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"ATTENTION ALL SEKAI TAIKAI PARTICIPANTS... the next event will begin in 90 minutes."
The announcement echoed through the locker room, but the Cobra Kai students hardly paid attention. They were too busy bouncing off the walls—quite literally in some cases. Hyperactive energy buzzed in the air, fueled partly by excitement and mostly by the churros they had shamelessly devoured at Las Ramblas after breakfast.
Of course, their churro escapade had been a covert operation. They'd snuck out to dodge their senseis, both of whom had been in spectacularly bad moods.
John Kreese was seething after biting into an apple only to discover a worm squirming inside. He spent the rest of the morning muttering things like, "Disgusting... weak... nature has no place in the dojo," while aggressively peeling every piece of fruit in sight.
Kim Da-eun's day, however, had been even worse. The Italian sensei had called security on her, loudly accusing her of child abuse after overhearing her mid-training when she threatened to break Tory's hand—again—whatever that meant...
Kim's response? "They are my children to abuse!"
It... did not land well. She spent the next hour trying to explain herself to Gunther, the Sekai Taikai chancellor, who looked increasingly horrified with every word. "No, I didn't mean it like that! It's a cultural thing! Back home, this is considered motivational!"
By the time she rejoined the group, Kim's mood could only be described as atomic.
Meanwhile, the students, oblivious to their senseis' suffering, had spent the morning gallivanting through Las Ramblas. Yoon had been double-fisting churros like his life depended on it. Tory dared Kwon to chug an entire horchata in one go (he did, then spent ten minutes trying not to throw up). And Lee? He'd been busy trying to stop Park from climbing a street performer dressed as a human statue, y/n being the cameraman.
Now, back in the locker room, the sugar rush was hitting its peak. Kwon was shadowboxing against his own reflection, while Tory and Yoon debated the proper technique for "pocket sand," a move they were 100% sure Kim would never approve of.
Lee sat on a bench, calmly taping his wrists. "You know," he muttered, glancing at y/n, "if Kim finds out we snuck off, she's going to kill us."
Y/n, doing another handstand against the wall for support, smirked. "If? She's probably already planning our funerals."
