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Y/N L/N REGRETTED IT THE SECOND SHE OPENED HER EYES... The room was quiet. Too quiet. And the moment her gaze flickered to the bedside table, her stomach plummeted. No alarm. No Kwon. No one waking her up like he usually did with an obnoxious kick to the mattress or a pillow thrown at her face.

Instead, she had overslept. And today, of all days, was the one day she couldn't afford to.

"Shit!"

She practically tripped out of bed, scrambling towards the bathroom with the urgency of a soldier late for battle. Her body still ached from training the night before, and her limbs felt sluggish, but there was no time to care. 

She had seven minutes to get herself together before she was supposed to be downstairs, in a meeting room, sitting across from the tournament sponsors as the team's new captain.

No time for a full shower. A quick rinse had to do.

She stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, hastily tying it up in the easiest, least-annoying style she could manage. Her reflection in the mirror wasn't terrible, but the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep screamed exhaustion. 

She smoothed down the front of her shirt, buttoning it up swiftly while balancing on one foot to shove on her trousers.

The moment she got them up, a knock came from the door.

Her heart leapt.

Kwon.

It had to be Kwon. No one else would bother coming to wake her up this aggressively. Unless it was Kim. If it was Kim, she was over.

Still fastening the last button on her shirt, she called out, "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm late, but that's your fault for not--"

She swung the door open mid-sentence, expecting to see her boyfriend standing there with a smug grin, probably prepared to tease her about her bedhead or her disheveled state.

But instead, she froze.

Miguel Diaz...

Standing at her doorstep, looking just as caught off guard as she was.

For a solid three seconds, neither of them spoke.

Y/n blinked. "Oh."

Miguel cleared his throat. "Uh... hey."

He held up a dish. On it sat an blueberry muffin, encircled by a fortress of forks arranged like some kind of medieval weapon defense system.

The girl squinted at it, then at him. "What..."

Miguel let out a breath, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Okay, so before you say anything—this was the only thing left at the hotel breakfast. And the forks? Protective gear."

Y/n stared.

Miguel stared back.

"Protective gear," she repeated slowly.

"Yeah." He nodded, clearing his throat again. "You know. Just in case. You never know what could happen with food in unfamiliar places."

A beat of silence.

"Uh-huh..." She said, eyeing him like he had grown a second head.

The boy gave a small, nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I just figured you might be hungry, and I know you're busy, so... yeah."

Y/n hesitated at first, but she was hungry and had no time for breakfast.

And—no matter how weird or awkward this was—Miguel was standing here, offering.

Wordlessly, she reached out, taking the plate from him.

The blueberry muffin was warm.

Miguel gave her a small, lopsided smile. "You still like these, right?"

Y/n looked down at the muffin in her hands.

For a moment, her grip tightened just slightly on the plate, and something unreadable flickered across her face.

But then she looked back up, schooling her expression into something neutral. "Yeah," she muttered. "I do."

And that was that.

The boy however shifted slightly on his feet, glancing at his friend before asking, "Can I come in?"

Reluctant at first, her gaze flickered back to her room—the unmade bed, the training gear scattered on the floor, the half-zipped duffel bag spilling its contents onto the carpet. It was a mess. Then again, the two of them had seen worse.

With a sigh, she stepped aside. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't judge the mess."

Miguel gave a small, amused huff as he walked in, but he didn't comment.

Y/n shut the door behind him and turned to see him settling at the edge of her bed, his hands clasped together as he looked around briefly before focusing on her. She stood by the dresser, peeling off a chunk of the blueberry muffin and taking a bite.

A silence hung between them before she spoke. "So... what are you doing here so early?"

Miguel exhaled, leaning forward slightly. "First off... congratulations. You made it to the Captain's Wars."

Y/n quirked a brow, chewing. "You didn't think I would?"

"No, no, I did," he assured quickly. "I just—didn't expect everything to shake out the way it did."

Y/n swallowed, shrugging. "Neither did I."

Miguel nodded. "I know how much Tory was stressing. You know, with everything she had going on, how much pressure she put on herself. But she fought well." He met her gaze. "She's a fighter, both on and off the mat."

Y/n's chewing slowed.

For a second, she just stared down at the muffin in her hands before exhaling through her nose. "Yeah. I know about her mom... I can't even imagine how hard that must've been for her. How hard it still is for her."

Miguel nodded solemnly. "She wouldn't talk about it much. Just kept pushing forward like always. Typical Tory."

Y/n gave a small, knowing smile. "She's never been one to let people see her at her lowest."

"No," The boy muttered, half to himself. "She hasn't."

A quiet moment passed between them.

Then—Miguel shifted, like he was debating something, before finally speaking. "Also... about your face..."

Y/n paused mid-bite.

Her chewing slowed, and Miguel saw the exact second she tensed. The air in the room shifted.

"What about it?" she asked flatly, lowering the muffin slightly.

Miguel's jaw tightened before he sighed, running a hand over his face. "I just—wanted to say sorry. For what happened."

The y/h/c-haired girl's expression darkened. "Oh, you mean the little souvenir your girlfriend left me with that illegal move which should've been a deduction?" she asked, voice sharp with sarcasm.

Miguel sighed again. He expected that.

"Y/n/n--"

"No, really," she continued, feigning curiosity. "Should I consider it a parting gift? A love tap? A 'thanks for coming, here's a bruise for your troubles' kind of thing?"

"She feels horrible," Miguel told her, keeping his voice calm. "She didn't mean--"

"She didn't look too sorry to me," y/n cut in, y/e/c eyes frigid as she finally met his gaze.

The boy let out another breath, shoulders sagging slightly. "Come on, y/n/n."

She bit back another retort, knowing if she didn't, this conversation would spiral into a full-blown argument. Instead, she exhaled sharply through her nose and shook her head.

"Look, Miguel," she said, voice still edged with irritation. "I get it. She's your girlfriend. You want to stand up for her. That's cute. I always did ship the two of you when we were..."

Miguel frowned.

"But you can't fight every battle for her," She continued, folding her arms. "Princess already has her share of knights."

Miguel's jaw ticked slightly.

He didn't snap back, didn't argue—but she saw the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee, the way his shoulders stiffened at her words.

For a moment, he just stared at her, debating whether to push the topic or let it drop.

He chose the latter.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to relax before slowly shifting the conversation. "Anyway... about the fight."

Y/n's expression remained unreadable. "What about it?"

"The semi-finals."

A pause.

Miguel gave her a look but chose to ignore the potential risk he was taking. "I just mean... we've come a long way, haven't we?"

The girl was silent for a moment before tilting her head slightly. "We did."

The latino nodded. "Never thought we'd be here, fighting on opposite sides. But... here we are."

Y/n's lips twitched in something resembling amusement. "Fate's a funny thing."

"Yeah."

A moment of quiet.

Then, y/n took a slow breath, her eyes flickering to him before she finally spoke. "Miggy, I know discussing our little karate journey isn't the real reason you're here."*

The boy sighed, rubbing his face. "Yeah, I figured you'd see through that."

Y/n leaned against the dresser, arms still crossed. "So?"

Miguel's voice softened. "I'm worried."

Her expression barely changed, but Miguel felt the shift in the air again.

Her next words came carefully. "Worried? About what?"

He hesitated. "About the fight. Tomorrow."

Y/n's posture changed ever so slightly.

Miguel saw it—the way her shoulders squared, the way her grip on her arms tightened just a fraction, the way her expression hardened just enough to be noticeable.

Her voice was quiet, but pointed. "You mean you're worried about her."

"Y/n..."

"No, let's be honest here," she cut him off, gaze sharp. "You're here for her. Again."

Miguel tensed, mouth opening slightly as if to argue—but the way she was staring at him, the way she saw right through him made the words die in his throat.

His hesitation was all she needed.

Her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smirk, but wasn't quite anything else either.

"Thought so."

Suddenly, her phone buzzed on the dresser.

She barely spared it a glance before noticing the name flashing across the screen— Senile Warrior Gramps🐍🥋.

Her fingers curled slightly before she exhaled sharply, grabbing the phone. With one last look at Miguel, she pressed the green button but didn't speak yet. Instead, she lifted her gaze, pinning Miguel with an unwavering stare.

"Look," she said, voice quieter but still laced with sharp edges, "just because you and I were friends doesn't mean she gets a free pass to get away with whatever she wants. Her parents may have managed the school and court, but they cannot control me, or the fight we have in the ring."

Miguel frowned but didn't interrupt.

"Not after everything she's done," y/n continued. "And certainly not after that little stunt she pulled. Though I can't say I'm surprised. Johnny always did warn us about the Larusso's dirty little tricks."

She tilted her head slightly, pointing to the bruised cut on her cheek with a slow, deliberate motion.

"You see this?" she asked, voice almost taunting. "This is a mercy compared to what I'm about to do to her."

Miguel's stomach twisted.

There was something in the way she said it—so confident, so matter-of-fact, so... menacing. The way her lips curled at the edges, the way her eyes darkened, the way she looked almost eager.

A fighter who had already decided the outcome.

"Just you watch," y/n added, voice barely above a whisper but more powerful than a shout.

Miguel swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

She didn't wait for a response.

Instead, she pressed the phone to her ear, muttering a sharp, "Yeah, I'm coming," before shoving it into her pocket.

Then, without hesitation, she stormed forward, reaching for the door and yanking it open.

"Kindly see yourself out," she commanded.

Miguel barely had time to react before she began gathering her things and ushering him out, not rudely but not kindly either, slamming the door shut behind the two of them.

The second she turned, she nearly collided with Yoon.

The tall Korean was standing just outside her door, hand raised mid-knock, his brows furrowing as he took in her expression.

"You're late," he started before his eyes fully registered the storm brewing in her gaze.

He frowned. "What happened?"

But the raven-haired boy didn't have to wait for an answer—because just over the girl's shoulder, he spotted Miguel lingering in the corner of the hallway, looking very much like a man who just lost a battle he never should have started.

Yoon's expression darkened.

His eyes flickered back to y/n and without hesitation, he reached out and draped an arm around her shoulders, steering her away from whatever just happened.

"Come on," he said simply, voice lighter than his expression. "Let's get some food into you before the big meeting."

The girl exhaled sharply but didn't protest, allowing herself to be guided toward the elevator.

Miguel remained frozen in place, watching as the two disappeared down the hall.

His jaw clenched.

Everything had gone completely wrong.

He had walked into that room hoping to calm his friend down—to ease the tension before the match, to help mend the bridge between her and Samantha, to make things better. Instead, he had done the exact opposite.

He had made it worse.

Much, much worse.

Because now, y/n wasn't just fighting Sam for the sake of the tournament... Now, she was fighting her out of pure, unfiltered spite.

And Miguel had practically gift-wrapped her the motivation to make sure she didn't hold back. His fingers curled into fists. There was nothing he could do now. All he could do was train.

Train himself.

Train Sam.

Train Robby.

Train the captains of his team to be ready—for anything.

Because one thing was crystal clear now... y/n and Kwon, the captains of Cobra Kai, were on the same page now, which not only made them stronger, but also dangerous. After all, they were not just fighting to win.

They were fighting to destroy...

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