Resonance: Awakening of the Unknown

Exam Day

The alarm buzzed before the sun had fully climbed. Han Jiwoo blinked against the light seeping through the blinds and the dull ache that still lingered in his arms.

A week had passed since the resonance test, yet his body remembered the shock, the heat, the way everything had exploded and then gone silent.

He sat up slowly. Outside, the street was already alive — buses grumbling at the curb, students rushing past convenience-store windows, the faint whistle of a kettle from the neighbor's apartment. Nothing looked different, but to Jiwoo it all felt slightly off-beat, as if the world's rhythm had changed without him.

He rubbed his eyes, tried to shake it off. E-rank. Dual attribute. Unknown. The words had followed him all week, like a headline he couldn't escape.

His phone vibrated on the desk. "Mom" flashed on the screen.

He hesitated, then swiped to answer.

"Mom?"

"Jiwoo." Her voice carried warmth and concern all at once.

"You look pale. Are you eating properly?"

"I'm fine. Just… tired."

His father's voice joined in from somewhere behind her, steadier, analytical. "We reviewed your awakening file. The resonance data was unusual."

"Yeah," Jiwoo said quietly. "They called it 'unknown.'"

There was a pause on the other end — too long to be casual. Then his mother asked, softly. "Did they treat you badly because of your rank?"

He laughed under his breath. "People stared. Some laughed. It's fine."

"Still," his father said, "you should start proper training. Eclipse Academy's entrance exam is next week. Apply."

Jiwoo frowned. "Eclipse? Isn't that where sis goes?"

"Yes," his mother said.

"You'll have support there, and the instructors know how to handle rare cases. It's quieter than the big city schools.

"Her tone lowered. "It's the right place for you."

He didn't ask why she sounded so certain. "Alright," he said. "I'll take the exam."

"Good." His father's voice softened, almost proud. "Remember what your coach told you — keep your rhythm."

"We love you," his mother added. "Call us when it's done."

The call ended with a small click that left the room feeling emptier than before. Jiwoo stared at his reflection in the black phone screen until the display dimmed.

"Eclipse, huh?"

He'd heard stories — old glory, famous alumni, quiet decline. Maybe it was the right fit for someone who'd already made a scene before even getting started.

***

A week later, morning light spilled over the Suwon River as Jiwoo stepped off the bus.

He closed his eyes. 

"Just breathe. Whatever happens, happens."

Eclipse Academy stood ahead — stone buildings with ivy-wrapped walls, a clock tower that had seen better decades, and new annexes built of steel and tinted glass. A faded banner above the main gate read:

"Eclipse Academy — Where Light Meets Resolve."

Students crowded the courtyard, some talking excitedly, others reviewing notes or stretching before the physical exam .And then, inevitably — the whispers.

"Hey, that's him, right?"

"The Association kid? The one who blew up the resonance chamber?"

"Dual-class but still E-rank. Must've been a glitch."

Jiwoo kept walking. He'd learned long ago that silence stung louder than arguing.

The written exam took place in a tall auditorium lined with wooden desks.

The first part was written exam. Hero law, monster ecology and basic mana theory.

Rows of students sat at long desks under flickering lights, mechanical pencils scratching against exam paper.

Jiwoo read each question once, twice, then began to write — steady, controlled. His pen strokes were clean, deliberate. The words came easily.

He didn't rush, he analyze it all.

When time was called, he set his pen down without looking around. A few students glanced at him — curious, wary. He didn't meet their eyes.

Outside, the afternoon heat had settled heavy over the practice grounds where the combat exam waited.

Rows of candidates waited in formation, each gripping a training weapon. Others are Elemental Class. Instructors in black coats scrolled through data tablets, calling names.

"Han Jiwoo," one of them announced, glancing up.

"Association record — Combat Class, dual-type, E-rank."

The pause after E-rank was deliberate. His voice dipped with something between boredom and amusement.

"Try not to blow up my arena."

A ripple of laughter rolled through the line.

Jiwoo walked to the rack and picked up a wooden training sword. It felt familiar in his hands — the weight, the balance, the quiet before a strike.

The target was a dummy — a humanoid frame of runed metal and projected mana — came alive with a soft whir. Its eyes glowed blue, stance guarded.

The instructor tapped his watch. "Begin."

Jiwoo exhaled once, grounding himself. His focus narrowed. The noise faded, replaced by the familiar stillness of the kendo.

The moment the word left the instructor's mouth, Jiwoo moved.

One step, twist, downward cut — clean. The dummy's arm joint split with a sharp crack.

He pivoted left, swept low; the leg assembly disengaged.

Last strike — a sharp thrust that stopped just shy of the glowing mana core.

Silence.

Then the construct's light faded out.

The instructor blinked, then looked at his tablet.

"…Time: nineteen seconds. Stable flow, minimal mana expenditure. Clean technique."

Murmurs rose among the students.

"That was a perfect form."

"Wait, that's the E-rank guy?"

"E-rank my ass."

Jiwoo stepped back, expression calm. Inside, his pulse was steady, his breathing even.

"It's a good decision that I practiced kendo all these years."

The examiner scribbled something on his sheet, half-grinning.

"This kid is something… too bad he's E-rank."

Jiwoo only bowed slightly before turning away. The whispers followed him again — sharp, fleeting, but fading as his footsteps carried him out of the arena.

Outside, the wind had cooled. The sun dipped behind the academy walls, streaking the sky in faint gold. He stood there for a moment, listening to the cicadas hum and the faint echo of wooden swords from a distant training yard.

***

A few days later, an envelope slid through his apartment door.

The seal shimmered silver under the light — Eclipse Academy's crescent moon.

Jiwoo picked it up, thumb tracing the edge before tearing it open.

Congratulations, Han Jiwoo.

You have been accepted into Eclipse Academy's Hero Development Division.

Dormitory: Sector B, Room 214.Classes begin in two weeks.

For a long moment, he just stared at the letter. The words didn't feel real.

After everything — the explosion, the laughter, the rank — this small sheet of paper felt heavier than any medal.

He folded it carefully, slid it into his jacket pocket, and stepped out to the balcony. The city was breathing again — cars rolling by, mana lamps flickering awake one by one, painting the streets in pale blue.

But beneath the familiar noise, something stirred.

A pulse — faint but rhythmic — deep within his chest. Like a heartbeat that wasn't his.

Jiwoo leaned against the railing, staring at the skyline.

"Eclipse Academy, huh…" he murmured. "Let's see what I'll become there."