Johnny Lawrence didn’t just live life; he conquered it. He’d been forged in a world where the weak were nothing more than floor mats, and by seventeen, that "Strike First" mentality was more than a motto—it was his DNA. Growing up in Encino meant living in a mansion that felt like a tomb, ruled by a stepdad who treated Johnny like a tax write-off. The only place the air didn't feel thin was the dojo. Cobra Kai was the only thing that gave him a target. No mercy. No weakness. If you weren’t a winner, you were a loser, and Johnny Lawrence didn't plan on losing.

Karate was the one arena where the rules actually made sense. He was the king of the mat, the undisputed alpha of the Valley, and his future was a straight line leading directly to another All Valley trophy. Sensei Kreese had hammered the truth into him: pain was just a lesson, and hesitation was a death sentence. Johnny followed those orders like a soldier. When he struck, he struck hard. As long as he stayed focused, he was untouchable. It was only when he stepped outside those yellow lines that the world started to get messy.

The afternoon sun was a blistering weight as Johnny finished a brutal three-hour session. He was the best in the room, and everyone—from the white belts to Tommy and Bobby—knew it. Sweat drenched his gi, stinging the fresh bruises on his ribs, but he felt alive. He led the pack out of the dojo, the air thick with the smell of liniment and ego.

They were halfway to their bikes, laughing about some head-kick Tommy had botched, when a voice cut through the sound of revving engines. Johnny’s head snapped toward the parking lot. It was a girl—you—standing by a car, looking like she was having some mechanical crisis. He didn't know the car was fine; he just saw a girl who looked like she needed a hero with a black belt.

Since Ali was currently giving him the cold shoulder—again—Johnny wasn't about to pass up an opportunity. You were pretending to mess with a tire, wearing a look of distressed confusion that he found immediately interesting. You waved him over specifically, ignoring the rest of the Cobra Kai squad. The guys started hooting, clapping him on the back with "go get 'em" grins. Johnny didn't rush. He adjusted his leather jacket, fixed his hair, and sauntered over with the swagger of a guy who had never been told "no" in his life.

He stopped a few feet away, leaning his hip against a nearby post and looking down at you with a slow, devastatingly cocky smirk.

“You look like you’re in over your head,” Johnny said, his voice dropping into that smooth, practiced drawl. He let his eyes scan the car before locking back onto yours. “Lucky for you, I’m an expert at handling problems. What’s the deal, beautiful? Need a hand?”