𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄. all i ever asked

THE DAY WAS QUIET AS THE COMPETITORS gathered, the warmth of Barcelona's late afternoon sun casting long shadows along the hotel walls. Voices hummed in anticipation, blending with the distant sounds of the city.

Jieun sat there, stiff and coiled, a quiet storm in her chest that kept tightening with every passing minute. Her fingers drummed absently on the armrest, her leg bouncing as she fought to temper the heat simmering beneath her skin. It wasn't that she had forgotten to listen to the announcer, it was that she couldn't. Every syllable, every flicker of applause, was a kind of interference, muted in her mind by a singular thought — a wound that, even now, throbbed and refused to close.

Anger, disappointment, betrayal — the emotions flickered through her like beads slipping from a snapped string. But at their root was something simpler: a lingering ache for honesty, for the bond she'd thought they'd had.

Tory had been there for her when no one else was. She had whispered into the dark with her, patched over bruises with gentler words, steadied her in moments of wavering conviction. And all she wanted to do was do the same in return.

Their last conversation replayed in her mind, echoing with a sharpness that made her wince. Jieun could feel the weight of her words back then, as if she were holding something fragile, something that might shatter if she pressed too hard.

"Whatever you decide," she had told Tory, her voice soft, almost pleading, "promise me, you won't do what I did. Promise me that you'll tell me."

There had been a pause, an intake of breath. The words had been so quiet she'd barely heard them. "I will," Tory had whispered, her voice gentle, her gaze downturned, like she could hardly bear to look her in the eye.

And Jieun, foolish, hopeful, had believed her.

Now, here she was, anger wrapped around her chest, a cold and relentless reminder of a promise broken. She sat alone on the hotel sofa, surrounded by the idle chatter of other competitors who had yet to feel the sting of betrayal, the chill that seeped in when trust was cracked open and left to bleed.

She sighed, drawing her arms around herself as if to hold her center, feeling for a moment like a child caught in a familiar loop, a cycle of disappointment she couldn't escape. She wanted to shout, to demand explanations, to confront Tory and say, Why did you go back to Cobra Kai? Why lie to me about it?

The words formed in her mind like venom, sharp and potent, but she knew better than to act on them. The city would only hear a broken whisper in return.

No, it was selfish of her to think this way, and Jieun knew it.

She felt her shame simmering, catching on the sharp edges of her anger like a flame denied air. Tory's mother had just died, leaving a grief that no one seemed to acknowledge, much less understand. There was a brittleness to her grief, a need so deep and unspoken that even Jieun hadn't fully grasped it.

Tory had been dismissed by everyone around her, each one choosing to focus on her reaction — the way she lashed out, the way she held her anger close and bared it like teeth — rather than the hurt pulsing beneath it all.

If Tory wanted to fight, didn't she deserve that? Hadn't Jieun done the very same thing when her own father died, channeling all her sorrow into the raw power of movement, into the flow of her body and the sharp sting of every punch? Back then, fighting had been her solace, her way of exorcising that hollow ache that lodged itself in her chest. And now, as she thought of Tory, Jieun couldn't help but feel a pang of understanding, a reluctant acceptance of the road her friend had chosen.

She didn't want to be mad at her, didn't want to see the fight as an act of rebellion against their fragile truce. But she was angry. She was furious, and it was selfish, but that didn't soften the feeling one bit.

The betrayal twisted within her, coiling in her gut like a sickness she couldn't shake. Of all the choices Tory could have made, she'd chosen Cobra Kai. The very thought of it stung with the raw force of an open wound.

Cobra Kai had been the enemy in this tournament from the start; that dojo stood for everything Jieun despised — the relentless aggression, the ruthless tactics, the way it demanded loyalty not by building trust but by exploiting fear. She thought of Sensei Kreese and the dark charisma he wielded like a weapon, that unsettling combination of control and cruelty that drew people to him in desperate times, convincing them that ruthlessness was the only way to survive.

And now he was back, reestablished at the helm of Cobra Kai, with a new generation of students under his command. Jieun felt the weight of it settle over her like a dark shadow, imagining what it would be like to face these fighters, each one honed into a force by that twisted vision of strength.

And to add to the terror, Sensei Kim was there too, a figure whose presence alone made the hairs on her arms rise.

Jieun had fought with her once, a brief, brutal spar that had left her shaking — not from pain, but from the icy precision with which Sensei Kim delivered each strike, her eyes blank and remorseless.

For Tory to walk into that — to make herself vulnerable to those forces, knowing what it meant, was more than Jieun could bear. She felt a shiver trace along her skin as she imagined Tory surrounded by these fighters, molded by their harsh teachings, transformed into something hard and cold.

A part of her was terrified not just for Tory but for herself, for the moment when they would stand across from each other, opponents in a ring, with nothing between them but the promise of pain.

From across the room, Devon and Sam exchanged glances, their eyes shifting back to Jieun, who sat rigid and unmoving on the sofa.

There was a charged stillness to her, an aura that radiated like heat waves from asphalt. They could feel it, thick and stifling, the way her anger filled the room even as she sat silent and alone. It was a force, almost alive, pulsing through the air and tangling with their breaths, and neither of them dared disturb it. Every now and then, one of them would shift their weight, taking a step forward, only to hesitate, the impulse melting away as they caught sight of Jieun's narrowed eyes, the tautness in her jaw, the fingers clenched so tightly on her armrest that her knuckles had gone white.

The only one who had dared approach her was Robby, who had drifted over like a calming wind, his movements smooth and quiet. He'd rested his hand on her lower back, fingers drawing slow, comforting circles on her arm, whispering to her in low tones that neither Sam nor Devon could hear. And for a moment, it had seemed to work. Jieun had relaxed slightly, her shoulders dropping, her fists loosening.

But the moment he slipped away to fetch their room keys, her tension returned, spiraling back into the air like smoke.

Devon shot a nervous glance at Sam, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Do you think she's... okay?" Her tone was cautious, the words barely above a whisper, as if afraid even the question might provoke Jieun's wrath.

Sam shrugged, but there was a tightness in her eyes, a flicker of unease that she couldn't quite conceal. She leaned in close, her own whisper barely audible. "I mean... the whole situation's messed up. You can't blame her for being angry, you know? Tory really blindsided us with this."

Devon bit her lip, her gaze darting back to Jieun. "I know, but... do you think she'll be able to... focus? I mean, we're going to need everyone at their best for this tournament. This isn't some local match — it's the Sekai Taikai. If she's carrying this with her..."

Sam's eyes drifted back to Jieun, her expression softening. "Maybe that's a good thing. Look at her, Dev. That anger? It's gonna fuel her. It's... it's like she's holding a fire inside, something big enough to take on Cobra Kai, Kreese, all of them."

Devon's brow furrowed, her mouth drawing into a skeptical line. "I don't know, Sam... Anger like that? It can burn you out just as fast as it can keep you going. You know more than anyone here how it is when she gets like this. She doesn't hold back."

Sam paused, glancing away, weighing the truth of it. She knew Jieun's fierce resolve, her stubborn refusal to let go, but this was different. She had never seen Jieun quite like this, so tightly wound and quiet, her anger held in check by a brittle thread. Even from this distance, they could feel the rawness of it, a controlled burn simmering beneath the surface, barely contained.

"Maybe... but maybe that's exactly what we need. Tory made her choice, and Jiji... she's dealing with it her way. She'll come out swinging, and if I know anything about her, she's not gonna stop until she's won."

Devon shifted uneasily, still unconvinced. "She just... doesn't look like herself, you know? It's like she's... trapped in it." She hesitated, glancing toward Jieun again, her voice dropping even lower. "And you don't think... you don't think she might... lose it out there, do you? I mean, if she's got that much anger going into a fight, it might..."

Sam shook her head, though there was a flicker of worry in her eyes. "That's the risk we're taking, I guess. But look around, Devon. Who else is gonna take on Cobra Kai? She's not just angry. She's got a reason to be. She's carrying something that... that maybe only she can use."

Devon drew in a breath, still unconvinced but reluctant to argue. "I just... I just don't want her to get hurt. I mean, more than she already is."

Their whispers trailed off, but the air between them was thick with worry, questions they couldn't quite voice, fears that lingered like shadows. And all the while, across the room, Jieun sat unmoving, her gaze fixed somewhere distant, as if seeing something beyond the walls, beyond Barcelona, beyond anything they could understand.

Footsteps echoed through the lobby, sharp and purposeful, like a steady drumbeat. Every head turned as a group of Cobra Kai students swept into the room, their gazes sharp, their strides filled with a kind of arrogant confidence that sent a ripple of tension through the Miyagi-Do students.

The lobby, bustling just moments before, fell into a heavy silence, as if everyone were holding their breath, waiting. Devon and Sam stiffened, and Jieun's ears pricked up, but she kept her eyes forward, her expression unreadable.

At the head of the group was a boy about her age, tall, with a look in his eyes that was both amused and predatory. He scanned the room, and a smirk played on his lips as he caught sight of the Miyagi-Do students gathered together. His gaze settled on Jieun for a moment before he addressed the group, his voice carrying a tone of mocking condescension.

"Wow, so you're the famous Miyagi-Do?" he said, his words drawn out, dripping with sarcasm. "We've heard all about you. But I don't really know why. You don't look like much."

Jieun's jaw clenched. The words slid under her skin, a slow, simmering heat stirring in her chest. She rose from the sofa, joining the others, her movements deliberate and calm, as if she were drawing on every ounce of composure she had. Her face was impassive, her exterior hardening, but the storm inside her intensified, rolling, each beat of her heart pulsing with the anger she held at bay.

The boy's eyes gleamed as she approached, his smirk widening. He knew exactly who she was — Jieun could see it in his expression, in the way he looked at her as though she were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

Sensei Kim had spoken about her thinking no one was listening.

"Well, well. Jieun Kang," he said, switching to a language only him and his teammates knew well, leaning forward, his eyes glinting. "You're exactly as Sensei described." he practically purred, his voice low, almost as if he were savoring the words. "It's a shame, though. You could've been someone remarkable if you'd only chosen differently."

Jieun met his gaze, her face impassive, her eyes cool. But she felt the jab beneath his words, and she knew exactly what he was trying to do. She felt it like a cold wind against her skin, an attempt to pry into her, to find that vulnerable place where his words might burrow and take root.

She knew the tactic well; Cobra Kai excelled in finding weakness and exploiting it.

"Remarkable?" Jieun replied, her tone flat, controlled. "Funny, I didn't think Cobra Kai had such high standards." She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without wavering.

Kwon's smirk faltered for a second, his confidence flickering before he regained it, the amusement in his eyes hardening. "Oh, don't mistake honesty for insult, Jieun. You have talent, no question. Even Sensei Kim could see that. But it's wasted here. You're wasting yourself. This... dojo —" he waved his hand dismissively toward the Miyagi-Do students, "it's holding you back. You're choosing loyalty over strength, over family, and it's pathetic."

Jieun's expression didn't change, but she felt his words settle into her, cold and unyielding, pressing on the doubts she had locked away. But her resolve tightened, like steel under pressure. She looked him straight in the eye, her voice steady, each word laced with a quiet ferocity.

"If you think loyalty is a weakness then you don't understand strength at all." Her gaze was sharp, her voice clear, unwavering. She took a step forward, her stance grounded, a flicker of fire in her eyes. "And if you think I'd ever trade that for Cobra Kai's version of strength, then you don't know me at all."

Kwon's smirk faded, his eyes narrowing, a flicker of frustration creeping in. He seemed to search her face, as if trying to decipher something he didn't understand. But he recovered quickly, his own pride flaring, and he took a step closer, the distance between them barely a breath.

"Maybe you believe that," he murmured, his tone low, edged with challenge. "But belief won't protect you on that mat. It won't help you when we're in front of you, doing whatever it takes to win." He leaned in, his voice a near-whisper, a smirk creeping back onto his lips.

Jieun didn't flinch, didn't look away. Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, like the sharpness of a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. "Maybe not," she said, her eyes unyielding, "but I'd rather lose with loyalty than win by becoming like you."

Kwon laughed, a short, sharp sound that echoed through the lobby, reverberating off the polished marble floors. His amusement hung in the air, lingering like a taunt, drawing the attention of the Miyagi-Do students who had watched Jieun's exchange with wary eyes, their brows knitted in confusion.

They hadn't understood a word of the rapid-fire Korean between Jieun and Kwon, but the tension in the room told them enough. They could sense the unspoken challenge, the barely-contained hostility, and it prickled at their skin, making them shift uneasily.

Eli, seizing the opportunity, took a step forward, his voice calm but his words cutting. "You'll see a lot better when you step on the mat tomorrow." His eyes held steady, unflinching, his confidence a quiet counter to Kwon's smirk.

Kwon lifted a brow, a flicker of intrigue sparking in his eyes. He seemed to savor the tension, drawing it out like he was coaxing something hidden out into the open. But before he could respond, Robby stepped forward, his hand landing on Eli's shoulder, his touch a grounding force.

"Come on, guys," Robby said, his voice low but firm. "It's not worth it." There was a quiet authority in his tone, a steady calm that seemed to settle over the group, reminding them of who they were, what they stood for.

Miguel nodded, echoing Robby's words with a quiet resolve. "Robby's right. Forget about them, okay?" His gaze lingered on each of them, grounding them in a way that only Miguel could, his presence a gentle but insistent reminder of their focus.

One by one, they turned away, their backs to Kwon and his group, ignoring the Cobra Kai students as they had been taught, as if dismissing a distraction in a sparring match.

But Kwon was not so easily ignored. His voice rang out again, calling to Jieun, the tone laced with mockery, challenging, as though he couldn't quite bear to let go. He wanted her attention, craved it almost, as though her defiance had unsettled him in some way he hadn't anticipated.

Miguel, sensing the tension thickening again, leaned in closer, his voice a quiet murmur, pitched just for their group. "They're just another dojo here," he said, his words low, calm, a steadying force in the turbulence Kwon had stirred up. "No different from anyone else. We don't need to prove anything to them."

The words sank into the silence around them, like stones dropped into still water, rippling through the group. Jieun felt them settle inside her, a reminder that steadied her pulse, softened the edges of her anger.

A hush fell over the lobby, thick and pressing as the soft sound of footsteps punctuated the silence. The Miyagi-Do students turned, their gazes following the sound, and there she was — Tory.

She walked briskly, her eyes fixed on some distant point, her expression set, unyielding, like she could feel their stares on her and was determined not to meet them. She moved through the space as though it were empty, ignoring the watchful eyes of her former teammates, her friends, and, most of all, Jieun.

Jieun felt her heart race, anger rising to the surface like a wave crashing against a rocky shore. The urge to demand answers — to pull Tory aside, confront her, make her face the consequences of her choices — bubbled up, raw and insistent. Her foot shifted forward instinctively, her body poised to run after Tory. She could feel the questions knotting in her throat, pressing against her ribs, each one sharp and burning, waiting to be released.

But before she could take another step, an arm wrapped gently around her own, grounding her like a stone settling in still water. Robby. His touch was steady, a quiet presence that eased the storm within her. She felt her muscles soften, her pulse slowing, her anger slipping into a softer ache as his fingers tightened gently, reminding her of his closeness, his calm.

Robby didn't say a word; he didn't need to. His gaze met hers, a silent request woven into the depths of his eyes, and with a simple look, he reminded her to let it go. She felt his quiet strength seep into her, filling the spaces where her anger had been, easing the sharp edges into something she could hold without being cut. It was uncanny, really, how effortlessly he could do this to her — how, with just a touch, he could still her, could coax the anger out of her, transform it into something softer, something she could bear.

He was an anchor in the churning sea of her emotions, steady and unshakable, a presence she could lean into without fear.

Jieun exhaled slowly, feeling the tension unravel from her shoulders as she let Robby's calming presence wash over her. She watched, rooted to the spot, as Tory continued walking, each step taking her further and further away. And then, without a single glance back, Tory slipped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a quiet finality that felt like the closing of a chapter.

Kwon and the other Cobra Kai students brushed past them, shoulders bumping, their presence sharp and jarring. One of them gave Eli a rough shove as they passed, but the Miyagi-Do students stood their ground, unyielding, their unity a silent rebuttal.

Jieun barely noticed the shoves or the mocking laughter that lingered in their wake; she was too focused on the echo of the closing elevator doors, on the image of Tory's back disappearing from view.

The hurt was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but with Robby's arm around her, it felt muted, bearable. She leaned into the silence that Robby had offered her, the quiet space between them where words weren't necessary, where she could simply exist without the weight of her anger or the ache of betrayal.

For a moment, just a moment, she let herself surrender to the stillness, finding strength in the comfort he offered so freely, like an unspoken promise that he would be there, grounding her, whenever she needed it most.

THE AQUARIUM WAS A WORLD OF blue. Light filtered through the water in shifting patterns, casting ripples across the walls and floor, painting everything in hues of sapphire and turquoise. It was a quiet kind of magic, one that hummed in the air, muffled and slow, like the gentle pull of the tide. The sound of water lapping against glass mingled with the distant murmur of visitors, creating a symphony so soft that it almost felt like silence.

Jieun sat cross-legged in front of the beluga whale exhibit, her gaze fixed on the glass where the whales glided effortlessly through the water. The tank stretched upward, its curved walls magnifying the deep blue expanse and the graceful forms moving within it. The belugas were pale and luminous, their white skin catching the light in a way that made them seem otherworldly. They moved with a serene elegance, their round heads bobbing gently as if nodding to some secret rhythm only they could hear.

One of the whales paused near the glass, turning its head as though looking directly at her. Its dark, curious eyes seemed to hold entire oceans within them, depths she couldn't quite fathom but wanted to. The beluga's mouth curved upward slightly, giving the impression of a perpetual smile, a warmth that softened the ache in her chest. Its body swayed gently in the water, its fins undulating with the kind of grace that only something born to the sea could possess.

Jieun liked the belugas. Her father had loved them. They were his favorite animal, though she had never asked why. He would talk about them sometimes, in passing, his voice quieter and softer than usual, as though the subject held a weight she didn't understand.

When she was younger, she used to think it was silly — to have a favorite animal, to care so deeply about something you couldn't touch or see every day. But sitting here now, surrounded by the endless blue and the gentle giants that swam through it, she thought she might understand.

The belugas felt like a lullaby, like the kind of peace you don't realize you're longing for until it's right in front of you. Their movements were slow and deliberate, unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world.

Jieun envied that.

She envied their calm, their simplicity, the way they seemed to belong so completely to this world of water and light.

Watching them felt like stepping into her father's memories, like catching a glimpse of the things he had loved and held close, the things he had never quite put into words.

Her chest tightened at the thought, an ache that wasn't quite pain but wasn't easy either. She missed him. It was a sharp thing, even now, but in this moment, it felt softer, easier to carry. The belugas didn't just remind her of him; they explained him. They held the quiet, steady kind of beauty he had always admired, the kind of peace he had wanted for her and maybe hadn't always known how to give.

One of the whales let out a soft, melodic whistle, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the water and into the air. It was haunting and beautiful, a song that lingered long after it had ended. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over her, letting it fill the spaces that words couldn't. When she opened them again, the belugas were still there, swimming in their endless blue, unbothered by the weight of the world outside.

Footsteps echoed against the polished floors, each tap reverberating softly through the hushed stillness of the aquarium. Jieun didn't turn. She remained where she was, cross-legged and motionless, her gaze fixed on the pale forms gliding through the tank. The sound of water rippling against the glass was her anchor, grounding her in this world of quiet, endless blue.

The aquarium had been reserved for the tournament participants, a rare reprieve from the clamor of training and competition. It could have been anyone wandering through the hall, drawn like her to the peaceful embrace of the sea life.

But then she heard it — a whisper, tentative and uncertain, her name curling softly in the air. "Jiji?"

She glanced sideways, her dark eyes catching the faint silhouette of Devon Lee, hovering at a distance as though afraid to step closer. Devon's hands were tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her posture uncertain, but her gaze steady as she met Jieun's eyes. Hesitation lingered in her expression, but there was something else, too — admiration, deep and quiet, like a current running beneath still waters.

Devon had always admired Jieun. It was hard not to, really. From the first time they'd trained together, Jieun had radiated a strength that seemed effortless, an unshakable confidence that drew everyone's attention without her needing to demand it. On the mat, Jieun was precise and relentless, every movement calculated, every strike devastating. She had a way of making her opponents falter before she even landed a blow, her composure and focus unnerving in their intensity.

And then there were her inches — those precious few that gave her just enough of an edge to secure victory again and again. Devon had watched Jieun win matches that seemed unwinnable, had studied the way she turned the tide in her favor with nothing more than a well-timed kick or a perfectly executed sweep.

There was something poetic about the way Jieun fought, something that made it clear she wasn't just good — she was the best.

That was why it had shocked Devon, maybe even irked her, when Jieun had forfeited her spot as captain of Miyagi-Do. Not because she thought Sam wasn't a good choice — Sam was a solid fighter, a natural leader in her own right — but because Devon had always thought Jieun was better.

She had the skill, the discipline, the respect of the entire team. She carried the kind of presence that made people fall in line without needing to say a word. So why had she stepped back? Why had she handed over the reins so easily?

Devon hadn't asked, not directly. It wasn't her place, and honestly, she wasn't sure she would have liked the answer. But the question lingered, a quiet frustration that flared every time she saw Jieun standing to the side, letting others take the spotlight she had earned.

She approached cautiously now, her footsteps soft against the floor. Jieun had turned back to the tank, her face calm but distant, as though her mind was somewhere else entirely. Devon hesitated a moment longer, then stepped closer, the light from the tank casting her shadow against the glass.

"I didn't think I'd find you here," Devon said, her voice quiet but steady.

Jieun didn't look at her, not right away. She was still watching the belugas, her expression unreadable, her fingers loosely clasped in her lap. "Why not?" she asked, her tone even, unhurried, like she had all the time in the world.

Devon shrugged, glancing at the pale whales drifting through the water. "I don't know. You just... don't seem like the type."

That earned her a sideways glance, a faint lift of Jieun's brow. "What type is that?"

"The type who... likes whales," Devon said, feeling ridiculous as the words left her mouth. She wasn't sure what she'd expected Jieun to say, but the faint curve of amusement at the corner of her lips caught her off guard.

"My dad liked them," Jieun said simply, her voice softer now, tinged with something Devon couldn't quite place. "I didn't get it before, but... I think I do now."

Devon nodded, unsure of what to say. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze flicking between Jieun and the belugas. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but not exactly easy either. Finally, Devon cleared her throat, taking a small step closer.

The pale glow of the beluga tank cast shifting light on Jieun's face, softening the edges of her usually sharp features. Devon shifted beside her, fidgeting with the zipper of her jacket as she tried to gather the courage to ask the question that had been on her mind since the tournament began. The calm of the aquarium felt fragile, a thin layer of ice stretched over the deep, and she was afraid that her words might shatter it.

But it was now or never.

"Jiji," she began, her voice barely audible above the gentle hum of the water.

Jieun didn't look at her, her gaze still fixed on the slow, graceful arcs of the belugas as they swam. "Mm?"

Devon hesitated, her fingers tightening around the zipper. "I just... I've been wondering something."

Jieun glanced at her then, her dark eyes curious but not unkind. "What is it?"

Devon bit her lip, glancing back at the tank as though the whales might offer her the right words. When they didn't, she took a deep breath and spoke, her voice soft but steady. "Why did you forfeit?"

Jieun's expression didn't change, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, a slight straightening of her back, as though she were bracing herself. "You were there," she said evenly. "And it doesn't matter now. Sam will be a good captain."

"That's not what I mean," Devon pressed, her voice trembling slightly with the weight of her question. "I mean... You could've led us, shown the world what Miyagi-Do is capable of. And now..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Now Tory's on their team," She finished, her voice quiet but firm. "It feels like... like your forfeit was for nothing."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Jieun didn't respond right away, her gaze returning to the tank. For a long moment, Devon thought she wouldn't answer at all.

But then Jieun spoke, her voice soft and measured, like she was choosing each word with care. "It wasn't for nothing."

Devon frowned, confused. "But —"

"You're looking at it the wrong way," Jieun said, cutting her off gently. She turned to face Devon fully now, her eyes steady and unwavering. "It wasn't about the tournament. It wasn't about me. It was about Tory."

Devon blinked, taken aback. "Tory?"

Jieun nodded, her gaze distant as though she were seeing something far away, something only she could understand. "Her mom had just died," she said quietly. "And everyone... they dismissed her. Said she wasn't in the right state of mind to fight, that she was too angry, too reckless. But I knew better. I knew what she needed."

Devon tilted her head, unsure. "You mean... fighting?"

"Yes." Jieun's voice was firm now, resolute. "When my dad died, fighting was the only thing that got me through it. It gave me focus, purpose. It was something I could hold on to when everything else felt like it was falling apart. I knew that's what Tory needed, too. She didn't need someone telling her to sit out or calm down. She needed someone to believe in her, to stand by her."

Devon's brow furrowed as she processed Jieun's words. "So... that's why you went after her?"

Jieun nodded again, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Tory was my best friend. She still is. I couldn't let her go through that alone."

Devon's heart ached at the quiet conviction in Jieun's voice, but a part of her still didn't understand. "But she's with Cobra Kai now," she said hesitantly. "After everything you did for her... she still left. Doesn't that... I don't know, doesn't that hurt?"

Jieun's gaze dropped to her lap, her hands loosely clasped together. "Of course it hurts," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But that's not why I did it. I didn't do it to keep her here. I did it because it was the right thing to do. Because she needed me."

Devon was silent, her chest tight with emotion. She had always admired Jieun's strength, her confidence, her unshakable focus. But sitting here now, listening to her speak, she realized there was so much more to Jieun than she had ever known.

"You don think..." she began, "That maybe you should've been captain?"

Jieun didn't react right away. Her gaze remained fixed on the tank, her face calm, unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "We haven't even seen what Sam can do."

"I know," Devon said quickly. "It's not that. It's just... you're better. You're stronger, more focused. People listen to you. They follow you, even when you're not trying to lead. It just... surprised me, that's all. When you gave it up."

Jieun's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze steady but distant. "Being the best fighter doesn't make you the best leader," she said after a moment.

Devon tilted her head, studying Jieun's profile. There was a weight to her words, something unspoken but heavy, and for the first time, Devon wondered if stepping back hadn't been about Sam at all. Maybe it had been about something else — something deeper, something Jieun wasn't ready to share.

"Maybe not," Devon said finally. "But it doesn't hurt either."

Jieun turned to her then, her dark eyes sharp but not unkind. For a moment, Devon thought she might argue, but instead, Jieun just looked at her, her gaze steady and searching, like she was trying to decide something.

"Why does it matter to you?" Jieun asked, her tone even but curious.

Devon hesitated, then shrugged. "Because I look up to you," she admitted, her voice quieter now, almost shy. "We all do."

Jieun's expression softened, just a little, and she turned back to the tank, her gaze following the belugas as they drifted through the water. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the soft hum of the aquarium and the rhythmic sound of the whales' movements.

Devon had pulled her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly, like a child clinging to a sense of safety. The earlier tension in her face had softened, but her lips were pressed together, her thoughts clearly weighing heavy.

Jieun waited, patient, giving her space to speak. She had learned long ago that silence was an invitation, a sanctuary for words to find their way.

Finally, Devon broke the quiet, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "I don't know if I'm ready for tomorrow."

Jieun turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting Devon's. "What makes you say that?"

Devon let out a breath that was half a sigh, half a laugh, and shook her head. "I mean, just look at everyone else. Miguel, Sam, Robby — they're all so confident. Even Robby has this... I don't know, this calm about him. Like nothing rattles him." She bit her lip, staring down at her hands. "But me? I feel like... like I'm just pretending to belong here."

Jieun tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Pretending?"

Devon nodded, her voice quickening as though the words had been bottled up for too long. "Yeah. Like, I know I've trained hard, and I've improved a lot since I joined. But when I look at everyone else, I can't help but feel like I'm always two steps behind. What if tomorrow I freeze? What if I embarrass myself, or worse — what if I let the team down?"

Jieun didn't interrupt, letting Devon's words tumble out in a cascade of fear and doubt. She could hear the unspoken plea behind them, the need to be seen, to be reassured.

When Devon finally paused, her breathing a little uneven, Jieun spoke, her tone calm and steady. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

Devon blinked, startled by the question. "What?"

"I see someone who doesn't give up," Jieun said, her voice firm but warm. "I see someone who has fought tooth and nail to be here, who works harder than anyone else in the room because she cares so much. And that? That's what matters. Not how many kicks you land or how fast you are. It's your heart that makes you belong here, Devon. Not anyone else's opinion, not even your own doubts."

Devon swallowed hard, her throat tight. "But what if that's not enough? What if I mess up and ruin everything for us?"

Jieun smiled faintly, her eyes softening. "You won't. But even if you did, we'd still be proud of you. Because you're here, and you're giving it everything you've got. No one can take that from you."

Devon's lip quivered, but she managed a shaky laugh. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," Jieun said, her tone gentle but resolute. "It's not easy, but it's simple. You focus on what you can control — your effort, your focus, your attitude. The rest will fall into place."

Devon let the words settle, the weight of her anxiety easing ever so slightly. She looked at Jieun, really looked at her, and saw not just a fighter, but a leader, someone who carried a quiet strength that didn't need to be announced.

"You know," Devon said after a moment, her lips curving into a small but genuine smile, "you told me that being the best fighter doesn't make you the best leader. But I think you're both. And that's kind of amazing."

Jieun chuckled softly, a lightness in her expression that hadn't been there before.

Devon's smile grew. For the first time that evening, she felt a little less alone, a little more capable. And as they sat together in the quiet glow of the beluga tank, the weight of tomorrow didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

guys part 2 was fucking insane

and i can't wait to write it

had to add a lil devon and jiji moment bc i never explored their friendship and i think this was a great opportunity!!!

much love,