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THE GYM WAS EERILY TRANQUIL, empty except for Tory Nichols. She sat cross-legged on the cold floor, her back against the wall, trying to steady her breathing for what she was sure was going to be yet another brutal practice. Her hands trembled slightly, not just from the exhaustion that settled deep into her muscles, but from something heavier—a weight in her chest that wouldn't let up. The ache wasn't new, but it was sharper here in Seoul, where everything seemed colder, harder, and lonelier.
Kim Da-eun's voice echoed in her mind, sharp and cutting like the strikes the blonde had been forced to block earlier.
"I didn't want you here. My students do not want you here."
The words had gutted her when they were first said, and even now, days later, they felt like fresh wounds.
"Everybody in my dojang, including your beloved Sensei, John Kreese, and the two of our captains, has had to earn their spot. You want to fight? Then fight. You want to belong? Then prove that you deserve to be here."
Kim's words had been harsh, but her eyes—those frigid, assessing eyes—were harsher. She had spoken the truth without hesitation, without mercy. And why would she sugarcoat anything? This was Cobra Kai. There was no room for softness, no room for second chances.
Tory clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She hated how much the older woman's words had gotten to her, how exposed they had made her feel. She thought she had left insecurity behind a long time ago... She thought she was past caring what anyone thought. But here, in this foreign country, in this brutal, unforgiving place, she felt like she was thirteen again—an outsider, unwanted and underestimated.
Her new teammates didn't make it easier. They were different from the fighters she'd trained with in the Valley. Harsher. Crueler. Tougher. Every sparring session felt like a war, every mistake punished with ridicule or an icy stare. There was no camaraderie here, no shared laughter or subtle nods of approval. Every one of them seemed like they wanted her to fail, to give up and slink back to The States where she belonged.
She'd overheard them once after practice, speaking in Korean, their laughter sharp and cutting. Tory didn't know what they were saying, but she didn't have to. The glances they threw her way said enough. She was the outsider. The charity case Sensei Kreese had brought along.
And then there was y/n...
Tory shut her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against them as if that could block out the memory. Being around the y/h/c-haired again after everything was like reopening an old wound. The tension between them was unbearable, their conversations clipped and laced with unspoken accusations. Every time she saw y/n, she was reminded of the things she'd done, the bridges she'd burned, and the friend she'd lost.
