The sound of birds chirping outside mixed with the quiet rustle of gi uniforms hanging from the hooks on the wall. But inside, there was no meditative silence or kiai shouts echoing off the wood today.

Instead, Lukas and Sam stood near the back of the dojo, lips locked in a deep, unhurried kiss.

Her hands gripped the front of his gi, his fingers tangled gently in her hair. When they finally broke apart, breathless but smiling, Sam laughed softly.

"Aren't we supposed to be leading warm-ups right now?" she teased, though she made no effort to pull away.

Lukas leaned in again, brushing a kiss just beneath her ear. "Robby's got it taken care of."

Sam grinned and gave him a light push, still tangled in his arms. "Luke..."

He let out a short breath, playful but serious beneath it. "Look, your grandma's staying at the house, which means this—" He kissed her again. "—might be the only private time we get for a while."

Sam's smile softened. "You know we're gonna have to tell my parents at some point, right?"

Lukas leaned back a little, his brow rising just slightly. "Yeah... I've only known your dad for, what, a year? I'm sure he'll take it super well that I've been secretly dating his daughter."

She winced in sympathy, knowing full well her father's protective streak. "Yeah... not great timing," she admitted. "They're in the middle of a fight."

"I know," Lukas nodded, resting his hands on her hips. "My aunt told me. Said your mom needed a drink so bad, she interrupted Jenna's date just to vent."

Sam blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Apparently the date was awful, so Jenna didn't mind. They ended up at that wine bar downtown."

A/N: Amanda and Jenna being besties >>>>>>

Sam laughed again, forehead resting against his chest. "God, my family is chaos."

Lukas shrugged. "Well, at least we're not."

She tilted her head up, eyes searching his face. "So... what do we do?"

He exhaled slowly. "We wait. Right now's not a good time. So we keep this to ourselves a little longer." Then a mischievous smile crept onto his face. "Besides, being like this in secret? Way more exciting."

Sam rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her grin. "You're such an idiot."

"Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

And with that, they kissed again—this time slower, softer.

🥋

"All right. But you gotta wear a costume. It's '80s night."

Miguel grinned. "Are you kidding? I love the '80s. Dibs on Anthony Michael Hall in Weird Science."

Tory raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you have to call dibs on that."

Before Miguel could fire back a witty reply, the door creaked open.

Hannah walked in, quiet as usual. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal her knuckles—raw, bruised, and faintly bleeding. She kicked her shoes off and made her way to the bench, eyes low, distant.

Miguel noticed immediately and excused himself from Tory.

"Hey," he said softly, walking over to her. "You okay?"

Hannah blinked, as if shaking out of a fog. "Yeah... just a little rattled from the Creek. Appreciate it."

Miguel glanced down at her hands. "You sure? Your knuckles still haven't healed."

She followed his eyes and flexed her fingers, trying not to wince. "Sensei Kreese has been training me out back. I'll be okay."

Miguel didn't look convinced. "If you say so."

But Hannah could barely hold back a flinch. The pain was dull, but real. And even worse was the memory—that moment in the woods during Coyote Creek. The rush of adrenaline, the sting of a taunt, and the violent snap of her opponent's head as she landed that final strike. It had felt... wrong. Like something inside her had crossed a line, and yet no one had stopped her. Not Kreese. He'd only smiled.

She masked the hesitation with a small smirk. "I'm fine. Thanks, Miggy."

Across the room, Tory watched their interaction, jaw tightening just a little. She wasn't the type to get jealous—but still, she noticed.

Johnny clapped his hands together, drawing everyone in. "Everybody, fall in."

The students lined up, shoulder to shoulder. Hannah stood between Hawk and Stingray, still rolling out her stiff wrists.

Johnny stood tall in front of them.

"Today, we're learning one of the most important lessons a Cobra Kai could ever know."

Hannah looked around. "Where's Sensei Kreese?"

Stingray chimed in, grinning. "Shouldn't we wait for the sensei emeritus before we get going? Or not?"

Johnny's expression didn't shift. "Mr. Kreese will no longer be joining us."

A ripple moved through the class.

"Seriously?" Hawk muttered.

Hannah's stomach dropped. Gone? Just like that?

Johnny let the moment settle, then continued. "I made a promise when I became your sensei—to look out for your best interests. And despite how hard this may be for all of us, he didn't have your best interests at heart."

He gestured to the wall, to the painted mantra: Strike First. Strike Hard. No Mercy.

"John Kreese may have founded Cobra Kai, but he no longer represents what this dojo stands for. His Cobra Kai was old. Outdated. He refused to move forward. And what happens when we don't move forward, Mr. Diaz?"

Miguel didn't miss a beat. "You get stuck like cement."

"Exactly," Johnny said. "To be a great fighter, you gotta adapt. That creed? It'll make you strong. It'll make you dangerous. But it'll also make you an asshole."

Some students laughed. Johnny didn't.

"That's just black paint on a white wall. Life's not black and white—it's gray. And it's in those gray areas where my Cobra Kai... does sometimes show mercy."

Hannah listened carefully, chewing on the inside of her cheek. The words made sense. They did. But it was hard to unlearn the lessons Kreese had drilled into her—lessons that did help. That made her feel powerful.

Johnny went on. "Doesn't mean you can't be badass. Still a requirement. But you have to learn to think—not just with your gut or your fists—but to really use this." He tapped his head.

The class murmured in agreement.

"Which leads me to today's lesson: headbutting. Grab a partner."

As students began pairing up, Johnny demonstrated with Hawk.

"Just tuck in your chin and aim for the nose with the crown of your head. It's not that hard."

But Hannah stepped forward.

"Sensei?"

Johnny glanced over, expecting a question about form.

"It's not about headbutting," she said. "I think I got that down."

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Okay..."

"It's about Kreese," she said simply. "I just don't understand. He helped me. He made me stronger. Why'd he have to leave?"

Johnny exhaled. For a second, he debated brushing it off—but Hannah deserved the truth.

The Previous Night

Johnny pushed through the office door with fire in his step. The place reeked of old leather and cigar smoke, Kreese already there, lounging in Johnny's chair like the throne still belonged to him. He looked perfectly content, even smug, puffing on a half-lit cigar with his boots up on the desk.

"Hey, Johnny," Kreese greeted, like they were old drinking buddies. "You come to congratulate me on my victory?"

Johnny didn't answer right away. He shut the door behind him and stepped forward.

"We need to talk."

Kreese didn't flinch. "About what?"

Johnny folded his arms. "About what you've been putting in my students' heads since I've been gone."

Kreese took another slow drag, exhaled through his nose. "Just been teaching them the way of the fist. Same lessons I taught you. Strike first. Strike hard. No mercy."

Johnny shook his head. "Yeah. That's where we have a problem."

Kreese set the cigar in the ashtray and leaned forward, studying Johnny with that cold, familiar stare.

"Oh, do we?"

"Yeah."

Johnny gestured out toward the dojo. "I've been watching, Kreese. Watching what's going on out there. Kids turning on each other. They're going too far. Especially Hannah."

Kreese raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"She snapped a kid's head to the side like she was trying to kill him," Johnny said. "Didn't hesitate. Barely blinked. Then she just... walked off like it was nothing."

"She needed to toughen up," Kreese replied coolly.

"I know that," Johnny said. "She came in scared of her own damn voice, and now she's a fighter. That's badass. But if she keeps going this way, with this kind of training, she's gonna lose herself."

"She was being bullied," Kreese said bluntly. "She was small, weak, and soft. You saw it. Everyone pushed her around. She needed to learn how to send a message—and she did. Now those same kids think twice before looking at her the wrong way."

"I'm not saying she doesn't need to fight back," Johnny said. "But there's a difference between standing your ground and going full psycho on someone for talking shit. And it's not just her. Hawk's worse than ever. Half of them are walking around like ticking time bombs."

Kreese rose from the chair now, tone shifting. "That's what it means to survive. You're teaching them to second-guess. I'm teaching them to dominate."

Johnny stared at him, voice low. "You're turning them into weapons."

Kreese smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is when they don't know when to stop," Johnny snapped. "You're taking kids with real pain and turning it into poison. That's not strength. That's manipulation."

Kreese circled behind the desk, slowly. "You think Daniel LaRusso's bonsai trees are going to prepare them for the real world? Life isn't about balance, Johnny. It's about advantage. You strike first, or you get crushed."

Johnny stepped forward. "This dojo was supposed to be about giving them a way out. A second chance. But you—you're just reliving your own bullshit war through them."

"Don't pretend you know what I went through," Kreese growled. "You've never been behind enemy lines. You don't know what it's like to see people die because they hesitated."

"No," Johnny said. "But I know what it's like to make the wrong choices. I know what it's like to lose people because you listened to the wrong teacher."

They stared each other down.

"You keep feeding them this rage, you're gonna turn them into monsters," Johnny said.

"You think weakness will save them?"

"I think control will," Johnny fired back. "Honor. Restraint. Not because some pansy said so, but because they need to know when to hit—and when not to."

Kreese chuckled darkly. "You've gone soft."

Johnny clenched his fists but stayed firm. "Maybe. But you—you're out."

"You forget who started Cobra Kai?" Kreese stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

"I haven't forgotten anything," Johnny said. "But this is my dojo now. And I make the rules."

Kreese's jaw tightened. "You're gonna regret this."

"I already do," Johnny said, walking toward the door.

"I'm worried about you, Johnny," Kreese called after him. "I see what's gonna happen. You're gonna let your guard down, and that's gonna leave you vulnerable."

He opened the door without looking back.

"We're done," he said. "I don't ever want to see you in this dojo again."

And with that, he left Kreese behind—cigar smoke curling in the air like a ghost that wouldn't go away.

Present Day

Johnny stood near the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Hannah faced him, arms hanging at her sides, her knuckles still faintly red.

"You asked," Johnny said, voice gruff. "You got your answer."

Hannah nodded slowly. "Yeah... I did."

There was a beat of silence before she added, "Look, I know you don't trust him. But a lot of what Sensei Kreese taught me — it helped. More than you probably think."

Johnny didn't react at first. Then he exhaled hard through his nose, looking away briefly before locking eyes with her again.

"I know you think that," he said. "But I saw what happened out there. You snapped that kid's head to the side like it was nothing."

Her jaw tightened. "It didn't feel great."

Johnny raised an eyebrow.

"I mean... I know it wasn't just a clean win. I know I went too far," she admitted. "But the kid — he wasn't just beat. He looked haunted. Like he didn't even know what just hit him."

Johnny took a step forward, his tone now sharper but not yelling.

"And how do you think you're gonna feel the next time you do that to someone who doesn't get back up?"

Hannah said nothing.

"You think you're in control now. But it's a slippery fuckin' slope, Hannah," Johnny said. "You go too far enough times, you stop feeling anything at all. You stop knowing where the line is."

He paused, lowering his voice.

"Look. Kreese was my sensei too."

That caught Hannah's attention. She blinked, surprised. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious," Johnny said. "He taught me everything I knew when I was your age. The guy was a war hero. A hard-ass. And back then, I thought that made him a genius."

He laughed, bitter and low.

"And for a while? It worked. I kicked ass, got respect, thought I was untouchable. But I also turned into a guy I didn't even recognize. Pushed people away. Screwed up things I didn't even realize I cared about until it was too late."

He looked at her squarely.

"It took me a long time to figure out how much damage that really did. To me. To people around me."

She looked down, silent.

"I'm not gonna let that happen to you. Or Diaz. Or Hawk. Not again."

There was no anger in his voice now, just something tired. Honest.

"That's why Kreese is out. He crossed a line. And if I let him stay, you all would've too."

Hannah looked up again, lips parted like she wanted to argue — but no words came out. Part of her still believed Kreese was helping her. That the pain and pressure he pushed her through had built something stronger.

But for the first time, she saw the weight behind Johnny's words. The way his eyes darkened at the memories. The way he wasn't just lecturing her — he was warning her. Protecting her.

She nodded once. Quiet.

Then, without another word, she turned back toward the mat.

Johnny didn't stop her.

She rolled her shoulders, shook out her arms, and rejoined the rest of the students.

But even as she dropped into a ready stance, her eyes lingered for a second on the dojo wall.

No mercy.

She blinked once... then looked away.

And kept training.

🥋

Lukas and Sam sat together on the living room couch, their hands gently intertwined. A muted TV played some old rerun neither of them were really watching. Sam leaned into him, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, their bodies flush with the afterglow of a long training session — and the comfort of just being near each other.

It was rare for things to be this still. No fighting, no family drama, no dojo rivalries. Just quiet.

Lukas turned slightly and kissed her temple. She smiled, cheeks faintly pink, then turned her face up and kissed him back — slow, soft, lingering.

"I think you're just doing this to distract me from kicking your ass earlier," Sam whispered teasingly.

"I'm doing it because you're hot," Lukas replied, face reddening almost immediately.

Sam grinned. "You're getting better at flirting."

"Yeah? About time, huh?"

They were about to kiss again when—

Hey, Sammy!"

The voice of Sam's grandmother rang out from the foyer. They both froze like kids caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

Lucille rounded the corner with her purse over her shoulder and a set of grocery bags clutched in her arms.

"Come help me with the groceries. Oh! I didn't realize you were both here."

Lukas straightened awkwardly on the couch. "Hi, Mrs. LaRusso."

"Hi, honey. I've got a couple more bags in the car. Be a help, will you?"

Sam rolled her eyes with affection and rose from the couch. "Coming!"

As she slipped on her shoes, Lukas leaned in and said under his breath, "Unless we wanna keep avoiding your family, we should probably go out one of these nights."

Sam turned, an amused brow raised. "Oh? Are you asking me on a date?"

Lukas gave a crooked grin. "Depends. You gonna say yes?"

She laughed. "Told you, you're getting better at it."

She kissed his cheek and headed outside, calling to Lucille as the door shut behind her.

The moment they were gone, Lukas reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out.

The Medal of Honor.

The shine of it caught the fading evening light. Lukas stared at it, turning it over in his fingers. That night on the porch with Miguel still lingered in his memory — the apology, the gesture, the confusion.

He knew it wasn't his to keep. And holding something so sacred, so tied to sacrifice and service, made his chest tighten a little.

He thought about telling Sam. Really telling her.

But then he thought about him. Miguel. And her. And the history he didn't like but couldn't pretend didn't exist.

Lukas clenched his jaw and slid the medal back into his pocket.

Not tonight.

He'd figure it out. But not tonight.

The couch felt colder without her beside him.

He leaned back and looked at the ceiling.

One day at a time.

🥋

Pop hits from the Reagan era blasted through the speakers, and retro outfits were on full display. Couples skated in sync, some falling, some flirting, and others just looking like they were born in the wrong decade.

Lukas and Sam stood off to the side, rental skates in hand. They hadn't laced up yet, choosing instead to take in the chaos of themed nostalgia around them. Lukas adjusted his black sports jacket—an homage to James Spader from Pretty in Pink—while Sam's glittery pink dress and side ponytail had her channeling a more wholesome Molly Ringwald.

"Glad Robby could find someone," Lukas said, nodding toward the rink.

Sam followed his gaze and saw Robby skating—awkwardly but confidently—beside a brunette in leg warmers and a Cyndi Lauper shirt. She was laughing at something he'd said, and Robby looked relaxed, in his element.

"Yeah," Sam smiled, "instead of third-wheeling like usual."

Lukas grinned. "Gotta say, I wasn't sure about the costumes..."

"Oh, please," Sam rolled her eyes playfully. "You should've gone as Andrew McCarthy. We could've had synergy. Or at least Duckie. That would've been hilarious."

Lukas ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. "Come on—with this hair? My only option was Spader."

She laughed and lightly nudged him. "Fair."

Her stomach growled audibly, and she patted it with a wince. "Ugh. I'm starving."

They were standing by the edge of the rink when a girl in a short retro uniform skated by with a tray. Sam instinctively raised her hand to get her attention.

"Hey—sorry, can we get some menus?"

The skater slowed, turned—and Sam immediately regretted flagging her down.

Tory.

She had a tray tucked under her arm and a look that could curdle milk. Her eyes narrowed the moment she recognized Sam.

"Oh. Look who it is," Tory said flatly.

Sam blinked. "I didn't know you worked here."

"Yeah, well," Tory replied, shifting her weight with an edge to her voice, "not all of us get to use Daddy's credit card."

Sam bit back her response and kept her tone neutral. "Look, we just wanted to order some food. I'm sorry."

Lukas raised an eyebrow at the cold interaction. "Uh... have we met?"

Sam turned to him with a sigh. "Lukas, this is Tory. We're... acquainted."

Tory didn't offer a hand. She just stared him down and smirked. "Acquainted. That's one way to put it."

Lukas tried to maintain his usual charm, but the chill in the air was obvious. "Nice to meet you, too..."

Before anything else could be said, another familiar voice joined the awkward scene.

"Hey, what time do you go on break?" Miguel asked, sliding into view beside Tory, obliviously upbeat. "I wanted to time it out so that the fries are actually crispy this time."

Then his eyes landed on Lukas and Sam.

He froze.

"Oh. Um... hey. I didn't recognize you guys. I, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck. "Dig the costumes."

"Thanks," Lukas said casually, his voice even, polite, guarded.

Miguel shifted, trying to ease the tension. "Tory, this is Sam and Lukas."

"Yeah," Tory cut in. "We've already met."

Sam folded her arms and asked, "So how do you two know each other?"

Miguel hesitated. "Tory's in Cobra Kai."

Sam scoffed under her breath. "Figures."

Tory turned on a dime. "What was that?"

Sam met her stare. "Nothing."

The tension simmered. Tory wasn't going to push it, not in the middle of her shift—but the look she gave Sam said this wasn't over. She turned back to Miguel, brushing it off with a casual, cutting kiss to his cheek.

"See you later, babe."

Miguel blinked. "Yeah. See ya."

And with that, Tory skated off toward the kitchen, leaving a vacuum of silence behind her.

Lukas glanced at Sam, who looked like she was biting the inside of her cheek. Miguel lingered a second longer than he probably should have, then nodded once and turned to follow Tory.

As he left, Lukas leaned toward Sam with a small, joking whisper, "Well... that wasn't awkward at all."

Sam exhaled sharply and shook her head.

As if this night couldn't get any worse.

🥋

Sam and Lukas skated slowly hand in hand, weaving gently through the crowd. Despite the upbeat music and neon energy, Sam's smile faltered every so often, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Lukas glanced sideways at her, concerned.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

Sam hesitated, then gave a tight smile. "Yeah... I mean—okay, I'll admit, it's kinda weird running into your ex. Especially when he's here with someone like that."

Lukas gave a small laugh. "You mean Tory?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "That girl is the worst."

He smirked. "Well, remember what your dad always says—'There's good in everyone.' Maybe she just needs to be shown the right way."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "I think you've been spending way too much time with my dad."

Lukas chuckled. "Maybe. But hey, even I'll admit—she doesn't exactly scream inner light and peace. So if you ever feel like kicking her ass... I won't stop you."

Sam laughed, and for a moment, the tension fell away. Then, as if on cue, a familiar song came on over the loudspeakers—something upbeat, nostalgic, and unmistakably her taste.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh no way. That's too perfect."

Lukas shrugged playfully. "Might've said something to the DJ."

Sam grinned wide. "That is such a Duckie move. You're totally a Duckie trapped in a James Spader outfit."

Before Lukas could respond, Sam leaned in and kissed him. It was soft, natural—something they were both getting more used to.

But as they continued skating, Sam suddenly wobbled and stumbled forward.

"Whoa—are you okay?" Lukas caught her arm.

Sam bent down slightly and groaned. "Crap, my skate broke."

She looked up at him, a little annoyed but trying not to let it ruin the moment. "I'll be right back—I'm gonna get it swapped. I'll come find you?"

Lukas nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

They kissed again briefly, then Sam skated carefully toward the rental booth. Lukas watched her go for a second, before glancing around the rink. Then he spotted Robby across the way, leaning casually against the wall with his arm around the same girl.

Perfect opportunity.

Lukas skated over and tapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Yo, Robby. Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Robby gave him a look. "Dude, seriously? I'm just starting to get in good with her."

"Yeah, I can see that. And I'm happy for you," Lukas said dryly. "But I need to talk to you. It's important."

Robby sighed and told his date he'd be back in a minute, then followed Lukas to the side of the rink near the lockers. Once they were out of earshot, Lukas reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.

It was the Medal of Honor.

Robby's eyes widened. "Yo—what the hell? Where'd you get that?"

Lukas looked down at it, like it was made of lead. "Miguel gave it back. Showed up at the house out of nowhere."

"You serious?"

"He said he didn't have anything to do with stealing it or trashing the dojo. Just wanted to return it and apologize."

Robby gave a low whistle, clearly uneasy. "So... what are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna tell Sam," Lukas said.

Robby frowned. "Why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do?"

"Yeah," Robby said carefully, "but think about it. You tell her that Miguel came by, gave it back, and apologized? She might start seeing him differently again. That's opening a door, man."

Lukas nodded slowly. "Yeah, I've thought about that. But not telling her—lying about it? That's worse. If she finds out later that I kept it from her, then what does that say about me?"

Robby leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "It's your funeral. But I get it. Go with your gut."

Lukas slid the medal back into his pocket and exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. I will."

As they made their way back toward the rink, Lukas's eyes wandered across the skating crowd—and landed on Sam.

She was near the snack line, skate fixed and phone in hand, talking with someone.

Miguel.

It didn't look like anything major. In fact, Sam's arms were crossed and her expression looked more uncomfortable than engaged. Still, watching the two of them together—even briefly—twisted something inside Lukas's chest. A flicker of jealousy, raw and immediate.

But he swallowed it down.

Not tonight.

🥋

Later that night, Lukas found Sam sitting alone near the edge of the roller rink, her arms resting on her knees and her expression somewhere far away. The music was still going, lights still flashing, but she looked detached from all of it.

He skated up quietly and tapped her on the shoulder.

Sam flinched slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." She turned and softened when she saw him. "Oh. Hey, Luke."

"Hey," he smiled.

Sliding into the seat beside her, he tried to lighten the mood. "So I've gotten two compliments on my outfit tonight. But everyone keeps calling me some guy named Dan Johnson. You ever heard of him?"

Sam gave a tiny shake of her head and a crooked smile. "Uh, no. I'm sure whoever he is... he's cute."

Lukas chuckled. "I'll take it."

But his tone shifted as he glanced at her face again—her jaw was tense, her hands still fidgeting. "Are you okay?"

Sam stood and brushed off her jeans. "Yeah. Let's just get back out there."

They made their way onto the rink again, hands brushing, just trying to let the night flow back into something light and fun. But it didn't last.

A blur of motion zipped by. In the split second that followed, Sam's legs were swept out from under her, and she slammed to the floor.

Tory.

She skated by smoothly, arms raised in mock innocence.

"Oops," she said with a smirk. "Sorry, princess."

Lukas's jaw clenched. "What the hell is your problem?"

But before he could get another word out, Sam was already storming after Tory, fire blazing in her eyes.

"Sam!" Lukas called, trying to catch her.

Too late.

Sam caught up to Tory, grabbed her wrist, and tripped her backward, sending a tray of fries, slushies, and ketchup flying across Tory's shirt and face. Tory fell hard, gasping as the cold soaked through her uniform.

From across the floor, Miguel rushed over. "What the hell, Sam?!"

Sam turned to him, feigning innocence. "What? Me?"

Lukas was already by her side, pulling her back gently but firmly. "Come on. She's not worth it."

A security guard jogged over, already radioing something into his walkie.

"You okay, Tory?" the guard asked, helping her up.

Tory sniffled dramatically. "Yeah. Thanks."

"All right, that's it. You're done," the guard barked at Sam. "You're out."

Lukas stepped forward. "She's the one who started it."

"I said out," the guard repeated, unmoved.

As the guard pointed toward the exit, Tory shot a smug look in Sam's direction, arms folded, the splattered ketchup oddly matching the red streak in her hair.

Miguel had watched the whole thing from the arcade area, expression unreadable.

Robby turned to the guard. "Fuck you, man."

"Robby," Lukas muttered under his breath, placing a calming hand on his friend's arm.

The group was herded toward the front doors. Once outside in the cool air, Sam wrapped her arms around herself, obviously fuming but also shaken. Lukas reached over and lightly rubbed her back.

"Wanna grab some food?" he asked softly.

Sam hesitated, jaw still tight. But she eventually nodded. "Yeah... yeah, okay."

They started to head toward the car.

Robby, still buzzing with frustration, peeled off in the other direction. "I'll catch you guys later," he called over his shoulder. Across the parking lot, the same girl he'd been chatting with earlier waved him over, and he jogged toward her.

Lukas glanced back once, then looked at Sam beside him. She was quiet, staring out at nothing. He didn't push her to talk—he knew that tonight had stirred up more than she wanted to admit.

🥋

The soft hum of neon lights flickered above the windows of the small 24-hour diner. The booths were mostly empty, save for a couple of late-night loners nursing black coffee and fries. Lukas and Sam sat across from each other in a red vinyl booth, still wearing remnants of their '80s costumes, looking more like two teenagers at the tail end of a long, weird night than movie characters now.

Their menus sat untouched. Lukas sipped his water, casting a quick glance at Sam, who was staring out the window, her chin in her palm.

He tried to break the ice. "So... I'm not saying Tory's a Disney villain, but if anyone was gonna poison an apple, it's definitely her."

Sam let out a laugh—half-hearted, but real enough. "Yeah, well, she'd do it with eyeliner sharp enough to stab someone."

Lukas smiled. "Okay, that was good. Yours was better."

A small silence passed between them. Not awkward exactly, just... heavy. They'd been skating, kissing, smiling just an hour ago. But now they sat under diner lights, wrestling with everything that night had kicked up. The Miguel thing. Tory. Robby. And something else Lukas hadn't admitted to yet—but knew he had to.

"You doing okay?" he asked gently.

Sam looked at him, really looked this time. "Yeah... I mean, no. But you're doing a pretty good job of helping."

Lukas smiled softly. "That's good. I was worried I'd used up all my charm during the Spader impersonation."

"Debatable," Sam said, cracking a genuine smile now.

He hesitated then, reaching into his jacket pocket. "Actually, uh... there's something I've been meaning to show you."

From the inside pocket, Lukas pulled out the Medal of Honor.

Sam blinked at it—confused at first. Then, recognition.

Her smile fell.

"Where did you get that?"

Lukas didn't answer right away. He stared at the medal, turning it over in his fingers. For a moment, he considered saying he found it in the backyard. Or maybe Robby gave it to him. But the weight of it in his hand wasn't just metal. It was everything they'd been trying to build between them. And lying now would crack it.

He looked up.

"Miguel brought it by. That night. The night we... kissed for the first time. You were upstairs or in the shower or something. I answered the door."

Sam didn't speak—just watched him closely.

"He said he didn't steal it. He was just... returning it to you," Lukas went on. "Said it belonged to your dad. And... I didn't know what to do. I just... kept it."

Sam's brows pulled together. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I should've," Lukas admitted immediately. "I know that. And I wanted to. I was going to. But... I don't know. I guess I got in my head about it. I've liked you for a long time, Sam. And seeing Miguel show up like that, even just for a second... I got jealous. Insecure. Whatever you wanna call it."

Sam's face softened. Her shoulders relaxed just a little.

"I get it," she said, after a long moment. "I wish you had told me. But... I do get it."

He nodded, relieved but still a little raw.

"I appreciate you being honest with me now," she added, voice quiet.

"Well," he said with a weak grin, "figured better now than when your dad asks where the hell his Medal of Honor went."

Sam cracked up at that. "Yeah, well... I don't think he's gonna be thrilled about where it's been this whole time."

They both laughed then, the tension finally breaking. Sam reached across the table, her hand brushing against his.

"You're still coming over tomorrow, right?" she asked.

"If your grandma lets me in," Lukas said.

"She will. She likes you. Just don't touch her chocolate stash."

🥋

Lukas rang the doorbell that morning, a paper bag of bagels in one hand and something far more important in his jacket pocket. He shifted from foot to foot on the porch, rehearsing how he might bring it up. How to say it. What not to say.

The door creaked open, and Daniel answered in sweats and a worn Miyagi-Do hoodie. He looked better—healthier. Relaxed, even. Something Lukas hadn't seen in a while.

Daniel smiled. "Morning, Lukas."

"You look... cheery," Lukas said, raising an eyebrow.

Daniel chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well... Amanda and I had a long talk last night. Worked some things out."

Lukas made a face. "Gross."

Daniel laughed. "What?"

"I mean, I'm glad your marriage is back on track, Sensei, but I didn't need all that information."

Daniel gave him a playful nudge as Lukas stepped inside. "So what are you doing here so early, huh? I thought I had a few more hours of peace before the youth karate brigade showed up."

Lukas glanced around, then reached into his jacket. His fingers curled around the edge of the medal. When he pulled it out, even the way he unwrapped it from a folded handkerchief felt careful. Reverent.

"I wanted to give you this," Lukas said, holding it out.

Daniel's smile dropped into something else entirely. Surprise. Disbelief.

He stared at the Medal of Honor, still slightly tarnished but unmistakably real in the morning light.

"Is that—?"

"Yeah," Lukas nodded. "Mr. Miyagi's."

Daniel took it like it was made of glass. "I can't believe it... I thought—" He trailed off, fingers brushing the engraved surface. His voice dropped to something quieter. "I thought it was gone forever."

There was a pause.

"Where did you find it?" Daniel asked, looking back up.

Lukas hesitated for just a second—but only a second.

"I didn't find it, not really," he admitted. "It was given to me. One of the Cobra Kai students... they brought it back. Said they didn't steal it—just wanted to make sure it got returned."

Daniel looked at him, brows slightly raised. "And you're just now telling me?"

Lukas gave a sheepish shrug. "I needed a minute. I wasn't sure how to bring it up. Didn't know how you'd take it."

Daniel exhaled slowly, still studying the medal. "Honestly, I don't care how it got here. I'm just glad it's back."

"This medal... it's not just history. It's who Mr. Miyagi was. His strength. His sacrifice. His humility."

Lukas looked down, the weight of what he'd almost done—what he almost lied about—still sitting heavy in his chest.

Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder. "He would've liked you, you know. Mr. Miyagi. You've got that same steady energy. Strong, but quiet. Kind."

Lukas gave a small smile. "Thanks, Sensei."

🥋

The bruises on Hannah's knuckles were still fresh, but she'd stopped noticing the sting. The pain was background noise now—like the murmur of cars in the distance, or the kids yelling across the blacktop behind her. She sat on an old bench near the chain-link fence overlooking the valley, earbuds in, head down. Her fists curled and uncurled on her thighs.

The training had been intense lately. Not just the drills, not just the sparring—but the pressure. From Johnny. From herself. From the silence that filled her whenever she had a moment to breathe.

She pulled one earbud out, reaching to adjust her elbow, and paused when she heard it.

"Your left elbow's drifting again."

The voice was low. Familiar.

"You keep throwing from the shoulder, you're gonna telegraph every strike."

She turned fast.

Standing a few feet away, in a black jacket with his hands behind his back, was John Kreese. He wasn't in a gi. He wasn't even wearing anything that screamed sensei. But the presence was the same. Unshakable. Intense.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised but not startled.

Kreese didn't move. "Same thing you are."

He nodded toward the view—sunlight spilling over the hills, wind rustling the fence, the city stretching far and wide below them.

"Thinking."

Hannah didn't answer. She looked back at the skyline, guarded.

"Didn't think I'd see you again," she said finally.

"Didn't plan on it," Kreese replied. "But I used to come here. After tours. After fights. Even after I opened the dojo."

She didn't know what to say to that. So she didn't say anything.

"Johnny tell you why he pushed me out?" he asked.

She gave a half-nod. "Said you were dangerous. Said you put the wrong stuff in our heads."

Kreese smirked. "And what do you think?"

Hannah looked down at her hands—bruised, raw, trembling just slightly from training or rage or something she didn't want to name.

"I think you made me stronger," she said.

"But... I don't know if it's the right kind of strong."

Kreese didn't blink. "There is no right kind. There's only power. Or weakness."

She finally looked at him.

"You really believe that?"

"I do."

He walked a few steps forward, now just a couple feet from her.

"The world doesn't care if you're scared. Doesn't care if you're good. All it cares about is whether you can take a hit and get up swinging. That's what I taught you."

Hannah swallowed hard. "It worked."

There was a beat of silence. The breeze picked up.

"But it also made me do something the other day..." she trailed off. "I hurt a kid. Like, really hurt him. And I don't know if that was you talking in my head, or me."

Kreese didn't offer comfort. Only truth.

"You did what you had to do."

"He was trying to humiliate you. So you made sure he'd never forget your name. That's not shame. That's control."

She looked away. "Johnny wouldn't agree with that."

"No, he wouldn't," Kreese said. "But I trained Johnny too. And you see how many years it took him to finally stop getting in his own way."

He stepped closer to the fence, letting his hand rest on the cold steel wire.

"You're better than he was at your age. More focused. Less fragile."

"That's not always a good thing," she said, softer now.

He turned to face her one last time.

"Just remember this," Kreese said. "You can be strong without mercy. Or strong with it. That's a choice. But make sure it's your choice. Not theirs."

She stared at him for a long moment, trying to decode the weight in his voice.

"Thanks," she said, not sure what she meant by it.

"You ever need to talk again," he said, "you know where to find me."

And with that, Kreese walked off, disappearing into the tree line like a shadow folding back into the night.

Hannah stayed seated. Her earbuds were still in her hand, but she didn't put them back in. Not yet. She let the silence settle instead, wondering which voice in her head she'd be listening to tomorrow.