had been the most terrifying of my life.
My uncle managed to pull me out in time but something about that experience never left me—it was as if the sea never truly let me go.
"After that day," I said slowly, "I became obsessed with being in the present–making sure that each second means something, to me at least. My mom jokes that I never worry about tomorrow because I'm too busy living today." I laughed, but it came out bitter. "I thought I'd gotten over it. But maybe I never did."
"And badminton?" Coach B prompted.
That was easier. "It's all about the moment, isn't it? The shuttle moves too fast to think about past mistakes or future points. You have to be completely present in that moment, or you lose." I looked up at him. "That's what I love about it. When I'm on court, nothing else exists. It's just now. It's just this rally. It's just this shot."
Coach B's expression softened. He nodded slowly. "Living in the present. That's your core philosophy, whether you realized it or not. And when you combined that mindset with a near-death experience forcing absolute presence..." He gestured at me. "You awakened."
It made a terrifying kind of sense. But that raised more questions.
"You said Resonants are rare," I said. "But you know about them. Does that mean you're—"
"Yes." He waved my question off. "Cognitive Resonant. My ability is called Visionary. Lets me see potential in people, identify strengths, detect other Resonants based on the vibe or aura they give off." His expression darkened. "It's how I knew what you were the moment you walked off that court. I didn't want to believe it at first. But your aura changed. Your eyes—they shifted color when you activated your ability. It lasted only a heartbeat, but it was unmistakable."
I touched my face instinctively. "My eyes changed color?"
"Neural Resonants' eyes turn blue during activation. It's one of the tells." He took a long drink. "Which is why I need to warn you. Being a Resonant isn't all power and glory. It's dangerous. There are organizations that collect Resonants. Control and use them."
A chill ran down my spine. "Like who?"
"Gen-X, for one. Have you heard of them?"
The name was vaguely familiar. "The team from Taguig?"
"Yes. But Gen-X isn't just a team. It's an organization built around recruiting Resonants for competitive dominance." Coach B's voice went grim. "Right now, Gen-X revolves around one person–someone who can make people like you and me look like pre-schoolers on the court. Someone who's dominated badminton so completely that most competitors forfeit. They'd rather lose than face him."
"Who?"
"Kristoff de Vera," the answer came, almost like a whisper.
The name sent shocks of cold waves up my back. Everyone in high school badminton has heard the name. Kristoff de Vera. The Emperor of—
"They call him the Emperor of Badminton," he continued solemnly, like the name itself carried a dire warning. "He's just fifteen like you. But he has three Resonances. No one knows how and no one knows why. But everyone knows what it means: he's unstoppable."
The name echoed in my consciousness like the knell of the old church bell in town.
Kristoff de Vera.
The Emperor.
"Three abilities?" I whispered. "I thought you said people only get one."
"They do. Except for him." Coach B stood, wincing. "Which is why you need to keep your ability secret. Train carefully. Control your Resonances completely. Because if Gen-X finds out about you—which is inevitable—they'll come for you. Right now, you're not ready."
I stood too, my slim frame feeling suddenly inadequate. "How do I train something I barely understand?"
"That's what I'm here for." His hand landed on my shoulder. "We start tomorrow. Early, before the others arrive. I'll teach you what I can about Resonance control, about focusing your ability without burning out completely." His grip tightened. "But you need to promise me. No one else can know. Not your family, not your friends, not your teammates. Can you manage that?"
I thought about carrying this secret alone. About pretending everything was normal while I was apparently something supernatural. About someone called the Emperor who might someday come looking for me.
"I promise," I said.
Coach B nodded and released my shoulder. "Good. Now go home. Rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
I gathered my things and headed for the exit. My mind was a mess of Resonants, abilities, Gen-X, and Kristoff. So much so that I barely noticed the shadows pooling in corners where light didn't quite reach.
Halfway to the door, I heard it—that voice again, low and controlled, with a Japanese accent.
"A Neural Resonant. Interesting."
The voice sounded amused but with a hint of disdain. I spun around. Nothing but shadows and an empty court.
"Who's there?" I called.
No response. Just the hum of lights and distant evening traffic.
"Probably your imagination," Coach B said, but his tone suggested he didn't believe it. "Go on. I'll lock up."
I left the gym and stepped into the warm evening air. The sky was darkening to deep purple, stars beginning to appear. Everything looked normal—same streets, same houses, same loitering tambays.
But nothing will ever be quite the same again.
I was a Resonant.
I had a power I didn't understand.
And somewhere out there, an Emperor was gathering people like me—for what purpose, I didn't really want to know.
I walked home slowly, my feet heavier than usual.
When I reached my house—a modest single-story brick bungalow with a small garden where my mom grew vegetables—I stood outside for a moment.
My dog Shuttle, a tan and white askal, barked excitedly inside. My parents were probably watching TV while my sister did her homework.
They had no idea the son who left for school this morning came back… different. Not entirely human anymore.
Should I tell them? Coach B said no. But secrets felt wrong.
I made my decision at the door. I'd keep it secret. For now. Until I understood better.
Shuttle greeted me enthusiastically as I entered.
"Liam! You're late!" my mom called from the kitchen. "Did you make the team?"
I smiled despite everything. "Yeah, Ma. I made it."
"I knew you would!" Pride rang in her voice. "Come eat. I roasted some chicken for you. You must be starving."
I was famished. But as I set my bag down, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Later that night, lying in bed with my phone casting soft light in the darkness, I did what any fifteen-year-old would do when confronted with the impossible: I searched.
"Resonants" brought up nothing useful—just music terms and physics.
"Kristoff de Vera" was more productive.
Pages of tournament results. Videos of matches. Articles proclaiming him the future of badminton, a once-in-a-generation talent.
I clicked on a video: "Kristoff de Vera vs. Tanaka Ryo - Japan U-18 Open Finals."
The video loaded. Packed stadium. Two players walking onto the court. One was Japanese, tall and powerful—Tanaka Ryo.
The other made my breath catch.
Kristoff de Vera was tall—unfairly tall for fifteen. Every movement, every swing, looked like it had been rehearsed by time itself.
But what struck me most were his eyes.
Violet.
Not brown or blue or any normal color. Violet, like they'd been touched by something otherworldly.
He carried a racket that looked forged from white fire; even his practice swings whooshed through the air.
But it was how he moved that chilled me. He didn't run or scramble like other players. He glided, every motion deliberate and controlled, like running would be beneath him.
The match began.
It ended seven minutes later.
21-0.
Tanaka hadn't scored a single point. The few times he returned shots, they came back twice as hard, placed with surgical precision. And when Kristoff smashed—the sound boomed like thunder, raw, deflating, and terrifying.
But what really chilled me was the final moment. The camera zoomed on Kristoff's face as he walked off court. No smile. No celebration. His violet eyes were completely empty, like the match had been nothing more than a tedious chore.
Then, just before the video ended, he looked at the camera. Those eyes locked onto the lens, and even through a recording, even through a screen, I felt it.
The weight of his gaze. His presence. His absolute dominance.
I fumbled for my phone and paused it, hands shaking.
That was the Emperor of Badminton.
That was what three Resonances looked like.
That was what I'd face someday if I stayed on this path I'd chosen.
I turned off my phone and lay in darkness, staring at the ceiling. Sleep felt impossible right now. My mind kept replaying everything—the motorcycle, the match, Coach B's revelation, that voice in the shadows, and Kristoff's violet eyes staring through the camera as if he could see through time itself.
Eventually, exhaustion won. I drifted into uneasy sleep.
And I dreamed of drowning again. But this time when I looked up at the surface, I saw a figure standing on the water above me. Impossibly tall with violet eyes that saw everything. A racket crackling with the power of lightning on his right hand. Smiling—almost snarling—with a predator's anticipation.
The Emperor knew I existed.
And someday, he'll come for me.