𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄. a broken promise and a shattered heart

THE AIR WAS THICK WITH HEAT OF THE afternoon sun, and yet the tension that simmered within the dojo's walls was palpable, more oppressive than the sun's rays. Inside, the quiet sounds of breath and movement filled the space, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of Sam's fists against Jieun's bandaged hands.

Jieun could feel the force of each punch as Sam drove her fists into her palms, the impact reverberating through her arms. There was something relentless about the way Sam moved, her body a coiled spring of energy and determination. Sweat dripped from her brow, but her eyes remained sharp, focused, unwavering.

Jieun admired that about her. It was impossible not to. Over the past few days, it was clear that Sam had thrown herself into training with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Every moment, every breath seemed dedicated to honing her skills, pushing herself further, striving to be stronger, faster, better.

Jieun had seen it in the way Sam had spent hours drilling herself on technique, repeating the same movements over and over until they were as natural as breathing. There was a fire within her, a hunger that refused to be quenched, and Jieun couldn't help but wonder if she should have been the same. If she should have dedicated herself just as fiercely to the upcoming competition.

But her mind had been elsewhere, her heart tugged in a different direction. The day of her father's death anniversary had come and gone, and Jieun had spent it alone at the cemetery, sitting by his grave, letting the weight of his absence settle over her. She had brought flowers, and stayed until the sun dipped below the horizon, lost in memories of a time when he was still with her.

The guilt of that day lingered in the back of her mind, a quiet whisper that perhaps she should have been here, training, preparing. But no, that day was for her father, and nothing else could have mattered more.

As Sam's punches continued, Jieun's gaze drifted towards the far end of the dojo, where Robby was practicing alone. His movements were precise, controlled, but there was a weight behind them, a burden that he carried with him. Jieun knew that burden well. They had spoken about it before, in the quiet moments when the world felt like it was closing in on them. Robby had confided in her about how he always felt like he was second best, how he was always just a step behind, never quite good enough. He had told her how much he wanted, just once, to be the one who stood at the top, to win something, to prove to himself that he could.

The punches grew harder, faster, Sam's breath coming in short, controlled bursts. Jieun's hands tingled with the impact, but she kept them steady, absorbing the blows, her mind only half present in the moment.

There was so much riding on this competition, so much at stake for all of them. But as she looked at Sam's determined face, and then at Robby's solitary figure, she couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration. They were all fighting for something, driven by forces deeper than the competition itself.

Sam's fists continued to land with precision against Jieun's hands, but there was a subtle shift in her rhythm, a slight hesitation as if sensing the change in the air. Jieun was present, but only partially; her eyes, though focused, had a distant quality to them, as if her mind had wandered beyond the confines of the dojo. Sam noticed it, the way Jieun's grip on the moment seemed to waver, like a candle flickering in a draft.

"Where's your head at?" Sam's voice broke through the quiet intensity of their training, her words a sharp contrast to the muted thud of her punches. She didn't stop, didn't let up, but her eyes narrowed as she studied Jieun's expression, searching for an answer in the furrow of her brow, the slight tension in her jaw.

Jieun shrugged, a small, almost dismissive gesture, but there was something else in her eyes, something that Sam couldn't quite place. It wasn't like Jieun to be distracted, not now, not with so much on the line. But before Sam could press further, Jieun's gaze shifted, her eyes scanning the dojo with a sudden sharpness, like she was searching for something — or someone.

She realized, with a sudden clarity, what had been gnawing at the back of her mind, what had been out of place. "Where's Tory?" Jieun asked, her voice carrying an edge of concern that hadn't been there before. She looked at Sam, hoping for an answer that would settle the unease growing in her chest.

Sam paused, her fists lowering slightly as she processed the question. She had assumed Jieun knew, that Tory was with her, that there was nothing out of the ordinary. But the look on Jieun's face, the way her brows knitted together in a frown, suggested otherwise. "I thought you knew," Sam replied, her own confusion mirrored in her tone. The uncertainty between them lingered, heavy in the air.

Jieun's thoughts began to spiral, her mind racing back to the texts she had sent Tory the day before. She had messaged her several times, small updates, reminders about today's duel, and even a few casual lines about how they should meet up beforehand. But there had been no response. Not a single reply, and now, in the stark light of the dojo, that silence seemed louder, more pressing.

It wasn't like Tory to ignore her texts, especially not on a day like this. Tory was always responsive, quick to shoot back a message, even if it was just a brief acknowledgment. The absence of a reply had felt off, but Jieun had brushed it aside at the time, rationalizing that Tory was probably just focused, buried in her own training, preparing herself mentally for the duel. Tory had a way of shutting out the world when she needed to, a kind of tunnel vision that Jieun both understood and respected.

But now, standing here in the dojo with no sign of Tory, that silence took on a different meaning. Jieun's mind raced through possibilities, but none of them made sense. Today was too important, too pivotal for Tory to just be absent. Her thoughts tangled with worry, the quiet alarm bells ringing louder the more she considered the situation.

Jieun glanced at Sam, who seemed to share in her unease, though neither of them said it out loud. The dojo felt different now, the tension in the air shifting from the natural strain of competition to something more uncertain, more unsettling. Jieun's eyes drifted back to the entrance, half-expecting Tory to walk through the door, smirking, with some offhanded comment about being late. But the doorway remained empty, the quiet stretching on.

Jieun forced herself to focus back on Sam, nodding slightly, a signal to continue. They resumed their practice, but the rhythm was off now, disjointed, as if the worry gnawing at the edges of Jieun's thoughts had seeped into the air between them. She hit back harder, hoping that the force of her movements would drown out the questions swirling in her mind, but the uncertainty lingered, heavy and persistent.

The air shifted as Johnny and Daniel moved to the center of the dojo, their voices cutting through the low hum of conversation, drawing everyone's attention. The weight of the moment settled over the group, a collective hush falling as Robby and Miguel stepped forward, readying themselves on the sparring deck. The tension that had been building all morning now coiled tightly around them, the anticipation crackling like static in the humid air.

Jieun stood at the edge of the deck, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the bandages tight against her skin. She should have been focused on the fight, on Robby, her boyfriend, the one who had confided in her about his need to prove himself, to win something that truly mattered. She knew how much this meant to him, how much he had poured into this moment. But her mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of thoughts about Tory.

It made no sense, and the more Jieun thought about it, the more unsettled she became. Tory had been clear about wanting a rematch, about how much it meant to her to prove herself again after the All Valley Tournament.

The memory of that fight was still fresh in Jieun's mind — the intensity, the clash of wills, the way Tory had fought with everything she had. And then the revelation afterward, that it had all been tainted, that Sensei Silver had paid off the ref. Tory had been robbed of a clean victory, and it had eaten away at her.

She had wanted to face Jieun again, to fight her fair and square, and today was supposed to be that day.

But Tory was nowhere to be seen.

Jieun's eyes drifted to the sparring deck, where Robby and Miguel were circling each other, every muscle in their bodies taut with concentration. She knew she should be watching, for Robby's sake, for the sake of the person she cared about more than anyone else. He needed her support, her focus. But even as she tried to anchor herself in the present, her thoughts kept slipping away, back to Tory's unexplained absence, the gnawing sense of unease that refused to be silenced.

The sound of Daniel's voice announcing a point snapped her back to the moment. Jieun looked up, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Sensei LaRusso signal the second point to Miguel. She sucked in a sharp breath, realizing with a pang of guilt that she hadn't even noticed the first two points being scored. She had been too lost in her thoughts, too consumed by worry.

The sparring deck seemed to blur as Robby moved, his body responding more out of muscle memory than focused intent. Each strike, each block, felt heavier than it should have, like he was fighting against an invisible weight. It wasn't just the pressure of the match or the desire to win — it was something deeper, something more personal.

His thoughts kept drifting to Jieun, to the way her attention had been elsewhere, the way her eyes had seemed distant, even when they were locked on him.

He needed her to see him, really see him. Not just as another fighter on the deck, but as someone who could prove himself, someone who could be more than second best. He knew she cared, knew she was rooting for him, but the connection between them felt frayed today, like a thread stretched too thin. And that thread, that bond, was what he was clinging to, even as his focus wavered, even as Miguel's strikes landed with a precision that made his own efforts seem sloppy in comparison.

Robby's eyes sought Jieun's again, desperate for that connection, for the silent exchange that had always been there between them. When their gazes finally locked, it was like the world narrowed, the noise of the fight dimming, the tension in his muscles easing just a fraction. She was still distracted, he could see it in the way her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line.

But in that moment, she looked at him — really looked at him — and he felt a spark of reassurance.

Jieun's eyes softened, the worry in them giving way to something else, something warmer. There was a tenderness in her gaze that made Robby's heart skip a beat, a silent communication that didn't need words. It was as if she was telling him that she believed in him, that she saw him — not just as a competitor, not just as someone trying to win a title, but as Robby, the person who had opened up to her, who had shared his insecurities, who had allowed himself to be vulnerable.

That small, unspoken moment between them was enough to steady him, to give him the strength he needed to push through the noise in his head. Jieun's lips curved into a gentle smile, and it felt like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of doubt. There was something so simple, yet so profound, in the way she looked at him, as if she was reminding him that winning or losing didn't change the way she saw him. He was already enough in her eyes.

Robby's breath hitched as the warmth of her smile spread through him, calming the storm that had been brewing inside. It wasn't just about proving himself anymore; it was about knowing that Jieun believed in him, that she was there with him, even if her mind had been elsewhere. She was his anchor, the one thing that could pull him back when he felt like he was drifting too far.

He returned her smile, a small, almost shy gesture that carried more weight than words ever could. The connection between them, the bond that had been stretched and tested, felt strong again, resilient. For a brief moment, the world outside the sparring deck didn't matter. It was just them, two people who had found something rare and precious in each other, something that went beyond words or titles.

As Robby turned his attention back to the fight, he felt lighter, more centered. The desperation to win, to prove something, hadn't disappeared, but it was no longer a frantic, chaotic force driving him. Instead, it had been tempered by the quiet confidence that came from knowing Jieun was there, that she saw him for who he really was, and that was enough.

The sparring deck came back into focus, the noise of the dojo filling his ears again, but that moment with Jieun lingered, a sweet, reassuring presence that he carried with him.

As Jieun stood there, her attention still anchored to Robby, she felt a presence beside her. It was subtle at first, a faint awareness at the edge of her senses, but it grew stronger, drawing her out of her thoughts. She took a glance to her side, and there, just within her peripheral vision, she saw Tory.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Jieun's lips, a reflexive response to seeing her friend. It was a relief, a weight lifted from her chest. She hadn't realized just how much her mind had been preoccupied with Tory's absence until now, and seeing her there brought an immediate sense of comfort. The tightness in her chest loosened, and she felt herself relax, as if a piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place.

But as Jieun's eyes took in Tory's appearance, the comfort she felt began to shift into something else, something more unsettling.

Tory looked... different.

There was a paleness to her skin that hadn't been there before, a sickly hue that contrasted sharply with the usual fire in her eyes. Those eyes, normally so fierce and determined, were rimmed with red, the signs of exhaustion or tears, or perhaps both. The vibrant, defiant energy that defined Tory seemed drained, leaving behind a shadow of the person Jieun knew.

It was a look that Jieun recognized all too well, a look that was painfully familiar. She had seen it in her own reflection on days when the weight of the world felt unbearable, when grief and exhaustion had carved lines into her face and sapped the color from her skin. It was a look born from sleepless nights and an overwhelming sense of loss, from battles fought in silence, within the confines of one's own mind.

Jieun's smile faltered, replaced by a quiet concern that gnawed at her insides. The presence of Tory, once reassuring, now felt fragile, like it could shatter under the weight of whatever was haunting her.

The pale skin, the red-rimmed eyes, the way she seemed almost diminished in stature — these were all signs that something was terribly wrong. But it wasn't just that Tory looked unwell; it was the familiarity of it all that struck Jieun like a cold wind.

She had seen this exact look before, not in Tory, but in herself. The memory came rushing back with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of her. It was the look she had carried in the days after her father died, when the world had lost its color, and everything felt muted and distant. She remembered the way her own reflection had seemed like a stranger's, the way her eyes had looked too large, too haunted in the mirror, the way her skin had taken on that same sickly pallor as if all the life had drained out of her.

It was a look born of grief so deep it left you hollowed out, of sleepless nights spent wrestling with memories that refused to let go, of a weariness that settled into your bones and made every movement feel like a monumental effort.

She had lived it, breathed it, and now she was seeing it reflected back at her in Tory's face.

Before she could even reach out to Tory, to ask the question that was already forming on her lips, a sudden roar of applause erupted around her. The cheers filled the air, loud and triumphant, a wave of energy that swept through the dojo, pulling everyone into its current. Jieun's thoughts were momentarily scattered, drawn away from Tory by the collective excitement around her. She glanced toward the sparring deck, where Robby stood, a beaming smile lighting up his face, his eyes bright with the thrill of victory. He had done it — he had won the title of captain.

For a moment, Jieun felt a swell of pride for him, a warmth that tugged at the corners of her heart. She clapped along with the others, her hands moving in time with the rhythm of the cheers, but the smile on her face was forced, a mask to conceal the growing concern that gnawed at her insides. It was a strange juxtaposition, this mixture of joy and unease, the celebration around her clashing with the quiet storm brewing inside her mind.

Robby's eyes found hers amidst the crowd, and the pure, unfiltered happiness in his gaze made her heart squeeze with affection. He didn't just look proud — he looked relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

And as he ran to her, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides, Jieun felt a momentary ease, a brief reprieve from her worries. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, and she returned it, letting herself sink into the warmth and security of his hold.

But even as she held him, her right hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching out toward Tory, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her sleeve. It was a small gesture, an instinctual attempt to connect, to anchor Tory in the moment, to keep her from slipping further into whatever darkness she was battling. But before Jieun could even say anything, Tory pulled away sharply, her movement quick and forceful, as if the touch had burned her.

The shove wasn't hard, but it was firm, a clear rejection that sent a jolt of surprise and hurt through Jieun. She stumbled back slightly, the rejection hitting her more deeply than she expected, and she watched as Tory moved away, joining Sam on the sparring deck.

Jieun felt her heart sink a little, the brief comfort she had found in Robby's embrace now overshadowed by the cold reality of Tory's withdrawal. The shove, though small, carried with it a heavy weight, a message that Jieun couldn't ignore.

Tory wasn't just tired or upset — she was closing herself off, retreating into herself in a way that was all too familiar to Jieun.

It was the same way she had pushed others away after her father's death, the same way she had built walls around herself, too consumed by her own pain to let anyone in.

She turned her attention back to Robby, still beside her, still radiating the joy of his victory. She tried to focus on him, to be present in this moment of triumph for him, but her mind kept drifting back to Tory, to the way she had looked, to the way she had pulled away. The two emotions — pride for Robby and concern for Tory — warred within her, each vying for dominance, leaving her feeling torn and conflicted.

Jieun forced herself to smile again, to hide the turmoil churning inside her. She knew that Robby needed her support right now, that he deserved to have her fully present in his moment of victory.

Sam and Tory moved to their fighting positions with a palpable intensity, the kind that electrified the air and made every breath feel heavier. Their faces were set, eyes locked onto each other with a ferocity that left no room for hesitation. The sparring deck was their battlefield, and in that moment, nothing else existed but the fight ahead.

When Sensei Lawrence gave the command to begin, the tension snapped like a taut wire, releasing a flood of energy that surged through both fighters. Tory launched herself at Sam with a ruthlessness that bordered on feral, her movements sharp and unyielding, each strike delivered with a force that made Jieun flinch. There was no holding back — Tory fought like she had something to prove, like every punch, every kick was a message, a testament to the fire burning inside her. And Sam, despite her best efforts to match Tory's intensity, seemed to be struggling under the onslaught.

The fight was relentless, the sound of their hits echoing through the dojo, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath and the shuffle of feet on the wooden deck. Sam tried to give back as good as she got, her strikes powerful and precise, but it was no use. Tory was on a different level, her aggression almost overwhelming, and yet, despite her dominance, the score told a different story. Two points had already been awarded to Sam, and as the fight wore on, the tension only grew thicker.

Jieun watched from the sidelines, her heart pounding in her chest. She could see the strain on Sam's face, the determination in Tory's every move, and yet something about the fight felt wrong. It was too charged, too desperate, and that desperation was seeping into the air, infecting everyone who watched. Jieun held her breath as they moved into the next round, her eyes flicking between the two fighters, feeling the tension coil tighter and tighter until it felt like it might snap.

And then, in an instant that seemed to stretch on forever, everything changed. Tory's fist was arcing through the air, aimed straight at Sam, when suddenly, Daniel LaRusso was there, moving with a speed that belied his age.

He stepped onto the sparring deck and blocked Tory's punch, his hand coming up to intercept the blow before it could land. The impact sent a shockwave through the dojo, not because of the force, but because of the sheer unexpectedness of it. The fight was over, stopped in its tracks, and everyone seemed to freeze, the energy in the room shifting from intense to bewildered in the blink of an eye.

Jieun exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her heart still hammering against her ribs. She watched as Tory, her face twisted in anger and frustration, snapped at Daniel, her voice sharp and accusing. "That's not fair, that could have been a point!" The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her emotion, and for a moment, it seemed like the whole dojo held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Johnny stormed onto the deck, his anger a match for Tory's. "What the hell? I'm the ref. I'll decide when the fight's over." His voice was rough, charged with the same energy that had fueled the fight, and he glared at Daniel, who stood his ground, his expression serious, almost grave.

"I'll explain. I promise," Daniel began, but Tory cut him off, her desperation bubbling to the surface, making her voice crack.

"Don't stop the fight. Please." It wasn't just anger in her voice now — it was something deeper, something raw and painful that made Jieun's chest tighten in sympathy.

Sam joined in, her voice calmer, but still laced with concern. "I'm fine, Dad. Really." She tried to smile, to show that she could handle whatever was happening, but there was a tremor in her voice, a slight hesitation that gave her away.

But Daniel shook his head, his determination unyielding. "No, Sam. It's not that. It's not that. Come on, please, girl. Off the deck, let's go." His voice softened, pleading now, as he gestured for her to step down, his concern evident in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at his daughter.

Jieun's gaze darted between the fighters, the senseis, and the crowd, but her mind was racing, trying to piece together what had just happened, why Daniel had intervened so suddenly, so decisively. And then her eyes met Robby's. He was looking at her, concern etched into his features, and she realized that her own fear was mirrored in his expression. The look in his eyes was searching, as if he was trying to understand what was going on in her mind, trying to reach her through the fog of confusion and worry that clouded her thoughts.

Daniel, however, stood his ground. "Well, then, end the fight," he insisted, his voice firm but laced with an urgency that Johnny couldn't quite place.

Johnny scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "Why?"

And then, without a heartbeat later, Tory's voice cut through the room, her anger and desperation spilling over in a single, gut-wrenching sentence. "Because my mother died!"

The words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, draining the room of all its prior energy. The shock was palpable, a collective intake of breath as everyone processed what had just been said. Jieun felt the air turn somber, her heart sinking with the realization that her worst fears had just been confirmed. This was exactly what she had dreaded, the very thing she had seen in Tory's eyes the moment she walked into the dojo. And now it was out in the open, a raw wound for everyone to see.

She closed her eyes, bowing her head slightly, trying to steady herself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The memory of her own loss crashed into her like a wave, and for a moment, she was back there, in that terrible place where nothing made sense and everything hurt.

She knew exactly what Tory was going through, the way grief gnawed at you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to be.

Daniel was the first to speak, his voice soft, almost fragile. "I'm... I'm so sorry for your loss. But we can't continue this fight. This is not the time."

Tory, however, was having none of it. "Yes, it is. I have to fight now." There was a fierce determination in her voice, the kind that came from someone who had nothing left to lose. Jieun looked up at this, her gaze locking onto Tory. She understood that desperation, the need to fight through the pain, to find something tangible in the midst of all that grief.

Sam was next, her voice tinged with concern. "No, Tory. I want to fight too, but this is not right." The words, well-meaning as they were, struck Jieun as misguided, the kind of sentiment that came from someone who had never felt that deep, gnawing pain.

Jieun furrowed her brows, feeling a knot of frustration tighten in her chest. They were wrong. Tory needed to fight — needed it in the way that only someone who was teetering on the edge of their own sanity could understand.

Daniel's gaze swept over the gathered crowd, his face etched with frustration as he turned to Johnny, seeking a way out of the impasse. "Johnny, we need to handle this with care. We can't just push through the fight like this."

Johnny's response was firm, his tone resolute. "It's not up to us. If Nichols wants to fight, she should." His words cut through the room like a stark declaration, an unyielding stance in the face of the emotional turmoil that had enveloped them. There was a sense of finality in his voice, a belief in the importance of personal choice even amidst the chaos of the moment.

Daniel sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the tension that seemed to have settled into his very bones. "Johnny, we'll find another way. In the meantime, let's have Sam and Jiji spar. Let Tory rest. We'll figure it out from there how to appoint captain."

Tory's reaction was immediate and vehement, her voice rising in anguish. "Find another way? No. No! You do not understand. None of you understand!" Her words were a desperate plea, her frustration palpable as she spun around to face Amanda LaRusso, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and sorrow.

"My mom would have wanted this," Tory said, her voice breaking. "I have to do this. I have to do this for her. I have to fight." The conviction in her words was fierce, a testament to the depths of her grief and the need to honor her mother's memory in any way she could.

Amanda's response was gentle but firm, her expression a mix of concern and resolve as she approached Tory. "Tory, I know what you're feeling. Okay? But I also know that you're not in the right headspace to decide." Her voice carried a soothing quality, but there was a clear boundary in her tone, an understanding that the situation was delicate and required careful handling.

Tory's face was a portrait of anguish, her features twisted in a way that made Jieun's heart ache. The girl was so utterly broken, her vulnerability laid bare, and it seemed as though no one was truly listening to her except Jieun and Johnny. The frustration of feeling unheard, of having her pain dismissed, was evident in every line of her face.

With a voice laced with anger and hurt, Tory spat out, "No, you just don't want me to beat your daughter." Her words were a harsh accusation, a plea for recognition of her own struggle and an accusation that Amanda's refusal was not about her well-being, but about competition and rivalry.

Amanda shook her head solemnly, her expression softening with a deep sadness. "No," she said, her voice barely a whisper against the din of emotions swirling around them. There was a sorrowful resignation in her tone, as if she was mourning not just Tory's loss but the fractured understanding that seemed to separate them all.

Jieun watched the exchange with a heavy heart, her own feelings of empathy and sorrow mingling with a fierce protectiveness for Tory. The scene before her was a tragic reflection of the struggle between personal grief and external expectations, a struggle that was all too familiar.

Johnny's gaze, while firm, was not unfeeling. He looked at Tory with a sense of grim understanding, his own struggles reflected in the silent exchange of looks and the weight of the moment. There was no easy resolution, no quick fix to the turmoil that had erupted.

Tory's voice was sharp, laced with the bitterness of her grief and the defensive armor she'd built around herself. "Because when push comes to shove, you're gonna choose her over me." The words hung in the air, a raw accusation that sliced through the fragile calm. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and vulnerability, a fierce need to be seen, to be heard, to have her pain recognized instead of brushed aside.

Daniel, who had been trying to diffuse the situation, stepped in with a voice that was gentle but firm. "No, it's not that, Tory." His tone carried the weight of someone trying to keep the peace, but there was an undercurrent of urgency, a need to make her understand that they weren't her enemies in this.

Amanda, her expression softened by the maternal instinct that had always guided her, echoed Daniel's sentiment. "Hey, we're not taking sides." Her voice was soothing, but there was a firmness to it, as though she was trying to establish a bridge between them all, a connection that could hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm the situation.

But before the tension could dissolve, Johnny's voice cut through, low and steady, his face a mask of stoic resolve. "You sure about that?" His words were a quiet challenge, a pointed reminder of the divisions that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface. He didn't need to raise his voice; the weight of his statement was enough to cast a shadow over the room, making everyone pause.

Daniel shook his head, exhaling deeply as if the very act of trying to maintain control over the situation was draining him. "Johnny..." he began, but his words trailed off, a sigh slipping through his lips as the complexities of their intertwined lives seemed to choke any further argument. It was as though the weight of their shared history, the conflicts, and the allegiances, had become too much to bear in that moment.

It was then that Jieun, who had been silent, her heart a cauldron of emotions, finally found her voice. Her tone was measured, yet there was an edge to it, a note of quiet determination that came from the deep well of understanding she had for what Tory was going through. "It does sound like you're taking sides," Jieun said, her voice cutting through the tension with an unexpected clarity. The words weren't an accusation, but they held a mirror to the conversation, reflecting back the unspoken biases that had colored their interactions.

Her gaze moved between Daniel, Amanda, and Johnny, as she spoke, her words deliberate and calm, but charged with the weight of her own experience. "None of you guys are listening," she continued, "Not really." There was a deep sadness in her eyes, one that came from knowing exactly what it was like to feel unheard, to have your pain overshadowed by the decisions of others.

Tory's outburst had stirred something in Jieun, a memory of her own anguish when she had lost her father, and how people had tried to guide her through the grief without truly understanding it. The well-meaning advice, the attempts at comfort, all had felt like distant echoes against the rawness of her pain. And now, watching Tory, she saw the same desperate need to fight through the grief, to find something — anything — that could make the hurt bearable.

Johnny's eyes flicked to Jieun, a flicker of recognition passing between them. He understood the necessity of the fight, the way it became a way to channel the rage and the sadness into something tangible, something that made sense in a world that suddenly didn't. It wasn't about winning or losing; it was about survival. Tory needed this, just as Jieun had once needed it, and he wasn't going to take that from her.

The tension in the room was palpable, every person caught in the web of their own thoughts, their own histories, trying to navigate the fraught emotional landscape that had suddenly erupted. Jieun's words had added a new layer to the conversation, a quiet but insistent call to let Tory make her own choice, to allow her the dignity of fighting through her pain.

Johnny, stoic and silent, stood firm in his belief that Tory needed this. Amanda, torn between her protective instincts and the reality of Tory's suffering, hesitated, her gaze shifting between her daughter and Tory, trying to find a way to make peace without causing further harm.

And Daniel was left to grapple with the conflicting loyalties and the raw emotions that had been laid bare. There were no easy answers, no quick resolutions. All they had were the words, the choices they would make in the next few moments, and the hope that whatever path they took, it would lead them to a place of understanding, if not healing.

Jieun knew this was a pivotal moment, one that would shape not just the outcome of the fight, but the very fabric of their relationships. And as she stood there, watching the storm of emotions play out before her, she felt the weight of her own history pressing down on her, urging her to speak, to ensure that Tory's voice was heard and respected.

It was the least she could do, for a girl who, in many ways, was fighting the same battle Jieun had once fought herself.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the frustration bubbling up inside her like a volcano ready to erupt. How could they not see it? How could they not understand that Tory didn't need to be coddled or sheltered from her pain? What she needed was to fight through it, to grab hold of something tangible, something that made sense in the midst of all the chaos.

Jieun could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the anger rising with every word that was spoken, every attempt to sideline Tory's need to fight.

She stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Why aren't you listening to her?" The words came out sharp, almost a hiss, her frustration and anger boiling over. "Why do you think you know what she needs better than she does?"

Daniel turned to her, surprised by the edge in her voice. "Jiji, we're just trying to help — "

"Help?" Jieun snapped, her eyes blazing. "You're not helping. You're ignoring what she's telling you she needs. You're so focused on what you think is best for her that you're not even listening to her. This isn't about you, or Sam, or your need to protect everyone. This is about Tory, and what she needs right now."

Amanda opened her mouth to respond, but Jieun wasn't finished. The anger that had been simmering inside her for so long had finally found an outlet, and she wasn't going to hold back. Not now, not when she saw so much of herself in Tory.

"You don't understand," Jieun continued, her voice rising with every word. "You don't understand what it's like to be in that kind of pain, to feel like the whole world is falling apart around you and the only thing you can do is hold on to whatever you can to keep from drowning. Fighting is the only thing that makes sense right now, and you're trying to take that away from her."

Johnny watched her, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that told Jieun he understood. He might not show it, but he got it. He knew what it was like to need the fight, to rely on it as a lifeline. But the others — they were so blinded by their own need to protect, to control the situation, that they couldn't see past their own fears.

Amanda stepped forward, her voice soft, trying to soothe the anger that was radiating off Jieun in waves. "Jiji, I know you're upset, but we're only trying to — "

"Stop," Jieun interrupted, her voice cold, cutting Amanda off before she could finish. "Just stop. You don't know what you're talking about. You think you're doing the right thing, but you're just making it worse."

Daniel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the tension that had settled there. "Jiji, we have to think about what's best for — "

Jieun's anger flared again, hotter this time, burning away the last remnants of her patience. "What's best for Tory? Are you kidding me? You're not thinking about what's best for her — you're thinking about what makes you feel better. You're thinking about how to keep everything under control, how to make sure nothing gets out of hand. But that's not what she needs. She needs to fight. She needs to feel like she has some control over what's happening to her. And you're taking that away from her."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her own experience, her own understanding of what it meant to be in that kind of pain. Jieun looked at them, at Daniel, Amanda, Johnny, all of them so sure they knew what was best, and she felt a surge of frustration, of sadness, that they couldn't see what was right in front of them.

"None of you..." Jieun continued, her voice hard, unyielding. "She doesn't need you to make decisions for her. She needs you to listen, to trust that she knows what she needs."

There was a silence after her words, a thick, oppressive silence that settled over the group like a heavy fog. Jieun could feel the tension in the air, the way the adults looked at each other, unsure of how to respond to the fire in her voice, the conviction in her words. But she didn't care. She didn't care about respect, or hierarchy, or any of the other things that usually kept her in check. All she cared about was making sure that Tory wasn't alone in this, that she didn't have to fight through her pain without someone by her side who understood what she was going through.

Johnny was the first to speak, his voice quiet, but there was an edge to it, a determination that matched Jieun's. "She's right," he said, his gaze steady as he looked at Daniel and Amanda. "If Tory wants to fight, she should fight."

Amanda looked at Johnny, then at Jieun, her face a mixture of concern and something else, something that Jieun couldn't quite read. "But Johnny —"

"No," Johnny cut her off, his voice firm. "She needs this. We're not gonna take it away from her."

Daniel shook his head, clearly torn between his own instincts and the force of Jieun's words.

Tory's voice rang out, sharp and brittle like glass about to shatter. "You want this fight to be over? Fine. It's over." The words hung in the air, bitter and final, before she turned on her heel and stormed off, her footsteps echoing with the weight of unspoken pain and anger. Jieun's heart clenched painfully as she watched her friend's retreating figure, feeling an overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over her. It was as if she were watching herself all over again, reliving the moments when she had been drowning in her grief, desperate for something to hold on to, yet too proud to ask for help.

Jieun's body moved on instinct, her feet already in motion to follow Tory out, to be there for her in the way she wished someone had been there for her. But just as she took a small step forward, she felt a hand on her arm, gentle yet firm. She turned to find Amanda looking at her with pleading eyes, silently asking her not to pry, not to push Tory any further. The softness in Amanda's gaze, the concern that lined her face, should have soothed Jieun, but it only fanned the flames of her frustration.

Amanda didn't understand. She couldn't possibly understand what Tory was going through, what Jieun had gone through. The well-intentioned caution, the desire to protect, felt suffocating, as if it were erasing Tory's agency, her need to fight through her pain. Jieun felt her chest tighten, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, as if she were being held underwater, struggling for air.

Without a word, Jieun jerked her arm free from Amanda's grasp, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

If looks could kill, Amanda would have been laid to rest right then and there.

The intensity of Jieun's anger surprised even her, a hot surge of emotion that burned through her veins like wildfire. She had no time for Amanda's well-meaning but misplaced attempts to soothe things over. Tory needed her, and Jieun was going to be there for her, no matter what.

But before she could take another step, another hand caught her arm, this one more familiar, more grounding. It was Robby, his touch light but insistent, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos that had erupted around them. He leaned in close, his voice a hushed whisper, his breath warm against her ear. "Jiji, wait."

Jieun stopped, her anger momentarily tempered by the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch. She turned to look at him, her eyes still blazing with the fire of her emotions, but there was a softness in her gaze as well, a recognition of the person standing before her. Robby's expression was conflicted, torn between understanding and concern, his brow furrowed in that way it did when he was trying to find the right words to say, the right course of action to take.

"I know you want to help her," Robby began, his voice low, careful, as if he were trying to soothe a wild animal that might bolt at any moment. "And I get it, I really do. But... you have to be careful. Tory's hurting right now, and if you push too hard, you might make things worse. You know what she's going through, but that doesn't mean you can take on her pain for her."

Jieun's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she listened to him. She understood what he was saying, she really did, but it didn't make the urge to run after Tory any less overwhelming. She wanted to be there, to support her, to make sure she didn't feel as alone as Jieun had felt when her world had crumbled.

But Robby's words cut through her anger, forcing her to confront the reality of the situation. He wasn't telling her not to care — he was asking her to trust Tory, to trust that she could find her own way through the darkness.

Robby continued, his voice steady, though there was a hint of sadness in his tone, as if he knew how much this was hurting Jieun. "I can't stop you from going after her, and I wouldn't even try. But just... be careful. Don't forget that she's got to figure this out on her own terms. You can't carry her through this, no matter how much you want to. All you can do is be there when she's ready."

Jieun's anger softened, replaced by a deep, aching sadness that settled in her chest like a heavy stone. She knew he was right, but that didn't make it any easier. The helplessness she felt, the inability to fix things for Tory, was like a weight pressing down on her, suffocating her with its intensity. She looked at Robby, her eyes searching his face, looking for something, anything, that would make this easier to bear.

Robby's gaze was unwavering, full of understanding and quiet strength. He wasn't asking her to walk away, but he was asking her to let go of the idea that she could make everything better, that she could somehow fix what was broken inside Tory. It was a hard truth to swallow, and Jieun felt the bitterness of it on her tongue, but she also felt the comfort of knowing that Robby was there, that he understood what she was going through.

Robby squeezed her arm gently, "I don't want you to lose yourself in this." he whispered, his voice a balm to her frayed nerves.

Jieun's voice came out in a whisper, but it was loud enough to cut through the charged silence, carrying an edge of raw pain and quiet defiance. "What good does grieving alone ever do?" The words hung in the air, echoing in the silence that followed, heavy with the weight of experience. She wasn't speaking just to the room; she was speaking to herself, to the memory of her own suffering, and to the girl who was now walking away to face her own pain.

As Jieun turned to follow Tory, her steps purposeful and resolute, she was suddenly stopped in her tracks by Daniel's voice, sharp and authoritative, slicing through the haze of her thoughts. "Jiji!" he called out, and there was a note of desperation in his tone, something that bordered on panic. "If you leave now, you're disqualifying yourself from competing for captain." The words were a command wrapped in a threat, meant to force her back into line, to remind her of the consequences of her actions.

Jieun froze, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy shroud. For a moment, she stood there, torn between duty and empathy, between her desire to lead and her need to be there for a friend in pain.

The silence that followed was deafening, the tension in the air palpable as everyone waited to see what she would do. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing like a drum, the sound of it filling her ears and drowning out everything else.

She could hear Johnny arguing with Daniel, his voice rising in anger, but the words were lost to her, distant and muffled as if she were underwater. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the noise of the dojo fading into the background, leaving only the sound of her own breath, shaky and uneven.

Jieun's mind raced, thoughts colliding with each other in a chaotic mess. She knew what this decision meant — she knew that if she walked out now, she was giving up her chance to prove herself, to take the mantle of leadership that she had been working so hard to earn.

But at that moment, none of it mattered. None of it could compare to the raw, aching pain she had seen in Tory's eyes, a pain that mirrored her own.

She stood there, paralyzed, as Johnny's voice cut through the fog, his words sharp and angry. "You can't force her to stay, LaRusso. This isn't just about the tournament — this is about doing what's right."

But Daniel was relentless, his voice equally intense, as if he were grasping at straws to maintain control. "We have rules, Johnny. We can't just let them walk away whenever they feel like it."

But Jieun wasn't listening to them anymore. Their voices were nothing but background noise, like the static on a broken radio. All she could think about was the way Tory had looked at her, the silent plea in her eyes, the desperation to be understood, to not be left alone.

A bitter taste filled her mouth, a mixture of anger and sorrow, as she made her decision. Slowly, she turned to look at Daniel, her eyes cold, hardening like stone. She didn't care about the consequences, didn't care about what they would think of her. All that mattered was Tory, and the promise she had silently made to herself, to never let anyone suffer the way she had.

Without a word, Jieun turned away from them all, her steps deliberate, her back straight. She could feel their eyes on her, the judgment, the confusion, the anger, but she ignored it all. None of them would understand her choice, but she didn't care.

As she pushed open the door, the air hit her face like a slap, a sudden rush of clarity washing over her. She knew that from this moment forward, she would never see Daniel LaRusso the same way again. There was a coldness in her heart now, a seed of resentment that had been planted, one that she knew would grow with time. But for now, all that mattered was finding Tory, being there for her in a way that no one had been there for Jieun.

Jieun stepped outside, the fence closing behind her with a finality that echoed in her chest. The cool air greeted her, sharp and biting, but it did little to quell the turmoil inside. Her eyes scanned the area, searching for the one person she knew needed her the most right now. It didn't take long for her to spot Tory, just a few feet away, crumpled on the ground as if the weight of the world had finally crushed her.

Tory was on her knees, her body hunched over, hands clutching her chest as if trying to hold her heart together. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one seeming to tear through her like a knife, and Jieun could see the struggle in her eyes — the desperate attempt to keep herself from falling apart. Tory's face was pale, her skin almost translucent in the harsh light, and her eyes were red-rimmed, filled with a pain so raw it was almost unbearable to witness.

For a moment, Jieun just stood there, her own heart aching in sympathy, memories flooding back to her like a tidal wave. She knew this pain. She knew the way it felt to have your world ripped apart, to be left alone with nothing but the echo of your own grief. She had been there once, and seeing Tory like this was like looking into a mirror, reflecting back the darkest moment of her life.

Without a word, Jieun walked over and sank down beside Tory, the rough pavement digging into her knees. The world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, the sounds of the dojo, the distant hum of the city, all fading into the background. All that mattered was the girl beside her, the brokenness in her eyes, the silent scream of her soul.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Jieun didn't reach out to touch her, didn't try to offer empty words of comfort. Instead, she simply sat there, her presence a silent affirmation that Tory wasn't alone. She watched as Tory struggled to control her breathing, counting each breath as if it were the only thing tethering her to the earth. In and out, in and out — Jieun could almost hear the rhythm in her mind, the desperate attempt to find some semblance of calm in the chaos of grief.

Finally, when the worst of it seemed to have passed, when Tory's breaths had evened out just a little, Jieun turned her head to look at her. The two girls locked eyes, and in that moment, a thousand words passed between them without a single one being spoken.

Jieun saw the fear, the anger, the overwhelming sadness, all swirling in the depths of Tory's gaze, and she knew that Tory could see the same reflected back at her.

Jieun didn't try to force Tory to speak, didn't try to push her into explaining what she was feeling. She knew better than anyone that sometimes words weren't enough, that sometimes all you needed was someone to sit beside you in the darkness, to share the weight of the pain you carried. But slowly, gently, she began to speak, her voice soft, barely above a whisper, as if she were afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment they were sharing.

"It's okay," Jieun said, her voice carrying the weight of her own experiences, her own grief. "It's okay to feel like this, to be angry, to be scared. You don't have to be strong all the time."

Tory's eyes flickered with something — maybe it was disbelief, maybe it was anger, but whatever it was, it was raw and real, and Jieun welcomed it.

"I know it feels like the world is ending, like nothing will ever be okay again. And maybe it won't, not for a long time. But you don't have to go through this alone." Jieun's voice wavered slightly, but she kept going, determined to reach through the walls Tory had built around herself. "I'm here, Tory. I got you, remember?"

Tory's hands tightened around her chest, her fingers digging into her skin as if she could somehow keep herself from falling apart. Her breathing hitched, and for a moment, Jieun thought she wouldn't respond, that she would keep everything bottled up inside like she always did. But then, in a voice that was barely more than a broken whisper, Tory spoke.

"It hurts," she said, her voice trembling. "It hurts so much, Jiji. I don't know how to make it stop."

Jieun felt her heart break a little more at the pain in Tory's voice. She reached out then, slowly, carefully, and placed her hand on Tory's back, feeling the tension coiled in her muscles. She didn't know if it would help, but she had to try, had to do something to show Tory that she wasn't alone.

"I know it does," Jieun said, her voice soft and filled with empathy. "I know it hurts, and I wish I could take that pain away, but I can't. All I can do is be here with you, to help you carry it."

Tory's shoulders shook, and for a moment, Jieun thought she might break down completely. But instead, Tory turned her head slightly, just enough to look at Jieun, and the raw vulnerability in her eyes was like a punch to the gut. "Why does it have to be like this?" Tory asked, her voice cracking. "Why does everything have to hurt so much?"

Jieun didn't have an answer for her, didn't have any words of wisdom or comfort to offer. All she could do was be there, to share the pain, to bear witness to the grief that Tory was drowning in. "I don't know," Jieun admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I did."

Tory's breath hitched again, but this time it wasn't in pain — it was in relief. She closed her eyes, and for the first time since they had sat down, Jieun saw the tension in her body begin to ease, just a little. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

They sat there in silence for a while, the world continuing to turn around them, but for Jieun and Tory, time seemed to stand still. There was no dojo, no tournament, no expectations or pressures — just the two of them, sharing a moment of quiet understanding.

Jieun knew that this wouldn't make everything better, that Tory's pain wouldn't magically disappear just because someone was there with her. But she also knew that sometimes, just knowing that someone cared, that someone was willing to sit with you in the darkness, could make all the difference.

Tory's voice, still shaky from the emotional storm she was weathering, broke the fragile silence between them. "Maybe... maybe they're right. Maybe I'm not fit to compete at all." The words came out like a confession, a secret she had been holding onto, trying to hide from herself, but now it was out in the open, hanging in the air between them.

Jieun's heart clenched at Tory's admission. She turned her head slightly to look at her friend, studying the way her shoulders slumped, the way her eyes seemed to stare blankly ahead, as if she had already resigned herself to this truth. There was a deep weariness in Tory's expression, a kind of exhaustion that went beyond the physical, beyond the immediate grief — it was the kind of tiredness that came from carrying too much, for too long.

Jieun furrowed her brows, her mind racing with the implications of what Tory had just said. Was she giving up her shot at the Sekai Taikai, the opportunity they had all been working so hard for? The thought sent a jolt through Jieun, but she quickly tamped down the initial surge of panic. This wasn't about the competition, about titles or glory. This was about Tory, about what she needed in this moment, and Jieun wasn't about to push her into something she wasn't ready for.

For a long time, Jieun didn't respond, letting the weight of Tory's words settle over them. She wanted to make sure she understood, that she wasn't projecting her own fears onto Tory. But as she sat there, as the seconds ticked by in silence, she realized that she did understand — perhaps more than anyone else could. She had been in this exact place once, feeling like she had nothing left to give, like the fight had been drained out of her entirely.

And yet, Jieun knew what it felt like to be pushed into something you weren't ready for, to have others decide what was best for you without really listening. She had been that person before, the one who was told to keep fighting, to push through the pain, when all she wanted was to stop, to breathe, to just exist without the pressure of expectations.

"Tory..." Jieun began, her voice soft, almost tentative. She paused, searching for the right words, wanting to make sure she conveyed everything she needed to. "If that's how you feel, then that's okay. You don't have to compete if you don't want to." She let out a slow breath, steadying herself. "I'm not going to try to convince you otherwise, because that wouldn't be fair. You need to do what's right for you, not what anyone else thinks is right."

Tory's head dipped slightly, her gaze dropping to the ground as if the weight of Jieun's words was too heavy to bear. "But... what if this is all I have?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she was afraid to admit it out loud. "What if this is the only thing keeping me going?"

Jieun felt her chest tighten at the vulnerability in Tory's voice. She reached out, hesitating for just a moment before gently placing her hand on Tory's, feeling the coldness of her skin. "Then you have to decide what matters more, Tory," Jieun said, her voice steady but filled with empathy. "Sometimes, holding on to something, even if it's all you have, can do more harm than good. And sometimes... letting go is the only way to find something better, something that will actually help you heal."

Tory's breath hitched, and she turned her head slightly to look at Jieun, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm scared," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I'm scared that if I stop fighting, I'll lose everything. That I'll have nothing left."

Jieun's heart ached at Tory's words, and she tightened her grip on her friend's hand, offering what little comfort she could. "I know," she said softly. "I know it's terrifying. But sometimes, stepping back isn't the same as giving up. It's about giving yourself the space you need to figure out what you really want, what you really need. And if that means not competing, then that's okay. You're more than just a fighter, Tory. You're more than what you can do on the mat."

Tory looked down at their joined hands, a slight frown creasing her brow as she absorbed Jieun's words. "But... if I don't fight, then what do I have? What am I supposed to do?"

Jieun swallowed, feeling the weight of the question. She wished she had an easy answer, something that could take away Tory's fear and uncertainty, but she knew there were no simple solutions. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice gentle.

Tory's lips trembled, and for a moment, Jieun thought she might start crying again. But instead, she just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered, her voice so quiet that Jieun had to strain to hear her. "I don't know if I can walk away."

Jieun squeezed Tory's hand gently. "You don't have to decide right now," she said softly. "Take your time. And if you do decide to walk away, it won't make you any less strong, any less of a fighter. It just means you're choosing to take care of yourself."

Tory looked at her, a mix of emotions swirling in her eyes — fear, uncertainty, but also a flicker of hope, as if Jieun's words had planted a small seed of possibility in her heart. "You really think it's okay to just... stop?" she asked, her voice tinged with doubt.

Jieun nodded slowly. "I do," she said, her voice firm but compassionate. "Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is stop fighting and allow yourself to heal. And when you're ready, if you ever want to fight again, you'll be stronger for it. But right now... it's okay to take a step back."

For a long moment, Tory didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the ground as she processed everything Jieun had said. Jieun could see the internal battle raging within her friend, the struggle between the instinct to keep pushing forward and the need to protect herself from further pain. It was a battle Jieun knew all too well, and she wished she could take some of the burden off Tory's shoulders, even if just for a little while.

Finally, Tory let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as if she had finally made a decision. "Maybe... maybe you're right," she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet resignation.

Jieun felt a surge of relief at Tory's words, but she kept her expression calm, not wanting to pressure her friend any further. "Whatever you decide," she said gently, "Promise me, you won't do what I did, promise me that you'll tell me."

"I will," she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the wind.

The entrance to the Sekai Taikai tournament in Barcelona loomed before Jieun like the gateway to a new world — one filled with challenges she had yet to face but had spent countless hours preparing for. The ancient city surrounded her with its towering Gothic architecture and narrow, winding streets, whispering the history of battles fought and won long before she had ever set foot on this soil. The air was warm, tinged with the salty breath of the nearby sea, carrying with it the scent of the earth and the distant echo of waves crashing against the shore.

Jieun paused at the entrance, taking it all in — the stone arches that framed the grand doors, the intricate carvings that told stories of warriors and their trials. The sky above was a deep, cloudless blue, the kind that stretched endlessly, making the world feel both infinite and intimate at once. The sun, already high in the sky, cast sharp shadows on the ground, highlighting every crack in the cobblestones beneath her feet.

She could feel the energy in the air, a pulsing, electric current that buzzed just beneath the surface, making her skin prickle with anticipation. Around her, the other dojos were already arriving, their members moving as one, like well-oiled machines, honed and sharpened by years of discipline and practice. They walked with purpose, their steps synchronized, their faces set in expressions of fierce determination.

Jieun watched them closely, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in every detail — the way they carried themselves, the slight tension in their shoulders, the way their hands hovered just above their belts, ready for anything. She could sense the nervousness beneath their confident exteriors, the way some of them glanced around, measuring their competition, sizing each other up. But there was strength there, too — a quiet, unshakable resolve that radiated from them like heat off the sun-baked stones.

The air was thick with the weight of what was to come, heavy with the knowledge that this was more than just a tournament. It was a proving ground, a crucible in which the weak would be burned away, leaving only the strongest, the most worthy. It was a place where reputations would be made and shattered, where dreams would be either realized or crushed beneath the pressure of expectation.

Jieun could feel her own heart beating in time with the pulse of the city, a steady, relentless rhythm that mirrored the march of the competitors as they filed into the tournament grounds. She was aware of every breath, every shift in the atmosphere around her, as if the very air was alive, charged with the collective hopes and fears of those gathered here.

Jieun could feel their eyes on her, on her team, assessing, judging, just as she was doing to them. The tension was palpable, a living, breathing thing that wrapped around them all, binding them together in this moment of shared anticipation. But beneath the tension, beneath the nerves, there was also a deep undercurrent of confidence — a belief in their own abilities, in the training that had brought them here, to this place, to this moment.

She took a slow, deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs, grounding herself in the present, in the reality of where she was and what she was about to face. The world around her seemed to sharpen, every detail coming into focus with startling clarity — the gleam of sweat on a competitor's brow, the slight twitch of a hand as it flexed in readiness, the way the sunlight caught the edge of a blade, turning it into a flash of silver fire.

As Jieun stepped inside the Sekai Taikai arena, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The grand, sunlit courtyard outside was a stark contrast to the interior. Here, the air was thick, almost oppressive, with a darkness that clung to the stone walls like a shroud. The lighting was dim, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to move and shift with every breath. The floor was polished black, reflecting the faint lights above, giving the illusion that the ground beneath her feet was endless, stretching into the abyss.

This place was nothing like the other competitions she had participated in before. There was a weight here, an intangible heaviness that pressed down on her shoulders, tightening her chest with every step. It was as if the very air was alive with the spirits of the countless fighters who had come before her, their presence a constant reminder of the battles fought and the blood spilled in pursuit of victory.

Jieun felt a chill run down her spine, her heart beating a little faster as she took in the surroundings. The walls, lined with banners and emblems from dojos around the world, bore silent witness to the unrelenting drive for dominance that this tournament represented. This was the pinnacle — the place where only the best of the best gathered, where skill alone was not enough to guarantee success. Here, every fighter was her equal, if not superior, and the realization sent a tremor of fear through her.

For the first time in a long while, Jieun felt small. Not in stature, but in spirit. The knowledge that she was surrounded by those who had trained just as hard, who had faced their own battles and emerged stronger, gnawed at the edges of her confidence. She had always been certain of her abilities, but here, under the shadow of this arena, that certainty wavered.

What if she wasn't enough? What if, despite everything, she fell short?

As Miyagi-Do took their positions outside the mat, the feeling of unease deepened. The air seemed to grow colder, the tension thicker, as if the very walls were closing in around them. The vastness of the arena felt more like a cage, each breath echoing in the hollow space, amplified by the silence of those watching. Jieun's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the stakes, of what lay ahead.

Then, she felt it — a presence, dark and foreboding, creeping into her awareness like a shadow cast by an unseen flame. She glanced to her right, her breath catching in her throat as she saw them. The students in black gi's, their movements deliberate, their gaze unwavering, seemed to glide across the floor with an unsettling grace. They radiated an aura of unshakeable confidence, their eyes cold and calculating as they eyed Miyagi-Do, sizing them up like predators circling their prey.

Jieun's blood ran cold as they took their places directly across from them on the mat, their presence overwhelming, suffocating. The very air seemed to crackle with their intensity, a dark energy that pulsed from them in waves, seeping into the bones of anyone nearby. It was a confidence born not just from skill, but from something deeper — an assurance in their power, their dominance, that was almost palpable.

And then, as if summoned by the tension in the air, their senseis appeared. Jieun's heart skipped a beat as she recognized them: Sensei Kim and Sensei Kreese. Once the ruthless leaders of Cobra Kai just down the street from her own dojo, now they stood as the representatives of Cobra Kai from South Korea, their presence as menacing as she remembered. The sight of them sent a jolt of fear through her, a stark reminder of the darkness she had faced before, and the darkness that had now returned.

Cobra Kai was back.

The realization hit her like a blow to the chest, stealing her breath. The ghosts of the past, the battles fought, the victories won at great cost — they all surged back to the forefront of her mind. But this was different.

This was not the Cobra Kai she had known, but something new, something even more dangerous. The thought that they had crossed oceans, that they had come all this way to compete at the highest level, filled her with a dread she hadn't felt in years.

Jieun's hands trembled slightly as she clenched them into fists, trying to steady herself. Her mind raced, the weight of the situation pressing down on her with crushing force. This was more than a competition. This was a battle for survival, for everything she had fought for, everything she believed in. The stakes had never been higher, and the fear that she might not be enough, that she might fail, gnawed at her resolve.

Not a moment later, another figure emerged from the shadows behind Kreese and Kim, clad in the same black gi that marked her allegiance. The figure moved with a confidence that was all too familiar, the unmistakable blend of strength and defiance that had always set her apart.

Jieun's heart sank as she recognized the girl standing there, her posture as fierce as ever.

It was Tory Nichols herself.

The sight of Tory in that gi, standing among those who had once been their enemies, hit Jieun with the force of a physical blow.

The world around her seemed to tilt, the ground shifting beneath her feet as a pit opened up in her stomach, a void that threatened to swallow her whole. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her gasping for breath, struggling to make sense of what she was seeing.

Betrayal. The word echoed in her mind, reverberating through her body like a relentless drumbeat. It was a feeling she had never expected to associate with Tory, her best friend, the one who had stood by her side through some of the darkest moments of her life. But now, seeing her in that black gi, aligned with those who had caused them so much pain, it was undeniable. Jieun felt as though something precious had been ripped from her, leaving a gaping wound in its place.

The pit in her stomach deepened, twisting into a knot of confusion, anger, and hurt. The questions swirled in Jieun's mind, each one sharper than the last, each one cutting deeper into the fragile fabric of trust that had held their friendship together.

Her hands trembled at her sides, the urge to reach out to Tory, to pull her back from the abyss, warring with the cold, hard reality of the situation. There was no mistaking the choice Tory had made, the path she had chosen to walk. It was a path that led away from Jieun, away from everything they had shared, everything they had fought to protect. And that realization cut deeper than any physical wound ever could.

Jieun's breath hitched in her throat as she tried to process the flood of emotions crashing over her. There was anger, hot and fierce, burning in her chest like a wildfire that threatened to consume her whole.

Anger at Tory for betraying her, for choosing to stand with those who had hurt them, anger at herself for not seeing it coming, for not being able to stop it. But beneath the anger, there was something else, something colder, more insidious — a deep, aching sorrow that settled in her bones, a sorrow that came from the knowledge that she had lost something irreplaceable.

She had always thought that their bond was unbreakable, that no matter what happened, they would always have each other's backs. But now, seeing Tory standing there, clad in the colors of their enemies, that belief shattered into a thousand pieces, each one cutting into her with cruel precision. The weight of that loss pressed down on her, threatening to crush her beneath its unbearable heaviness.

Jieun's heart ached with a dull, relentless pain, a pain that seeped into every corner of her being. The girl who had been her closest confidante, her strongest ally, was now a stranger to her, standing on the other side of a divide that seemed impossible to bridge. And that realization left her feeling hollow, as if a part of her had been carved out and lost forever.

She felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. There was no time for tears, no time to grieve what had been lost. Not here, not now. But the pain remained, a constant, gnawing presence that she couldn't escape. It wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing tighter and tighter until she thought she might break under the pressure.

And yet, even in the midst of her turmoil, there was a part of her that understood. She knew what it was like to be consumed by pain, to feel so lost that the only way forward seemed to be through the darkness. She had been there herself, had walked that path more than once. But understanding didn't make the betrayal any less real, any less devastating. It didn't make the ache in her chest any easier to bear.

As she stood there, rooted to the spot, her eyes locked on Tory, Jieun felt a cold, hard resolve settle over her. She didn't know why Tory had made this choice, didn't know what had driven her to this point, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty: this was war.

Tory had made her decision, and now Jieun would have to make hers.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

SEASON SIX PART ONE OFFICIALLY DONE!!!!!

still can't believe i'm almost done with this entire book.... its such a surreal moment for me

until november <3

much love,