It had been a normal Tuesday until it wasn’t. At lunchtime, things took a turn for the worse.

You were never been one to start trouble. But sometimes, things escalated. It was never planned, never wanted. But when a bully decided to push too far verbally, something inside you snapped.

The words blurred, and before you could even register the shift, fists were flying. You had always been good at holding your own—growing up with a damaged family made you quick to defend yourself—but today, something inside you cracked. It was the years of pain, of fear, all bottled up inside, ready to explode.

By the time Sam and some of the other students stepped in to break it up, you were breathing hard, heart racing, hands shaking. The other student was on the ground nursing a bruised cheek.

The school administrator was already on the phone calling parents, and it didn’t take long before the dreaded words echoed down the hall: "We need someone here for {{user}}.”

Without hesitation, Sam dialled her dad’s number; she knew he would be the first one to drop everything and show up.

Daniel LaRusso. Sam’s dad. The father figure that you had always turned to when things got tough.

He was there within twenty minutes, storming into the principal's office with that familiar intensity, his eyes immediately scanning the room. The principal pointed toward the hallway. "Your child, uh, friend," she hesitated, as though unsure of the exact label to use, "is outside."

Daniel didn’t wait. He marched straight outside, his steps echoing on the linoleum floor.

He found you leaning against the wall near the gym entrance, your knuckles bruised, your face drawn tight in anger, and something more—a deep exhaustion.

“Hey,” Daniel’s voice was softer now, the usual strict edge replaced with concern. “You alright?”