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THE ECHOES OF VICTORY STILL LINGERED ON THE MAT as Cobra Kai barely had time to savor their triumph. Kwon's smug taunt— "Too easy, man, come on..." —hung in the air, a stinging reminder to Miyagi-Do of their defeat. Both captains were down, their team dismantled with surgical efficiency. It wasn't just a win for the cobras; it was dominance.
Y/n and Kwon shared a rare moment of levity, exchanging high-fives and laughs. For a brief moment, their walls lowered, their usual intensity replaced with a shared pride in their overwhelming performance. It was the first time the girl had ever seen him laugh like that since they arrived to this place—genuine, unguarded, almost boyish.
"Guess Miyagi-do isn't all they hype themselves up to be," y/n joked, still catching her breath.
"How do you say in english...? Over-overrated," Kwon replied, shaking his head with a grin. "Who even do you think is this Miyagi person? Everybody there is more American than ketchup."
But his comment was cut short when the Chancellor's voice boomed over the speakers.
"Only two teams remain alive: Cobra Kai and the Iron Dragons!"
The arena erupted in cheers, but within Cobra Kai's ranks, a new tension began to build.
The Iron Dragons marched onto the mat with practiced precision, their movements sharp and synchronized. The fighters exuded confidence, their expressions cold and calculating. Even before the fight began, their discipline was obvious.
Still in formation, Cobra Kai instinctively shifted into defensive stances, their celebratory energy dissolving into wariness. y/n and Do-jin moved to the corners, eyes scanning the Iron Dragons for weaknesses. At the center, Kwon and Tory stood shoulder to shoulder, both sizing up the opposing team.
Their smirks quickly faded.
No one on the Iron Dragons had been eliminated.
Not a single one.
"They're fresh," Yoon muttered, his voice low.
Kwon clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. "So what? They haven't faced us yet."
Y/n didn't share his confidence. Her sharp eyes caught the way the Iron Dragons moved—too fluid, too controlled. Every step they took seemed calculated, every glance deliberate. These weren't fighters who relied on brute force or sheer aggression. They were strategists.
"They don't look tired," Yoon said, his voice grim.
