The sun had barely broken past the clouds when Lukas pulled into the lot beside Robby and Sam. They stepped out of their cars with casual energy, expecting another day of training, maybe even some laughs in the backyard. Robby had brought extra pads. Sam carried her water bottle tucked under her arm. Lukas adjusted the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder, glancing up toward the front door.

That's when they saw it.

Sam's steps slowed. Robby cursed under his breath.

Lukas dropped his bag.

The entire dojo was destroyed.

Graffiti sprayed across the walls in angry, jagged lines. Broken boards and shattered glass littered the entryway. Scrolls were torn down. The framed pictures of Daniel, Mr. Miyagi, past tournaments were either missing or smashed across the floor.

The bonsai trees in the garden were ripped from their pots.

The sparring mats were soaked, dirt and mud stomped across them. One of the mirrors was cracked straight through.

Then Daniel arrived.

He didn't say a word at first. He walked in like a man sleepwalking through a nightmare. His face stiffened the moment his eyes landed on the back wall.

Daniel knelt down slowly, his hand grazing over the shattered shelf.

"Dad?" Sam called out, her voice cracking. "What—"

"They even took Mr. Miyagi's Medal of Honor," Daniel said quietly.

The weight of those words dropped like a stone in all of them.

Sam gasped. "Dad?"

Robby stepped closer. "Mr. LaRusso?"

But Daniel didn't answer. He turned, walked briskly to the garage, threw open the door to his old yellow car, and fired up the engine.

"Mr. LaRusso!" Lukas called. "Where are you going?"

Tires screeched out of the driveway before Lukas got his answer.

🥋

The rest of the day wasn't about karate.

They didn't even train.

It was quiet. Focused. Somber.

No one talked about katas or tournament brackets. They swept up shattered glass and picked torn scrolls out of bushes.

By the time dusk rolled around, the dojo still looked like a hollow shell of what it once was.

Back at home, Lukas helped his aunt clean up after dinner. He barely said a word. His stomach had twisted all day, not just over the destruction, but what it meant—who it pointed to.

As Jenna rinsed off the dishes, Lukas dried his hands and stepped out onto the porch. The air was warm. Quiet. Still.

He pulled out his phone.

Stared at Miguel Diaz in his contacts.

They hadn't talked in any real way since before the Canyon. Lukas sighed, tapped the call button, and held the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Miguel answered, cautious.

Lukas didn't waste time. "Did you trash Miyagi-Do?"

Silence stretched for a second too long.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Miguel finally replied, his tone defensive. "I didn't touch anything."

"You didn't have to," Lukas muttered. "But you're part of it, right? You and Hawk. I know what he's been saying to Hannah."

Miguel exhaled. "Hannah can make her own choices, man. You don't control her."

"I'm not trying to," Lukas snapped. "But I know you're getting in her head. You and Cobra Kai. You think this is some kind of tradeoff? You lost the title, so now you take my best friend?"

There was a pause. Then Miguel said, "You took my title and my girl. Feels fair."

Lukas froze.

"We're not-" He shook his head. "Me and Sam are just friends."

Even as the words left his mouth, he remembered how close they'd gotten on that couch. How real it had felt.

Miguel laughed, dry and bitter. "Right."

"You blew that yourself," Lukas said. "You want to talk about the tournament? You targeted my shoulder. I still beat you. Fair and square."

Miguel's voice hardened. "You wouldn't have without that ref break. Everyone saw it."

"I didn't fake an injury. You exploited it. There's a difference."

The call simmered in tension. Neither of them backed down.

Until Lukas exhaled and said, "I'm not getting pulled into this."

Miguel was quiet. "I didn't touch Miyagi-Do."

Lukas didn't answer. He hung up.

Then he sat there on the porch, staring into the dark, the screen still glowing in his hand.

Even if Miguel hadn't done it, Lukas knew Cobra Kai had. And now it was personal.

🥋

The next morning at the LaRusso home, Sam and Lukas knelt in the garden, quietly resetting overturned stones and repotting what they could. The dojo still bore scars from the Cobra Kai break-There was also something fractured in the air, in the relationships. Especially between Sam and Lukas.

Sam nudged a half-buried planter upright with her foot as Lukas hovered nearby, unsure if he should say something.

"Listen," he finally said, voice low. "About the other night..."

Sam didn't look at him. "Nothing happened," she replied, brushing dirt from her hands. "So there's no reason to feel uncomfortable, right?"

Lukas let out an awkward laugh. "Right. Exactly."

Before the tension could thicken, Demetri called out from the other side of the yard. "Are you guys lifting anything over there? Because I feel like I'm just fake-helping."

"It's too heavy," Robby grunted as he tried and failed to right a stone fountain. "We're gonna need a forklift or something."

"How did they even knock it over?" Lukas muttered.

A familiar voice interrupted. "It's a lot easier to knock something down than it is to lift it up."

Daniel stood in the doorway, surveying the mess with calm intensity. "Don't worry," he added. "We'll get it back up again."

Before anyone could respond, a small group of teens appeared at the entrance. Robby, Sam, and Lukas immediately tensed. Some of them were familiar. A couple had been part of the mall attack.

One kid stepped forward. "Uh... excuse me. Is this Miyagi-Do?"

Robby stepped in front of them. "Yeah. You come back for another beating?"

Lukas was right behind him, posture alert, cautious.

"Hey, Robby," Daniel called firmly. "Robby."

Lukas added, "That's one of the guys who jumped Demetri. Probably helped trash the dojo."

The boy raised his hands. "We didn't have anything to do with that. I'm sorry about the mall. Really. We just... we want to learn Miyagi-Do."

Demetri crossed his arms. "I'd be careful, Mr. L, letting Cobra Kai in. It's like letting the wildlings past the Wall."

Daniel chuckled. "Didn't the wildlings help Jon Snow win the Battle of the Bastards?"

Lukas rolled his eyes. "Should've picked a different analogy."

But Daniel nodded to the new arrivals. "We're happy to have you. Come on, let's get started."

🥋

Later that day, tension filled the air like static before a storm. The dojo was buzzing with students—old and new. And not all were adjusting smoothly.

Robby and Chris had nearly come to blows after a careless bump during a drill. Lukas had stepped in between them before it escalated.

He wasn't sure he should've bothered.

Inside the dojo, Daniel was on the phone with Amanda.

"No, of course I can cover the sales meeting," she said. "But are you sure you can't make it? This is the second one in a row."

"I know, I know," Daniel replied. "I'll be at the next one. I promise. I've just got a ton of new students. I need to be here today."

Amanda paused. "Can't you just have Lukas or Robby run things?"

But before Daniel could respond—

"Why don't you say it to my face?" Chris snapped from across the dojo.

Demetri threw up his hands. "I didn't say anything!"

Daniel sighed. "I gotta go. Talk tonight."

He hung up and turned just in time to see Lukas trying to calm the two teens.

"I knew this wouldn't go over well," Lukas muttered.

"What's going on?" Daniel called.

Chris pointed. "This nerd called me an imbecile!"

"I didn't 'drop a challenge,'" Demetri shot back. "He dropped a potted plant. It was an accident!"

Daniel raised both hands. "Okay, okay. Enough."

He turned to Chris. "What's your name?"

"Chris."

"And this is Demetri." He glanced between the two. "So you've got some beef?"

"No," Demetri interjected. "This isn't a 'both sides' thing. He tried to kick the crap out of me. I was the clear-cut victim."

Chris sighed. "I told you I was sorry."

Daniel didn't flinch. "Then I've got your first lesson." He gestured to the overturned stone. "You're going to pick that up. Together."

Demetri blinked. "How are we supposed to do that?"

"Good old-fashioned teamwork," Daniel said simply. "I believe in you."

🥋

After a while, the garden was beginning to look like itself again. Barely.

Kneeling beside Sam, Lukas shook his head. "I still can't believe your dad let them in here."

"He wants to help them change," she said quietly.

"They won't," Robby added, wiping sweat from his brow. "You can't change the way you feel."

A few feet away, Demetri and Chris stared down the stone.

"Brute strength won't cut it," Demetri said. "You need strategy. Ever heard of a fulcrum?"

Chris looked blank.

"Didn't think so. It's a pivot point that reduces the amount of force needed to lift something." Demetri looked around. "We can use that board over there."

Chris scoffed. "Fulcrum? More like full of crap."

Demetri's patience snapped. "The only thing full of crap is you and your whole little quiver over there. Admit it, you don't want to join Miyagi-Do. This is all some act."

"Calling me a liar?"

Chris shoved Demetri hard.

Robby and Lukas jumped into action—Lukas reaching him first. Chris shoved him back roughly, and Lukas stumbled before regaining his footing, his eyes hardening.

"Demetri!" Daniel shouted, rushing in. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Demetri muttered, brushing off.

"That's it," Robby growled, stepping toward Chris.

Lukas stood beside him, fists clenched. "Once a Cobra Kai, always a Cobra Kai."

Daniel stepped in. "That's not true."

Robby looked over, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Daniel took a breath.

"Because I used to be a Cobra Kai."

🥋

The Cobra Kai dojo was suffocating with heat and sweat. No windows open. No music playing. Just the sound of fists hitting mats, ropes slapping hardwood, and strained breathing. The students were mid-circuit, ropes, pushups, burpees, over and over again.

Johnny was gone. On some personal matter, Kreese had said. But that didn't mean the students got a break.

"Keep going," Kreese barked, hands behind his back like a general surveying his troops. "I have all day."

Bert wheezed as he dropped to his knees. "You think it's okay if I puke in here?"

"No," Hawk snapped. "Navy SEALs puke all the time. You'll live."

"I swear to God, if you puke near me-" Hannah glared, doubling down on her burpees. "Keep it in. He's not gonna let up."

Miguel, sweat dripping from his brow, panted as he pushed through another set. "We gotta figure out who trashed Miyagi-Do."

"It was shit-breath," Tory shot back, wiping her forehead.

"Hey, screw you!" the student known as "Shit Breath" barked.

Hawk turned, jaw tightening. "What'd you say?"

"You wanna do this right now?"

"Hey! Hey!" Hannah stepped between them, arms out. "Chill the hell out."

Kreese's voice cut through the tension like a whip. "Stop!"

The room froze.

"You wanna know who did it?" Kreese paced in front of them slowly, letting the silence do half the talking. "It was Hawk. It was Blakely. It was Diaz. And Robinson. And Nichols. Chubs. Red."

He stopped. "When one of you makes a move, you all make a move. You live and you die with the consequences and the spoils... because you are all Cobra Kai."

A chorus answered in unison: "Yes, Sensei!"

"Main dojo. Five minutes. You're about to begin your real training."

🥋

Nichols. Blakely. Step forward."

Hannah hesitated, casting a glance at Miguel. He gave her a small nod. Tory, by contrast, stepped forward without hesitation, already cracking her knuckles.

"Face each other. Bow."

They bowed.

"Ready... fight."

The clash began fast.

Tory went aggressive, leading with a roundhouse aimed at Hannah's ribs. Hannah blocked, spun, and answered with a sharp jab. Tory grunted, ducked the second strike, and countered with a sweep that Hannah narrowly avoided.

Back and forth they went, blow for blow. Fast, intense, evenly matched.

Hannah slipped a side kick in that knocked Tory off balance, but Tory recovered mid-step and rushed her with a flurry of punches. Hannah deflected two, got tagged by the third in the shoulder, and spun away. Her focus wavered.

Kreese's voice rang out: "Combat."

They re-engaged.

Hannah was quick on her feet, calculating. Tory was relentless, forcing her back, trying to break her rhythm. A knee came too close to Hannah's chin, she blocked, ducked, rolled under, but her response came a split-second too slow.

Tory surged forward, planted her foot, and with a grunt flipped Hannah over her shoulder. Hannah hit the mat hard.

Kreese didn't hesitate. "Point. Nichols."

Tory backed up, surprised that it was over so quickly.

But Kreese wasn't done.

"Hit her again."

The room fell quiet.

Tory turned. "Sensei?"

Hannah, still on the mat, pushed herself up slowly, stunned. "What?"

"You heard me." Kreese's tone didn't shift. "A fight isn't over until your enemy is finished. You show your enemy no mercy."

Miguel took a step forward. "Wait!"

Kreese looked over, face stiffening. "Excuse me?"

"This isn't what Sensei Lawrence has been teaching us," Miguel said, carefully. "There's no honor in being... merciless. Tory scored the point. It's over."

Kreese studied Miguel in silence for a long beat.

Then, almost too calmly, he said, "Sensei Lawrence is right, of course. In a tournament, the fighting stops when you land a point." His voice hardened. "But in the real world..."

He stepped forward, eyes darting between the students.

"It's not about scoring points. It's about being a winner, or a loser. And there are no losers in this dojo. Isn't that right, Mr. Diaz?"

Miguel hesitated.

"Yes, Sensei," he said eventually, jaw tight.

Kreese nodded once.

"Good."

🥋

Chris and Demetri stood shoulder-to-shoulder, both already red-faced from earlier attempts.

Chris let out a breath. "Okay, let's both do this fulcrum thing."

Demetri gave a sharp nod, adjusting his grip. "Together, on the count of three. One... two... three!"

Their muscles strained in unison as they pushed beneath the slab, balancing it over the narrow wooden wedge Demetri had scavenged from the shed. For a second, it didn't budge, but then the stone tilted, shifted, and rose.

Chris's voice rose with it. "Got it. Almost there. Push it! Come on!"

With a final grunt, they hoisted the stone fully into place. Cheers erupted from a few of the students nearby, and even Lukas found himself grinning a little, impressed.

Daniel stepped forward, clapping once. "Good job, guys."

He glanced around at the watching students, then gestured toward the stone.

"You see that? We all work together as a team, anything is possible."

The group nodded. Even Demetri and Chris exchanged a hesitant high five.

Lukas stood near the garden fence, arms loosely crossed, quietly watching the interaction. He didn't say anything at first. Just let the moment settle.

Daniel LaRusso, Mr. Miyagi's student, the guy who championed balance, patience, and defense, used to be Cobra Kai. That still sat weirdly in Lukas's chest.

But maybe... maybe it also made sense.

If Daniel could come back from that—if he could stand here, now, not just redeemed but respected.

Maybe not even Hannah could come back.

🥋

The dojo was quiet now, long after most of the students had gone home. The scent of sweat still hung in the air, faint but sharp under the hum of the overhead lights. Hannah moved quickly through the locker room, zipping up her duffel with a practiced motion. Her hands moved with purpose, but her mind wasn't in it. She'd barely spoken since the sparring match with Tory—barely made eye contact with anyone.

She slung her bag over her shoulder, her jaw tight.

"Miss Blakely," came Kreese's voice from across the room. Calm. Cold. Controlled. "In my office."

Hannah paused at the door. Her first instinct was to keep walking. Just keep moving. But that wasn't how things worked with Kreese. She turned, adjusted the strap on her shoulder, and stepped inside.

Kreese didn't look at her right away. He stood with his back to her, staring out the narrow window, arms folded behind him like a statue carved from something old and dangerous.

"Sit," he said.

She obeyed without a word.

Still facing the window, he spoke again. "You were flat out there today."

"I'm fine," Hannah replied quickly. "Just a rough day. It happens."

Kreese turned to face her now, his eyes cutting through the space between them. "That's not the truth," he said, flatly. "You know how I can tell?"

She didn't answer.

"Because you're one of the sharpest fighters in this dojo. Not the strongest, not yet—but precise. Focused. Controlled. But today? You hesitated. You didn't strike when you should've. You held back."

"I said I'm fine," Hannah snapped, a little sharper than she meant to.

Kreese raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He just waited.

And like a slow crack forming under pressure, Hannah finally exhaled and let her shoulders drop.

"I saw him," she muttered.

Kreese didn't pretend not to understand.

"LaRusso's disciple," he said with faint disdain. "The one you used to follow around like a lost puppy."

Hannah's eyes narrowed. "Lukas was my best friend."

Kreese stepped closer, folding his arms. "Was."

The word hung there. Unforgiving.

"I didn't know he'd be there," Hannah went on. "At the mall, and after that. I wasn't ready for that."

"Clearly," Kreese said. "But if you want to be part of this dojo, really part of it, you need to stop carrying dead weight."

Hannah clenched her jaw. "He's not dead weight. He's just... it's complicated."

Kreese leaned on the edge of the desk, watching her. Studying her like a chess piece with too many attachments.

"He's not your friend, Hannah," Kreese said, voice lowering. "He's your weakness."

She didn't reply.

"He fights for LaRusso. He trains his daughter. And he's standing in your way. Just like Tyler did. Just like every person who made you feel small."

Hannah's eyes flickered.

"There it is," Kreese said, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That anger. That edge. Don't bury it—use it. You're not here to make peace. You're here to win."

He turned and opened the office door.

"Come with me."

Without waiting, he walked down the darkened hallway to the back training room. Hannah followed, slower, her steps heavier.

Inside, the room was mostly dark. One light flickered overhead, illuminating a single training dummy in the center of the floor. The leather was worn and split in places—clearly well-used.

"Hit it," Kreese said simply.

Hannah blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Kreese replied. "That bag is Tyler. It's his friends. It's every hand that's ever shoved you down, every laugh that made you feel small, every betrayal you didn't see coming."

Hannah hesitated, staring at the dummy.

Kreese's voice sharpened. "You want to be strong? Then stop hesitating. Stop feeling. Strike."

She stepped forward, slowly, knuckles curling.

The first punch was light. Hesitant.

Kreese scoffed.

"Pathetic. You think Nichols would pull her punches?"

Her fists tightened. She struck again.

Harder.

And again.

And again.

Each hit echoed in the room—raw, heavy, unfiltered.

She pictured Tyler sneering at her. Lukas walking away.

She pictured Tory knocking her on the mat.

She hit the bag so hard her wrists ached, but she didn't stop.

"Good," Kreese said quietly. "That's what it takes. Pain sharpens the blade. Use it."

She kept going until her arms burned, until sweat dripped from her brow, until there was nothing but her breathing and the sound of leather absorbing every blow.

When she finally stopped, her hands were trembling. She stared at the dummy like it had said something she couldn't forgive.

Kreese stepped forward.

"You want to become what you're meant to be?" he asked. "Then leave the past behind. Friends. Regrets. All of it."

Hannah said nothing. But for the first time in a long time, something clicked in her. Or maybe something broke.

She walked past Kreese, duffel in hand, knuckles red and bruised.

She didn't say goodbye.

And Kreese didn't expect her to.

He just watched her go, a quiet satisfaction in his expression.

She was right where he wanted her.