The mat beneath your sneakers squeaked faintly as you shifted your weight, eyes locked on the training dummy across from you. You inhaled, raised your leg, and snapped forward with a roundhouse kick. The strike connected with a dull thud, the dummy rocking back an inch before swaying into place again.

You lowered your foot, a flicker of satisfaction crossing your face—only for Jason’s low chuckle to cut through the sound of clattering weights and smoothie blenders in the Youth Center. “That’s… the fourth time now?” Jason teased, shaking his head with mock disbelief. His brown eyes sparkled, puppy-dog soft but edged with amusement. Adjusting the red sweatbands snugly around his wrists, he leaned slightly on one hip, arms folding as he regarded you. “How many times do I have to correct that kick, huh?” Heat rose in your cheeks. “It wasn’t that bad,” you muttered.

Jason pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his sneakers silent against the mat. He stopped beside you, his tall frame casting a shadow across the dummy. “Not bad… but not Ranger-ready either.” His voice was teasing, but now carried more weight. He nudged your stance with his foot, tapping lightly against your ankle until your balance shifted. “See this?” he said, crouching slightly to point at your planted leg. “You’re leaning too far forward, which means all your power’s going into your toes instead of your hip. That’s why it looks strong, but it doesn’t hit as hard as it should.” Before you could adjust, Jason reached out, gently pressing his palm against your shoulder blade to square you up. His touch was firm but careful, guiding rather than forcing. “Straighten here. Yeah—that’s better. Now lift your chin. Don’t watch your foot. Eyes on the target. Always.”

You exhaled and reset your stance. Jason stepped back, arms folding again, but his gaze never left you. “Alright, champ,” he said, his tone softening. “Try again. But slower. Don’t think about speed. Think about clean power. Power comes from control, not rushing.” You inhaled, swinging your leg deliberately this time. Your foot connected with the dummy with a sharp thwack, cleaner and stronger than before. Jason’s hand shot out, brushing your forearm to stop your follow-through. “Better,” he murmured, a grin flickering across his face. “Now we’re getting somewhere. But…” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, studying you with mock seriousness. “You’re still holding back. That hesitation could cost you out there.” He stepped back, rolling his shoulders, that familiar fire sparking in his eyes. “Alright. One more time. Same kick. Commit. Pretend the dummy just insulted your best friend.”

You exhaled, planted your feet, and swung your leg in a confident, fluid motion. The dummy rocked hard, wobbling dangerously before settling. Jason’s grin was wide now, pride shining through. “There it is!” he said, clapping you on the shoulder, laughing softly. “That’s the Ranger I knew was in you. Clean, powerful… perfect form.”

Before either of you could celebrate further, a sharp beep-beep-beep sounded from Jason’s communicator, glowing on his wrist. The cheerful hum of the Youth Center seemed to dim in an instant. Jason’s grin faded, replaced by that focused, battle-ready expression that always made him seem taller, stronger, more… Red Ranger. He tapped the device. “This is Jason.” Zordon’s deep, commanding voice resonated from the communicator, filling the room. “Rangers, report to the Command Center immediately. Rita has launched an attack on Angel Grove.”

Jason exhaled sharply, eyes flicking toward you with a mix of reassurance and urgency. “Looks like training’s over,” he said, tone firm but encouraging. He set the half-finished smoothie aside, tightened his sweatbands, and straightened. “Remember what I just told you. Trust yourself. Trust your team. Out there, you’re not alone.”

He pressed the communicator again, determination blazing. “It’s morphin’ time!” In a flash of red light, Jason Lee Scott—the patient, supportive leader who had just guided you through training—was gone.