𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 2.8k

━━━━━━━━━━

𝐆𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 burpees she had done. Every single one of her muscles was screaming in agony, aching with every movement that jostled her body—all because some shithead had decided to destroy the Miyagi-Do dojo the night before. And instead of doing the necessary work to track down the actual perpetrator, Sensei Lawrence had the brilliant idea to torture them all until the truth came to light. If her lungs didn't feel like they were literally on fire, Gwen would have gladly let him know just how unfair this was to the genuinely innocent. Or more specifically, how unfair it was to her.

"This could all be over in an instant. The decision's yours! Who trashed the Miyagi Dojo?" Sensei Lawrence questioned tauntingly, weaving amongst the panting students of his dojo. When he was met with nothing but pained groans, he continued on. "Y'all know I'm not a fan of LaRusso's, but that sort of bullshit we don't teach in here. At least not anymore."

Beside her, stupid ass Rickenberger took a moment to catch his breath. He wiped his face with the back of his arm, then shook the sweat from his hair like a fucking animal. In doing so, little droplets went flying everywhere; Gwen even felt a few graze her cheek, causing her to recoil. "Ew, Rickenberger," she hissed, scrubbing harshly at her face with the sleeve of her gi.

"What?" he asked, dumbly.

"You just flung sweat on me. That's what," she snapped, still talking low enough for the Senseis to not hear. "If I wanted to be in the splash zone, I would've asked."

"Sorry..." he mumbled, going back to his burpees just to avoid meeting her eyes.

Sensei Lawrence had stopped at the front of the class again, his expectant gaze prompting Gwen to busy herself with tightening her ponytail before she got right back into her workout. "So, I'm gonna ask you again... Who trashed Miyagi-Do?" he demanded of the group.

That kind of old, random newbie started blubbering out a completely unnecessary response. "It was not me, Sensei. I would never disrespect another man's dojo–"

"Shut your cakehole, Chubs," Sensei Lawrence said, brusquely. "I'm not looking for excuses. I'm looking for answers!"

"Sensei, we really don't know who did it," Miguel pleaded. Gwen swore she could hear a hint of a wheeze in his staggered breaths, but it was probably only because of the newfound knowledge of his inhaler's existence. Wouldn't this be the perfect time to use that, by the way? she pondered. She found herself becoming curious, but decidedly kept it to herself.

"Somebody knows something," Kreese insisted over Sensei Lawrence's shoulder. "Question is... who's gonna break?"

A tense silence hung in the air before being splintered by the shrill ring of a phone from the back office. "Keep going!" Sensei Lawrence instructed, firmly. "We can do this all day!"

However, the minute he stepped out of the room, Penis Breath made a beeline for Kreese. "Sensei, we need a water break," he pleaded, sweat pouring down his reddened face.

The older man studied the class, his beady eyes following their continuous up-and-down. Gwen held onto whatever breath she had left, just waiting for him to make it worse somehow. "Two-minute break!" he abruptly announced. Immediate sighs of relief replaced the pained grunts and groans that had previously filled the room. Slowly, everyone stood on wobbly legs and stumbled over to the nearest available water. "Get your bearings..." Kreese muttered, visibly disappointed.

Gwen took a few big gulps from her hot pink water bottle. The icy water soothed her scratchy throat, but did little to actually cool her off. She could still feel the warmth radiating off of her skin. And standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other overheated students of Cobra Kai probably wasn't helping, but it was basically unavoidable in the cramped, strip mall dojo.

Matters only got worse when Sensei Lawrence suddenly left for some personal emergency and Kreese moved the entire group into the back dojo—a dark workout room that was only a step up from a dungeon, filled to the brim with stinky lockers, punching bags, battle ropes, and rusty, second-hand weights. Just a few minutes with the ropes had Gwen desperately missing the burpees. Her only reprieve was when she was able to slow down in order to wipe the sweat from getting in her eyes. Otherwise, Kreese would yell at her like some deranged drill sergeant. "Keep going!" he would say. "I have all day."

Miguel groaned aloud, equal parts pained and annoyed. "He's really not gonna let up. We gotta figure out who did it."

"I bet it was Shit Breath," Tory muttered, her eyes shooting daggers at the boy as he struggled through another round of push-ups. However, the accusation startled him out of the routine, his hands pushing him up onto bent knees.

"Hey, screw you," he snapped, lifting himself up to his full height.

Tory dropped her ropes and stepped towards him intimidatingly. "What'd you say?"

"You wanna do this right now?" he challenged, lunging forward before Eli and Miguel caught him by the gi.

"Stop!" Kreese snarled. "Save the fighting for the tournament."

"Are you kidding?" Gwen huffed. "We're wasting so much time doing pointless, repetitive workouts just because some dumbass vandalized Miyagi-Do. If we keep this up, we're not gonna be ready for the tournament at all. Like, are we ever going to actually do karate?"

Kreese swaggered to the front of the impromptu classroom, a cold, hard smile on his lips. "Fine. You wanna know who did it?"

Unsure if the question was rhetorical, the group stood in silence. The only sound that could be heard was their heaving breaths from every corner of the room.

"It was Hawk," he announced, waving a hand towards him with grandeur. Immediately, every pair of eyes was on the boy in question, dissecting him and tearing him apart in their minds. But before anyone could get a single seething word out, Kreese continued. "And it was Diaz. And Villanueva. And it was Nichols, Chubs, Robinson..." he trailed off. "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."

Gwen frowned, her arms crossing tightly in front of her. She was acutely aware when Kreese's beady eyes narrowed. "Main dojo. Five minutes," he instructed. Then, as if he was speaking solely to her, he said, "You're about to begin your real training."

━━━━━━━━━━

If a real fight is what Gwen was searching for, Kreese certainly brought it. She was primed at the edge of the mat, eagerly propped up on her knees as she watched Tory and Penis Breath go back and forth in front of the group. Gwen's fists, which were held behind her back, instinctively clenched with every blow Tory delivered. It wasn't until he was in a heap on the ground that the muscles in her hands finally relaxed.

"Point!" Miguel declared, stepping forward and flashing his red flag in the air.

Kreese blinked, his gaze darting between the two fighters. "Hit him again," he demanded. Uncertainty drew creases across Tory's face, wrinkling the space between her eyebrows. "Do you have a problem with that?" Kreese asked when he noticed her hesitation. "A fight isn't over until your enemy is finished. You show your enemy no mercy."

Penis Breath whimpered pitifully from the floor, causing Tory to nervously wipe her palms against the rough material of her gi. Her head bobbed in a brief, but distinct, nod before she readied herself for the attack.

But right as Tory lunged forward to finish her opponent off, Miguel shouted, "Wait!" The dojo went still, all the building energy coming to an abrupt halt. He seemed totally unaffected by all the attention on him; all he seemed to care about was holding Kreese's intense stare. "This isn't what Sensei Lawrence has been teaching us," he said with a jutted jaw.

Kreese's head tilted slowly. "Excuse me?"

"There's no honor in being merciless," Miguel continued. "Tory scored a point. It's over."

Kreese's lips twisted in disgust before settling into a firm line. "Sensei Lawrence is right, of course. In a tournament, the fighting stops when you land a point," he started, strolling over to Miguel. "But in the real world, it's not about scoring points. It's about being a winner... or a loser. And there are no losers in this dojo."

Miguel gave a curt nod of understanding and stepped back to the edge of the mat without another word. Gwen glanced around the room, trying to gauge the others' reactions. She had initially felt a swell of pride at Kreese's words, but something strange and shadowy curled around the edges of her ego. It was weird, to feel like you could float out of the room if it wasn't for the heavy pit in your stomach. Her lips twisted into an uncomfortable grimace as she sat with the two opposing feelings.

Her solution to this bout of internal conflict?

She bounced over to Miguel after practice with her ponytail swinging cartoonishly, then flirtatiously perched a hand on his... somewhat scrawny bicep. "Y'know, that was so cool. Standing up to Kreese and all," she cooed, batting her eyelashes.

Miguel peered at her from over his shoulder, his eyebrows knitted together. "Thanks?" he replied, his confusion evident on his face. Gwen's eyes went all wide and a little crazy, trying to telepathically remind him about their plan and threaten him if he didn't go along with it. Upon realization, he glanced skittishly around the room and straightened his back, puffing out his chest. "Right, thanks," he repeated in a deep voice.

Her grin returned then, smoothing across on her face. She lowered her eyes in an attempt to look bashful and toed at a smudge on the mat. "Lean in and whisper something in my ear," she demanded through smiley, gritted teeth.

It took Miguel a second to process her words, but once he did, he bent toward her easily. He was close enough to smell the hint of jasmine that wafted from her hair, the scent of it making his stomach feel all weird and jittery. "Why are we doing this here?" he asked, quietly. His dark eyes fixated on the row of piercings that lined her ear, in need of somewhere specific to look.

Gwen turned her head ever so slightly, a warm puff of air drifting across his neck in the process. "Just trust me. Girls talk, and once Tory and Aisha see..." she started, discreetly peeking over his shoulder. "It's only a matter of time until it makes it back to Sam."

"You're already weirdly good at this," Miguel murmured, the smirk in his tone nearly audible.

The laugh that she let out probably sounded way more forced than she intended for it to, but she hoped that the playful smack on his arm was a good enough diversion for any and all onlookers. "Wish I could say the same for you..." she teasingly hummed, crossing her arms and rocking back on her heels.

Miguel's jaw dropped, his face displaying his fake outrage perfectly. "Oh, that's cold..." he muttered. He was unable to mask the amusement that hid right below the surface, though.

"Arctic, even?" Gwen shot back, unaware that her giggles were turning genuine.

"Hey. you said it, not me," he said through a cheesy smile.

The conversation lulled comfortably, but when their gazes locked for a second longer than what they were used to, Gwen blinked rapidly, her eyelashes fluttering like she was trying to cancel it out somehow. Miguel's mouth popped open to say something, to fill the now-awkward silence, but when no sound escaped, Gwen beat him to the punch. "You want a ride home?" She took a slow step back towards the door, casually hitching a thumb over her shoulder.

Despite knowing full-well that this was in their informal contract, his eyebrows still shot up in surprise. Like he was truly shocked that she was actually following through on her word. "That... That would be great."

Gwen hiked her gym bag up on her shoulder. "You ready to go, then?"

"Yeah, totally," he nodded, following her towards the front.

The two of them had just slipped through the glass double doors leading out to the parking lot when they heard someone call out Miguel's name from over their shoulders. Both of them turned just in time to see Eli jogging to a halt at the edge of the sidewalk. "What are..." he trailed off, his eyes taking a moment to register the duo in front of him. A breathless chuckle seemed to bubble out of him before he got a chance to hold it in. "What are you guys doing?" he asked, sounding like a father who caught his kids sneaking out.

Miguel's wide eyes confusedly met Gwen's from across the hood of her car. "Uh... Gwen's driving me home," he answered, nonchalantly.

"Why?" Eli demanded, the smile on his face lacking any actual warmth. He still hadn't spared a glance over at Gwen yet. "I mean, don't you usually take your bike?"

"I offered to take him home," she spoke up, despite not having been spoken to. Eli's intense blue eyes darted in the direction of her voice. "It's insanely hot out today, so I figured he shouldn't be out in the sun for very long."

"Plus, Sensei Lawrence drove me here and... dipped out early today, so..."

She could see the rise and fall of Eli's Adam's apple from a few paces away. "Right, of course," he said with a shrug. It seemed like he couldn't return his gaze to Miguel fast enough. "I'll text you later, alright?"

Miguel's lips curved into a subtle smile. Meanwhile, Gwen felt like she could barely breathe, hoping and praying that she seemed as casual as possible. To raise any suspicions of the nature of her relationship with Miguel now could ruin everything.

"Sounds good," he nodded, completely oblivious to the underlying current in front of him. He popped the passenger door open and waved to his friend before sliding inside. "Later, man!"

Gwen said nothing this time, but mirrored his wave to Eli. He didn't move from his spot on the sidewalk. Her heart clenched as she drove away with Miguel, with the sight of Eli still standing stagnantly reflected in her rearview mirror. Completely alone.

━━━━━━━━━━

"So, did I see you leaving practice with Miguel yesterday?" Tory asked with wiggling eyebrows. She, Aisha, and Gwen walked into the dojo, ringing the bell above the door as they entered and announcing their presence. Once they had kicked their shoes off, the two of them naturally strolled over to Eli, whose gaze had lifted to meet them as soon as they were within view.

"Yes..." Gwen replied, drawing each letter out. A wide grin pulled back the corners of her lips despite her feigned indifference. "But he just needed a ride home."

Tory scoffed, her black-lined eyes rolling as a disbelieving laugh bubbled out of her. "Bullshit."

Gwen tore into a scandalized gasp, reeling back and smacking Tory on the arm as she did so.

"What's bullshit?" Eli chimed in from the mat once they were close enough. He peered up at them mid-stretch, looking over one of the thick pillars of his mohawk.

"Gwen's saying that the ride home that she gave Miguel yesterday meant absolutely nothing," Tory told him, using a taunting, flighty tone for her friend's voice.

"'Cause it didn't mean anything!" Gwen retorted, defensively.

Eli's jaw tensed, his eyes swiftly refocusing on his stretches. "Sounds like bullshit to me," he grumbled, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Oblivious, Tory's hands shot up victoriously. "Thank you!"

But Gwen was still holding her ground. "It is not!"

"What, so you guys standing in the corner whispering and giggling before you left together was just a coincidence?" Aisha asked, all sarcastic and rhetorical.

The silence in response was deafening. Gwen twisted her lips into an indignant line, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. Internally, however, she was jumping up and down, doing somersaults, and waving an imaginary set of pompoms. Everything was going according to plan—so much so, that Tory and Aisha actually believed it. If she could convince them, she could convince anyone.

"Whatever," she gritted out, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Even through her disgruntled act, Gwen couldn't help but steal glances at Eli out of the corner of her eye. Getting Tory and Aisha to believe in her and Miguel was one thing, but Eli was a whole other beast. His averted eyes were doing very little to divulge his inner thoughts, but Gwen thought she could see the tension rippling below his shoulders, making the hawk on his back look a little deformed from the angle she was at. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light, accentuated by her own hopeful delusions.

Gwen refused to entertain that possibility for more than just a few seconds.