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THE LOCKER ROOM WAS A TOMB OF SILENCE... No words were spoken, no glances exchanged. The sting of defeat hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating and inescapable. Each fighter sat in their corner, staring at the floor, their reflections barely visible in the polished surface of their bruised and battered minds. No one dared to look at the others, let alone meet the piercing gazes of their senseis.

Tory sat with her head in her hands, her knuckles bloodied from punching her locker earlier, her chest heaving from suppressed sobs she refused to let anyone see. Her mind replayed the fight over and over, the moment she'd steadied Robby—her moment of weakness. She didn't even know why she had done it, but now it was all she could think about. The betrayal in her teammates' eyes, the unspoken judgment. 

She could feel it even in the silence.

Yoon leaned against the far wall, a towel draped over his head to hide his face. His body ached from the fight, but the pain in his chest was worse—an emotional weight pressing down on him. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he replayed the match in his mind, dissecting every mistake, every missed opportunity, every moment where he could have done better. 

He felt hollow, a shell of the fighter he had thought himself to be.

Park sat with his back to the wall, his hands resting on his knees. His usually playful demeanor was nowhere to be found. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. He didn't blame Kwon outright, but the frustration was evident in the way his foot tapped restlessly against the floor. He'd wanted to tag in so badly, to prove himself, to make a difference. 

But that chance had been stolen, and now it was too late.

Even Kim Da-eun and John Kreese, who usually radiated authority and unshakeable confidence, were silent. Kim stood near the door, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the room as if searching for a sign of life in her fighters. Kreese leaned against the lockers, his face impassive but his eyes betraying his disappointment. 

They said nothing, but their presence alone was a reminder of what had been lost.

In the corner of the room, Kwon sat on the bench, his back to the others as he changed out of his gi. He moved slowly, deliberately, pulling on a black hoodie over his bare torso, leaving his karate pants on. He didn't need to say anything; his silence was louder than any words could have been. The others had lost, yes, but he had lost the match. The final round. 

The one that had cost them everything.

His hands shook slightly as he zipped up his hoodie, though he clenched them into fists to try to steady them. He stared at his reflection in the small, cracked mirror across the room, his jaw tightening. The image staring back at him was unfamiliar—a fighter who had failed. His mind raced with every second of the match, every split-second mistake, every moment he had hesitated. 

The memories were relentless, a loop he couldn't turn off.

His heart pounded against his ribcage, a mix of anger, shame, and self-loathing. He'd fought with everything he had, but it hadn't been enough. And worse, he'd been distracted—by Tory's betrayal, by the medics, by his own emotions. Kwon wasn't the type to cry, but in that moment, he felt like he might break. Not in front of them, though. Never in front of them. 

He refused to show weakness, even now.

The room was so quiet that the sound of his zipper closing seemed deafening. He stood up, pulling his hood over his head and shoving his hands into his pockets. He didn't look at anyone as he walked toward the door.

The boy had slid on his shoes and grabbed a bottle of water from the bench, his movements mechanical and devoid of any real purpose beyond leaving the suffocating atmosphere of the locker room. 

The others felt his movement like a knife twisting in their collective wound. Kwon's silence was a statement in itself, though his face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. He'd let them down, sure, but more than that—he'd let himself down.

He didn't lash out, didn't scream, didn't punch a wall like they might have expected. 

No, the first thing Kwon did after the match was rush to the nearby table. His footsteps had been heavy, deliberate, his mind singularly focused on one thing—the documents Kim and Kreese had signed. They had caught his eye mid-match, a whisper of urgency between his senseis and the medics.

It was about her. y/n l/n.

As the door creaked open and then shut behind him, the silence in the room grew heavier. 

No one moved. No one spoke. Each fighter was lost in their own spiral of despair, each one grappling with their own demons. And in that silence, the weight of their failure pressed down on them, unrelenting and unforgiving.

His dark eyes had scanned the papers, his sharp focus unraveling the details. She'd been moved to Room 118 in The Clínic-SJD Unit of Sports Medicine. 

The words had burned into his mind, sharper than any strike he had taken in the fight. His grip had tightened on the edge of the table for a moment before he let go, his knuckles leaving faint imprints on the surface. He had shoved the papers aside, his emotions swirling in a chaotic storm beneath his stoic exterior.

Though the match had ended thirty minutes ago, the others were still frozen in place, their defeat anchoring them to the benches, to the walls, to their shame. None of them had moved, and that meant y/n was all alone. She'd been away this whole time. The thought gnawed at him, a sickening weight added to the already unbearable burden on his shoulders.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, Kwon strode out of the venue. He didn't look back. The dull thud of the door closing behind him punctuated his departure, a sharp contrast to the oppressive silence he left behind.

He walked with purpose, though his steps felt heavy, as if the weight of his emotions had seeped into his muscles. His head hung low, his face partially hidden by the hood he'd pulled up. He couldn't bring himself to listen to music, couldn't distract himself from the storm raging in his mind. Every step echoed with his thoughts: the fight, the loss, the look on y/m's face before she'd been taken away.

The map of the hospital was etched into his memory, but his grief and exhaustion blurred the lines. He wandered aimlessly at first, taking wrong turns and retracing his steps more than once. The frustration of being lost built slowly, but it never erupted. It simply added to the cacophony in his chest, threatening to spill over but never quite doing so.

It took him nearly an hour to find the right place. 

Kwon walked up to the reception desk, his hands in his hoodie pocket, his expression set but his eyes betraying a mix of worry and exhaustion. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with glasses perched low on her nose, glanced up from her computer and gave him a polite but skeptical smile.

"Hi," Kwon began, his voice low but firm. "I'm here to see a patient. l/n. She was brought in earlier from the Sekai Taikai tournament."

The receptionist typed something into her computer, her brow furrowing. "And you are?"

"Her teammate. From Cobra Kai," he replied, his tone clipped.

"I'm sorry, but only family or authorized visitors are allowed to see patients at this time," the woman said, her tone firm but not unkind.

Kwon exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. "Look, I just need to make sure she's okay... Senseis forgot about her." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "I need to see her."

The receptionist paused, her hand hovering over the keyboard. She tilted her head, squinting at him. Recognition flickered in her eyes.

"Wait a second... You're that fighter, aren't you? The one who just had that match. Korn Jay-sing, right?"

Kwon nodded slightly, his teeth clenching at the sheer abomination of his name. Though he managed to soften his expression a little... just enough to show a sliver of gratitude.

She smiled, a mix of curiosity and admiration in her eyes. "I saw you on T. V. earlier. You were incredible out there. Tough loss, though..."

He didn't respond to the comment about the loss, only clearing his throat. "So, can I see her?"

The woman hesitated briefly before nodding. "Alright, Captain. She's in Room 118. Just... be respectful. She might not be in the best mood right now."

"I will," he said simply, giving her a curt nod.

She motioned to a passing nurse and whispered something to her before turning back to Kwon. "The nurse will let them know you're coming."

Kwon muttered a quiet "Thanks" before heading toward the room, his steps sluggish with a mix of dread and determination.

When he reached, he stopped at the slightly ajar door of Room 118, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. y/n lay on the bed, her hair disheveled, her gi still on, though it looked crumpled and loose. A nurse was moving around the room, wiping down surfaces and chatting to y/n in a soft, comforting tone in Spanish.

The girl nodded absently, her gaze distant. Occasionally, she hummed in response to the nurse's words, but she looked utterly out of it, her usual spark dulled.

Kwon hesitated before clearing his throat and knocking on the doorframe.

The nurse glanced up first, and y/n's head lifted slightly, her eyes blinking slowly as she registered him. She straightened a bit, pushing herself up with clear effort.

The nurse who had accompanied Kwon stepped inside and whispered something to the one already present. The older nurse looked at Kwon, then back at y/n, her gaze softening.

"He's permitted to visit. I'll leave you two for a moment," the nurse said gently in Spanish, giving y/n a warm smile before stepping out with her colleague.

The room was dim, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. Kwon's broad frame blocked the light from the hallway, and for a moment, he didn't move, only staring at her. His sharp features dulled as his eyes immediately fell to the faint glint of stitches on her cheek.

"Hey..." he said softly, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

"Hi," y/n mumbled back, her voice small and hoarse.

Kwon hesitated, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating. He shifted awkwardly before leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"You look... better," he finally said, his voice low.

"Thanks," the girl replied, though she didn't meet his gaze.

The small talk hung in the air, brittle and uncomfortable. Kwon's brows furrowed, and he cleared his throat.

"I... I came to tell you something," he said, his voice strained.

Y/n glanced at him, her heart sinking at the hesitation in his tone.

"We lost," he admitted, his words dropping like stones in the quiet room.

Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her chest tightening. She had expected this, but hearing it aloud made it all the more real.

"Obviously," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "Figured as much since... no one came to pick me up."

Kwon winced, his heart clenching at her words. He'd been so consumed by his own guilt and shame that he hadn't even realized how abandoned she must've felt.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, stepping closer. "I should've--"

"It's fine," she interrupted, though her tone betrayed her.

It wasn't fine. None of it was.

Kwon finally noticed the wet streaks on her face, the way her shoulders trembled as she fought to hold herself together. Without thinking, he knelt in front of her, his hands reaching out to cup her face.

"Don't," he said softly, his thumb gently brushing away the fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. "You can't get your stitches wet."

The warmth of his touch caught her off guard, and she froze, her eyes widening. But the tenderness in his gaze, the way his usually stoic expression cracked with concern, made her walls crumble.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"For what?" he asked, his brows knitting together.

"For everything," she said, her voice thick with guilt. "For pushing you to take that deal... for getting disqualified... for letting everyone down..."

Her words came out in a rush, each one weighed down by the shame she carried. Kwon's jaw tightened, and he shook his head.

"Don't," he said firmly, his voice laced with a quiet desperation. "None of that was your fault. You didn't let anyone down."

"But we still lost," she choked out, tears spilling freely now. "I--"

Kwon didn't let her finish. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. His grip was firm but not suffocating, as if he was trying to hold her together while his own heart threatened to shatter.

"It's not on you," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "We all knew the risks. We all chose to fight. And you... you were fouled. Everyone knows it."

She sniffled against his shoulder, her hands clutching at the fabric of his jacket. "But I still..."

"You still fought well," he insisted, his voice breaking slightly. "넌 정말 대단했어... (you were incredible...)"

For a moment, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other's pain. Kwon's own tears slipped silently down his face, but he made sure to keep them hidden. She didn't need to see him break—not now.

"I'm sorry, too," he finally whispered, his voice barely audible.

"For what?" she asked, pulling back just enough to look at him.

"For not being good enough," he admitted, his eyes glistening in the dim light. "For being so reckless... for failing you."

"What are you talking about..?" Her heart ached at his words, and she shook her head. "You didn't fail me. Sure, you're reckless and arrogant. And a total pain in the ass sometimes. But you were there. You've always been there. I mean, you're here right now."

Their gazes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. The weight of their shared pain, their mutual guilt, and the crushing reality of their loss pressed down on them, but in that moment, they weren't alone.

Kwon's hand fell to his side, his expression clouded with doubt. "I don't deserve you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not after everything. I'm not... I'm not good enough for someone like you."

Before he could pull away, y/n stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. Her embrace was firm, grounding, as if trying to hold the broken pieces of him together.

"That's not for you to decide," she said gently, her cheek resting against his shoulder. "You've made mistakes, sure. But so have I. And if you think for one second that you're not good enough, then you don't know me at all."

Kwon hesitated for a moment, then slowly brought his arms around her, holding her like she was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

He held her tightly, his grip firm but unsure, like he was afraid she might slip away. "What do I do?" he asked quietly, his voice rough with unspoken fear. "How do I... how do I change? How do I become better for you?"

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by his vulnerability. 

Then, she laughed softly, the sound warm despite the heaviness in the air. "You don't need to change," she said, her voice steady. "You're reckless and stubborn. And yeah, you're an idiot sometimes." She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his arm. 

"But you're my idiot. For better or worse, right?"

Kwon looked at her, his expression conflicted, like he couldn't decide whether to believe her or argue. "You mean that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Every word. Just... stay. Be here. That's all I need."

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though the fear lingered in his eyes. He didn't have the words to express what her acceptance meant, so instead, he held her closer, letting her warmth and steady presence ease the weight in his chest.

"For better or worse..."

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