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THE GYM WAS EERILY QUIET AS SENSEI KIM DA-EUN SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON THE FLOOR, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. The rhythmic pulse of her meditation filled the room, each inhale and exhale sharpening her focus. She allowed herself a rare moment of satisfaction as her thoughts lingered on y/n l/n's performance. The girl had impressed her—finally. For she had struck first, struck hard, and, most importantly, shown no mercy.

The strategy was calculated, deliberate. Exploiting the boy's hesitation, his unwillingness to go too far against her, y/n had used her lessons well. Kim admired the ruthlessness, the precise execution. She was beginning to see the makings of a true Cobra Kai champion in the girl.

The buzzing of her phone shattered the stillness, pulling her from her thoughts. Her eyes snapped open, irritation flashing across her face. She glanced at the screen: John Kreese.

With a sigh, she picked up, her voice sharp as a blade. "What is it?"

"Da-eun," Kreese greeted, his tone gravelly but curt. "How are things going there?"

"Progressing," she replied, plucking out a stray hair from her face as she stood, stomping at it for clouding her vision. "Our girl shows promise. l/n be ready."

"Good," Kreese said, though there was a heaviness to his voice. "Because things here are... less than ideal."

Her brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"Bad timing. Nichols' mother passed a few days ago. I'm not sure how the girl's going to cope."

Kim let out a derisive laugh, the sound as sharp as a slap. "Dumb luck," she muttered coldly. "She always was a wildcard. Emotion clouds judgment, and now it's going to cost her."

Kreese's silence spoke volumes.

Kim continued, undeterred. "It doesn't matter. I'll be having a word with y/n's parents soon. The girl is staying, I'll make sure of it. She'll be our female champion."

"She'd better be," Kreese growled. "Because without Nichols, we're down a fighter. Hana dropping out left us no backup. We're running out of options."

Kim's lips curved into a cold smile. "You'll pursue Nichols," she said, her voice low and commanding. "Bring her back. I don't care how. She's not weak—she'll recover. She has no choice."

"And if she doesn't?" Kreese's tone was darker now, a warning laced within the words.

"Then you find someone else," Kim snapped. "Tory Nichols is the closest thing you have to a fighter who knows what it means to survive. Push her harder. She'll thank you for it later."

Kreese let out a humorless chuckle. "You don't waste time sugarcoating, do you?"

"Never," she replied smoothly. "And neither should you."

There was a brief pause, the silence crackling with unspoken tension. Finally, Kreese spoke. "Do whatever it takes to keep the captains focused. We need both of them equally sharp."

"They already are," Kim said, her voice like ice. "Trust me, John, they won't disappoint."

"I know they won't... Keep a close eye on Kwon though. Don't let him forget what exactly he's fighting for." Kreese replied before the line clicked dead.

Kim lowered the phone and stared at the empty gym, her smirk returning. She would do whatever it took to ensure her students embodied the philosophy of Cobra Kai. There was no room for weakness. None at all.

Kim Da-eun smoothed her crisp black blazer, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror by the gym's entrance. She adjusted her collar, her expression cold and composed. Everything about her appearance was calculated—sharp lines, professional elegance, and an aura of unyielding confidence. She wanted to make an impression, not just on y/n's parents but on their entire household.

Sliding her phone into her pocket, she stepped into the brisk evening air and made her way to the address the girl had texted her. The walk was quick, her steps brisk as she mentally prepared her arguments. By the time she reached the luxury apartment building, she wasn't just confident—she was immovable.

The building itself reeked of wealth and status. Polished floors, marble accents, and soft golden lighting adorned the lobby. It didn't surprise her; y/n's demeanor screamed privilege despite the hidden guilt she often carried. Kim ignored the concierge, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the top floor.

As the elevator dinged open, she found herself in front of an imposing double door. Before ringing the bell, she leaned in, pressing her ear lightly against the wood. The soft hum of voices confirmed someone was home. Straightening, she rang the bell and clasped her hands behind her back, waiting.

The door opened, revealing a woman, her features strikingly similar to y/n's but lined with years of experience and stress. The woman's sharp eyes scanned Kim quickly, a mix of surprise and suspicion in her gaze.

"Good evening," Da-eun began smoothly, inclining her head politely. "I'm Kim Da-eun, y/n's sensei. May I come in?"

"Sensei?" y/n's mother repeated, her voice tinged with shock. Her grip tightened on the door. "Karate sensei?"

The woman nodded. "Indeed."

The color drained slightly from the woman's face, but she stepped aside, gesturing for Kim to enter. The spacious apartment was a testament to their success, every corner meticulously decorated.

"Please, wait here." The woman disappeared momentarily, returning with her husband. They settled into the plush living room, their expressions a mix of concern and restrained anger.

Kim sat opposite them, her back straight and her gaze steady. "I understand this may come as a surprise," she began, her tone measured. "But your daughter has been training at my dojang for about a month now."

"Without our knowledge?" y/n's father cut in, his tone sharp. "And who's paying for this, might I ask?"

Kim anticipated the hostility and met it head-on. "The tuition for all my students is covered by the dojang. We do not accept everyone, let alone waive fees. y/n's skill and determination earned her a place."

"That's not the point," y/n's mother sighed. "She knows she's banned from karate! After everything that happened—"

"I'm aware of her past," Kim interrupted calmly, though her words carried an edge. "I've seen no signs of the recklessness you fear. Quite the opposite. y/n has demonstrated qualities that would make any parent proud—discipline, resilience, and an admirable sense of responsibility."

"Responsibility?" Her mother's voice dripped with disbelief.

Da-Eun nodded slowly, her expression softening, though her tone remained steady. "Her reason for joining is deeply personal. You see, one of the students she tutors—he's just a boy, really—is someone I've been training since he could barely throw a punch. His life has been anything but kind."

She took a moment, glancing away as if to gather her thoughts. "His mother passed away when he was only ten. Took her life. He doesn't remember much about her—just fragments, like the smell of her perfume or the sound of her laugh. And his father..." Kim's voice tightened, her usual composure faltering slightly. "His father is alive, but he's the kind of man who only shows up drunk and angry. Someone who makes you feel like you'd be better off invisible."

She paused, taking a breath as if the weight of it all pressed on her shoulders. "The boy's grandmother has been his saving grace. She's the only family he has left who truly cares. She raised him after his mother died, protected him from the worst of his father's rage, and gave him a reason to hope when everything else felt broken. But now..." Her voice grew quieter, almost trembling.

"Now, she's fighting cancer. Stage four. She's exhausted, and the treatments are draining what little money they have left. He's just a boy—he can't work enough to make a difference. And he's terrified of losing her. He may act all high and mighty, and what one may consider an "asshole", pardon my language... But the truth is, the boy is absolutely terrified of being completely alone in the world. He's preparing himself for it since day one, but I believe that no one can truly ever be prepared for death."

Her gaze shifted back, her eyes sharp but tinged with sorrow. "That's why she joined. Because she sees what he's going through, and she's doing everything she can to help. She's fighting not for herself, but for him—for his chance to hold on to the only family he has left. And the reason I took the liberty to find the two of you is because... y/n l/n happens to be our best shot at fulfilling dreams and giving these kids, including her, a brighter future. After all, is that not what you feel they deserve after years and years of endless suffering?"

Both parents exchanged a look, their anger wavering into uncertainty.

"She joined my dojang," Kim continued, her voice softening just enough to be persuasive, "because she believed it was her only way to help him. She learned about the Sekai Taikai, a tournament of immense prestige. Winning it doesn't just bring glory—it provides life-changing benefits for all its champions. Sponsorships, healthcare, education—all fully covered. She saw an opportunity to make a difference, not just for herself but for someone in need."

Silence hung heavily in the room.

"That doesn't excuse her lying to us," her father finally said, though his tone had lost some of its sharpness.

"Perhaps not," Kim agreed. "But it speaks to her character. Despite her past, she's channeling her energy into something positive, something selfless."

The father leaned back, his brows furrowed in thought. "And your dojang?"

"Master Kim Sun-yung's dojang," Kim replied smoothly. The reaction was immediate; recognition flickered across his face.

"The legendary master?" he asked, his voice tinged with respect.

Kim allowed a small smile. "His granddaughter," she confirmed. "I carry on his legacy. In fact, one of your business partners, Mr. Yoon, spoke highly of your family. His son, Do-jin, is one of my best students and a good friend of y/n's."

Her father's skepticism faded into genuine curiosity. "Yoon's father mentioned your dojang years ago. I didn't realize..."

Kim nodded. "Ms. l/n trains alongside him. They push each other to excel."

Y/n's mother sighed, her anger dissolving into reluctant admiration. "I had no idea she could be so... thoughtful."

"She is," Kim said firmly. "And I believe she's capable of much more. All I need is your consent for her continued training because the tournament is nearing, as are the dates for college applications."

The parents exchanged another long look before her father finally nodded. "You have it."

Kim produced the consent forms, watching with satisfaction as they signed. She gave them further contact details to reach her in case of any concerns and/or queries. Once the formalities were done, the lady rose, bowing slightly. "Thank you for your time. I assure you, your daughter will not let you down." 

As she left the apartment, she allowed herself a rare, victorious smile.

Mission accomplished...

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