The St John household was quiet except for the faint sizzle of a pan on the stove. Elijah stood at the counter, frying some eggs in a pan. His movements were almost mechanical, as though he were putting every ounce of his focus into the task to block out the rest of the world. Behind him, Milo sat at the table, flicking through a book.

"Elijah?" Milo's voice was soft and hesitant.

"What?" Elijah didn't turn around, his voice clipped but not unkind.

"Can we have pancakes tomorrow?"

Elijah let out a small sigh, glancing over his shoulder. "We'll see. Eat your eggs first."

Milo nodded, his face lighting up as he returned to his book.

The quiet moments in their home were rare and fragile, like glass that could shatter with the wrong step. Their father's military picture still hung on the wall, a silent reminder of the legacy that had been forced upon them. Elijah never looked at it, but Milo would sometimes glance at the stern man in the photo, a father who never truly saw him as a son.

Their mother's absence loomed even larger. She had died giving birth to Milo, a fact that Elijah knew but had never voiced to his brother. Their father had blamed Milo, letting his resentment seep into every corner of their home. When their father had passed a few years ago in the line of duty, Elijah had taken on the role of both parent and protector, sheltering Milo from the shadows of their family's past.

Still, that history lingered, its claws sinking deep into Elijah.

The knock at the door was firm, deliberate. Elijah frowned, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he approached. Milo looked up, curiosity in his eyes, but Elijah gestured for him to stay put.

When Elijah opened the door, he froze. Standing there was a man he recognized instantly: John Kreese. He had visited the house a couple times in Elijah's youth but he had never had a proper conversation with him.

"Elijah." Kreese said with a slight nod, his voice authoritative.

Elijah's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"

Kreese stepped inside uninvited, his sharp eyes scanning the modest home. "You've been through a lot. More than most your age. I knew your grandfather. Your father too."

Elijah's eyes narrowed. "My father's dead."

Kreese tilted his head. "I know. And I know what kind of man he was. I served with your grandfather. He trusted me like a brother. I raised your father. Men like us, we understand each other."

Elijah folded his arms. "You don't know me."

"Don't I?" Kreese said. "You're angry. At the world, at the people who've hurt you, at the ones who should've been there and weren't. You think you can handle it on your own, but anger like that - it needs a purpose."

Elijah scoffed. "I've got a purpose. Taking care of my brother."

Kreese glanced over Elijah's shoulder, spotting Milo watching from the table. "He's lucky to have you. But taking care of him doesn't mean burying who you are. You've got a fire, Elijah. I saw it in you when you were younger. You just need the right place to let it burn."

Elijah didn't respond, but his silence was enough for Kreese to continue.

"I'm rebuilding something bigger than what Silver ever had in mind. Something real. I want you to be part of it. I'm heading to Korea, and I could use someone with your potential."

Elijah shook his head, his voice hard. "I'm done with dojos. Done with karate."

"You think walking away from this will make the anger go away?" Kreese stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "It won't. It'll eat you alive. You're not like those kids in the Valley who play at being tough. You've lived it. You've survived it. That's why you belong with me."

Elijah's hands clenched at his sides, his mind a whirlwind. He didn't trust Kreese, but the man's words struck a chord.

"Why do you care?" Elijah asked, his voice low.

Kreese's expression softened, just enough. "Because your grandfather was like a brother to me. And because I see the same fire in you that I saw in him. You can be something great, Elijah. Don't waste it."

Before Elijah could respond, Milo's voice broke the tension. "Eli? Who is he?"

Elijah turned, his protective instincts flaring. "Go back to eating, Milo."

Milo hesitated but nodded, retreating to the table.

Kreese watched the exchange with interest. "He's why you fight so hard, isn't he?"

Elijah didn't answer.

Kreese stepped back toward the door. "Think about it. Korea's not going anywhere, but this opportunity won't wait forever." He paused, looking Elijah directly in the eye. "You can call me."

As the door closed behind Kreese, Elijah stood in silence, his mind racing.

It was true, Elijah was a boy with too much anger inside him. It ate away at him, until he felt nothing else apart from it. It had consumed him to the point where he enjoyed inflicting pain on others. The only time he ever felt human was around his little brother, his little brother he tried so hard to protect.

Milo had just started high school, so he was no little boy, but Elijah still saw him as the scared five-year-old who didn't understand why his father was always drunk or why his father would always shout and hit him.

That night, as Milo slept, Elijah sat alone in the darkened living room, the words of Kreese echoing in his mind. He didn't trust the man, Elijah trusted no one, but Kreese had seen something in him, something Elijah couldn't quite ignore.

For so long, Elijah's life had been about survival, about protecting Milo and holding onto the anger that kept him moving forward. But now, for the first time, he wondered if there was something more. When he practiced karate, he felt as if he was using his anger for something good. Granted he was more set on harming his opponents but it still felt nice to let his anger out. Kreese had talked a good game, he spoke as if he could nurture Elijah's anger and help him control it.

The next morning, Milo sat cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of cereal balanced precariously on his lap as he flicked through a book he was currently reading. Elijah leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his mind still replaying Kreese's offer.

"Milo." Elijah began.

"Yeah?" Milo looked up, milk dripping from his spoon.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Milo set the bowl aside, sensing the seriousness in Elijah's tone. "What's up?"

Elijah walked over, sitting in the armchair across from him. "Kreese came by yesterday."

Milo's brow furrowed. "The Cobra Kai guy?"

"Yeah. He wants me to go with him. To Korea. Train under him and some other people. He says he sees potential in me."

Milo blinked, his surprise evident. "Are you going?"

"I don't know," Elijah admitted, "part of me thinks it's a bad idea, but part of me...thinks maybe he's right. Maybe I need this."

Milo studied his brother for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I think you should go."

Elijah's eyes widened. "What? You really think I should leave? What about you?"

Milo shrugged. "I'll be fine. You've been looking out for me my whole life. Maybe it's time I figure things out on my own."

Elijah frowned, leaning forward. "What's keeping you here, Milo? There's nothing in the Valley for us anymore."

Milo hesitated, then gave a small, shy smile. "That's not...entirely true."

Elijah raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Milo looked down, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I've...I've been spending time with someone. Devon."

"Devon?" Elijah echoed, startled. "Devon Lee? From Cobra Kai?"

Milo nodded, his cheeks turning red. "Yeah. After everything went down with Silver, we started talking more. She's really cool, Eli. She...she gets me, you know?"

Elijah's mouth opened, then closed as he processed the news. "I didn't know you two were close."

Milo shrugged. "It just sort of happened. She offered to teach me a bit of karate one day. I don't think it's for me though. But I like her, and I think she likes me too. I don't want to leave that behind."

Elijah leaned back. "So...you're staying for her?"

"It's not just her," Milo said quietly, "I've spent my whole life depending on you, letting you fight my battles, letting you look after me. It's time I stand on my own two feet."

Elijah felt a pang in his chest, a mix of pride and worry. "Milo, you're still a kid. What if something happens? I won't be here to help you."

Milo gave him a small, confident smile. "I'll be okay. You taught me how to take care of myself. And I've got Devon. And...maybe it's time you start thinking about yourself, Eli. You've been stuck in this place for so long, carrying everyone else's weight. Maybe Korea is what you need. I think it will be a good outlet for you."

Elijah stared at his brother, his emotions warring inside him. Leaving Milo felt like abandoning him, like breaking a promise he'd made to protect him no matter what. But Milo's words resonated.

"You've really thought about this?" Elijah asked.

Milo nodded. "Yeah. I know you're scared to leave me, but I'm not a baby anymore. I'll be fine. You don't have to carry me forever."

Elijah let out a heavy sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "You know this isn't easy for me, right?"

"I know," Milo said, "but you deserve to have your own life, Eli. And maybe...maybe this is the first step."

Elijah looked at his brother, seeing the determination in his eyes. It was a rare moment of maturity, a glimpse of the man Milo was becoming.

Finally, Elijah nodded. "Okay. I'll go. But you promise me you'll be smart, all right? Stay out of trouble. And call me all the time."

Milo grinned. "You know it."

Elijah let out a rare smile, ruffling Milo's hair as the younger boy swatted his hand away. "I mean it, Milo. Take care of yourself."

"I will," Milo said earnestly, "and you go do your thing in Korea."

And with that conversation, Elijah gave Kreese a call and it was all sorted. Elijah was off to Korea. His departure loomed heavy over Milo, the house felt unbearably quiet without his brother's presence - no sounds of clinking dishes in the kitchen, no grumbled complaints about Milo's music being too loud. Just silence.

Milo had convinced himself he could handle it. He wasn't a little kid anymore; he could look after himself. Bills were manageable for now, groceries were easy enough, and the cleaning...well, that was a work in progress.

But as the days passed, the weight of living alone began to press down on him.

One afternoon, Milo sat in the park with Devon, their usual meeting spot since Elijah had left. Devon sat cross-legged on the bench, tossing small pebbles at the grass while Milo sipped on a drink.

"You've been quieter than usual." Devon said, tilting her head to look at him.

Milo shrugged, playing it off. "Just...busy, I guess."

"Busy with what? School? What else do you do?"

"Yeah. School I guess."

Devon narrowed her eyes at him. "You're a terrible liar, Milo."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. It's just...weird, you know? Being alone all the time. The house is empty, and I've been trying to keep up with everything, but..."

Devon's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. You're living by yourself?"

Milo winced, realising he'd said too much. "Uh...yeah. But it's fine! I've got it under control."

"'Under control?'" Devon repeated incredulously. "You're a teenager, Milo. You shouldn't be living alone."

"It's not a big deal," Milo said quickly, trying to brush it off, "I've got food, the lights are on-"

"Milo," Devon interrupted, "that's not okay. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because I didn't want to bother anyone," Milo muttered, looking down, "you've got your own life, and I didn't want to seem...weak and pathetic."

Devon softened, she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Milo, asking for help doesn't make you weak or pathetic. It makes you smart. And you're not doing this alone anymore."

"What do you mean?" Milo asked hesitantly.

"I mean," Devon said, standing up and tugging him along, "you're coming to stay with me."

Milo hesitated as they stood outside Devon's house, a modest two-story home with a neatly trimmed lawn.

"Devon, I can't just barge in and live here," Milo said, shaking his head, "your parents don't even know me."

"They will," Devon said confidently, "and trust me, they're going to be fine with it."

She pushed open the front door, calling out, "Mum? Dad? Can you come here for a sec?"

Milo fidgeted in the entryway, feeling out of place. A moment later, Devon's parents appeared. Her mum smiled at them, while her dad looked curious.

"What's up, sweetheart?" her mum asked.

"This is Milo," Devon said, gesturing to him, "he's a friend from karate. Sort of. His older brother did karate. And he's been living on his own."

Her parents exchanged surprised looks.

"Living on his own?" her dad asked, frowning. "How old are you, son?"

"Sixteen." Milo admitted quietly.

Devon's mum gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh, honey, that's not right. Where's your family?"

Milo looked down, feeling exposed. "My brother...he left for Korea. And it's just been me since then."

"That's not okay," Devon said firmly, looking at her parents, "I told him he can stay here."

Her dad crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "And what does Milo think about that?"

"I...I don't want to intrude," Milo said quickly, "I'm fine on my own, really."

"You're not fine, Milo," Devon said, glaring at him, "and you're not intruding. We have plenty of space."

Her mum stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Milo's shoulder. "Devon's right. You're not intruding. If you need a place to stay, we're happy to have you."

Milo looked at her, then at Devon's dad, who nodded in agreement.

"Thank you." Milo said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He wasn't alone anymore.