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Y/N L/N STOOD BEFORE THE MIRROR, her hands trembling slightly as she zipped up her signature Cobra Kai leather jacket. It wasn't her first choice—she'd grabbed it in a hurry, her mind racing far too quickly to care about appearances. The soft leather creaked faintly as she adjusted the collar, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of anxiety and urgency.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, and she snatched it up, her heart leaping before she even looked at the screen, assuming it was him...

Her shoulders slumped. It was nothing more than an automated update from the tournament organizers. She swiped the notification away, her thumb hovering over the last message she'd sent Miguel.

"Call me when you can, please."

No reply.

Her fingers curled around the phone as a knot of frustration and worry twisted in her stomach. She tossed the device onto the bed with a soft thud, running a hand through her hair. What the hell is going on?

The memory of Miguel's panicked expression during the eliminations round replayed in her mind.

***

The energy in the arena had been electric, the crowd roaring as Miyagi-do secured a narrow victory against Dublin Thunder. It had been a disaster of a match—disorganized, chaotic, and nearly humiliating. The Irish team, with their aggressive and unorthodox style, had pushed Miyagi-do to the brink.

Then Miguel had stepped in, their final warrior.

The girl had watched from the sidelines, her heart pounding as he dominated the match with a skill and focus that silenced even the loudest critics. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, as if he'd been holding back all day. One by one, he eliminated their opponents until the final buzzer rang out, cementing their win.

The crowd went wild, chanting his name as he stood in the center of the mat, breathing heavily but looking victorious. y/n had been on her feet instantly, clapping and cheering louder than anyone else. She couldn't help it—seeing Miguel like that, after everything he'd been through, filled her with a pride she hadn't felt in years.

As soon as the match ended, she'd rushed to him, weaving through the crowd of teammates and spectators to reach his side.

"Miggy!" she called, catching up to him as he grabbed his bag. "That was incredible! You were incredible! Seriously, how did you—"

But her words faltered when she saw his face.

He wasn't smiling. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made her stomach drop.

"Miguel?" she asked softly, her excitement fading. "What's wrong?"

"I-I can't talk right now," he said quickly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. His voice was low, rushed. "I have to go back home..."

"What do you mean?" she pressed, stepping in front of him to block his path. "What's going on? Why are you--"

Before she could finish, Johnny appeared, his face just as grim as the boy's.

"Come on, kid," Johnny said, clapping Miguel on the shoulder. "We need to go. Now."

Miguel glanced at his sensei, then back at y/n. "I'm sorry, y/n/n..." he said, his voice softer now. "I can't explain right now. Find Robby. He'll- he'll fill you in."

And with that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, confused and more than a little uneasy.

***

So, here she was... getting dressed to go find Robby, her movements quick and slightly frantic as her mind replayed the events of the day. Grabbing her phone and keys, she left her room, the faint echo of the door clicking shut behind her.

Her boots clicked against the polished hotel floor as she made her way to the elevator. As the doors slid open, she stepped inside, her heart thudding softly in her chest. She was a bit uneasy as she entered, the hum of the elevator filling the silence around her.

On the other side of the hotel, Kwon stood with his arms crossed in the center of Sensei Kreese's room, the dim lighting making the space feel smaller than it was. Kreese paced back and forth, his boots thudding heavily against the carpeted floor, while Sensei Kim sat on the edge of the couch, her expression calm but clearly frustrated.

"This is unacceptable," The old man growled, throwing a sharp glance at Kwon as if he somehow held responsibility for Miyagi-do's earlier victory. "How could they pull off a win like that? that dead oaf's lucky streak has to end. They're disorganized, their techniques are soft, and one of their senseis wasn't even here!" His voice rose with each word, his frustration boiling over.

Sensei Kim, however, seemed less concerned about Miyagi-do and more focused on another matter. She leaned back, her sharp eyes fixed on Kwon. "We should be talking about l/n," she said, her tone softer than usual, almost uncharacteristically so. "Her fear of heights isn't just a weakness. It's a liability. If it's not addressed, it could cost us far more than just a point."

Kwon shifted slightly at her words but kept his expression neutral. He wasn't about to let anyone see what he thought or felt about y/n—not Kim, and definitely not Kreese. Though he already knew that everyone knew...

The man scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter," he snapped. "We're past the point of coddling fears or fixing weaknesses. She either adapts, or she fails. Simple as that."

Kim's lips pressed into a thin line. "And what happens when that failure drags the rest of the team down? You put so much weight on her, but she's not prepared--"

"She's prepared enough!" Kreese interrupted, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "We don't have time to babysit every broken bird. The semi-finals are coming up, and we need every soldier sharp. No exceptions."

The two senseis squared off, tension crackling between them. Kim's usual poise wavered for just a moment, her concern for y/n making her more confrontational than usual. Kreese, on the other hand, was unmoved, his sharp gaze daring her to challenge him further.

Kwon stood by the door, his posture rigid but his expression detached, like a soldier awaiting orders. He wasn't interested in their argument; he knew his role, and he had no intention of explaining his true motives to those who'd never once bother understanding.

Finally, Kreese turned his attention back to Kwon, a calculating smirk spreading across his face. "Looks like we've got Larusso rattled," he said, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Good. Now the real fun begins."

Kwon tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. He didn't need Kreese to spell it out; he already knew the direction this was heading.

"Dial up the pressure," Kreese said, his tone low and commanding. "Enemy soldiers should never rest... even if they're off duty. Keep them on edge, keep them distracted. Exhaustion makes for easy prey."

Kwon's lips curled into a subtle smirk as he bowed his head. "Understood."

Kreese's eyes gleamed with approval. "Good. Remember, Kwon—this is war. We strike where it hurts the most."

Kwon straightened, his smirk growing wider as he turned to leave. His mind was already working through the possibilities, calculating every step of the plan he'd had simmering in the back of his mind. He didn't need much—just the confirmation Kreese had given him to set it all into motion.

As he exited the room, the faint echo of Kreese and Kim's argument fading behind him, Kwon's thoughts zeroed in on one particular detail he'd uncovered earlier: y/n would be at the tapas bar tonight.

Not alone, though.

The smirk on his face twisted into something darker as he considered who she'd be with. Robby Keene. Captain of Miyagi-do karate.

The idea of y/n with Robby—of them laughing, talking, sharing moments—gnawed at him in a way he didn't care to examine too closely. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. It was anger. Pain. He knew it wasn't fair, and that the girl owed nothing to him. But Kwon had always been a fighter, so that's what he was going to do... fight.

As he tapped the elevator button, leaning casually against the wall while the numbers lit up above the doors. He planned to head to the fifth floor, gather Tory and the rest of the gang, and make a proper entrance at the venue. The night was shaping up to be interesting, and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity to disrupt their enemies' focus. Especially if it meant getting back at the girl.

When the elevator finally arrived, the doors slid open, and he instinctively stepped forward—only to freeze mid-stride.

Inside, the y/h/c-haired girl stood with her arms crossed, her brows furrowed as she stared at her phone. She looked up at the sound of the doors opening, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before she quickly shifted her stance, moving into the corner of the elevator as if trying to make herself smaller.

Kwon raised an eyebrow, stepping inside. His posture was relaxed, but the sharpness in his gaze gave him away. He hit the button for the fifth floor, the quiet hum of the elevator the only sound as the doors closed behind him.

"Where are you going?" Kwon's voice broke the silence, quieter this time but with an edge of something unspoken.

Y/n didn't look up from her phone. "None of your business," she replied flatly, her fingers scrolling through her screen as if he weren't even there.

His jaw tightened, and he leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed. "You always say that," he muttered. "You ever think that maybe it is my business?"

She scoffed, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "Why would it be? It's not like you care about me or anything. You just want to pick a fight."

He let out a soft, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Right. Because that's all I'm good for, isn't it? Picking fights."

Y/n crossed her arms, matching his posture. "Am I wrong?"

Kwon stared at her for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. "No, you're not wrong," he said quietly, almost too quiet for her to hear. "That's what I've been trained to do. Fight. Win. Never stop. But..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if the words were stuck somewhere he couldn't reach.

She tilted her head slightly, confused by the shift in his tone. "But what?"

He looked at her then, really looked at her, his dark eyes filled with something raw and unguarded. "But it's different with you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked away, the sudden vulnerability in his gaze too much to face. "What are you even talking about?" she mumbled, gripping her phone tighter.

He didn't back down. "I'm talking about how you always act like I don't matter. Like nothing I do or say will ever be good enough for you."

Y/n turned to him sharply, her glare fierce. "Good enough for me? Don't flatter yourself, Kwon. You made it pretty clear where your priorities were when you ditched me for your ex."

Kwon's jaw tightened further, but he didn't break eye contact. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh, spare me," she snapped, her voice rising. "She 'just came up to you,' right? That's the excuse you always use. Like you had no control over what happened."

"That's not what I..." He stopped, taking a step closer to her, his voice softer now but no less intense. "You don't understand. That night, it wasn't what you think. She--"

"She what?" The girl cut him off, her voice cracking. "Tricked you? Forced you? Let me guess, you didn't want to kiss her. You just happened to get drunk after your grandma's surgery and hooked up with the first person you found."

Kwon exhaled sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "You think I don't regret that night? You think I don't hate myself for--" He stopped again, the words dying in his throat.

"Good," she said coldly. "You should."

The elevator dinged as it reached the fifth floor, the sound cutting through the heated tension like a blade.

Kwon turned toward the doors, his shoulders stiff with anger and something else—something heavier. He stepped out, pausing just long enough to glance back at her.

"It's not fair, y/n," he said quietly, his voice filled with a bitterness that sent a chill down her spine. "You'll never let me explain because you already decided you don't care."

Before she could respond, the doors began to close, cutting him off.

Y/n stared at the metal doors, her fists balled up as she struggled to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She hated how his words stuck in her chest, how they made her question everything she thought she knew about that night.

When the elevator reached the ground floor, she stepped out, her expression hardening as she adjusted her jacket. Whatever he thought, whatever he felt—it didn't matter. Not tonight.

She had other things to focus on.

But even as she walked away, his voice lingered in her mind, a quiet echo that refused to fade...

Was it really unfair..?

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