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ECSTATIC AND UTTERLY DRAINED, y/n l/n fell asleep with a victorious smile etched on her face that night. The fight had been more than just retribution against her tormentors; it had been a battle against her past—a reckoning. Each blow she delivered wasn't just physical but symbolic, striking at the guilt and helplessness she had carried for so long. In that alley, she rewrote the narrative of her trauma, recreating the moves she wished she had used to defend her friend, unleashing everything she had buried deep within. For the first time, she faced her demons head-on and won.

Exhilaration coursed through her veins as she stirred awake, the memories of the night's triumph fresh in her mind. But as the adrenaline ebbed, it was replaced by a realization—a gnawing truth that refused to be ignored. She hadn't just fought using instinct; every move, every strategy, every calculated strike bore the hallmark of one man's teachings: Sensei Kreese. Consciously or not, she had embodied his lessons, wielding them with an intensity she didn't know she possessed.

For all her resentment, for all her anger, she couldn't deny it now—Kreese's mentorship had prepared her for war. He had made her a weapon, not merely to survive but to dominate, to win. And she had. For the first time in years, she had tasted not just victory but empowerment. The thought left a bitter tang in her mouth, mingling with the sweetness of triumph. She hated him for what he stood for, for the manipulation and darkness he had sown in her life, but in this moment, she couldn't help but feel gratitude as well.

Her gaze flickered to her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her teeth groggily. Bruised but unbroken, bloodied but jubilant, she stared into her own y/e/c eyes and saw something she hadn't seen before: understanding. Maybe he had cared after all. Not in the soft, nurturing way of other teachers, but in the brutal, unyielding manner of someone who believed in her strength even when she didn't.

As she stood there, the weight of this achievement pressed against her chest like a leaden coil. Her feet carried her to the closet almost without thinking. She rummaged through it absently, her fingers brushing past forgotten relics of her past until they froze on something familiar—something she hadn't seen in years but had been searching for, perhaps unconsciously. Her breath hitched as her fingers curled around the fabric and pulled it out.

The old gi. Its sheen still bore faint traces of sweat and effort, and on the back, the unmistakable emblem of the coiled cobra stared back at her. The sight made her heart race. For a long moment, she just stared, her thumb tracing the edges of the design as a storm of emotions swirled within her—anger, defiance, guilt, and something else she couldn't quite name.

Her grip tightened. Was this the answer? Was this where she started to make things right? y/n couldn't entirely forgive Kreese, not yet. But she could acknowledge the truth. His lessons had shaped her into what she was now: a fighter. A survivor. A victor.

Sliding the gi onto her lap, she stared at it as though it held the key to her future. Maybe it did. If she wanted to confront the past—and Kreese—there was no better way to begin than this. With a deep breath, she folded the gi carefully and stood, her decision made.

She wasn't the same girl she'd been when she last wore it. The cobra was back, and this time, she would make sure the world never underestimated her again.

***

The morning air was thick with tension, the kind that crackled and burned in the presence of warriors on the brink of transformation. Kreese's voice echoed through the dojang, commanding and cold, slicing through the rows of disciplined students like the edge of a finely honed blade.

"There is only one way to defeat an opponent who fights with heart," Kreese began, his voice as sharp as broken glass, "By being heartless."

The students immediately shifted into their attentive stances, their movements synchronized with unsettling precision. Kreese prowled between the two rows, his steps deliberate, each one falling like a gavel striking judgment. As he passed, heads turned in perfect unison, their collective focus magnetic and unwavering.

"Skill will only take you so far," he continued, his tone low and dangerous, a predator's growl before the pounce. "To pierce the heart of your enemy, you must harness all the hate inside you."

He stopped abruptly in front of Kwon, fixing him with a piercing gaze. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, sensei," Kwon answered without hesitation, his voice carrying a conviction that hadn't been there before. The events of the previous night flickered in his mind—a storm of fists, a blur of rage, and the undeniable impact of one girl's transformation. That ferocity, born of Kreese's teachings, had planted something within him—a burning determination, a desire to rise to that same level of unyielding strength.

Kreese inclined his head, the faintest hint of approval flickering across his otherwise steely expression. "Good," he said, stepping back. "Because your opponents will throw everything they've got at you."

"Then we give them no mercy, sensei," Kwon replied, his voice steel-edged and resolute. Kreese's lip curled into the faintest smirk. The boy was learning. And as he tied the captain's headband around Kwon's head, he was certain the time had come.

"Warm them up," Kreese commanded.

Kwon bowed sharply before stepping forward. "Dogsa gong-gyeog!" he barked, and the students responded with near reverence. The lines shifted into stance, the rhythm of their synchronized movements reverberating through the air as they began the viper attack drills.

"No more distractions..." Kreese muttered, his words a promise as he turned to Sensei Kim, who observed from the sidelines with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

"Very impressive," Da-eun remarked, her voice smooth but laced with approval. "With Kwon in line and Hana as our female champion, no dojo stands a chance against us."

At her words, Kreese's smirk faltered ever so slightly. His thoughts drifted—not to Hana, Da-eun's chosen fighter, but to another. His mind lingered on the girl he had personally shaped, the warrior he had painstakingly rebuilt. If everything had gone according to plan, she should be—

And then he saw her.

Emerging from the treeline like a ghost materializing from the ether, y/n stepped into view, her presence a crackling force against the morning's stillness. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though each step carried the weight of a storm brewing beneath the surface.

The students, engrossed in their drills, didn't notice her at first. But Kreese did. His smirk returned, this time dark and triumphant, the expression of a man whose carefully laid schemes had borne fruit. His eyes flicked over her, taking in the unfamiliar gi she wore. It wasn't of their current dojo, but the unmistakable cobra emblazoned on its back made her allegiance clear.

She was a figure of disruption—a python who had wandered into a nest of vipers, foreign but unmistakably lethal. As she approached, her face was a mask of calm, but her eyes burned with a fire that Kreese recognized all too well. She had arrived not as a student, not as a girl seeking approval, but as a warrior who had found her place—and her purpose.

Kwon was the first to sense her presence, his gaze breaking from the drills to fall on her. His breath caught, a flicker of fear and awe rippling through him. He had thought he'd seen everything the night before, but this... this was something else entirely. She was transformed, her aura formidable, her steps calculated, her every movement speaking of a cold, honed precision. His heartbeat quickened—not just in apprehension, but in something that felt dangerously close to admiration.

As her figure came closer into view, Kreese allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction. His plan had worked. The warrior he'd recreated was here, her presence sending a ripple through the dojo even before she had spoken a word.

"It appears to me, Sensei Kim, that our female champion has arrived at last..."

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