Lukas was already inside the dojo, barefoot and focused, his hands moving slowly through a kata. The air was crisp, peaceful — until the dull thud, thud, thud of someone striking the outdoor heavy bag disrupted the calm.

Lukas paused, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Robby?" he called out, stepping toward the door. "Sam?"

No response.

He frowned. It wasn't Demetri — too early for him. Whoever it was, they hit with precision. And weight.

Lukas stepped outside.

What he saw made him stop cold.

An older man in a black trench coat was methodically pummeling the heavy bag, each strike deliberate, knuckles hard and trained. His presence didn't belong in a place like this — not with its peaceful garden, bonsai trees, and carefully arranged stones.

The man finally slowed, turning toward Lukas with a smirk carved into his weathered face.

"Cute little place you got here," the man said, voice gravelly and measured. "You practice karate... or gardening?"

Lukas narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The man tilted his head, amused. "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm an old friend of Mr. Miyagi's... and your Sensei."

A second passed — then Lukas's eyes widened.

"Kreese," he muttered.

Kreese smiled wider, clearly pleased. "Ah. So the reputation holds. Always nice when the new blood knows who paved the road they're walking on."

He stepped forward slowly, each motion deliberate.

"Congrats on that All-Valley win, by the way," he said mockingly. "Of course... next time, you won't be so lucky."

Lukas's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond. There was something cold and dangerous in Kreese's eyes — like a man used to breaking people and still savoring it.

Just then, the familiar screech of tires was heard. Daniel LaRusso's car pulled up. He stepped out quickly, eyes locking onto Kreese.

His expression darkened immediately.

"So, this is what it's come to?" Daniel snapped, marching toward them. "Breaking and entering?"

Kreese chuckled, calm as ever. "Breaking? I walked in through the gate. Garden's lovely, by the way." He turned slightly. "I'm just here to congratulate the champ... and say thank you."

Daniel frowned. "Thank me for what?"

Kreese's eyes sparkled with cold amusement. "For taking our weakest soldiers from our ranks. That was kind."

Daniel's mouth tightened. "Soldiers? They're kids, Kreese."

"We were all kids once," Kreese said coolly. "You two may think you've bested Johnny Lawrence and Diaz. But I promise you — this time, I won't let him lose."

Daniel stepped forward, tension radiating off him. "Lose what? This isn't a war."

"Sure it is," Kreese said, low and sharp. "War never ends. Peace... is just the lull between battles."

He turned toward Lukas, tone sharpening.

"You really thought you could attack Cobra Kai, and there wouldn't be any consequences?"

Lukas didn't respond. He was doing everything he could to stay calm, his heart pounding in his chest.

"You better hope your students are ready," Kreese said, voice like a blade. "Because I promise you... ours will be."

He pulled out a cigar, lit it with practiced ease, and took a long, drawn-out drag. After a moment, he tapped the ashes out directly into one of the bonsai planters.

"Regards to Mr. Miyagi," he said without looking back.

Then, as he turned to leave, he glanced one last time at Lukas.

"And to your parents... shame what happened to them. They must be watching real proud—wherever they are.."

"See you around, champ."

That did it. Lukas's hands balled into fists at his sides. His face flushed red, jaw tightening with fury. But he didn't move. Didn't speak.

He just stared as Kreese walked away, his trench coat fluttering behind him like the shadow of something long buried but not forgotten.

Daniel stepped closer, voice low but steady. "You all good?"

Lukas exhaled slowly, swallowing the anger in his throat.

"Yeah," he lied. "Just rattled."

🥋

Moon's room smelled faintly of incense and essential oils, the air mellow with the soothing hum of lo-fi music playing from a Bluetooth speaker. Fairy lights were draped lazily across the ceiling, casting a warm, dreamy glow over the mismatched cushions and blankets that filled the space. Sam LaRusso sat curled up in a beanbag chair, clutching a mason jar filled with a strange greenish-purple smoothie.

She took a tentative sip, eyebrows rising slightly in surprise.

"It's good," she murmured.

Moon grinned as she swirled her own glass. "It has fresh acai, organic kale, and free trade hemp oil."

Sam paused mid-sip, squinting at the jar. "Hemp oil? This isn't gonna get me high, is it?"

"I don't think so," Moon replied with a laugh. "It's supposed to balance your kinetic energy."

Sam rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. It felt good to laugh — really laugh — without the weight of the dojo drama or the constant tug-of-war between past and present relationships. She looked over at Moon, her expression softening.

"I'm really glad you called," Sam said. "I missed hanging out with you."

Moon's smile turned genuine, less airy and more rooted in something real. "I missed you too."

They sipped in silence for a moment, swaying gently with the music. Then Sam shifted in her seat and held up two tops — one white, one blue.

"So," she asked, "which one do you like better? I've been wearing the white one a lot, but... I don't know."

Moon studied the tops, then tilted her head.

"Why does it matter? You're just gonna get all sweaty anyway."

Sam laughed softly, but then Moon narrowed her eyes playfully.

"Wait... do you have a crush?"

Sam's face scrunched. "I don't have a crush."

Moon leaned in like a cat who smelled something interesting. "Is it Robby?"

Sam practically choked on her smoothie. "Oh my god. No!"

Moon's grin widened. "Is it... Lukas?"

That time, Sam didn't answer.

She didn't have to. Her silence said more than any denial could. Moon's eyebrows lifted.

"How long have you guys been...?"

"We haven't," Sam said quickly. "We almost did."

Moon leaned back and blinked, absorbing the confession.

"Does Miguel know?" she asked, not with judgment, but curiosity.

"There's nothing to know," Sam muttered, though even she didn't sound convinced.

Still holding the smoothie, Sam stared down at the patterned rug. Her voice dropped, thoughtful.

"There was a moment," she admitted. "At my house. We were just... there, together. It felt different. Real. I think I wanted to kiss him, and I think he did too, but—"

"But?" Moon prompted gently.

"I pulled away," Sam said. "It was too complicated. Too soon. And now he's... just a friend. Supposedly."

Moon's gaze softened. "Well, my mom's therapist always says, 'You can't hide from your heart.'"

She took another look at the two tops and picked the blue one.

"You should wear this," she said. "It goes with your eyes."

She smiled, all sunshine and knowing mischief. "I'm sure Lukas would approve."

Sam didn't respond. But the faint pink rising in her cheeks said plenty.

🥋

Kreese stood at the front, arms folded like a proud general watching his troops.

Johnny spotted Miguel first.

Miguel turned and offered a small smile. "Hey, Sensei. I'm sorry about your loss."

Johnny gave a tight nod. "Thanks."

Miguel hesitated, then asked, "So... how was the funeral?"

Johnny's eyes drifted for a second, the weight of old memories tugging at him. "As good as any funeral can be."

"Yeah..." Miguel trailed off, respectfully not pushing further.

Johnny looked out across the dojo floor. The kids had changed even in the short time he'd been away. They hit harder. Moved faster. The sharpness of their aggression was familiar... but something about it made his gut twist.

Then he noticed her.

Hannah Blakely was near the back, doing knuckle pushups — slowly, deliberately. Her hands were taped, but blood soaked through the gauze. She shifted her weight forward, and for a second, Johnny saw the wince she tried to hide.

His brow furrowed. "What happened to Blakely?"

Miguel glanced over his shoulder. "Kreese has been extra hard on her lately. Says she has potential, but she needs to toughen up."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "Toughen up?"

Miguel nodded. "Yeah, and, uh... sometimes she stays after hours. Trains alone. I've seen her sleeping out back before class sometimes."

Johnny didn't say anything.

His gaze lingered on Hannah.

She had moved to the mirror, stretching her arms and shoulders in slow, calculated motions. Her face was blank — expressionless in a way that didn't fit a girl her age. Every movement was measured, every breath controlled. But beneath that calm exterior, Johnny could see it: the tension coiled behind her eyes. The kind of pressure that didn't build naturally. It was placed there — forced.

She shifted into a horse stance and began punching forward in sets of ten. Her form was solid. Sharp. Mechanical. But there was no joy in it. No spark.

Johnny's jaw tightened.

Something about the way she was moving reminded him of himself, back when Kreese still called the shots. Back when he was just a scared, angry kid doing everything he could to impress a man who didn't give a damn unless you won.

Kreese barked a command across the mat, and Hannah stiffened — then pushed herself even harder, ignoring the blood on her hands.

Johnny folded his arms, his voice low.

"I never should have left."

Miguel glanced up at him. "Why not?"

Johnny didn't answer. Not yet.

But as he watched Hannah drive her fists into the air — over and over, pain masked behind obedience — he knew one thing for sure.

He and Kreese were going to have a talk.

Soon.

🥋

Beneath the only tree in the yard that offered any sort of meaningful shade, a small group of sweaty, exhausted teens gathered like survivors of a desert march.

Demetri flopped down dramatically onto the grass, fanning himself with one hand. "Oh God. It's so hot out," he moaned. "I'm sweating in places I didn't even know I had pores."

Lukas stood nearby, sweat glistening across his face and shoulders. His shirt clung to his body like wet paper, and finally, with a frustrated grunt, he peeled it off and tossed it to the side. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to cool himself down with the breeze that never seemed to come.

Sam, sitting a few feet away, caught the motion—and froze. Her gaze lingered on Lukas just a beat too long. Her lips parted slightly, and she quickly looked away, brushing hair behind her ear like it might cover up the heat in her cheeks.

Daniel LaRusso stood off to the side, arms crossed and eyes scanning the group. His brow furrowed slightly—not with disapproval, but concern. "What have I gotten them into?" he muttered to himself.

Then louder:

All right, guys. Get out from under that tree. It's time to get to work."

A collective groan rose from the group.

"Mr. LaRusso, it's like a hundred degrees out," Robby complained, wiping his brow. "Can we take it easy today?"

Daniel smirked, shaking his head. "Are you kidding? This heatwave is a gift."

Lukas let out a dry laugh. "And please tell me how exactly this is a gift?"

Daniel turned toward him, eyes gleaming with purpose. "Today, you're going to experience Shochu-Geiko."

Chris, half-drenched in sweat, looked confused. "Like the car insurance?"

"No," Daniel replied with a slight chuckle. "Shochu-Geiko is a Japanese tradition. It's when you train during the hottest days of the year. It's about pushing yourself to the limit—mentally and physically."

"In this heat?" Robby asked incredulously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"The fight isn't always going to come when it's seventy-five degrees and breezy," Daniel said, pacing slightly. "You've got to learn how to stay focused, even when everything around you is working against you."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Aren't we supposed to avoid fighting?"

"Sometimes," Daniel said, pausing and looking each of them in the eye. "But sometimes, you can't. Someday, the fight might come to you. And when it does, I want to make sure you're ready."

Lukas, still shirtless and simmering in the heat, glanced toward the dojo doors—remembering Kreese standing there just hours earlier, taunting him with that smug, haunted grin.

He clenched his fists, jaw tightening. "Then let's do it."

Daniel gave him a nod. "That's what I like to hear."

🥋

The forest felt alive—buzzing with tension, heat, and anticipation. A dozen teens stood in two organized lines at the edge of the wooded terrain, red and black headbands fastened tightly across foreheads.

Kreese paced in front of them like a general surveying his troops, his eyes sharp and unyielding.

"Gentlemen, ladies," he began, voice low and commanding. "Welcome to Coyote Creek."

The students watched him in silence, the forest breeze rustling through the leaves as he continued.

"You've been split into two teams—red... and black," he said, gesturing to each line.

Tory narrowed her eyes as she looked across at her opponents. Miguel stood at her side, calm but focused, already adjusting his stance like he was waiting for the signal to pounce. Both wore black headbands.

Across from them, Hannah tightened the knot on her red band, her fingers quick and confident. Hawk stood beside her, blood already buzzing with excitement. The forest was his kind of terrain—chaotic, wild, and unpredictable.

"The goal," Kreese said, drawing the group's attention again, "is to capture as many headbands as possible from the other side. Today, the people across from you are not your friends. They're not your brothers. They are the enemy."

Tory shot Hannah a smug smirk, one that didn't need words to be understood: Let's see who the real alpha is.

Hannah gave a short nod in return, eyes narrowing. She wasn't afraid of Tory. If anything, she welcomed the chance to put her in her place.

"The last team standing wins," Kreese said, stepping back.

Hannah raised a hand. "How do we get the headbands?"

Kreese's lips curled into a grin. "By any means possible. No rules."

Johnny stepped forward now, less intense but no less serious. "Use your judgment. This is just a training exercise."

"Correct," Kreese cut in, "but remember... this is your life. You lose it—you die."

Just then, the underbrush snapped and rustled as a man stumbled out of the trees—disheveled, a little winded, and way too enthusiastic.

"Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late," he called, jogging up. "Traffic on the 118 was a real bitch. Put Coyote Creek into the nav—nothing came up."

Johnny blinked at the man—pale cargo pants, fingerless gloves, a sleeveless gi that didn't fit right. "What the hell have you done to yourself?"

The man puffed his chest with pride. "Oh, this?" He gestured to his sloppy mohawk and taped fists. "Yeah, I just decided to flip the script. Hawk-style. Respect. Heretofore, you can refer to me as... Stingray."

Johnny shook his head. "All right, Chubs. He's on your team."

Kreese rolled his eyes. "Terrific."

With that, the students broke off into the woods, red team darting in one direction, black in the other.

"We stick together," Hannah told Hawk, already moving low and fast. "Watch each other's backs."

Hawk nodded. "Let's hunt."

Across the clearing, Tory stood silently before disappearing into the trees with Miguel, her head snapping back for just a second—long enough to catch Hannah's eye.

The two girls locked gazes.

Tory smirked.

It wasn't just a smirk of recognition—it was a challenge. A silent message: You may be good. But you're not me.

Hannah didn't flinch. She held Tory's gaze, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. She wasn't just here to survive the exercise.

She was here to prove she belonged.

🥋

Lukas stood at the center, shirt now off after the last round of Shochu-Geiko training, his body gleaming with sweat. His breathing was steady, his focus razor-sharp.

"Two..." Daniel called out.

Lukas moved without hesitation, fluid and fast. "Got you."

"Five!"

Lukas shifted and parried, snapping his hand out toward his partner with a quiet smirk of satisfaction. Daniel nodded in approval.

"Demetri's turn," Daniel announced. "Come on, Demetri, get in there."

Demetri reluctantly stepped up, already dragging his feet. His shoulders slumped like a wilted flower in the heat.

"Set," Daniel instructed. "Three."

Demetri threw a weak block and missed completely.

"Sorry, Meat," he muttered to his partner, who looked mildly amused.

"You gotta block that," Daniel said, a little firmer now. "Six!"

Demetri groaned as he fumbled again, clearly struggling to stay focused in the oppressive heat. "I hate this."

Daniel gestured for him to stand up. "All right, come on, get up."

From the other side, Sam pulled her hair up into a messy bun and called out, "Can we please take a break? This heat is brutal."

A chorus of groans and murmurs followed from the rest of the students. Chris wiped his forehead with the bottom of his gi, and even Robby had that glassy-eyed, overheated look.

Daniel raised a brow, pretending to hesitate. "You guys wanna cool off?"

Everyone, in unison, nearly shouted, "Mmm-hmm."

Lukas narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "I don't like the sound of that..."

Daniel only smiled mysteriously and turned to head toward the side gate.

As the group followed their Sensei, Sam nudged Lukas lightly with her elbow, a playful glint in her eyes. "What's the matter, tough guy? Afraid he's about to dump us in a waterfall or something?"

Lukas smirked. "At this point, I'd welcome a waterfall. Better than boiling alive on a patch of grass."

"You did take your shirt off like a showoff," Sam teased. "You're practically asking for sunburn."

He grinned back at her. "Or maybe I just wanted to give you something to look at."

Sam rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the blush creeping into her cheeks. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're staring," Lukas shot back, eyebrow raised.

"Shut up," she muttered, laughing as she walked ahead, the brief moment cutting through the heat like a splash of cool water.

🥋

As it turns out, thid was much worse.

The group had been training in the heat of Shochu-Geiko just an hour ago — now they stood huddled inside a freezer that smelled of raw meat and damp rubber, their breaths curling visibly into the air.

Lukas's jaw clenched as he exhaled, eyeing a slab of frozen London broil hanging from a nearby hook.

"I feel like I'm in Rocky," he muttered, rubbing his hands together.

Daniel stood near the center of the freezer, unbothered by the cold, his voice calm but commanding. "So, you couldn't take the heat of Shochu-Geiko, perhaps you'll find Kangeiko more to your liking."

Demetri groaned from the back. "Are there no 'geikos' that take place in a spa?"

Daniel smirked. "It's not about heat or cold. It's about adapting to your environment — using it."

He swept his hand across the air. "Look around. What do you see?"

"Frozen beef and lifelong trauma," Lukas quipped, but his grin faded as Daniel gave him that look — the one that said listen deeper.

Daniel continued, gesturing toward the other students. "I see the twitch of a muscle. The shift of a stance. If you lean into the cold, your senses sharpen. And then you'll anticipate — the moment before your opponent strikes."

Lukas nodded. That actually made sense.

They circled up, and Robby stepped forward first. Daniel called, "Seven!" and Robby countered sharply.

"Five!"

Daniel nodded. "That's what I'm talking about."

Demetri's turn came again, and he groaned louder than before. "All right, here goes nothing. Literally."

Lukas clapped him on the shoulder. "Spider-Sense, bro. Use it."

Demetri blinked. "You mean like Spider-Man?"

"Exactly," Lukas said. "You expect the worst — so use that. You're basically Peter Parker in khakis."

Demetri chuckled nervously. "No pressure, then."

Daniel smiled faintly. "Focus. Anticipate."

He called out again. "Two!"

Demetri blocked, eyes wide. "Whoo! I did it!"

"Five!"

This time, Demetri misread the cue and got tagged hard in the stomach. He doubled over.

"Okay, that's okay," Daniel said, walking over. "Baby steps."

"Uh-huh..." Demetri wheezed. "Cold baby steps."

As the group lightly laughed and patted Demetri's back, Daniel's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, squinting at the screen.

His face changed.

Sam caught it first. "Dad? Is everything okay?"

Daniel hesitated, then pocketed the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, it's fine. That's all for today. I'll meet you at home."

He offered a parting nod, then left quickly — too quickly for Daniel.

The rest of the group started packing up their things, rubbing their arms and shaking off the chill.

As Lukas pulled his hoodie back on, Sam stepped beside him, her voice soft.

"Hey," she said. "So... do you maybe want to stay over tonight?"

Lukas blinked. "Wait — like hang out?"

She shrugged, trying to play it casual, but there was a tension under her smile. "Yeah. Movie night. Chill. My dad won't be home for a while. I figured we could... I don't know, decompress?"

Lukas looked at her, curious. "You sure? With everything going on, and..." He trailed off.

"Yes, I'm sure. Besides.....we're friends, right?" Sam replied.

"Yeah, okay. I'm down." Lukas nodded, following Sam back into the house.

🥋

Branches snapped underfoot as Hannah and Hawk moved swiftly through the undergrowth, their red headbands already soaked in sweat. The sharp chirp of birds and distant shouting gave the forest a haunted, high-stakes energy. This was Cobra Kai in its rawest form — no mats, no mercy, no rules.

"Three more," Hawk said, crouching behind a downed tree. "If we get 'em before they regroup, we've got this in the bag."

Hannah didn't speak. Her eyes locked on the faint movement in the trees ahead — two black headbands cutting through the green. She nodded once. Hawk smirked and took the right flank.

They moved like predators.

Within seconds, Hawk was on one of the Cobras, locking arms and flipping him into the dirt with a savage grunt. Hannah took on the other, dodging a wild punch and slipping inside with a brutal elbow to the ribs. The Cobra crumpled, and she yanked the black headband free before sprinting after Hawk again.

After a short scuffle, they both held up two black bands each.

"Split up?" Hawk asked.

Hannah nodded. "We'll cover more ground."

He grinned.

They darted off in opposite directions.

🥋

Hannah moved quickly through the brush, heart pounding, mind wired. Her eyes scanned for movement, her instincts heightened. Every rustle felt like a trigger.

That's when she heard it — the crunch of boots behind her.

She spun, and a tall Cobra Kai student — lean, wiry, maybe a year older — stepped from the shadows.

"Well, well," he drawled. "You're Blakely, right? Kreese's little pit bull."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You talk a big game in the dojo. Let's see if you can back it up without your boyfriend holding your hand."

That was the wrong button to press.

Hannah didn't answer. She moved.

They clashed — fast, fluid, brutal. The Cobra had technique, but Hannah had hunger. She drove him back with a rapid barrage of strikes, nearly catching him in the jaw with a spinning elbow. But he recovered, sweeping her leg and knocking her down into the dirt.

She rolled, popped up, and snarled.

"You done?" he taunted. "I thought Sensei trained you better than that."

And that was it.

Something in her snapped.

She surged forward, ducked a sloppy punch, and slammed a kick into his ribs. Then a low sweep — snap! — and he hit the ground hard, groaning. She straddled him for a half-second, grabbed his headband — and with one final, savage twist, cracked his head to the side with a stiff palm strike that left him dazed, barely conscious.

She stood over him, breathing heavily. Mud on her hands. A faint tremble in her fingers.

He wasn't unconscious, but he wasn't getting up soon either.

She blinked.

What the hell did I just do?

For a moment, the forest was too quiet.

She stared down at the student — and herself. Then she shook it off, grabbed the headband, and turned away.

🥋

From a slight rise behind the trees, Johnny watched.

His arms were crossed, his face unreadable.

A few paces back, Kreese leaned against a pine tree, hands clasped, expression smug.

"She's got potential," Kreese said, voice low and pleased. "Natural killer instinct."

Johnny didn't answer. His jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on Hannah's retreating figure — shoulders squared, head down, marching back into the trees.

And for the first time in weeks, he wasn't sure if this was still just training.

🥋

Hannah was in the zone.

But naturally, so was her opponent.

A blur to her left — a strike. Hannah turned, blocked, and stepped back just in time to face none other than Tory.

Neither spoke.

Their eyes did the talking , challenge, grit, mutual defiance.

Then they charged.

It was fast and fluid at first — two fighters trained under the same ruthless philosophy. Tory's strikes were sharp and precise. Hannah's counters were tighter than ever. The two of them exchanged blows like they'd fought a dozen times before, but there was no choreography here — only instinct.

Then it got personal.

Hannah caught Tory across the ribs with a sharp spinning backfist — a hit that landed too hard. Tory staggered. For a split second, Hannah paused, shocked at the force of her own hit. She hadn't meant for it to be that hard.

Tory didn't hesitate.

She swept Hannah's legs clean out from under her, and Hannah crashed into the forest floor. Dirt in her mouth. Air gone from her lungs. She tried to scramble to her feet, but Tori was already there.

One clean punch.

The red headband was gone.

Tory didn't gloat. She just gave Hannah a short look — unreadable — and disappeared into the trees.

🥋

Later, Hannah returned to the clearing with leaves in her hair and defeat in her eyes. She tossed the red headband remnants into a pile, her knuckles twitching from rage and confusion.

Kreese stood nearby, arms crossed.

"You dropped your guard," he said, voice like gravel.

Hannah didn't respond.

"But... mistakes are part of learning. You'll get her next time."

She looked up. Kreese wasn't angry. He was calculating. That bothered her more than if he had been angry.

As Kreese walked off, Johnny approached her from the other side of the field. His brow was furrowed — not with disappointment, but with worry.

"You all right?" he asked.

Hannah shrugged. "Fine."

"That didn't look like the girl who first walked into Cobra Kai six months ago. Back then, you could barely make eye contact with your own reflection."

She didn't respond.

Johnny continued, quieter now, "You used to fight because you had something to prove to yourself... not to hurt people."

Hannah's jaw tightened. "This is Kreese's training. He's showing me how to stand up for myself. That's what you said Cobra Kai was about, right?"

"Hannah, there's a difference between standing up for yourself and losing yourself."

But she was already walking away.

🥋

Elsewhere in the forest, Miguel and Hawk were locked in an intense, explosive duel.

Johnny turned his attention just in time to see Miguel slip under Hawk's spinning kick and land a clean, hard punch to the chest. Hawk stumbled back, another punch snapped his head to the side, and Miguel ripped the black headband free.

But Kreese wasn't satisfied.

"Finish it," he muttered, just loud enough for Johnny to hear.

Johnny's eyes narrowed.

Miguel, unsure, hesitated — but threw one final punch to Hawk's shoulder to "seal" the moment. Then he raised the headband in the air, catching his breath.

But before he could even take a victory breath—

Stingray erupted from the dirt behind him.

"HA!" he cried, catching Miguel in a ridiculous but oddly effective chokehold, twisting his arm and yanking the headband from his grip.

"Red team wins, baby!"

The students burst out of the trees, cheering, laughing, hoisting Stingray up like a goddamn hero. He pumped the headband in the air like it was a WWE belt.

Kreese didn't smile.

But Johnny watched the chaos with narrowed eyes, saying nothing.

Something was shifting.

And not in a good way.

🥋

The living room was dimly lit, the flicker of the TV dancing across the walls. A half-watched movie played quietly in the background—neither Lukas nor Sam really paying attention, though neither wanted to be the first to say it. They sat just close enough for the tension to be noticeable, but far enough for the air between them to feel like a weight.

Amanda had left earlier, muttering something about needing a drink with Jenna and asking Lukas if his aunt was home—clearly irritated, though not with them. That left the house quiet. A little too quiet.

Sam shifted, her bare shoulder brushing his, then gently rested her head against his. Lukas froze for half a second, but slowly leaned his head atop hers.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"I'm great," she murmured, and she meant it.

For a while, they just sat there, a rare stillness between them.

"So," Lukas said, finally breaking the silence, "what did you like better today? The heat or the cold?"

Sam chuckled under her breath. "You know, they both have their pluses and minuses. But if I had to pick one, I'd say room temp."

Lukas tilted his head. "That wasn't an option."

She gave him a teasing glance. "What about you?"

"I like the heat," he said with a small shrug.

Their eyes lingered. Neither moved for a long moment—until they did. Slowly, almost cautiously, they began to lean in. It wasn't immediate. There was hesitation. Nervous energy. Their faces drew close, then pulled back slightly, before closing the distance again.

"I thought we weren't..." Sam whispered, voice trembling slightly.

"We weren't," Lukas replied, equally quiet—right before their lips finally met.

It was soft. Careful. A long-awaited kiss neither wanted to rush. When they parted, their foreheads rested against each other, sharing a breath.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Lukas said, barely above a whisper.

Sam smiled, eyes still closed. "Yeah. Me too."

They kissed again, this time with a little more ease. A little more certainty.

Just then, the front door creaked open.

Robby stepped inside, humming to himself, reaching for something in the pantry. He paused mid-step when his eyes fell on the couch. He blinked.

There they were—Lukas and Sam, tangled up in each other, completely unaware of him.

He smirked to himself, shaking his head as he grabbed a bag of chips. He'd seen it coming. The way they trained together, fought together, looked at each other when they thought no one else noticed.

His best friend got the girl.

🥋

Later, the two had begun to clean the living room, as it was getting late. When suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Lukas glanced toward the front. "Sam," he called out, "someone's at the door."

No response.

"Sam?" he tried again, louder this time. Still nothing. A soft sigh left his lips as he walked toward the entrance.

"I'll get it."

He opened the door expecting a neighbor, maybe even Amanda returning early.

But it was Miguel.

Lukas's face hardened slightly—not in anger, but in wary confusion.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Miguel raised his hands slightly, showing he meant no harm. "I'm not here to fight," he said quietly. "I just came to give something back."

From the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a small, familiar object—one that made Lukas's stomach tighten.

The Medal of Honor.

Lukas's hand shot out, snatching it without hesitation. "Give me that," he said sharply, his voice thick. "I knew you had something to do with it."

Miguel didn't flinch. "No," he said, eyes steady. "I had nothing to do with what happened to your dojo. I was telling you the truth. We're not all assholes."

He paused for a second. "Just... tell Sam I said sorry."

Lukas stared at him, jaw tense, fingers closing tightly around the medal. "Yeah," he muttered. "Sure."

Miguel gave a slow nod and turned to leave, his footsteps fading down the porch steps.

Lukas stood there for a beat longer, clutching the medal, its edges digging into his palm. He didn't call out to Miguel. He didn't say anything else.

Only when the door clicked shut behind him did he realize his heart was beating faster than usual.

🥋

Later, as he stood in the hallway with the medal still in his hand, a thought crept in—quiet and unwelcome.

What if Sam found out Miguel gave it back?

Would it change how she felt?

Would it pull her back to him?