The big man's lips twisted into a cruel smile as he steps closer, towering over Maicon.
"You will regret this, boy," he growled, his voice heavy with menace.
Before Maicon could brace himself, the man's fist shot forward. The punch crashed into Maicon's frail body, the impact so strong it sent him ragdolling across the dirt. His back scraped the ground as he landed with a thud. Pain roared through him, sharp and merciless.
The man dusted off his knuckles as if Maicon had been nothing more than an annoyance. "Pathetic." He turned his back and began toward the pile of belongings.
But Maicon, with trembling arms and shaky legs, pushed himself off the ground. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, yet his voice rang out.
"Hey! I am not done yet."
The big man stopped, surprised. He turned, narrowing his eyes at the sight of the thin, battered boy rising again. For a moment, there was disbelief in his gaze—how could such a frail body still stand?
"You should've stayed down," the man muttered. His annoyance flared into fury. He stormed forward and delivered another brutal punch, this time square into Maicon's stomach. The boy folded over the strike, breath escaping in a wheeze as his knees gave way. He dropped again.
To make sure he stayed down, the man stomped on him. Once. Twice. Three times. Each blow sent shockwaves of pain through Maicon's ribs. The air grew thick with cruelty as the large man stepped away, satisfied. He moved back toward the scattered belongings.
But again, impossibly, Maicon stirred. His arms quivered as he planted his palms to the ground, pushing his bruised and bloodied body up. His legs shook under the strain, but he stood. His hair matted to his face, his lips cracked and bleeding, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something that refused to die.
From across the street, a man sat on a bench, quietly smoking a cigar. He had been there the whole time, watching with detached calm. Street fights were nothing unusual in the city, but something about this boy—this resilience—caught his attention. Still, he chose to remain seated, eyes narrowed, waiting.
Back to Maicon. His voice, hoarse but defiant, cut through the street.
"Hey! Useless lapdog!" he spat, blood mixing with his words. "You think those beatings are enough to stop me?"
The big man's face twisted with fury. "You little—!" He charged again. This time his fists flew in relentless succession. Punches rained down, heavy and merciless, each one exploding against Maicon's body. Kicks followed, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Blood splattered, staining the street red. Still, Maicon dragged himself up on shaking arms, his body refusing to yield.
The man finally stopped, panting, sweat dripping down his temples. He expected silence—he expected the boy broken. But instead, Maicon tried to rise once more. His body gave out at his knees, and he sank back down, sitting bloodied and battered. Yet his consciousness clung to him stubbornly.
The man's voice cracked with disbelief. "What the…? Do you really want to die, boy?"
Maicon only smirked through the blood, the curve of his lips mocking.
That smirk snapped something inside the big man. He unleashed a torrent of words, each sharper than his fists. "You and your mother… useless, pathetic rats! Too poor to live, too helpless to fight back. You don't deserve a roof, you don't deserve food, you don't deserve to live!"
Each word was a knife, sinking deeper than the fists had. Maicon's face dimmed. He could endure pain, but these words clawed at his soul. His chest tightened, breath trembling as the insults echoed inside his head.
The man's gaze drifted and caught something lying nearby. An old photograph, weathered with time, lay in the dirt. The picture of Maicon's father. The large man stomped on it mercilessly, grinding it into the ground until it was crumpled beyond recognition.
The sound of tearing paper and crunching beneath the man's heel echoed in Maicon's ears. His heart thundered. His vision blurred with rage. Every nerve in his body screamed.
He rose.
Slowly, shakily, but with a terrifying will. His bloodied body trembled, but from him, a ripple of translucent energy pulsed outward. It shimmered faintly, bending the air around him.
The big man frowned, confusion seeping into his anger. "What the hell…?" He rushed forward, swinging another punch. But just before impact, Maicon vanished. The man's fist sliced through empty air.
"What—!?" The man spun around, eyes darting wildly. Maicon was already behind him. He turned again, swinging—but once more, the boy vanished.
Then, in front of him, a few distance - Maicon stood, his left eye glowing with a bluish light, faint energy bleeding from it. His face was blank, cold, detached. His presence felt alien, monstrous.
The boy turned his gaze slowly upward. His glowing eye locked on the man like a predator sighting prey. Then, with sudden speed, Maicon dashed forward, his body propelled by the strange energy. The ground cracked under the force of his launch, and he moved with lethal intent.
But just as he was about to strike, a firm hand grabbed the back of his neck - it was the man from across the street. His body froze, momentum halted as though time itself had intervened.
A voice, calm but commanding, cut through his rage. "Get a hold of yourself, kid."
Maicon struggled, his energy thrashing wildly like a storm, but the grip tightened, steady and immovable. His glowing eye flickered.
The big man's face twisted in shock. "Who… who are you?!"
His presence was clean, sharp, and unshakably professional. He didn't answer at first—only gave the large man a sideways glance. For a brief moment, his eye shifted, glowing with the same bluish resonance as Maicon's.
The big man's breath caught. Fear crept into him. He stumbled backward, recognizing instinctively that this was no ordinary man. Without another word, he turned and fled into the night.
The stranger exhaled, then looked down at Maicon. "You're not ready for this," he murmured. With a swift motion, he tapped the boy's neck. Maicon's body went limp, collapsing into unconsciousness.
Later that night.
Morning sunlight crept into the room, warm beams brushing across Maicon's face. His eyes fluttered open, squinting at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. He jolted upright, heart pounding.
The room was neat but foreign. Bookshelves lined one side, strange symbols etched into the furniture. At the foot of his bed, a man sat slouched in a chair, a newspaper covering his face as he snored softly.
"Ah—excuse me?" Maicon croaked.
The newspaper rustled as the man jerked awake. "Oh! You're up, kid," he said with a lazy grin. "How's your body?"
Maicon blinked. "Where am I? How did I get here?"
The man leaned back, stretching. "Name's Keith. Keith Mercer. And you…" he paused dramatically, "…are in another planet. Abducted by aliens."
Maicon's jaw dropped. "What?!" He scrambled backward and toppled right off the bed.
Keith burst into laughter. "AHAHAHA! Just kidding, kid. Relax. You're in Somynoth Resonance Academy. The SRA."
Maicon stared at him. "Resonance Academy? Why am I here?"
Keith's grin softened. "Well, if you don't remember… last night you fought that big lug and lost control. You manifested your resonance."
Maicon's eyes widened. "Resonance? Me? I can do that?"
Keith nodded. "You sure did. Didn't look like you, though. More like a wild beast on the loose."
Maicon's gaze dropped. The words from last night clawed back into his mind—the insults, the shame. His fists clenched. "I just… I just remember what he said about my mother. About me. It still hurts."
Keith watched him quietly, then suddenly leaned forward and yanked Maicon by the collar. "Hey! Snap out of it. Dwelling on words won't get you anywhere. Now, change your clothes. They're right there."
Maicon hesitated. "Wait—my mother. She's still in the hospital. I need to see her."
"Don't worry," Keith said firmly. "She's being taken care of. She's fine."
Maicon's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
"You're asking too many questions, kid." Keith waved him off. "Change. You'll be late for your first class."
After a few moments, Maicon emerged from the room, now dressed in clean academy clothes. Keith was waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall.
"Let's go," Keith said, pushing off. Maicon followed reluctantly, still unsure if any of this was real.
As they walked across the academy grounds, Keith began explaining. "In this world, when kids turn fifteen, they're classified as either Dormants or Manifestors, depending on whether they can project their resonance. Resonance is the energy essence tied to your soul and life. Everyone has it, but not everyone can use it."
Maicon listened, wide-eyed, as Keith continued. "Those who can't project it? Dormants. Those who can? Manifestors. Now, each resonance has a frequency. Low frequency types manifest into weapons or beast summoning. High frequency types? Aura enhancements and elemental powers. Then, there's the rarest kind—the uneven frequency. Abstract resonance. Powers that don't fit into neat boxes."
Keith smirked. "Like me. My resonance is of expanse. Lets me manipulate the space between me and my enemies. Pretty handy, right?"
Maicon tilted his head, overwhelmed. "I think I'm lost already. Too many chaotic terms."
Keith laughed. "Then let's keep it simple. Punch me."
"What?!" Maicon's eyes widened. "No, I can't—"
"Do it!" Keith barked, grinning.
Startled, Maicon threw a punch. It landed weakly, like a tap. Keith stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment, then burst into booming laughter. "HA! Was that a punch or a love tap? Try harder, kid."
Embarrassed, Maicon grit his teeth, pulled back, and threw another punch with all his strength. But this time, his fist froze just an inch away from Keith's face.
Maicon gasped. "What… what happened?!"
Keith's eye gleamed with bluish light. "This is my passive ability. I change distances. That inch between your fist and my face? For you, it's an inch. For me, it's a mile. So your punch isn't stopped—it's still traveling. Just… very, very slowly."
He smirked, tapping Maicon's arm back down. "Every Manifestor has three types of skills. Passive, active, and ultimate. You'll figure yours out with time."
Maicon blinked, still stunned. "And mine…?"
Keith shrugged. "That's for you to discover."
As they walked further, the academy grounds opened up. All around them, students trained—manifesting weapons, summoning beasts, cloaking themselves in elemental fire, ice, and lightning. The air shimmered with power.