She lay on her back, muscles aching in a way that was becoming familiar — a constant reminder of yesterday’s fight. The dull throb radiating from her knuckles pulsed every time she flexed her fingers, still a little swollen and raw. Her body was a map of bruises and scratches — blue and purple blooms darkening her skin, her ribs sore where Kate’s strike had landed.
The sharp sting wasn’t just physical. It gnawed at something deeper — a fissure cracking open inside her, a rawness that couldn’t be soothed by ice or rest.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached out, her fingers sluggish but steady, and grabbed it.
A message from Miguel:
“You okay? You were a beast yesterday.”
Andrea smirked, the first real emotion of the day. She typed back:
“I’m just getting started.”
The soft knock on her door pulled her attention. Hawk’s voice drifted in.
“Yo, warrior princess, you coming or what? We’re hitting the dojo early.”
Andrea threw the covers off and sat up, wincing. She flexed her fingers again, ignoring the sharp jolt.
“Be there in five.”
At the dojo parking lot, Miguel and Hawk were already warming up, their breath misting in the cool morning air. Demetri pulled into the spot beside them, tossing a water bottle to Andrea as she jogged up.
“Man, you look like you fought a war and lost,” Demetri teased, eyes scanning her bruised arms.
Andrea grinned coldly, “War’s just starting.”
Hawk clapped her on the back. “Damn right. Johnny’s been hyped for today’s training. Said he wants blood.”
Miguel raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready for that?”
Andrea’s gaze hardened. “I was born ready.”
Inside the dojo, Johnny paced, eyes sharp as hawks circling their prey.
“Alright, Cobra Kais,” Johnny barked, “I want grit today. Push beyond your limits. No quitters. No crybabies.”
Andrea’s heart raced, but there was a calm under the chaos — like the eye of a storm. She flexed her fists, craving the sharp sting of impact.
In the hallway between classes, Samantha LaRusso appeared, her smile thin and knowing.
“Well, look who it is. The newbie with a chip on her shoulder.” Her voice was sugar-coated venom.
Andrea met her gaze, unflinching.
“You looking to find out if I’m all talk, or just trouble?” Andrea’s voice was low, steady.
Samantha’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’m finding out.”
Demetri stepped forward. “She’s not worth it.”
Andrea shot him a sharp look. “I can handle myself.”
Samantha laughed, eyes cold as ice. “We’ll see.”
That evening, the streets of Atlanta were quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. Andrea’s hoodie was pulled low, shielding her face. She walked alone, muscles tense, every shadow feeling like a threat.
Ahead, a figure stepped out from the dark.
Kate.
Their eyes locked.
The stage was set.
The cold night air wrapped around Andrea as she froze, eyes locked with Kate’s sharp gaze.
“Funny running into you here,” Kate said, voice dripping with challenge. Her Miyagi-Do jacket hugged her frame like a second skin, the emblem stark against the black fabric.
Andrea’s jaw tightened. “Maybe you’re following me.”
Kate smirked. “I could say the same.”
A silence stretched between them, thick and electric. Then Kate took a step forward.
“You don’t belong in Cobra Kai,” she said low, teeth clenched. “You’re a joke.”
Andrea’s fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “Wanna prove it?”
Without another word, the first punch flew.
The fight erupted raw and brutal.
Andrea’s style was aggressive—her strikes fueled by rage and raw power. Kate moved with calm precision, Miyagi-Do’s fluid grace contrasting sharply with Andrea’s force.
Kate ducked a wild right hook and countered with a swift jab to Andrea’s ribs.
Andrea gasped but didn’t falter. She shifted weight, spun, and drove a knee into Kate’s midsection.
Kate staggered but recovered fast, landing a quick series of strikes that forced Andrea back against a lamppost.
The streetlights cast long shadows over the combatants as they circled each other, breathing hard, eyes blazing.
Andrea’s next move was a feint and a snap kick aimed at Kate’s side, but Kate caught her ankle and yanked her off balance.
Andrea hit the pavement hard, scraping her palms.
Kate leaned close, voice cold and sharp:
“Give up, newbie.”
But Andrea only smiled—bitter and fierce.
“Not a chance.”
She pushed up and launched herself at Kate, slamming fists into her jaw.
The fight blurred — fists, kicks, blocks, grunts, and the sharp sting of pain as they traded blows.
Suddenly, a voice cracked the tension:
“Stop! Both of you!”
Robby emerged from the shadows, eyes wild.
He rushed forward, grabbing Andrea’s arm mid-punch.
“Enough! You’re gonna get yourselves killed.”
Andrea yanked free, eyes burning.
“I don’t need your help.”
Robby’s expression darkened.
“You’re spiraling. This isn’t you.”
She laughed—cold and harsh.
“No, Robby. This is me.”
Kate struggled to her feet, blood trickling from a split lip.
Robby’s fists clenched.
Andrea turned and walked away, leaving a heavy silence.
The coldness in the air lingered like a storm about to break.
Robby stood there, fists clenched, eyes burning with something dangerous.
Andrea disappeared into the night, but the war between them was far from over.
The rage, the thrill, the cold certainty that she was no longer the scared new girl.
At the same time, somewhere not far behind, Robby stood with Kate, his fists clenched, jaw tight. His gaze was fixed on the empty path Andrea had vanished down.
Robby’s POV
“She’s slipping away,” Robby muttered, voice rough.
Kate wiped blood from her lip, eyes flicking between him and the darkened street.
“She’s tougher than I thought,” Kate said softly.
Robby shook his head.
“Tough doesn’t mean invincible. If she keeps running on pure anger, she’ll burn out or worse.”
Kate’s gaze hardened.
“Maybe that’s what she needs.”
Back in her apartment, Andrea leaned against the sink, scrubbing blood from her knuckles until her skin was raw. The water turned red and swirled away, but the stain in her mind remained.
She stared into the mirror — not just at the bruises, but at the cold new steel in her eyes.
“Who am I becoming?” she whispered.
No answer came, only the steady drip of water and the pounding of her heart.
The next morning, the dojo felt heavier. The air thick with tension and anticipation.
Johnny Lawrence stood at the front, arms crossed, watching as Miguel, Hawk, and Andrea stretched and warmed up.
“Yesterday’s fight reports reached me,” Johnny said, voice low and gravelly. “You’re learning fast. Too fast maybe.”
Andrea met his eyes, daring.
Johnny smirked.
“But don’t think that means I’ll go easy on you.”
He clapped his hands sharply.
“Today, I want blood on that mat. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
The training was brutal.
Push-ups until their arms shook. Sparring rounds where every hit counted.
Andrea faced Miguel first.
Their movements were a tense dance — Miguel’s style fluid, defensive, while Andrea attacked with raw, relentless force.
“You’re holding back,” Miguel said, ducking a punch.
Andrea’s breath was ragged.
“Not anymore.”
She lunged, fists hammering, the pain in her knuckles fading into adrenaline.
Miguel grinned despite the sting.
“Damn, you’ve changed.”
After several rounds, Hawk stepped in, nodding approvingly at Andrea.
“You’re getting cold,” he said quietly.
Andrea met his gaze.
“Cold is better than broken.”
Later, as the sun dipped low, Andrea sat alone on the dojo steps, the bruises burning but her spirit fiercer than ever.
A message buzzed on her phone.
From an unknown number:
“You’re not alone. But watch your back.”
She stared at it a long moment.
Then smiled.
“Bring it on.”
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