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Y/N L/N WAS GOING TO FIGHT...

The entire training hall buzzed with an electrified energy, the weight of the announcement sinking into every competitor's bones. y/n l/n was going to fight. The words had barely left the chancellor's mouth before they took on a life of their own, spreading through the ranks like wildfire. The disbelief was tangible. y/n wasn't supposed to fight. Not after the brutal wounds she had sustained in her previous battle. But here she was, stepping back into the fire, once again defying the odds.

A storm of unease and exhilaration coiled through the gym. The y/h/c-haired girl's return was as shocking as it was inevitable. She had bled, fought, and carved her way into this tournament with sheer determination. Though her return was only possible due to Tory Nichols' shocking decision to surrender her spot. The girl had claimed the pressure was too much, that she needed to focus on her mental well-being. 

It wasn't like Tory to fold under stress. 

The whispers began immediately—was it truly her choice? Or was there something more behind her sudden withdrawal?

Regardless of the reasoning, the numbers didn't lie. Kwon Jae-sung had been the undeniable top scorer in the competition so far, racking up an impressive lead that no one could challenge. Second place belonged to Yoon Do-jin, a strong fighter who trailed just three points behind. But it was y/n who had landed in third, despite her injuries, just one point behind Yoon. It was a testament to her resilience, her refusal to fall behind, even when her body screamed for rest.

Lee had been a non-factor—his refusal to spar against women had cost him dearly in the rankings, dropping him to last place, even if he insisted he had no regrets. Even Tory, for all her skill, had not accumulated enough points to hold her position. y/n, on the other hand, had fought tooth and nail for every single point, every single victory, and now, when it mattered most, she had clawed her way back into the finals.

But this moment wasn't about Tory. It wasn't about Lee, or Yoon, or Park.

This was about the captains.

Y/n l/n and Kwon Jae-sung.

The original captains. The leaders who had fought, bled, and pushed their teams to the limits. The ones who had carried the weight of expectations on their backs, who had been forged in battle, tempered by pain and rivalry.

And now, they were back.

Kwon's eyes burned with unrelenting intensity. He had trained harder than ever, pushing himself past exhaustion, determined to leave no room for doubt in the finals. There was no denying his strength—he was brutal, merciless, a warrior whose strikes left no room for error. His body was a weapon honed to perfection, and his mind was sharpened by his hunger to win.

And y/n?

She was a storm waiting to break. Even injured, she trained like a woman possessed, refusing to let her scars dictate her limits. Every movement she made, every strike she practiced, was filled with purpose. She didn't just want to fight—she needed to. This wasn't just about winning. This was about proving to herself, to her parents, to everyone who had doubted her, that she was stronger than they had ever imagined.

And also she really needed to get to college.

The air in the gym crackled with anticipation as they prepared for the ultimate battle. The finals would be a war. And no matter the outcome, neither y/n nor Kwon would walk away the same.

This was the moment that would define them.

And neither of them was willing to lose.

"You're telegraphing again..." Kwon sighed, effortlessly sweeping the girl off her feet with a dragon sweep. The moment her feet left the ground, she barely had time to brace herself, but before she could hit the mat, his hand shot out, cradling the back of her head.

"You fall for that every time," he mused, his voice laced with teasing arrogance. "What, are you getting slow, or just distracted by my face?"

Y/n scowled. "Oh, shut up."

And then she headbutted him.

Not hard enough to do serious damage, but enough to make him grunt in surprise and recoil slightly. The second he loosened his grip, she shoved him off, rolling back onto her feet in a fluid motion, her body already snapping into position.

Kwon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking. "Real mature, l/n."

"Worked, didn't it?" she shot back.

They resumed their stance, circling each other like predators. Then, in a flash, the girl lunged.

She feinted left—Kwon anticipated, stepping to intercept—but at the last moment, she twisted her hips, launching a spinning hook kick aimed for his ribs. Kwon barely managed to block, catching her shin against his forearm before using his superior strength to shove her back.

Not giving him a second to counter, y/n pressed forward, driving a quick jab to his midsection. He sidestepped, redirecting her force with a perfectly timed parry before stepping in close, trying to lock her into a clinch.

But y/n wasn't having it.

The second he grabbed for her, she hooked her leg behind his knee and yanked, forcing him off balance. Kwon recovered instantly, dropping low into a crouch and sweeping his own leg in retaliation. The y/h/c-haired girl jumped just in time, dodging it and landing behind him before striking with a brutal palm to his shoulder.

He twisted, dodging by mere inches, and retaliated with a sharp side kick aimed at her torso. y/n barely managed to block, the sheer force of the hit making her arms sting. But she used the momentum to pivot, executing a lightning-fast axe kick. Kwon ducked just in time, sliding under and grabbing her ankle in an attempt to yank her off balance again.

For a moment, the world was a blur of motion—twisting bodies, deflected blows, the sharp sound of skin meeting skin in perfectly timed strikes.

But then, y/n saw an opening.

Kwon overextended, just slightly, and she took advantage of it. She spun inside his guard, throwing all her weight into a powerful, explosive punch. Her knuckles struck his chest, and with the force of her momentum, Kwon was sent stumbling backward—out of bounds.

Silence.

For the first time in their fight, Kwon wasn't holding back—not in skill, at least. His strength had been restrained, but his technique? His speed? It was razor-sharp, honed to perfection. And yet, y/n had still managed to land the final blow.

But when Sensei Kim Da-Eun finally revealed the scoreboard, the girl's excitement dimmed.

Kwon: 8 points.

L/n: 3 points.

She expected it to be close. A tight match. But she had been far from victory.

Still catching his breath, Kwon turned to look at her. His smirk softened—not in mockery, but in something else. Approval? Amusement? It was hard to tell with him.

"Not bad," he said, offering her his water bottle. After he had already drunk from it.

She rolled her eyes but took it anyway, too thirsty to care.

Sensei Kim Da-eun finally approached, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing them both. "y/n, your aggression is commendable, but your defense is still lacking. You anticipate well, but you rely too much on reaction rather than control. Against an opponent like Kwon, that will always put you on the losing end."

The girl swallowed her frustration and nodded.

"And you," Kim's sharp gaze flicked to Kwon. "You still refuse to go all out. You underestimate your opponent, and it makes you lazy."

Kwon didn't argue, just grinned in that infuriating way of his.

The older woman exhaled through her nose, something almost resembling pride in her sharp eyes. "Regardless, this was good. But don't let it get to your heads." She reached out, brushing dust off y/n's shoulder before smoothing the fabric of Kwon's t-shirt, a rare but telling gesture.

Before either of them could dwell on it, Kim turned away.

"Enough standing around. On the mat, all of you!" she barked, calling the rest of the students forward.

Y/n and Kwon exchanged a glance as the others gathered around them.

This wasn't over. Not even close... Because now, it wasn't just them against each other. It was them against everyone else.

And the day was far from over.

On the other side of the hotel however, the air was thick with tension. Miyagi-do's locker room was silent, save for the restless pacing of their female captain.

Samantha Larusso.

Her thoughts raced, her fingers twitching at her sides as she struggled to steady her breathing. Her heart pounded—not with excitement, not even with anticipation, but with something far more unsettling. Dread.

She had no idea how things had spiraled so quickly. Just when things between her and y/n were beginning to settle, just when they were on the verge of finally, maybe, putting their past behind them, the brunette had gone and ruined it. 

She hadn't meant to. It had been an accident. A miscalculation in their last fight—a foul strike, a mistimed block, a wound she never intended to inflict.

But intent didn't erase consequence.

Now, y/n l/n was forced back into battle, injured, and no doubt more resentful than ever.

Sam ran a hand through her hair, exhaling shakily. Apologizing should have been easy. Just three words—I am sorry. But how did you apologize to someone who had every reason to hate you? 

Y/n wasn't like the other opponents she had faced. She didn't believe in second chances, not when the first had already been ruined.

She was unpredictable, unapologetic, and either the bestest friend you could ever have, or the worst enemy you could ever cross paths with.

Miguel Diaz sat on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, watching his girlfriend with a troubled gaze. He had barely spoken, but Sam knew that look. Knew the conflict behind his warm brown eyes.

Y/n was his best friend. Samantha was his girlfriend.

And he was caught in the middle.

His fingers curled into fists, mind working in overdrive. He understood both sides, felt the weight of both burdens pressing down on him. The y//h/c-haired girl wasn't easy to deal with. She was fire and fury... a storm barely restrained by sheer willpower. Her temper wasn't something you tamed—it was something you survived.

But this wasn't just about anger.

It was about trust.

And Sam had broken it more than once.

The latino knew y/n better than most. Knew how she thought, knew how she felt, even when she refused to say it out loud. She wouldn't take an apology at face value. She wouldn't let things go just because it was the easier path. If Sam approached her now, y/n would either shut her down, ignore her completely, or—worst case—turn her frustration into something physical.

And the boy couldn't let that happen.

He had to fix this. Before the match. Before things got worse.

But he had to be careful.

A direct approach would never work. y/n didn't respond well to confrontation, especially when she was already in a bad mood. He needed to be subtle. To give her something she couldn't immediately refuse.

And then—an idea struck.

It was a gamble. A reckless, stupid, dangerous gamble. It could go either way, entirely dependent on y/n's current state of mind. But at least it was something. Surely she would understand, right? They were good friends still, after everything that went down.

He leaned back, exhaling through his nose, a small, almost resigned smile tugging at the corner of his lips. All he had to do was wait until nightfall. And then, he would knock on her door.

Possibly with a cupcake or two...

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