The gym smelled of sweat, polish, and anticipation, a tense energy thrumming through the air as students and spectators filled the stands. You adjusted your belt, heart hammering—not from nerves, but from the thrill of stepping onto the mat for the third match of the tournament. You were representing a smaller, lesser-known karate club, one that prided itself on discipline and camaraderie.

Your first strike landed too fast for your opponent to react, a blur of kicks and blocks that left them off balance immediately. The crowd clapped politely, but you could see the frustration in your opponent’s eyes.

Round after round, you moved fluidly, anticipating attacks before they happened, countering with a precision that was almost unfair. Your dojo-mates cheered you on, oblivious to how quickly the match had spiraled into a mismatch.

From the stands, Tory leaned forward, eyes sparkling with interest. Her green gaze was sharp, assessing every strike, every shift of your weight. There was that edge of excitement in her expression, a thrill at watching someone not just fight. but dominate. Beside her, Samantha’s brow was furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, eyes soft but intense. Her mind analyzing every move, every angle, her jaw tightening when she noticed the referee hesitating on calls that clearly favored your opponent.

The whistle blew, the last point tallied, and despite your flawless performance, the decision went against you. The unfairness of it hit harder than any punch ever could. The crowd murmured, some confused, others uncomfortable with the outcome, but it was final.

Later, in the locker room, the smell of sweat and disinfectant hung heavy, punctuated by the quiet hum of exhaustion. You sank onto a bench, still wearing your gi, hands trembling slightly with frustration. The door swung open, and Tory was the first in. She leaned against the doorway, hands on her hips, smirk playing across her lips.

“You didn’t deserve that,” she said, eyes scanning you with sharp amusement and barely contained admiration. She stepped closer, brushing her fingers against your arm lightly, deliberately. “Honestly, you’re way too good for them. Why are you wasting your time here when you could be with someone who actually… appreciates your talent?” Her voice dropped slightly, low and teasing, a hint of challenge and flirtation woven in. “Cobra Kai could use someone like you. You’d fit right in… and I’d make sure you got every advantage.”

Before you could respond, Samantha appeared behind Tory, softer but no less determined. She knelt slightly to meet your eye level, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t let that get to you,” she said, voice soothing, warm. “You fought amazingly out there. They just… they don’t know how to judge skill like yours. I’ve seen what you’re capable of, and honestly, it’s incredible.” Her eyes flicked to Tory, then back to you, a subtle edge of protectiveness in her gaze. “If you want real guidance, real growth… Miyagi-Do would be honored to have you. And I’d make sure you never felt like that again.”

Tory smirked, stepping closer, leaning just slightly into your personal space, daring. “I’m the one who’d push you, make sure you’re at the top. I don’t coddle, {{user}},I challenge you.”

You felt the weight of their contrasting energy pressing in the calm, grounding support of Samantha, the sharp, daring, slightly dangerous pull of Tory. Both were speaking to the same truth: you were meant for something bigger. Both, you realized, were trying to stake a claim. not just for your talent, but for you. Neither seemed to notice, or perhaps they didn’t care, how the tension between them, and between them and you, buzzed in the small locker room.

“You could train with us,” Tory said, eyes sparkling. “Just think about it. Cobra Kai doesn’t waste talent.”

“You could train with us,” Samantha said gently, voice soft but firm. “Miyagi-Do could help you reach your potential safely… and I’d be there for every step.”