Monday afternoon in Guarly. A dark-skinned boy with slightly curly dark-brown hair walks across the front yard of his house. After playing with his soccer ball, he tosses it to the ground and runs inside. In the kitchen he opens the refrigerator, pulls out a glass pitcher filled with a pale yellow liquid, pours himself a full glass of lemonade, and dashes down the hallway to his older brother's room. He pushes the door open and finds the room empty. Panicking, he runs to his own room, grabs a hunter's cap and a magnifying glass, and rushes back to his brother's room. Holding the magnifier to the bedside table without any enlargement, he notices a notebook and some pencils are gone. Looking in the wardrobe, he also realizes the headphones are missing. He puts the magnifier away, grabs a toy revolver, and goes out into the backyard, which is washed in orange from the sunset. Toys are scattered on the lawn; the grass is very green with a few orange leaves near the tree. From the canopy he sees many green leaves that are beginning to yellow. The little boy walks carefully as if stalking a criminal, then focuses on the treehouse.
Inside the treehouse, everything is empty. He looks out a window and sees the teenage dark-skinned boy. The child shouts several times, "TYRON! TYRON!" but gets no response. He sighs and climbs back down to the yard.
Tyron is completely absorbed in drawing a portrait of his brown-haired friend. He enjoys every sound coming through his headphones and traces each line with such care that the affection in the portrait is obvious. He pauses to check the photo of the girl smiling. After a few minutes, night begins to fall and he takes off his headphones. Suddenly something whistles through the air toward his head. He jumps to the treehouse window and dodges the projectile, snaps his notebook shut, and opens the hatch just in time to see his little brother sprinting into the house. Calling down the stairs, he shouts, "David! Did you just throw a rock at your big brother?!"
A chase ensues through the house. In the living room the little brother laughs at Tyron's angry face while using the couch as an obstacle. Tyron jumps over the furniture, chasing him into the kitchen until he finally catches up and begins pinching the kid's cheeks; the boy squeals. They stop when the door handle jiggles. They hug and smile — then see their mother arriving. She wears a sky-blue shirt, matching pants, and black shoes. She looks at them suspiciously and asks, "What are you doing?" The two stammer, "N-n-nothing."
Their mother's stare is so intense the younger one blurts out, "Tyron wants to hit me!" Tyron quickly covers the boy's mouth and protests, "But I wanted to — he threw a rock at me!" He pulls his hand away disgusted — the child had licked it. Their arguments begin, but the mother shuts them down with a single look. Tyron is more frightened of her glare than of the warrior's. Irene says slowly and sternly, "Go to the car and help me bring in the groceries. I'll decide your punishment later."
That night after dinner, Logan and Irene sit cuddled on the sofa while a movie plays. The children wash the dishes by hand; David straightens the tablecloth while Tyron polishes the floor. When they finish, they apologize to their mother with the flowery aprons on; Irene smiles and sends them to brush their teeth before bed.
Logan (smiling): "Aren't you being a little harsh?"
Irene (annoyed): "No — you're too soft," she says, pinching her husband's chest.
Logan (pained): "Yes, dear, you're right!"
Irene stops pinching and watches the children close their doors. "I don't like them fighting, but I'm glad they aren't out wandering during the day."
Logan (serious): "You mean David. Tyron doesn't come back here from school until six thirty."
Irene (smiling): "Yes, but at least he isn't doing anything dangerous. You said he's been training at a gym. Also, I feel like he's changed a lot."
Logan: "You're right. I'd like to meet his trainer so we can feel safer."
Irene (tearing up): "At least they're safe. I love them so much — when those children arrived at the hospital three weeks ago with gunshot wounds, I was relieved they weren't ours. You don't know how it feels to tell families you couldn't save their child."
Logan kisses her forehead. "You're right. It's a small comfort — it could have been worse."
Irene (wiping tears): "For that, they should have called the miracle surgeon from Saicon. He might have saved some lives."
Logan (serious): "You admire him, but I don't think he could have saved them all…"
Irene (crying): "No — not all, just some!"
They cuddle a few more minutes, switch off the TV, and go to bed.
It's Tuesday at midnight. A jewelry store's luxurious glass display glitters in the dark. Behind the metal security gate shots and muffled cries are heard. Suddenly the metal gate bulges and bursts open — a masked woman flies out and is knocked out. Three thieves fire at the woman in blue who kicked the door open. Her wooden sword deflects a crowbar swing. A criminal drops his guard and the blue-clad vigilante leaps, landing two kicks to his face. The yellow-clad watcher runs; one thief swings a left that the watcher dodges, moving left and landing a straight punch that sends the criminal crashing into the back wall, unconscious. The last thief aims at the blue-clad woman, but the yellow- and blue-suited pair hit him simultaneously with circular kicks to the sides of his head, dropping him to his knees and then flat out. Emily and Alexa cuff the criminals and lock them in a dumpster. Francesca calls the detective to report them, while Tyron frantically searches his backpack for his notebook and a metal case. Before he finds them, his teammates force him up onto a nearby roof to continue their patrol.
On the rooftop, each of the four does something different: Alexa paces near the edge, Emily smiles at her phone, Francesca lies on her back watching the stars, and Tyron dangles his legs over the void, finishing the portrait of Emily. He chooses orange and yellow from his case and paints a warm glow around her; he feels Emily represents hope, courage, and warmth. He picks white and a black pencil to render her gentle smile and detail the teeth, then captures the little highlights in her eyes that always light up the team. Finally he adds finishing touches to the face. Alexa approaches, curious about his backpack. Seeing the portrait instead, she is stunned and blushes; her eyes light up. Not wanting to interrupt, she slips away and tells the others. Tyron, certain he's done, shows the portrait. A soft gasp comes from behind him; he turns to find all three girls looking at him. He feels a heat in his cheeks and quickly tries to hide the book and pencils. Francesca takes his wrist gently and, in a very tender voice, asks, "Can we see it?" He tries to refuse, but the girls' bright, expectant eyes make it impossible. He hands them the sketch, staring at the ground.
Tyron (mortified, red): "SORRY — I didn't mean anything by it, EMILY!"
The girls study every detail; each facial feature is captured perfectly, the colors match her, and at least Alexa and Francesca feel the emotion radiating from the drawing. Tyron freezes, uncertain what to say, until he feels arms wrap around him. He lifts his head to find Emily blushing and with tears in her eyes. He tries to apologize but she interrupts with a hug and a soft, "Thank you… thank you so much for making me so beautiful." They part and Emily returns to Francesca, who is moved by the portrait. Tyron had expected rejection and shame but instead they liked it. Alexa comes up and touches his shoulder with a big smile and emerald eyes: "Could you draw me too?" Tyron thinks she looks beautiful; tears trail down her cheeks. He nods.
Emily (softly crying, admiring the portrait): "How did you get this image of me?"
Tyron (blushing): "Sorry — I took it yesterday. You looked so happy after progress with your heavy technique that I snapped a photo without asking."
Emily (blushing): "That was wrong… but I'll let it slide this time."
Alexa (smiling and blushing): "You have my permission to take photos of me whenever you like!"
Tyron goes silent. He had feared they'd be disgusted and call him a pervert for taking a photo without permission. Francesca is silent too; she's happy the others expressed admiration and even feels a little admiration for Alexa for asking him to draw her. Francesca wants it too but can't easily show her feelings. She stammers, "I-I-I… I-I-I-I w-w-wanted…" Emily puts a hand on her shoulder, worried.
Emily: "Are you okay?"
Francesca grows even more nervous and blushes deeper. Alexa guesses what she means and, confidently and kindly, says, "Tyron — Fran wants to ask if you could draw one of her?" Tyron turns fully red; he's used to talking with Alexa and Emily, but serious, brave Francesca asking — he never expected it. Before he can answer, Francesca shouts, crimson with embarrassment, "BUT I DON'T WANT YOU TAKING A SURPRISE PHOTO…!" She takes a breath, rubs her arm, and in a softer voice adds, "…of course, if you accept."
Tyron (bright red): "Of course I'll draw each of you!"
The girls smile. Tyron goes to Emily, rips out the portrait page, and offers it. "Take it — it's a gift for always being so kind to everyone." Emily turns even redder and faints; Alexa and Francesca catch her just in time. Then the detective texts Francesca's phone. They pack up and leap from the roof to respond to a building fire.
A new day. Late afternoon in the forest. Sweat drips from Tyron's nose to the ground. He ignores it and charges at the warrior's clay copy. Up close he performs the cut: from the left shoulder to the right hip, then from the left hip to the right shoulder, and deepens those slices into more severe cuts. The clone breaks and immediately reforms. Tyron lifts his head when Francesca says, "It's the same result as the master's," and in frustration he drops his bokken and slaps his thighs, then his face, upset at not obtaining the same finish. Francesca checks her phone and says, "Tyron — you need to destroy your clone eight times. You've already done six; you have two attempts and two hours left of today's practice." He panics and searches around for something to boost his technique. Finding only nature, he breathes in and out hard, trying to calm down and think.
Tyron recalls the first day he met the girls and the moment Francesca defeated him. He even hears his master's words in his head: "Tonto, of course she doesn't do it the way you do; everyone has different styles, but that doesn't decide the winner. Patética reacted to your first attack at high speed and moved back. Your second, faster attack made her lower her head and created a space between her right shoulder and her head—perfect for the counter. But you lost the momentum of the previous attacks; that's your mistake. If you'd kept exploiting that momentum on the third, we'd have had to clamp Patética's teeth together." Tyron thinks: maybe his style should add the momentum of previous moves to his current speed until one big strike releases everything. Thousands of ideas pass through his head to convert movement impulse into a far more powerful attack.
He returns to the same starting position. This time his run comes with far greater force. He repeats the sequence of cuts, but before getting back into stance he takes an extra step, loading weight on his left leg while extending the right. Following the bokken's path, he twists his waist to the right, grips the bokken with one hand, concentrates all the impulse in his body, and releases it as a left-elbow strike exactly where the cuts cross. The impact is so strong it launches the clone into a huge rock, nearly shattering it. Tyron watches, mouth open. Francesca can't believe it: "You also used the…?" she starts, but the regenerated clone emerging from the dust replies, "Well done, Tonto. You understood the Derin Kesim so well you created something new using only speed."
Tyron (excited, looking to the sky): "YES! YES! YES!"
He savors the breakthrough — he still has one attempt left to invent something new. This time he wants to increase the cut's damage, so he closes distance to the clay clone. Running in, now with less build-up, he begins the light slice from the left hip to the right shoulder, then from the left shoulder to the right hip; he quickly returns and turns those light cuts into deep ones. Maintaining the technique's inertia, he goes behind the clone; the slice deepens and, when it connects with the shoulder cut at the back, Tyron exhausts all momentum and leaps away from the target. Francesca watches, not surprised; the warrior's clone gives him a sidelong smile and splits into two pieces.
Tyron is shocked; he didn't expect to create such a powerful move. Francesca scolds him: "Idiot! You better control that in real fights — it's too dangerous to use on a person." He nods and dodges a small luminous orb that floats into the woods. The orb returns to the warrior, joining with him. Jayden thinks: the second part met my expectations, and the first still needs work.
In a small clearing full of impact marks, Alexa throws her wooden sword into some bushes and shouts, "I'M SICK OF THIS!"