say anything
When Hiro left the former BEGA, with whom he lived, to spend a few weeks training them, he tried hard to keep Tyson and Kai away from each other. It wasn't because a serious battle could demolish entire buildings or uproot the whole park, and it wasn't that Kai went out of his way to undermine Hiro's authority (assuming he showed up to practice at all)—it wasn't about Kai. Hiro reminded himself often that it was never about Kai.
It was about Tyson. Always.
And Tyson listened too hard to Kai's voice. He waited too long for Kai's voice coming from the sidelines. He depended too much on that voice, regardless of what it actually said. It was the tone Kai could get into his voice. This boom, this demand, that Tyson just jumped to obey.
Tyson got himself into precarious situations. He threw a couple of battles (Hiro KNEW they were thrown) just so he could hear Kai's voice. Telling him to focus. Telling him to stop making stupid mistakes. Telling him, "If you can't take this seriously, I'm leaving." Telling him anything. The words didn't matter.
Just to hear that rare, beautiful voice. Saying something.
To him.