Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
╚══════════════════════════════════════. ■ .╝
ECSTATIC AND UTTERLY DRAINED, y/n l/n fell asleep with a victorious smile etched on her face that night. The fight had been more than just retribution against her tormentors; it had been a battle against her past—a reckoning. Each blow she delivered wasn't just physical but symbolic, striking at the guilt and helplessness she had carried for so long. In that alley, she rewrote the narrative of her trauma, recreating the moves she wished she had used to defend her friend, unleashing everything she had buried deep within. For the first time, she faced her demons head-on and won.
Exhilaration coursed through her veins as she stirred awake, the memories of the night's triumph fresh in her mind. But as the adrenaline ebbed, it was replaced by a realization—a gnawing truth that refused to be ignored. She hadn't just fought using instinct; every move, every strategy, every calculated strike bore the hallmark of one man's teachings: Sensei Kreese. Consciously or not, she had embodied his lessons, wielding them with an intensity she didn't know she possessed.
For all her resentment, for all her anger, she couldn't deny it now—Kreese's mentorship had prepared her for war. He had made her a weapon, not merely to survive but to dominate, to win. And she had. For the first time in years, she had tasted not just victory but empowerment. The thought left a bitter tang in her mouth, mingling with the sweetness of triumph. She hated him for what he stood for, for the manipulation and darkness he had sown in her life, but in this moment, she couldn't help but feel gratitude as well.
Her gaze flickered to her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her teeth groggily. Bruised but unbroken, bloodied but jubilant, she stared into her own y/e/c eyes and saw something she hadn't seen before: understanding. Maybe he had cared after all. Not in the soft, nurturing way of other teachers, but in the brutal, unyielding manner of someone who believed in her strength even when she didn't.
As she stood there, the weight of this achievement pressed against her chest like a leaden coil. Her feet carried her to the closet almost without thinking. She rummaged through it absently, her fingers brushing past forgotten relics of her past until they froze on something familiar—something she hadn't seen in years but had been searching for, perhaps unconsciously. Her breath hitched as her fingers curled around the fabric and pulled it out.
The old gi. Its sheen still bore faint traces of sweat and effort, and on the back, the unmistakable emblem of the coiled cobra stared back at her. The sight made her heart race. For a long moment, she just stared, her thumb tracing the edges of the design as a storm of emotions swirled within her—anger, defiance, guilt, and something else she couldn't quite name.
