WASABI DOJO

The Bobby Wasabi dojo hummed with anticipation. The team had gathered near the entrance, where a couch faced the dojo's old TV. Kim and Milton sat comfortably on the cushions, while Jack and Rudy perched on the armrests, their expressions brimming with excitement. Abigail leaned casually against a wooden beam, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes flicking occasionally toward Jerry, who stood nearby.

"Ooh, our commercial is on!" Rudy exclaimed, clapping his hands together with childlike enthusiasm.

All eyes turned to the TV as the screen lit up.

The commercial began with Rudy, dressed in his karate gi, standing confidently in the center of the dojo. "Hello, I'm Rudy Gillespie, the Sensei of The Bobby Wasabi Dojo," he said, smiling warmly at the camera.

The scene shifted to Jack, who appeared dressed as a nerd, complete with glasses, a button-up shirt, and tan pants. He shuffled awkwardly toward Rudy, looking distressed. "Oh no, some bully just stole my calculator. I wish I knew kar-a-te!" Jack whined.

"I'll teach you," Rudy said, leaning in conspiratorially and fake-whispering in Jack's ear.

The commercial took a sudden dramatic turn as Jack ripped off his shirt, revealing a tank top that showed off his muscular arms. "Hey, you, give me my calculator back!" Jack demanded, pointing at Jerry, who was playing the role of the bully.

Jerry, looking nervous, stammered as he handed the calculator back. "Oh no, you must have learned kar-a-te... at The Bobby Wasabi Dojo!" he said, glancing at Milton, who stood just off-camera holding cue cards. Jerry gave an awkward laugh before letting out a high-pitched scream and running away.

Milton jogged over, a look of admiration on his face. "Hey, I was watching you from over there," he said, pointing dramatically. "What do you call those moves you do so well?"

Jack turned to Milton with a confident grin. "They are called ka-ra-te, friend. Because life without it..." He held up the calculator, pressing a few buttons. "...just doesn't add up."

Kim and Abigail appeared next, walking up to Jack with wide smiles.

"Wow, you wear ka-ra-te well," Kim said, giving him a playful look.

"You sure showed that bully, dude," Abigail added, her tone flirtatious.

Kim looped her arm through Jack's. "Can I please be your girlfriend now?" she asked sweetly.

"Or can I be your girlfriend instead?" Abigail said, looking straight into the camera.

Jack smirked, then winked at the audience. "Sure, why not?"

The commercial ended with Rudy stepping back into frame. "Sign up today! Call 1-555-01-YA!"

Back in the dojo, the group burst into applause. Rudy puffed out his chest, clearly pleased. "Now everyone in Seaford will know that I'm the king of karate," he said proudly.

Before anyone could respond, another commercial started playing on the TV.

"Uh, Rudy, you may want to see this," Kim said, pointing to the screen.

The new commercial featured a man in a blue gi covered in sponsor logos, wearing a king's crown and cape. He stood with a dramatic pose as a voice boomed, "I'm Chuck Banner, the Karate King! And if you love America, you'll sign up at my new Seaford Karate King Dojo today!"

The screen cut to two women holding up clocks with Chuck's face on them. "Call within the next ten minutes, and you'll receive this free Karate King clock!" Chuck continued, flashing a grin. "Men and ladies love waking up next to me. What time is it? Half past awesome!"

Rudy's face fell as he snatched the remote and shut off the TV. "Talk about in-your-face advertising," Abigail muttered, rolling her eyes.

Nearby, Jerry was dialing a number on his phone. Abigail narrowed her eyes. "Jerry, what are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm getting that clock," Jerry replied, completely serious.

Kim scoffed. "Ugh, seriously?"

Milton stood up and hesitated before admitting, "I kind of want one too."

Jack shook his head. "Guys, Chuck Banner is a joke."

"Jack's right," Rudy said firmly, snatching Jerry's phone. "Nobody is calling Karate King from my dojo!"

"But—" Jerry began, only to be cut off by Rudy's stern glare.

"Go stretch out and get to work," Rudy ordered.

Grumbling, the group headed toward the mats. Once they were out of earshot, Rudy glanced over his shoulder, then quickly dialed the number again.

"Yes, hello," he whispered into the phone. "Can I order one of those free Chuck Banner clocks? Wait, what? Ninety-nine dollars for shipping and handling? I'll take two!"

SEAFORD HIGH SCHOOL

CAFETERIA

The Seaford High cafeteria buzzed with its usual chaotic energy, the clatter of trays and the low hum of conversations filling the air. At their usual table, Kim, Milton, Abigail, and Jerry sat staring at their lunch trays, each poking at the unappetizing meals before them.

"All three of these foods are brown," Milton muttered, prodding a lump of questionable origin with his fork. "How do I know which is which?"

Kim leaned forward, squinting at his tray. "The broccoli's got the congealed fat, the mac and cheese has the mold, and the pot roast..." She wrinkled her nose. "It's got both."

Abigail rolled her eyes and jabbed a thumb toward Jerry, who was inspecting a meatball impaled on his fork. "For God's sake, my Uncle Monte cooks better than this, and he's terrible. I mean, look at Jerry's meatball. It's like a rock."

Jerry held the meatball up defensively. "No, it's not." With a flick of his wrist, he slid it off the fork. It landed on the table with a resounding thud. "You can eat a rock."

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Sure, if you're a goat."

Kim sat back, shaking her head. "You know what? Something has to be done about this cafeteria food. I'm sick of it." She glanced around the room, then raised her voice. "Marge?"

The cafeteria's resident lunch lady appeared, lugging a large soup stock pot. Her apron was splattered with stains of indeterminate age. "You guys want seconds?"

"No!" The four of them chorused, quickly covering their trays.

Kim stood, determination flashing in her eyes. "Look, Marge, there's no nice way to put this, so I'm just going to be blunt. Marge... your food stinks."

Marge's face darkened as she set the stock pot down with a clang. "There better be another woman named Marge standing right behind me."

Abigail stepped in, her tone softer. "Marge, we just don't think the food you're serving us isn't quite..."

"...edible," Milton finished, earning a glare from Marge.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Marge exclaimed, her voice rising.

Jerry suddenly stood up, slamming his tray for emphasis. "We want better food! Am I right, people?" He pumped his fist in the air. "Better food! Better food!"

The chant caught on like wildfire, spreading across the cafeteria. "Better food! Better food!" the students shouted, pounding their tables.

Marge's face twisted in fury. "Oh, that's it!" she snapped. "You think it's easy putting out 500 lukewarm meals a day? Peeling onions, chopping carrots, erasing expiration dates? You don't appreciate me? Fine, I'm outta here!"

She began yanking off her apron and gloves dramatically. "I'm removing my apron, my gloves, and my hairnet—" She paused, patting her head. "Where's my hairnet?"

Jerry held up his soup bowl, grimacing. "It's in my soup."

Kim and Abigail clapped their hands over their mouths, stifling gags as Marge snatched the soggy hairnet from Jerry's fork.

"Gimme that!" she barked, before turning to her crew. "Come on, people, we're leaving!"

One by one, the kitchen staff snapped off their gloves and aprons, following Marge out the door.

As the cafeteria settled into an uneasy silence, Abigail sighed, rubbing her temples. "Great. Now we've pissed off the entire lunch crew. Who's going to feed us now?"

Kim waved her off confidently. "Relax. With Marge gone, Principal Funderburk is going to have to hire replacements. Trust me, this is going to work out great."

But It didn't instead of hiring new staff, Principal Funderburk had come up with a brilliant plan: put the four of them in charge of the cafeteria.

Now, Kim, Milton, Abigail, and Jerry stood behind the serving counter, each clad in aprons and hairnets, holding utensils with the same level of enthusiasm as prisoners breaking rocks.

Abigail let out a long sigh, side-eyeing Kim. "Not working out so well, huh?"

"I can't believe we're the new lunch ladies," Milton groaned, adjusting his ill-fitting hairnet.

"I can't believe I have to wear a hairnet," Kim muttered, glaring at her reflection in a nearby stainless steel tray.

Jerry raised his arms, revealing extra hairnets under his armpits. "I can't believe I have to wear three."

Abigail squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "For the love of—Jerry, just... don't."

WASABI DOJO

The dojo was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of Rudy's movements as he practiced his Shin-Do stances. His focus was intense, his arms flowing like water as he finished the last step of the sequence.

The door creaked open, and Jack walked in holding a flyer. "Hey, Rudy, there's something I want to talk to you about."

Rudy held up a hand, his stance unwavering. "Hang on, Jack. I just have to finish my Shin-Do practice." He pivoted smoothly, landing in his final pose before exhaling deeply. "Okay, I'm good. What's up?"

Jack held up the flyer with a grin. "Check it out. The big Sensei tournament is going to be at the Seaford Civic Center. The final round's even going to be televised!"

Rudy's eyes lit up as he grabbed the flyer, scanning it. "Oh, man. Winning this tournament in my hometown would be amazing. Even better publicity than when I became a hero by jumping into the bay and saving that man in a wheelchair."

Jack gave him a skeptical look. "He was only in the bay because your car bumped into him."

Rudy waved it off, puffing his chest out. "A hero!" he declared, pointing to himself with pride.

Jack rolled his eyes and stepped closer. "I was thinking... maybe I could enter the tournament."

Rudy's expression froze mid-smile. "What? Jack, you're not a Sensei."

"Rudy, I'm a second-degree black belt. I win all my tournaments. I really think I'm ready to take the next step."

Rudy shook his head firmly. "Jack, just because you have a donkey in the barn doesn't mean you know how to plow a field."

Jack frowned. "What does that even mean?"

"No idea." Rudy shrugged. "But the point is, there's still so much more I have to teach you. Do you want to learn the ancient martial art of Shin-Do?"

Jack crossed his arms, unimpressed. "I shin-don't. It looks lame."

Rudy gasped dramatically. "Lame? Shin-Do is about harnessing your opponent's energy and using it against them!"

"Rudy, why would I do that when I can do this?" Jack asked with a smirk.

He stepped back, then ran across the dojo. With a burst of speed, he launched himself into the air, delivering a powerful flying sidekick to the training dummy. The dummy flew across the room, crashing into the wall with a loud thud.

"Hi-yah!" Jack shouted as he landed, standing tall and proud.

Rudy nodded slowly, arms crossed. "Okay, that was impressive. But Jack, there's more to being a Sensei than flying sidekicks. It requires a level of maturity that you have yet to achieve."

Before Jack could respond, the bell above the door jingled. Rudy's eyes widened in excitement. "Ooh ooh, they're here! They're here!"

A delivery man entered, carrying a large box. Rudy eagerly signed the paperwork, practically bouncing as he tore into the package. With a triumphant laugh, he pulled out a Chuck Banner clock, its bold colors and cheesy design screaming "action hero."

Rudy flipped the switch on the back, and the clock came to life. "It's time to kick butt!" it blared, followed by a loud "Hi-yah!"

Rudy's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, Chuck Banner is a poser, but this clock is half past awesome!"

Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock and then back at Rudy. "And I'm the one who lacks maturity?"

Rudy ignored him, proudly setting the clock on the shelf. "Hiyah! It's time to kick butt!" the clock repeated, as Rudy admired his new prized possession.

FALAFEL PHILS

Jack sat at his table at Falafel Phil's, absentmindedly poking at his fries. He couldn't shake the frustration of Rudy dismissing his aspirations. He was mid-bite when the door to the restaurant swung open, and in walked Chuck Banner, larger than life in his branded gi covered with sponsor logos. The addition of a gaudy, oversized crown made him impossible to miss.

Chuck scanned the room and locked eyes with Jack. "Hey! I recognize you from your commercial!"

Jack blinked, a little taken aback. "Oh, thanks, we're really proud—"

"It was horrible," Chuck interrupted bluntly.

Jack froze, unsure how to respond, but then Chuck added, "But you were good." He pointed directly at Jack, his grin wide.

Jack tilted his head. "Uh... thank you. You're... you're Chuck Banner, the Karate King."

Chuck let out a booming laugh. "How'd you know?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely at the crown. "Just a guess."

Chuck sat down across from him without asking, leaning in with a confident smirk. "Jack, you remind me of Young Me."

Jack frowned, confused. "I remind you of... you?"

"No, Young Me, the Chinese Grandmaster. He was a Sensei at 16."

Jack leaned forward, intrigued. "Wait, really? I'm 16, but I'm not a Sensei."

Chuck shrugged dramatically. "You know what I say to that? Boo Hoo."

Jack raised a brow. "You... gonna cry?"

"No," Chuck said, as if Jack had missed the point entirely. "Boo Hoo, the black belt. His master never let him become a Sensei. Don't let that be your story, Jack. You come over to Karate King, and I'll make you a Sensei. And with that comes honor, prestige, and... ka-ching."

Jack furrowed his brow. "Let me guess... Ka-ching is another Sensei who works for you?"

Chuck laughed, shaking his head. "Ka-ching is an expression for making a whole lot of money. What's wrong with you?"

Jack leaned back in his chair, processing Chuck's offer. While he couldn't deny the appeal of being a Sensei, something about Chuck Banner's flashy demeanor and obsession with money felt... off. But still, the opportunity was tempting. With that, Chuck stood up, adjusted his crown, and strolled out of the restaurant, leaving Jack with a lot to think about.

WASABI DOJO

Everyone gathered around Rudy, who stood at the front of the room with a proud smile. Jack, Kim, Jerry, Milton, and Abigail were present, their curiosity piqued as Rudy prepared to speak.

Rudy cleared his throat dramatically. "As you all know, they're holding a Sensei tournament right here in Seaford. It's a huge deal, and one student amongst you has risen above all the others."

Jack smirked and nudged Kim. "I think someone's about to become a Sensei. Heh."

Kim rolled her eyes playfully but couldn't hide a small grin as Jack stood up confidently, ready to bask in the glory he was sure was coming his way.

Rudy turned to Jack with a warm smile. "Jack, I would like to officially ask you—"

Jack interrupted, holding up a hand. "Rudy, hang on one second. I'd like to say something first."

Abigail let out an audible groan and muttered, "Oh, boy." Jerry and Milton exchanged amused smirks, waiting to see where this was going.

Jack placed a hand over his heart and addressed the room. "Although I'm about to become a Sensei, I will always be your friend-sei."

The room burst into stifled laughter, with Kim shaking her head.

Rudy blinked, caught off guard. "Jack, I was going to ask you if you'd be my corner man in the tournament."

The smile froze on Jack's face. "What? You want me to empty your spit bucket and carry your shoes?"

Kim mocked, "Congratulations, friend-sei."

Jerry, Milton, and Abigail burst out laughing, and even Rudy couldn't suppress a chuckle. Jack groaned and sat back down, muttering under his breath as the others teased him.

SEAFORD HIGH SCHOOL

Back in the high school kitchen, Milton was meticulously preparing a meal as Kim and Abigail watched on, all wearing aprons and hairnets.

"Ah, chicken Florentine with mushroom risotto. Now that's a lunch," Milton said, proudly admiring his creation.

"Great! We're just going to need 499 more plates," Kim said, looking over at the single serving with raised eyebrows.

"What? It took me five hours to make this one!" Milton exclaimed.

"Great, but what are we going to do? We've got to feed them something," Abigail panicked, wringing her hands.

Suddenly, the sound of wheels squeaking echoed through the kitchen. Jerry wheeled over a large pot on a trolley, steam rising from it.

"Who's ready to serve up some famous Martinez gumbo ya-ya?" Jerry said, grinning widely.

Abigail, Milton, and Kim moved over to the pot, intrigued by the mouth-watering smell.

"I can't believe it! This stuff smells so good, Jerry, you saved us!" Kim said, taking in the rich scent.

"I didn't know you knew how to make gumbo," Milton said, raising an eyebrow.

"Gumbo is just the Cajun word for..." Jerry started, adopting a thick Cajun accent, "Throw it in de'er. A little bullion, a little onion, a little chick-on." He paused, then returned to his normal voice, "And some ketchup. Excuse me, ah." Jerry climbed onto a stool to stir the pot, looking very pleased with himself.

Abigail leaned forward to sniff again, but as she did, the pot suddenly let out a strange growl. She jumped back, eyes wide. "Whatever is in that pot just growled at me."

Jerry continued stirring, his smile faltering as he noticed the consistency of the gumbo. "This gumbo's fighting back," he said, trying to stir the thick mixture, but the spoon wouldn't move.

Kim, who was now backing away, looked at the others. "Maybe it's... alive?" she suggested, half-joking, half-worried.

Jerry shook his head. "Nah, it's just... uh... very thick."

But as he reached down to stir again, the spoon slipped from his hands and fell into the pot. Immediately, the gumbo began rumbling like it was alive, shaking and bubbling furiously.

"That's all you," Kim said, pushing Jerry forward with a smirk.

Jerry gulped, looking nervously at the pot. "Ah, don't worry, I'll get it." He bent over the pot to reach inside, but before anyone could stop him, the gumbo pulled him in.

"Wah! Help! Ah, help! I'm in a bit of a... situati-on!" Jerry screamed, his body halfway submerged in the pot. The others stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief.

WASABI DOJO

After school, Jack was alone in the dojo, packing his belongings into a blue duffel bag. The sound of footsteps echoed through the quiet space as Rudy entered, holding a water bottle and a bucket.

"Good, Jack, I'm glad you're here. Let's work on our spit-bucket technique," Rudy said, taking a sip of water. "If I get dazed out there, spit could be coming at you from every angle. So try to follow my mouth."

Jack didn't look up as he continued packing his things. "I'm not going to be your corner man, Rudy."

Rudy stopped mid-gargle, sputtering water everywhere. "What do you mean you're not going to be my corner man?"

Jack zipped up his duffel bag and stood up, turning to face Rudy. "I'm going to be competing."

"What?" Rudy said, his voice rising in a high-pitched, confused tone. He smiled, thinking Jack was joking. "You can't compete. It's only for Senseis."

"I am a Sensei. At Karate King," Jack said, holding up a blue Karate King gi, the logo of the dojo proudly displayed on it.

"You're a who at where now?!" Rudy's eyes widened, his confusion deepening.

"I'll see you later, Rudy," Jack said, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder and heading toward the exit.

"Wha..." Rudy muttered, staring after him, still in disbelief.

Just as Jack reached the door, the Chuck Banner clock on the wall chimed loudly. "It's time to kick butt! Hiyah! It's time to kick butt! Hiyah!" The clock's voice echoed in the dojo, each chime growing louder.

Rudy turned around in frustration, eyes narrowing at the clock. "Aw, shut it!" he yelled.

He stormed over to the clock, grabbed a Bo Staff, and began to whack it off the wall. The clock continued its chant, unaffected by Rudy's attack. "It's time to kick butt! Hiyah! It's time to kick butt! Hiyah! It's time to kick butt!"

Rudy's anger grew as he relentlessly swung the staff at the clock, knocking it around the room, but it kept going. "Say what you want about that Chuck Banner. The man knows how to make a clock!" Rudy finally muttered, defeated, as the clock's voice rang on, mocking him with its constant repetition.

SEAFORD CIVIC CENTER

Rudy arrived at the Seaford Civic Center, clipboard in hand, determined to sign up for the Sensei Tournament. The place was buzzing with energy as other Senseis from nearby dojos milled about, preparing for the competition. Rudy scanned the room, his eyes landing on the sign-up table. He approached, ready to make his mark and secure his spot in the tournament.

As he was filling out his name on the sign-up sheet, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Oh, look who's here to sign up for tomorrow's tournament. Everybody bow, it's Sensei Jack."

Rudy whipped around to see Jack standing there in his Karate King blue gi, a cocky grin on his face. To Rudy's surprise, several nearby Senseis, seeing Jack in his gi, immediately bowed in respect.

"No, he's not a real Sensei! Stop bowing!" Rudy shouted, exasperated.

The Senseis froze, awkwardly standing up and exchanging confused glances. Jack smirked, clearly enjoying the moment.

"Well, Chuck Banner thinks I am," Jack said, with a smug smile.

Rudy's eyebrows shot up. "Oh really? Was Chuck there when you broke your first board? Or when you got your black belt? Or when you were so nervous you wet your pants before nationals?"

Jack cringed at the mention of the last incident. "That wasn't me, Rudy. That was you."

Rudy let out a small laugh, rubbing his chin as he recalled the embarrassing hotel moment. "Stupid hotel with that all-you-can-drink lemonade bar..." he muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat and focused back on Jack. "Anyway, the point is I know you. And I want you to become a Sensei, but when you're ready."

Jack stood firm, his expression serious. "Well, I think I'm ready now. Excuse me. I have a tournament to sign up for."

Rudy stared at him for a moment, frustration bubbling up. Without warning, he grabbed the pen and crossed Jack's name off the sign-up sheet.

"Um, as your Sensei, I am removing your name from the sign-up sheet," Rudy said, as if the matter was settled.

Jack wasn't having it. With a swift move, he grabbed the pen, wrote his name back on the sheet, and smiled up at Rudy. "Well, as my own Sensei, I am putting my name back on the sign-up sheet."

Rudy, not one to back down easily, grabbed the pen again and crossed Jack's name out once more. He tossed the pen aside with a dramatic flourish. "Can't sign up without a pen. Ha ha!"

Jack crossed his arms and stood his ground. "Your problem is you're jealous of Chuck."

Rudy's face scrunched up. "Jealous? Of Chuck? Why would I be jealous?"

Jack pointed at him with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe because he owns 55 dojos across the country and you own one."

Rudy paused, momentarily stung by the truth of Jack's words. But he quickly recovered, shrugging nonchalantly. "I could own dojos. I just have neither the money nor the ability. Just face it, Jack. The guy's a pompous blowhard."

Jack shook his head, unconvinced. "No, he's not, Rudy. He takes his karate very seriously."

At that moment, the door to the Civic Center swung open with a dramatic flair, and in walked Chuck Banner. He was wearing his signature crown and cape, walking with the swagger of someone who believed they owned the room.

"Woo! The King is in the house!" Chuck shouted, striking a pose as he entered.

The room went quiet for a second, and Chuck spun around, kicking his leg in the air, "Hiyah!"

Rudy sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. "Here we go," he muttered under his breath.

Jack, however, looked on with an impressed grin. "See? He's serious about his karate."

SEAFORD MALL COURTYARD

After school, feeling the weight of their failed attempts at managing Marge's job, Milton, Abigail, Jerry, and Kim headed to the mall. They knew they had to find Marge and convince her to come back, but first, they had to deal with the fact that Marge was now working at Wizard Weenie in the food court. They spotted her at the counter, wearing a wizard hat and cloak, handing out hot dogs to customers with a big smile.

"Here's your wizard weenie," Marge said cheerfully, handing a customer a hot dog. "We make magic in your mouth!" She then looked up and spotted the group standing in the courtyard. "You four."

Kim, looking both guilty and hopeful, stepped forward. "Marge, we need you back."

"We tried to do your job, and we realized how hard it is," Milton added, his voice soft with admission.

Marge raised an eyebrow, smirking. "And how good my food is?"

Milton paused for a moment, clearly at a loss for words. "We realized how hard it is."

Abigail nodded. "Please, Marge. Consider coming back. We can't do what you do."

"Clearly, I got hurt trying to actually work my poor arm," Jerry chimed in, though he exaggerated for effect, holding up his sling. Abigail shot him a look.

"Oh, would you stop it, you're fine," Abigail snapped. Without warning, she yanked the sling off his arm and slapped his elbow, making Jerry scream out in pain.

"Oww!" Jerry yelped.

Marge shook her head, amused. "Look, I'm not coming back. You guys didn't appreciate me when I was around. Besides, I've never been happier." She glanced at her cart and then back at them.

"Pushing around a weenie wagon?" Kim questioned, skeptical.

"You don't know what makes me happy, little girl," Marge retorted, giving Kim a pointed look. "Besides, my dream is dead."

"Your dream is to marry Denzel Washington," Milton said, matter-of-factly.

"That's not a dream," Marge snapped, rolling her eyes. "D-Wash will be mine. I'm talking about opening up a restaurant. Marge's Home Style Barbecue." She sighed dreamily. "Ooh, I need a bathroom break. They make you do everything in this stupid wizard code." She reached for her walkie-talkie and spoke into it. "Base, this is Marge. I need to use the cave of despair... pronto!"

The group exchanged puzzled looks as Marge walked away.

"Why do they call it the cave of despair?" Abigail asked.

"Have you been in the food court bathroom?" Jerry answered, a grimace crossing his face.

"Oh," Abigail said, now understanding.

Kim suddenly smiled, a spark of inspiration lighting up her face. "You guys, we're gonna make Marge's dream come true."

The others turned to her, curious.

SEAFORD HIGH SCHOOL

CAFETERIA

The next day, the group gathered in the school kitchen area, eagerly awaiting Marge's arrival. The plan to help her achieve her dream was set, and the room was buzzing with anticipation.

"You sure Marge is going to show up?" Kim asked, leaning against the counter.

"I sent her a text that should get her attention," Jerry replied confidently.

"And you're absolutely sure she's coming?" Abigail questioned, crossing her arms.

Jerry smirked. "Oh, she should be barging through those doors any minute now."

Right on cue, the doors swung open, and Marge strode in, her smile as wide as ever. "Where is he? Where's my beautiful Denzel?" she asked, looking around expectantly.

Jerry chuckled nervously. "Uh... he's not here."

Marge's face dropped instantly. "What? You lied to me? That's it. I'm tired of this, okay?" She grabbed a whisk from the counter and charged at Jerry.

"No, no, no! Marge, calm down!" Abigail shouted, stepping in as she and Kim held Marge back.

"We know you gave up on your dream of opening Marge's Home Style Barbecue," Milton said quickly.

"But we didn't," Kim added, a small smile lighting her face.

Marge paused, her expression softening in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Follow us, Marge," Jerry said, gesturing toward the cafeteria doors.

The group led Marge into the cafeteria, which they had transformed into a country-style dining area, complete with rustic decorations, gingham tablecloths, and a big banner that read Marge's Home Style Barbecue. The scent of barbecue wafted through the air, completing the scene.

Marge stopped in her tracks, her jaw dropping. "This is exactly how I pictured it in my dreams," she whispered, her eyes wide in awe.

Kim stepped forward. "Okay, look... your restaurant's going to be filled with hungry customers in an hour."

"But before you serve them, we got you something to make it official," Abigail added with a grin.

Jerry pulled out a bright yellow apron with the words Marge's Home Style Barbecue emblazoned across it, along with a cartoon image of Marge wearing a chef's hat.

Marge gasped, clutching the apron. "I can't believe you guys did this just for me."

"Of course we did, 'cause we appreciate you," Milton said earnestly.

"Even if we don't say it enough," Jerry added.

Marge sniffled, holding back tears. "You children better turn away. I'm an ugly crier."

Milton smiled. "Aw, you're crying because you're happy, that's just beautif—" Marge suddenly burst into loud, dramatic sobs. He stopped mid-sentence, staring. "She is an ugly crier," he muttered.

An hour later, the cafeteria was packed with students, and the group sat at their usual table, watching the scene unfold. Marge, beaming with pride, walked out with a triangle in her hand and chimed it loudly to get everyone's attention.

"For lunch today, we're having barbecued ribs, baked beans, and Marge's special cornbread!" she announced enthusiastically. "Dig in! I'm going to make seconds for everybody. Woo!" She turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.

The group exchanged wary glances at their plates.

"Well, the best part of this food is that we didn't have to make it," Milton said, poking at his ribs with a fork.

"It actually looks pretty good," Jerry said, eyeing his plate.

"It smells pretty good," Kim added.

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "You think we should give it a try?"

They all shrugged hesitantly before picking up their forks and taking cautious bites. Almost immediately, their faces twisted in horror, and they spat the food out.

Milton stood up, clapping his hands. "All right, people. Don't panic!" he shouted to the students. "There are barf bags under your seats!"

From the kitchen, Marge called out cheerfully, "Who wants dessert?"

The students instantly scrambled out of their seats, bolting for the doors in a chaotic stampede. Milton, caught in the rush, was lifted off his feet and carried toward the exit.

"Please proceed in a calm, orderly fashion!" Milton shouted as he was carried off. "Exit in a single-file line! Bathrooms are out to the left!"

SEAFORD CIVIC CENTER

The Civic Center buzzed with energy as students and spectators filled the bleachers for the final round of the Sensei Tournament. The excitement was palpable, and the crowd's cheers echoed throughout the building. Kim, Milton, and Abigail sat together in the front row, watching the competitors warm up. Nearby, Jerry roamed the sidelines, carrying a bucket and grinning mischievously.

"Wow, Jerry's really getting into being Rudy's new corner man," Milton said, raising an eyebrow as Jerry strutted around.

Kim leaned forward, smirking. "Oh, look. He's about to do that old Globetrotters gag with the spit bucket—pretending to throw it on the crowd, but it's just confetti."

Jerry stepped toward the bleachers, holding the bucket high. He faked tossing it at the audience, making them flinch before laughing. Emboldened, he repeated the act, this time turning toward Kim, Milton, and Abigail. But instead of confetti, a wave of cold, slimy liquid splashed over them.

"Seriously?!" Abigail exclaimed, wiping her face.

"Oops! Wrong bucket," Jerry said sheepishly, backing away as the trio groaned in unison.

The room fell silent as dramatic music played, and two models strutted out, holding signs that read "Karate" and "King." The crowd cheered louder as Chuck Banner, dressed in an obnoxiously flashy suit, entered, waving a large flag emblazoned with his logo.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Chuck bellowed into the microphone. "You all know me—I'm Chuck Banner, the Karate King, and owner of the best new dojo in town! Please welcome my new Sensei and the man who's going to bring home the gold... Jack Brewer!"

The crowd erupted as Jack burst through a banner, flipping and spinning through the air with effortless precision. The applause was deafening, but Rudy's face darkened.

Without hesitation, Rudy snatched the microphone from Chuck. "Ladies and gentlemen, from the Bobby Wasabi Dojo... Sensei Rudy Gillespie!"

Determined to one-up Jack's entrance, Rudy cranked up a portable radio, blasting pop music as he showered himself with popcorn from a nearby fan. He grabbed someone's newspaper, tearing through it as if it were a ceremonial banner, before striking a triumphant pose. The audience laughed, but the humor faded when Jack and Rudy locked eyes.

"Rudy," Jack said coldly.

"Jack," Rudy replied, his tone just as sharp.

In the bleachers, Kim and Jerry tried to cheer them on, but their loyalty quickly became a competition.

"Go Rudy!" Jerry shouted.

"Go Jack!" Kim countered.

"Go Jack!" Jerry said, switching sides.

"Go Rudy!" Kim retorted

The bell rang, signaling the start of the match. Jack and Rudy stepped onto the mat, circling each other with practiced precision. The crowd leaned forward, the tension thick in the air. The two launched into a flurry of attacks and counters, their movements a blur of speed and power.

The first round ended in a draw, and the audience erupted into applause. Jack returned to his corner, slumping onto a bench beside Chuck Banner.

"He's countering every one of my strikes," Jack said, frustrated. "Do you have any martial arts advice?"

Chuck shrugged. "Try to win. It's good for business."

Jack frowned. "Wait a second... you're not even a real black belt, are you?"

"I'm a black belt at making money," Chuck replied with a smirk. "Now get out there and make me look good."

Shaking his head, Jack returned to the mat as the bell rang for the second round.

This time, Rudy adjusted his stance, his movements deliberate and calm. As Jack launched another series of strikes, Rudy countered each one effortlessly, redirecting Jack's strength against him. The crowd gasped as Rudy's technique became more fluid and precise.

Jack, visibly frustrated, overextended on a punch, giving Rudy the opening to flip him onto his back. The audience held their breath as Rudy positioned Jack in a submission hold. But instead of forcing him to tap out, Rudy released him and extended a hand to help him up.

Jack took Rudy's hand and stood, a look of respect replacing his earlier frustration. He raised Rudy's arm, prompting the crowd to cheer even louder.

"Rudy, what was that form? I've never seen anything like it," Jack said, breathless.

Rudy smiled. "Sure you have. That's Shin-Do."

"Wow," Jack said, shaking his head. "I owe you an apology. You were right—I'm not ready to be a Sensei yet."

Rudy clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Don't worry. One day, you will be."

Chuck approached, patting Jack on the back. "Great job, Jack. The camera got some great logo shots."

Jack stepped away. "You know what, Chuck? I have a lot more to learn, and I want Rudy to be the one to teach me."

"Fine," Chuck huffed, brushing past him. He turned to Rudy. "Rudy, nice moves. What do you say you join—"

"Not interested," Rudy interrupted, crossing his arms.

Chuck threw his hands up. "Fine. But I'm leaving here in a Ferrari with two supermodels and an orangutan. See you losers later."

As Chuck strutted away, Jack turned to Rudy. "You know, Rudy, none of that matters. The important thing is you're leaving here with five kids who absolutely love and respect you."

Rudy nodded, then slowly began backing away.

"Rudy?" Jack said, confused.

"Wait up, Chuck! I call shotgun!" Rudy yelled, chasing after him as Jack sighed, shaking his head.

WASABI DOJO

The next day in the dojo Jack leaned forward, touching his toes, while Kim and Abigail worked on their splits. Milton was practicing his breathing exercises, and Jerry, predictably, was more focused on sitting down.

Rudy strolled in, a large box in his hands and a triumphant grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Rudy, where you been?" Jack asked, glancing up from his stretch.

Rudy set the box down with a dramatic flourish. "I finally did it. I destroyed the Chuck Banner clock."

The group perked up, their curiosity piqued.

Rudy reached into the box and pulled out the remains of the clock, its pieces barely recognizable. "Yeah. I dropped it off the third story, hit it a few hundred times with a cinder block, and then I ran over it with my buddy's steamroller."

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "That's one way to destroy something you spent over $100 on in shipping and handling."

"Doesn't matter," Rudy replied, puffing out his chest. "It means I'll never have to hear Chuck Banner's dumb voice again."

As if on cue, a faint, tinny voice emanated from the shattered clock.

"It's time to kick butt! Hiyah!"

Rudy's jaw dropped, and he stared at the clock in disbelief. "What?! I don't believe it—it still works!"

"It's time to kick butt! Hiyah!" the clock repeated, mockingly.

"That's it!" Rudy declared, grabbing the box and storming toward the door. "I'm finding a volcano, and I'm throwing it in!"

The group watched him leave, bemused.

"It's time to kick butt! Hiyah! It's time to kick butt! Hiyah!"

Milton furrowed his brow. "Okay, where is that coming from?"

Kim tilted her head, listening intently. The sound seemed to be echoing from somewhere else in the dojo. Following the noise, she walked over to the lockers. As the voice grew louder, she opened one of the doors to reveal an identical Chuck Banner clock sitting on the top shelf.

"Jerry," Kim said, turning around slowly.

Jerry froze mid-handstand, then tumbled to the ground with a sheepish grin. "Okay, don't you people judge me. That clock really is half past awesome."

"It's time to kick butt! Hiyah!"

Jerry mimicked the clock with a playful kick. "Hiyah!"

Abigail shook her head, laughing softly as she rolled her eyes as she and the others returned to stretching.