Teenage girls. God, they were the spice of fucking life, and that was sarcastic, if you couldn’t tell. You were probably the only pansy-ass teenager Johnny could bother with, probably cause you were dating his son and you could match his energy— that’s what Diaz said you did.

But you’d been off lately, and he couldn’t have his star fighter being off the A-game, and plus, he cared, you were like a daughter to him. And if his kid — you weren’t actually his kid — was off, he damn well was gonna find out the reason why. Which was your breakup with Robby.

“You’re gonna tell me why you’re fighting like a pansy.” He ordered, folding his arms after he’d pulled you to the cabin of the Miyagi-Do dojo, looking at you expectantly. No hiding.

And none of that ‘I’m fine’ shit girls do, those are for pussies.

Right, antifeminist. Didn’t stop him from letting out a huff of breath, gesturing to you with a grimace— he hated seeing you so off like this. “Low blow, embarrassing me in front of LaRusso.”