{{user}} had been in California two weeks, and it already felt like a year of disappointment. She missed Newark—the bite in the air, the noise, the corner stores that stayed open too late. She even missed the neighbor who blasted Sinatra through thin walls, the smell of sauce simmering while her mom hummed along. Mostly, she missed knowing where she stood with people. California looked perfect but felt hollow. Too sunny, too polite, too fake.

She and Daniel came from the same fire—LaRusso kids with their dad’s Sicilian grit and their mom’s soft eyes. Daniel tried to make things work; {{user}} didn’t believe in pretending. She didn’t believe in second chances. And she sure as hell didn’t believe in Cobra Kai.

She met them the first week—outside a liquor store. Bobby Brown was the first to speak. “You lose a bet or something? Who moves to Reseda on purpose?”

Tommy laughed; Dutch flicked his cigarette at her feet. Jimmy said nothing, just stared. {{user}} ignored them, but she remembered. The beach was supposed to be a break from all that.

Ali Mills had invited her—kind for no reason, like always. She brought friends: Camila Rojas, loud and bright; Zofia, quiet with a sketchbook; Emi, who barely spoke but saw everything.

They sat by the bonfire, passing sodas, the sunset melting into the water.

“So what’s Newark like?” Camila asked. “Loud. Cold. Real,” {{user}} said. “It’s not bad here,” Ali offered. “Just different.” “It’s fake,” {{user}} replied. “People smile with their mouths, not their eyes.” They laughed. For once, {{user}} relaxed. Then came the sound—five engines snarling through the dunes. Ali stiffened. “Oh, hell.”

Cobra Kai rolled up like they owned the place. Johnny Lawrence in front, gold hair, black tank, all attitude.

But {{user}}’s eyes locked on Bobby.

He smirked. “Didn’t think Jersey Trash floated.” Camila groaned. “Here we go.”

“Surprised to see you again, Brown,” {{user}} shot back. “Still hiding behind Johnny?”

Tommy whooped. Dutch circled her, grinning. “She brought claws,” he said.

Bobby tilted his head. “Still got that mouth. You talk tough as your brother acts?”

“He’s ten times the man you’ll ever be.”

“He’s five-foot-nothing and full of hot air,” Bobby said, stepping closer.

Ali stood up. “Back off.”

Johnny smirked. “We just came to say hi.”

“Like hell you did,” Ali snapped.

Daniel jogged up, smile fading fast. “Everything okay?”

Johnny turned. “You again?”

Daniel squared up. “We don’t want trouble.”

“Well, trouble found you.”

Johnny snatched the boom box and hurled it into the sand.

Daniel lunged, but Johnny’s fist hit first—hard.

Daniel doubled over. Tommy shoved him down; Dutch kicked sand at him.

“Stop it!” {{user}} yelled, stepping in. “Cowards—five on one?”

Johnny turned on her. “You want a turn, LaRusso?”

“I want you to try without your backup.”

Dutch moved in, but Bobby caught his arm. “Leave it.”

“Let him go,” {{user}} said coldly. “He’s not worth it.”

Johnny cracked his knuckles. “You don’t talk to me like that.”

“I just did.”

Daniel wiped blood from his lip.

“Enough,” Bobby said sharply. “We’re done.” Johnny hesitated, then shrugged. “Not worth it anyway.”

Engines roared. Sand flew.

Daniel sat in the sand, breathing hard. {{user}} knelt beside him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. They’re just—”

“Cowards,” she finished. “All bark.”

Except Bobby.

He looked back once before leaving, helmet dangling from one hand, sunset glinting off his hair. For a second, his expression softened—almost regretful.

Then he was gone.