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FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS, y/n had been unusually distracted, her mind drifting in class and her responses to even minor questions sharp and irritable. Her lack of focus had become noticeable to Kwon, who found himself surprised by her frequent zoning out and difficulty with her own homework, let alone helping him with his. What puzzled him most was her sudden interest in his karate classes; she'd barely shown any curiosity before. He was certain his new position as the top student had finally caught her attention, a smug belief blinding him to any possible connection she had to his latest sensei.
Kwon's arrogance, however, kept him blissfully unaware of the real reason behind her behavior: the re-emergence of a painful, unhealed wound from her past that only deepened with each passing day.
Y/n's mind was a battlefield, haunted by echoes of the past that refused to stay buried. Kreese's cutting words—"Mercy is what landed your friend in the hospital..."—resonated like a sinister mantra, dragging her back to the chaos she'd tried so hard to escape. Cobra Kai's resurgence wasn't just a coincidence; it was a dark specter pulling her into a vortex of regret and rage she'd long suppressed. Memories she had fought to lock away resurfaced, clawing their way into her consciousness, raw and unrelenting.
Every detail of that fateful day played like a vivid nightmare: the searing adrenaline of the school fight, the screaming, the chaos. "MIGUEL!" His name tore through her mind, carrying the weight of helplessness and guilt. She could still feel the cold railing beneath her hand as she reached out to stop his fall—one second too late. The haunting image of him lying still at the bottom of the staircase was etched into her soul. Last she'd heard, he'd been in a coma. Her father's grim muttering replayed in her head: "After two weeks in a coma, the coma usually wins."
The guilt was unbearable. She hadn't just been a bystander in that fight; she had been an accomplice. Driven by anger and misguided loyalty, she had unleashed her own fury on anyone who dared interfere, all to protect Nichols—the girl whose relentless anger had mirrored her own. y/n remembered the night that had forged her bond with Tory, a night filled with cheap vodka and cruel intentions. Tory had saved her from a boy with darker motives, dragging her wasted ass out of a party before things could take a sinister turn. That act of kindness had cracked y/n's hardened exterior, making her see the fractured, chaotic life Tory endured.
It was that empathy, that shared understanding of pain, that had fueled the girl's blind support during the fight.
But hindsight was a cruel teacher. Samantha LaRusso wasn't blameless, but she hadn't deserved what happened. y/n had allowed her judgment to be clouded by petty grievances and devotion to Kreese's merciless philosophy. She had acted without thought, letting rage consume her, and now Miguel's fall stood as a permanent reminder of what her recklessness had wrought.
