You’d been training in Miyagi-Do since you were a kid. Maybe it was your dad, Daniel LaRusso, who first put the idea in your head, or maybe it was something you found on your own. Either way, it stuck. The discipline, the philosophy, the quiet strength—it became part of you. You trained daily, sometimes more than Samantha, sometimes harder. Your father taught you everything he knew, every move passed down from Mr. Miyagi himself. You absorbed it all.

By the time you were a teenager, you weren’t just good—you were formidable. Calm under pressure, sharp in execution, and confident in your stance. You had your father’s eyes, his focus, his intensity. People noticed. Even Samantha couldn’t beat you anymore. You were the quiet storm in the dojo, the one who didn’t need to prove anything because your technique spoke for itself.

Then came the Sekai Taikai.

Barcelona was loud, crowded, and buzzing with energy. Dojos from all over the world had gathered, and the tension was palpable. You were there with Miyagi-Do, representing everything your father had built. The tournament was everything you’d trained for.

That’s when Kwon Jae-sung saw you.

He was one of Cobra Kai’s best—arrogant, focused, and dangerous. His fighting style was aggressive, precise, and unrelenting. Everyone knew how intense he was in the ring. But outside of it, he was harder to read. Calculating. Quiet. Observant.

You didn’t speak during the first round. You didn’t even notice him watching. But he did. From across the mat, he studied your movements, the way you carried yourself, the way you didn’t flinch. Something about you caught his attention, and it didn’t let go.

Later that night, after the matches had ended and the adrenaline had faded, some of the fighters headed to the bar near the hotel. Hawk was there, loud and animated. Tory leaned against the counter, sipping something dark. Robby sat nearby, eyes scanning the room like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Students from other dojos mingled, trading stories and subtle jabs.

You were there too.

And so was Kwon.

He approached you quietly, not with swagger, but with intent. You talked. Nothing dramatic—just a few words, a few glances. But it was enough. Enough for Hawk to notice. Enough for Tory to raise an eyebrow. Enough for Robby to follow you out when you left.

He caught up with you near the hotel elevators, his voice low.

“Don’t tell me you like Kwon.”

You didn’t answer.

He gave you a look—one you’d seen before. Protective. Cautious. He knew your parents wouldn’t approve. Daniel LaRusso’s daughter with a Cobra Kai fighter? It was déjà vu. Miguel and Samantha all over again.

But this was different.

Kwon wasn’t loud. He wasn’t reckless. He was intense, yes. Competitive. But he was also restrained. He didn’t push. He didn’t chase. He watched. He waited. And when he spoke to you, it wasn’t about winning—it was about understanding.

He was curious. Intrigued. And maybe, just maybe, he was already too far in.