Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Date: Wednesday, July 21, 2010.

Location: Ramada Inn, William’s Lake, British Columbia, Canada

The sun was climbing higher in the sky as Tyson and Illyana made their way out of the Ramada. Tyson looked particularly invigorated. There was an undeniable brightness to his eyes and a lightness in his steps, suggesting that the night had been rather rejuvenating for him. Illyana, however, painted a contrasting picture. Her usually piercing blue eyes seemed a touch subdued, and there was a slight slump to her posture, and now and then, she'd stifle a yawn. While she'd never admit it, last night's adventures had taken a bit out of her.

As they walked, the faint aroma of the continental breakfast lingered on them. It hadn't been the most gourmet meal they'd ever had, with its slightly over-toasted waffles and lukewarm scrambled eggs, but it had been filling. Given the recent events, they were grateful for whatever food they could get.

Approaching the inn's shuttle stop, they chatted about their next move. "You'd think a place like this would have a bus depot, but an airport?" Illyana remarked, her voice tinged with surprise.

Tyson shrugged, "It was a lucky break, otherwise who knows how long it would take to get back."

The shuttle meandered its way out of town, taking Tyson and Illyana away from Williams Lake and toward its periphery. As they moved further from the town center, the scenery began to change. The usual hustle and bustle of small-town life was replaced by stretches of untouched wilderness.

Sitting side by side, Illyana took in the view. Despite her usual tough exterior and sarcastic demeanor, she leaned into Tyson more than usual, enjoying the way he held her. They watched as the shuttle made stops at two more hotels, each time collecting a new group of travelers. Some were families with young children, clutching their stuffed animals and looking wide-eyed at everything around them. Others were lone travelers, buried in their books or lost in their thoughts.

Pine trees lined the sides of the road, their evergreen leaves rustling softly in the breeze. And then, as they rounded a bend, Williams Lake Airport came into view. It was quaint, to say the least. A single small runway stretched out, looking almost like ribbons laid out on a vast green carpet. The airport building itself was modest, reflecting the spirit of the town. A handful of small planes were parked on the tarmac.

As the shuttle pulled up to the airport's entrance, Illyana took a moment to assess the situation. She watched as passengers hustled towards the main doors, pulling their luggage behind them. The whole scene seemed pretty ordinary, "Why don't we just sneak onto the tarmac?" Illyana whispered to Tyson, her voice filled with mischief. "Or better yet, I could just teleport us directly onto the plane. It would be quick."

Tyson glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "Illyana, that's a bit...extreme, don't you think? Besides, there's always a risk someone might spot us."

She smirked, twirling a strand of her hair. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

Tyson leaned in, his voice low. "I think blending in with the passengers is a safer bet."

Illyana rolled her eyes. "You and your illusions."

Tyson chuckled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, besides, I need the practice. Let's see how convincing I can be."

Illyana sighed but gave in, a smirk still playing on her lips. "You were pretty convincing last night. Fine, we’ll do it your way."

Together, they walked toward the airport entrance. The automatic doors slid open, and the duo quickly moved inside. The airport's ambiance filled the air; the sound of soft chatter, shoes clicking on the tiled floor, and rolling suitcases.

"Why don't I just ask?" Illyana suggested, "I can play the lost tourist card."

Tyson seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. You handle the talking, I’ll handle the rest."

Illyana smirked, "Can't be that hard."

The pair approached the check-in counter, positioning themselves behind a family of four and a business traveler. Illyana's confident stride was in contrast to Tyson’s more subtle movements. As the family moved away, it was finally their turn. The woman behind the counter gave Illyana a polite smile, "How can I assist you?"

"I'm sorry," Illyana began, pushing a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear, "I seem to have lost my stuff. Can you tell me when the next flight to Calgary is?"

The woman, whose nametag read "Melissa," checked her computer quickly, "It's in two hours."

Illyana tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes locking onto Melissa's, "Any available seats?"

Melissa typed away for a second and then looked up, "Yes, we have a few spots left. Would you like to book seats?"

Before Illyana could answer, Tyson cleared his throat, drawing the woman's attention. When Melissa made eye contact with him, her gaze went distant for a brief moment. Her face took on a dazed look, and her fingers moved across the keyboard of their own volition.

"Don’t worry Mrs. Smith. It’s fine that you lost your tickets," Melissa said in a slightly off-tone, her eyes still slightly unfocused. "I'll print new ones right out for you."

Illyana gave Tyson a side glance, whispering, “Mrs. Smith? Huh.” though she was impressed by his timely intervention; he just offered her a subtle wink in return.

Tyson's eyes scanned the interior of the plane, noting its compact size. "Good call on the tickets," he whispered to Illyana, who was adjusting her seatbelt.

She smirked, leaning slightly closer to him, her platinum blonde hair brushing against her shoulder. "You were right though, sometimes it's easier to just blend in. Look around. This plane? It's tiny."

Tyson looked around, realizing the truth in her words. The aisles were narrow, and the seats were packed close together. Passengers were crammed in, trying to occupy their thoughts with magazines, and devices. "Point taken," he murmured, leaning back in his seat, feeling a slight pressure as the plane began its takeoff.

The vibration from the plane's engines grew stronger, and the two felt the push against their seats as the aircraft accelerated. As the plane lifted off the ground, the world outside the windows became smaller.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

As the plane dipped lower, the vast expanse of Calgary unfolded before them. The hustle and bustle of Calgary International Airport was evident even from the sky, with planes taxiing and taking off in organized chaos.

Illyana peered out of the window, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Calgary's bigger, busier, more eyes." She glanced at Tyson, her blue eyes assessing. "We need a plan."

Tyson nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "Agreed. This isn't a tiny terminal we can just waltz out of."

She smirked, leaning toward him, "We could always teleport."

He raised an eyebrow, "And risk being seen?" Tyson thought for a moment. "We stick to the basics. If it worked once, it’ll work again."

The plane's wheels touched the ground with a jolt, bringing them back to the reality of their situation. As the aircraft taxied to its designated gate, the duo exchanged a glance. "Ready for another adventure?" Illyana whispered, the excitement evident in her voice.

Tyson grinned, "Let’s do it."

The bustle of Calgary International enveloped Illyana and Tyson as they disembarked from the plane, a stark contrast to the small-town vibe of Williams Lake. Everywhere they looked, people moved around; families on vacation, travelers, or flight attendants. Illyana glanced around, taking in the modern architecture and the art that dotted the terminal. "Quite the upgrade, don't you think?" she quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Tyson smirked, "Definitely less rural." He adjusted his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. While most passengers veered towards the baggage claim, Tyson and Illyana took a different route.

She nudged him playfully, "You said New York's our best bet. Let's find the next flight out."

They weaved through the crowd, reaching a massive screen displaying the myriad of arrivals and departures. Illyana's eyes scanned the listings rapidly, searching for any flights bound for New York.

"There," she pointed to a flight scheduled to depart in three hours. "Looks like we have a bit of a wait. Any ideas on how to lay low?"

Tyson glanced around, taking note of a small café nearby. "Coffee? On me, of course."

Illyana laughed, "Always the gentleman. Let's go."

At the café, Tyson and Illyana found a secluded corner spot with a clear view of the terminal. Tyson gave a fleeting glance at the menu, then turned to Illyana. "What's your poison?"

She smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Black coffee. And maybe one of those sandwiches. Turkey, perhaps?"

Tyson nodded and approached the counter, drawing upon his illusion powers. He made brief eye contact with the barista, and at that moment, her gaze glazed over. "A black coffee and a turkey sandwich, please," he ordered smoothly.

The barista, under his subtle influence, nodded and prepared their order. Once done, she handed it over. Tyson flashed a winning smile. "Thanks." Returning to the table, he set the sandwich and coffee in front of Illyana. "Bon appétit."

Illyana took a bite, raising an eyebrow in approval. "Not bad for airport food."

They ate in companionable silence for a while, watching the passengers come and go. Once done, Tyson proposed their next move. "We should get those tickets to JFK before it gets crowded."

Illyana nodded. "Lead the way."

At the airline's counter, Tyson took the lead. He met the gaze of the airline attendant, exerting his influence. "Two first-class tickets to JFK, please."

The attendant's fingers flew over the keyboard, her face void of any suspicion. "Of course. Here you go." She handed them the tickets, her smile automatic.

Illyana smirked, taking one of the tickets. "New York, here we come." She held her fist out to Tyson. "To free rides and easy getaways."

Tyson bumped her fist with his, snorting. "This getaway has been anything but easy."

The plane's engine hummed softly in the background as Illyana and Tyson settled into their plush first-class seats. The spacious cabin was dimly lit, with the ambient light creating a serene atmosphere. Illyana fiddled with the entertainment system, finding a suitable movie. Once she settled in, she wrapped her arm around his. "We've been through worse, Ty. We've got this."

The flight attendants began serving meals and drinks. The aroma of microwaved chicken and buttery rolls filled the cabin. Throughout the flight, Illyana and Tyson chatted, and reminisced, and she even caught up on her missing sleep.

Exiting the airport, the duo quickly navigated their way to the JFK AirTrain. The train was sleek, with shiny silver panels and clear windows that offered a panoramic view. Illyana, taking a seat by the window, was instantly captivated by the view. The train car was moderately packed with a mix of tourists and locals. The hum of conversations, the rattle of luggage, and the soft chime of the train's announcements created a rhythmic backdrop. The churning of the train wheels began to slow as they neared the Archer Avenue Station. One transfer and a half an hour had them in Penn Station. The muffled announcements overhead heralded their imminent arrival. As the train doors slid open, a cacophony of sounds greeted Illyana and Tyson; chatter, echoing footsteps, and the occasional announcement over the PA system.

The scent of roasted nuts from nearby vendors and the distinct scent of the New York City subways mixed in the air. Streams of people flowed in all directions. Some rushed to catch their trains, others leisurely meandering, and tourists with wide eyes trying to get their bearings.

Illyana took a deep breath, taking it all in. "It's been a while since I've been in a place this crowded," she remarked.

Hand in hand, they made their way through Penn Station heading to the station's escalators. She gestured toward the ascending steps. Without a word, they positioned themselves on the escalator. After they ascended, Tyson turned back to take in Madison Square Garden. The Garden’s rounded structure and tall perimeter walls made it look like a coliseum of the contemporary age. The jumbo screens flashed with vibrant colors, promoting concerts and games that were to be held in the coming days.

Tyson absorbed the sight. The noise from the streets, the honking of the cars, and the distant conversations became mere background hums as Madison Square Garden claimed his entire attention.

Illyana, sensing the shift in his mood, glanced at him with concern. "Is something wrong?"

Tyson hesitated for a moment, staring at the ground before lifting his eyes to meet the imposing structure of the Garden once again. "Just thinking about how much happened before I finally made it here."

"What do you mean?" Illyana inquired, her blue eyes searching his face for understanding.

Tyson took a deep breath. "Remember when I got hurt badly by Magneto? You were one of the first people to visit me when I regained consciousness.”

Illyana nodded slowly as memories flooded back, "Yeah..."

He continued, his voice tinged with sorrow, "He came after me by setting a trap. He lured us out of the institute with tickets to a basketball game. NBA finals, at Madison Square Garden" Tyson gestured to the arena and sighed heavily. "We never made it to the game."

Illyana nudged Tyson lightly. "Well, that wasn't a great couple of days for you in terms of basketball." She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I remember saying to you that basketball isn't your sport. Maybe you should give hockey a try."

Tyson chuckled, the sadness in his eyes replaced by amusement. "Hockey? Seriously? I can't even skate!"

Illyana winked. "There's a first time for everything." She paused for a second before asking, “Who was the first to visit you?” Tyson responded with a questioning eyebrow raise. She clarified, “You said I was one of the first to visit you. Who was the first?”

Tyson answered, “Jubilee was there when I woke up.” Illyana hummed noncommittal. He rolled his eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he suggested, "Let's find a hotel for the night. I know we didn't do much today, but traveling sure takes it out of you."

Illyana smirked, folding her arms as she tried to put on a serious face though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her playful intent. "And no funny business tonight," she warned with mock severity.

Tyson held up his hands in surrender, his eyes wide in feigned innocence. "Yes, ma'am."

Illyana pointed a finger at him, her playful demeanor belying her serious tone. "I mean it. Some of us need sleep."

They wandered a few blocks before spotting a nearby hotel with a neon sign that hummed softly in the dusk. After a quick check-in process, they made their way to their room. Illyana, true to her word, wasted no time in showering and tumbling into bed, her fatigue evident. The soft sounds of her even breathing filled the room shortly after, signaling her swift descent into slumber.

Tyson took his shower. Once done, he wrapped himself in one of the hotel robes and sat down at a small table. He unfurled the map of Manhattan they had acquired earlier, his fingers tracing the intricate web of streets and landmarks. His mind was already working on the next steps of their journey.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

Morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the hotel room curtains, casting a gentle glow over the interior. The noise from the streets below was muted, but Tyson could still hear the distant murmur of early risers and the beginning of another bustling day in the city.

Illyana rubbed her eyes as she leaned over Tyson’s shoulder to take a closer look at the map. Her fingers brushed over various locations, her brow furrowing in thought. "So," she began, her voice filled with curiosity, "where are we going?"

Tyson sighed, his fingers tracing a random route on the map. The enormity of their task was beginning to set in. "That's the tricky part," he confessed, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I know what I'm looking for if I see it. But I have no idea where it is."

She raised an eyebrow, "How big is Manhattan anyway?"

He paused, trying to recall the specifics, "About 13 miles long and 2 miles wide."

Illyana's eyes widened slightly, realizing the challenge ahead. "That's a lot of ground to cover." She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest, looking thoughtful. "So, what's the plan?"

Tyson glanced at her, taking a moment to appreciate her tenacity. When it came down to business, Illyana was always ready.

"We should start at the very bottom and work our way up," Tyson said, pointing towards the southernmost point on the map. "One block at a time. Methodical, so we don’t miss anything."

Illyana smirked, "One block? You're forgetting our little advantage," she teased.

Tyson chuckled. "Right. Two blocks, then. With my illusion power, I can see through your eyes and mine, so long as I don’t stray too far away. It'll double our coverage."

Illyana gave a nod of approval, "Efficient. I like it."

With their plan set, the duo ventured out of their hotel, making their way through the pulsating veins of Manhattan's streets, with taxis honking, pedestrians chattering, and the distant sound of sirens providing a familiar urban melody.

The air was a mix of salty sea breeze and the unmistakable scent of city life as they approached the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. With the shimmering waters of the Hudson River to one side and the towering skyscrapers of the Financial District to the other, the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. Tyson's eyes scanned every corner, every alleyway. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, but he was hopeful. With Illyana by his side, the task seemed a little less daunting. Commuters rushed past, ferries honked, and tourists stood by, taking photos of the iconic Statue of Liberty in the distance.

The Financial District was a world unto itself, an arena of towering steel and glass. As the morning sun glanced off the high rises, it painted a mosaic of light and shadow upon the ground. Illyana’s boots thumped against the pavement as she walked alongside what seemed to be Tyson. To any onlooker, she was just a girl chatting to her earbuds as she explored the city. But in reality, it was Illyana conversing with an illusion, a figment of Tyson's power, while the real Tyson was a block away.

"So, any luck on your end?" Illyana asked. Her voice echoed in Tyson's mind as she strolled down Broad Street, her eyes scanning every nook and cranny.

"Nothing yet," Tyson responded.

Thanks to the psionic link created by his power, it seemed like he was talking to her from a few paces away. His body however was running at peak-human speeds down the adjacent Wall Street. It was a strange contrast, with Illyana leisurely strolling and engaging with the illusion, while the actual Tyson covered much more ground with his speed. It was a strategy that played to their strengths, allowing them to survey a vast area in a short amount of time.

"I don’t understand why they’re taking pictures at that Bull," Illyana commented, referencing the throngs of tourists gathered around the famous bronze sculpture.

The morning hours slipped by quickly. By midday, they had scoured the area, their unique tandem approach proving efficient and thorough. They rendezvoused at City Hall Park, the small green lawn providing a stark contrast to the urban jungle they had been navigating.

"Well, that's one neighborhood down," Illyana remarked, "Ready for the next?"

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

The busy streets of Chinatown buzzed with activity, the vibrancy evident in each nook and corner. With their prior strategy working well, Tyson and Illyana dived right in, each tackling a different street while staying in touch through their special link.

Tyson skimmed through Pell Street, pausing occasionally to take in details, his enhanced senses and speed making the job somewhat easier. On the other side, Illyana wandered along Doyers Street, glancing at the assorted stalls, the restaurants, and the throngs of tourists.

But around 3 p.m., as the sun cast a warm, golden hue over the streets, Tyson noticed something. Not the target of their main search, but something else, something familiar. Without hesitation, he had his illusion guide Illyana towards him, drawing her to Monroe Street.

As she arrived, she took a moment to look around, her gaze finally landing on Tyson. "Did you find it?" She asked, her voice tinged with hope.

"No," Tyson replied with a sigh, "But, look at this." He pointed to the building he was standing in front of. Illyana followed his finger, her eyes slowly drifting up to a sign affixed near a rusty fire escape. The sign was numbered 43 in the bottom corners. The top was painted red with white bold letters that read, "Chikara Dojo," followed by intricate Chinese characters. Below that, in contrasting black with white lettering, the sign elaborated on the disciplines taught: Karate, Jujitsu, Kempo, Kenjutsu.

The sun was casting a gentle golden hue over the streets of Chinatown, the shadows lengthening as the afternoon wore on. Amidst the bustling market stands and the cacophony of languages, the front of the Chikara Dojo stood in muted contrast, its sign offering a touch of the traditional amidst the contemporary.

Illyana raised an eyebrow. "A dojo? Really?"

He nodded slowly, pointing to the list of disciplines on the sign, particularly to the last one. "Kenjutsu," he said with a hint of reverence in his voice. "That’s using weapons… like swords."

Illyana looked at him, her arms crossed and her face pulling into a smirk. "Okay… So, what? You're going to enroll and become a samurai now?"

He gestured towards a flyer hanging in the window. Illyana, ever curious, stepped closer to read it. Tyson had a wide smile plastered across his face as he replied, “Not me, us. And not samurai… we’re going to become ninjas.”

Neatly printed on pale paper, the flyer read:

The Chikara Dojo is dedicated to realizing the potential of every student who walks through its doors. While it may be located in the heart of Chinatown, Chikara nevertheless guarantees the very finest education in the Japanese art of Kenjutsu that New York City has to offer. Students of all ages are welcome.

Illyana read the flyer aloud, her voice dancing between jest and seriousness. "Sounds fancy," she said, "You think I need lessons on how to use a sword?" When she looked over, he still hadn’t looked away. She sighed, "Fine, Tyson. My ninja, lead the way."

Tyson mumbled, “My ninja… Really?” Illyana looked at him with an innocent grin, leaving Tyson unsure if she knew what it sounded like she said.

The chime of a small bell echoed as the wooden door creaked open. Tyson and Illyana stepped into the Chikara Dojo, their shoes clicking softly on the polished wooden floor. The expansive training space was bathed in warm, muted lighting that cast a serene atmosphere over the room. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and the walls were lined with various traditional Japanese weapons. The center of the room was dominated by a large practice mat, surrounded by a few wooden dummies and punching bags at its periphery. To one side was an altar with incense burning, sending thin wisps of smoke upwards, leaving the air heavy with the scent of cedarwood.

On the practice mat, a young woman was deeply engrossed in her training. It was clear she was a master of her craft; every movement she made was purposeful and deliberate. She paused in her routine, turning her attention to the newcomers.

The woman before them exuded an aura of calm strength. Her almond-shaped eyes, warm tan skin, and raven-black hair tied back in a neat ponytail, all spoke of her Asian heritage. Standing at an average height, her physique was deceptively slender, yet her posture and the slight definition of muscles beneath her white gi hinted at formidable strength and agility. She appraised them for a moment before breaking into a friendly smile. "Can I help you?"

"Hey," Illyana said in a casual tone, with a hint of her distinctive Russian accent. "Cool moves you were doing there. Can I try?"

Tyson gave Illyana a sidelong glance, "What she means," he began with a more reserved demeanor, "is we saw a sign mentioning a free lesson. Thought we'd give it a shot."

The woman chuckled lightly, her demeanor welcoming. "I'm Colleen Wing," she introduced herself, executing a slight bow with the elegance of practiced tradition. "This is my dojo. And yes, I offer free lessons for beginners. Always glad to introduce more people to the art."

Illyana's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Beginners? Oh, this will be fun." She glanced at Tyson with a playful wink. "You ready to get schooled?"

With a nod of acknowledgment, Tyson returned Colleen's graceful bow. Straightening up, he glanced at Illyana before addressing Colleen. "Both Illyana and I have had our fair share of... encounters," he began cautiously, choosing his words carefully. "We believe some official training would be of great benefit."

Illyana crossed her arms defiantly, "Speak for yourself. I can fight just fine."

He let out a soft sigh, casting her a knowing glance. "Illyana there is always room for growth. There are countless fighting styles out there, and each one offers unique techniques that could be adapted to our... special circumstances."

Illyana rolled her eyes but didn’t interrupt. Instead, she simply huffed, looking somewhere between annoyed and begrudgingly agreeing.

Colleen raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Your friend has a point," she said, nodding towards Tyson. "Every style has something to teach, even if you're an experienced fighter. Being open to learning and adapting is what makes a true warrior."

She gestured toward the center of the dojo. "Let's start simple. Show me your stances, both of you. Let's see where we can build from there."

Illyana muttered something under her breath in Russian, but stepped forward nonetheless, ready to demonstrate. Tyson just shot her an amused glance, readying himself as well.

Colleen watched the two newcomers carefully, her sharp eyes taking in their every movement. The dojo had seen a diverse range of students, but Colleen couldn't quite put a finger on the vibe that these two newcomers gave off. They had the weariness of those who had been on the run, or perhaps teens who'd faced a challenging upbringing. However, appearances could be deceiving. But at the same time, there was a notable difference. They didn’t have the typical ragged appearance of those living on the streets. Their clothes, though casual, were clean and showed no sign of long-term wear, and the way they spoke hinted at a decent education.

"So," she began, clapping her hands together to gain their attention. "Let's start with the basics." She moved to the center of the training mat, her stance precise. "First, the jab," she said, demonstrating a quick punch. "Then the cross," she continued, shifting her weight and throwing a punch with her other hand.

Illyana smirked, seemingly unimpressed, "I've thrown punches before, you know."

Colleen simply nodded, "Of course. But the question is, can you throw them correctly?" She challenged.

Tyson complied, throwing a punch with precision that suggested prior training. His form was decent, and the power behind his strike was evident.

Illyana muttered something in Russian but assumed a fighting stance, mirroring Colleen's movements.

"Good," Colleen nodded, observing their efforts. "Now a front kick." Once more, Tyson executed with a certain finesse, driving his kick forward with good balance and speed. Illyana let out a dramatic breath as she delivered a front kick

"Good," Colleen acknowledged. "Now, the roundhouse kick." She demonstrated, her leg sweeping in a controlled arc.

As both Illyana and Tyson attempted the movements, Colleen moved between them, adjusting a foot positioning here, realigning a shoulder there. She was pleasantly surprised. Despite Illyana's brashness, both teens had the foundation of good fighters. Illyana’s movements were fluid, and her strikes had potential, but they lacked polish. It was clear Tyson was far more practiced and crisp with his strikes. But his technique was reminiscent of regimented training, military perhaps.

After a few rounds of different techniques, Colleen paused, taking a moment to assess. "Not bad," she finally said. "You've got potential, but there's still a lot to refine. The real question is," Colleen continued, "are you both willing to unlearn to relearn? Training here means humility, discipline, and hard work."

Illyana's eyes gleamed with a mix of challenge and excitement, "Bring it on."

The dojo was filled with the echoes of grunts, kicks, and punches as Colleen took Illyana and Tyson deeper into their lesson. Both showed clear signs of prior training, but with each technique, Colleen pushed them to step out of their comfort zones.

Tyson was up first. His strikes were precise, and calculated, but lacked a certain fluidity. "You're too rigid," Colleen observed. "Think of the water. It flows, adapts, changes its form but never loses its essence."

Tyson nodded, trying to internalize the advice, but the strain on his face was evident as he struggled to implement the feedback.

Illyana, on the other hand, was all fire and brimstone. Her moves were aggressive, even reckless at times. "You've got the spirit," Colleen said, her voice firm yet encouraging. "But you need to channel that energy, not let it control you."

Illyana huffed, her pride slightly wounded. "I'm not some wild animal," she snapped.

"No," Colleen replied, holding her gaze. "But you're letting your emotions drive your actions. Here," she added, motioning to the dojo floor, "you need to find balance."

As the lesson progressed, Colleen had them spar with her and each other, pointing out flaws, and challenging them to think on their feet and adapt to different fighting styles. At one point, Illyana lost her temper, her emotions getting the better of her. Her movements became more erratic as she attacked Tyson in their spar. Colleen intervened swiftly, grabbing Illyana's wrist and pinning her in a hold.

"Control," she whispered into Illyana's ear, her voice calm yet stern. Illyana's breathing was ragged, but she nodded, the fight draining out of her.

Tyson, meanwhile, was trying to shake off his rigidity, to flow like the water Colleen spoke of. But it wasn't easy. Each time he felt he was making progress, a missed block or slow counter reminded him of how far he still had to go. By the end of the lesson, Illyana was drenched in sweat, her body aching in places she didn't know could ache.