Training with master

Inside the massive headquarters of the Rangers Association, the building boarded at least fifty training facilities, each equipped with reinforced materials designed to withstand the intense power and force generated during the Rangers' rigorous training.

The room Tyson entered was one of the largest in the complex, reserved only for the elite. It was a place where the strongest of the strong honed their skills, a testament to the high standards upheld by the Association.

The walls were coated with durable panels capable of absorbing the impact from even the most powerful strikes. At the same time, the floors were padded with a material that could cushion any fall, ensuring the safety of those who pushed their limits. This was no ordinary training ground; it was a sanctuary for the warriors in training, where the boundaries of human strength were tested to their breaking point.

Tyson stepped into the vast training room and immediately spotted Alex, who was already geared up in his tight-fitting black rubber suit. The suit was issued for Rangers during training and combat scenarios and designed to optimize performance in high-stakes environments. Made from a highly evolved rubber substance, it offered a perfect balance of durability and flexibility, enabling Rangers to move with heightened precision and agility.

Unlike regular cotton clothes, which restricted actions and made Rangers vulnerable in battle, the combat rubber suit enhanced reflexes and improved the wearer's combat instincts. It was more than just a uniform—it was a vital tool in a Ranger's arsenal. When worn, it could boost battle performance by up to 10 percent, a crucial advantage in training and actual combat situations.

Most Rangers wore the suit daily, especially those stationed at the headquarters, where they spent most of their time either training or waiting to prove their skills against rogue elements.

Tyson's muscles flexed beneath the rubber suit as he stretched the fabric tightening over him.

The faint white glow of the triangular Meta-bot on his chest pulsed softly, its light syncing with his movements.

Alex, ever confident, tapped his red watch. Tyson noticed the slight alteration in his posture just before Alex turned his wrist, activating the watch.

A circular surface materialised from the device and hovered before Alex's palm, poised to transform him into the iconic Red-Black Ranger. The process was swift and efficient and had now become almost second nature to him.

"What do you say to a spar?" Alex asked with a mischievous grin, his tone playful. "Unless you're scared of me."

Tyson smirked, adopting a combative stance. "Afraid of you? Let's fight!"

Edward calmly folded the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a collection of old scars that marred his forearm—marks of battles fought and survived. His tall, muscular frame radiated strength as he cracked his fingers with a soft, audible snap. He approached the rotating screen on the wall with a determined look, scanning the video feed with his eyes.

He navigated through the images, searching for a specific detail or a clue concealed within the static.

Edward paid no attention to the noise behind him. His two sons were engaged in battle, their weapons colliding with sharp, metallic crashes as they challenged each other's abilities.

His gaze remained fixed on the screen before him, unaffected by their battle. With a swift swipe, he pulled up their profiles—holograms of Tyson and Alex appeared in front of him, each rotating slowly, their armored forms shimmering with data.

Tyson's score read 12, while Alex's was a staggering 19. Edward studied the numbers briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning to the ongoing fight.

"I see no growth in either of you," Edward remarked, his voice laden with disappointment.

Tyson and Alex halted mid-strike, sharing a glance before focusing on their father.

"This is unacceptable. Anyone can be summoned at any moment, without warning, yet you both appear to be taking this lightly."

Edward touched his ring, and in the blink of an eye, he transformed into the formidable Armor. 

"You both need real battle experience—life-and-death situations to force you to grow stronger."

"I'm doing my best," Alex replied almost instantly.

Edward's gaze sharpened, his voice cutting through the tension. "Yet you allowed that rogue to escape. He's still ahead of you, despite having no training, no support—nothing like what you two possess. Why is that?"

"He causes nothing but trouble," Tyson replied, his frustration evident. "Last time, he and his friends robbed a bank. And yet, Master, you want to recruit him?"

"Right," Alex replied with a sly smirk. "For once, this fool is actually making sense."

"How dare you?" Tyson replied, fists tight.

"Enough of your squabbling," Edward interjected, his voice resolute. "He's capable, and we need individuals like him. Unless you both grow stronger, I shall continue to advocate for bringing him into our facility."

"We are getting stronger," said Tyson.

"Show me," Edward said, "both of you come at me, now"

Before Alex could respond, the Silver-Black Ranger attacked with a swift punch that struck his red Katana, sending sparks in every direction. Alex scarcely had a moment to react before a strong kick hit him in the chest, propelling him across the field.

"Fast—" Tyson began, but his words were cut off by the sudden appearance of Edward beside him. He barely managed to leap back in time, avoiding a direct collision.

"Woah, that was close," Tyson muttered under his breath.

"That was only a warning," Edward clarified. Drawing his bow, he wielded it effortlessly. "Now it's time to get serious. Ensure you both collaborate to take me down."

Tyson gripped his sword tightly, the familiar weight anchoring him. He could also summon a shield using the nanobots when the situation demanded it—a tactical blend of offence and defence that suited his style.

Alex stood ready, red Katana in hand, focus sharp.

Edward, with his bow gleaming under the artificial light, maintained a composed demeanor, exemplifying an impeccable blend of strength and precision.

"Show me the teamwork of brothers," Edward said, as he single-handedly defended against Alex's heavy strike, not even moving. The air around them rippled with the force. "Try harder."

Alex's strikes came faster and fiercer, one after another, but Edward effortlessly manhandled him, blocking and redirecting every move. Meanwhile, Tyson hesitated, gathering his courage to join the fray.

"I can do this!" Tyson shouted, propelling himself into the battle.

Edward deflected their attacks, striking back with accuracy while the two boys pressed him without relent. The sound of metal clashing echoed throughout the enclosed training facility.

Tyson and Alex tried to attack from all angles, but each strike was countered by Edward's skill mastery. Tyson was knocked to the ground with a single sweep of his metallic bow, and Alex fell over him.

"What the hell?! Stop pulling people down, you weak ass!" Alex grumbled, pressing Tyson down with frustration, but Tyson pulled him back into the fray before he could get up.

"Sorry about that, prince," Tyson smirked.

"You're dead," Alex growled, an edge to his voice.

The two Rangers grappled fiercely, each trying to prevent the other from regaining their footing.

Edward sighed, his bow dissolving back into his silver-black armor. "You guys aren't gonna learn a thing, are you?"

Edward seized their feet and hurled them against the wall as if they were ragdolls. Each one crashed down with a thunderous boom, crying out in agony as they collapsed to the floor.

"You cannot defeat your opponent unless you work together," Edward's voice rang with authority.

Alex frowned. "I don't need any help to defeat my enemies. I'll do it alone."

Without another word, he rushed at Edward, attempting an air kick. But before his foot could connect, Edward caught his ankle midair.

Tyson, keen to prove himself, shouted, "So do I!" However, the instant he threw a punch, Edward's hand closed around his fist, rendering his attack as futile as Alex's.

Edward shook his head, calm yet stern.

"You might win a battle by yourself, but cooperation is essential to achieve victory in a war." With this, he twirled, quickly hurling them apart.

Edward's gaze softened slightly as Tyson and Alex lay there, breathless and aching.

Their strength or skill didn't disappoint him- he knew they were powerful. But their behavior, their refusal to cooperate, was their most significant flaw.

Individually, they could be formidable. But in the world of battle, strength alone wasn't enough. Many mighty warriors had perished because they failed to understand that. He would not let his sons be among them.

"Let's start again."

They persevered through the training, their bodies protesting against every movement until exhaustion claimed them. Each muscle screamed for rest, yet they pressed on, their determination outmatching the fatigue. By the time the session concluded, neither could stand without wobbling.

It was already night when Edward finally called it a day. With a mischievous grin, he invited both of them to a family drinking contest, a tradition where the winner was invariably Edward.

Alex, ever calculating, quickly found a way to escape. "This is no fun anymore," he muttered before heading to the Rogers family mansion, leaving Tyson and Edward behind at the headquarters.

Tyson, exhausted yet uncomplaining, collapsed onto the floor, leaning back against the couch.

Empty bottles of alcohol littered the room, surrounded by a bag of chips and various snacks. It was Edward's unconventional way of bonding with his sons—an odd mixture of camaraderie and challenge.

Edward glanced at Tyson, his eyes softening briefly. He knew Alex loathed these moments. Alex always grumbled, complaining that Edward didn't act his age or his position. But for Edward, this was the only way to bond genuinely. He was a father attempting to connect with his son.

"Does Alex really not understand?" Edward said, taking a swig from his bottle.

Tyson offered a slight smile, his weariness blended with a touch of humor. "He never does."

Edward let out a deep sigh, the weight of his thoughts bearing down on him. They remained silent for a time. The room was filled with quiet tension until Edward finally broke the silence, his voice softer than usual.

"Please don't despise him for that, and don't take his words to heart," Edward said, his tone low. "He's hot-headed but calm at heart. He doesn't know how to express his emotions... he just—"

Edward paused, his gaze distant, lost in memories. "He grew up that way because he had no mother to guide him. And I wasn't there either. I was drunk on power, wanting to do something extraordinary, but ultimately, I lost precious things... people."

His gaze finally locked onto Tyson's, "I take full responsibility. I am to blame... Please forgive me, my child, for all that has happened."

Tyson smiled subtly. "Don't worry, old man. We're fine," he reassured, but a wistfulness lingered in his tone. " He's fortunate to have you."

Edward chuckled, the sound resonating through the room. "You both are fortunate to have me as your father."

Tyson laughed quietly; the sincerity in Edward's voice elicited a faint smile.

For Tyson, the only person who had ever truly treated him like family was his master. The same man who had embraced an orphan like him, and in doing so, had given Tyson something he'd never thought he'd have again—a sense of belonging.