𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍. the violent hour

THE DIM LIGHTING OF THE HALL CAST long shadows across the floor, pooling around the mats where fighters stood, their bodies coiled and ready to strike. The air smelled faintly of sweat and tension, a mix of adrenaline and determination that hung thick around the Miyagi-Do team like a storm cloud waiting to break.

Jieun sat cross-legged on the bench, the plastic beneath her squeaking faintly as she shifted her weight. Her hands rested on her knees, clenched into fists so tight her knuckles had turned white. She watched as yet another teammate fall, the sound of the announcer's voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"And the point goes to Falchi della Notte."

The words were like stones dropped into her chest, heavy and unrelenting. Across the mat, Zara from the Iron Dragons locked eyes with her, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't just a smirk — it was a statement, a taunt that said You don't belong here. Jieun felt her jaw tighten, her molars grinding as she forced herself to look away, unwilling to give Zara the satisfaction of knowing how much it stung.

The scoreboard flickered, the numbers shifting again, and Miyagi-Do's pitiful tally glared back at her in bright, mocking red. Miguel sat beside her, his breathing steady but his face drawn, the weight of their team's faltering performance evident in the set of his shoulders. He had won his last bout, of course. Miguel always delivered, his moves precise and deliberate, a masterclass in technique and strategy.

Jieun felt her anger building, a slow burn that started in her chest and spread outward like wildfire. It wasn't just frustration — it was humiliation. Every time the announcer declared another loss, it was like a spotlight being trained on them, illuminating their failures for all to see.

She glanced at Sam, whose face was flushed, her breathing uneven as she returned to the bench. Sam had fought hard, scoring one or two points, but it wasn't enough.

And Robby — her gaze flickered to him, standing at the edge of the mat, his hands on his hips, his head tilted back as if he were trying to catch his breath. He was their captain, supposed to be the best of them, but he had faltered more than once. Jieun didn't want to admit it, but the sting of disappointment was sharp and bitter, and it sat in her throat like a lump she couldn't swallow.

"Focus, team!" Daniel's voice rang out, his tone sharp but tinged with encouragement. "This is where we show them what Miyagi-Do is made of!"

But Sensei Lawrence was quick to chime in, his voice louder and more abrasive. "No, what we need is to stop holding back! Strike first, strike hard! Where's the aggression, huh?"

Their voices overlapped, creating a cacophony of conflicting advice that made Jieun's head throb. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to block them out.

Across the room, Kwon threw her a glance, his smirk almost as irritating as Zara's. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, radiating smugness as if the competition were already won.

Jieun clenched her teeth. Smug bastard.

The next bout was called, and Eli stood up, his expression grim. She watched as he squared off against a fighter from the Iron Dragons, his moves sharp but rushed, his strikes lacking the precision they needed. It wasn't long before he hit the mat, and the announcer's voice echoed once more.

"And the point goes to the Iron Dragons."

The crowd murmured, a mix of polite applause and quiet conversation, but to Jieun, it all sounded like laughter — directed at them. Her fingers dug into her thighs, her nails biting into the fabric of her gi as she tried to keep her composure.

She was angry. Furious, even.

Angry at Eli, Devon, and Demetri for their lack of wins. She knew they were trying, knew the pressure was immense, but she couldn't stop the resentment from bubbling up. Angry at Daniel and Johnny, their voices clashing instead of harmonizing, their conflicting strategies doing more harm than good. Angry at Zara, whose smug smirk seemed to haunt her every time she closed her eyes.

But mostly, she was angry at herself.

Because for all her skill, for all her wins, it wasn't enough. She and Miguel couldn't carry the team alone, and every loss felt like a personal failure, a reminder that maybe she wasn't as strong as she thought she was.

The announcer called her name, and she stood, her body moving automatically even as her mind churned. Miguel caught her eye as she stepped onto the mat, his nod reassuring but weighted with unspoken words. She nodded back, inhaling deeply before turning her attention to her opponent.

The arena felt like a furnace, the air thick and oppressive as Jieun stepped onto the mat. The spotlight above carved harsh shadows into her features, illuminating every taut muscle, every bead of sweat gathering at her temples.

Across from her stood the member of Furia De Pantera — a hulking figure, his shoulders broad and his arms corded with muscle. His chest heaved, and his eyes burned with a ferocity that made the air between them crackle. He towered over her, each step he took making the ground seem to tremble beneath him.

Jieun's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse reverberating in her ears. She wasn't just outsized; she was outmatched in raw power. His presence was a declaration: he didn't need finesse when brute force could knock anyone off their feet. She knew it, the crowd knew it, and she could feel the weight of their doubt pressing down on her like a second gravity.

For a fleeting moment, her composure faltered, and her thoughts betrayed her. Ben would have loved this.

The name struck her like a blow, slicing through her focus. Ben, with his sharp eyes and sharper words, had been the first to teach her what it meant to fight. His lessons hadn't been about balance or harmony; they had been about survival. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall," he'd say, his voice dripping with confidence, a smirk pulling at his lips. And yet, the memory of him made her stomach churn.

She clenched her fists. She hated that he was in her head, hated that she still clung to his teachings, even after everything. But there it was — unshakable, undeniable. The foundation he had laid was woven into her very core, and no amount of Miyagi-Do or Cobra Kai philosophy could replace it.

Her opponent lunged first, moving with surprising speed for someone of his size. The mat quaked under his feet, and Jieun barely had time to sidestep as his fist came crashing down where she had been. The force of it sent a shockwave through the air, and she felt her balance waver as she skidded back.

She couldn't afford to let him dictate the fight. Not with his size, not with his power.

Her muscles coiled like a spring as she darted forward, her movements deliberate and precise. She aimed for his ribs, her fist striking with a sharp crack, but it was like punching steel. He barely flinched, his grin widening as he swung his arm in a wide arc.

The blow was devastating. Even though she ducked in time to avoid the full force, his arm grazed her shoulder, sending her spinning to the edge of the mat. Her shoulder throbbed, and her vision blurred for a moment as the crowd's gasps and cheers melded into a chaotic roar.

This wasn't going to work. She couldn't fight him head-on, couldn't trade blows with someone who could crush her with a single strike.

And then it happened — the shift.

The calm, disciplined teachings of Miyagi-Do melted away, and the aggressive, explosive strategies of Cobra Kai dulled in her mind. Instead, a different kind of clarity emerged, sharp and visceral. She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds, letting her body recall the stances, the maneuvers, the mindset she had abandoned months ago.

Scorpion's Eye.

Ben's voice echoed in her mind, relentless and demanding. "You don't fight their fight. You make them fight yours. Use what they've got against them."

Her eyes snapped open, her gaze sharper now, almost predatory. She shifted her weight, her stance lowering, her body aligning with something primal and instinctive. The change was subtle, but it radiated through her like electricity, and the crowd sensed it too. The cheers faltered, replaced by a hum of anticipation.

Her opponent charged again, his arms outstretched to grapple her, but this time she was ready. She feinted left, her body moving like liquid, and as he lunged, she twisted sharply, driving her elbow into his side. He grunted, his balance faltering for just a second, but that was all she needed.

Jieun pivoted behind him, her movements a blur. Her fists and feet became weapons, striking in rapid succession — his ribs, his knees, the vulnerable spots he couldn't guard all at once. Each hit was calculated, designed not to overpower but to destabilize. She was no longer trying to wear him down; she was dismantling him piece by piece.

He roared, his frustration evident as he swung wildly, but she was already gone, slipping past his reach like smoke. She darted in again, this time targeting his legs. A low kick swept under him, and he stumbled, his massive frame tilting precariously.

The crowd erupted, their disbelief palpable. The tide of the fight had turned, and Jieun was at its center, a storm of precision and fury.

Her opponent staggered but didn't fall. He planted his feet, his chest heaving as he glared at her with a mix of rage and respect. He charged once more, his movements less controlled now, driven by sheer desperation.

Jieun waited, her body taut as she calculated the moment.

And then, like lightning, she struck.

She sidestepped his charge, spinning around him with grace and speed. Her hands gripped his arm, using his momentum against him as she twisted sharply. His body followed, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The mat loomed closer and closer until his massive frame hit the ground with a resounding thud.

The referee's whistle blew, piercing through the stunned silence that followed.

Jieun stood over him, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The lights overhead cast her shadow long across the mat, and for a moment, she felt like she was back in those early days, standing in the dim, dusty building where Ben had first shown her how to fight.

The crowd erupted, their cheers and gasps a chaotic symphony, but Jieun barely heard them. Her eyes scanned the faces of her team, of her opponents, of the audience. Shock was etched into every expression — Miguel's raised eyebrows, Sam's parted lips, and from across the room even Zara's and Kwon's smug smile faltering.

But it didn't matter.

For the first time in a long time, Jieun felt a strange sense of clarity. She had won not because of Miyagi-Do or Cobra Kai but because of a part of her she had tried to bury. The realization was bittersweet, but she let it sit with her as she walked off the mat, her head held high.

THE LOBBY OF THE HOTEL WAS A cacophony of muted conversations, the low hum of the air conditioner, and the occasional creak of suitcases being wheeled across the marble floor. Sunlight streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, slanted beams that did little to warm the atmosphere among Miyagi-Do's circle. The team stood in a loose huddle, their postures heavy with exhaustion, their faces a collage of frustration, uncertainty, and the faintest embers of determination.

Daniel LaRusso stood at the center, his face a picture of forced calm, though the slight tightness in his jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. He exhaled sharply, his breath audible in the stillness of the group. "All right," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "this morning's event was tough, but let's not get discouraged just yet. We have two more events today. Eliminations don't even begin until the second one."

Jieun barely registered his words. She was too focused on the deep, persistent ache radiating from her shoulder. Her arms hung limply at her sides, though she occasionally flexed her fingers to keep them from stiffening. Bruises were already beginning to bloom across her skin, vivid purples and yellows spreading like ink in water. Every muscle in her body protested, but she pushed the discomfort aside.

Pain was a companion she'd grown accustomed to, though today it felt heavier, more insistent, as if her body were whispering, Enough.

Across the circle, Demetri's voice broke through the haze. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, his hands raised in mock alarm. "If that wasn't the elimination round, then what is? Getting our heads cut off with swords?"

Daniel shook his head, his tone patient but edged with the weariness of someone who had repeated this speech too many times. "We knew this wasn't going to be easy. We're going up against the best dojos in the world, but don't forget — you guys are one of them too."

The sentiment hung in the air, but it didn't quite land. The group shifted uncomfortably, their energy too drained to muster the enthusiasm he seemed to hope for.

Johnny Lawrence, leaning casually against a pillar with his arms crossed, cut in with his usual bluntness. "Yeah, so start fighting like it," he barked, his voice sharp enough to jolt a few heads upright.

Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned toward Johnny. "Come on, man. The best thing we can do right now is just clear your minds, get some rest, you know, put this behind you. You got this, all right? I believe in you."

Jieun scoffed, the sound low but unmistakable in the stillness that followed. Her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile, more a grimace of disbelief, and her gaze remained fixed on the floor. The sound was subtle enough to go unnoticed by most, but Sam's head turned sharply toward her, a flicker of understanding passing between them.

Sam didn't say anything, though. She didn't need to. Deep down, she knew exactly what Jieun was thinking.

It wasn't just exhaustion weighing on Jieun — it was anger, coiled tightly in her chest like a spring ready to snap. She was angry at the captains, the supposed leaders of their team, who had faltered when their strength was needed most. Angry at the others who had only managed a win here or there, their inconsistency dragging the team down. Angry at herself, for the way her body ached and her mind wavered, for not being able to carry more of the weight alone.

But most of all, she was angry at the veneer of optimism Daniel and Johnny tried to paint over their struggles. "You got this," they said, as if words alone could erase the humiliation of their losses, the sting of being outclassed. She wanted to scream that words weren't enough, that no amount of pep talks or reassurances could change the fact that they were falling behind.

The group began to disperse, Daniel's words marking the end of the meeting. Some headed toward the elevators, others toward the lobby café. Jieun lingered, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared out the window at the bustling street beyond. The world outside moved on, oblivious to the battles fought within these walls, both on and off the mats.

Sam approached her quietly, her footsteps soft against the marble floor. She stood beside Jieun, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. "You okay?" she asked after a long pause.

Jieun didn't answer right away. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, tired and defiant. Finally, she exhaled, her breath fogging the window briefly before it disappeared. "Fine," she said, though the word felt hollow in her mouth.

Sam nodded, not pressing further. She knew Jieun well enough to recognize when she needed space, even if her silence was brimming with unspoken words.

Jieun moved toward the elevators, her shoulders tense, her posture stiff. The muted light of the lobby illuminated her like a spotlight, though she carried herself as though she'd rather melt into the shadows. Behind her, Sam and Devon followed, their footsteps hesitant and cautious, as though trailing too far behind her might cause her to vanish — or worse, to charge headlong into another fight with their rivals. The silent procession drew no attention from the other competitors and coaches milling about the lobby, but to the three of them, the tension was palpable.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Jieun stepped inside without hesitation. Sam and Devon exchanged a brief glance before joining her, flanking her on either side. The metallic walls of the elevator gleamed dully under the harsh light, reflecting their tired faces back at them in distorted angles.

Jieun stood in the middle, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed on the glowing numbers above the door. Sam leaned casually against the right wall, though her arms hung limply at her sides, her demeanor weary. On Jieun's left, Devon fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her restless fingers betraying her nerves.

The silence stretched between them, a thick, oppressive weight that seemed to amplify the soft hum of the elevator's machinery. Finally, Devon exhaled sharply, breaking the quiet.

"Well," she said, her voice tinged with self-deprecation, "I totally sucked out there."

Sam sighed, her eyes flicking toward Devon briefly before returning to the floor. "We all did terribly," she said, though her tone carried a note of resignation rather than true self-criticism. Her gaze darted to Jieun, who remained unmoving, a statue carved of frustration and exhaustion. Sam added, almost as an afterthought, "Well, except for a few."

It was clear she meant Jieun and Miguel, but Jieun didn't respond. She didn't even blink, her expression unreadable as her mind churned with thoughts too tangled to articulate.

Devon, emboldened by the slight crack in the silence, shifted her weight and side-eyed Jieun cautiously. Her earlier confidence, built in the quiet, reflective space of the aquarium during their heart-to-heart, felt like a distant memory now. She spoke again, hesitantly.

"Yeah, but I landed flat on my ass," Devon said, her laugh brittle and hollow. "God, I can't believe I'm making such an embarrassment of myself."

Sam nodded in agreement, though her focus remained elsewhere. "It would help if our senseis got on the same page," she said, her tone more annoyed than accusatory.

Jieun's lips twitched, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might remain silent. But then, almost against her better judgment, she spoke, her voice sharp and bitter. "It would help if our captains got their heads out of their asses too."

The words cut through the fragile camaraderie like a blade, slicing clean and deep. Devon flinched slightly, and Sam's jaw tightened, though she didn't immediately respond.

For Jieun, the bitterness in her own words stung more than she cared to admit. She hated how easily they'd slipped out, how natural it felt to lash out, even at Robby.

Especially at Robby.

A pang of guilt twisted in her chest, but she pushed it aside, telling herself it didn't matter. The truth hurt, and she couldn't lie to herself or anyone else. Robby had been fine going in — better than fine, even — but now? He was unrecognizable, and she couldn't pretend otherwise.

Sam, clearly trying to smooth over the moment, forced a sigh and continued as though Jieun hadn't spoken. "Johnny needs to start working with my dad better. This back-and-forth between them isn't helping anyone."

Devon scrunched her brows, her discomfort evident as she glanced between Sam and Jieun. "Well, I mean," she began hesitantly, "I don't think it was all Sensei Lawrence's fault..."

Her voice trailed off, unsure whether she'd said the right thing. The air in the elevator felt heavier now, weighed down by the collision of frustrations and unspoken truths.

Jieun clenched her jaw, the muscles in her face tightening as she bit back another retort. She didn't trust herself to speak again, not without letting her anger spill over entirely. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the elevator's panel, watching the numbers tick upward with agonizing slowness. The reflection of her face in the polished metal was hard and unyielding, a mask she couldn't bring herself to remove.

The elevator chimed softly, its sound cutting through the uneasy silence as it reached the next floor. The doors slid open to reveal Zara, her presence as striking as it was grating. She was everything Jieun had come to detest in this tournament — high, polished, and supremely self-assured. Her phone was held aloft, capturing her face in a perfect frame as she spoke to her unseen audience.

"What's up, everyone?" Zara's voice rang out, animated and bright, as if she were addressing a personal army. "It's your queen of karate here. Just finished our second Sekai Taikai event, where the Dragons absolutely slayed."

She stepped into the elevator with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her movements fluid and deliberate. Zara didn't even glance at the three girls initially, too absorbed in her live stream.

Jieun didn't budge from her position in the center of the elevator, her arms crossed tightly, her face a mask of indifference. But Zara noticed. Zara always noticed. She stopped mid-step, arching a brow as her gaze flicked to Jieun. Slowly, almost theatrically, she shifted her stance and pushed her way in, forcing Jieun to step aside to avoid a collision.

"Excuse me," Zara muttered, though her tone was less apologetic and more dismissive. She turned back to her phone with an audible scoff, her smile sharpening as she resumed her stream.

"Anyway," Zara continued, flipping her hair dramatically, "it's been so awesome to see other badass girls of karate fighting out there." She turned to Sam, her smile softening into something almost genuine — almost.

Sam returned the smile awkwardly, her discomfort palpable as she tried to appear polite.

Then, as if guided by an invisible spotlight, Zara shifted her phone toward Jieun. The screen caught Jieun in its frame, her stoic expression glaringly out of place against Zara's bubbly demeanor.

"And here is one of them, everyone," Zara said, her smile widening as she gestured at Jieun with a perfectly manicured hand. "Jieun, right? You were pretty impressive out there, especially for someone who doesn't have... you know, our level of experience."

Jieun said nothing, her face remaining impassive as she stared at Zara with an intensity that could have burned holes through her.

Zara snickered, lowering her phone slightly but still keeping her audience engaged. "Oh, looks like someone doesn't know how to handle compliments," she said, her voice lilting as she spoke as though Jieun weren't standing right in front of her. "Anyway," Zara continued, turning her attention back to her phone, "let's see if any of those other dojos out there try to dethrone us. And to all my fans, I'm here to win for you. So stay tuned. I'll post again after the next event. Zara out."

She ended the live stream with a practiced flourish, her smile fading the moment her phone screen went dark. Her gaze shifted back to the three girls, her expression now cooler, more calculated.

"Sorry," Zara said, her voice dripping with insincerity as she addressed them. "I only do intros on my stories for fighters who win their events. It's a brand thing, so don't take it personally."

Jieun rolled her eyes, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. "Wow," she said, her voice cutting and low. "It must be exhausting carrying that much self-importance around all day."

Zara froze for a split second, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the spark of annoyance in her eyes. She turned toward Jieun, a slow smile spreading across her face — forced, deliberate, venomous.

"Excuse me?" Zara said, her voice sugar-sweet but sharp around the edges.

Jieun didn't flinch. "You heard me," she said, her gaze unwavering. "But hey, congrats on being the queen of your own little world. I'm sure it's very nice up there."

The elevator chimed again, signaling their floor. The doors slid open, and Jieun stepped out first, her stride brisk and unbothered. Sam and Devon exchanged wide-eyed glances before hurrying to follow her.

Zara lingered behind, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. Her carefully curated mask slipped for just a moment, revealing the simmering frustration underneath. But by the time she exited the elevator, her smile was back in place, as flawless and calculated as ever.

As the three Miyagi-Do girls disappeared down the hallway, Zara muttered under her breath, "She'll regret that."

THE AIR IN THE ARENA WAS ELECTRIC, buzzing with a mix of anticipation and unease. Competitors lined the edge of the fighting area, their gazes fixed on the platforms ahead. Each one was barely wide enough for two people, a precarious strip of padded material elevated slightly off the ground. The stakes were clear: one misstep, one moment of hesitation, and you'd be knocked into the abyss of failure.

An official stepped forward, her voice commanding as it echoed across the space. "In this final points round, competitors will try to knock their opponents off their platforms. Once you have fallen, you are out."

Jieun's eyes flickered to the platforms. They seemed impossibly narrow, a deliberate design to intensify the challenge. It wasn't just about strength or technique anymore — it was about who could keep their balance, who could remain composed while fighting off the onslaught of their opponent.

The official continued, her words slicing through the tension. "Points are determined off of wins, losses, and time. Final rankings after this event will determine placement in tonight's elimination round. We will now call up the first group of fighters."

The Miyagi-Do group huddled together, the tension between them palpable. Johnny Lawrence, ever the brash and impulsive leader, took charge immediately. "All right, listen up," he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Looks like I'm taking charge on this one, so we're doing things differently. No more waiting around like scared little bitches, waiting for them to come to you, all right? You go at them. Aggressive. Knock 'em off first."

Sam's voice cut in, her tone measured but edged with concern. "Those platforms are pretty narrow. My dad would want balance."

Johnny turned to her, his expression impatient. "Yeah, well, your dad's not here. All right? It's time for us to start scoring some points."

Jieun's eyes flicked between the two of them, the sharp contrast in their approaches grating against her nerves. The friction wasn't new, but in this moment, it felt especially grating.

The official's voice rang out again. "Sora Haruto from Hirobukan on platform one. Devon Lee from Miyagi-Do on platform two."

Devon froze, her face pale as she looked toward the platform. Her movements were stiff and hesitant as she stepped forward, each footfall heavy with doubt. The group watched in silence, their collective breath held as Devon climbed onto the narrow surface.

Jieun's eyes were fixed on Devon, her muscles tense as if she were preparing to fight herself. It wasn't long before Sora joined her on the opposite side of the platform, his stance confident and unshaken.

The official signaled the start, and the match began.

It was over in ten seconds.

Devon barely had time to adjust her footing before Haruto lunged forward, her strike precise and unrelenting. Devon wavered, her arms flailing as she tried to regain her balance, but it was futile. She toppled backward, landing on the padded ground below with a dull thud.

A heavy silence hung over the group, punctuated only by the official's declaration of Haruto's victory. Jieun glanced at Sam, half-expecting her to step forward, to say something that would rally the team. Anything.

But Sam stood frozen, her face a mask of unreadable emotion. She didn't speak, didn't move.

Jieun rolled her eyes, the annoyance prickling at her like a burr stuck to her skin. Leaders were supposed to lead. They were supposed to inspire, to guide, to be the unshakable force when everyone else faltered. But Sam — Sam was just standing there, watching like the rest of them, her silence more damning than any defeat.

THE LOCKER ROOM WAS THICK with a silence that felt alive, curling and uncurling in the corners, pressing against the walls, suffocating the air between them. No one dared to sit. They stood in loose, fractured clusters — Sam with her arms crossed near the door, Demetri leaning against a row of lockers, his head bowed in thought, and Devon fidgeting by herself, eyes darting to the floor. Jieun lingered by the back wall, her fists clenched at her sides, her knuckles bone-white. She couldn't look at anyone for too long; the disappointment and unspoken blame in the room felt sharper than a blade.

They were twelfth. Twelfth. The word sat heavy on her tongue like a stone she couldn't swallow, its weight pushing down into her chest. The matches had blurred together — falls, missteps, and losses stacking one atop another like bricks in a crumbling tower.

Jieun had fought, had won, and so had Miguel, but their victories felt like tiny flames in a storm. They were flickering, fragile, and utterly insufficient.

Robby's match was the last. His fall still played on a loop in her mind, replaying every stumble, every miscalculation. Jieun wanted to reach for him, to grab his hand and ask him what the hell was going on, but her words faltered before they reached her mouth.

She'd tried once, pulled him aside between rounds, and his curt dismissal had left her reeling. That's the way it is with Robby, though, she thought bitterly. Always keeping his walls up, even when they were supposed to be teammates, supposed to be something more.

Her frustration burned low in her gut, molten and simmering. She hated that she couldn't push him, couldn't force the truth out of him, couldn't demand that he snap out of whatever funk had taken him down today.

But she wouldn't beg. She couldn't. That wasn't who she was, and if he wanted to fall, then fine.

She wouldn't catch him.

Johnny's arrival snapped her from her thoughts, his presence like a thunderclap as he stormed into the center of the room. His face was red, the kind of deep, blotchy anger that turned his veins visible at the temple. He stood in the middle of them, his hands on his hips, radiating fury like a bonfire. The silence tightened, became suffocating.

"What I saw from you just now," Johnny began, his voice dangerously low, "it wasn't karate. It was weakness. You fought like little lambs waiting for the slaughter."

His words hung in the air like smoke, curling around them, choking them. Jieun's nails dug into her palms, her fists clenched so tight she thought her bones might snap.

Miguel glanced up, his expression unreadable, but he didn't speak. Sam opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, her face tight with suppressed emotion. Devon looked like she wanted to sink into the floor, her posture shrinking by the second.

Jieun's anger roared louder in her chest, a wildfire now. She couldn't take much more of this. It wasn't just the losses, the points they'd failed to gain, or even the shame of being twelfth. It was this — the tension, the hostility, the weight of failure that they all carried but couldn't seem to share.

Johnny paced, his boots striking the tiled floor with deliberate force. "You're better than this. All of you. But you fought like you were afraid to lose."

Jieun's jaw tightened. Her teeth ground together as she stared at the floor, willing herself to stay quiet, to stay in control. But the storm inside her was building, rising with every word Johnny spoke.

Johnny's words were cutting, flung like sharp stones at their chests. He paced the locker room, his frustration a palpable force that seemed to vibrate in the air. Jieun could see the weight of his disappointment in the way his shoulders hunched, the way his eyes flicked over each of them with a combination of anger and disbelief.

"We keep going like this, we get eliminated tonight," Johnny spat, his voice rising again. "Some of you will put this behind you. But some of you are gonna carry this for the rest of your lives. Knowing you had this chance to make something of yourselves, but instead, you crumble under pressure."

Miguel shifted, his head shaking almost imperceptibly, a subtle refusal to let the words sink in too deeply. But Johnny didn't stop. He couldn't.

"And you're gonna go on to live shit lives in a shitty apartment with shit jobs, and always have to live with this failure," he continued, the words like hammer blows. "So if you wanna save some humiliation, why don't we just skip the next round and catch the next flight home?"

Jieun felt the weight of his words settle into her bones, heavy and sharp. Around her, the room was still, everyone frozen in the aftermath of Johnny's harsh tirade. His voice softened then, almost breaking under the strain of his own frustration.

"What is wrong with you guys?" he asked, his tone quieter now, almost pleading. "Where's your fight?"

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, pressing against Jieun's chest until it felt like she couldn't breathe. Her fists unclenched, and before she could stop herself, her voice cut through the silence.

"That's not fair," she said, her tone low but firm.

Johnny stopped pacing, his eyes snapping to her, sharp and questioning. "What?"

"That's. not. fair," she repeated, her voice rising just enough to fill the space between them. "You're putting all of this on us. Like it's our fault. Like we're not trying hard enough."

Johnny's eyebrows shot up, his frustration simmering just below the surface. "You're damn right I'm putting it on you. You're the ones out there losing."

The words hit her like a slap, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped forward, her anger bubbling to the surface, too hot to contain.

"And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice steady but laced with bitterness. "You keep telling us to fight harder, to be aggressive, but maybe that's not the problem. Maybe the problem is that we don't know how to fight because our captains are too busy falling apart to lead us!"

Her words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, and the weight of them was immediate. She saw the way Robby flinched, his expression tightening, his shoulders pulling back as if bracing for another blow. But she couldn't stop.

"And you," she continued, turning her attention back to Johnny, her eyes blazing. "You act like yelling at us is gonna fix anything. Like we're just punching bags for your frustration. But maybe if you and LaRusso could figure out how to actually work together instead of competing with each other, we wouldn't be in twelfth place in the first place!"

The room was deathly silent, every word echoing in the stunned stillness. Jieun's chest heaved, her anger crackling in the air around her like a live wire.

Johnny's face hardened, his jaw clenching as her words hit their mark. But beneath the anger in his eyes, there was something else — a flicker of hurt, quickly buried beneath the mask of frustration.

Robby's voice was low, almost inaudible, but she caught it anyway. "That's enough."

She turned to him, her gaze sharp, but the words died on her tongue. His face was tight, his expression unreadable, but she could see the hurt in his eyes, raw and unguarded. It was like a knife to her chest, and for a moment, she faltered.

But the anger was too strong, too consuming. She couldn't stay here, couldn't stand the weight of their stares, their silence, their disappointment. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the locker room, the door slamming shut behind her.

The hallway was cold and quiet, the sharp contrast to the tension of the room behind her almost jarring. Her footsteps echoed against the tiles as she walked, her anger still simmering, her chest tight with unspent frustration.

But beneath the anger, something else was stirring — a deep, gnawing guilt that she couldn't quite push away. It clung to her, heavy and unwelcome, a reminder of the damage her words had caused. But she shoved it down, burying it beneath the fire in her chest. She couldn't think about that now. Not yet.

For now, she just needed to breathe.

She didn't know how far she'd walked or how long she'd been moving. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, the fluorescent lights above flickering faintly, as if unsure of their purpose. She sank down onto the cold tile floor, her legs bent and her arms resting on her knees, head dropping as her hands covered her face. Her breath came in uneven gasps, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through her veins.

Her chest felt tight, like the weight of the entire dojo's failures was pressing down on her. She inhaled deeply, willing herself to calm down, to let the heat of her anger drain away into the floor beneath her. For a moment, the world felt distant, muffled, as if she were underwater.

The hallway stretched out like a quiet canyon, the muted hum of the arena faint and distant, as if the world beyond had slipped into another dimension. Jieun sat there on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, trying to anchor herself in the present.

Her breath had evened out, though her thoughts still spiraled, replaying Johnny's words, her own outburst, the ache in Robby's eyes that she'd barely let herself acknowledge.

But then, a voice cut through the silence, smooth and low, laced with a confidence that immediately set her on edge.

"You don't look like you belong here."

Kwon lingered just a moment longer than necessary, his presence deliberately heavy, the echo of his retreating footsteps not as distant as she expected.

Her head snapped up, and her heart stuttered, startled by the sound. She hadn't heard footsteps, hadn't sensed anyone nearby, but there he was. Kwon stood a few paces away, leaning casually against the wall with one shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore his gi loosely, the black fabric tailored to perfection, the patch on his sleeve catching the dim light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes sparkled with something sharp, something playful that made her stomach tighten.

Jieun straightened, immediately wary. "What do you want?"

Kwon tilted his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes before he pushed it back with a lazy hand. "Just to talk. You seem... tense."

Her eyes narrowed, her tone clipped. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He stepped closer, the sound of his soft-soled shoes finally audible on the tile. His voice lowered, carrying a hint of amusement. "Rough match? Or was it something else? Trouble in paradise, maybe?"

Jieun stiffened but said nothing. She didn't like the way he spoke, how every word seemed calculated to unsettle her.

Kwon crouched slightly, lowering himself to her level but keeping a deliberate distance. "You know, I saw you out there. You fight well. Not as well as me, obviously, but... well enough. You've got fire."

"I don't need your compliments," she said, her voice tight, her gaze fixed ahead rather than looking at him.

"Who said it was a compliment?" he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Her jaw clenched. There was an ease to his confidence that grated on her, a casual arrogance that made her skin crawl. She didn't want to engage, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but the weight of his presence was suffocating.

"I said I'm fine," she repeated, her voice firmer this time, willing him to take the hint.

Kwon chuckled, a low, melodic sound that didn't match the sharpness in his gaze. "All right, fine. I'll leave you alone." He straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. But instead of stepping away, he moved closer, sinking down onto the floor beside her in one fluid motion.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharp with alarm.

She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. Whatever game he was playing, she wanted no part of it. But her skin still crawled where his arm had rested, his smug tone ringing in her ears. Jieun leaned back against the cold wall, letting it press into her, the chill a kind of punishment for letting him get under her skin at all.

"Relax," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just offering a little... comfort." He draped an arm around her shoulders with a casualness that made her stiffen immediately. His fingers tapped her arm lightly, a gesture that felt more like a taunt than reassurance.

But Kwon's smirk hadn't been for her alone.

Around the corner, just out of sight, Robby Keene stood like a figure carved from stone. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling with a kind of restrained fury he rarely let himself feel. He'd come here to find Jieun, to say something — he wasn't sure what, exactly, but something that might begin to untangle the knot of tension between them.

And then he'd seen them.

Kwon's casual posture, the deliberate way he'd leaned into her space, the arm slung too easily around her shoulders. Jieun had been stiff, of course, clearly uncomfortable, but Robby's focus wasn't on her reaction. It was on Kwon's smirk. The smug, knowing way he glanced over his shoulder, as if he'd known Robby was watching all along.

Kwon had looked right at him, locking eyes for a split second, and then the smirk had widened into something cruel, something triumphant.

Robby had frozen in place, caught in a moment that felt both surreal and painfully clear. Kwon wasn't just trying to rattle Jieun — he was playing a deeper game, one meant to unsettle everyone around him. And Robby, despite his best efforts to stay calm and focused, had fallen straight into the trap.

He turned away before Jieun could say anything, his fists tightening and then releasing as he tried to shake off the sudden wave of jealousy crashing over him. It wasn't like him to feel this way, to let someone else get under his skin. But there was something about the way Kwon had touched Jieun, the way he'd looked at Robby, that made his blood boil.

"Don't touch me," she finally managed, her voice low but steady.

"Easy," he said, withdrawing his arm but not the smirk on his lips. "No need to get all worked up. You should save that fire for the match later."

She didn't respond, her silence pointed as she shifted just enough to put more distance between them. Kwon stood, brushing his pants off as if the brief contact with the floor had sullied him.

"You're no fun," he said, his tone teasing, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. When he finally walked away, his footsteps echoed with a deliberate rhythm, a slow, deliberate cadence that carried him back toward the arena. The smirk never left his face.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I KNOW IM SORRY

but if i makes u guys feel better i promise it wont last long

just a lil miscommunication trope

also i really loved zara but then that whole thing w robby happened and i wasn't even mad at the fact she did that to tory but if they had sex wouldn't that be like... rape..

bc u know both parties have to give consent but if one is intoxicated and unable to make decisions then its not actually consensual??

but we also don't know if they actually did like maybe zara is just bluffing to make tory jealous n shit

idk maybe im too woke

much love,