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Flashback
July 2017; Cheyenne Frontier Days; Cheyenne, WY 

"Mom! Mom!" Ava Walker heard as she brushed her trusted horse, Life in the Fast Lane.

She turned her head, sunlight catching the loose waves of her golden hair like a halo, and smiled—soft, luminous, like a dream plucked from another era. Her aura was gentle yet magnetic, the kind of beauty that made people pause. And there they were—her whole world—walking toward her with warm smiles that mirrored her own: Nathan, tall and steady in his worn jeans and boots, his presence commanding yet tender; Stella, whose beauty was identical to her mother's, with long dark hair and bright, captivating eyes; and August, boyish grin full of pride.

"You be careful out there, honey," Nathan said, his deep voice carrying that reassuring steadiness she had fallen in love with. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his warmth as if he could shield her from everything outside this moment.

"You know I will," Ava whispered with that signature Sharon Tate softness, her lips curling into a tender smile as her arms slid around his neck. Their foreheads nearly touched, and for a second, time stilled.

"Good luck out there, Mom," Stella beamed, throwing her arms around her mother. "You know you're the best barrel racer around."

"You're better than Lisa Lockhart any day," August added proudly, hugging her tight like he never wanted to let go.

"Thank you, my precious angels," Ava said, her voice a lilting melody of love as she gathered both children close. "But remember—it's about doing what you love, not about a trophy. Always, always remember that."

They lingered in that embrace a moment longer—Nathan's hand resting at the small of her back, his jaw tightening with pride and something unspoken, as if he couldn't quite shake the flicker of unease in his gut.

Then, with a last smile and the tilt of her cowgirl hat, Ava walked toward the tunnel, her presence radiant, almost unreal. Nathan, Stella, and August made their way to the stands with Janette, laughter and chatter soft against the roar of the crowd. They never imagined how quickly everything could shatter.

"From Austin, Texas—Ava Walker and Life in the Fast Lane!" the announcer's voice boomed. Cheers erupted, the energy electric.

Ava leaned forward, ready to launch into the run, when it happened—sudden and sharp. The horse spooked.

Gasps sliced through the arena as Life in the Fast Lane bucked hard. Ava's grip slipped; her body pitched sideways. Before anyone could process it, she was on the ground—except her spur had caught in the stirrup.

The horse bolted.

And Ava—golden, graceful Ava—was dragged across the dirt, her body whipping against the ground as the crowd screamed.

"No—no!" Nathan's voice ripped through the chaos as he leapt to his feet, eyes wide with horror. He reached for the railing like he could tear it down with his bare hands, like he could rip her out of danger by sheer force of will.

Stella froze, her heart hammering, her breath a ragged gasp. August's blood turned to ice, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

Then—finally—her foot broke free. Relief surged for the briefest second—before her body slammed into the steel chute with bone-crushing force. Her head snapped back against the metal. The sound was sickening.

Nathan's face—once lit with pride and love—twisted into pure, soul-crushing terror. His chest heaved as he fought against the arms holding him back. Stella and August clung to him, sobbing, as their grandmother Janette wrapped her arms around them in a desperate attempt to hold the family together.

"This young lady may be hurt!" the announcer's voice rang out, shaking. "Paramedics are on their way in."

"Mom!" Stella's scream shattered, raw and broken, as she tried to bolt toward the arena. Nathan's arms locked around her trembling frame, his own body shaking as tears burned his eyes. August's voice cracked as he choked out, "Mom—Mom!"

But deep down—in the hollow silence between their pounding hearts—they all knew.

This was the end.

Three days later, St. David's Medical Center, Austin. Ava lay still, a haunting echo of the woman who once glowed like sunlight. The monitors hummed softly, cruelly indifferent. A subdural hematoma. No signs of waking.

Nathan stood at her bedside, his broad shoulders hunched, tears trailing down the stubble on his jaw. His hand cradled hers, rough and calloused, gripping as if sheer strength could anchor her to this world.

When the decision came, it was Nathan's voice that broke—hoarse and strangled—as he told the doctors to remove life support. His whole being felt ripped apart, but he did it because she would have wanted him to.

The funeral blurred into shadows and muted prayers. And then—they packed up everything. The ranch. The dreams. The laughter. Gone.

They left Texas behind for the San Fernando Valley. A new place. A new life. But some things—some losses—never let go.

_____

Present Day
— San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles, CA, August 2017

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 AM when the alarm clock on Johnny Lawrence's bedside table began to buzz. The blonde reached over, and slapped the snooze button hard enough to almost break it. Sitting up, bleary-eyed, he grabbed the Coors Banquet bottle on the table and took a swig—only to spit it back into the bottle with a disgusted grunt. Warm beer. Great start.

Dragging himself out of bed, he pulled on a tee shirt, jeans, and a flannel. In the kitchen, he slapped a few slices of bologna in a skillet, drowning them in hot sauce before tossing them on bread. Breakfast of champions.

He opened the fridge, shoving the bologna back in, and his eyes caught the photo of Robby taped to the door—his kid, the one he hadn't seen in sixteen years. The guilt hit like it always did. Johnny muttered under his breath and slammed the fridge shut, settling at the table with his plate and the TV remote. Iron Eagle flickered to life on the screen. Perfect.

In the neighboring Reseda apartment, widower Nathan Walker, a legendary Texas Ranger, stood in his own kitchen, making breakfast for his children, the smell of coffee mingling with the sizzle of bacon. The man looked every inch the Texas lawman even off duty—broad-shouldered, rugged in worn jeans and a gray button down that fit like it was made for him. A Stetson sat on the counter within arm's reach.

He moved with quiet authority as he flipped pancakes, the kind of man whose presence filled the room without trying. But when he turned to his kids, his hard edges softened.

"Breakfast, y'all," he said, voice low and warm with that Texas drawl.

Stella walked in first—twenty-six, brunette, effortlessly stunning with her dark hair cascading over a simple tee and jeans. She had her mother's grace, and that same quiet strength that made heads turn. Behind her came August, sixteen, all energy and curiosity. They sat, plates filling quickly. For a moment, the kitchen felt almost normal.

Later, the siblings stepped outside with a trash bag each. The California sun was already beating down as they crossed the lot toward the bins—right as a blonde guy in a beat-up tee came out of the neighboring unit with his own trash.

Johnny.

His swagger was all muscle memory—confident, cocky, with that permanent I-don't-give-a-damn smirk. But then he saw her.

Stella.

For a second, something shifted behind his blue eyes—just a flicker. He wasn't prepared for her, the way sunlight lit her hair, the calm confidence in her posture. Not Valley trash. Not like anyone he'd met in this dump.

"Hi, I'm August," the teen said brightly, oblivious to the tension humming in the air. "This is my older sister, Stella. We just moved into 109."

Johnny blinked, dragging his eyes off Stella and locking them on the kid instead. Sarcasm was easier than feelings. "Great. More immigrants," he shot back, voice dripping with Cobra Kai attitude.

Stella froze mid-step, her head snapping toward him, eyes narrowing like daggers. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, asshole?"

Johnny smirked, slow and lazy, trying to shake off that gut punch attraction with bravado. "Don't worry about it, princess."

Stella rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck. California already sucked, and this guy? He was the cherry on top. Except... damn it. He was infuriating. And hot. Which made him even more infuriating.

"Actually, we're from Texas," August cut in as they trailed behind Johnny toward the bins. "Anyways, I was wondering if you're having trouble with your water pressure, cause I know our sink has been acting weird and..." he started but was cut off, when Johnny put the trash in the wrong bin. "Oh, bottles go in the blue ones."

"Listen, cowboy," Johnny cut him off, shoving his trash into the wrong bin without a glance. "I've lived in this shithole over ten years. The pipes don't work, and every fountain's full of piss. The only good thing about this place? I don't gotta talk to anybody. So—" he grabbed his toolbox— "nice knowing you."

"Okay, well... have a nice day... I guess," Stella muttered, rolling her eyes again before stalking back toward the apartment. Under her breath: "Perfect welcoming committee."

Johnny watched her go for a second too long, jaw tight, before turning away like he didn't care. But something about her—Texas drawl, fire in her eyes—burned into his head and wouldn't leave.

He leaned against his firebird, toolbox still in hand, pretending to check the tires while his eyes drifted back to the apartment. Stella moved inside, dark hair catching the sunlight for a split second before the door shut behind her.

Something in his chest tightened—a feeling he hadn't felt in years, maybe ever. She wasn't like the plastic Valley girls he was used to; there was grit in her, fire in her eyes when she called him an asshole, and for some reason, that made his pulse kick. Damn it, Lawrence, he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. Don't start something you can't finish. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the image of her—strong, beautiful, untouchable—and now living right next door.

Back inside, Nathan looked up from the counter as his kids came in. "Hey, who was that guy?"

"Grouchy neighbor," Stella said, flopping onto the couch. "Doesn't talk to anyone."

Nathan grabbed his keys and his hat, settling the Stetson on his head like it belonged there. The authority in his voice left no room for argument, but the tenderness softened the edges. "Well, I'm heading out. Y'all gonna be okay?"

"We'll be fine, Dad," August said. Then, with a smirk: "But you seriously think it's a good idea wearing your cowboy hat in the Valley?"

Nathan's lips tugged into a slow smile. "Hey, we may not live in Texas anymore, and I may be the chief of police—but I'll always be a Texas Ranger." He touched the brim of his hat with that easy confidence. "Love you both."

"Love you too," Stella said quietly, eyes lingering on him. He was their rock. Their anchor. The only thing keeping this new world from spinning out of control.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Later in the day, August was unpacking boxes in his room, music humming faintly through the wall. Stella sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by half-open boxes. As she pulled out framed photos, her breath caught when her fingers brushed against one in particular—a picture of her and Ava, taken just a few months before the accident.

It was a black-and-white photo, worn at the edges from years of being touched, cherished, and carried from one home to another. In it, Ava was radiant in the way only someone truly alive could be—long, silken hair tumbling over her shoulders, sunlight caught in every strand. Her smile was soft yet dazzling, the kind that could calm storms, framed by full lips and bright, soulful soft and full of the kind of love that made you feel safe in a world that wasn't. Stella stared at that photo now, tracing her mother's face with trembling fingers.

She wore a loose blouse that fell gracefully over her frame, the fabric slipping casually from one shoulder like she'd been caught mid-moment, not posing, just being. In her arms rested a cluster of delicate flowers—wild, untamed, as if she'd just plucked them from the earth. A simple band gleamed on her finger, grounding all that ethereal beauty in the warmth of real love.

The photo breathed elegance, tenderness, and a quiet strength—a woman who lit up every room without even trying. To anyone else, it was a beautiful picture. To Stella, it was her mother, her best friend, frozen in a moment that would never come back.

The ache hit hard, like someone had hollowed out her chest. She missed her laugh, her quiet strength, the way she always smelled like lavender and sun-warmed leather. They had been inseparable—best friends, not just mother and daughter—and now it was just... silence.

Her throat burned as she blinked hard, swallowing down the tears threatening to spill. God, Mom... I don't know how to do this without you.

A soft knock broke the silence. "It's open," she said quickly, forcing her voice steady as she slid the photo into her nightstand drawer like hiding it could hide the pain.

August peeked in, grinning. "Hey, wanna check out that mini-mart? Besides, I could go for a Pepsi."

Stella gave a weak laugh. "How are we even siblings? Pepsi's too sweet. If you're gonna drink soda, drink Coke. And yes, let's check out the mini-mart. Besides, I'm sick at my stomach anyway."

"Stell, you—"

"August, it's just nerves. One thing I forgot to have Dad put on the grocery list was Pepto." She stood, smoothing her jeans like that could smooth out the ache inside her, and followed her brother out the door.

The mini-mart was a few blocks away, the late afternoon heat shimmering on the asphalt. When they pushed open the door, the smell of greasy pizza and stale coffee hit them—and so did the sight of Johnny Lawrence.

He was leaning on the counter, smirk in place, ordering like the world owed him something.
"That one," he said, jabbing a finger at a pizza slice. "Aren't you gonna wear gloves? Can you put that on a plate? C'mon—what's Spanish for just give me my damn slice?"

The cashier muttered something in Spanish, eyes narrowed. Then he glanced at the Walker siblings and said, "Puto idiota. Probablemente tenía una pequeña polla."

Johnny's head whipped toward August and Stella, irritation written all over his face—but when his eyes landed on Stella, the world tilted for a second.

She looked different here, softer somehow, her hair brushing over her shoulder as she tried to hold back a laugh. And damn if that laugh didn't punch him right in the chest. The same feeling from earlier slammed into him—unexpected, raw, dangerous.

But feelings were for losers. So he masked it with attitude, like always. "What'd he say?" Johnny demanded.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," August snickered, barely containing his grin.

"Look, I know it's something bad. Just tell me."

"He said you have a tiny dick," Stella said, deadpan.

"He said I have a tiny wang? Tell him he has a tiny wang," Johnny shot back without missing a beat.

"I speak English, asshole," the cashier snapped.

"Oh really?" Johnny fired back, voice dripping with sarcasm as he grabbed his slice and stormed out.

As August was paying, a group of boys swaggered into the shop, heading straight for the beer cooler. One was tall with slick black hair, another chubbier with curly red hair, a third skinny with pale freckles, and the last dark-skinned with short cropped hair.

"They look like they're in high school," August muttered under his breath.

The clerk caught that and barked, "Hey! Put the beer down or I'm calling the cops."

"What the hell, man?" the tall one snapped, whirling around. "Why you gotta blow my spot?" Before August could respond, the kid shoved him hard toward the door.

August stumbled, nearly losing his footing as Stella grabbed his arm. "Dude, I—"

"He thought we were in college!" the boy snarled, voice dripping with fake innocence.

"I didn't know you were trying to buy beer! I'm sorry!" August stammered.

The boy sneered and shoved August again—this time harder—sending him sprawling into the patch of grass outside.

"Leave him alone, you stupid asshole!" Stella shouted, storming after them.

"Ohhh, look who's got a mouth on her," the tall boy smirked, swaggering toward her. He plucked the Pepto Bismol from August's hand and held it up like a trophy. "What's this? Pepto? Should we start calling you Rhea?"

"Give it back, dude," August said, still trying to keep the peace.

But Stella had had enough. Her jaw tightened, and without hesitation, she snatched the bottle out of the guy's hand and hurled it at one of his friends, narrowly missing his ear.

"It's obvious politeness doesn't work around here, August," she snapped. "They're a bunch of self-centered assholes who wouldn't know respect if it smacked them in the face."

"Ohhh, hottie's got a temper," the tall boy teased, grinning wide. "That's exactly how I like 'em."

"I don't give a flying fuck how you like them, dipshit. I'm too old for you." Stella's eyes burned as she crossed her arms. "Besides—I like cowboys."

"Asshole," August mumbled under his breath.

"What'd you just say, Rhea?" The tall boy grabbed August by the shirt and slammed a fist into his gut.

"That's brutal, Kyler," one of the boys said, though his smirk said otherwise.

"Get the fuck away from him!" Stella shouted, her rage snapping loose. She charged forward and drove her fist square into Kyler's jaw. The crack echoed.

Kyler staggered back, eyes wild. "Did you just hit me?"

"What are you gonna do about it?" Stella shot back, shoving August behind her like a shield.

Kyler lunged. Stella dodged—graceful, fast—and he slammed into a parked car instead.

"Hey! Watch the car, man!" Johnny shouted

"Who the hell is this dude?" one of the punks sneered.

"Just leave the girl and her brother alone," Johnny said coolly, stepping closer. "You don't hit girls. Ever."

Kyler sneered. "What?"

"You see this guy? Eating his dinner at the mini-mart like a bum." The chubbier boy said causing the others to laugh.

"Wait—I think I know this dude," Kyler smirked, snapping his fingers. "He's the jerk-off that cleaned my dad's septic tank."

"At least this guy has a job, unlike you rich prick jerk-offs, who have to rely on mommy and daddy's money to get what you want." Stella spat, earning a grin from Johnny.

"That explains why he smells like shit," the chubby boy taunted.

Johnny's smirk faded. "Trust me," he said, stepping right into Kyler's space, voice low and dangerous. "You're pissing off the wrong guy on the wrong day. Last warning. Walk away."

"Really? Get out of here, loser." Kyler shoved him.

Big mistake.

Johnny gave Stella a quick wink, then pivoted and snapped a roundhouse kick across Kyler's face, dropping him flat. Chaos exploded. Two others rushed him—Johnny blocked and countered like it was second nature. A jab to the ribs. A kick to the knee. They went down hard.

The chubby kid tackled him from behind, driving Johnny into the hood of a car. Johnny grunted, slammed his elbow into the kid's gut, and sent him sprawling.

Stella froze for a second, heart pounding, then—"Holy shit," August breathed. "How did you—"

"Look out!" Stella shouted.

Kyler was back, grabbing Johnny around the waist, hauling him up in a headlock. Johnny gasped, ribs aching. Kyler sneered, "What's the matter, old man? Trouble breathing?"

Johnny rammed an elbow into his stomach, flipped him over his shoulder, and landed hard on the pavement, spinning back to his feet. "Is that all you got, ladies?"

The other boys hesitated. Sirens wailed in the distance.

"Let's just go," the chubby one muttered, tugging at Kyler.

But Kyler wasn't done. He lunged again—only to slam into Stella, who planted both hands on his chest and shoved with everything she had. He hit the ground, coughing.

"You ever met a pissed-off Southern woman?" Stella hissed, towering over him. "Congratulations. You just did."

Johnny's grin spread slow and dangerous. Yeah. This girl wasn't just beautiful—she was trouble. The best kind.

Before Kyler could lunge again, Johnny grabbed him, locked an arm around his neck, and squeezed. "What's the matter?" he mocked, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Having trouble breathing?"

That's when the sirens cut sharp, and a voice barked, "Get off the kid!"

A cop barreled in, grabbed Johnny by the arm, and pepper-sprayed him full in the face.

Johnny roared in pain, stumbling back. Stella screamed, "No! It's not his fault! He was helping us!"

"Sir, put your hands behind your back!"

"No! It's not his fault!" August shouted. "He helped us!" Stella shouted

"You two need to go home," the officer ordered, dragging Johnny toward the squad car.

Stella stood frozen, chest heaving. Johnny turned his head just before they shoved him inside, eyes locking with hers. For one suspended beat, everything stilled—sirens, shouts, the ache in her chest. It was just his eyes, burning into hers, and the spark that flared between them.

And then he was gone.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Stella had been tossing and turning all night. As much as her body tried willing her to sleep, her mind was just not having it. Her hands clutched the pink sheets that once belonged to her mother, and her eyes had been closed, but she couldn't get that sexy blonde man out of her mind. She didn't even know his name.

Every time she came close to sleep, she would see those hypnotic blue eyes of the mini-mart stranger piercing through her soul, and hearing her mother's favorite tune, Sweet Dreams of You, didn't help matters any. She and her brother might not be alive had it not been for him.

That is precisely why, the very next morning, when the beautiful brunette got out of bed, she had the clear intentions of sitting by the living room window and waiting for the man to return.

"August, he's back!" Stella called out to her brother, as she checked her hair in the mirror, then opened the door to see Johnny walking to his apartment.

Johnny pretended not to notice the rush in her voice or the way her dark hair caught the sunlight. But he noticed. Damn, did he notice.

"August, he's back!" Stella called out to her brother, as she checked her hair in the mirror, then opened the door to see Johnny walking to his apartment.

As she closed the door behind her, August bounded forward. "Hey, I just wanted to thank you," he said. Stella fell into step beside them, her eyes never leaving Johnny.

"All right, well, you said it," Johnny replied gruffly, heading for his door. He kept his tone flat, but he snuck a glance at Stella. Damn, she was gorgeous.

"So last night, was that, like, Tae Kwon Do, or jujitsu, or MMA or something?" August asked.

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. "It's karate. Old school karate." He tried to sound casual, but his chest swelled a little under Stella's gaze.

"You think you could teach me?" August pressed.

"What? No." Johnny shook his head, but part of him liked the idea. Maybe the kid wasn't completely hopeless.

"What? Come on, when school starts, those guys are gonna make my life miserable, and they're gonna talk about how hot my sister is." August gagged at the thought.

Johnny's jaw ticked. The idea of punks mouthing off about Stella didn't sit right with him. But all he said was, "It's not my problem," before grabbing his mail.

"Look, if I knew a little of what you knew then I would be—"

"Forget it. I don't do karate anymore, all right? Besides, I need to find a job," Johnny cut in, bitterness seeping through.

"Well, you could open your own karate school," August suggested.

"It's called a karate dojo," Johnny corrected automatically, pride flaring.

"You could open your own dojo?"

"Look, I'm not getting into this with you. I'm not even sure I'm allowed to be around kids right now. All right, you want my advice? Stop being so annoying. Maybe you'll stop getting your ass kicked," Johnny muttered, unlocking his door.

"I'll see you at home." August said to his sister and walked away

Finally, it was just Stella and Johnny. The air between them was heavy with something unspoken.

Sighing, Stella stepped closer. Their eyes locked, and the spark was undeniable. "Look, I wanted to thank you for what you did. Not just for helping my brother, but for helping me as well. I truly mean that. Now, I don't know what's happened to you—it's really none of my business—but I know that a person isn't so bad that they can't be redeemed."

Her words hit him like a roundhouse. Nobody talked to Johnny Lawrence like that. Nobody looked at him like that. His mind flashed back to Ali Mills—his first love, the one he lost because of his own stupidity—and then to Daniel LaRusso swooping in, stealing everything he wanted. Regret gnawed at him like it always did.

But then he looked at Stella. She wasn't Ali. She wasn't some ghost from his past. She was here, right now. Beautiful, broken in her own way, but strong. Compassionate. Different.

"We haven't been formally introduced. My name is Stella. Stella Blue Walker. I don't think I caught yours."

"John Lawrence—except nobody calls me that. It's Johnny," he said, taking her hand. It fit perfectly in his, warm and steady, like maybe it had always belonged there.

"Well, I need to get home. But if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me." She smiled softly, then turned to leave.

Johnny stood rooted to the spot, watching her walk away. For a man who thought he'd lost everything worth fighting for, this felt dangerously close to hope.

"Yeah," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his mouth as he slipped into his apartment.

For the first time in years, his chest didn't feel so damn empty. And all he could think was her name—Stella.

The moment he stepped inside, he stopped short—there was an unfamiliar woman sitting on the couch, fiddling with the remote and mumbling about the TV.

"You got Encore?" she asked

"Who the hell are you?" Johnny asked.

"You know those little red stickers that say 'further reduced'? That means spoiled! You know that, right? You're eating bad meat, boy!" the voice of Johnny's stepfather, Sid, barked from across the room.

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment, Sid?" Johnny shouted as he walked into the room.

"Oh, that's some thank you," Sid scoffed. "Who do you think bailed you out? Again."

"Never asked you for anything," Johnny muttered, heading for his bedroom.

"I think that little incident at Applebee's would've taught you to keep your hands to yourself," Sid sneered,

Sid stepped over to the shelf, with a framed photo of Johnny's mother, Laura. "You know, when I met your mom, she really knocked my socks off. Beautiful. Blonde. Tan. Tight. Little did I know I'd be taking care of her schmuck kid forever."

"Yeah, Sid, you were the stepfather of the century," Johnny called sarcastically, returning to the room with an ice pack pressed to his neck.

"Well, high praise coming from a world-class daddy like you," Sid fired back. "How old is Robby now? Fifteen? Sixteen? When's the last time you saw him?"

"Just get the hell out of here, man!" Johnny shouted.

"I'll get the hell out when I'm goddamn good and ready!"

"Sid, blood pressure..." came a voice from the couch.

"Ah, keep watching your bullshit judge show, will you Rhonda? And stay out of this!" Sid barked. "Jesus. God." He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a folded check. "This is why I'm here."

"What's this?" Johnny asked warily.

"You know, I told your mama I'd take care of you always, but in this case—even she'd cut me some slack. I'm buying you out of my life." Sid said

"I'd rather be homeless than take money from you," Johnny added, tearing the check in half and tossing it in the trash.

Sid muttered under his breath, casting a last bitter glare at both of them. "Rhonda! Lunchtime. Call Art's—see if they got that belly lox." He stepped out the door. "I'd say get your life in order, but at this point... you're just like the meat in your fridge."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Later that evening, Johnny sat alone in the living room. A whiskey bottle rested near his feet, a half-finished beer in his hand. Iron Eagle blared from the television—but all he could focus on was the LaRusso Auto commercial that interrupted it.

Fed up with seeing Daniel's smug face on TV and billboards across the Valley, Johnny grabbed his glass and hurled it at the screen, shattering it.

He snatched up his bottle, stormed out the door, and hit the freeway.

Memories came flooding in.

Riding his bike with his Cobra Kai friends... Ali smiling at Daniel on the soccer field... the Halloween dance... Miyagi dropping them one by one... his humiliation at the tournament.

Then...

Stella.

Even though he had just met her, he felt a gravitational pull to her. She was beautiful, broken in her own way, but strong. Compassionate. Different.

Little did he know, their souls had been bound long before either of them were born. Before their mothers even whispered their names, the universe had already intertwined them, setting them on a collision course that neither time nor circumstance could undo.

He pulled into the arena parking lot and got out, memories of the aftermath of the tournament flooding his mind.

Then—crash.

A car slammed into the side of the Firebird. Unbeknownst to Johnny, the car held none other than Daniel LaRusso's daughter, Samantha.

The girls took off before anyone could react. A tow truck was called and, by fate or misfortune, Johnny's car was taken straight to LaRusso Auto.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

The next day, Johnny walked into LaRusso Auto with his hood pulled low over his head. He ignored the shiny cars gleaming under the lights, his focus only on getting in and out.

"How you doing? Would you be interested in one of—" a salesman started.

"No." Johnny cut him off flatly and moved past, heading straight for the reception desk.

A woman glanced up from her computer. Johnny slid a paper across the desk. "Hi, I just need to pick up my car. I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Oh, this came in last night? It'll be a couple of weeks, but we'll call you with an estimate." She smiled as she set the paper aside.

Johnny pulled off his sunglasses, irritation flashing in his eyes. "No, my car was not supposed to come here. I want it towed to a different body shop."

"Why? We have the number one service team in the Valley. We beat all prices. We kick the competition." She kept smiling.

"Can you hurry it up? I gotta go." Johnny muttered.

"Um, it says your car is in one of our intake lots. I'll figure out which one."

Johnny shook his head. "You know what? I'll just come back tomorrow." He turned toward the door, eager to be gone.

"Johnny?"

He froze. That voice. Turning, he forced a tight, fake smile.

Daniel LaRusso was already striding toward him, all sunshine and nostalgia. "Johnny Lawrence! I...I... I knew it was you!" He wrapped Johnny in a hug before Johnny could react. "Holy—How the hell are you?" Daniel laughed, finally letting go.

"Hey, man." Johnny said, his tone flat, his smile strained.

"Oh my god, look at you. You still got those golden locks, eh? God, this is crazy. How you been?" Daniel's grin was wide, genuine.

"Great, man. Thanks, I've been great." Johnny lied, plastering on the same fake smile.

"That's great. Hey, Anoush, come here! Louie, get over here! I want you to meet somebody." Daniel waved two of his employees over.

"I gotta go." Johnny started to back away, but Daniel hooked his arm and pulled him in again.

"No, no, no. This is Johnny Lawrence. He and I go way back. Right, buddy? This guy was the toughest guy in my school. When I first moved here from Jersey, he and I... we got into it a little bit. This guy really had it in for me." Daniel laughed.

Johnny's jaw twitched. "Well, you did move in on my girl."

Daniel raised his brows. "Well, she actually wasn't really your girl anymore, was she? All right, that's all water under the bridge."

"Wait. Is this the karate guy—the guy from the tournament?" Anoush asked.

"Oh, this is the guy whose ass you kicked?" Louie chimed in.

"Uh, listen, it was a really close match. But if you wanna get technical... I kicked his face." Daniel smirked, making both Anoush and Louie laugh. "I'm just busting your chops," he added quickly, glancing at Johnny.

"It was an illegal kick." Johnny shot back, stepping forward, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, illegal? Really? Come on. What about that elbow to my knee?" Daniel countered.

"Yeah, I got a warning. You got the win." Johnny said, taking a deliberate step closer, his body coiled.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! No fighting in the showroom, guys," Anoush said, raising his hands.

"All right, back to work," Daniel ordered.

"Nice meeting you," Anoush said as he retreated with Louie.

Daniel turned back, still grinning. "Enough reminiscing, right? So, what brings you in? You're looking for a new ride?"

"He wants his car towed to a different body shop," Sheila said as she approached with the paperwork.

"Oh no, Johnny. We got the best prices in town. That crook at Cole's on Van Nuys, he'll try to screw you over. Sheila, let me see the estimate. A Pontiac?" Daniel glanced at Johnny, who gave a small nod. "Firebird?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. Someone did a real number on this thing. Maybe it's time for an upgrade. Why don't we walk the lot? I'll give you a deal on a certified pre-owned—"

"I just want my car." Johnny's patience snapped, his voice sharp.

"All right, all right. You got it. Let me see how low I can get this repair. Friends and family... my own personal code. You know what? It's on the house." Daniel smiled warmly.

"No way. I don't want your charity." Johnny's glare was hard, his pride unshakable.

"No, you'd be doing me a favor. Our guys aren't used to working on a car like this. They could use the practice. You could use the repairs. This is a win-win." Daniel persisted.

"I said I'll handle it." Johnny's tone was final, steel in his voice.

"All right. Okay, but it's... John, it's gonna cost more than the car is worth. Listen, don't worry about it. It's my pleasure, all right?" Daniel said gently.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

After leaving LaRusso Auto, Johnny stomped across the parking lot, frustration radiating off him. He dropped the stupid bonsai tree onto the asphalt with a muttered curse, then pulled out his phone to call a taxi.

By the time he got back to his Reseda apartment, he was still simmering. But the moment he spotted the Walker siblings outside, everything shifted.

They were by the recycling bins—August lugging bottles, Stella bending over a box. The sunlight caught her hair, and Johnny froze for half a second before forcing his feet forward. His gut tightened in a way he hated admitting to.

He straightened his shoulders, slipped back into his armor of bravado, and approached them from behind.

"Are you sure you two are ready? 'Cause once you go down this path, there's no turning back."

Both Stella and August spun, shock flashing in their eyes. Johnny's gaze lingered on Stella a beat too long, and he had to tear it away before she noticed.

"Are you going to be our karate teacher?" August asked.

Johnny smirked, shaking his head. "No. I'm going to be your sensei." He let the word hang in the air, heavy, commanding. "I'm going to teach you the style of karate that was taught to me—a method of fighting your pussy generation desperately needs. I'm not going to teach you how to conquer your fears. I'm going to teach you how to awaken the snake inside. And once you do that, you'll be the one who's feared. You'll build strength, and when the time is right—you'll strike back."

His words were for August, but his eyes flicked to Stella again, catching the way she watched him. And damn it, for the first time in years, Johnny Lawrence hoped someone saw past the swagger.

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