Zeke sat outside the principal's office, feeling a mix of anxiety and frustration. He knew he was in deep trouble. Beside him, Diana and Michael Kreese exchanged worried glances, their expressions tense. The door to Principal Lopez's office opened, and a stern-looking secretary gestured for them to enter.

Principal Lopez, a tall man with a graying beard, stood behind his desk. He motioned for them to sit. Across from them sat Kyler Park and Brucks Thompson, both smirking confidently. Mrs. Park and Mrs. Thompson sat beside their sons, their expressions a mix of concern and anger. Rory's mom stood in a corner, her face flushed with indignation.

Lopez cleared his throat, trying to maintain an air of neutrality. "Mr. and Mrs. Kreese, thank you for coming. I'm afraid we have a serious issue to discuss. Mr. Park and Mr. Thompson here have accused your son Ezekiel of assaulting them in the boys' locker room last week."

Kyler jumped in, his voice dripping with false innocence. "Yeah, Zeke just attacked us out of nowhere. We were just minding our own business, and he went crazy on us."

Brucks nodded, a fake look of pain on his face. "Yeah, he really messed us up."

Rory's mom, her eyes blazing with anger, pointed at Zeke. "My son Rory has several broken ribs and had to be taken to the hospital. How could your son do such a thing? This is outrageous!"

Michael's eyes narrowed as he looked at Kyler and Brucks. "Kyler Park, is it?"

Kyler sneered. "Yeah? What's it to you?"

Michael smiled coolly. "I defended a company against your father once. A typical con artist. Runs in the family, doesn't it?

Kyler's face went red, but Michael didn't give him a chance to respond. "Principal Lopez, my son is not in the habit of attacking people unprovoked. And given the history of bullying in this school, it's clear that there's more to this story."

Diana, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward. "Principal Lopez, Ezekiel isn't a violent child. He wouldn't do something like this unless he had a good reason."

Rory's mom, incensed, shouted, "Are you saying my son deserved what your son did to him? How could you?"

Michael held up a hand. "No, ma'am. What I'm saying is that we need to look at the full context. And if we check the security footage, we might get a clearer picture."

Principal Lopez looked hesitant but nodded. "Fine. Let's review the footage."

As they watched the footage, it showed Kyler, Brucks, and Rory beating Miguel with a hockey stick. Zeke's face was hidden by his hood, making it difficult to identify him. The sight of the boys attacking Miguel was clear evidence of their bullying.

Michael pointed to the screen. "What we see here is not an unprovoked attack by my son but an innocent boy being brutalized by your children."

Rory's mom looked mortified, her earlier confidence evaporating.

Kyler tried to protest. "This is bullshit! He's just covering for his kid."

Michael turned to Kyler, his voice cold and unwavering. "You want to talk about bullies, Kyler? I used to be one myself, and I know exactly what you're doing. You're trying to shift the blame because you can't handle being shown up."

Principal Lopez looked conflicted, but Michael pressed on. "If you ever accuse my son again without proper evidence or overstep your boundaries, I will sue West Valley High School for every cent it's worth."

The threat hung heavy in the air. Principal Lopez, clearly intimidated, finally spoke. "Ezekiel will be given in-school detention for his involvement, but considering the circumstances, that is the extent of the punishment."

Kyler and Brucks erupted in protest. "This is unfair! He's lying! He's just trying to cover up for his son!"

Principal Lopez silenced them with a stern look. "That's enough. Kyler, Brucks, you may leave now."

As they filed out, Michael turned to Zeke. "Let's go."

As they walked out of the office, Diana, who had been silent throughout the meeting, placed a reassuring hand on Zeke's shoulder. She had a bad feeling about the situation but kept it to herself.

Once they were outside, Michael stopped and looked Zeke in the eye. "Did they deserve it?"

Zeke met his father's gaze unwaveringly. "They were beating up my friend. They definitely deserved it."

Michael nodded approvingly. "Good."

🐍

Zeke came back to the dojo that evening, the shadows of the setting sun casting long, somber lines across the walls. As he approached, he noticed Johnny locking up the doors, his face a mix of frustration and resignation.

"Hey, what's going on?" Zeke asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Johnny glanced up briefly before returning to his task. "I'm closing the dojo," he said flatly.

"What? But why?" Zeke's heart sank at the news.

Johnny finished securing the door and turned to face Zeke. "You know why, kid..."

"Because of what happened to Miguel?" Zeke pressed, a knot forming in his stomach.

"Yep, it's over," Johnny replied, his tone definitive.

Zeke's frustration boiled over. "What happened to No Mercy? He can get those guys back, he just needs-"

Johnny cut him off sharply. "You don't get it, kid! I'm responsible for whatever shit happens to you. I can't let that happen. Besides, this whole thing was a pipe dream anyway."

Zeke shook his head, disbelief written across his face. "You know, you're not the same Johnny Lawrence that was a badass back in the '80s. A kid who showed no mercy, a kid who wasn't afraid of a fight. A kid who wasn't a fucking pussy."

Johnny's eyes flared with anger, but he quickly controlled himself. "The hell did you call me?"

"I called you a pussy," Zeke said defiantly, his eyes locking onto Johnny's. "Am I wrong? Because I don't think I am, pussy."

Johnny clenched his fists, visibly struggling to keep his temper in check. After a moment, he exhaled sharply. "You know, kid, you remind me of one of my buddies back in the day. He had a mouth on him too."

"Then you should know you can't give it up," Zeke urged, desperation creeping into his voice.

Johnny's expression softened, but his resolve remained firm. "Sorry, kid. I gotta go."

With that, Johnny walked away, leaving Zeke standing alone in front of the darkened dojo.

🐍

Zeke lingered outside the dojo, his mind racing. The cool evening air did little to calm his restless thoughts. He knew he couldn't let things end like this. Not for Miguel, not for himself, and not for the dojo.

With haste, he made his way to the old storage unit on the outskirts of town—the place where Kreese had been training him in secret.

The place was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a flickering overhead bulb. Kreese stood in the middle of the room, his back to the door, practicing slow, deliberate movements. The air was thick with tension, the kind that came before a storm.

Kreese didn't turn around when Zeke entered. "I heard what happened," he said, his voice gravelly and low.

"Yeah, it's a mess," Zeke replied, leaning against a wall. "But I'm not giving up."

Kreese finally turned to face him, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Good. Because giving up isn't an option. Not for us."

Zeke nodded, the fire in his belly rekindling. "I want to be stronger. I want to make sure nothing like this happens again. Teach me more."

Kreese's lips curled into a faint, approving smile. "Alright. But remember, this path isn't for the faint-hearted. It's dark, and it's ruthless."

"I'm ready," Zeke said firmly, stepping forward.

"Good," Kreese replied. "Let's start with something simple but effective. Balance and precision. Get into a fighting stance."

Zeke complied, his muscles tensing as he prepared for the training session.

Kreese walked around him, scrutinizing his posture. "Balance is the foundation of everything. If you lose your balance, you lose the fight. Close your eyes."

Zeke hesitated for a moment, then obeyed. With his eyes closed, he felt the floor beneath his feet, grounding himself.

"Now, imagine your enemies surrounding you. They're closing in, ready to strike. How do you maintain your composure?" Kreese's voice was a low, menacing whisper.

Zeke took a deep breath, focusing on the mental image. "I stay calm. I feel the ground. I'm ready."

Kreese nodded, though Zeke couldn't see it. "Good. Now, open your eyes and defend yourself."

Without warning, Kreese lunged at Zeke, throwing a series of punches and kicks. Zeke blocked and parried as best as he could, the sudden onslaught forcing him to rely on his instincts and training. Each hit he blocked sent shockwaves through his arms, but he stayed on his feet, his balance unshaken.

"Not bad," Kreese said, pulling back. "But you need to be faster. Stronger. Relentless. Again."

The training continued, each session growing more intense. Kreese pushed Zeke to his limits, making him spar against multiple opponents, endure grueling endurance drills, and practice his strikes until his knuckles were raw and bleeding.

One night, after an especially brutal session, Kreese handed Zeke a towel. "You're improving," he said gruffly.

Zeke wiped the sweat from his face, his body aching but his spirit unbroken. "Thanks. I can feel it. I'm getting stronger."

Kreese sat down on a nearby bench, motioning for Zeke to join him. "Strength is important, but so is control. You need to learn when to strike and when to hold back."

Zeke nodded, sitting beside him. "I get that. But sometimes it feels like holding back is just giving them another chance to hit you."

Kreese looked at him, his eyes hard and unyielding. "That's the balance you need to find. Mercy is a weakness, but recklessness is a death sentence. You strike hard, you strike fast, but you strike with purpose."

Zeke took a deep breath, absorbing Kreese's words. "I understand."

Kreese's expression softened slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability. "Good. Because you're going to need it. The world doesn't play fair, and neither can you."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Kreese's words settling over them. Zeke felt a renewed sense of determination. He wasn't just fighting for himself anymore—he was fighting for everyone who couldn't.

"Thanks, grandpa," Zeke said quietly.

Kreese nodded, standing up. "Don't thank me yet. The real test is still to come."

Zeke stood as well, his body protesting with every movement. "I'll be ready."

🐍

Zeke headed to his locker the next day at school, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Kyler kissing Sam. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brucks making a crude, suggestive gesture, implying what Kyler should make Sam do. Raising his brow, Zeke glanced down at his wrapped-up knuckles and remembered what he had done to Brucks.

Kyler and Brucks noticed Zeke approaching, and their conversation abruptly halted. Fear and silence filled the air.

"Kyler, fatass. How's it going?" Zeke greeted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We were just leaving," Kyler stammered, his bravado evaporating.

"Y-yeah, see you, bro," Brucks echoed, his voice shaky.

Zeke smirked and continued putting his stuff into his locker. Sam looked at him suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.

"I know what you did to Rory," she said, her voice tense. "Kyler told me."

Zeke stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. "Did Kyler also tell you that he was beating up an innocent kid? A friend of mine?"

Sam froze, uncertainty flickering across her face. "Did he really?"

"You're lying," she accused, regaining her composure. "Kyler said you almost killed him for no reason."

Zeke stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. "The tapes show clearly that I had nothing to do with it," he lied smoothly. "So I don't know where you're getting at, LaRusso, but you can't prove anything."

"It must be real nice to have Daddy as your lawyer, getting you out of trouble all the time," Sam shot back, her voice filled with contempt.

Zeke chuckled darkly. "It must be nice to be entitled and get everything handed down to you without ever having to work for anything. Living in that big house, driving that fancy car your daddy bought you, never having to lift a finger because everything is just given to you on a silver platter."

Sam's face turned red with anger. "You don't know anything about me or my family."

Zeke's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. "I know enough. I've seen people like you my whole life. People who think they're better than everyone else because they never had to struggle, never had to fight for anything. But let me tell you something, princess, life isn't always going to be this easy for you. One day, you'll face real challenges, and you'll crumble because you've never had to deal with real shit."

Sam's fists clenched. "You don't get to talk to me like that. You don't know what I've been through."

Zeke leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know you've never been jumped in a locker room, beaten with a hockey stick, left to bleed out while your so-called friends watched. That's what your precious Kyler and his buddies did to my friend. But go ahead, keep defending him. See where it gets you."

Sam's eyes widened, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. "If that's true, then why didn't you go to the principal? Why lie?"

Zeke laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "Because people like me don't get justice by going to the authorities. We get it by dealing out our own. And I dealt it, all right."

Before Sam could counter, Moon approached Zeke, leaning into him with a flirtatious smile. "Hey, Zeke," she purred. "Ready for class?"

Zeke smirked at Sam, enjoying the look of anger on her face. "See you in class, Samantha," he said, his tone mocking.

With that, he wrapped an arm around Moon and headed for class, leaving Sam fuming in the hallway.

🐍

The party was in full swing when Zeke and Moon arrived, the music thumping so loudly it could be felt in their chests. They navigated through the crowd, finding a spot near the drinks table where Yasmine was already holding court.

"Hey, you two!" Yasmine called out, raising her plastic cup in greeting. "Glad you could make it."

Zeke gave a tight smile. He wasn't a big fan of Yasmine, but Moon seemed to enjoy her company, so he tolerated it. "Hey, Yasmine," he said, grabbing a drink.

As the night wore on, Zeke found himself actually having fun. He danced with Moon, laughed at some of the ridiculous costumes, and even managed to avoid too much interaction with Yasmine. However, the relaxed atmosphere shifted when a guy Zeke didn't recognize approached Moon.

"Hey there," the guy slurred, clearly drunk. "Wanna dance?"

Moon shook her head politely. "No, thanks. I'm here with someone."

The guy didn't take the hint. "Come on, just one dance," he insisted, reaching out to grab her arm.

Zeke stepped forward, placing himself between Moon and the guy. "You heard her. Back off."

The guy sneered, looking Zeke up and down. "Who the hell are you? Her babysitter?"

"Her boyfriend," Zeke corrected, his voice low and dangerous. "Now leave her alone."

"Or what?" the guy challenged, pushing Zeke's chest. "You gonna do something about it, tough guy?"

Moon tried to pull Zeke away. "Let's just go," she urged, but Zeke was already too riled up.

The guy took advantage of Moon's distraction and shoved her hard. "Back off, bitch," he spat.

Zeke's anger flared. Without another word, he lunged at the guy, catching him off guard with a sharp punch to the jaw. The guy staggered back, clutching his face, but quickly tried to retaliate. He swung a wild, clumsy punch at Zeke, which Zeke ducked with ease. Zeke countered with a swift kick to the guy's midsection, causing him to gasp and double over.

Zeke moved in with precision. He grabbed the guy by the collar and pulled him against the wall. The guy tried to push Zeke away, but Zeke delivered a quick knee to his stomach, forcing him to grunt in pain. Zeke spun him around, his back now pressed against the wall. He threw a series of powerful punches—right hook, left jab, and an uppercut—that landed squarely on the guy's face, making his head snap back with each blow.

The guy, reeling from the assault, tried to swing again, but Zeke anticipated the move. He sidestepped and grabbed the guy's arm, twisting it behind his back and slamming him into the lockers. The lockers rattled with the impact, and Zeke followed up with a hard elbow strike to the guy's ribs, eliciting a painful yell.

The crowd around them was silent now, their attention fully focused on the fight. Zeke wasn't finished. He grabbed the guy by the shirt and lifted him, delivering a brutal right cross that left the guy staggering and dazed. Zeke then executed a precise roundhouse kick to the guy's side, sending him crashing to the floor.

The guy attempted to crawl away, but Zeke wasn't done. He grabbed him by the hair, dragging him back to his feet. With a swift motion, Zeke threw him into a nearby table, shattering it under the guy's weight. The guy groaned and tried to push Zeke away, but Zeke's anger and adrenaline made him relentless. He grabbed the guy's collar again, slamming him into the wall and delivering a series of vicious body shots.

Just as Zeke was about to deliver another blow, Moon's voice cut through the chaos. "Zeke, stop! The cops are here!"

Zeke hesitated, glancing toward the flashing lights outside. The sound of sirens grew louder. He released the guy, who fell to the floor, clutching his bruised body. Zeke grabbed Moon's hand. "Let's get out of here."

They pushed through the crowd, Zeke leading the way as they navigated through the throngs of people. They ducked and dodged through the party, heading for the back door. Moon, her face pale, glanced back at the scene, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe.

Moon looked at Zeke, her eyes still wide. "That was intense," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I was scared you were going to kill him."

Zeke wiped the blood from his lip and shrugged. "He deserved it. No one puts their hands on you like that."

Moon nodded, though she still looked shaken. "Yeah, he did. But... you were really scary back there."

Zeke's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Moon. I just couldn't stand by and let that happen."

Moon took a deep breath, pushing her doubts aside. "I know. Let's just get out of here."

They got into Zeke's car and drove back to his house in silence. As they pulled into the driveway, Moon reached over and took his hand. "Thank you for standing up for me," she said quietly.

"Of course." Zeke replied, leading her into the house.

🐍

As Zeke and Moon walked into the house, they were greeted by Sofia sprawled out on the living room couch. The TV was on low, and Sofia was engrossed in her phone. She looked up as they entered, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh, look who finally shows up. 'Zeke, where you been? We wait for you all night, mijo!'" exaggerating their Mother's accent.

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Just at a party, Sof. This is Moon," he said, motioning to Moon with a nod. "Moon, this is my wonderful little sister, Sofia."

Sofia straightened up and flashed a friendly smile at Moon. "Nice to meet you, Moon. You're pretty brave for hanging out with this guy."

Moon returned the smile. "Nice to meet you too, Sofia."

Zeke glanced around the quiet living room. "Where are Mom and Dad?"

Sofia shrugged. "They went out. It was really quiet until you showed up, and now it's just noisy with you and your friend."

Zeke chuckled. "Alright, we're heading upstairs."

As Zeke and Moon started up the stairs, Sofia called after them. "Oh yeah, Gramps wanted to see you later."

Zeke stopped and turned back with a sigh. "Can you tell him I'm busy?"

Sofia's expression hardened. "What am I, your fucking messenger? Tell him yourself."

Zeke gave her a pointed look but didn't argue. "Fine, I'll call him later."

He led Moon upstairs, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet house. Despite the night's events, Zeke felt a sense of relief at being home.

🐍

Zeke walked through the bustling halls of West Valley High, his gaze lingering on Moon, who blushed and smiled back. He returned the gesture before heading towards the library, where he hoped to catch up with Miguel.

Inside the library, Zeke spotted Miguel sitting alone at a table, a bandage wrapped around his forehead. Miguel looked up, his eyes reflecting both weariness and frustration.

Zeke approached and greeted him, trying to ease into the conversation.

"Hey, haven't heard from you much lately. What's going on?"

Miguel let out a heavy sigh, clearly struggling with the situation.

"My mom had me quit karate. I can't do it anymore," Miguel admitted, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Zeke nodded sympathetically. "That sucks, man. I'm really sorry about what Kyler did to you."

Miguel shook his head slowly. "If only I had a little more training—"

Zeke cut him off gently. "She's your mom, man. If you can't convince her, then I don't know what to tell you."

Miguel looked down, feeling the weight of the situation. "Thanks for beating those guys up for me. I wish I could have helped."

Zeke leaned in slightly, his tone a mix of empathy and resolve. "Listen, I get it. My history with football is similar—I got kicked off for starting fights. My family's got a history of violence and aggression. I couldn't let guys like Kyler just push people around. You're gonna be fine. You just need a little extra training, and I'll help you out."

Miguel nodded, appreciating the support. Zeke then headed to his locker to grab his books, preparing for a geometry exam.

As Zeke left the library, the atmosphere changed. Kyler and Brucks entered, their presence immediately imposing. They approached Miguel with malicious intent.

"Hey, look who's here," Kyler taunted, his nickname for Miguel slipping out with a sneer. "Rhea's still alive?"

Brucks chuckled, adding to the torment. "Yeah, how's that headache treating you? Lucky we didn't mess you up worse."

Miguel's attempt to stand up for himself was shaky. "Leave me alone, Kyler."

Kyler and Brucks persisted, their taunts growing more intense. The situation escalated until Zeke reappeared, his gaze hardening as he took in the scene.

"Done with this bullying act yet, Kyler? Or do you need a reminder of what happens when you push too far?" Zeke's voice was cold and commanding.

Kyler's smirk vanished, replaced by a menacing expression. He stepped closer to Zeke, his voice dropping to a threatening tone. "You think you're tough? You're gonna pay for what you did to Rory."

Zeke's lips curled into a confident smile. "You don't want to do that, man."

"Why not?" Kyler challenged.

"Because if you do, and if you decide to pick on anyone else, you'll be in worse shape than what I did to your friend. And there's nothing you're going to do about it. Now, fuck off."

Kyler's face turned pale, his bravado slipping away. With a final, angry glare, he and Brucks retreated, leaving the library quickly. The tension in the room eased as Zeke turned back to Miguel.

"Let's get back to work. They're not worth your time," Zeke said, trying to bring a sense of normalcy back to their study session.

Miguel nodded as they went back to their studies.

🐍

Michael sat in his home office, the evening quiet around him except for the soft rustling of papers. His work as a lawyer was demanding, but tonight he was focused on organizing a stack of documents. As he sorted through the files, his eyes drifted to an old karate trophy displayed on a shelf. The trophy was tarnished with age but still held a significant place in his memories.

Diana's voice floated in from the bedroom, reminding him that it was getting late. "Michael, are you going to be up all night?" she called out with a hint of amusement.

"In a bit, querida," Michael replied, his eyes drifting to the shelf where an old karate trophy stood. The golden figure frozen in a mid-kick pose caught his attention. He reached out, picking up the trophy, and felt the weight of memories flood his mind.

His mind flashed back to the 1983 All Valley Tournament. The memories were vivid: the bright lights, the cheers of the crowd, and the feel of the mat beneath his feet. Michael was fifteen then, and the quarterfinals had been a fierce battle. He recalled the moment vividly—he had faced Tommy, a friend who had become a rival in the ring.

The arena had been buzzing, and Michael could see Kreese in the corner, his face a mask of intensity. The match had been close, but Michael had been edged out. The defeat was crushing, especially with his father's anger waiting for him backstage.

In the locker room, Kreese's voice cut through the tension. "You let me down, Michael! What the hell was that? You should have destroyed him!" Kreese's rage was palpable, and Michael could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Michael had tried to reason with him, but Kreese was relentless. "Tommy's my friend," Michael had argued. "I couldn't go all out on him."

James Lafferty as young Michael Kreese

"Friend? In the ring, there are no friends. Only opponents. You showed weakness, and you lost. No mercy means no mercy, even for your friends. Remember that," Kreese growled, his eyes boring into Michael's soul.

The conversation had left Michael frustrated and conflicted, torn between his loyalty to his friend and his desire to meet Kreese's expectations. That night, he couldn't shake the feeling of having failed, both himself and his father.

The memory shifted, a year later, and Michael saw himself, Johnny, Tommy, Jimmy, and Bobby cruising down the California roads on their dirt bikes. They wore their red Cobra Kai jackets, the emblem symbolizing their bond and their defiance. The sun set behind them, casting long shadows on the road, and the laughter and camaraderie were infectious. Those days had felt endless, filled with the reckless freedom of youth.

"Let's hit the beach!" Johnny shouted over the roar of the engines.

Michael grinned, feeling the exhilaration of the moment. "Race you there!" he called back, twisting the throttle and surging ahead.

The scene changed again. Michael was back in the All Valley Tournament, but this time it was the semifinals. Kreese's voice echoed in his mind, a harsh command that had become a mantra: "Sweep the leg. Do whatever it takes to win."

Michael had executed the move with precision, sweeping his opponent's leg out from under him. The crowd's roar had filled the arena as he won the match. The victory had felt hollow, the thrill of success tainted by the ruthlessness it had required. He had advanced to the next round, only to face Johnny.

The final match had been a grueling battle. Michael had given it his all, but Johnny was a formidable opponent. The fight had ended with Michael's loss, a crushing blow that left him battered and defeated. The sight of Kreese embracing Johnny like a son had made him feel worse, like he couldn't do anything to impress his Dad.

Michael's focus returned to his office. The thought of returning to karate now seemed absurd. He had long moved on, his life had changed dramatically, he had a family now, a good career, and yet his son's budding interest in martial arts brought back memories he couldn't ignore.

Diana's voice broke through his reverie. She appeared at the doorway, her presence grounding him. "Michael, are you coming to bed soon?" she asked, her tone gentle and warm.

Michael looked up, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Yeah, just a minute," he replied. He placed the trophy back on the shelf and shut off the desk lamp, closing the files with a sigh.

Diana was already in bed, her dark hair spread out on the pillow. She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What were you thinking about?"

Michael climbed into bed beside her, pulling her close. "Just some old memories. The past has a way of sneaking up on you, doesn't it?"

Diana snuggled against him, her warmth comforting. "You don't talk about those days much. Were they really that important to you?"

Michael nodded, his thoughts drifting back to Cobra Kai. "They were. Those were some of the best times of my life. But they're in the past now. What matters is right here, right now."

Diana smiled, kissing his cheek. "Well, I'm glad you're here with me."

As they lay there, Michael's thoughts drifted to the days of Cobra Kai, the exhilaration, the brotherhood, and the struggles. He realized that while those memories were a part of him, they didn't define him. The present was where he needed to be, focused on his family and their future.

Diana soon fell asleep, her breathing even and soft. Michael lay awake for a while, his mind still lingering on the memories of his youth. Eventually, he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Diana beside him pull him into a peaceful sleep.

But as he drifted off, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that still longed for the thrill of the dojo. The idea of coming back to karate, of training with his son, wasn't entirely unappealing. In fact, it was starting to interest him more than he wanted to admit.