"Some people run from their past. Others carry it like armor."
The week passed quickly—packed with early morning training sessions and regular team practices that melded in my mind like a hazy blur.
Every day, I met Coach B at the gym while the sky was still dark, working on consciously activating Insight. Despite having to get out of bed in an unearthly hour, I was glad that my success rate improved from one in five to about one in three.
There was progress, but it was painfully slow. Each activation brought that blue tint to my vision—subtle but unmistakable—and caused my head to throb, but with less intensity than before.
The annoying Gen-X scout appeared every few days, always watching from a distance, always making his presence known. Coach B told me to ignore him. Ha! Easier said than done. Every time I saw that red and gold jacket, my breathing picked up and my concentration shattered.
It was Friday afternoon, and we were running through conditioning drills. The heat was oppressive even inside the gym—no surprise there, and sweat dripped from everyone. I was mid-sprint when Dhyne jogged up beside me during water break.
"So," she said casually, "what's your story with Kenshin?"
I nearly choked on my water. "What?"
"He's been glancing at you all week. Haven't you noticed?" She tilted her head, loose hair falling across her shoulder. "Kenshin never pays attention to anyone. But he keeps watching you like he's waiting for something to happen."
I had noticed, actually. Those intense blue eyes tracking my movements from across the gym—the way Shuttle would keep tabs on another dog across the street. Without fail, he'd pause his own training whenever I successfully activated Insight.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "Maybe he just likes watching the new guy struggle."
Dhyne laughed. "Maybe. But I've been on this team for two years, and I've never seen him show interest in anyone." She paused. "There are stories about him, you know. About why he's here."
I tried to resist the urge to find out more.
"What kind of stories?" I asked a few seconds later.
She glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. "Rumor is he was some kind of celeb in Japan. Won everything, dominated everyone. Then he faced someone in a major tournament and got completely destroyed. Like, totally embarrassed in front of his hometown. They say he came here to escape the bashing that followed."
My stomach tightened. The pieces I'd been assembling all week clicked together with uncomfortable certainty.
"Do you know who he faced?"
"Some kid named Kristoff something. Ang sabi, he's supposed to be the future of badminton." She shrugged. "Sounds OA to me. A fifteen-year-old that good—it's exaggerated."
I thought about the video. The violet eyes. The 21-0 score. The way Kristoff had glided across court like running would be beneath him.
"All real, apparently," I muttered.
"Water break's over!" Coach B called. "Footwork drills, court two!"
As we jogged to position, I caught Kenshin's eye across the gym. He was alone on court three as always, going through defensive drills with methodical precision but with the pace of a maniac. And he was watching me.
I made a decision.
After practice ended and everyone else left, I stayed behind. Coach B had something to do, so for once I had the gym to myself. Or so I thought.
I was practicing serves when I heard the sound of a shuttle being hit on court three. Sharp, controlled strikes echoing through the empty gymnasium.
Kenshin was still there.
I hesitated, my Saber Arc S racket in hand. Every instinct told me to leave him alone, not to poke at whatever wounds he carried. But another part of me—the part that had nearly died under a motorcycle and awakened something impossible—needed to know.
I walked to court three.
Kenshin was running through solo smash routines—tossing shuttles high with his free right hand, then destroying them with overhead smashes that hit the floor like they were launched from a bazooka. Each smash seemed harder than the last, his form growing more intense with repetition.
Kinetic Resonance at work, building power with each consecutive shot.
"You're still here," he said without stopping. Not a question.
"So are you."
He caught the next shuttle instead of smashing it, then turned to face me. Up close, I could see the tension in his shoulders and the tightness around his eyes. He looked like someone who didn't sleep well—someone who pushed himself too hard trying to outrun a jeepney that already left yesterday.
"Did you need something, Velasco?"
The directness caught me off guard.
"I wanted to ask why you're here. About Japan."
His expression hardened. "Dhyne's been telling stories."
"She mentioned you faced someone. Someone named Kristoff."
The temperature in the gym seemed to drop. Kenshin's hand clenched around his racket so tight I heard the grip creak.
"So what if I did?" His accent was flat, his voice carefully controlled. "What is it to you?"
"Because I think..." I chose words carefully. "I think we might have something in common."
Kenshin stared at me for a long moment. Then, without a word, he walked to the bench and sat down heavily, like someone carrying a weight that is too heavy to hold. I hesitated for a moment but sat beside him.
"You want to know about the Emperor," he said finally. Not a question.
"If it's okay with you."
He was quiet so long I thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant, like recounting someone else's memory.
"I was the best in my age group in Japan last year. I won every big tournament. My coach said I was the best he ever trained." A bitter smile. "I believed him. I thought I was unstoppable."
He bounced a shuttle on his racket, not looking at me.
"Then Kristoff de Vera entered the Japan U-18 Open. He was from the Philippines, so everyone thought he is just another foreign player. But he went through everyone in his bracket like a bamboo plunged into the river. He did not lose one time. All opponents did not get past ten points."
I remembered the video. The complete dominance.
"I made it to the finals. My coach warned me Kristoff was different, dangerous. But I didn't listen. I mean, how good could he really be?" Kenshin's hands were shaking now. "I found out."
"What happened?"
"Match started. I served. And before the rally was over, I knew I was going to lose." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "He could see everything. Every shot I was going to make, he was already positioned for it. Every mistake I made, he punished it before I even knew I made one. It was like a battle with someone who could read my mind."
"Cognitive Resonance," I said without thinking.
Kenshin's head snapped toward me. "How do you know that name?"
Oh no. I've said too much. But there was no taking it back. "Coach B told me things. About Resonants. About abilities."
Understanding dawned in his blue eyes. "You're one too. That's why Coach keeps you after practice. That's why sometimes, you move differently during rallies."
He laughed, but it was hollow. "Neural type, I'm guessing. Time perception?"
I nodded slowly.
"Does Coach know?"
"He's the one who told me what I am."
Kenshin leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. "Then you understand. You know what you're dealing with. And you know why I ran."
"Tell me the rest. What happened in that match?"
"Twenty-one to zero. First set." He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. "I didn't score a single point. I tried everything—power, control, speed, deception. Nothing worked. He was always there, always ready, always one step ahead with his Emperor's Vision—his Resonance. And the worst part?" His voice cracked. "He looked bored."
The word hung in the air like an accusation.
"Second set, I scored one point. One. Because he gave it to me. I could see it in his violet eyes—he let me have it just to give me false hope—nuka yorokibi."
Kenshin's hands clenched, veins bulging on the side of his fists. "Then he closed out twenty-one to one. After the match, you know what he said?"
I shook my head.
"'You're not even worth remembering.' That's it. Then he walked away."
His voice grew agitated. "I couldn't show my face in Kyoto or anywhere in Japan after that. Hah! The prodigy who got destroyed without scoring. The champion who got toyed with like a child. So I came here, to my mother's hometown, hoping I could..." He trailed off.
"Hoping you could what?"
"Become strong enough so that next time, I could at least make him remember my name."
The pain in his voice was tangible. This wasn't just about badminton or competition anymore. Kristoff had broken something fundamental in Kenshin—his confidence, his identity, his sense of self-worth.
"That's why you train so hard," I said. "Why you push yourself until you can barely stand."
"Every day I have to get stronger. Every day I train to make Kinetic Power Chain stronger." He looked at the racket on his left hand, an Astro 99 Pro Black Panther. "My Resonance. Every consecutive shot increases in power. If I can just build up enough energy, then land one perfect smash, maybe..."
He shook his head.
"It is hopeless. He has three Resonances. If I could not beat one of his abilities, how can I beat all three?"
The revelation and question blew me.
"Coach B said most people only have one. That three should be impossible."
"It should be. But Kristoff de Vera isn't bound by what should be possible." Kenshin stood abruptly. "That's why I'm warning you. Whatever Coach is teaching you, whatever you think you can become—it won't be enough. The Emperor doesn't just beat you—he breaks you. He makes you see how weak you really are. He makes you see how useless your efforts are, and how completely he owns the court."
"Then why keep training?" I asked suddenly. "If he's unbeatable, why not quit?"
Kenshin turned to face me fully. For the first time since I'd met him, I saw something other than pain in his eyes. Determination, burning like a stubborn ember that refused to die no matter how much the wind tried to extinguish it.
"Because I either try to prove him wrong or accept that he was right… That I'm not worth remembering. That I'm nothing." He picked up his racket. "I'd rather die trying to prove him wrong than live knowing I gave up."
He paused at the door on his way out. "You have potential, Velasco. Otherwise, Coach wouldn't waste his time. But you need to understand what you're walking into. Gen-X is watching you. The Emperor will hear about you eventually. And when he does, he will come for you. Not because you're a threat—but because collecting strong Resonants is what he does."
"What do you mean, collecting?"
"Gen-X isn't just a team. It's Kristoff's personal gang of Resonants. He finds talented players, beats them into submission, then offers a choice: join him or fade into obscurity."
Kenshin's expression darkened. "Most join. Because losing to the Emperor once is humiliating. But losing to him repeatedly while everyone watches? That's… unbearable."
My blood ran cold. "He makes them play him again?"
"Until they break completely," he said, nodding. "Until they have no choice but to kneel." He opened the door. "Don't let it happen to you. Whatever it takes, don't let him break you like he broke me."
"You're not…" I said as he was about to step through the door. "You're not broken. You're still fighting."
Kenshin smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Am I? Or am I just going through the motions, pretending I still have a chance?" He stepped through the door. "Good night. Train hard tomorrow. Coach says you're improving."
He left, and I sat alone in the empty gym as the evening shadows grew longer.
I thought about everything else Kenshin had told me. About Kristoff's Emperor's Vision letting him see every move before it happened. About his two other Resonances—Emperor's Will and Emperor's Judgment. About Gen-X collecting Resonants like trophies.
And I thought about the question Kenshin left hanging: was he still fighting, or just pretending?
Maybe heroes don't run. Maybe they bleed and keep walking anyway…
I didn't have an answer for him. But I had one for myself.
I wasn't going to break. Wasn't going to kneel. Whatever it took, however long it took, I'd become strong enough to stand on the same court as Kristoff de Vera and not just survive—but win.
It was an absurd goal. A naive dream. A borderline suicidal challenge.
But it was mine.
I stood and walked to center court. The gym was nearly dark now, just the emergency lights casting long shadows. I took a ready position and closed my eyes.
Present moment. Nothing else matters. Just now.
I tried to activate Insight, tried to feel that shift in perception, that expansion of awareness that brought the blue tint to my vision.
Nothing happened.
I tried again. And again.
Still nothing.
Frustration welled up in my chest. Kenshin trained for years and still lost. Coach B said mastery took time I didn't have. Gen-X was already watching. And somewhere out there, the Emperor was building his collection.
I was running out of time before I'd even started.
"Problems, Velasco?"
I spun around. A man stood in the gymnasium entrance—mid-twenties, light and athletic build, shorter than average Pinoy. Wearing a red and gold Gen-X jacket. Gray eyes that seemed to x-ray me.
My heart hammered frantically.
"Gym's closed," I said, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably.
"Is it?" He walked in casually, hands in his pockets. "I was hoping to catch you alone. Wanted a conversation without your coach… hovering."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"No? Pity." He stopped a few meters away. "My name's Vince. I'm a recruiter for Gen-X. And I'm here to make you an offer."
"I'm not interested."
"Oh but you haven't heard the offer yet." Vince smiled, but it was predatory. "We know what you are, Liam. Neural Resonant, time perception type. Quite a rare ability with significant potential. You awakened less than two weeks ago, which means you are raw, untrained, vulnerable."
"How do you—"
"We have our methods." He pulled out his phone, showed me a video. It was from practice, showing me activating Insight during a drill. The footage was grainy but clear. "You have a tell. Your eyes change slightly when you activate. Most people wouldn't notice, but we're trained to spot these things."
They'd been watching closer than I thought.
"Here's the offer," Vince continued. "Come train with Gen-X. Best coaches, best facilities, best training programs for Resonants in the country. Maybe in all of Asia. You'll grow faster, stronger, better than you ever could in this…" he glanced around dismissively, "provincial gym."
"And in exchange?"
"In exchange, you represent Gen-X in tournaments. Help us maintain dominance. And someday, if you're good enough, you might even train directly with the Emperor himself."
He said it like an honor, not a threat.
"No."
Vince raised an eyebrow. "No? Just like that?"
"I'm not interested in being collected. Not interested in kneeling to anyone." I looked directly at his gray eyes—deffiantly this time.
"Tell your Emperor I said no."
The smile disappeared from Vince's face. "You're making a mistake, kid. The Emperor doesn't like being rejected. And what he doesn't like, he tends to crush."
"Then I guess I'd better get stronger."
We stared at each other for a long moment. The air felt electric, charged with tension.
Finally, Vince laughed and turned to leave. "You've got spirit, bata. I like that in a kid. Makes it more satisfying when you eventually break." He paused at the door. "Oh, and Velasco? The Emperor asked me to give you a message."
"What message?"
"He said, and I quote: 'Tell the boy with the old racket that I look forward to our inevitable meeting. Time perception is interesting, but ultimately futile against someone who sees the future.'" Vince's smile returned. "Sweet dreams, kid. We'll be watching."
He left abruptly, and I stood alone in darkness.
My hands were shaking. Not from fear—from anger. From determination. From absolute certainty that I'd just made an enemy of the most dangerous person in badminton.
But I'd also made a choice. I would face the Emperor someday.
I would stand on that court.
I would find a way to win.
I didn't know how yet. I just knew I would.
I locked up the gym and started walking home. The streets were dark now, lit only by occasional streetlamps and the headlights of passing motorcycles. Somewhere in the distance, music played, people sang karaoke, life continued as normal.
My phone buzzed. Text from Coach B:
"Heard Gen-X approached you. Are you okay?"
I typed back: "I'm fine. I said no."
His response came immediately: "Good. But be careful. They don't give up easily. Nor will we. Tomorrow, 5 AM. Be ready."
I pocketed my phone and looked up at the stars. They seemed impossibly distant, cold and bright in the dark sky.
Somewhere under these same stars, Kristoff de Vera was training. Building his empire. Collecting his Resonants. Preparing for whatever battles lay ahead.
And now he knew about me. The boy with the old racket who'd dared to say no.
I smiled despite everything.
Let him watch.
Let him prepare.
Because I was coming for him too.
But not today. Not tomorrow. But someday.
And when that day came, I'd make sure he remembered my name.
I reached home and found Shuttle waiting at the door, tail wagging enthusiastically. I scratched behind his ears, letting his simple joy ground me. Inside, I could hear my family—my dad watching TV, my mom in the kitchen, my sister doing homework.
Normal life. Normal people.
And me, carrying a secret that felt heavier with each passing day.
I stepped inside, greeted by warmth and familiar voices.
"Liam! Dinner's ready!" my mom called.
"Coming, Ma."
I set my bag down, my old racket visible through the half-open zipper. The grip was worn, the frame showing its age. It's not the best equipment. It's not the newest technology.
But it was mine. And it had been enough to awaken something impossible.
Tomorrow, I'd train harder. Push further. Grow stronger.
Because somewhere out there, the Emperor was watching.
And I refused to be just another piece in his collection.
I refused to be forgotten.
I refused to kneel.
The real match is yet to begin. But the first battle lines have been drawn.
And when that day comes—I'll be ready.