At the Cobra Kai dojo

DJ, Miguel, and Johnny stood on the mat of the Cobra Kai dojo, the air thick with the sense that things were about to get serious.

Miguel glanced at Johnny with a small grin. "So, do I get the karate pajamas too?"

Johnny's voice boomed, "Quiet!"

Miguel flinched and straightened up immediately. "Okay," he muttered.

Johnny's stern gaze swept over the two boys. "The students only speak when spoken to. Is that understood?"

Miguel quickly nodded. "Yes."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "Yes... what?"

Miguel hesitated, unsure. "Uh... yes, sir?"

DJ interjected, "Yes, Sensei."

Miguel nodded, catching on. "Yes, Sensei."

Johnny smirked, satisfied. "That's better. You'll always address me as 'Sensei.' Got it?"

Miguel and DJ said in unison, "Yes, Sensei."

Johnny gestured to the mat. "And these aren't pajamas. This is a gi. You'll get one when you've earned it. Now, you two ready to start your training?"

DJ stepped forward with confidence. "Yes, Sensei."

Without warning, Johnny lunged, grabbing DJ and flipping him onto his back in one swift motion. DJ hit the mat with a thud, groaning in pain. "That hurt!" he exclaimed.

Johnny crossed his arms, staring down at DJ. "Lesson one: Strike first. Never wait for the enemy to attack."

DJ nodded, slowly getting to his feet as his back cracked audibly. "Ow! My back!" He winced, trying to straighten up. "Ow! My back!"

Johnny waved him off. "Go lean against the wall for a bit; the pain will go away. Take a little break. Watch and learn while I continue with Miguel. Understood?"

DJ sighed and nodded. "Yes, Sensei." He limped over to the wall, sliding down until he was seated, still grimacing.

Johnny turned to Miguel, his tone sharp. "We do not train to be merciful here. Mercy is for the weak. Out there, on the street or in competition, a man confronts you—he's the enemy. And an enemy deserves no mercy. What's the problem, Mr. Diaz?"

DJ noticed Miguel discreetly using an inhaler.

Miguel stammered, "Uh, no problem, Sensei. You just, uh... you hit me, and I have asthma, so..."

Johnny snatched the inhaler and hurled it into the wall, shattering it. "Not anymore. We don't allow weakness in this dojo. Leave your asthma, your peanut allergies, and all that other made-up crap outside. Understood?"

Miguel hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Sensei. Understood."

Johnny nodded in approval. "Good. Cobra Kai isn't just about karate—it's a way of life. Lesson one: Striking first is the first step toward victory. For example, say you're at a party, and you see a hot babe."

Miguel's face lit up slightly. "Yeah."

Johnny leaned in. "You don't wait for another guy to talk to her first, do you?"

Miguel looked sheepish. "I mean... I've never been to a party, so..."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Big surprise. All right, listen. Striking first means being aggressive. If you're not aggressive, you're a pus—uh, weak. And you don't wanna be weak. You wanna have guts."

Miguel frowned. "Don't you think you're doing a lot of genderizing?"

Johnny blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Miguel clarified, "You know, like, using certain words that perpetuate sexist worldviews that could—"

Johnny cut him off, his voice booming again. "Quiet!" Both DJ and Miguel flinched at the sudden outburst.

Johnny pointed at Miguel. "From now on, you don't listen to your guidance counselor or whatever woke nonsense they're feeding you. You listen to me. Is that understood?"

Miguel nodded quickly. "Yes, Sensei."

Johnny smirked, his tone softening just slightly. "Good." He turned to DJ, who was still seated against the wall. "You all right, kid? I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?"

DJ shook his head, his voice steady despite the pain. "No, Sensei. I think you just knocked the wind out of me."

Johnny gave a small nod of approval. "Good. You'll get used to it. Now, let's get back to training."

The room buzzed with intensity as Johnny prepared to put them through their paces, his no-nonsense teaching style leaving no room for excuses or weakness.

Johnny barked, "No, stop yapping like a little girl and give me 50 push-ups on your knuckles!"

Miguel hesitated for a moment, glancing at Johnny nervously. "Uh, okay," he muttered as he dropped down to the mat and started doing push-ups on his knuckles, struggling with each one.

DJ, leaning against the wall, stood up and walked over to join him. Without a word, DJ got down on the mat and began doing push-ups with ease, his movements fluid and controlled.

As Miguel grunted, struggling to push himself back up, DJ continued his push-ups effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat. Johnny watched them both with a critical eye.

"All right, Diaz," Johnny said, shaking his head. "Switch to crunches before you sprain something. Don't you have gym class or something?"

Miguel flopped onto his back, breathing heavily. "Yeah," he panted as he turned and started doing crunches.

At that moment, the dojo door creaked open, and a man in a button-down shirt and clipboard walked in. "Howdy there, Mr., uh... Lawrence?" he asked, looking around.

Miguel paused mid-crunch and corrected him eagerly, "It's Sensei."

Johnny snapped, "Miguel, shut up."

He strode toward the man, sizing him up. "What brings you in? Looking to lose that gut and learn how to kick some ass?"

The man glanced at his stomach, then back up at Johnny, unimpressed. "No. I'm with the city health department. This is a list of requirements for opening an exercise studio." He handed Johnny a thick packet of papers.

Johnny frowned and flipped through the pages. "This isn't an exercise studio. It's a karate dojo."

"Yeah, same deal," the man replied, glancing around the room. "Wow." His eyes lingered on the worn mats and dingy walls. "This place needs a lot of work. You're not open for business, are you?"

He turned his attention to DJ and Miguel. "You. Are you a customer here?"

Before DJ could answer, Johnny interjected with a smirk. "Oh, no. Those are just two illegals I picked up this morning. They're helping me set up."

The man raised his hands defensively. "I don't need to know about all that. My job's just to make sure this place is up to code. You don't want a scabies outbreak like that hot yoga place on Tujunga."

Johnny groaned as he scanned the list. "Wait, wait. So I have to do all this crap before I even open?"

The inspector shook his head, smirking. "No, you need to do all that to get the certificate that's required to get the insurance you need to open. But you knew that when you signed the lease, right?"

Johnny hesitated, his expression stiff. "Right. Yeah. Of course."

The man gave him a patronizing pat on the arm. "I'll drop by next week for another inspection."

As he walked toward the door, he stopped, noticing the dojo's logo on the wall. "Cool rattlesnake."

Johnny glared at him. "It's a cobra."

The man blinked, then nodded sheepishly. "Oh, right. Duh. Cobra... Kay? Got it." He chuckled awkwardly before heading out the door.

Johnny watched him leave, his jaw tightening. He muttered under his breath, "Cobra 'Kay'? What a moron."

DJ and Miguel exchanged a glance before Miguel whispered, "I think he liked it."

Johnny spun around, pointing a finger at Miguel. "Get back to work, Diaz! And no more talking."

Johnny turned back toward the mat, rubbing his temples briefly as if trying to shake off the annoyance of the health inspector. His gaze settled on DJ, who was still standing near the edge of the mat, watching Miguel struggle through his crunches. Johnny let out a sharp breath and walked toward DJ.

"All right, LaRusso Jr.," Johnny said, stopping in front of him. "Since Diaz here is still learning how to breathe properly, let's see if you've got any fight in you."

DJ straightened up, his eyes narrowing with determination. "I'm ready, Sensei."

Johnny smirked. "Yeah? We'll see about that. First, show me your stance."

DJ hesitated for a moment, then planted his feet shoulder-width apart and raised his fists. Johnny circled him slowly, scrutinizing his form like a hawk.

"Not bad, but your feet are all wrong," Johnny said, tapping DJ's back leg with his foot. "Move this one back. You're too squared up—makes you an easy target. And keep your fists up. You're not in a boxing match, you're in a fight."

DJ adjusted his stance as Johnny corrected him, his movements sharp and deliberate. "Like this?"

Johnny nodded. "Better. Now, when you punch, don't just throw your arm out like you're swatting a fly. Put your whole body into it. Twist your hips, plant your back foot, and drive the punch forward."

He demonstrated with a quick jab into the air, the force of the movement sharp and precise. DJ mimicked him, throwing a jab with more power this time.

"Good," Johnny said, nodding with approval. "Now follow up. Jab, cross. One-two. Keep it tight."

DJ moved through the combination, his punches growing smoother with each repetition. Johnny stepped closer, adjusting DJ's shoulders and elbows as he went. "Don't overextend. Keep it controlled. Power comes from precision, not wild swings."

Miguel, still doing crunches, glanced over at them. "He's pretty good, huh, Sensei?"

"Focus on your crunches, Diaz!" Johnny barked without looking. "You're not here to spectate."

Miguel groaned but resumed his workout. DJ, meanwhile, grinned faintly, feeling a boost of confidence from Johnny's attention.

"All right," Johnny said, stepping back. "Now, let's see how you move. I want you to keep that stance and circle me. Stay light on your feet, like a cobra stalking its prey."

DJ began to move, shifting his weight as he circled Johnny, his fists still raised. Johnny tested him with a few feints, stepping in and out of range to see how DJ reacted.

"Not bad," Johnny said. "You're staying balanced. That's key. But don't just react—think ahead. Always be ready to strike first."

Johnny suddenly lunged forward with a quick jab aimed at DJ's shoulder. DJ instinctively ducked and stepped back, his movements quick and precise.

Johnny smirked. "Good reflexes. Now hit me."

DJ blinked. "Wait, you want me to—"

Johnny interrupted, his voice firm. "I said, hit me. You won't hurt me, trust me. Give it your best shot."

DJ hesitated for only a moment before stepping in and throwing a solid jab at Johnny's chest. Johnny blocked it easily, nodding. "Better. Now faster. One-two, go!"

DJ launched a jab-cross combination, his punches sharper this time. Johnny deflected them both and stepped back, grinning. "Not bad, LaRusso Jr. You've got potential."

Miguel, now lying on his back panting, chimed in again. "Does that mean he's better than me, Sensei?"

Johnny turned to Miguel, his smirk widening. "Diaz, if you keep yapping instead of training, everyone will be better than you. Now get up and give me more push-ups."

Miguel groaned, rolling over onto his stomach to start another set. DJ chuckled under his breath but quickly refocused as Johnny turned back to him.

"Lesson two," Johnny said, his tone serious. "It's not enough to strike first. You've got to be ready for what happens after. We're gonna work on counters next. You ready?"

DJ nodded, his confidence growing. "Yes, Sensei."

Johnny's smirk softened into something almost resembling pride. "Good. Let's see what you've got."

And with that, the training continued, the dojo buzzing with energy as DJ started to truly find his rhythm under Johnny's tough but effective guidance.

Later

Later, DJ and Miguel were on their hands and knees, sponges in hand, scrubbing the mats of the dojo. The faint smell of cleaning solution filled the air as they worked in silence, the rhythmic squeak of the sponges the only sound.

Johnny walked in, glancing at their progress. "Looking good," he said, nodding approvingly.

Miguel let out a noncommittal hum, clearly less enthusiastic about the task. "Mm."

Johnny pointed to the mats. "Make sure you get both sides. And when you're done with that, you can deal with those exposed wires over there. That's gonna be a lot of work."

DJ straightened up slightly, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Sensei, what does any of this have to do with karate? Are you like Mr. Miyagi and my dad—teaching karate through chores?"

Johnny stopped mid-step, turning to DJ with a smirk. "Oh, so you think I'm pulling a Miyagi on you? Wax-on, wax-off kinda crap?"

DJ shrugged. "Kinda feels like it."

Johnny chuckled, crouching down to their level. "Listen up, LaRusso Jr., and you too, Diaz. This isn't about chores or teaching you some mystical lesson through scrubbing mats. This is about discipline. You think you can waltz in here and start throwing kicks without earning it? Nope. You gotta prove you're serious—prove you can handle the grind. Karate's not just about punches and kicks. It's about showing up, doing the hard work, and not quitting when things suck."

Miguel looked up from his sponge, glancing at DJ before speaking hesitantly. "So... no secret moves hidden in cleaning the mats?"

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "The secret move is not being lazy. That's the move."

DJ smirked faintly. "Got it, Sensei."

Johnny stood, clapping his hands together. "Good. Now stop talking and get those mats spotless. And I wasn't kidding about the wires—you're fixing those next."

As Johnny walked away, DJ and Miguel exchanged a look, both rolling their eyes but quietly getting back to work. Deep down, though, DJ felt a sense of respect for Johnny's no-nonsense approach. It wasn't like Mr. Miyagi's quiet wisdom or his dad's lectures—it was tough, straightforward, and exactly what he needed.

Johnny smirked as he leaned back, snapping his fingers and sending a beer cap flying across the dojo. "Just be glad you're not a sumo wrestler. Those guys have to wipe their sensei's asses."

Miguel and DJ exchanged amused looks as they stood up, stretching from their cleaning. Miguel wandered over to a box in the corner, pulling back the flaps to reveal a collection of trophies. His eyes widened as he picked one up.

"Whoa," Miguel said, turning it over in his hands. "You were a karate champion, Sensei."

Johnny, still nursing his beer, raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to call me 'Sensei' every damn time."

Miguel stammered, "Oh, uh, sorry, Sensei. I mean... sorry. Sorry!"

Johnny rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a faint smirk. "Yeah, I won a couple of All Valley tournaments. Didn't lose a single point in my junior year."

Miguel's face lit up. "All right! That's awesome. What happened in your senior year?"

Johnny's expression shifted, the smirk fading as he took a swig of his beer. "This isn't 20 questions. Get back to scrubbing."

Miguel nodded quickly. "Yeah, okay." As he returned the trophy to the box, his phone buzzed. Pulling it out, he answered, "Sorry, Sensei. One sec. Uh, yeah, hey! Debate's running a little late... Uh-huh, okay. Love you too." He hung up with a small smile.

Johnny squinted at him, setting down his beer. "Don't tell me you've got a girlfriend."

Miguel chuckled nervously. "Uh, no. That was my mom. I, uh, told her I joined the debate team because she doesn't approve of violence, so..."

Johnny leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Hiding stuff from Mommy, huh? What about your dad? Is he okay with you getting your ass kicked up and down Reseda Boulevard?"

Miguel's smile faltered, and he shrugged. "Oh, I never really knew my dad, so..."

Johnny's face softened slightly at Miguel's response, but he quickly masked it with a neutral expression. Turning to DJ, he asked, "What about you, LaRusso Jr.? What'd you tell your parents? Lies like Diaz over here?"

DJ nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. My dad wouldn't be thrilled about me training here, so... I told them I was doing extra credit."

Johnny snorted, shaking his head. "Great. I've got a team full of liars. At least you're both dedicated." He grabbed another beer and cracked it open, the sound echoing in the quiet dojo. "Now get back to work. That mat's not gonna clean itself."

Miguel and DJ exchanged a quick grin before getting back to scrubbing, the tension breaking as they worked side by side. Johnny leaned against the wall, watching them with a mix of amusement and something that almost resembled pride. Despite their excuses and fumbling, he couldn't help but think he might be onto something with these two.

Later

At Night

At the LaRusso house

DJ pulled into the driveway of his parents' house and parked his car. As he stepped out, the warm evening air carried the faint scent of chlorine. He glanced toward the backyard and noticed his dad by the pool, gathering up swimming floats and various party debris scattered across the area.

Curious, DJ walked over, hands in his pockets. "Dad? What's going on? Why are you picking all that up?"

Daniel straightened up, holding an inflatable flamingo under one arm and a soggy towel in the other. He gave DJ a weary look. "Your sister threw a party while we were gone. A big one."

DJ raised his eyebrows, letting out a low whistle. "Wow. And here I thought I was the designated screw-up child of the family."

Daniel smirked faintly, shaking his head as he tossed the towel into a nearby bin. "Don't get too comfortable, DJ. You're still on the list."

DJ chuckled, grabbing a stray pool noodle to help clean up. "Good to know I've got competition, though. What's her punishment?"

Daniel sighed, clearly tired but amused. "We're still figuring that out. Let's just say she's grounded until further notice."

DJ grinned, twirling the pool noodle in his hand like a sword. "Guess I'm not the only LaRusso who makes questionable choices. Feels kind of nice, honestly."

Daniel gave him a pointed look but couldn't hide the small laugh that escaped. "You two are going to be the death of me, you know that?"

DJ shrugged playfully. "Keeps you on your toes, Dad."

The two continued cleaning, the tension between them lightened by the unexpected camaraderie. It wasn't often they had these moments, but DJ appreciated the rare chance to bond with his dad over something that, for once, wasn't about him.

Later

DJ sat in his bedroom, the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminating the space as he leaned back in his chair. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fan overhead.

His eyes wandered to the wall where a series of framed photographs hung, each one telling a story. His gaze settled on a picture of him as a young boy with Mr. Miyagi. They were in the backyard, DJ holding a small bonsai tree with a proud smile as Mr. Miyagi stood beside him, his gentle hand on DJ's shoulder.

A bittersweet smile tugged at DJ's lips before his eyes drifted to another photo. This one showed him and his sister, Samantha, laughing by the pool, mid-splash. He remembered that day vividly—it had been one of those rare moments where everything felt easy between them, no sibling rivalry, just pure fun.

Finally, his gaze fell on a picture of his family: his dad, Daniel, standing tall with his arm around Amanda, who held a much younger DJ and Sam close. They all wore bright smiles, framed by the backdrop of the LaRusso Auto dealership's grand opening.

DJ leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he let the memories wash over him. Each photo was a reminder of the connections that shaped him—of the lessons, the laughter, and the struggles that had brought him to this moment.

As DJ sat there, lost in the memories captured in the photos, a strange feeling washed over him. The room seemed to grow quieter, the hum of the fan fading into the background. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, convinced he was just tired. But when he opened them again, he froze.

Standing across the room, near the wall of photographs, was a figure he never expected to see again. It was Mr. Miyagi. His calm, steady presence felt as real as the desk beneath DJ's hands.

"Mr. Miyagi?" DJ whispered, his voice barely audible.

The older man smiled warmly, tilting his head slightly. "DJ-san. You look troubled."

DJ stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "This... this can't be real. You're not—"

Miyagi raised a hand, cutting him off gently. "Real or not real, does not matter. What matters is what you feel."

DJ stared, his heart pounding. "I just... I miss you. I feel like I'm always screwing up, and I don't know what to do anymore. I try to do the right thing, but it always backfires. Dad doesn't get it, and—"

"Stop," Miyagi said, his voice firm but kind. He stepped closer, his hands folded calmly behind his back. "DJ-san, too much thinking. You are clouding your mind."

DJ sat back down slowly, his voice quieter. "I'm trying to find balance, but it feels impossible."

Miyagi nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Balance is not something you find once and keep forever. Balance is something you work on every day. Like walking tightrope. One small step at a time."

DJ looked at the picture of him and Mr. Miyagi on the wall, his voice trembling. "I just wish you were here to teach me. Like you taught Dad."

Miyagi's smile softened. "Teach you? DJ-san, lessons are already inside you. Your father teaches you balance through action. Your own heart teaches you kindness. And your mistakes—" He tapped DJ lightly on the chest, though DJ felt nothing. "Your mistakes teach you resilience. You must listen to all three."

DJ nodded slowly, the weight on his chest easing just a little. "I just don't want to let anyone down."

Miyagi chuckled softly, his laugh like a warm breeze. "Letting others down? That is fear talking. Do not focus on pleasing others. Focus on being best version of DJ-san."

DJ met his gaze, a flicker of hope sparking in his eyes. "How do I know if I'm doing it right?"

Miyagi smiled, stepping back toward the photographs. "If you fall, get back up. If you lose balance, steady yourself. That is doing it right."

As Mr. Miyagi's figure seemed to grow more solid in the quiet room, he tilted his head slightly, observing DJ with a curious expression. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of curiosity in his tone. "DJ-san, why do you train with Johnny Lawrence?"

DJ blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"

Miyagi stepped closer, his hands still folded behind his back. "Lawrence-san... his way of karate, not same as Miyagi-Do. His way is... aggressive. Strike first, fight hard. Why choose his dojo?"

DJ hesitated, looking down at his hands. "Because... I felt like I needed something different. Something my dad wasn't giving me."

Miyagi's expression softened. "Your father holds back, yes. Afraid you might lose control. But training with Lawrence-san... is that helping you find balance?"

DJ sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know. Johnny's tough, and he pushes me in ways Dad never did. But at the same time, I feel like I'm walking a fine line between being strong and being... someone I don't want to be."

Miyagi nodded slowly, as if this confirmed something for him. "Strength without balance, like storm without calm. It can destroy, not build. Do you feel peace when you train with Lawrence-san?"

DJ thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Not really. It's more like... I'm trying to prove something. To him, to my dad, maybe even to myself."

Miyagi crouched down slightly, meeting DJ's gaze on his level. "Proving something? Or finding something? Big difference."

DJ frowned, the words sinking in. "I guess... I'm trying to figure out who I am. My dad's always comparing me to him, whether he means to or not. And I thought maybe Johnny could help me find my own way."

Miyagi gave a small, knowing smile. "Ah, you want your own path. This is good. But remember, DJ-san, path must lead to balance, not just strength. Strength alone can lead to anger, fear... darkness."

DJ nodded slowly, taking in the weight of Mr. Miyagi's words. "So, what should I do?"

Miyagi stood, his gaze warm but serious. "Keep training, but do not forget lessons of Miyagi-Do. Patience. Discipline. Balance. Combine these with what you learn from Lawrence-san, and you will find your way."

DJ looked up at him, hope flickering in his eyes. "You think I can?"

Miyagi's smile widened. "You already take first step. Now, take next one. Trust yourself."

As the room seemed to shift and fade, Mr. Miyagi's voice echoed one last time. "Remember, DJ-san. Balance is not just for karate. Balance is for life."

And just like that, the room returned to normal, the faint hum of the fan grounding DJ back in reality. He sat in silence, staring at the spot where Mr. Miyagi had been. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of clarity.

"I'll figure it out," DJ murmured to himself, his voice steady. "One step at a time."

The next day

At School

DJ entered the cafeteria, balancing a tray of food as he scanned the room. He spotted Miguel sitting with two other kids, their heads close as they talked. Curious, DJ walked over, catching part of their conversation.

One of the kids, wearing a flannel shirt, was saying, "She's probably making fun of me."

Miguel replied, "I don't think she's making fun of you. Just because they're hot doesn't mean they're mean."

DJ smirked and sat down next to Miguel, setting his tray on the table. "Hey, losers. I'm DJ. Daniel LaRusso, Jr."

The flannel-clad kid raised a hand in a half-hearted wave. "Hi. I'm Demetri. And this here is Eli."

DJ nodded at the other boy, who gave a small, nervous smile. Meanwhile, Demetri glanced toward a blonde girl across the room and sighed dramatically. "I don't care if Yasmine is the meanest girl at this school. I'd kill all three of you just to have her spit in my face."

Miguel made a face. "That's... disgusting. But, you know, if you don't make a move, you'll never have a shot with her."

Demetri shook his head. "True, but if I don't make a move, I also won't suffer a humiliating rejection. I'm at peace with my depression. The last thing I need is to become suicidal on top of it."

DJ raised an eyebrow, amused by Demetri's melodramatic tone. Before he could respond, Miguel glanced toward the table of girls and muttered, "Striking first."

DJ followed Miguel's gaze and quickly recognized the girl Miguel was looking at. A grin spread across his face. "Are you staring at my sister?"

Miguel blinked, turning to DJ. "The girl with the brown hair is your sister?"

DJ nodded, clearly enjoying the situation. "Yep, that's Sam. And for the record, she's out of your league."

Miguel ignored the jab, his face lighting up with determination. "Well, you know what Sensei says: strike first."

Before DJ or Demetri could stop him, Miguel stood and started walking confidently toward the table where Sam and her friends were sitting.

DJ exchanged a look with Demetri, who raised an eyebrow. "Your boy's either really brave or really dumb."

"Probably both," DJ said with a smirk, leaning back in his seat to watch how it played out.

DJ watched as Miguel slowed to a stop, his confident stride faltering when Kyler walked up to Sam's table. The sight of Kyler leaning casually toward his sister, a smug grin on his face, made DJ's stomach churn.

"What the hell?" DJ muttered under his breath. His expression hardened as he stood abruptly, setting his tray down with a clatter.

Demetri's eyes widened as he grabbed DJ's arm. "Wait, what are you doing?"

DJ shrugged him off, his voice sharp and determined. "I'm getting that greaseball's hands off my sister." Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the scene, his focus locked on Kyler.

Demetri glanced nervously at Eli, who was equally wide-eyed. "This is either going to end really badly... or really badly," Demetri muttered, shaking his head as they watched DJ close in.

DJ stormed over to where Kyler was standing, his hand casually resting on Sam's shoulder as he leaned in, his grin smug and far too familiar for DJ's liking. Sam looked uncomfortable, subtly trying to shift away, but Kyler wasn't letting up.

"Kyler," DJ said firmly, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the cafeteria. "Get your hands off my sister."

Kyler turned to face him, his smirk unfaltering. "Relax, man. We're just talking."

Sam shot DJ a pleading look, clearly hoping to avoid a scene. But DJ wasn't having it. "Yeah? Well, whatever you're saying, you can say it without touching her."

Kyler straightened up, still grinning but with a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. "What's your problem, LaRusso? This is between me and Sam."

DJ stepped closer, his eyes locked on Kyler. "My problem is you. And I'm not going to stand here and let you mess with her."

Kyler scoffed, shaking his head as if DJ were the unreasonable one. Then, without warning, he gave DJ a hard shove, sending him stumbling back a step. "Back off, man. This isn't your business."

The cafeteria seemed to fall quieter as students turned to watch the commotion. Miguel, still standing nearby, looked uncertain, glancing between DJ and Kyler as if unsure whether to intervene. Meanwhile, Demetri and Eli exchanged wide-eyed looks, clearly not wanting to get involved.

DJ regained his footing, his jaw tightening as he stared Kyler down. "It is my business," he said, his voice low and steady. "And I'm telling you—leave her alone."

Kyler laughed, the sound dripping with mockery. "What are you gonna do about it, tough guy? Call Daddy?"

Sam stepped forward, her tone firm. "Kyler, stop. You're making this worse."

But DJ wasn't backing down. He stood his ground, his fists clenched at his sides as he prepared for whatever Kyler tried next. "You've got two choices," DJ said, his voice calm but cold. "Walk away now, or I'll make you."

The tension in the air was palpable as the cafeteria waited to see how Kyler would respond.

Kyler's smirk twisted into a sneer as he took a step closer to DJ, clearly not backing down. "You think you're tough, LaRusso? Let's see how tough."

Without warning, Kyler swung a punch aimed directly at DJ's face. But DJ was ready. Thanks to Johnny's training, his reflexes kicked in. He raised his forearm, blocking the punch with a sharp thud before twisting Kyler's arm away with a controlled motion.

The cafeteria erupted into gasps and murmurs as DJ countered with a quick strike to Kyler's chest, sending him stumbling back a step.

Kyler, his pride wounded, growled and charged at DJ with another wild punch. This time, DJ sidestepped smoothly, pivoting his body as he grabbed Kyler's wrist and used his momentum to flip him onto the floor. Kyler landed with a grunt, the sound echoing through the now-silent cafeteria.

Kyler scrambled to his feet, his face red with anger and embarrassment. "You're dead, LaRusso!"

He lunged again, this time aiming low. DJ stepped back, keeping his stance firm as he delivered a quick front kick to Kyler's midsection, knocking the wind out of him. Kyler doubled over, gasping for air.

DJ stood over him, his breathing controlled, his fists still raised but steady. "You done yet, Kyler?" he asked, his voice calm but commanding. "Or do you need another lesson?"

Kyler glared up at him, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked around at the crowd, realizing everyone was watching, including Sam, who now stood with her arms crossed, unimpressed.

"Whatever," Kyler muttered, straightening up and backing away. "This isn't over."

DJ relaxed his stance, lowering his fists as he watched Kyler retreat. The murmurs in the cafeteria grew louder, and a few students clapped, clearly impressed by DJ's skills. Miguel stood off to the side, grinning and nodding approvingly.

As DJ lowered his fists and the cafeteria began to settle, Sam stormed up to him, her face flushed—not with gratitude, but with anger.

"DJ, what the hell was that?" she snapped, glaring at him.

DJ blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean? I just stopped Kyler from messing with you."

Sam crossed her arms, her tone sharp. "He wasn't messing with me! We were talking, and you just had to come over and make a scene."

DJ frowned, his confusion quickly turning to frustration. "A scene? Sam, he was all over you. I was protecting you."

"Protecting me from what?" Sam shot back. "Kyler's not some villain, DJ. He's my friend. More than that... I like him."

DJ froze, his eyes widening. "You what? You like that greaseball? Are you kidding me?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "You don't know him like I do, DJ. He's not as bad as you think."

DJ let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Not as bad as I think? Sam, this is the same guy who's been a jerk to half the school—including Miguel."

Miguel, who had walked over to join them, raised a hand awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, he's definitely not a great guy."

Sam ignored him, focusing her anger on DJ. "You had no right to interfere. I can take care of myself."

DJ stepped closer, his voice firm. "I'm your brother, Sam. It's my job to step in when I see you getting hurt—or about to."

"Hurt?" Sam scoffed. "The only person who got hurt today was Kyler, thanks to you showing off your karate moves."

DJ's frustration boiled over. "You're defending him? After the way he acts? After everything I just saw?"

Sam glared at him, her voice low but icy. "Maybe if you weren't so busy playing the hero, you'd actually listen to me. You're not Dad, DJ. You don't get to decide who I talk to or who I like."

The weight of her words hung in the air as the cafeteria crowd dispersed, leaving just the three of them. DJ stared at her, his anger giving way to a pang of guilt. "Sam, I wasn't trying to decide anything for you. I was just—"

"Just what? Embarrassing me in front of everyone?" Sam interrupted, her voice cracking slightly. "Thanks for that."

Before DJ could respond, Sam turned and walked away, leaving him standing there with Miguel.

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, that didn't go how I thought it would."

DJ sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

Miguel gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I still think you were awesome."

DJ smirked faintly, though his heart wasn't in it. "Thanks, man. I just wish Sam saw it that way."

As they left the cafeteria together, DJ couldn't shake the feeling that he'd only made things worse. Despite his good intentions, it seemed finding balance—both on and off the mat—was going to be harder than he thought.

As DJ and Miguel started to leave the cafeteria, a stern voice cut through the noise behind them.

"LaRusso! Hold it right there."

DJ turned to see Mr. Simmons, one of the school's stricter teachers, striding toward him. The tall man's expression was a mix of frustration and authority, his arms crossed as he stopped in front of DJ.

"I saw the whole thing," Mr. Simmons said sharply. "Fighting in the cafeteria? Really? You think that's acceptable behavior?"

DJ straightened, his frustration from the confrontation with Sam still fresh. "It wasn't a fight. I was defending my sister."

Mr. Simmons raised an eyebrow. "Defending her? From what, exactly? Because all I saw was you throwing Kyler to the ground. That's not defense—that's aggression."

DJ opened his mouth to argue, but Miguel quickly jumped in. "Mr. Simmons, it's not like that. Kyler threw the first punch."

Mr. Simmons shot Miguel a disapproving look. "Diaz, I suggest you stay out of this unless you want to join LaRusso in the principal's office."

Miguel took a step back, glancing at DJ apologetically.

Mr. Simmons pointed toward the cafeteria doors. "Let's go, LaRusso. Principal's office. Now."

DJ sighed, his shoulders slumping. He glanced at Miguel, who gave him a helpless shrug, and then started walking toward the doors with Mr. Simmons following closely behind.

As they walked through the hall, DJ couldn't help but feel the weight of everything piling on him—his argument with Sam, the fight with Kyler, and now this.

"Fighting on school grounds is a serious matter," Mr. Simmons said as they reached the office. "You can explain yourself to Principal Meyers, but I wouldn't get my hopes up for leniency."

DJ clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. "I wasn't trying to cause trouble."

Mr. Simmons gave him a pointed look. "Intentions don't matter, LaRusso. Actions do."

With that, Mr. Simmons opened the door to the principal's office and gestured for DJ to go in. DJ took a deep breath and stepped inside, bracing himself for whatever came next.

After school

After the school day ended, DJ sat on the front steps of the school, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his gaze fixed on the ground. He'd been replaying the events of the day in his head, trying to figure out how everything had spiraled so quickly.

A familiar car pulled into the school's pickup loop, and DJ sighed as his dad's sleek sedan came to a stop. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Amanda in the front seat with a concerned but firm expression. Daniel was in the driver's seat, looking less angry than DJ had anticipated, but still far from happy.

"Get in," Amanda said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

DJ picked himself up and walked to the car, sliding into the backseat without a word. As soon as he shut the door, the silence in the car became palpable.

Daniel pulled away from the curb, keeping his eyes on the road. It wasn't until they had left the school parking lot that Amanda finally broke the silence.

"So," she said, her voice sharp but controlled. "Do you want to tell us what happened?"

DJ leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "It wasn't a big deal."

Daniel glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Not a big deal? You got into a fight, DJ. At school. With witnesses."

DJ sat up straighter, his frustration bubbling over. "It wasn't a fight, Dad. Kyler was all over Sam, and I stepped in to stop him. He threw the first punch."

Amanda turned in her seat to face him. "And you thought the best way to handle that was to escalate it? You could've walked away, DJ. Gotten a teacher involved."

DJ scoffed. "Yeah, like that would've done anything. Kyler doesn't listen to anyone. Someone had to put him in his place."

Daniel shook his head, his voice calmer but firm. "DJ, I get that you wanted to protect your sister, but this isn't how you handle things. You can't solve every problem with your fists."

DJ snapped back, "I didn't start it, Dad. I finished it. There's a difference."

Amanda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We're not saying you didn't have good intentions, DJ. But you're not a little kid anymore. Your actions have consequences."

DJ looked out the window, his tone quieter but no less frustrated. "I wasn't trying to cause trouble. I was trying to help."

Daniel pulled into the driveway of their house and put the car in park. He turned in his seat to face DJ, his expression softening slightly. "Look, I get it, okay? I've been in your shoes. I know what it's like to feel like you have to step in. But you have to be smart about it. You can't just go in swinging every time something happens."

DJ glanced at his dad, some of his anger fading. "I wasn't trying to be reckless. I just... I didn't want Sam to get hurt."

Amanda's voice softened as well. "And that's admirable, DJ. But protecting someone doesn't mean putting yourself at risk—or getting yourself suspended."

DJ winced. "Am I suspended?"

Daniel sighed. "Not this time. Principal Meyers gave you a warning, but you're on thin ice. And trust me, if this happens again, the consequences will be a lot worse."

DJ nodded, the weight of the day finally sinking in. "I get it."

Daniel nodded back. "Good. Now go inside and get started on your homework. We'll talk more about this later."

DJ climbed out of the car, his head hanging slightly as he walked into the house. As the door shut behind him, Amanda looked at Daniel, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. "What are we going to do with him?"

Daniel let out a long breath, leaning back in his seat. "I don't know. He's got a good heart, but he's still figuring out how to use it the right way. He's just... finding his balance."

Amanda gave him a faint smile. "He gets that from you, you know."

Daniel chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Let's just hope he finds it a little faster than I did."

As Daniel and Amanda sat in the car, a thought seemed to dawn on Amanda. She turned to Daniel, her brow furrowing in curiosity.

"Daniel," she started, her voice measured, "how does DJ even know how to fight like that?"

Daniel, who was about to unbuckle his seatbelt, froze mid-motion. He turned to her, his confusion mirroring hers. "What do you mean?"

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "I mean, you never taught him karate, right? You said it yourself—you didn't want to because you didn't think he could control his impulses."

Daniel leaned back in his seat, a puzzled look crossing his face. "Yeah, I didn't. And Mr. Miyagi never taught him either. So where the heck did he learn it?"

Amanda tapped her fingers on the dashboard thoughtfully. "Well, he didn't just pick it up out of nowhere. He knew how to block and counter Kyler's moves like a pro. That's not something you figure out on your own."

Daniel rubbed his chin, his mind racing. "You think he's been training with someone?"

Amanda shrugged, her tone edged with concern. "It seems like the only explanation. But who? And why wouldn't he tell us?"

Daniel sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know. But if he's learning karate, we need to find out where—and who's teaching him."

Amanda's eyes narrowed slightly. "And if it's someone we wouldn't approve of?"

Daniel frowned, his voice firm. "Then we put a stop to it. Karate isn't just about fighting. It's about discipline, balance, and respect. If he's learning from the wrong person, it could do more harm than good."

Amanda nodded, though her concern didn't waver. "You should talk to him tonight. Figure out what's going on."

Daniel exhaled deeply, his expression determined. "I will. We've already got enough to worry about without DJ running around learning the wrong lessons from the wrong people."

As they stepped out of the car and headed into the house, Daniel's thoughts were already churning. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that whoever was teaching DJ karate might not share the same principles he and Mr. Miyagi had lived by—and that worried him more than anything.

Later

Daniel stepped into DJ's room, his expression calm but with a clear purpose. DJ was sitting at his desk, fiddling with a pen, his eyes flicking up briefly before returning to the desk.

"Can we talk?" Daniel asked.

DJ shrugged. "Sure."

Daniel walked closer, leaning against the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "I just got off the phone with the principal. They told me you were in a fight today."

DJ sighed, rolling his eyes. "It wasn't a fight. Kyler threw the first punch, and I defended myself."

Daniel nodded slowly, his tone measured. "That's what I heard. But the way the principal described it... DJ, they said you handled yourself like you've been trained. Like you knew exactly what you were doing."

DJ stiffened slightly, his fingers tightening on the pen. "So what?"

"So," Daniel said, his voice firm but not accusatory, "that's not something you learn on your own. You've been training, haven't you? But not with me."

DJ didn't respond, keeping his eyes on the desk. Daniel leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. "I'm not mad, DJ. I just want to understand. Who's been teaching you?"

DJ hesitated, his jaw tightening. Finally, he muttered, "Johnny. Johnny Lawrence."

Daniel froze, the name hitting him like a gut punch. "Johnny Lawrence?" he repeated, his voice quiet with disbelief.

DJ looked up at him, his tone defensive. "Yeah. I've been training with him. He's teaching me how to stand up for myself, how to be strong."

Daniel blinked, the memories of his rivalry with Johnny flooding back. "DJ, do you even know who Johnny Lawrence is? What his dojo used to stand for?"

DJ rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, Dad. Cobra Kai, no mercy, strike first—trust me, Johnny's told me the stories."

Daniel's brows furrowed. "And you don't see a problem with that?"

DJ stood up, crossing his arms. "No, I don't. Because he's not like that anymore. Johnny's teaching me to fight, but he's also teaching me to be confident, to not let people walk all over me."

Daniel stepped closer, his tone sharpening. "But at what cost, DJ? Karate isn't just about fighting—it's about discipline, about knowing when not to fight. That's what Mr. Miyagi taught me, and it's what I tried to teach you."

DJ's eyes narrowed. "You didn't try to teach me anything. You didn't even give me a chance. You were too scared I'd mess up."

Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't about being scared. I didn't want you to make the same mistakes I did—to let anger or pride take over. Karate isn't a tool for revenge, DJ."

DJ's voice softened slightly, though frustration still lingered. "It's not about revenge, Dad. It's about standing up for myself—for Sam, for anyone who needs it."

Daniel studied him for a long moment, then sighed deeply. "If Johnny's really changed, and if he's teaching you the right way... I can live with that. But I'm serious, DJ—you need to remember the principles Mr. Miyagi taught me. Patience, balance, and respect. If you lose sight of those, it doesn't matter how strong you are."

DJ nodded reluctantly. "I get it, Dad. I promise I'll keep it in check."

Daniel gave him a small nod, though concern still lingered in his eyes. "I hope so, DJ. Because I don't want to see you go down the wrong path."

With that, Daniel turned and left the room, leaving DJ to sit back down at his desk, his mind racing. He knew his dad meant well, but he also knew he had something to prove—not just to Daniel, but to himself.

At dinner

DJ walked downstairs, still feeling the weight of the conversation with his dad lingering in his mind. As he reached the bottom step, the sound of laughter drifted from the dining room. Curious—and a bit uneasy—he turned the corner, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Sitting at the dining table, chatting animatedly with his parents and Sam, was Kyler. DJ's eyes narrowed as he clenched his jaw. Without missing a beat, he strode into the room, his voice sharp.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to DJ. Kyler, sitting with a smug grin, leaned back in his chair as if he were completely unbothered by DJ's sudden outburst.

Daniel looked up from his plate, his tone calm but firm. "Watch your language, DJ."

DJ ignored the reprimand and gestured toward Kyler. "Seriously, Dad, what's he doing here?"

Daniel set his fork down and met DJ's glare. "I invited him. It's Friday dinner. Did I not tell you? I did it for Sam."

DJ's eyes widened in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sam, sitting next to Kyler, shot DJ a warning look. "DJ, don't start."

DJ turned to her, his frustration boiling over. "Start? I'm not starting anything! You seriously think this guy belongs here after what happened today?"

Amanda, sitting across the table, stepped in, her voice calm but with an edge. "DJ, it's dinner. Whatever happened at school can stay at school."

DJ laughed humorlessly, throwing his hands up. "Stay at school? He threw a punch at me in the cafeteria! And now you're feeding him?"

Kyler, finally deciding to chime in, smirked and shrugged. "Hey, I told your dad it was just a misunderstanding. Guess he's more reasonable than you."

DJ's fists clenched at his sides, and he took a step toward the table. "You've got some nerve—"

"Enough!" Daniel's voice cut through the room, firm and commanding. He stood from his seat, looking at DJ with the authority of a father who'd had enough. "DJ, sit down. Now."

DJ froze, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself. He looked at his dad, then at Kyler, who was still smirking, clearly enjoying the scene. With a sharp exhale, DJ turned and stormed out of the dining room.

"DJ!" Amanda called after him, but he was already halfway up the stairs.

Back in his room, DJ paced, his frustration and anger bubbling over. He couldn't believe it. His dad—of all people—had invited Kyler into their home. And for what? To appease Sam? It felt like a betrayal, and DJ didn't know how he was going to deal with it.

Downstairs, Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. Amanda gave him a look. "Well, that went well."

Sam glanced toward the stairs, guilt flickering across her face. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea," she said quietly.

Kyler, still grinning, leaned forward, picking up his fork. "Hey, I'm just here for the food."

Daniel shot him a sharp look. "Kyler, don't push it."

For the rest of the dinner, the tension in the LaRusso household hung heavy in the air, and everyone knew this wouldn't be the last of it.

Later

After dinner, Daniel climbed the stairs, his footsteps purposeful. He stopped outside DJ's room and knocked lightly before pushing the door open. Inside, DJ was lying on his bed, tossing a ball into the air and catching it, his expression a mix of anger and frustration.

Daniel stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Mind if we talk?"

DJ caught the ball and sat up, glaring at his dad. "What's there to talk about? You already made it clear whose side you're on."

Daniel sighed, walking further into the room. "DJ, it's not about taking sides. I invited Kyler over because Sam wanted me to give him a chance. I thought maybe—"

"A chance?" DJ interrupted, his voice rising. "He's been bullying me, Dad. For months. Pushing me around, mocking me, making my life miserable. And you just invite him into our house? For dinner?"

Daniel froze, his expression shifting as the weight of DJ's words hit him. "Wait... Kyler's been bullying you? Why didn't you tell me?"

DJ stood up, his voice sharp with frustration. "Because I didn't think it would matter. You're always so focused on Sam and making her happy, and meanwhile, I'm stuck dealing with him every day. And now he's sitting at our table like he belongs here. How could you do that to me?"

Daniel's jaw tightened, and he let out a slow breath, clearly trying to process the situation. Then, almost without thinking, he shot back, "How can you train with my bully?"

DJ blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "What?"

Daniel stepped closer, his tone more pointed. "You've been training with Johnny Lawrence. The guy who tormented me all through high school, who made my life a living hell. And you didn't think that would matter?"

DJ shook his head, his frustration flaring again. "That's different, Dad. Johnny's not the same guy he was back then. He's changed. He's actually helping me. Kyler hasn't changed at all—he's still a jerk."

Daniel folded his arms, his tone steady but firm. "And how do you know Johnny's changed? You think because he's teaching you a few moves, he's a completely different person? People don't just let go of their old ways overnight."

DJ stepped forward, meeting his dad's gaze. "I know he's changed because he believes in me. He's teaching me to be confident, to stand up for myself. You didn't even want to teach me. You didn't trust me."

Daniel's expression softened, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "It's not about trust, DJ. I didn't want you to get hurt, or to use karate the wrong way."

DJ's voice lowered, the emotion clear. "I don't want to use it the wrong way. I just wanted to learn how to stand up to guys like Kyler. And now, the same guy who's made my life hell is sitting at our dinner table because Sam likes him."

Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't know, DJ. I didn't realize Kyler was bullying you. If I had—"

"You wouldn't have invited him over?" DJ shot back. "Well, it's too late for that now."

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Daniel spoke, his voice quieter. "Look, I get it. You're mad at me. And maybe I deserve that. But Johnny Lawrence... I just don't want you to lose sight of what karate's really about. It's not about revenge or proving how tough you are."

DJ sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not trying to get revenge, Dad. I'm just trying to be strong enough to deal with this crap."

Daniel nodded slowly, stepping back toward the door. "I'll talk to Kyler. Make sure he knows this behavior won't fly. And as for Johnny..." He paused, glancing back at DJ. "We'll talk more about that later."

DJ watched as his dad left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Tossing the ball aside, he flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Despite everything, he couldn't help but wonder if Johnny and his dad were really so different after all.

Later

Later that evening, after Kyler had finally left, DJ made his way downstairs, his frustration still simmering. He found Daniel in the kitchen, clearing the table and putting away dishes. The tension in the air was palpable, and DJ wasn't in the mood to hold back.

"So," DJ began, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway, "had a good dinner with my bully?"

Daniel sighed, placing a plate in the dishwasher. "DJ, I told you I didn't know he was bullying you. If I had, tonight would've been different."

DJ scoffed. "Oh, sure. But you're still mad at me for training with Johnny, aren't you?"

Daniel stood up straight, turning to face DJ. "I'm not mad, DJ. I'm concerned. There's a difference."

"Concerned?" DJ echoed, his voice rising. "Johnny's the only one who actually gave me a chance. He's teaching me how to handle myself, how to be confident. But you can't stand that, can you?"

Daniel's expression hardened. "What I can't stand is the idea of you learning from someone like Johnny. Do you even know what his karate represents? Strike first, no mercy? That's not confidence, DJ—that's aggression."

DJ stepped closer, his voice laced with frustration. "It's not like that anymore, Dad. Johnny's changed. He's not the guy you knew in high school. He's helping me in ways you never wanted to."

Daniel's jaw tightened. "I didn't teach you because I didn't want you going down the wrong path. Karate isn't about beating people up or proving you're better than them. It's about discipline, balance—lessons Johnny never understood."

DJ threw up his hands. "Maybe he didn't back then, but he does now! Why can't you just let me figure this out for myself?"

"Because I know what Johnny's teaching leads to!" Daniel shouted, his frustration finally boiling over. "I've seen it, I've lived it! And I don't want you to make the same mistakes."

DJ stared at him, his voice trembling with anger. "You don't trust me, do you? You've never trusted me. You just assume I'm going to screw everything up."

Daniel took a step forward, his own voice rising. "This isn't about trust, DJ. This is about protecting you from someone I know is bad news."

DJ clenched his fists, his words sharp. "You don't know anything about Johnny now. You're too stuck in the past to see that people can change."

Daniel pointed at him, his voice firm. "I know enough, DJ. Enough to know that I don't want you learning from him."

The room fell silent for a moment, both of them glaring at each other, the tension thick. Then, Daniel's voice exploded, cutting through the air.

"Well, if you think Johnny's so great, why don't you go live with him?!"

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. DJ stared at his dad, stunned into silence. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Finally, he took a step back, his face a mix of anger and hurt.

"Fine," DJ said, his voice low but steady. "Maybe I will."

With that, he turned and stormed out of the kitchen, the sound of his footsteps echoing up the stairs. Daniel stood frozen, the weight of his outburst hitting him like a ton of bricks. Amanda walked into the kitchen, having overheard the last part of their argument, and gave Daniel a disapproving look.

"Really, Daniel? That's how you handle this?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair, his frustration now turning inward. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

Amanda shook her head. "Well, it did. Now you need to figure out how to fix it. Before he actually does leave."

Daniel sighed deeply, leaning against the counter, his mind racing. He knew he had to make things right, but for now, all he could feel was the heavy weight of his own words.

In DJ's room

DJ stood in his room, tossing clothes into a duffel bag with sharp, frustrated movements. His jaw was clenched, and his mind raced with anger and hurt as he continued packing. A knock on the door broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see Amanda standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and sadness.

"DJ," she said softly, stepping inside. "What are you doing?"

DJ zipped up the first bag and grabbed another from his closet. "What does it look like? I'm leaving."

Amanda frowned, closing the door behind her. "DJ, come on. You can't be serious."

DJ paused for a moment, then turned to face her, his eyes filled with emotion. "I am serious, Mom. I can't do this anymore. I can't stay here, not with Dad."

Amanda crossed her arms, her voice steady but gentle. "What happened downstairs wasn't okay, but leaving? DJ, that's not the answer."

DJ dropped the bag on the bed, his frustration boiling over. "What am I supposed to do, Mom? Pretend everything's fine? He doesn't trust me, he doesn't believe in me, and now he's telling me to go live with Johnny because I dared to stand up for myself?"

Amanda walked over and placed a hand on his arm. "Your dad didn't mean that, DJ. He's frustrated, just like you are. But you know how he gets when it comes to Johnny Lawrence and karate. It's a sore spot for him."

DJ shook his head, stepping back from her. "This isn't just about Johnny, Mom. It's about everything. He's always comparing me to him, always treating me like I'm going to mess up. I'm sick of it."

Amanda sighed, her voice softening further. "DJ, your dad loves you. He just doesn't know how to show it sometimes. He's trying to protect you the only way he knows how."

DJ let out a bitter laugh. "By pushing me away? By inviting my bully over for dinner and telling me to leave? Some way of showing he cares."

Amanda looked at him, her heart breaking at the pain in his voice. "DJ, leaving won't fix this. You and your dad need to work this out—together."

DJ grabbed the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I've tried, Mom. I really have. But he's never going to see me as anything other than a screw-up. At least with Johnny, I feel like I'm actually getting somewhere."

Amanda's eyes softened, and she reached out to touch his shoulder. "And what about Sam? Me? You think we're just going to be okay with you walking out that door?"

DJ hesitated for a moment, his resolve wavering. But then he straightened, his voice firm. "I'll still be around, Mom. But I can't stay here, not with him. Not right now."

Amanda stared at him, her own frustration and sadness bubbling to the surface. "DJ, if you walk out that door, this gets harder—not just for you, but for all of us."

DJ's grip on the bag tightened, his voice cracking slightly. "I have to go, Mom. I can't stay here and keep feeling like I'll never be good enough."

Amanda stepped aside reluctantly, her voice quiet. "I can't stop you, but please... think about what you're doing. Running away won't solve anything."

DJ gave her a long, searching look before nodding faintly. "I'll call you," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

With that, he walked past her and out of the room, leaving Amanda standing there, her heart heavy. She watched him go, her mind racing with worry and sadness, knowing that the rift between DJ and Daniel had just grown wider—and wondering how they could ever repair it.

Outside

Outside the LaRusso house, DJ stood by his Mustang, carefully placing his bags in the back seat. The cool night air did little to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. As he slammed the car door shut, the sound of the front door opening made him pause.

Sam stepped out, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. "DJ?" she called out, walking toward him. "What are you doing? Are you seriously leaving?"

DJ sighed, leaning against his car. "Yeah, Sam, I am."

Sam stopped a few steps away, her voice rising slightly. "What do you mean, you're leaving? You can't just pack up and go."

DJ looked at her, his frustration barely contained. "I can't stay here, Sam. Not after tonight."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Why? Because of Dad? You two always argue, but you don't just run away every time it happens."

DJ shook his head, his tone sharper than he intended. "This isn't just about tonight, Sam. It's about everything. Dad doesn't trust me, doesn't believe in me, and he never will."

Sam took a step closer, her voice softening. "That's not true, DJ. Dad loves you. He just—"

"—he just what?" DJ interrupted, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Loves me in his own messed-up way? By comparing me to him? By making me feel like I'll never measure up? Yeah, that's some love."

Sam frowned, her shoulders sagging slightly. "DJ, Dad's hard on you because he wants what's best for you. He's always been like that. You know that."

DJ rubbed the back of his neck, his voice quieter now. "I know he thinks he's doing the right thing, but I can't live like this anymore, Sam. I need space."

Sam stepped up beside him, her eyes searching his. "And you think leaving is the answer? What about me, DJ? You're just going to leave me here to deal with everything? With Dad? With Kyler?"

DJ's jaw tightened at the mention of Kyler. "I can't deal with Kyler being around here either, Sam. I'm sorry, but I can't do it. And honestly, I don't get how you can."

Sam's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's not fair, DJ. You don't get to judge me for who I spend time with."

DJ raised his hands defensively. "Fine, you're right. But I also don't have to stick around and watch it."

The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging between them. Finally, Sam sighed, her voice softer. "Where are you even going?"

DJ shrugged. "I don't know yet. I just need to get away. Figure things out."

Sam looked down, her voice trembling slightly. "You're really leaving?"

DJ nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, Sam. I have to."

Sam stepped back, crossing her arms again as she fought back tears. "Well, I hope you find whatever you're looking for out there, DJ. Just don't forget about the people who actually care about you."

DJ hesitated, his heart aching at her words. "I won't, Sam. I promise."

With that, he opened the driver's door and climbed into the Mustang. As he started the engine, Sam stepped back onto the porch, watching him with a mix of anger, sadness, and helplessness. DJ gave her one last look before pulling out of the driveway, the roar of the engine fading into the night.

Sam stood there long after he was gone, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to process what had just happened. Inside, she knew DJ leaving would only make things harder—for everyone.

DJ drove through the darkened streets, gripping the steering wheel of his Mustang tightly. The low rumble of the engine filled the silence, but it did little to calm his racing thoughts. His mind replayed the argument with his dad over and over, each memory stoking his frustration. As he approached a red light, he smacked the steering wheel in anger.

"Dammit!" he muttered, shaking his head. "What would Mr. Miyagi say about all this?"

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and sat there, staring at the empty street ahead. His hands rested on the steering wheel, and he let out a deep sigh, trying to focus. His mind drifted to the lessons Mr. Miyagi had always emphasized in the stories his dad used to tell him—balance, patience, and clarity of thought.

DJ leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. "Balance," he whispered to himself. "But how am I supposed to find balance when everything's falling apart?"

He thought about Mr. Miyagi's calm demeanor, the way he always seemed to find the right words to bring clarity in difficult times. DJ could almost hear his voice, steady and wise: 'Fighting inside yourself is like fighting two tigers. One must rest, or both will perish.'

DJ sighed again, rubbing his temples. "Rest, huh? Easier said than done."

The light ahead turned green, and DJ shifted back into gear, continuing his drive. As the familiar streets of Reseda came into view, he felt a small wave of doubt. Would Johnny even want him there? Did he really want to drag Johnny into this mess?

But as he pulled into the lot outside Johnny's apartment complex, he made up his mind. Johnny had been the one person who believed in him when he felt like no one else did. If anyone could help him figure out his next move, it was Johnny.

He parked the Mustang and turned off the engine, sitting in silence for a moment. He glanced at the passenger seat, where his bag sat, and then looked up at Johnny's apartment. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his bag, got out of the car, and walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the quiet night.

As he reached Johnny's apartment, he knocked firmly, hoping he wasn't making a mistake by showing up unannounced. Moments later, the door creaked open, and Johnny stood there, looking surprised but not entirely displeased.

"DJ?" Johnny said, his brows furrowed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

DJ managed a small, nervous smile. "I, uh... I need a place to stay. Just for a while."

Johnny crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Let me guess—LaRusso drama?"

DJ nodded, his expression heavy. "You could say that."

Johnny stepped aside, motioning for DJ to come in. "All right, kid. Let's hear it."

As DJ walked into the apartment, he felt a strange mix of uncertainty and relief. He didn't know what the future held, but for now, he had somewhere to land—and someone who might just help him find the balance he was looking for.

DJ set his bag down by the door, glancing around Johnny's apartment. It was exactly as he expected—slightly messy, with beer bottles on the counter and a faint smell of pizza lingering in the air. Johnny grabbed a half-empty beer can from the coffee table, took a sip, and flopped onto the couch.

"All right, kid," Johnny said, gesturing for DJ to sit down. "What's going on? Why are you here?"

DJ hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the chair across from Johnny. He rubbed his hands together nervously before finally speaking. "My dad kicked me out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "What? LaRusso? Kicked you out? What the hell for?"

DJ sighed, his frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface. "Because I'm training with you. He found out, and we had this huge fight. He said a bunch of stuff, and I said some stuff... and then he told me, 'If you think Johnny's so great, why don't you go live with him?' So... here I am."

Johnny set his beer down, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. "Are you serious? He kicked you out over me? What is this guy's deal?"

DJ shrugged, his voice laced with bitterness. "He can't stand the idea of me learning from you. Says your karate's all about aggression and no mercy, and that it's going to mess me up or something."

Johnny snorted, leaning back on the couch. "Of course he'd say that. Guy's been holding a grudge against me for, what, thirty years? He doesn't even know me now."

DJ looked down at his hands, his voice quieter. "He doesn't trust me, Johnny. He never has. He thinks I'm going to screw everything up."

Johnny tilted his head, studying DJ for a moment. "You really think that?"

DJ nodded, his voice heavy. "Yeah. He's always comparing me to him. Always acting like I'm just some kid who can't handle anything."

Johnny sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, kid, your dad... he's got his way of doing things. And yeah, maybe it's not the same as mine, but it doesn't mean he doesn't care about you. Sounds like he's just scared you'll end up like someone he doesn't like. You know... me."

DJ frowned. "You don't seem too bad to me."

Johnny smirked faintly. "Thanks. But here's the thing—you've got to figure out your own way. If your dad can't see that yet, that's on him. Not you. You're doing the work, and you're learning how to stand up for yourself. That's what matters."

DJ looked up at him, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "So... you don't think I'm making a mistake training with you?"

Johnny chuckled, shaking his head. "Hell no. You're learning from the best, kid. But I'm not gonna lie—your dad's not gonna like it, no matter what you do. So you've got a choice to make. Are you gonna let him decide what kind of person you're gonna be? Or are you gonna figure it out for yourself?"

DJ nodded slowly, Johnny's words sinking in. "I just don't want to make things worse with him."

Johnny grabbed his beer and took another sip. "Sometimes things gotta get worse before they get better. But trust me, you're stronger than you think. And if you need a place to crash for a bit, you're welcome here. Just... don't leave your crap all over the place. I'm not running a hotel."

DJ managed a small smile. "Thanks, Johnny. I appreciate it."

Johnny raised his beer in a mock toast. "No problem, kid. Now let's figure out how to turn you into someone your dad can't ignore. Starting tomorrow—training bright and early."

DJ chuckled softly, feeling a strange sense of relief. For the first time in a while, he felt like he had someone on his side, even if it wasn't the person he'd hoped for.

DJ sat back in the chair, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "Johnny... is it okay if I stay here for a while? Like, for real? I don't know how long, but... I can't go back home right now."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the couch. "You serious, kid? You really want to bunk with me?"

DJ nodded. "Yeah. I need some space from my dad, and honestly... I think being around you might help me figure some things out."

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, considering the request. "Look, DJ, it's not exactly the Ritz around here. And I'm not exactly Mr. Responsibility when it comes to, you know, being a role model."

DJ shrugged, his voice steady. "I don't need the Ritz. I just need a place where I'm not constantly being judged. And I can pull my weight—I work at LaRusso Auto as a mechanic, so I can help with rent, utilities, whatever. I'm not asking for a free ride."

Johnny tilted his head, impressed. "Wait, you're working for your dad and you still decided to train with me? That's gutsy."

DJ smirked faintly. "Yeah, well, I've been saving up for a while. I can cover my part, no problem."

Johnny thought for a moment, tapping his beer can against his knee. "All right, kid. You can stay. But no freeloading. If you say you're gonna help, you better actually help."

DJ smiled, relieved. "I will, I promise. And I'll stay out of your way as much as I can."

Johnny waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, don't worry about that. Just don't bring a bunch of drama into my place. I've got enough of that in my own life."

DJ chuckled. "Deal."

Johnny leaned forward, pointing a finger at DJ. "Oh, and one more thing—don't slack on training. If you're gonna be staying here, I expect you to put in the work. No excuses."

DJ nodded, his smile growing. "Got it, Sensei."

Johnny raised his beer in a mock toast. "All right, kid. Welcome to Casa Lawrence. Just don't turn this into one of those reality TV situations, or I'm kicking you out."

DJ laughed, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt like he had some control over his life—and a place where he could start figuring things out on his own terms.

Later

At the dojo

DJ and Miguel were tidying up the dojo, the faint scent of cleaning solution lingering in the air. Miguel wiped down the mats while glancing toward the office.

"Sensei," Miguel called out, holding up a rag, "any particular way you want me to wash these windows?"

Johnny leaned back in his office chair, barely looking up from the paperwork he was pretending to care about. "No, I don't give a crap. Whatever's easiest."

Miguel nodded, then Johnny smirked as an idea hit him. He leaned forward, shouting, "Actually, you know what? Forget the windows. Go clean the toilet. We'll call it a night."

Miguel sighed, tossing the rag onto a bench. "Okay," he muttered, trudging toward the bathroom.

As Miguel disappeared down the hall, Johnny called after him, "And do it on your hands and knees! Get it spotless!"

DJ, who had been sweeping near the mats, stopped and walked into the office doorway, raising an eyebrow. "So, what's next, Sensei? Or are we just coming up with creative ways to torment Miguel now?"

Johnny leaned back with a shrug, smirking. "Not much. Might call it a night soon."

Before DJ could respond, the sound of the dojo door opening drew their attention. Johnny stood, cracking his neck as he headed toward the entrance. "Welcome to Cobra Kai," he said with his usual confidence as he walked out.

But when he saw who had walked in, his expression faltered. Standing just inside the door was Daniel LaRusso, his face a mix of frustration and determination.

"Daniel?" Johnny said, his tone flat but wary.

Hearing the name, DJ stepped out from the office, his brows furrowing. "Dad?"

Daniel glanced between Johnny and DJ, his gaze lingering on his son before returning to Johnny. "So, this is where he's been staying?"

Johnny crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall. "Yeah, what of it? You told the kid to go live with me, remember?"

Daniel's jaw tightened, his voice firm. "I didn't mean it literally, Johnny."

DJ stepped forward, his tone defensive. "Well, you said it, Dad. And honestly, it's been better than being at home."

Daniel's eyes snapped to DJ, a mix of hurt and anger flashing across his face. "You don't mean that."

DJ held his ground. "I do. Johnny's been teaching me to stand up for myself, and he doesn't treat me like I'm going to screw everything up. He actually believes in me."

Daniel scoffed, turning to Johnny. "Oh, yeah? Is that what you've been filling his head with, Johnny? That I don't believe in my own son?"

Johnny smirked, folding his arms. "I didn't have to say it, LaRusso. He already feels it. Maybe you should take a good, hard look at yourself before blaming me."

The tension in the room was palpable as father and son stared at each other, neither willing to back down. DJ clenched his fists, his voice steady but emotional. "You didn't want to teach me, Dad. You didn't think I could handle it. So yeah, I came to Johnny. And guess what? He's actually helping me."

Daniel's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. "DJ, I didn't want to teach you because I wanted to protect you. Karate isn't about fighting—it's about balance, discipline, and knowing when not to fight. Johnny's way... it's not the same."

Johnny stepped forward, his voice cutting through. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you, LaRusso? I'm not the guy I used to be. I'm not teaching him to fight just for the sake of fighting. I'm teaching him how to stand up for himself—and maybe if you'd done that, he wouldn't have come to me."

Daniel's gaze hardened. "You really think you're the better teacher here?"

DJ stepped between them, raising his hands. "Enough! This isn't about who's the better teacher. This is about me figuring out who I am. And right now, I need this."

Both men looked at DJ, their expressions shifting as the weight of his words sank in. The room fell silent, the tension still thick but simmering down.

Daniel let out a deep breath, his voice quieter. "We're not done talking about this, DJ."

Johnny smirked faintly. "Door's always open, LaRusso. You want to join a class, just say the word."

Daniel stepped forward, his tone sharp. "You know what? This isn't even what I came here to talk about. I heard you beat up a bunch of teenagers in the parking lot out there."

Johnny leaned against the wall, crossing his arms casually. "Oh, that? Nah, I didn't beat up teenagers. I kicked the crap out of a bunch of punks who had it coming."

Daniel scoffed, shaking his head. "Wow. Johnny Lawrence, calling someone else a punk. That's rich."

Johnny straightened, his smirk fading slightly. "Yeah? And what's that supposed to mean?"

Daniel waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not here to rehash ancient history, Johnny. Just stay away from my daughter's friends, all right?"

Johnny's smirk returned, but now there was a sharper edge to it. "Your daughter's friends? Oh, that makes sense. Real nice company she keeps."

Daniel's eyes narrowed, his voice tightening. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Johnny pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "It means her 'friends' were beating the crap out of some kid half their size. Maybe you should take a good, hard look at the people she's hanging out with. Seems to me you don't know your daughter as well as you think you do... just like your son. You might want to get your house in order, LaRusso."

Daniel's jaw tightened, and he stepped onto the mat, his tone sharp and low. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

Johnny didn't back down, his voice steady but pointed. "You, LaRusso. And you know I'm right."

Before Daniel could say another word, DJ stepped between them, his hands raised. "Dad, don't even think about it," he said, his voice firm. "You're not going to attack Sensei."

Daniel's gaze flicked to DJ, his face a mix of frustration and hurt. "DJ, stay out of this."

Miguel came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a rag. "Bathroom's clean! Anything else you need me to do, Sensei?"

Johnny held up a hand, gesturing for Miguel to hang back. "Not now, Miguel. Stay out of this."

Miguel, confused, pulled out one of his earbuds. "Oh! Sorry, Sensei, I didn't realize—"

Before he could finish, Daniel turned toward him, his expression incredulous. "Sensei? Really?" Daniel scoffed, shaking his head. "Oh my God, kid. I don't know what he's been telling you, but you shouldn't believe a single word he says. If you do, you're going to end up exactly like him."

Miguel looked between Daniel and Johnny, unsure of what to say. Johnny stepped forward, glaring at Daniel, but Daniel cut him off, his tone sharp. "You and I, Johnny—we aren't done here."

With that, Daniel turned and began walking toward the door.

Johnny shouted after him, "I'm right here, LaRusso! Say what you've got to say!"

Daniel paused for a moment, turning his head just enough to glance back at Johnny with a scoff. "Not now," he said coldly before stepping out and slamming the door behind him.

DJ sighed, rubbing his temples. "Great," he muttered before glancing at Johnny. "I'll be back."

Without waiting for a response, DJ walked outside, the tension still thick in the air. He caught sight of his dad standing by his car, his expression a mix of anger and frustration.

"Dad!" DJ called out, jogging toward him. "What the hell was that?"

Daniel turned to face his son, his frustration boiling over. "What was that? You're asking me? DJ, what are you doing here with him?"

DJ crossed his arms, his voice steady but firm. "I told you, Dad—I'm learning from Johnny because you didn't want to teach me. But that doesn't mean you can just come in here and tear everyone down."

Daniel pointed toward the dojo. "DJ, Johnny Lawrence is not the kind of person you should be learning from. He's dangerous, and the last thing I want is for you to end up like him."

DJ's eyes narrowed. "And what's that supposed to mean? Someone who stands up for himself? Someone who actually believes in me? Yeah, terrible traits, Dad."

Daniel's jaw tightened, and he let out a long breath. "You don't understand, DJ. You're too young to see it now, but his way—his philosophy—leads to nothing but trouble."

DJ shook his head. "No, Dad. What I see is someone who actually cares about teaching me to be strong, to stand up for myself. Maybe if you'd done that, I wouldn't have had to go to him."

Daniel's face softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. "I'm trying to protect you, DJ. From him, from making mistakes you can't take back."

DJ's voice dropped, his tone more emotional now. "And what if I need to make those mistakes to figure out who I am?"

Daniel sighed deeply, the weight of DJ's words hitting him. "You don't have to do it this way, DJ."

DJ took a step back, shaking his head. "Maybe I do, Dad. Maybe this is the only way I can find my own path."

Daniel opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, his expression conflicted. After a long moment, he simply nodded. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Daniel got into his car and started the engine. DJ stood there, watching as his father drove away, the tension between them unresolved. He took a deep breath before turning back toward the dojo, knowing that while the conversation with his dad was far from over, he had made his choice—for now.

To be continued...