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THE RHYTHMIC THUD OF THE AXE STRIKING THE WOOD punctuated the cool night air. y/n l/n adjusted her grip, steadying the log before swinging down again, splitting it cleanly in two. The cool night air wrapped around her, but the physical exertion kept her warm. Across the clearing, Kim Da-eun methodically swept fallen leaves from the dirt path, her movements deliberate and disciplined. The firelight from her grandfather's hut flickered nearby, casting long shadows around them.

The girl hesitated before finally speaking, her voice quiet but firm. "You lied to them."

Kim didn't look up from her work. "I don't lie." Her tone was as sharp as the axe y/n wielded.

"You told my parents I was helping someone... Someone I tutored in school." y/n turned to face her, the weight of confusion and frustration in her gaze. "The only boy I tutor is Kwon." 

"I am aware." Deadpanned the older woman, her pace measured and focused. 

"I didn't even know about... any of this." y/n scoffed. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep a straight face during that painfully long dinner? My parents think I'm doing something noble now. Something good."

Kim finally looked at her, her expression impassive. "And you are."

Y/n felt the knot in her chest tighten. "So it's true? What you told them about him?" Her voice wavered slightly, betraying the storm of emotions she tried to suppress.

"It's true." The woman confirmed, setting the broom aside and folded her arms. Her voice carried a weight that left no room for doubt. "Jae-sung's mother died when he was too young to remember her properly... Took her own life. His father—if you can call him that—turned to the bottle instead of parenting. His grandmother raised him, gave him what little stability he has left. But she's sick now, and he knows her time is running out."

Y/n blinked, the information hitting her harder than she expected. She hadn't thought much about Kwon beyond his infuriating attitude and constant jabs. But now...

"He doesn't talk about it," y/n murmured, more to herself than her sensei. "He never said a word."

"And he won't," Kim said bluntly. "That's not who he is. He's not looking for pity or a savior, y/n. He's looking for a way out, and karate is the only thing that's ever made sense to him."

Y/n picked up another log and positioned it on the stump. Her hands shook slightly, but she tightened her grip on the axe to steady herself. "I didn't know," she admitted quietly.

Her stomach churned as the pieces clicked into place. She remembered the sharpness in Kwon's eyes, the bitterness in his words, the anger that seemed to seep from him. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

Kim's gaze hardened. "Because it's not your business. He doesn't want your sympathy, and he neither does he need it. What he needs is to keep his head in the game—just like you do."

Y/n turned back to the stump and hefted another log, though her hands trembled slightly as she positioned it. "But... I didn't know. I've treated him like-" Her voice trailed off as she swung the axe, the wood splitting with a sharp crack.

"Like what?" Kim prompted, her voice cool. "Like someone who gets under your skin? Someone who challenges you?"

"Like he's just an asshole," The girl admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sensei Kim stepped closer, her presence commanding as ever. "He is an asshole. But he wasn't always. I've been training him since he was six years old. Back then, he was sweet. Obedient. Compassionate. Losing his mother changed him. It didn't happen all at once—grief isn't that kind. But over time, the anger took root, and it hasn't let go since."

Y/n stared at the split log, her mind replaying the scene from earlier that day. Kim's harsh lesson. Her own frustration boiling over. The cane striking his face. The way Kwon had stormed out, silent and seething, without even looking back.

Kim's voice softened, just a fraction. "He's a tough boy. Tougher than most. But he's not all rotten, no matter how much he pretends to be. And with Cobra Kai joining forces with this dojang, he'll learn to channel that anger into something useful. Something that might actually help him turn his life around."

Y/n gripped the axe tightly, her knuckles white. "And the Sekai Taikai?"

"It's a privilege," Kim said, her tone regaining its edge. "The hardest karate competition in the world for a reason. The winners don't just earn a trophy—they earn opportunities. Healthcare, education, sponsorships. For someone like Kwon, it's a shot at a better life."

The girl swallowed hard, the weight of her earlier actions pressing down on her. "But I hit him," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Today. I let my anger get the better of me, and I—" She broke off, her throat tightening.

Kim's gaze bore into her. "Good."

Y/n's head snapped up. "Good?"

"He didn't hit you back, did he?" Kim asked, her tone unyielding.

"No, but--"

"That's progress," Kim interrupted. "The Kwon I knew a year ago wouldn't have let it slide. He's learning, y/n. And so are you."

Y/n set the axe down, her shoulders slumping. "I have to talk to him."

"Then do it," Kim said simply, picking up the broom again. "But don't expect him to make it easy for you. He doesn't owe you anything."

Y/n nodded, a spark of determination lighting in her eyes. "I know."

"Good," Kim said, her tone dismissive. "Now, finish the wood. The fire's not going to keep itself going."

Y/n picked up another log, her mind already racing with what she would say to Kwon.

***

The clock on her phone glared 9:21 PM as y/n stepped onto the dimly lit streets of Seoul, her resolve hardening. Her curfew was at 10, leaving her with just enough time to find Kwon and apologize for what happened earlier. He wasn't responding to her texts or calls—hell, he was declining her calls now, a blatant middle finger to her attempts at reconciliation.

She grumbled under her breath, weaving through the bustling city. "God, you'd think the least he could do is pick up. But no. Let's just ghost the girl who smacked you in the face and feels bad about it. Perfect plan, Kwon."

After a brisk walk, she found herself at his apartment complex. It was modest but decent, tucked into a quiet corner of the city. She climbed the stairs two at a time, each step fueled by a mix of guilt, irritation, and—though she'd never admit it—a touch of worry.

When she reached the second floor, she stopped to catch her breath, her eyes scanning the numbers on the doors. That's when she heard it—voices.

Hushed, faint, but unmistakable.

Her heart quickened as she crept closer, staying near the staircase. One of the voices was undeniably Kwon's, low and tired, yet steady. The other... was feminine. The girl's brows furrowed as she tilted her head, trying to make out the words. Korean. She couldn't understand much, but the tone was soft, almost tender.

Peeking around the corner, she spotted them.

Kwon stood against the wall, his arms crossed, looking visibly exhausted. Even in the dim light, she could see the red welt on his cheek—her handiwork—and a pang of guilt twisted her stomach. Opposite him stood Yoo-mi, her expression one of quiet concern.

Y/n squinted, her eyes narrowing further when she saw Yoo-mi reach up, her fingers brushing against the mark on Kwon's face with a gentleness that made her stomach churn.

Really? REALLY? He won't answer my texts, but he's out here getting coddled by the Wicked Bitch of the West?

Her guilt began to evaporate, replaced by a simmering irritation. She was just about to scold herself for spying—mentally labeling herself as a "discount Kreese"—when the next scene unfolded.

Yoo-mi leaned in, her lips brushing Kwon's in a soft, unhurried kiss.

Y/n froze. Her brain short-circuited, and her body went rigid.

"What. The. Fuck." She muttered under her breath, her voice dripping with disbelief.

A storm brewed inside her, equal parts rage, confusion, and something else she refused to name. She didn't know why she was so mad, but the sight of Yoo-mi with her manicured hands and doe-eyed gaze kissing Kwon of all people made her blood boil.

Oh, sure, comfort him with your dainty little touch, Yoo-mi. Maybe bake him cookies next. Because THAT'S what he needs—a walking Hallmark card playing nursemaid to his bruised ego.

Her hands instinctively reached into her bag, where she found salvation: a single plastic straw.

"Desperate times," she rolled her eyes to herself, ripping a scrap of paper from her notebook and rolling it into a tight spit-wad. She worked quickly, her mind racing with every insult she could hurl at the pair of them.

And Kwon—don't even get me started on YOU. Declining my calls but letting this cunt rub your face like you're a stray puppy? Pathetic. Actually pathetic. I should've hit you harder earlier. Maybe then you'd have stayed home, out of trouble... AND UNCONSCIOUS.

Y/n aimed the straw with the precision of a sniper, locking onto Yoo-mi's perfect hair. With one deep breath, she fired.

The spit-wad sailed through the air in slow motion—or at least, that's how it felt—and landed with a satisfying plop on the back of the girl's bleached head.

Y/n didn't stick around to see the aftermath. She was already stomping down the stairs, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline and satisfaction.

"Perfect aim," she muttered to herself, a smirk tugging at her lips. For a brief, vindictive moment, she felt no guilt, no regret—just the pure joy of sabotage.

But as she turned the corner, her smirk faded, replaced by a nagging unease.

Little did she know, the tenderness she'd witnessed wasn't born of love but manipulation—a cruel game where Kwon's vulnerabilities were the currency, and Yoo-mi knew exactly how to spend them...

But some wounds cut deeper than the cane's strike.

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