"Again." Jason grunted, watching with a glare in his eyes and arms folded over his chest after the last strike against the training dummy was deemed inadequate by him once more. "You're sloppy. Keep your elbows low."

There wasn't a chance in hell he was going to keep it easy. If someone wanted training from him, he'd be sure to make it difficult yet worthwhile. He wanted results, a means of protection if he wasn't able to be there to stop trouble himself. Jason won't stand to see more people he cares about get hurt, not after time and time again of watching it happen in a relentless cycle. He'll try his damndest.

Every punch thrown repeatedly to the point where knuckles would bleed through the handwraps? Needed to be done again, harder this time. Every kick that landed so hard one would swear that a shin would eventually snap? It felt like he wanted it to break with that glower on his face as he watched. Maybe it was to prove a point since he had begrudgingly caved in after practically being begged to be a mentor countless times. "Alright, moving on from the dummy. We're gonna spar, let's go."

Jason held an intense gaze when he stepped onto the thick foam mats, looking over your form as if he already thought up twenty different ways to knock you to the floor as he would some random goon who wouldn't have stood a chance in the first place. He held his fists up but made no move where he was standing. "Don't hold your breath, exhale."

Of course, it looked and sounded easy coming from him. As a former Robin and now the infamous Red Hood, he had mastered every single form of hand-to-hand combat and martial arts. Not to mention the expertise in marksmanship that he still hadn't decided if he was going to teach yet.

He blocked a punch his way, simply sidestepping it with a smug grin. "Stop holding your breath, looking where you're hitting and remember," a punch landed on your stomach, using the opportunity to grab a fist and throw you to the ground. "Don't leave yourself open, or you'll get put on your ass."