Date: Monday, September 13, 2010.
Location: Midtown High, Queens, New York
The Monday morning sun heralded the start of a new school week as Tyson made his way to chemistry class. He thought about how his weekend had progressed.
Saturday morning he’d made a trip to the pet store for a terrarium and plenty of crickets and mealworms for his new pet spider.
Tyson had fought the desire to prod the spider to bite him. He knew how deadly his touch was.
Instead, he had tested the viability by walking outside of the Four Seasons, and grabbed one of the many pigeons loitering around the street… barehanded. By the time Tyson raised the captured bird to his face to inspect it.
It died.
He looked himself over quickly. No feathers, wings, or beak. He didn’t experience a rush of memories. He wasn’t overcome with the feeling of using his wings to fly, or scavenge from the streets, or shit on random pedestrians. Actually, according to Tyson’s memories, Victor Creed had done that a few times. But Tyson gained nothing from the bird. He just killed it. Pretty much instantly.
As much as he coveted the abilities of Spider-Man, he had no desire to harm the spider. Especially since he had it safely contained. Besides, Tyson strongly believed his healing factor would prevent whatever process Peter went through to gain his abilities. He'd need to find some way to harvest spider venom. Then find a way to temporarily suppress his healing factor or his mutant powers completely. Both were things he would need to look into. Not just to acquire spider powers, but because it represented a massive vulnerability for Tyson. If his mutant abilities were suppressed he wouldn’t have any way to defend himself.
In his disappointment at not being able to gain the powers of Spider-Man, he turned to his studies. So, for once, Tyson was prepared for class. Chemistry wouldn’t be the new physics. Even after spending several hours at the dojo with Colleen on Sunday, he was well ahead of his coursework.
Tyson settled into his seat in Chemistry, scanning the room. His gaze paused on an empty chair. He hadn’t noticed Cindy Moon before she was bitten by the same spider that bit Peter. But since she came to his attention, she was on his mind frequently. Tyson knew very little about her. Seeing her being bitten and learning her name had sparked his memory, but Tyson hadn’t been an expert when it came to the comics. He didn’t recall much more than she existed and was a spider person. And now, seeing she was absent, Tyson's mind registered the implications. Like Peter, she must have transitioned.
As the class progressed, despite his lingering thoughts, Tyson demonstrated an unexpected grasp of the day's topic, drawing a surprised look from Gwen. After class, she commented to him in the hallway. "Tyson, I have to say, I'm impressed with how you stepped up in class," Gwen remarked genuinely.
Tyson smiled slightly, but remained modest, "Well, after meeting Dr. Connors with you and Peter, I realized I was the only one in the room who was completely lost. " he admitted with a chuckle, "I'm no genius, but I figured if I put in the work, I should be able to pull off an A."
Gwen's smile widened at Tyson’s compliment, "That's the spirit," she encouraged. "But, for the record, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You went from struggling to being one of the better students in like a week."
Tyson appreciated Gwen's sincerity. They chatted a bit more before parting ways for their next classes.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
As Tyson stepped into the gym for PE, he couldn't suppress a small, anticipatory grin. It wasn't the prospect of gym class itself that had him looking forward to this period. It was the knowledge that he'd again cross paths with his teacher, Natasha... or ‘Natalie’ as she was known here. There was a dangerous allure about her, considering his knowledge about who and what she was, hidden behind the facade of a PE teacher.
Natalie again stood at the center of the gym. Today, she'd forgone the standard athletic wear for an outfit that was somehow even more striking. A pair of snug, athletic shorts that highlighted the toned, powerful lines of her legs, and an A-shirt. The neckline dipped just enough to bare cleavage, regardless of her sports bra. Again, her hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail with a few stray wisps framing her face.
The students gathered around her, as she snatched up a basketball from the rack nearby and addressed the class.
"Today, we're switching gears. Basketball," she announced, her voice carrying an assertive edge that demanded attention. "I'll be dividing you into teams, and I want to see good sportsmanship and effort from everyone."
As she began dividing the students, assigning them to different sides of the court, Tyson couldn't help but get nostalgic. He was reminded of the confrontation on the basketball court at the Xavier Institute with Illyana. He couldn't help but smile. Here he was, ready to dive into yet another simple game of basketball, and again surrounded by extraordinary circumstances. This time, instead of a class of mutants, it was his instructor Natalie, the Black Widow in disguise, and the potentially newly superpowered Peter Parker hovering nearby.
Tyson caught Natalie’s eye briefly, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward. But as quick as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the stern, focused expression of a teacher ready to begin class.
Tyson positioned himself at center court, his formidable height casting a long shadow across the polished floor. Opposite him, Flash Thompson squared his shoulders, a challenging glint in his eyes. This was a contest of athleticism, sure, but under the surface, it was also a clash for social dominance.
"Have fun," Natalie encouraged with a smile. Her tone was light, yet somehow suggestive. As she bent to launch the basketball up for the jump ball, her shirt stretched taut against her form, offering Tyson an undeniable view of her cleavage. The sight momentarily hijacked his focus from the start of the game. Her allure was a potent distraction, and he could sense it wasn't entirely innocent. Her movement was eye-catching, and while he appreciated the view, the closeness of her scent was just as alluring.
Introspectiveness took over Tyson’s world, like a frozen moment in time. He wondered if his thoughts were his own, or was he being affected by Sabertooth? Was it the allure of Natasha Romanoff that had his senses so heightened? Or could it be the danger she presented? The prospect of dominating an athletic competition alone wouldn’t cause such a drive in his thoughts. Regardless of the source, Tyson was feeling far more aggressive than usual, and he fought to push down his instincts.
With a flex of his muscles, borne from superhuman strength, Tyson leaped for the ball as Natalie's hand sent it flying. He soared upwards, his fingertips brushing the sphere first, sending the ball toward his teammate.
What followed wasn't just a display of basketball proficiency; it was a spectacle, a one-man show of near-superhuman prowess. Tyson moved across the court like a force of nature. He'd make a pass without even looking, seemingly aware of the player’s position through some preternatural sense.
"Man, you seeing this?" one of the students gasped from the sidelines. "Unreal!" another echoed, as Tyson crossed Flash. He looked down on the teen bully as Flash stumbled backward, falling on his ass. Tyson then launched the ball from the three-point line. It arced through the air, a perfect trajectory, and swished through the net without so much as grazing the rim.
But it wasn't just his offense; Tyson's defense was impenetrable. When the opposing team managed possession, they found any path to their hoop thwarted by his intimidating form. At one point, a player from the opposing team saw an opening and drove toward the basket. The player lept, arm outstretched, the ball in his palm... only for Tyson to appear as if from nowhere, his hand meeting the ball in a resounding slap. The block was so forceful that the ball rocketed off the court. The students gawked, while Flash's frustration was evident in his clenched fists.
The loose ball rolled and rolled, finally losing momentum near the bleachers, where it nudged against a familiar pair of sneakers. There, slightly apart from the excitement, stood Peter Parker. His eyes sparkled with a quiet amusement as he stooped to retrieve the ball. The energy in the gym shifted palpably as Peter picked up the basketball that had rolled his way. With a hint of surprise that he quickly masked, Peter noticed that his fingers seemed to adhere to the ball’s surface.
"Hey, Parker! Give it here!" Flash demanded, strutting towards Peter with an outstretched hand, expecting the nerd’s compliance.
Peter looked at the ball, then at Flash, a spark of defiance igniting in his eyes. He held out the ball as if to return it, but when Flash tried to snatch it, Peter quickly moved his hand leaving Flash swiping at the air. This repeated several times before Peter allowed Flash to grab the ball. But surprisingly, inexplicably, it wouldn’t move. A ripple of confusion spread through the onlookers.
"What the—?" Flash grumbled, grabbing again. But the ball might as well have been glued to Peter's hand. It was a bizarre tug-of-war, with the ball remaining stubbornly stationary despite Flash's increasingly aggressive tugs. The spectators' confusion turned to amusement. Whispers and chuckles bubbled up from the crowd, and even a few snorts of laughter echoed in the gym. Flash's face reddened, his ego bruised under the weight of unexpected ridicule.
Peter, meanwhile, seemed to grow more assured with each passing second. Catching everyone off guard, he yanked the ball away, sending Flash stumbling. Then, Peter moved across the court dribbling the ball with an almost surreal ease. His classmates watched, mesmerized by the shy, unathletic Peter Parker's transformation. Flash, recovered and charged at Peter, determined to regain his dignity. But Peter seemed to be playing at another level. With a surprising burst of speed, Peter closed in on the hoop. With a leap that defied belief, he soared through the air, arm outstretched and ball in hand. The entire gym seemed to hold its breath. He slammed the ball into the basket with a resounding echo, hanging from the rim for a split second before dropping down to the court. The gym erupted in cheers and gasps of disbelief.
Flash was left standing there dumbfounded as Peter, the same boy who once faded into the background, basked in the cheers of his stunned classmates.
The shrill sound of Natalie's whistle pierced the cheers, immediately anchoring everyone's attention to her. "Impressive, Peter," she commended with a nod before her gaze swept over the excited students. "How about we up the stakes? A little one-on-one. Parker versus... Tyson."
The announcement was like a spark to kindling, the students' excitement bursting into a wild flame of cheers and whoops. They'd all witnessed the incredible feats both boys were capable of, and the prospect of them facing off was irresistible.
The sly smile on Natasha’s lips barely betrayed her anticipation as she added, "Let’s make it interesting. Whoever wins gets an A for the semester." She explained the rules succinctly, her eyes glinting. "First to seven points wins. One point for field goals, two for three-pointers. Win by 2. And I'll be calling the fouls."
The game commenced with an intensity that had everyone on edge. Tyson moved and looked like a basketball player. Peter, however undersized, had a wild agility that was both erratic and spectacular. He was learning his new limits, testing them with every pivot, jump, and dash.
Tyson scored the first point, but Peter responded by weaving through Tyson’s defense and securing a point. Each dribble, and intuitive reaction, was a subtle showcase of their extraordinary capabilities. It was an interesting experience for Tyson, being so much larger than Peter, but realizing that he couldn’t back the smaller teen down in the post. While Tyson weighed more, he could feel Peter was far stronger than himself. Peter was also quicker. Tyson had to rely on his experience and knowledge of basketball to match Peter’s outstanding physical ability.
The score tied at five-all. The students were a mix of loud cheers and held breaths, the tension almost tangible. Peter made a daring leap for a dunk, but Tyson predicted the move. Peter, despite his enhanced physical abilities, hadn’t been much of a shooter throughout their match. Tyson had positioned himself to block Peter’s attempt. Tyson’s hand was wedged between the ball and the rim, a scene that might have been devastating to another player, but thanks to Tyson’s adamantium bones, only required a moment’s recovery. The ball ricocheted off to the side, and both sprang after it.
In a display of dexterity that had the crowd gasping, Peter managed to snag the ball mid-air just before it went out of bounds. And, with acrobatic finesse, Peter spun 180 degrees and launched it toward the basket from behind the three-point line. But Tyson was close, he’d pursued the ball to the out-of-bounds line just as Peter had. Tyson had the opportunity to block the off-balance shot but refrained. Time slowed as the ball arced through the air. It bounced off the opposite side of the rim, high into the air. And fell, swooshing through the net.
The gym erupted in elation, the students' voices melding into a thunderous roar. Peter was the victor and several kids crowded around him, praising his shot. But as he and Tyson locked eyes, the mutual respect between them was evident. They bumped fists, once Peter was free of his celebrating classmates. Natalie, meanwhile, observed with a keen eye, mentally noting every display of reflexes, strength, and agility. Her mind was abuzz with calculations, evaluations, and the implications of what she'd witnessed.
The gym's ambient noise dwindled as students spilled out toward lunch. Natasha's hand tapped Tyson's arm gently but firmly. "A moment of your time, Tyson?"
He nodded and the world narrowed to the two of them in the vacating gym. The rhythmic squeak of Natasha's shoes on the polished floor echoed in the now-silent gymnasium as she led him into the PE office. The door's soft click as it closed seemed to cut them off from the remainder of the school. Inside the office, Natasha transformed. Her fingers worked deftly, untying the ponytail, and releasing fiery waves that spilled about her shoulders. She leaned forward in a slow, deliberate motion. The fabric of her shirt stretched tight, emphasizing the generous curve of her chest.
"Tyson," she drawled, "I was wondering… that was an impressive display you put on, likewise for mister Parker. But in that last play, you could've blocked his shot but didn't. Why?"
Her words hung in the air. Tyson, despite the rush from being alone and close to her, sensed more behind her honeyed tone. His thoughts raced. Had they gone too far in showcasing their abilities? Would her attention shift to Peter? He couldn't risk that. Tyson knew SHIELD was onto him, there was no changing that at this point, but he could still keep Peter under their radar.
"Can you keep a secret, Miss Rushman?" Tyson asked. Natalie leaned closer, exposing more of her cleavage as she encouraged him to continue speaking. Tyson admitted, "I could've beaten Peter."
Tyson stared deep into Natalie’s eyes. Her beautiful green met his entrancing green-blue. “Don’t pay any mind to Peter’s abilities on the court today. I put on the real show.” Tyson relaxed a little, “I held back a lot because Peter needed the win more than I did.”
Natalie shook her head before refocusing, “Actually, Parker is near the top of the class. Why would he need the A more than you?”
Tyson shook his head, “Not that. The attention of his peers, the cheering, the recognition. Peter needed that more than I did. The grades aren't important to me. I don't have to worry about school or finding a job when I graduate.”
Interest flickered in her eyes, her smile a secret. "Oh?" She shifted, one leg crossing over the other, the movement was undeniably staged. Her shorts rode up slightly with the motion, exposing more of her toned thighs. “And why is that?”
Tyson hid his smirk. He'd successfully pulled her attention back to himself. He shrugged, “I’m a trust fund kid.”
Natalie parroted Tyson's words, “Trust fund… Is that so?”
Tyson continued, “Yup. Don't need to worry about an after-school job or anything like that. It frees up my time to get plenty of exercise.”
"And what kind of exercise might that be?" Natalie asked as she leaned back in her chair. She leaned backward, arms overhead as she stretched.
His eyes followed the movement before snapping back up. "Martial arts," Tyson confessed. A sense of playing with fire licked at the edges of his consciousness. "Every day."
"Martial arts?" Her words were an inviting, inquisitive purr. "Where might you be taking these classes?"
"Chikara Dojo in Chinatown," he said, now acutely aware of every minute shift in her posture, the way her shoulders rolled subtly, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.
"Chikara Dojo," she repeated, savoring the words. Her lips curled into a smile, her eyes held a glint of something unreadable within. "Perhaps I'll stop by... I could use a good lesson."
But then, as quickly as her demeanor had softened, she was all business again. "You're free to go, Tyson. I'm sure you're hungry after all that work on the court. Enjoy your lunch."
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The door seemed heavier as he exited. Behind him, he left a woman with motives hidden beneath layers of allure and strategic deception. But Tyson smiled, he had pulled off a strategic deception of his own.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
Laughter, heated debates, and clattering trays blended in the noisy chaos. The ambiance of Midtown High's cafeteria enveloped Peter as he shuffled through the crowd, lost in thought. Still dazed from the impossible physical feats in gym class earlier, Peter felt off-balance, as if he'd been forced into a role he wasn’t aware he tried out for.
Sitting alone at an empty table, Peter picked at his food, his racing thoughts killing his appetite. But then, his whole body buzzed with an odd, unfamiliar energy he couldn't explain. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Mary Jane Watson approaching with her lunch tray. For Peter, everything slowed down when he saw her. Suddenly, disaster struck. A student bumped into MJ, sending her sliding dangerously across the freshly mopped floor. Her tray flew upwards, launching her fruit cup, soda can, and other items into the air like astronauts in zero gravity.
In the heartbeat that followed, the world that always slowed when MJ was around, now ground to a near standstill. Students nearby were frozen in surprise at her fall...everyone except Peter.
He moved with impossible speed, his body reacting instinctively. One hand shot out to catch MJ, stopping her fall. His other hand danced through the air with lightning reflexes, catching the runaway tray upright, then moving to catch all its contents, neatly stacking them again. All this happened in a fraction of a second.
The world snapped back to normal speed. MJ, held steadily by Peter's arm, looked at him in awe. "Wow, Peter, that was...amazing," MJ stammered, blushing as she gazed at him with wide, wondering eyes.
Equally amazed by his own reflexes, Peter managed a sheepish smile, trying to seem casual. "Uh, yeah, I guess..." he said, voice cracking under her scrutiny. At that moment, it felt like they were the only two people around. Peter had always longed for MJ to truly see him. Held almost intimately in his arms, her smile was meant just for him and sent butterflies through his stomach. He didn't fully understand these new abilities he was manifesting, but in that singular, extraordinary moment, Peter Parker felt like everything was getting better.
MJ made it safely to her table, but Peter's mind lingered on their shared moment. Lost in distraction, he went to grab his milk carton.
That's when it happened.
Without warning, a streak of white shot from his wrist. Was that...a web? It happened so fast. The strange strand attached itself to a tray several tables away. Peter jerked it reflexively with surprising force. The tug sent the tray flying through the air until it collided spectacularly with Flash Thompson, who sat mid-conversation halfway across the lunch room.
Lunch exploded across Flash, dripping from the table and his clothes. The cafeteria's chatter ground to a shocked halt, all eyes swiveling between the messy scene, the rope, and trailing it from the tray back to its source. Peter Parker.
Confusion swirled with panic in Peter's gut. This was bad. Flash's friends were already rising, intent clear on their faces. But Flash's glare chilled Peter most. No confusion there, only anger and a promise of payback. Peter's mind raced. He hadn't meant to do that, hadn't even known he could. He couldn't explain the web, why it had fired. His heart pounded urgently, screaming at him to run.
But fleeing would make it worse. Swallowing hard, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes, Peter stood. He couldn't trust his voice. He wouldn't be Flash's victim again, not with everyone watching. So he walked away under that intense scrutiny. It wasn't courage nor fear solely guiding him, it was also an overwhelming urge to get away, to think, to understand what was happening to him.
Behind him, the cafeteria remained hushed, his exit doing nothing to break the spell. He left his uneaten food, the questions, and Flash's furious gaze behind. The lunchroom doors swung shut with an ominous echo. Now outside, Peter jerked to a stop, as his arm pulled back.
The web was still attached to the tray inside. With effort, he released it and continued away from the scene.
Tyson was late getting to Midtown High's crowded cafeteria. His conversation with 'Natalie Rushman' had delayed his arrival to lunch. Scanning the room, he spotted Peter alone at a table. Decision made, he headed for the lunch line. He internally groaned at the thought of more of the school's food. Mentally kicking himself for not starting to bring his own lunch from the hotel, or picking something up on the way to school. Yet here he was again. Before Tyson could even grab a tray, an unnatural silence suddenly fell over the room.
A quiet that abrupt only happened when something unexpected seized a group's attention completely. Tyson's head snapped up searching for the source.
Peter's table was empty except for an untouched tray. But it wasn't Peter's sudden exit that had silenced the room. It was likely caused by the cafeteria tray sliding across the floor as if pulled. Not by a rope, but by what Tyson recognized as a web.
His eyes widened. The tray was tethered to a strand of web leading somewhere outside the cafeteria, presumably attached to Peter based on the shocked faces around him, and Flash Thompson who was following the tray covered in the remains of someone’s lunch.
Excitement bubbled within Tyson. This was it. Time to view another iconic moment.
Murmurs swelled as the cafeteria’s shocked silence wore off. Tyson heard speculation, confusion, and inevitable jokes. Grabbing a sandwich, for afterward, he hurried for the door. He heard Flash Thompson's annoyed, cocky voice rise above the others as he stormed after Peter. Students followed, hyping the impending fight. Tyson slipped through the doors in the crowd, not wanting to miss the show. The cafeteria's tension spilled into the hall, students flowing out in its wake, eager to see the brewing conflict unfold.
Peter stopped but didn't turn, senses tingling in warning. A buzzing at the back of his mind escaped to run along his skin. Then, without thought, he sidestepped a vicious punch aimed at his head. It was like time slowed, letting Peter take in each stark detail.
Flash's fist sailed toward his face in a clear trajectory. Peter stepped aside, focused on the punch. He had time to glance between Flash and his hand several times before momentum carried Flash past him.
MJ stepped in front of Flash, brows knitted in concern. "Stop it, Flash! He didn't mean it. Leave him alone," she pleaded.
But Flash was beyond reason.
Nearby, Tyson watched with folded arms. His stance remained calm even as Gwen anxiously tugged his sleeve. "Tyson, you have to stop this! Remember the first day? Flash will pulverize him," she urged, voice tinged with panic. “You can't leave Peter alone against Flash.”
"He's not alone," Tyson replied softly, eyes never leaving Peter. "I'll step in if it gets bad. But it won't," he whispered, as much to himself as Gwen. "He's got this."
Gwen looked at him like he was crazy. "How can you say that?"
"Just watch," was all Tyson said. The firm finality of his tone indicated he wouldn't budge.
As Flash swung a heavy fist, time slowed for Peter. His senses dialed up, perception shifting. The punch came in a lazy arc, reflexes so heightened Flash seemed to move through molasses. With agile grace that astounded all, even Tyson, Peter dodged the blow with a dance-like step. Flash's momentum made him stumble, unbalanced.
As one of Flash's friends tried circling to ambush Peter from behind, Peter's heightened senses detected the motion. In a move that made the crowd gasp, Peter effortlessly leaped over the sneaky attacker, flipping midair and landing lightly on his feet. Now facing both would-be assailants.
The ambusher raised his hands and stepped back. "He's all yours," he said to Flash as he retreated.
Flash's frustration boiled over and he charged again. The bully’s face reddened with embarrassment and rage as he swung wildly. Peter artfully dodged each punch, seeming to predict Flash's moves before he even made them. Tyson noticed not just the dodging, but the growing confidence in Peter's stance. The dawning realization in the boy’s eyes that he was more than he thought; more than a nerdy, invisible kid. He was somebody. He was powerful.
Increasingly frustrated, Flash pulled back for a mighty haymaker, channeling all his weight and pent-up fury. Peter's senses buzzed in warning and he caught Flash's fist, stopping it cold. The audible crunch of Flash's knuckles made him howl in pain and shock.
Then in a move no one anticipated, Peter struck. A single, precise punch, backed by newfound power. The blow sent Flash flying back to skid across the floor and stop at the spectators' feet. A stunned silence enveloped the hall. Peter looked at his hands with an expression of awe and a flicker of fear at his newfound strength.
"See?" Tyson said to Gwen, never taking his eyes off Peter, who looked around as if awakening from a trance. Tyson pushed off the wall, face slowly nodding in approval. This was a defining moment of self-discovery for Peter.
The fight's aftermath left students murmuring. Flash was just regaining his footing when a piercing whistle sliced through the crowd. Students parted as Natalie Rushman strode into the circle. Her expression revealed she was unamused.
"Round's over, boys," Natalie announced sharply, the whistle dangling around her neck. "Everyone back to lunch or class. Parker, Thompson," her gaze flicked between the two panting from the scuffle, "you're going to the principal's office." As she turned to leave, one finger extended directly at Tyson. "You too, Smith. Principal's office."
Tyson scoffed, arms opening in disbelief. "Me? I didn't do anything."
"Principal's office," Natalie repeated brokering no argument.
Tyson shrugged, chuckling as he fell in behind Peter and Flash. Just loud enough for Natalie to hear, he mumbled, "What's he gonna do? Call my mom?"
"Maybe," Natalie retorted smoothly.
"Nah, I'm emancipated," Tyson replied, nonchalantly.
They walked in an uneasy procession. While Flash and Peter trudged ahead, heads bowed dreading the reprimand, Natalie sidled closer to Tyson. "Why didn't you break up the fight?" she asked.
Tyson rolled his eyes. "Not my job," he replied, then shot her a cheeky glance. "Why didn't you?"
A slight smirk tugged Natalie's lips, acknowledging the point though she didn't respond. They continued in silence, the distance to the principal's office shrinking with each reluctant step.
The principal was a stern man with glasses teetering on the end of his nose. He eyed them over steepled fingers. Peter and Flash's story tumbled out in fragments with both talking over the other until the principal raised a hand, silencing them.
"And you, Mr. Smith?" He peered at Tyson. "What's your role in all this?"
"Just an innocent bystander," Tyson quipped. He sat casually in the chair, his long legs stretched out. "For the record, Peter didn't mean to provoke Flash. He didn't even get a chance to apologize before Flash attacked.” Tyson pointed at Flash accusingly, “He was butt-hurt after getting shown up on the basketball court earlier.” Tyson continued after the insult, “Flash threw the first punch. Well, the first twenty punches. Peter just shoved him back in self-defense."
The principal sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You all know fighting is against school rules. Detention for you two.” He gestured to Flash and Peter. Turning to Tyson the principal said, “And detention for you as well Mr. Smith. I want you to think about the influence you have and your role in this school community."
Tyson held the man's gaze for a moment, “I’ve only been here a week.” But Tyson relented, "Fine, detention it is."
Peter fidgeted nervously with the straps on his backpack during the exchange. Flash just stared sullenly at the floor. The principal dismissed them with instructions to report to detention that afternoon. As the trio left the office, Tyson clapped Peter on the back. "Don't sweat it, Pete. Could've been worse. At least you won the fight."
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
The school day waned, shadows stretching longer in the halls as Tyson entered the nondescript classroom for detention. He picked a seat and pulled out homework, deciding to use the time productively since he'd be late to the dojo. Not long after, Peter shuffled in, posture subdued. "Thanks for having my back with the principal," he murmured, taking the seat beside Tyson.
"No big deal," Tyson responded with a casual shrug. He looked up from his textbook and asked, "Got any plans after this?"
"Just heading home. I need to figure some things out." Peter admitted.
Tyson nodded understandably, not pushing. A comfortable silence settled between them, only to be disrupted when Flash barged in. The jock’s complaints about missing practice filled the room. His whining fell on deaf ears as neither Tyson nor Peter dignified it with a response.
Minutes ticked by monotonously until the door swung open and Natalie appeared. "Tyson, you're coming with me. We’re going to the weight room."
Flash's head snapped up indignantly. "He gets to go to the weight room while I miss practice? How's that fair?"
Natalie's lips twitched in a smirk. "Tyson didn’t throw any punches today. But he’ll be cleaning the weight room for his detention assignment. Would you like to join him, Thompson?"
Flash grumbled under his breath, sinking lower in his seat as he sullenly shook his head. Tyson closed his textbook and gathered his things. As he stood, he met Peter's gaze and discreetly gave a mocking salute to Flash. Peter bit back a smile, shaking his head.
Tyson followed Natalie out of detention and down the hallways into the messy weight room. The scattered weights indicated hasty, careless workouts. The teams and PE classes using the facilities didn’t rerack their weights, and it seemed the custodial staff hadn’t cleaned recently. Natalie gestured to the cleaning supplies, a stack of rags and disinfectant spray.
As Tyson started working, the clinking of weights and hiss of the spray bottle filled the room. Natalie settled into a nearby chair with a book. Her posture was deliberately casual, but every so often she'd shift, drawing his attention, then slowly cross and uncross her legs. Her movements were like a siren's call, meant to catch the eye. When she leaned forward, holding the book low, her blouse gaped just enough to offer a hint of cleavage creating an unspoken invitation for wandering eyes.
Tyson continued organizing the weights and wiping down each bench, feeling Natalie's gaze the whole time, a nearly palpable weight on his back. He finished after half an hour and looked over at her, a silent question hanging between them.
She simply smiled. The cryptic curve of her lips told him nothing and everything at once. Her eyes roamed appreciatively over his athletic frame as he racked the last dumbbell.
"Good work," Natalie praised as she checked the time. "You've still got 30 minutes of detention, Tyson. But since you did such a thorough job..." she paused, eyes leisurely taking in the spotless weight room, "feel free to use the rest of the time to work out."
Tyson's eyebrow quirked up. "You sure that's allowed?"
"Consider it a...privilege for good behavior," she replied, mouth ticking upward. “I’m sure a guy your size understands proper technique.”
"I've got some experience," he admitted, catching the double meaning despite her innocent tone.
Natalie strolled confidently over to the squat rack and smoothly loaded a set of plates onto the barbell. Without preamble, she positioned herself under the bar, lifted, and began squatting.
Tyson noticed her pristine form; back straight, knees stable. Each rep was slow and controlled. Yet there was an exaggerated arch to her lower back that was hard to ignore. The posture accentuated her figure more than it served any practical purpose. Gym etiquette dictated Tyson ignore her provocative posture and focus on his workout. But this wasn't a public gym.
That's what he told himself, at least.
After finishing her set, she easily added another set of plates to the end of the weight. "Your turn," she beckoned, stepping back with an invitation and challenge.
Tyson approached the bar, momentarily distracted by Natalie's performance. But as he positioned himself under the weight and lifted it off the rack, his focus narrowed. The familiar motion of squatting was grounding. He hadn’t lifted since arriving in this world, and it felt good to get back in the gym.
"Wait," Natalie called out, hand raised. She stepped over and ordered, “Rack that for a moment.” Then wordlessly added another plate to each side. Tyson raised his eyebrow but said nothing, resuming his reps. The extra weight was negligible. Again she stopped him, eyes glinting playfully as she loaded on yet another set. "Try now," she challenged.
Tyson accepted silently, continuing his fluid, controlled squats. He powered through the set and then let out a small, satisfied grin as he reracked the bar.
Natalie watched appreciatively, arms crossed. "Not bad, Tyson," she remarked, a hint of genuine approval in her tone.
Her praise warmed him. Natalie grabbed another barbell for herself. She deliberately placed it on the floor in the center of the room with an echoing clank. She loaded a set of plates and positioned herself for deadlifts. Each smooth, controlled bend accentuated her figure and caused her shorts to ride up enticingly.
Finishing her set, she met Tyson's gaze. Her eyes sparkled with challenge, "Think you can switch it up to front squats?" she asked casually though her expectation was clear.
Hesitation flickered across Tyson’s face. Front squats had always been more challenging for him than the standard squat. But he nodded, gripping the bar and moving so that it lay across the front of his shoulders. His first rep was careful, respecting the shifted balance. But realizing the lightweight, his caution faded.
Natalie watched approvingly. "Impressive," she remarked sincerely.
As Natalie completed her second set of deadlifts, her movements remained tantalizingly slow and sultry. Each lift was followed by an agonizingly gradual return upright. Despite himself, Tyson watched with barely veiled attention.
"Your turn again," Natalie called, jolting him from his reverie. "How about some power cleans?"
Tyson shrugged agreeably. Power cleans were explosive and demanding; a true test of power and technique. In his past life, he wouldn’t even consider, let alone try such a thing with just over four hundred pounds. But the squats had been laughably easy. Nothing more than a warm-up with his enhanced strength. He approached the bar, grounding himself and feeling the weight of Natalie’s expectations.
His grip was sure, stance measured. He hefted the bar off the rack, stepping back. With surprising control, he dropped it to hang at his thighs, then lowered it to the floor.
With a breath, he initiated the first pull, a ground-skimming sweep up his shins as momentum built. The transition to the second pull was seamless as his hips drove forward and shoulders shrugged with powerful force, launching the bar high. Then the catch, after a split-second of weightlessness he dropped into a front squat, elbows punching forward to cradle the bar on his deltoids. A paused beat in the bottom position, muscles coiled, before exploding upwards to stand tall, bar secure.
Each subsequent rep mirrored the first creating a cycle of explosive power and controlled recovery. Finishing the set, Tyson looked up to find Natalie watching appreciatively with her arms crossed under her chest.
"You make it look easy," she praised. Though her tone was light, Tyson detected genuine respect. "Looks like your hour's up," Natalie remarked as they moved to rack their weights. She glanced around the tidy room. "Still hitting the dojo after all that?" She asked with a hint of playful challenge in her voice.
Tyson grinned. "The grind never stops. That was just a warm-up."
She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly but on her it was charming. She moved closer until her face was inches from his. Natalie confessed in a whisper, "Sorry for dragging you to the principal. I knew you'd defend Peter. Most students wouldn't." She was so close, her breath tickled his ear, "And I needed help cleaning up in here. So thanks for that."
“It was worth it.” Her intimate proximity quickened Tyson's pulse far more than the workout had. Her unique scent stirred an urge to reach out. Instead, he cleared his throat, correcting his thoughtless words. "I mean, it's no problem. All good."
As they walked to the door, the charged atmosphere eased into something more comfortable. "Maybe next time we work out, it'll be at the dojo," Natalie suggested.
"I look forward to it," Tyson replied, leaving the potential hanging between them.
Natalie paused at the exit. She met his eyes as she commented, "You know, you keep surprising me, Tyson." She smiled. "See you around."
Tyson watched her walk back down the hall, unable to keep his eyes from wandering. With effort, he tore his gaze away and headed for the dojo.