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i'm sorry for all the notifications but us writers work hard on these chapters. i know i ask this a lot, but i really don't like ghost readers because i work super hard on these chapters so when i see views going up but votes are not... its hard for my motivation!

The air inside the old dojo felt heavy, thick with anticipation and the ghosts of past battles. It hung in the space like a charged storm cloud, as if the very walls remembered everything that had happened here-the rivalries, the victories, the pain. The banners that once proudly declared Cobra Kai's dominance had long been ripped down, leaving only faded outlines where they had once proudly hung. The mirrors lining the walls were streaked with dust, reflecting the past just as much as they reflected the present.

Marisol stood on the worn, familiar mats, side by side with Miguel, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for Johnny's next move. Her body was taut with nervous energy, her fists clenched at her sides as she tried to still her thoughts. The sense of purpose she once found in this place-back when she had first stepped onto these mats, unsure of herself-now seemed tangled with so much more.

She remembered those first days, when karate was just a way to prove herself, to finally break free from the constraints of the world around her. How she had hated Miguel back then, how her jealousy burned like fire at the thought of him taking her spot. But things had changed. They were no longer enemies. They were teammates. They were family. And in this dojo, with all its faded glory, she had found a place she could finally belong.

Johnny paced in front of them, his boots scraping against the worn floorboards, each deliberate step loud in the quiet. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, the furrow of his brow deep with thought. He wasn't just their sensei-he was the one who had shaped them, molded them into the fighters they were today.

For Miguel, this place had been the turning point. From the scrawny, unsure kid who had walked in years ago to the confident, skilled fighter standing beside her now. Marisol could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched with silent resolve.

And for her? This place had given her so much more than just a fighting style. It had given her a fire-a fire she didn't even know existed inside her. When she had first come here, angry and unsure, she would never have imagined she'd be standing side by side with Miguel, a trusted ally. They had come so far since then, and the realization filled her chest with pride.

Johnny stopped suddenly, his boots scraping against the floor one last time as he turned to face them. His piercing blue eyes locked onto theirs, hard and calculating. For a moment, he seemed to see everything that had led them to this moment-the losses, the betrayals, the twists and turns that had shaped their journey. Then, his voice broke through the silence.

"This is where it all started," Johnny said, his voice firm and unyielding, as if he were speaking both to them and to the very air in the room. His gaze flicked between them, his eyes lingering on Marisol before moving to Miguel. "Diaz, you were my first student. Cervantes, I was your first sensei."

Marisol's chest tightened at the mention of her last name, the old nickname hitting her in a way she didn't expect. Cervantes. Back when she was just a girl stepping onto these mats for the first time, she had barely understood what this place could offer. She had been so consumed by her own anger, her own sense of being lost. But now? Now, she understood.

She stole a glance at Miguel, who was standing next to her. His stance was solid, his jaw set in quiet determination. They had come so far, and he was as much a part of her story as she was of his.

Johnny took another breath, his voice cutting through the tension. "I taught you both the same style of karate. The kind that doesn't back down. The kind that makes you a fighter-not just in tournaments, but in life."

Johnny's gaze darkened for a brief moment, and Marisol felt a flicker of something in the air-a reminder of everything that had come before. The betrayals. The fights. The twisted path Cobra Kai had taken. She could feel the weight of it, like the air around them had thickened with the remnants of old wounds.

"We've been through a lot of Cobra Kai bullshit since then," Johnny continued, his voice growing harder, like steel being drawn across stone. "You two know that better than anyone."

Marisol clenched her fists at her sides, her mind flashing back to all the times she had almost given up. The corruption of Cobra Kai. The lies. The pain. But there was something else there now. Something new.

Johnny's voice rang louder, stronger this time, shaking off the ghosts of the past. "But none of that matters now." He stepped forward, his presence commanding, radiating authority. "Because this is our Cobra Kai." He swept his arm around the room, as if reclaiming the dojo from the shadows of its history. "Not Kreese's. Not Silver's. Ours."

Marisol felt a spark in her chest, a fire that ignited from Johnny's words. This was what they had been fighting for. This dojo. This family. This Cobra Kai. And tomorrow, they were going to prove it.

Johnny paused, his smirk slowly spreading across his face. It was a grin that said everything they needed to hear. "Tomorrow, we're gonna show the world that nobody strikes harder than us."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, a promise. The fire in Marisol's chest burned brighter, stronger, until she was sure she could feel it in every fiber of her being. She could see it in Miguel, too-his entire body was humming with anticipation. This was their moment. This was the culmination of everything they had trained for.

Johnny's eyes flicked from one of them to the other, studying them for a moment. His expression softened, just slightly, before his voice came through once more-commanding, unwavering.

"Is that understood?"

Without hesitation, Miguel and Marisol spoke in unison, their voices ringing out clear and strong.

"Yes, Sensei!"

Johnny nodded, his face morphing into the familiar, confident grin that had become his trademark. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back like a fighter preparing for battle. "Good." He glanced at them both one last time before his voice rang out with finality. "Now let's show these international assholes how we do things in the Valley."

Marisol exchanged a quick glance with Miguel, her pulse still racing. This was it. No more distractions. No more doubts. Tomorrow, they were going to show the world that Cobra Kai was theirs. And when they fought, they weren't just fighting for themselves. They were fighting for everything this dojo had ever stood for.

They were going to make history.

The dojo was quiet except for the sound of Marisol's breath and the rhythmic thud of her punches. The punching dummy stood in the center of the mat, its worn surface reflecting the countless blows it had absorbed over the years. Marisol stood in front of it, sweat trickling down the back of her neck as she focused on her movements. Her fists struck the dummy with force, each punch pushing her body further into the rhythm of the fight.

She was determined. She had to be.

Her body moved in fluid motion, each strike connecting with the target, but as she threw a right hook, she heard it.

"Pathetic."

The word cut through the air like a sharp knife. Marisol paused, her breath hitching for a second as she straightened up. She knew that voice.

Johnny Lawrence.

He was standing by the edge of the mat, his arms crossed, watching her intently with his usual scowl. His eyes were narrow, the intensity of his gaze making her feel like she was under a microscope.

"You call that a punch?" he asked, his voice laced with disapproval.

Marisol's stomach dropped. She had been trying so hard to get it right-she had been pushing herself, focusing on technique and form. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and nodded, trying to suppress the rising frustration inside her.

"Just a little more power next time," Johnny continued, stepping forward. "And keep your stance steady. You're off balance. You're leaving yourself open. If this was a real fight, you'd be on the ground already."

Marisol exhaled slowly, trying to stay calm. She knew Johnny could be harsh, but something about his criticism always stung. It was like he was constantly testing her, never satisfied, pushing her harder than anyone else.

"I was focusing on the technique," Marisol said, trying to explain, but Johnny shook his head, cutting her off.

"Technique is important, but without power, it's useless. You can't just rely on looking good. You need to hit hard, really hard. You're wasting your energy if you don't commit to the strike. You've gotta put everything you've got into it."

Johnny stepped closer, pointing at the dummy. "Watch this."

Without waiting for a response, he threw a punch at the dummy with a speed and power that left Marisol breathless. The dummy rocked back as if it had been hit by a truck. Johnny turned back to her, a satisfied grin on his face.

"That's what I'm talking about," he said, his tone now a little softer, but still firm. "When you punch, you punch like you mean it. Don't hold back."

Marisol felt a pang of frustration. She had been holding back. She always held back. It wasn't just the punches-there was so much more she was holding inside. She felt it when she fought, when she was with the team, when she was here, in this dojo.

"Okay, Sensei," she said quietly, her shoulders slumping for a moment.

Johnny seemed to notice, his expression softening for the briefest of moments. But only for a moment.

"Get your head back in the game, Cervantes," he said, his voice still commanding but with a hint of something else beneath the surface. "You're not here to play. You're here to fight."

Marisol inhaled deeply, letting the air fill her lungs as she squared her shoulders. She was here to fight. She wasn't just training for a tournament or for a trophy-she was training to be strong. To be powerful. To take control of her life.

She nodded, locking her gaze on the dummy again. This time, she focused not just on the form, but on the force behind her strike.

One. Two. Three punches.

She let go of everything-the doubt, the frustration, the insecurity. She put everything she had into the next strike, letting her body flow with the power Johnny had told her to harness.

The dummy rattled with the impact, and for a brief moment, she felt like she had finally hit the mark.

Johnny watched her for a beat, then gave her a small nod, a flicker of approval in his eyes.

"That's more like it," he said. "But don't stop. Keep going. Harder. Faster."

Marisol gritted her teeth and threw another punch, then another, the rhythm of the strikes slowly becoming an extension of her own energy. The sting of Johnny's earlier criticism still burned, but she was learning how to turn it into fuel. She wasn't just fighting for him, for the dojo, or for anyone else. She was fighting for herself.

And this time, she wasn't going to hold back.

The dojo was eerily quiet except for the sound of tennis balls whizzing through the air, the rubber hitting the wall with a faint "thwack" before falling to the ground. Marisol stood in the center of the mat, sweat already starting to bead on her forehead. Her posture was steady, her feet planted firmly, her hands raised in a defensive stance. The tennis ball launcher sat in the corner of the dojo, and Sam and Daniel were off to the side, watching closely.

"You ready?" Johnny's voice echoed through the dojo, his eyes sharp as he observed Marisol.

Marisol nodded. "Ready, Sensei."

Johnny didn't say anything else. Instead, he pressed a button on the machine, and the launcher hummed to life. A tennis ball shot forward, hurtling towards her. Without thinking, Marisol stepped to the side and let it pass, then immediately swept her arm in front of her, the motion fluid and practiced.

"Wax on!" Johnny called from the sidelines, his voice firm but encouraging.

Marisol snapped her arm up, the motion precise as she deflected the tennis ball with the smoothness of someone who had done this a thousand times. But there was more to it than that. Her eyes flickered momentarily to the launcher, her body poised in anticipation.

Another ball shot forward, faster this time. Without missing a beat, Marisol used the other arm in a sweeping motion. "Wax off!"

Her body moved in perfect synchronization with the action. The ball was deflected again, her movements flowing from one to the next with a seamless grace that almost seemed like second nature. She had done this before. She had practiced this technique hundreds of times. It wasn't just the basic wax-on, wax-off. It was about control. Precision. Power.

From the sidelines, Sam and Daniel exchanged a look. Sam raised an eyebrow as she watched Marisol's movements. "She's really got this down."

Daniel nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "She's learning how to harness more than just the basics. She's starting to flow with it-being one with the movements. I think Johnny's method is working."

Marisol's form was impeccable, but even so, Johnny's voice rang out again, sharper this time. "Don't get too comfortable! Keep your focus!"

The tennis balls kept coming faster now, one after the other, and Marisol's movements kept up, her arms sweeping with the precision of a seasoned fighter. Wax on, wax off. She turned on her heel, deflecting the incoming balls effortlessly, her mind completely absorbed in the rhythm of the task. Her breathing was steady, the strain of each deflection building in her muscles, but it felt different this time. She wasn't just blocking the balls. She was learning how to absorb the energy, how to let her body move in response, how to think without thinking.

Sam turned to Daniel, her expression softening with a hint of admiration. "It's impressive. She's not just following instructions. She's really learning."

Daniel watched Marisol with a quiet intensity. "Yeah. She's come a long way from when she first joined. It's not just about the physical. It's about the mental shift-about becoming one with the technique." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed something in her stance. "She's figuring out how to read her opponent's next move. I think she's starting to anticipate."

Johnny's voice broke through the air again. "You're almost there, Cervantes! Focus!"

Marisol's concentration didn't waver. Another ball shot out. This time, instead of stepping to the side, she pivoted, using her back leg to anchor herself as her arms flowed through the motions, first in a wax-on block, then a smooth wax-off, sending the ball hurtling off in a different direction. She was no longer just dodging. She was controlling the flow, redirecting the energy with a fluidity that even surprised herself.

The last tennis ball came faster, but Marisol was ready. She didn't even hesitate, moving with the precision of a master. As the ball came at her, she executed a perfect wax-on motion, deflecting it to the side with ease.

Johnny pressed a button, and the launcher powered down, the noise stopping suddenly.

Sam let out a soft whistle. "That was... that was incredible."

Daniel smiled, genuinely impressed. "She's getting there."

Marisol stood still, her breathing a little heavier now, but her stance was still strong. She wiped the sweat from her brow, looking at Johnny, waiting for his judgment.

Johnny crossed his arms, his eyes scanning her form. "Not bad. You're starting to understand how to control the energy. You're not just reacting anymore; you're moving with purpose."

Marisol's lips twitched in a smile. "Thanks, Sensei."

Johnny gave her a nod, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "We'll work on making it sharper next time. But that's the kind of progress I like to see."

Sam and Daniel approached as Marisol walked off the mat, her face flushed from the exertion. Sam clapped her on the back. "That was amazing, Marisol. You've come a long way."

Marisol's smile widened, though it was still a little breathless. "Thanks. I guess I'm starting to get the hang of it."

Daniel joined them, his eyes soft with pride. "You've earned it. Just remember, it's not about perfection. It's about consistency."

Marisol nodded, taking a deep breath as she looked at Johnny, who was watching her with his usual intensity. But this time, there was a flicker of approval behind his gaze.

"I'm ready for whatever's next," she said with determination.

Johnny's smirk grew slightly. "Good. Because this is just the beginning."

And Marisol knew it. She had started down a path, not just toward mastering karate, but toward mastering herself.

The dojo felt quieter now, the noise of intense training replaced with a quiet stillness as the team took a much-needed break. Marisol sat on the edge of the mat, towel draped over her shoulders, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her thoughts wandered as her fingers hovered over her phone, hesitating for a moment before she opened the messaging app. Axel's name lit up on the screen.

For the past month, she had been trying to reach him-texts, calls, even a few desperate voicemails. After he found out that the Sekai Taikai was being continued, Axel had disappeared from her life without so much as an explanation. He'd gone silent, and Marisol's attempts to contact him were met with nothing. Not even a simple response.

But today, her phone buzzed in her hand. Axel's name appeared on the screen. She stared at it for a few seconds, unsure whether to even open it. Her chest tightened, a mix of hope and frustration bubbling up inside her.

Finally, she tapped the message.

"Marisol, we need to talk. I think it's best if we break up. It's not you, it's... everything. I can't do this anymore. I think we're just not right for each other."

Her thumb hovered over the screen, the words sinking in. Break up? After all this time, after all the calls and messages, he waited until now to say this? No explanation, no apology, just an abrupt, impersonal text telling her they were over. It felt wrong. But there was something else beneath the anger, a bitter laugh that escaped her lips as she stared at the screen.

The worst part? She had expected it.

She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief, and tossed her phone onto the bench beside her.

Without another thought, she stood up, shaking off the sting of his words. She walked toward the back room, the frustration building as she made her way through the dojo, needing to escape for a moment. The tightness in her chest was suffocating, the rejection lingering like a bad taste in her mouth.

As she exited the back room, the door swinging shut behind her, she collided with someone.

"Whoa-sorry!" Sam's voice sounded, a little startled as she took a step back to steady herself.

Marisol's eyes widened for a split second before the air seemed to thicken between them. Sam. The person who used to know her inside and out. The person she thought she'd be with forever. But now, everything felt... different. The space between them felt too wide, too foreign.

Marisol didn't say anything at first. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something but stopped herself. Instead, she exhaled sharply, her gaze flicking to the floor for a brief second before she met Sam's eyes again.

"I think I'm done with relationships," Marisol said quietly, her voice tinged with something that wasn't quite sadness, but something close to it-resignation. Her shoulders sagged slightly as she looked past Sam, as if the weight of everything she'd been carrying was suddenly too much.

Sam frowned, her brow furrowing in concern as she studied Marisol's face. "What happened?" She stepped forward a little, her tone softening, though there was a noticeable hesitation in her voice. "Did... did Axel say something to you?"

Marisol scoffed under her breath and looked away for a second, eyes catching on the wall. Of course she'd ask about him. Her heart felt like it had cracked just a little more with each passing second of their interaction.

"Yeah, well, I finally heard from him," Marisol said bitterly, her voice colder now, the frustration laced into each word. "It's been a month. A whole month. He's been avoiding me like I'm some kind of disease. And now? Now he tells me he thinks we need to break up. Like it's just that easy." She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture, trying to guard herself against the hurt she didn't want Sam to see.

Sam's face softened, her eyes searching Marisol's with genuine concern. But Marisol felt a disconnect, a distance between them that hadn't been there before. The awkwardness of their past lingered in the air like a heavy fog.

"Marisol, I'm sorry... that really sucks," Sam said quietly, taking a tentative step forward. "But maybe he wasn't the right person for you. Maybe this is for the best."

Marisol didn't respond immediately. She just stared at Sam, the weight of their history pressing down on her. The hurt from the breakup with Sam and now this-Axel rejecting her-was like a reminder that relationships were nothing more than pain and disappointment.

"Yeah, maybe." Marisol exhaled through her nose, a slight shake of her head. "But I don't think I'm built for relationships anymore, Sam. Not after everything... I just can't keep doing this to myself."

Sam opened her mouth, as if to say something else, but hesitated. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to bridge the gap that had grown between them. She could tell Marisol wasn't ready to hear anything, not from her, and definitely not from anyone else.

"I get it," Sam said softly, her voice holding more sorrow than she'd intended. She glanced down for a moment, then back up at Marisol. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

Marisol nodded stiffly, her eyes avoiding Sam's for the most part. She couldn't let herself feel any more. Not now. Not after everything she'd already been through.

"Yeah," Marisol muttered, her voice flat. "I will."

As Marisol walked away from Sam, she could feel her chest tightening again, the weight of the emotions she'd been suppressing for so long suddenly crashing back to the surface. Axel's words echoed in her head, but she forced herself to shut it out. She was done. Done with relationships. Done with the disappointment. Done with the endless hope that things would be different.

She was done.

Later that night, the house was quiet, the air thick with the kind of tension that always seemed to linger after an emotional storm. Marisol had spent the rest of the evening in her room, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Axel's breakup text. Sam's concerned look earlier. It all felt like too much, too fast. But the one thing she hadn't done yet was talk to her little sister, Mila.

Mila was sitting on her bed, playing with her phone when Marisol knocked on the doorframe, leaning against it. Her younger sister didn't even look up, too engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

"Mila," Marisol said, her voice softer than she intended. "Can we talk?"

Mila finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. She gestured lazily to the empty space on her bed. "Yeah, sure, come in. What's up?"

Marisol stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts, but her heart still felt heavy. "I... I broke up with Axel."

Mila blinked, completely unfazed. "Yeah? So?"

Marisol felt a flicker of irritation. "Mila, don't you care?"

Mila shrugged, her gaze shifting back to her phone. "Not really. I mean, first it was Sam, then Eli, then back to Sam, then back to Eli, then Peter, who you found out was gay, and now Axel. Who's next? Back to Sam or Eli again?"

Marisol's blood ran hot at her little sister's bluntness. "Excuse me?" she snapped, her voice rising. "This isn't some game where I'm just hopping from one person to the next. It's-"

Mila interrupted her, still not looking up from her phone. "It's just like it always is. One person after another. You never seem to stick with anyone, so I'm wondering if you're just gonna do the whole thing again-go back to one of your exes or get some new guy to distract you for a while."

Marisol's hands balled into fists at her sides, her chest tightening with a mixture of anger and frustration. "You don't get it, Mila," she said, her voice shaking. "It's not about just 'moving on' or whatever. Axel-he wasn't what I thought. And I'm tired of being treated like a damn joke every time something goes wrong. You think I like this? You think I want to keep getting hurt over and over?"

Mila's face was still unreadable, and her eyes flicked briefly to her sister, unamused. "You do this to yourself, Marisol. Every single time. You're the one who gets so wrapped up in these people and these relationships, and then you wonder why they never work out. Maybe it's because you're not looking for the right reasons."

Marisol's anger flared up, but before she could say anything more, she turned on her heel, her voice barely controlled. "You don't know anything. You're too young to understand."

Mila didn't say anything else. She just stared at her phone, as if she hadn't said anything hurtful at all. As if it was just another comment that didn't matter.

The silence between them was suffocating. Marisol's breathing was heavy, her emotions swirling as she turned toward the door.

"I'm done, Mila," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm done with all of it."

Without waiting for a response, Marisol yanked the door open and stormed out of the room, slamming it behind her. She didn't care that Mila was still on her bed, still absorbed in her phone. She didn't care about anything at that moment, except getting away from her sister's cold, dismissive attitude.

She needed to be alone. To not think about Axel. To not think about Sam, Eli, or anyone else. Just for a moment, she needed to breathe without all the expectations weighing down on her.

Marisol didn't stop until she was in her own room, slamming the door shut behind her. She collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling, her chest tight with emotions she didn't know how to release.

ASH SPEAKS!!!

argh im beginning to hate a lot of the choices i made for this book... i blame the fact i made this book when i was 14

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!!!!!
COMMENT AND VOTE. IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:) STOP BEING A GHOST READER

STOP BEING A GHOST READER AND PLEASE VOTE!! STOP BEING ANNOYING AND JUST VOTE AND COMMENT

STOP BEING A GHOST READER!!
i'm sorry for all the notifications but us writers work hard on these chapters. i know i ask this a lot, but i really don't like ghost readers because i work super hard on these chapters so when i see views going up but votes are not... its hard for my motivation!