"Understanding your weakness is the first step to transcendence."
The nightmare came again that night.
I was underwater. My lungs burned while sunlight filtered through the surface above me. But this time, two figures stood on the water looking down. One was impossibly tall with violet eyes that pierced through the depths. The other was shorter, more muscular, with blue eyes full of pain and determination.
Kristoff and Kenshin.
The Emperor and the broken prodigy…
And I was drowning between them, unable to reach either one.
I woke up gasping, my sheets tangled around my legs, Shuttle whining at the foot of my bed. My phone showed 4:47 AM. Close enough. I wasn't getting back to sleep anyway.
I crawled out of bed, groggily went through my morning routine, and headed to the gym. My feet shuffled the whole way, but my mind was racing. Vince's words from yesterday kept echoing:
Time perception is interesting, but ultimately futile against someone who sees the future.
How do you beat someone who can see what you're going to do before you do it?
Coach B was waiting with his usual salted caramel coffee. He took one look at my face and sighed as he handed me a cup.
"Didn't sleep."
"Couldn't." I countered while taking the coffee gratefully. "Kept thinking about what Vince said. About the Emperor seeing the future. How am I supposed to fight that?"
"You're not." Coach B stood, walking to the court. "Not yet, anyway. First, you need to master what you have. Can't think about fighting the Emperor when you can barely activate Insight consistently."
He was right, of course. But it didn't make the weight in my chest any lighter.
"We're changing things up today," Coach B continued. "You've been trying to activate Insight in isolation. That's good for learning control, but badminton isn't played in a vacuum. You need to learn to use your ability under pressure, in real situations."
"What did you have in mind?"
He smiled. It wasn't entirely comforting. "You're going to play me."
My eyes widened. "You? But your knee—"
"Psh. I can't run the court like I used to, but I can still hit from one spot." He moved to the baseline, racket in hand. "Besides, I'm not here to beat you with footwork. I'm here to teach you something important: your Resonance is a weapon, not a parachute. If you solely rely on it, you'll fail when it doesn't activate."
He served before I could respond.
The rally was immediately different from anything I'd experienced before. Coach B didn't have Kenshin's power or Carlo's consistency. What he had was something more dangerous: experience and tactical brilliance.
He placed every shot with clear purpose—designed to prevent me from setting up winners and keep me on the defensive. His clears pushed me deep, his drops pulled me forward, his drives kept me off-balance. And every shot made me think, forced hurried decisions, and created pressure.
I tried to activate Insight. But the now-familiar mental state eluded me—there's too much pressure, too much thinking I need to do, and not enough presence.
The shuttle sailed past me.
"1-love," Coach B called. "Again."
We played. And I learned what it meant to face someone who'd spent decades mastering the mental game.
Coach B talked during rallies, a constant stream of observations that threw off my rhythm.
"You're off-balance 'coz you're leaning left. You're committing too early. You're thinking about your last mistake instead of this shot."
Every word was true. Every word made it harder to focus.
At 5-0, I finally managed to activate Insight for a brief moment. The world sharpened, and I saw the perfect return—cross-court drop to his weak side.
I executed it flawlessly.
Coach B was already there, somehow, putting it away with a casual kill.
6-0.
"Good!" he called. "You activated it. But your next shot was so obvious. Insight shows you what's possible, but you still need the skill to disguise your intentions. Again!"
We continued until the score was 11-2. I'd activated Insight maybe five times, but only scored when Coach B deliberately gave me openings to learn from.
"Enough," he finally said, breathing harder than me despite moving less. His bad knee was clearly bothering him. "What did you learn?"
I thought about it. "That Insight on its own will get me nowhere. I can see the perfect shot, but if my opponent reads my body language or if I don't have the skill to make the shot, it doesn't matter."
"Exactly." He nodded. "Your Resonance is powerful, Velasco. But it's not invincible. You need basic techniques. You need deception." He glanced at the clock. "Others will start arriving soon. Go cool down. We'll do this every morning now—practice matches where you learn to integrate Insight with actual skills."
I headed for the locker room, my mind in a blender. The gap between where I was and where I needed to be felt impossibly wide. Coach B was right—I couldn't just rely on Insight. I needed to become a complete player.
The locker room was empty when I arrived. I sat on the bench, staring at my racket—the worn grip, the aging frame, the strings that had lost some tension. It had served me well, but how long could I keep using gear that was phased out years ago?
"Talking to yourself?"
I looked up. Kenshin stood in the doorway, gym bag over his shoulder. He must have just arrived—probably jogged those five kilometers uphill from his place like he did every day.
"Just thinking," I said.
He walked in, set his bag down. For a moment, we just sat there in silence. Then he spoke, voice quiet.
"Coach is pushing you hard."
"You've been watching."
"It is hard not to notice. You're here earlier than anyone except me." He pulled out his racket—the Black Panther, I'd learned it was called. It was heavier than mine, built for his powerful style. "How much progress are you making with your Resonance?"
I hesitated. But after yesterday's conversation, pretending seemed pointless. "Some. Maybe one in three activations now. But Coach just showed me it's not enough. I can see the perfect shot, but I don't have the skill to execute it properly. And even when I do, experienced players read my next moves."
Kenshin nodded slowly. "That is the curse of Neural Resonances. They give you information, but information without skill is useless." He stood, walked to his locker. "You want to know what I learned from facing the Emperor?"
"Yes."
"Raw power is not enough. Perfect technique is not enough. Even having a Resonance is not enough." His blue eyes met mine. "The only thing that matters is whether you can impose your will on the match. Make your opponent play your game instead of playing theirs."
"And how do you do that?"
"I still do not know." He smiled bitterly. "But I know one thing: you can not do it alone. You need to understand yourself completely—your strengths, your limits, your style. And you need to understand your opponent better than they understand themselves."
He grabbed his things and headed for the door, then paused. "Velasco. What you said yesterday. About me not being broken."
I waited.
"I am thinking about that a lot. If I am still fighting or just going through motions." He looked back at me. "Will you help me find out?"
"How?"
"After regular practice today. You and me. Rematch. But this time..." His eyes gleamed with something I hadn't seen before. Anticipation. "This time, I want you to use everything you have. Do not hold back. Push yourself until you break through or break down. And I will do the same."
My heart quickened its pace. "You want me to fight you seriously? I barely scored twice last time."
"Exactly. And that is the problem—for the two of us. I have been going through the motions, destroying people who can not challenge me. You have been training against Coach, who can not give his all because of his knee." Kenshin's expression was intense now. "We both need someone who will push us to our absolute limit. Someone who will not give up and will not go easy."
I thought about it. The logical part of my brain said this was insane—Kenshin would destroy me again, probably worse this time if he was serious. But another part, the part that had awakened something impossible, wanted this—needed this.
"Okay," I said. "After practice. No holding back."
Kenshin smiled—the first genuine smile I'd seen from him. "Good. Do not die before then."
He left, and I sat there with my pulse racing.
What had I just agreed to?
Regular practice started at eight. Coach B ran us through the usual conditioning—sprints, lunges, and footwork drills.
But today felt different. Maybe it was knowing what awaits me after practice. Maybe it was the weight of everything that had happened this week. But every drill felt sharper, more urgent.
During the water break, Dhyne approached me. She'd tied her hair up in her usual tight ponytail, three star-shaped clips glinting on the right side of her head.
"You okay?" she asked. "You look like someone stuck a bamboo stick up your…"
"Just thinking about training," I blurted.
"Uh-huh." She didn't sound convinced. "Heard you're facing Kenshin again after practice. Totoo?"
Word traveled fast. "Yeah. How'd you know?"
"He mentioned it to Coach. Said he wanted court three reserved." She studied me with those precise, analytical eyes. "You know he's going to destroy you, right? No offense, but you've been playing seriously for what, a few months? He's been training his whole life."
"I know."
"So why still do it?"
I thought about how to answer without revealing too much. "Because I need to know where currently at. I can't know for sure when people go easy on me. I want to test myself against someone giving everything they've got."
Dhyne nodded slowly. "I get that. Just... don't let it break you, okay? There's no shame in losing to Kenshin. Everyone does."
But that was exactly what I was afraid of—the breaking. Would I end up like the opponents in Kristoff's videos—crushed so thoroughly they couldn't even lift their rackets? Would I understand why Kenshin had run all the way to the Philippines?
"Break's over!" Coach B called. "Multi-shuttle feeding! Dhyne, you first!"
I watched as Dhyne took position. Coach B fed shuttles rapid-fire—cross-court, straight, drop, clear, smash. Dhyne moved with inhuman precision. Every shot went exactly where she intended. Her smaller frame meant she had to be more mindful and efficient with her movement, more precise with placement. No wasted motion translates to no wasted energy.
That's what I needed to develop. Economy of movement. Precision under pressure.
When my turn came, I focused on staying present. I did not try to activate Insight but simply focused on being completely engaged with each shuttle. My longer reach helped me cover more court, but I needed to be more efficient.
"Better!" Coach B called after my session. "You're starting to read the shuttle paths naturally. Keep that up."
After multi-shuttle, we moved to practice matches. Coach B divided us up differently today.
"Mhymel versus Dhyne on court one. Honey Grace and Laureen on court two." He paused, and I felt it coming. "Velasco, you're with me on court three. Let's see your progress from this morning's lesson."
Great. Another beating.
But this time was different. This time, I wasn't just trying to survive. I was trying to learn.
Coach B served, and I focused on reading his body language. The angle of his shoulders. The position of his racket. The subtle weight shift before each shot.
I didn't activate Insight. I didn't need to. Instead, I used my brain—watching, learning, adapting.
I lost 11-5, but every one of those five points felt earned. And more importantly, I'd started seeing patterns. Coach B favored his forehand side. He almost always hit 'round-the-heads when pushed to the backline. He used the same setup for three different shots, but his grip changed slightly each time.
Information. Precious information that would help me improve.
"Much better," Coach B said afterward. "You're starting to think like a player instead of just reacting. Keep developing that, and your Resonance will become many times more effective."
The rest of practice passed in a blur. My mind kept drifting to the match ahead. Kenshin versus me. For real this time.
Finally, noon arrived. Regular practice ended. Players started filtering out, laughing and chatting about weekend plans.
But three of us stayed behind.
Me. Kenshin. And Coach B, who'd insisted on watching.
"Court three," Coach B said quietly. "Singles to eleven. No, scratch that—first to fifteen. You both need the extended rallies." He looked at each of us in turn. "This is training, not war. Push each other, but don't break each other. Understood?"
We both nodded.
I took my position on one side of the court—Kenshin on the other. The gym felt huge and empty with just the three of us. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, dust motes dancing in the beams.
This was it.
"Service, Velasco," Coach B called from the umpire's chair.
I served—a low, tight serve aimed at Kenshin's body to limit his options.
He returned it casually, left-handed precision placing it deep to my backhand. I cleared it back, and the rally began.
Immediately, I felt the difference from our first match. Kenshin wasn't holding back anymore. Every shot came hard, then harder, and harder still. His Kinetic Power Chain was already building, each consecutive hit gaining force.
I activated Insight.
The world sharpened. Time stretched. I saw him hit his next shot—a cross-court drive—and positioned myself perfectly.
But when I returned it, Kenshin was already moving to the next position. His smash came down like a hammer, and I barely got my racket on it.
1-0.
"Ayos! Good activation," Coach B called. "But you're not thinking ahead. Insight shows you one shot. Dapat three shots ahead ka."
Right. See the immediate, but think about the sequence.
We played again. This time, when I activated Insight and saw Kenshin's next shot—a drop shot, the world took on its familiar blue tint as I thought about my return and where it would force him. Then where his next shot would go. Then my next opportunity.
Spin—lift—kill.
Three shots ahead.
I moved closer to Kenshin's drop shot for a tight net spin which forced him to hit a shallow lift leading to an easy kill.
I won the rally.
1-1.
Kenshin's eyes widened slightly. "Not bad."
We settled into a rhythm, Kenshin building power with each rally, his smashes getting progressively harder. Me activating Insight occasionally, trying to use it strategically instead of constantly.
The score climbed: 3-3, then 5-5, then 7-6 in Kenshin's favor.
At 7-7, something shifted.
I activated Insight during a long rally, the world taking on that blue tint as I saw the perfect sequence—a push to his forehand to tilt the court, then a drop shot to pull him forward, then a lob over his head to the backcourt. I executed it perfectly.
But Kenshin's eyes flashed amber—his Resonance activating. His next smash came with such force it whistled through the air. I got my racket on it, but the impact nearly tore the racket from my hands.
The shuttle flew wide.
8-7, Kenshin.
"You are learning," he said, breathing hard now. "But so am I. I am learning how you use your Insight, your patterns and the signs."
My heart sank. He was adapting to me. Every time I activated Insight, he was reading my responses and my tendencies.
This must be what Kristoff does. Watch. Learn. Adapt. Counter.
We continued. The rallies grew longer, more intense. Both of us were drenched in sweat, lungs burning, legs trembling. But neither of us would quit.
At 10-10, I pushed harder than I've ever pushed before and activated Insight three times in a single rally, the blue tint flickering in and out of my vision as I saw multiple possibilities, adapting on the fly.
I won the point.
11-10, my favor.
But the effort left me gasping. My vision swam. Mental fatigue was setting in hard.
"You're at your limit," Coach B called. "Either finish it now or you'll collapse."
He was right. I could feel it—my concentration was splintering, Insight was becoming harder to activate.
One more point. Just one more.
Kenshin served. I returned. The rally began—the longest yet. Thirty shots. Forty. Fifty.
I was at my absolute limit. Kenshin's Kinetic Power Chain had built his smashes to terrifying levels. My Insight was flickering in and out, barely maintaining.
At shot sixty-three, I saw my opening. Kenshin had overcommitted to his forehand side. A quick push to his backhand corner might end it.
I activated Insight one final time, the blue tint washing over my vision as I saw the shot, saw the execution, saw the perfection.
The shuttle sailed over Kenshin's outstretched racket, tumbling toward the floor.
I clearly heard Kenshin's split step as he lunged backwards. His body fully extended, racket reaching desperately.
"Resonant Smash!" he called out, his voice sharp with focus.
His eyes flashed amber as his Kinetic Power Chain released everything he'd built. The racket connected with the shuttle.
The shuttle exploded back across the net, straight towards my backhand corner. But I was already there, already swinging for the kill—
My legs gave out.
I collapsed mid-swing. The shuttle fell on my side of the court.
11-11.
"Match suspended," Coach B called, rushing onto the court. "Both of you, sit. Now."
I couldn't have stood even if I wanted to. Every muscle screamed for attention. My head kept throbbing. My hands shook uncontrollably.
Coach B checked me over, then Kenshin. "Nasobrahan kayo. You both pushed way too hard. Velasco, you burned through your mental reserves. Kenshin, your muscles are strained from overusing your Resonance. This match is over."
"But—" we both started.
"Over," Coach B said firmly. "Drink water. Rest. Be grateful neither of you seriously hurt yourselves."
We sat there on the court, both of us too exhausted to argue. After a moment, Kenshin started laughing, not bitter or hollow—a genuine laughter.
"What's funny?" I managed.
"I forgot what this feels like—pushing so hard I can not stand. Fighting someone who refuses to give up."
His blue eyes met mine, and I saw something I hadn't seen before: respect.
"You're going to be strong, Velasco. Really strong. Maybe even strong enough to..." He trailed off.
"To what?"
"To do what I couldn't. To beat him."
The words hung in the air between us.
"I have a long way to go first," I said.
"We both do." Kenshin extended his left hand. "But maybe we can help each other get there. Train together. Push each other. Become strong enough that when we finally face him..." He smiled. "We will make him remember our names."
I took his hand. "It's a deal."
Coach B watched us with an unreadable expression. Then he sighed. "You two are going to make me lose my hair. Come on. Let's get you both checked. And tomorrow morning, we're working on stamina and mental endurance. Clearly, you both need it."
As we limped toward the locker room, I realized something had changed. I'd come into this gym a week ago as just another student hoping to make the team. Now I was a Resonant in training, with a mentor in Coach B and an ally in Kenshin.
The gap between me and the Emperor was wider than Bangkong Kahoy Valley. But for the first time, I felt like I might actually have a path forward.
One step at a time.
One rally at a time.
One day at a time.
Living in the present—it was all I knew how to do.
And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.