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"ADVANCING TO THE NEXT ROUND, THE IRON DRAGONS!"

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Zara's flying kick sent the last fighter of the West End Warriors, Henry Poulter, sprawling off the platform. With that final blow, the British team was eliminated.

The girl spun around with a victorious grin, waving to the crowd and blowing kisses, while Axel let out a celebratory scream that echoed through the arena.

Kwon's lip curled in disgust as he watched the theatrics. "Weak-ass scream," he scoffed loudly.

Park, unimpressed, chimed in, "Totally. Like Shrek on steroids."

The pair chuckled, earning a few looks from their teammates as Park searched for the Kenyan captain's reaction. Meanwhile, y/n barely registered the banter. Her eyes were locked on the elevated platform as the Spanish Furia de Pantera and Thailand's Hornet's Nest teams took their positions for the next elimination round.

Her stomach churned. The platform felt impossibly high, the fall—though cushioned by thick mats—still terrifying. The edges seemed sharper, the gaps wider, and despite her training, every instinct in her body screamed to avoid it.

"Hey."

Kwon's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. He had leaned just close enough for her to hear him over the noise of the crowd. "You good?"

The y/h/c-haired girl blinked, her throat dry as she nodded quickly. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Kwon wasn't convinced. His sharp eyes narrowed, scanning her face. "You're not worried about the Poltar-Polar...guys, are you?" he said dryly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I promise they'll survive the fall."

Y/n shot him a glare. "I said I'm fine."

"Good." Kwon straightened up, rolling his shoulders. "'Cause we're wiping the floor with these guys anyway. We'll probably win before you even have time to feel bad for 'em."

His words, cocky and cold as they were, actually managed to ease some of the pressure in her chest. The boy had a way of simplifying things, breaking them down into wins and losses—nothing else mattered.

Still, her fingers twitched, and Kwon noticed the tension in her stance.

Y/n sighed, looking down. "That's not—"

"They'll live," he cut her off with a small, crooked smirk. "It's a soft drop, y/n/n. Not Mount Everest. You act like we're throwing babies off a cliff."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such an ass."

"Eh, come on," he said, jerking his head to the side. "Let's warm up. You're too stiff."

"What?"

"Move your feet, princess. We don't need you freezing up when the fight starts."

Too drained to argue with him, y/n followed Kwon to a more open space where the team had gathered to stretch. He dropped into a low stance, cracking his neck, then beckoned her forward with a lazy wave of his hand.

"Soft punches," he ordered. "Block me."

Y/n fell into rhythm, throwing light jabs toward Kwon, who swatted them away effortlessly. The motions were simple, automatic—left punch, block, right punch, block—and slowly, the tension began to bleed from her shoulders.

"Faster," Kwon commanded, his sharp tone keeping her focused.

The two picked up speed, slipping into a familiar cadence. Kwon aimed low; she dropped to block. She faked a kick; he shifted back just in time. Her nervous energy began to fade, replaced by muscle memory and the comfort of movement.

They transitioned into smooth stretches, legs kicking out in tandem, their movements precise. y/n pushed her leg into a high kick, Kwon matching her motion on the opposite side. Their movements mirrored each other—fluid and focused, their bodies perfectly in sync.

Somewhere above the hum of the arena, the girl noticed the cameras zooming in. She froze mid-kick, dropping her leg.

"They're filming us."

Kwon glanced over lazily. "So?"

"So it's weird."

"It's a fight," he replied nonchalantly, holding his stretch for a beat longer. "Not a cooking show. Let 'em film."

The arena speakers crackled suddenly, and the commentators' voices boomed overhead.

"Now that is a beautiful sight," the first commentator gushed. "Look at that teamwork from Cobra Kai—Medusa and—wait, should we call him Zeus? Never mind... Kwon. Warming up together."

"Oh, I see it, David," the second commentator replied with enthusiasm. "Look at the coordination! The chemistry! I mean, come on, folks. That's not training—that's poetry in motion!"

Kwon paused mid-stretch, a look of pure exasperation flashing across his face. "Are they serious?"

Y/N snorted. "They're really hyping this up, huh?"

"They need to get a hobby," Kwon grumbled.

The camera lingered a moment longer as y/n turned to face him fully, lowering her arms with a teasing smirk. "I think they think that we're flirting."

He scoffed, though the faintest hint of pink brushed his ears. "Yeah, well, let them. Maybe I'll get a bigger fan club out of it."

"Don't hold your breath," she teased back.

The commentators, however, weren't done.

"Look at the eye contact! The focus!" the first commentator continued dramatically.

"It's like a scene from a romance movie," the second one added. "We're forgetting there's another fight happening right now—oh, wait, hold on—looks like Alvarez just kicked the last Thai fighter off the platform. Oops!"

The crowd chuckled at the commentators' blatant distraction, but y/n didn't care. She and Kwon had already returned to their warm-up, exchanging soft jabs and blocks.

Their eyes locked more than once, the tension between them electric. Kwon's lips twitched into a slow smirk when y/n barely missed one of his kicks.

"Too slow," he murmured.

"Too cocky," she shot back, stepping closer with a feint toward his side.

Kwon leaned back to avoid her strike, his face close to hers for just a moment longer than necessary. Her breath hitched, but she recovered quickly, masking her flustered expression with another jab.

The camera caught every second of it, and the commentators—clearly thrilled—continued swooning over the "undeniable connection" between the two fighters.

Y/n was sure her face was red by the time their warm-up ended. Kwon, of course, looked infuriatingly smug.

"Feeling better now?" he asked as they walked toward the rest of their team.

"Yeah," she muttered. "Thanks, I guess."

"Don't thank me yet," he replied casually, though his eyes flickered to hers with something softer. "Save it for when we win."

The girl rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched into a smile. For just a moment, she almost forgot about the platform, the crowd, and the weight in her chest.

Almost.

"NEXT UP, KOREA'S COBRA KAI VERSUS SWEDEN'S POLARSLAGET!"

The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, and the girl exhaled softly, forcing herself to move. Before she could take a step, Kwon's hand shot out, tugging sharply at her belt to ensure it was tight.

"You're gonna lose it if you fall on your face," he muttered, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.

"I'll be fine, Kwon," she murmured back, though her voice wavered.

The boy didn't press further, only giving her a sharp nod before they walked to the ladder. He gestured for her to climb first, lingering close behind her as they ascended. She could feel the heat of his gaze, not on her but on their Swedish opponents waiting above.

By the time they reached the platform, the Swedish team—Polarslaget—was already squared up: a tall, stern-looking male captain, a tall, fierce-looking girl, and two other fighters waiting at the base of the ladder.

Kwon leaned in, whispering into y/n's ear. "Corner the guy and kick him off. He's all bark, no bite. Won't hit women. Probably scared shitless of you."

The y/h/c-haired girl blinked at him as she redid her hair quickly. "You sure?"

"Positive," he replied, his voice low and cold, eyes narrowing on the opponents. "But don't give him time to get his defense up. Break through before he locks it down. Make it fast."

She gave him a small nod. Kwon's confidence, albeit cocky, was unwavering—it made it hard not to trust him, especially when he had the track record of always being right.

The buzzer blared, and chaos erupted.

Kwon moved like lightning, his focus zeroed in on the blonde girl. His first punch was swift but deliberate, more to test her reflexes than anything else. She blocked it quickly, returning with a high kick toward his shoulder. Kwon sidestepped, effortlessly avoiding the blow and retaliating with a feint to her midsection.

The girl hesitated, her stance faltering for half a second—and Kwon seized the moment. He lunged forward, not hitting her but crowding her space, forcing her to stumble back.

"Back off!" she shouted in frustration, throwing another wild kick. Kwon blocked it easily, his forearm meeting her shin with a dull smack.

He smirked. "You first."

The girl's panic was visible as Kwon advanced with precision, cornering her step by step until her heel hovered dangerously close to the edge. She glanced back instinctively—bad move.

"Bye."

Kwon didn't even need to strike. He stepped in close, faking a grab, and the girl flinched back so hard she lost her balance, tumbling off the platform with a shriek as the boy burst out laughing alongside the commentators.

Meanwhile, y/n approached the Swedish male captain, Anders, her fists up but her movements hesitant. She threw a weak jab, which he blocked effortlessly. Her second punch wasn't much better—slow, telegraphed, lacking conviction.

The male captain's defense tightened, his arms like a wall, eyes wary but unyielding. Kwon's words echoed in her head: "Break through before he locks it down." Too late.

She threw a low kick toward his shin, but he stepped back, his defense still unshakable. A flicker of irritation crossed his face as he realized she wasn't a threat.

Focus, focus, focus.

From the corner of her eye, y/n saw movement at the ladder. The team's third fighter—a lanky boy with long, platinum hair—climbed up to replace the fallen girl.

Before he could even settle his stance, Kwon was on him.

The fighter's eyes went wide as Kwon delivered a brutal sidekick to his chest, sending him sprawling backward and toppling off the platform with a yell.

The crowd gasped, a mix of cheers and shock echoing through the arena.

Kwon turned, his gaze snapping back to y/n, who was still struggling with the captain. His jaw clenched.

"KICK, Y/N!" he shouted, his voice sharp.

The sudden bark startled her, and she reacted purely on instinct. Her leg shot out in a high kick, connecting with the captain's chest. He staggered back, arms flailing, before falling cleanly off the edge.

It was over. But the girl didn't see victory—she saw him.

The captain's body fell in slow motion, and y/n's chest constricted painfully as Miguel flashed in her mind—the helpless look in his eyes, the blur of his fall down the school stairs.

No, no, no.

Her body moved before she realized it, her hand shooting out toward the edge as if she could stop the fall that had already happened.

"Y/n, move!"

The shout came too late. The fourth Swedish fighter—a wiry girl who had climbed up unnoticed—punched her hard, sending her stumbling.

The platform vanished beneath her feet.

Y/n felt weightless for half a second before gravity yanked her down.

And then—

A hand caught her wrist.

Kwon.

His grip was tight, his expression wild and furious, but the momentum was too much. In his effort to catch her, Kwon lost his footing, and the two of them tumbled off the platform together.

The crowd erupted in a collective gasp.

The fall seemed to last forever until they hit the mats with a heavy thud, landing flat on their backs, side by side.

Above them, the commentators' voices broke the silence.

"Oh my— Did you see that?"

"Dude, that was straight out of Titanic! A dramatic fall! The hand grab! The teamwork—or was that something more?"

The second commentator chuckled. "I don't know about teamwork, but I do know this: those two just became the arena's favorite lovebirds! Though we'll have to see how long that lasts, given that this loss just might be a step closer to elimination for Korea."

The crowd roared with laughter and cheers. y/n's face burned hot with humiliation, and when she turned her head, Kwon was glaring at her, his jaw tight and eyes blazing.

"Are you kidding me?"

He pushed himself up and yanked her arm, forcing her to sit up. "What the hell was that?!"

"I—"

"You froze!" Kwon shouted, his voice sharp with rage. "We had the fight! You kicked him off, and you froze! Are you serious right now?!"

Y/n didn't argue. She couldn't argue.

Kwon's anger only flared hotter when she stayed silent, her expression blank and hollow. "Do you even care that we lost? That I fell because of you?!"

She didn't say a word. Instead, she stood up on shaky legs, ignoring Kwon's glare, the crowd's chatter, and the sympathetic looks from their team.

"Where are you going?" Kwon demanded, still furious.

Y/n walked away.

"Come back!" Kwon took a step to follow her, but Sensei Kim's sharp voice cut through the chaos.

"Leave her."

Kwon froze, turning to glare at Kim. "What?"

"Give her space," Kim said coolly in Korean, though her usual icy tone was softer, almost... concerned.

Kwon scowled but obeyed, turning his back as Yoon and Tory climbed onto the platform to take over the match.

It wasn't Cobra Kai that followed y/n  It was someone else entirely...

Robby Keene.

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