Chapter 1: The Wager
Notes:
This “interloper” fic disrupted and derailed my progress on another fic I’d been working on, and took over my mind and would just not leave me alone until I started writing it. I'm so pleased I was able to get this first chapter ready in time to post on Silverusso Day!
CW: some Kreese-typical words and disparaging remarks toward Asian people.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For the past decade, Cobra Kai held the distinction of being the preeminent karate dojo in the San Fernando Valley. It boasted multiple winners at the local, regional, and state levels, and was the home of the only two-time back-to-back All-Valley Under-18 Karate champion, Johnny Lawrence. Sensei John Kreese was well known around the karate circuit for running a tight ship, but he was also famous for churning out winners.
But the halls of the Cobra Kai dojo now stood dark and silent. Not a single student had come through the dojo’s doorway in over six months. Gone were the sounds of twenty kiais in unison and the emphatic mantra of “Strike first, strike hard, no mercy!” recited at the beginning and end of every class.
The only sound the dojo heard these days was the faint ringing of the bell on the front door whenever one solitary figure came and went.
Kreese unlocked the dojo’s front door wearily, frowning at the growing stack of bills and junk mail that now prevented it from opening all the way. He knew it was there; it had been piling up for weeks now, but he couldn’t be bothered to look at any of it. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the door open over the obstructing pile of mail, and sneered with petty, malevolent satisfaction as the door ripped the top envelope, bearing the All-Valley Tournament Committee logo, in half.
He was very painfully aware of the fact that he hadn’t paid Cobra Kai’s All-Valley dues for the year, which meant that they were facing removal from the roster of eligible dojos for this year’s tournament. Time was running out and the final date for payment was fast approaching. Pat Johnson of the All-Valley Committee, who also served as the referee for the tournament every year, would call every few days to remind him of this, and he was sick of hearing it.
No students, no income, no dues, no tournament.
Kreese sighed heavily. He had been flying high for years. He’d built up Cobra Kai into a martial arts powerhouse that struck fear into the hearts of anyone who fought against them, and the dojo had swept the podium at the All-Valley several times since its founding. Cobra Kai signified passion, strength, power, victory. The tournament was a battle, and they should have been the victors, taking all comers head-on and crushing anyone and everyone who stood in their way.
What had gone wrong?
Daniel LaRusso happened.
That skinny Jersey brat and his diminutive Japanese sensei singlehandedly destroyed everything John Kreese had going for him. They took his dojo’s victory, students, good name, and reputation. They ruined his way of life and made a mockery of Cobra Kai.
That was it, Kreese decided. He would have his revenge. On LaRusso, on the little old man, and on Johnny Lawrence for failing to win what should have been a three-time back-to-back-to-back All-Valley Under-18 Golden Trophy for Cobra Kai, all because he was a weak, pathetic loser.
One way or another, in this life or the next, whatever and however long it took, vengeance would be his.
~ * ~
Kreese made his way into the dojo office and flopped into the wobbly office chair behind his desk. Nestled among the detritus of paperwork in front of him was a framed picture of three young men in military fatigues. Special Forces Basic Training, 1967 was written in the bottom right corner in small, neat letters. A smiling Kreese stood in the center, flanked by two of his brothers in war. He never thought he’d say this, but those were better days – certainly better than now, anyway. Even if they’d been in a hellhole surrounded on all sides by Viet Cong, they still had each other. Now, Kreese was having to go through all this alone.
He picked up the photo and looked at it for several long minutes. He looked so young and innocent back then, before his life was overtaken with death, loss, and betrayal. He truly believed he lost his faith in love when he lost his mother, and lost the capacity to love when he lost Betsy – and now, in place of the love and compassion they brought to his life, he felt nothing but hatred and vengeance.
Standing to his right in the photo was a tall, lanky, awkward teen with skinny arms that looked not unlike some of the students he’d had over the years. But the difference was, far from being a talentless loser like those kids, Twig was a fighter. He had prodigious martial talent, a burning fire in his spirit, and had made an ironclad promise that he would be there for Kreese, at any time and for any reason, for the rest of their lives.
He picked up the phone on the desk and dialed a number he had long committed to memory.
“Hey,” he said into the receiver when the line connected. “Long time.”
“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny!” came a familiar voice from the other end. “What do you mean ‘long time’? I’ve only been gone three weeks.”
“Terry Silver.” Kreese couldn’t help but smile at the usual effusive greeting from his old friend. “How was your trip? You’re so busy and important these days, aren’t you.”
“Good, it was good. Borneo’s nice, I’ll take you sometime.” Terry took a long drag from his Cuban cigar. “The girls there are so hot, just the way you like them. Even the guys there are pretty, it’s obscene. I can’t even begin to tell you the time I had out there. I had a new one almost every day, there were just so many of them. There were a couple very willing ones who really gave me my money’s worth. I don’t remember their names now, but whatever, I’ll probably never see them again and there’s always more where that came from.”
“You remember how we used to go to Mimi’s in Saigon every weekend?” Kreese said, laughing. “You were so enthusiastic and eager for those pretty Asian pieces who wouldn’t notice you because you looked too young to be there – but now, it sounds like they can do nothing but notice you. Good for you.”
“What can I say? Money talks.” Terry stretched his long legs out into his bubble bath and played with one of the jacuzzi jets with his foot. He motioned for his butler, Milos, who was standing near the entry to the bathroom with a fluffy white bath towel slung over one arm, to bring him a new pour of scotch. “While I was out sampling the delights Borneo had to offer, my guys were hard at work. I’ve been informed that the sludge dumping will begin on Wednesday in the peat swamps. Man, those people have no goddamn clue what’s going on. They probably don’t even know what chloride sludge is. Ha!”
Kreese scowled. Terry’s business was flourishing – Dynatox’s international expansion seemed to be going very well – while Kreese’s clearly wasn’t, and he couldn’t help but feel jealous. Between the two of them, he was the one who was supposed to be the leader, the successful one, the face of their operation. Terry was just the money.
“It’s all thanks to you that Dynatox is doing as well as it is, I’m sure,” Kreese said, hoping Terry wouldn’t catch the note of bitterness in his voice.
“Oh, please. You’re too much. But enough about that, though, I really don’t want to talk about work with you. What have you been up to while I was gone?”
Kreese shrugged. “Eh, not much, really. You know how it goes: same shit, different day.”
“Yeah, I hear that, I really do. How’s my investment?”
There it was, the reason Kreese had called Terry in the first place, but he now found himself desperately wanting to avoid talking about it. Terry sounded so cheerful and carefree; it almost made Kreese believe he should be, too. But the reality was, even though he was loath to admit defeat or ask for help from anyone, he was lost, he was broke, and he needed Terry. He took a deep breath and blew out a dejected sigh before speaking again. “What, you haven’t heard? They’re all gone. I’ve lost everything.”
Terry rose abruptly from the bath, splashing water and bubbles across the mother-of-pearl and black onyx mosaic tile. Milos, dutifully carrying over a Glencairn glass and a half-filled crystal decanter of scotch, narrowly missed being doused with bath water. “What the fuck? What do you mean gone? Who did this?”
“Come to the dojo. I’ll tell you everything.”
Terry arrived at the dojo within the hour and parked his brown Rolls-Royce Corniche II convertible directly in front of the building, right under a No Parking Any Time sign, as though he were silently daring the LAPD traffic police to do something about it.
I can buy you and sell you, he’d said to the last LAPD traffic officer who tried to ticket him for parking in a No Parking zone. Trust me, you do not want to mess with me. Do you even know who I am?
He’d received a personal apology from the chief of police the following day. He was no longer worried in the least about parking his $200,000 car anywhere he damn well pleased.
“That was quick,” Kreese said from the doorway. “I wasn’t expecting you until later this afternoon. Nice parking job, by the way.”
Terry vaulted out of his car without opening the door, ignoring the grimace on his friend’s face as his bespoke Salvatore Ferragamo crocodile leather loafers made contact with the car’s soft leather upholstery. “What can I say? When you call, I answer. I promised you that, didn’t I?”
“My whole life,” Kreese replied with a smirk. “Come into the office. I have so much to tell you.”
The lights were off in the entryway, and Terry had to squint his eyes to get used to the sudden change in lighting from the early afternoon sun outside. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw how much Kreese had allowed the dojo, their dojo, to fall into disrepair. He saw for himself how far Cobra Kai had really fallen: it was like walking into a long-abandoned haunted building. Practice dummies and punching bags lay broken and knocked over; the normally immaculate center sparring mat was dirty, askew, and littered with unfurled red and white flags; and a heap of what were once white practice gi lay crumpled in the far corner against the dusty mirrors.
Terry hated to admit that he hadn’t been around for John and Cobra Kai as much as he’d have liked, especially in the last few years, but his increasing family and business obligations kept him busy. When he turned 30, his father appointed him as senior vice president for international operations at Dynatox, and last year, had him take over as CEO. This meant that with his added corporate responsibilities, and his new initiative to bring Dynatox branches to more foreign countries, he had far less time to keep track of his investment here at the dojo, but he figured John would tell him if there was something wrong. He'd heard nothing at all from Kreese, so he had no idea it had gotten this bad.
“Alright, talk to me. Start from the beginning.”
Kreese leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Around this time last year, I started hearing from some of my students that this kid moved here from out of town, New Jersey or something, and immediately started giving them a hard time. He harassed them constantly for weeks, and you know I don’t teach my students to just lay down and take it, so they did what I taught them to do.”
“Strike first, strike hard, no mercy,” Terry nodded approvingly. “Mess with the Cobra, you get the fangs.”
“That’s exactly right. They fought back, just as I taught them. Then, sometime around Halloween, the kid decided to pull some shit on my students at a school dance, and when they fought back, some Jap jumped out of the fucking sky and almost killed them.”
Terry’s eyes widened in surprise. “You serious? One little Japanese guy against multiple Cobra Kai students?”
“He took them all out in less than ten minutes, no joke. And then, the following day, who shows up here at the dojo but the kid and that same Jap – I think he’s actually the super at the kid’s apartment complex, so not a real sensei, you know? Didn’t look like much, still doesn’t,” Kreese continued. “It’s a damn good thing they showed up here that day, so I didn’t have to hunt them down to give them the Cobra Kai treatment. I was so looking forward to showing them what happens when you mess with Cobra Kai, but before I could do anything, the old man waltzed in here with the kid like he owned the place, and tried to tell me what to do in my own dojo! He didn’t give me a chance to talk and immediately demanded a cessation of hostilities, with everything to be resolved at the tournament, as though this dojo wasn’t good enough to fight in. And then the pushy little bastard had the nerve to demand that the little princess be left alone until the All-Valley.”
“You agreed to that?” Terry asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Call me curious to see how much damage the little beanpole and the Jap could really do against us. We had the high ground, and they were annoying insects I thought we could easily deal with.”
“Then what happened?”
“The little fucker kept on harassing my students! Because of the stupid agreement, knowing they couldn’t do anything to retaliate, what did he do? He provoked them every chance he got. Every goddamn chance,” Kreese fumed. “He even stole my favorite student’s girlfriend, and they paraded around together in front of him constantly. Can you believe the nerve of that kid? Under any other circumstances, I would have sent them all after him to do whatever they wanted, and it would be no less than what he truly deserved – but we had an understanding.”
“Kid sounds like a punk. Did he ever get what was coming to him?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course not. We upheld our end of the deal and left him alone, and how did he repay us for our consideration? By unfairly defeating my champion and taking away our rightful place in Valley karate history. That would have been three times in a row, Twig! You know what that could have done for our reputation here in the Valley? We’d kick the competition to the curb and there would be no more competition. Everyone would want to join Cobra Kai because we’re winners! The home of the only three-time All-Valley Champion in history! We would have been able to open branches all over the damn Valley if we wanted to, and nobody could say or do anything to stop us. We’d be legendary. Our name would live forever …”
“… because Cobra Kai never dies,” Terry finished.
“You’d think so. But no,” Kreese gritted out, “as if he hadn’t already done enough, the obnoxious little slope had the nerve to butt into a conversation I was having with my students in the parking lot after the tournament. He and the kid are exactly the same; neither of them could ever leave well enough alone.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He questioned my methods, mocked the Cobra Kai philosophy with his pidgin English, cut my hands with broken glass, and tried to kill me in front of my students and hundreds of other people. He made me look weak and foolish and stupid in front of my students, and they all left me with nothing soon after that. I nearly died, Terry. I barely made it out of there with my life, and I’ve lost everything else. It’s been months now, and I still haven’t recovered. And, well, here I am, and here we are.”
Terry scowled. “Oh, hell no. Who the hell are these people? I want names, faces, everything.”
“You want to see the kid? Alright, here,” Kreese said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a well-worn newspaper article that had clearly been crumpled and straightened back out many times. “That's him. Look at him. Just fucking look at him.”
Terry examined the newspaper article. Now this was interesting. He looked closely at the boy in the picture, standing victorious on the All-Valley mat with a trophy held aloft, eyes bright, and instantly thought to himself, that is one hell of a beautiful boy.
Terry never thought of himself as having a set type, since he had been with and enjoyed many different types of attractive men and women. But a number of people, including Kreese, had made the same observation over the years: that he particularly favored tall, slender, dark-haired younger people with full, sensual lips, legs for miles, and long lashes framing large, luscious dark eyes in a delicately featured, classically beautiful face. It even became a bit of a joke at his expense during and after his time in Vietnam.
And yes, it was true that for the past three weeks, he had nothing but young, slender, dark-haired and dark-eyed people in his bed, and he enjoyed every last one of them greatly. But this one, this Daniel LaRusso, was special. He checked all the right boxes and fit the bill in every aspect, and Terry definitely liked what he saw.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, yes. I’m looking at him. He’s perfect.”
“Huh. I knew you’d say that; he’s just your type, isn’t he? You’re so predictable.” Kreese scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Focus, Terry, you’re missing the point. That’s the little brat who made a mockery of us and lost us everything, and that’s his slope teacher standing next to him.”
“‘Mystery Dojo with Single Student Defangs Cobras.’ This pretty thing is who you’re afraid of?” Terry asked, pointing to the grainy picture. “The way you've been talking about him, I was picturing a small, ugly, unpleasant child, not this. Definitely not this.”
“I’m not fucking afraid of him, Twig, I’m pissed. He won by kicking my two-time champion in the face with an illegal kick. If the angle had been any different, I have no doubt he’d have decapitated him.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, John,” Terry said. “Especially not with those beautiful baby deer legs.”
“Jesus, Terry, you’re missing the point again,” Kreese snapped, waving his hand impatiently. “Get your head out of your dick. The point is that he never should have won. From a training standpoint, he shouldn’t have even been there at all. Black belt, my ass. The little shit cheated, plain and simple, and ruined my fucking life.”
Had Kreese kept him in the loop about everything going on at the dojo, Terry might also have known about this exquisite boy much sooner. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this when it happened?”
“Because you just took over at Dynatox,” Kreese said, looking away. “I didn’t want to bother you with my shit when you had your own to deal with, and it’s something I thought I should be able to take care of on my own anyway.”
Terry rapped his knuckles on the corner of the desk. “Hey. Look at me. This is my investment and my dojo too, Johnny. If only you’d said something sooner, I could have helped you get it back on track way before this. Hell, I probably could have helped you prevent this entirely, and we wouldn’t have this problem now.”
“Well, guess what, we do, and I need your help to do something about it. That’s why I called you.” Kreese could feel his temper rising again, and he gripped the armrests of the chair in a vain attempt to calm himself. “I need you, Twig. You promised me, anything I need, my whole life. I need you now. I can’t do this without you. I won’t do this without you.”
I need you. Terry had heard these words from Kreese so many times before, and yet every time, Kreese never asked him what he needed. A part of him felt guilty for even thinking like that, but at times like this, he felt like he did nothing but give. Kreese never let him forget the promise he’d made in Vietnam, and he had always done whatever Kreese asked without question, out of a sense of duty and obligation and, though he would probably never admit it out loud, love. But there were things he wanted and needed from Kreese, too.
“Okay, tell me, then. What do you want from me?”
“I want revenge!” Kreese slammed his fist on the desk, his rage finally exploding. “I want them to suffer like I have suffered. I want them destroyed, ruined, humiliated! I want them to feel fear, pain, and defeat every day for the rest of their wretched fucking lives. I want that dojo gone. I want Daniel LaRusso wrecked. I want the little Jap to pay. I want Johnny Lawrence to know the full consequences of failing me. Make their knuckles bleed like they did mine. Do whatever it takes, Terry. I don’t care what it takes, how long it takes. I just want all of them to experience agony like they’ve never experienced it before.”
“Please. That’s easy,” Terry snorted. “I deal with this stuff all the time. It’s a business tactic of mine: someone makes me suffer, I make them suffer. By the time I finish with the assholes that messed with me, there’s nothing left of them but a smoking pile of ash. People know the consequences for crossing me: pain in every part of their bodies, and fear in every part of their minds. I can make people suffer like they’ve never suffered before if they try to screw with me or my business, and Cobra Kai is my business. So, if you need that done, I’ll get it done.” He held up the crumpled newspaper article and waved it in the air between them. “Leave it to me. You’ll get your revenge, and I’ll take this beautiful, exquisite specimen of a boy and make him pliant and willing under my touch. He won’t be able to resist, and he will surrender himself fully to me. I’m going to take him, and I’m going to make him mine.”
“Really now.” Kreese crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Terry with a skeptical eye. “Those are some pretty words, Twig. But I’m willing to wager you can’t do it. You talk a big game, you always do, but when it comes down to it, you won’t be able to follow through.”
“I haven’t gotten to where I am in business by making empty promises,” Terry said indignantly. “I’m not the CEO of a multibillion-dollar international nuclear waste management corporation for nothing.”
Kreese chuckled. “‘Multibillion-dollar international nuclear waste management corporation.’ That’s cute, I like that. But don’t kid yourself. You’re the one running your family’s toxic waste dumping company now because your daddy wants to have more time to play golf and eat sushi and oysters at the club with his girls all day. Everyone knows ‘your’ business tactic is exactly how your father built up Dynatox after World War II; he wrote the damn book on it. But you can’t do it like he did and you never will, because I know you, Twig, probably better than you know yourself, and you are no Reginald Winston Silver. You’re so soft, you always have been. Let me remind you how you were curled up in a fetal position in the back of an NVA cage, whimpering like a damn pussy, while I fought for my life in your place over a pit of poisonous snakes. And how many times after that did I save your sorry ass? Too damn many. You’re weak.”
“I’m weak? I’m weak? Last I checked, you were the one asking for my help.”
“That’s not weakness. It’s a strength to recognize when you need help, and ask for it.”
Terry grimaced. He knew that if the roles were reversed, Kreese would be berating him for his weakness for asking for help. Kreese always professed to be a firm believer in never asking for help or admitting defeat, but now that he needed help, he clearly had no qualms about changing the rules to suit him.
“Well, if you want my help, I’m going to do it my way,” Terry declared. “And if you still want to make that wager, count me in. I’ll bet you I can do it. I’ll make that boy surrender to me and before you know it, he’ll be mine for the taking.”
Kreese clapped his hands together. “You’re on. Let’s see how well you can back up your big talk.”
“Alright. What are the terms?”
“Do whatever you want, however you want, I’ll give you that, just as long as you get it done. But if you fail,” Kreese said, “I take full ownership of Cobra Kai and any future franchises I choose to open. You will no longer be involved in the ownership or day-to-day operations of this dojo, and you will lose your investment and interest in this dojo and its property.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Terry protested. “What makes you think I’ll go for that? In case you’ve forgotten, I am the one who paid for this dojo space. I am the one who designed the gi you’ve left on the floor over there and bought the equipment you’ve left scattered all over this place. I am the one who paid for the initial advertising, and financially and morally supported this dojo in its first six months. The intellectual property copyright of the Cobra Kai brand is in my name, as is this building. Without me, there would be no Cobra Kai.”
“So what? None of that matters. What will matter is that you’ll have failed, and your failure will tell me, loud and clear, that you are no longer capable or worthy of carrying on the name and tradition of Cobra Kai,” Kreese said, eyes hard. “Because defeat does not exist in this dojo, does it, Lieutenant?”
Terry pursed his lips and said nothing.
“However,” Kreese continued, “should you succeed, I’ll give you something you’ve desperately wanted since Vietnam.”
Terry scoffed. “Right. And what exactly do you think that is? There are lots of things I’ve wanted since Vietnam.”
“In English? I’ll fuck your brains out,” Kreese purred, as he moved into Terry’s space and laid a hand on his shoulder, gently massaging it. “For one night, I’ll fuck you any way you want me to, and we’ll go for as long as you want, as many times as you want. I’ll do whatever you want me to do to you, and you can do anything and everything you want to me.”
Terry swallowed thickly and blew out a shaky breath through his nose, his entire body tensing at the prospect.
“I know you’ve been dreaming about this since you were seventeen,” Kreese said, pitching his voice low into Terry’s ear. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you jerking off to me in the camp tent when you thought I was asleep. That’s half your life you’ve wanted my cock, Twig. Wreck Daniel LaRusso, and I’ll make the dream of your fucking life come true.”
When Kreese pulled back and saw the eager look in Terry’s eyes, he knew it was on. He knew just how much Terry wanted him, had wanted him for the greater part of two decades. They would hook up every now and again, and had done so over the many years they’d known each other whenever one or both needed to let off some steam, but Kreese never let it get too far. He luxuriated in Terry’s unending devotion and his lifelong promise, and if denying him what he really wanted would maintain that level of devotion and ensure he would keep coming back for more, Kreese would do it in a heartbeat. So he did, and he delighted in it, even if there were days when he wanted more than just Terry’s hand or his mouth – but this time, he would give it all to him if it meant vengeance on everyone who had crossed him.
Yes, he was primed and ready for revenge. The Jersey trash and the old Jap would be out of the picture, he would finish the job he left undone with Johnny Lawrence, and when all was said and done, he’d be the undisputed premier karate sensei and dojo operator in the Valley.
Maybe he’d get Terry to suck him off too, as an added bonus, because why not? Terry always did whatever Kreese told him to do.
“You’ve got yourself a bet, baby,” Terry said, holding out his hand to seal the deal.
Kreese grinned and clasped Terry’s hand firmly in his. “Happy hunting, Terrance.”
Notes:
The Pietra Firma Luxtouch tiles were the inspiration for the tiles in Terry's bathroom.
Mimi’s was a popular bar in Saigon, Vietnam frequented by American soldiers during the Vietnam War.
Chapter Text
On December 19, 1984, Johnny Lawrence left the All-Valley Sports Arena without anything to show for it except a crushed trachea and an equally crushed spirit. Nearly losing his life because he placed second at the All-Valley was the wake-up call he needed to leave Cobra Kai for good. He and his friends unanimously agreed they could no longer be a part of a dojo that didn’t reward you for winning and tried to kill you for failing – if second place could even be considered failing – so they all showed up for class the day after Christmas and, with the exception of Bobby, who left during the tournament, dropped their practice gi on the floor at Kreese’s feet. The rest of the class followed their example and left Kreese with an empty dojo.
It was freeing for Johnny not to have to worry about karate or Kreese’s approval anymore.
Johnny threw himself completely into his studies with the same zeal he’d thrown himself into Cobra Kai, and managed to graduate with honors and get into the sports medicine program at California State University Northridge. Daniel’s screams of agony on the All-Valley mat still haunted him every day, but instead of letting it eat away at him, Johnny turned it into a source of motivation to spend the rest of his life healing and helping others. He never wanted to hear screams like that again if he could help it. He had also seen and experienced a lot of sports-related injuries himself over the years, and often found himself wishing he had that healing knowledge to help himself and his friends whenever Kreese hurt them and told them to just deal with it.
His face broke out into a wide, hopeful smile as he passed under the enormous banner welcoming the Class of 1989 to campus. He was thankful for a new beginning, a better future, and most importantly, finally being the hell out of Sid’s house.
Sid had taken Laura on vacation the week before Johnny was set to leave for college. Johnny suspected that Sid purposely planned it that way so he wouldn’t have to deal with seeing him off, completely disregarding the fact that Laura, who never went to college, wanted to accompany her son to campus for move-in day. The campus wasn’t that far from home, it wouldn’t be a day trip or even a weekend trip like it would be for some parents, but Sid insisted they had to leave that week. Johnny didn’t particularly want Sid to be here, or worse, have to inflict Sid on his new roommate, but it would have been really special for his mom to be here for him on his first day of college.
The sixth floor hallway of his dormitory was utter chaos, with students and their parents milling about the halls as upperclassman move-in volunteers carted large bins full of personal belongings to people’s rooms. Johnny picked his way through the crowd to find his room, and couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of sadness at seeing everyone else with their parents, smiling and happy and ready to start a new chapter of their lives.
A colorful construction paper sign with a cutout sun, clouds, waves, and a pair of surfboards bearing the names Michael Barnes, Sacramento, CA and John Lawrence, Encino, CA adorned the door to room 614. The door was closed but not pulled all the way shut and Johnny heard movement from inside, which meant his roommate was already here. He pushed the door open slowly to find a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy in the room, hard at work setting up a stereo system against the left-hand wall.
The other boy looked up and over his shoulder when he heard the door open and the sound of hallway chatter fill the room, and he set down the speaker he was holding to greet the new arrival. “Hey!” he said cheerfully. “Come on in. You must be John. I’m Mike.”
Johnny took a few steps into the room and held out his hand. “Call me Johnny, everyone else does. Nice to meet you, Mike.”
“It’s great to meet you, Johnny.” Mike took Johnny’s outstretched hand in a firm handshake. “I know my shit’s kind of everywhere right now, sorry about that. Let me know if I need to move anything.”
Johnny looked around the room; it wasn’t nearly as messy as Mike made it sound. “No, you’re fine. I really don’t have a whole lot with me right now; I just brought whatever I could fit in my car. My mom and stepdad are on vacation in Hawaii, so I had to come here by myself. I live like twenty minutes from here, in Encino, so I’ll just get whatever else I need from home later.”
Mike’s eyes widened. “They went on vacation the week you left for college? Really?”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Johnny shrugged. “It may have just turned out that way, but my stepdad’s a piece of work, so I wouldn’t put it past him to do that on purpose.”
“Well, whatever, you don’t need him. I’ll help you with your stuff.”
“Thanks. I wish my mom could be here, though. She was so excited for me to go to college.”
“I know it’s not what you wanted, and it sucks that she couldn’t be here,” Mike said sympathetically. “My parents were here for a little bit this morning, but they had to leave early to beat the traffic out of LA, so I get it. They’re sorry they didn’t get to meet you, but they left pretty much as soon as my stuff got here. Look at it this way: the good thing about your house being twenty minutes from here is that once your mom’s back from vacation, she can see you anytime she wants, and she isn’t that far away, not like my parents.”
That was just what Johnny needed to hear, and he smiled gratefully. “Thanks,” he said again. “That’d be great. I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet you and have us over sometime.”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Mike agreed. Seeing Johnny still standing near the doorway with his backpack on his shoulder, he gestured toward the bunk beds against the right-hand wall. “I went ahead and took the bottom bunk, if that’s okay. You don’t, like, sleepwalk or anything, do you?”
Johnny looked up at the bare mattress on the top bunk and set his backpack down on it. “No, I don’t. I’m cool with the top bunk, it’s not something I’ve ever had before.”
“Not even at summer camp?” Mike asked, turning back to the stereo system he’d been setting up when Johnny arrived.
“I never went to summer camp,” Johnny said quietly. When he was younger, they could never afford it, and when they could afford it, Sid refused to pay for it, so he never got the camp experience the rest of his friends did.
“You know what, it’s probably just as well, you didn’t miss out on the cold showers or the poison ivy,” Mike said. “The top bunk is all yours. Let’s go get your stuff.”
It only took a few trips for Mike and Johnny to bring all of Johnny’s things up from his car, so once they brought the last of it up, they headed for the freshman welcome picnic, catered by a local barbeque place, in the main quad. Loading up their plates high with free food, every college student’s favorite thing, they found a shady spot on the lawn to sit and eat.
“So yeah, I’m in the business school. I want to be a stuffed shirt in a boardroom when I grow up, apparently.” Mike said, taking a large bite of his pulled pork sandwich. “My parents want me to go to law school after this.”
“Is that what you want?” Johnny asked.
“Hell no. Then I’d be a stuffed shirt with a stick up my ass. That isn’t for a while, though, so I’m not going to worry about it, and you better believe I’m going to have fun while I’m here. What about you, what’s your major, or do you not know yet?”
“I got into the sports medicine program, but I’ve got to do a bunch of prerequisites before I can take those classes, so probably biology to start, maybe psych as well, I’m not sure yet,” Johnny said, poking at his pasta salad with his fork. “I did a lot of sports in high school and had to deal with a lot of injuries, and I wish I had someone then who knew about that stuff to help with it.” He wasn’t lying, that was definitely one reason for it, but he wasn’t ready to talk to Mike about Daniel or what happened at last year’s All-Valley. Not yet.
“I did a lot of sports in high school too. Which ones did you do?”
“Soccer and karate.”
“No way, really? I did karate as well. Did you do any tournaments or anything like that?”
Johnny hesitated. There was a time he would have been proud to say he was a two-time All-Valley champion from the Cobra Kai dojo. He was no longer proud of having been in Cobra Kai, but he was still proud of his personal accomplishments. “Yeah. Yeah, I did,” he said quietly. “I won the All-Valley Under-18 here in this area two years in a row.”
Mike’s face lit up. “No shit, you’re a champion too? I won the Greater Capital Region Under-18 this past year.”
“That’s awesome, congratulations,” Johnny said, and he meant it. He knew all too well just how much time and effort went into becoming a karate champion. “Did you go on to California Federation All-State after that?”
“No, I didn’t,” Mike replied. “My dojo never went on to All-State because my sensei didn’t believe that karate should be used for competition or show. He approached it as more of a life philosophy and a means of self-defense, but he also wanted to give us an opportunity to meet other karate students in the area, which is why we did Greater Capital. It wasn’t ever about winning for him, it was about learning from each other and making friends.”
Johnny let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not at all what my sensei taught us. He was a strong believer in displays of force and strength, and emphasized competition and winning above all. He never wanted us to be friends with people from other dojos. He wanted us to treat them like the enemy.”
This way of thinking was completely foreign to Mike, and he wrinkled his nose. “Well, that’s kind of unhealthy, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t think so at the time, but I can see now that it is,” Johnny admitted. “Looking back, I wish I got to learn what your sensei taught you. It sounds like a much better way to approach karate.” It was true, Mike seemed much calmer and more balanced than most people he knew who did karate, even Bobby. Johnny wondered what it would’ve been like to have learned Mike’s style of karate instead of the violent, aggressive methods of Cobra Kai.
“Did you put karate down on your freshman housing form?” Mike asked. “Imagine if that was the reason they assigned us together. I don’t know how many others here do karate, but I’d like to find out, because I don’t want to get out of practice.”
“Yeah, I put it down on the form,” Johnny said, “but I don’t really do it anymore.”
Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise, unable to imagine having a reason to give up karate after winning not just one, but two regional titles. “Seriously? Why not?”
“Well, some shit happened last year with my old sensei, and I quit.”
Johnny looked uncomfortable talking about it, so Mike decided not to pry, especially because they’d just met that day and, despite immediately feeling at ease with each other, didn’t know each other well enough yet to talk about things like that. “I’m sorry to hear that, that sucks,” he settled on saying, despite his curiosity. “But you shouldn’t feel like you have to give up karate completely because your sensei pulled some shit on you.”
“Well, as part of my program, I can take karate as one of my electives. That counts, doesn’t it?”
“Not really. It’s going to be full of people just wanting to do their P.E. graduation requirement and don’t even know what a front kick is or how to do it. It’s an easy A for you, but you probably won’t learn anything. They might have a karate club here, though. They have clubs for everything; we’ll look for one at the activities fair next week. I’d be down to join a karate club to keep up with it.”
Johnny tried to imagine what a collegiate karate club would be like, and found himself intrigued by the idea of it. “Sure, we can do that. It’ll be new for me not to be stressed and pushed to win all the time, but it’s something I can definitely get used to.”
“Yeah, sure, of course. Less competitive, more fun,” Mike said. “Now that I’m thinking about it, a karate club would be freaking fantastic. You know how much fun that will be, meeting people from out of state and from other schools who also enjoy karate as much as we do? If there isn’t one, I think we need to start one.”
Johnny still felt apprehensive about the possibility of picking up karate again after being away from it for so long, but as he listened to the way Mike was talking about it, he could almost believe he’d be able to find joy in it again.
~ * ~
Mike and Johnny went out a few days later to pick up some things for their room. Now that they were all settled into their room, it was much easier to see what they still needed, so they took the last free day before classes officially began to pick up a few things. A standing lamp, a water pitcher, some Christmas lights, a huge pile of snacks, and a pair of purple beanbag chairs later – purple being the only color left on the shelves – they made it back home just in time for the cafeteria to open for dinner. They didn’t get to the cafeteria right as it opened, though, because Mike dropped everything he was carrying onto the lawn outside their dorm and turned to Johnny with his arms spread wide.
“Spar with me,” he said, beckoning Johnny over with both hands. “Come and get it. Let’s see what you’ve got, Mr. Two-Time All-Valley Champion.”
Johnny stopped short on the sidewalk. “Right now?”
“No, tomorrow. Yeah, now.”
“Aren’t you hungry? I thought we agreed to go to the cafeteria as soon as we got back to make sure we get first dibs?”
“Yeah, sure, but this is more fun,” Mike said. “Come at me, bro.”
Johnny dropped what he was carrying next to the pile Mike left on the lawn, and rolled up his sleeves. “Alright. Standard tournament rules apply?”
“Always.”
They bowed to each other respectfully, and no sooner were they out of their bow than Johnny immediately sprang forward with a jab punch, which Mike expertly blocked and countered with a hit of his own. Their sparring styles were similar, focused more on offense rather than defense – Kreese always said that the best defense was more offense – and it was readily evident to both of them that they were evenly matched. Mike quickly scored the first point; Johnny followed with two, one right after the other. Mike feinted to one side, only to land a hit on the other side, gaining a second point to even the score.
A small crowd of people had gathered to watch them, and they applauded when Johnny scored the final point with an impressive flying tornado kick, something he’d always wanted to try but never got to do in competition.
“Damn, Johnny, you’re really good. That flying tornado kick you did was awesome, but watch your back, I’m going to kick your ass one day when you least expect it.” Mike stood up and dusted himself off, and they bowed to each other.
“Yeah, you wish,” Johnny laughed. He didn’t realize how much he missed karate until now, and doing karate for fun with a friend was very different from anything he’d done before. It felt great.
“Next time we do this,” Mike said, “I’m going to show you the kata that won me the kata division title at Greater Capital last year.”
“You guys had a kata division at yours?” Johnny asked, picking up one of the beanbag chairs. “We never had that at the All-Valley.”
“Yeah. We had kata and kumite divisions, and I won both last year,” Mike said proudly.
“My sensei never wanted us to learn kata,” Johnny said.
Mike squinted. “That’s literally the other major part of karate. Does he not know that?”
“He probably does, but his idea of karate was a way to show your superiority over your enemy, and to eliminate weakness in ourselves and in other people. He said kata was stupid and a waste of time, and refused to teach it.”
Mike picked up the other beanbag chair and rested the box of Christmas lights on top of it. “Well, Johnny, we both know your sensei was an idiot. You’re going to learn, I’ll make sure of that. Your form will thank you. Now, let’s get this shit upstairs so we can eat, I’m fucking starving.”
Doing karate together in front of their dorm became a regular occurrence over the next few days, and their audience got bigger and bigger. After their initial sparring session, they’d gone back out a few more times for either sparring or kata, which Johnny was beginning to learn and get the hang of. It wasn’t at all how Kreese had described it; he’d characterized it as “ballet dancing,” which Johnny soon learned it definitely was not. Yes, it was at times slower, and overall less aggressive, but it gave a good workout and really did help Johnny with his form. As he and Mike learned each other’s styles and techniques, Johnny began to rediscover his old love for karate and warmed even more to the idea of taking part in a karate club here in college, if only for him and Mike to continue their shared interest and find others they could also share it with.
They went to the student activities fair the first weekend after classes started, specifically looking for a karate club to join, but didn’t find one. They did, however, find the Sport Clubs table, and were told by the program coordinator that the school did not have a karate club, and had never had one before, so they would have to start from scratch. The coordinator, Joe, liked the idea of offering a new sport for the year, and told them they were more than welcome to start a karate club once they determined there was enough interest among the student body. Mike took the club registration form with him, having been told to bring it to the Matador Involvement Center at the student union for further steps and instructions when they had all the information filled out and were ready to begin.
“So how do we want to do this?” Johnny asked, staring hard at the blank form once they got back to their room. “Where should we start?”
Mike leaned forward, arms folded on the desk in front of him, and put his best business school face on. “First, we come up with a name for the club, a good name. Then, we get a shit ton of flyers made. Put them up all over the place, give them out to people on campus, slide them under people’s doors. Maybe make some posters to put up in the student center and on bulletin boards and stuff. Talk it up to people in our classes, and tell them to pass the word on to their friends. You can probably talk to some of the people in the sports medicine program to help get the word out.” He tilted his chair back and stretched both arms over his head. “Man, now I wish I was majoring in marketing instead of business law. We could totally use a lot of their stuff for this.”
Johnny nodded, impressed. “Yeah, that sounds great. Once we get our flyers, I’ll talk to my professors and leave some flyers with them to share with people in their higher-level classes.”
“Awesome. So, first things first: we need a good name for our club,” Mike continued, still all business. “I know it’s what we’re going to have to call it officially, but CSUN Karate Club isn’t nearly catchy enough.”
“I’m fine with whatever, as long as we don’t call it Cobra Kai,” Johnny said quietly, staring down at his lap.
“Cobra Kai?” Mike brightened. “Cobra Kai, now that’s a cool name. I’d totally join a karate club called Cobra Kai. What’s wrong with it?”
Johnny shifted uneasily. “That was the name of my old dojo. It’s … well, it’s the reason I don’t do karate anymore.”
“Ugh, never mind, just kidding, it’s a shitty name and I would never join a club called Cobra Kai.” Mike stuck out his tongue and made a face. “But dude, seriously though, it really sucks that you felt you had to give up karate after your sensei ruined it for you, and I want our karate club to change that. We need to make karate fun for you again.”
“Thanks,” Johnny said softly. “It was a big part of my life for so long and I hated to give it up in my last semester of high school, but I also think that if I didn’t, things might be very different for me. I worked my ass off in my classes last semester to get into the sports medicine track here, and I’m glad I could focus on getting into that program instead of worrying about what my sensei thought of me all the time.”
“Hey, it worked out in the end, because you made it here and your sensei still blows goats. Now you can start doing karate in a different way, and you and I can learn from each other while we’re leading the club. It’ll be great.”
Mike’s unrestrained optimism and enthusiasm was contagious, and hearing Mike say that gave Johnny a renewed feeling of hope for better things. “You know, I think it will be, too.”
Mike had been curious about this ever since they met and Johnny first mentioned it, and he hadn’t wanted to ask about it, but if they were going to start a karate club together, this was something he felt he should probably know. He knew he had to be careful, given Johnny’s previous reaction, but he thought maybe talking about it with a friend from outside the situation might help. “Hey, listen, I know it’s probably still hard for you to think about, much less talk about, but do you mind if I ask what happened? You know, last year, with your sensei.”
Johnny took a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking. He knew he was going to have to tell Mike about this at some point, so now was as good a time as any. “Long story short? We didn’t win the All-Valley last year, someone else did, and we got hell for it, especially me. I didn’t want to be with a dojo that punished me for coming in second, and my friends all agreed, so we all left.”
“Damn, you came in second and got punished for it?”
“Remember how I told you my sensei was obsessed with winning? Yeah.” Johnny idly pushed the registration form around on the desk in front of him. “Once we were out, my friends and I saw everything that was wrong with what our sensei taught us. We couldn’t see it when we were in, because that’s all we knew, and all we were allowed to know. He wouldn’t let us learn about other styles of karate, just Cobra Kai. We couldn’t read about them, or even ask about them. It was his way or the highway. And if we lost, forget it, we were told we were worthless and weak – I don’t mean just in tournaments, I mean even when we were sparring in class against each other.”
“What the hell, your dojo sounds like a fucking cult, man.”
“Looking back on it now, that’s exactly what it was. My sensei would get in your head and make you believe anything he told you. The worst part about it was, it worked on all of us. Until it didn’t.”
“‘Until it didn’t’ is exactly right,” Mike agreed. “Our club’s going to be so fucking awesome you’re going to forget you were ever in Cobra Kai.”
~ * ~
“Hey, I’ve been thinking a lot about all that stuff you told me about your old dojo, so I went to the library after Calculus this afternoon and looked up Cobra Kai in the phone book,” Mike said, a few days later.
Johnny glanced up from his biology textbook, frowning. “What the hell for?”
“Just curious more than anything, after what you said, so I called the number. I wanted to see if they were still around, and if they were, prank call your asshole sensei and fuck with him a bit. But the line’s been disconnected, so I think either they got a new number, or they’re closed.” Mike laughed at his planned antics, but his laughter died down quickly when he saw Johnny wasn’t joining in.
Johnny’s face was pale, and he felt his heart speed up in his chest. “You … you actually called them?”
“Yeah. If someone had picked up, I’d have given them a fake name, like Calvin Klein or Marty McFly or something, and told them they’d just won a hundred pineapple pizzas with extra anchovies or some shit. But I just got a recording that said the call couldn’t be completed.”
This should have brought relief or even a laugh to Johnny, but the thought of Mike having any contact with Kreese, even possibly talking to him, terrified him, especially after trying to protect Mike from Cobra Kai by not telling him too much about it. What if Mike’s phone call was enough for Kreese to be able to find them? What would happen then?
He closed his eyes against the tension building in his chest and his racing heart, and felt the phantom pressure of Kreese’s arm around his neck. He hunched down, shoulders curling inward; as he did, he could almost hear Kreese’s voice yelling at him that he was weak and pathetic for being like this, he was a loser, how does second place feel now …
“Shit, Johnny, no,” Mike said with a start, reaching out towards Johnny but stopping short, unsure of how the gesture would be taken. “I’m sorry, I really am. Forget I said anything, that was shitty of me.” He ran both hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of hair and tugging at it in distress. It deeply concerned him to see Johnny like this – scared him, even – and he was at a loss for what to do.
“Johnny,” he said quietly after a few minutes of watching helplessly, “I promise, all I wanted to do was let you know they’re gone. I thought it would make you feel better knowing that. I really didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“Yeah, I … I know you didn’t,” Johnny said, slowly loosening his grip on his sleeves and blinking a few times rapidly to clear his head and his vision. “Thank you for telling me. I’m glad they’re gone. It’s just, when you told me you called them, it scared me that maybe my sensei would somehow figure out where I was and how to find me, and, I don’t know, do something to us.”
“You really think he would?”
Johnny nodded but didn’t say anything, staring intently at a knot in the wood of the desk.
“Jesus, your sensei and that dojo really did a number on you, didn’t they?” Mike shook his head and clicked his tongue. “They’re gone, I swear, and I won’t call them again. If you ever need to talk or anything, I’m here, okay?”
“Thanks.” Johnny nodded stiffly, with some effort, as he felt the tension begin to subside. “I need to tell my friends about this. They suffered as much as I did, and they’ll totally be happy to hear it’s gone. The dojo must have closed not long after we left, because nobody else in their right mind would want to be part of a dojo like that.”
That night, Johnny lay awake in bed for hours, staring up at the textured ceiling and thinking about Mike’s discovery. Now that he’d had a bit of time to process it, he began to feel the relief he knew he should have felt upon hearing the news. Knowing that Cobra Kai was gone couldn’t change the past, but at the very least, he could breathe a little bit easier. As he drifted off to sleep, the tension leaving his body, he made a mental note to tell his friends the following day.
The other Cobras were just as relieved to hear the news that Cobra Kai was no more. Tommy and Jimmy, roommates at USC, stood up and cheered and high-fived so energetically that they knocked the phone off their desk. Bobby, at UCLA, let out a very audible sigh of relief and promised to “pray for Kreese while he rots in hell.” And Dutch, while on break between caddy shifts at Encino Oaks, snuck behind the main bar and took a bottle of vodka, polished whatever was left of it off all by himself, and proceeded to call Johnny back to tell him all the things he wanted to do to that “fucking asshole shitdick son of a crack whore monkey bitch.”
All of this made Johnny more determined than ever to make his and Mike’s karate club happen. He doodled on a blank page of his notebook during his morning lecture, brainstorming ideas for a flyer for the club. Mike loved what Johnny came up with, and together, they drew up a catchy flyer proudly identifying them as regional karate champions and featuring a picture of the two of them in plain white gi, staring straight at the camera with one arm in ready position and the other out in a punch, and had hundreds of copies made at the student union office. Johnny made sure to set aside a few flyers to give to his professors, as he promised he would do.
“Looks good,” Mike said, holding one of the flyers up to eye level and nodding approvingly. “I didn’t think the picture of us would come out as well as it did. We look badass.”
“Do you think we really need to be advertising our championship wins for this?” Johnny asked dubiously. Using his championship titles like this reminded him so much of what Kreese used to do whenever he would talk up Cobra Kai to people, most often using Johnny’s two-time back-to-back wins as a major selling point. He really didn’t want to do anything like Kreese did, because in his mind, that would make him no better. “I figure, they’ll come and see that our karate speaks for itself.”
Mike shook his head. “It’s good marketing, Johnny. It’ll give us credibility and make people want to join because we’re legit. For them to even see what our karate is like, let alone see that our karate speaks for itself, they’ll have to actually be at the meeting. The point is to get them to come to the meeting in the first place.”
Johnny couldn’t argue with that, so he just nodded. If he could use his accomplishments toward a different end – not as a show of superiority, but rather as a means to get people interested in doing karate with him and Mike – he would. “Alright.”
They started by putting two flyers up on their dorm room door, on either side of the sign with their names on it, and then headed out to start getting the word out about their new club to other students.
“Hey, guys,” Johnny said, as they approached a group of athletic-looking upperclassmen hanging out in the courtyard behind the student union. “I’m Johnny, and this is Mike. Come join the CSUN Eagle Fang Karate Club. We’re just starting this club up and are going to be running it.”
“Dude.” One of the guys, wearing a baseball cap over short-cropped hair and twirling a pair of swimming goggles around one finger, turned around and adjusted the brim of his hat to get a better look at them. “Are you a freshman? Why are you talking to me?”
Johnny put on his most winning country club smile. “Because you look like someone who might be interested in joining our new karate club.”
“Eagle Fang? What a waste of a badass name for a club run by freshman dorks,” another of the guys said, as he adjusted his overstuffed red backpack on his shoulder and took a swig of his soda. “Why should we think your club is going to be any good?”
“Well, for one thing, we’re both badass karate champions,” Mike said. “Obviously that means our club needs to have a badass name.”
Swimming Goggles sniggered. “Please. You’re not badass, you’re a freshman. That makes you, like, by definition, a dork.”
“You’re looking at a two-time All-Valley champion and the reigning Greater Capital Region champion,” Johnny interjected, standing straighter with his shoulders back.
“Ooooooh, wow, aren’t you so special.” The broad-shouldered one in the green sweatshirt stepped forward and waved his hands in Johnny’s face. “Aw, look at him, he’s so badass, isn’t he, guys?”
The guys laughed and slapped each other on the back, as if this was the funniest thing they’d heard in a long time, and Mike and Johnny exchanged glances, frowning deeply.
“Kicks get chicks,” Johnny said, trying a different tack. “Trust me, I’d know. They really dig that stuff, man.”
“You’d know? Yeah, right, come back and talk to me when you’ve gotten a girl to even look at you,” the tall one with the soccer ball scoffed. “I don’t need karate to get girls. They just come to me, you know what I mean? Oh, wait, no, you don’t.”
“How many of your kicks have gotten chicks, baby boy?” Green Sweatshirt taunted. Behind him, his three friends laughed even louder.
Johnny balled his hands into fists and eased into his karate stance. He laser-focused his gaze on Red Backpack’s soda can, and with a loud kiai, knocked the soda can out of Red Backpack’s hand with a flawlessly executed roundhouse kick. Whatever soda remained in the can splashed on the lawn and all over Red Backpack’s shirt, and the dented can landed with a soft fwump on the grass about twenty feet away.
“What the hell!” Red Backpack yelled. “I was drinking that!”
“Hey, man, what’s wrong with you? Call your brother off, will you?” Soccer Ball turned to Mike and pointed at Johnny, who was adjusting his shirt and stack of flyers, looking quite proud of himself.
Mike didn’t bother to correct him. This wasn’t the first time they’d been mistaken for brothers, what with their similar features, coloring, and build, and Mike rather liked the idea of having a brother like Johnny, who had no problem standing up to obnoxious upperclassmen like these guys. “I ain’t doing shit,” he said, shooting a glare in Soccer Ball’s direction. “I’ll call him off when you call your friend off.”
The upperclassmen stared at Johnny, wide-eyed, with identical looks of shock and begrudging respect on their faces. Johnny lifted his chin, smiling with satisfaction, and handed them each a flyer and said, “There’s a lot more where that came from. Our first meeting’s next Tuesday, right in here at the Student Recreation Center, if you want to join us. Come on, Mike, let’s go.”
Thankfully, they had a better, and certainly less contentious, response from most of the other students they talked to. After talking to those guys, they went into the student union building and left it papered with their flyers. They talked the club up to people as they put up their flyers throughout the building, and answered any questions people had – no, you don’t need prior karate experience; yes, we’ll be happy to teach you as long as you’re willing to learn; yes, we’ll be doing some competition, but the main object is for us to have fun and learn from each other. They also took the opportunity during the day, while the buildings were unlocked, to access the other dorms and academic buildings to put up and distribute their flyers there.
When they were done for the day, they still had a few flyers left over, so they left them in a neat stack outside their door for people to take. They were surprised and pleased to see that all of them were gone by the following morning, and overheard some people on their floor talking enthusiastically about the club the “Karate Bros,” as they had become known in their dorm, were starting, which made them feel confident that their new club would be a success.
The days leading up to the first meeting were hectic. Between classes, labs, and the mountains of reading they were assigned, Johnny and Mike completed all the paperwork, proposals, facilities reservations, and budget requests for the club. They attended the mandatory meeting for new club leaders and made arrangements for one of the Athletic Training program karate instructors to be their club sensei and faculty advisor. When they finally submitted their completed forms and budget request to the Matador Involvement Center, they learned that Joe, the Sport Clubs coordinator whom they had met at the activities fair, would be attending their first meeting to confirm that there was enough interest and potential for continued participation for the club to go forward.
“No pressure or anything,” Mike quipped.
They arrived early to their designated space at the Student Recreation Center for the CSUN Eagle Fang Karate Club’s first meeting, only to find close to fifty people already assembled, hanging out in small groups while waiting for the meeting to start. A few of their floormates were there, as were several people from their lawn karate audience. Johnny even recognized a few people he’d competed against in the qualifying rounds of previous All-Valley tournaments, and some others who were in the audience the years he’d won; while it was nice to be recognized and acknowledged, their hero-worship honestly embarrassed him more than anything. Perhaps the most surprising and gratifying of all, however, was seeing the group of upperclassmen they’d confronted outside the student union building in attendance. Red Backpack was the one who spotted them as they walked in, and he and his friends waved to them from across the room.
Johnny didn’t have a gi of his own to wear, so he was borrowing Mike’s spare one, which he also wore for the flyer picture, for now. He’d dropped his practice gi in front of Kreese when he left the dojo, and his tournament gi was stuffed somewhere in the back of his closet back home, but even if he still had them, there was no way he would let anything branded Cobra Kai anywhere near his and Mike’s new karate venture.
“You ready to do this?” Mike said, bumping a fist against Johnny’s.
Johnny nodded, returning the gesture. “Let’s do this thing.”
“Eagle Fangs! Are you ready?” Mike called above the chatter. As the conversations died down, his eyes met Johnny’s, and they nodded at each other and grinned.
Johnny stepped up onto the dais to stand in ready position next to Mike. “Let’s begin!”
Notes:
I’m not sure if CSUN had their Athletic Training/sports medicine program in 1985-86; I’m using their current program requirements as my guide for Johnny’s class schedule and graduation requirements.
CSUN offers a whole host of Sport Clubs, but (still) does not have a karate club.
I had absolutely no idea pineapple anchovy pizza was a thing; I (via Mike) was just trying for the weirdest possible controversial pizza topping combination.
Chapter Text
As part of getting Kreese back up on his feet and Cobra Kai back in business, Terry called Pacific Bell to reactivate the Cobra Kai telephone number and account after they disconnected the line for nonpayment. According to the call log printout he received on reactivation, Cobra Kai’s number hadn’t received very many incoming calls while it was disconnected, but there was one listing in the log that stood out. The number in question was listed on the printout as “Cal St Univ Northridge” and, upon further investigation with the phone company, was traced back to a dorm room in on-campus housing. Terry’s persistent inquiries about the number at CSUN’s Office of Student Housing and Residential Life yielded this search result from their system:
(818) 555-5418
Univ Park W C Ste 614
Barnes, Michael Christopher (CBE ’89)
Lawrence, John Alexander (CHHD ’89)
Terry smiled with immense satisfaction when he saw who the number belonged to. Whether they realized it or not, they’d just made his job a thousand times easier. Wouldn’t it be simply perfect if the call had indeed come from Kreese’s former star student, begging to be taken back!
Perhaps that was too much to ask for, but this situation was one Terry could still use to his advantage.
Terry was fortunate to be in a position where he had unlimited means and time to continue investigating this further. The Borneo operation was well underway, and he had people looking into other possible venues in Asia for future corporate expansion. He’d asked his Board of Directors to manage the regular day-to-day operations at Dynatox for the time being, and to call him if anything important came up. Nothing pressing had come up for a few days, which was how Terry found himself seated on a bench on CSUN’s campus under a tree near the dorms, as he watched hundreds of young, beautiful people walk by him on their way to and from their classes. His leather-bound diary lay open on his lap, fountain pen at the ready.
His first day was relatively uneventful, and Terry learned nothing except his way around the area of campus near the student dorms. While that information was useful, it wasn’t what he really wanted, but he knew patience was key in gathering information. From observing the kids on campus, he knew that his expensive designer clothing made him stand out from the rest of the students, and he needed to dress the part and blend in if he was going to be spending at least the next few days there. Owing to his years of military service, Terry attended college more recently than other people his age, graduating in 1979; he realized that because of this, he might still have some things from his own college years that could fit his current needs, so he decided to check his room at his parents’ house for anything useful.
Later that evening, he went straight from CSUN’s campus to his parents’ expansive, opulent waterfront Malibu mansion where he grew up. When he arrived, an impeccably dressed lady in her late 50’s answered the door, and her face lit up when she saw him.
“Master Terrance! What a pleasant surprise, how lovely to see you. You’re looking handsomer every time I see you – if that’s even possible.”
“Hi, Alice. It’s good to see you too.” Terry smiled warmly and embraced the older lady. Alice had been part of his parents’ house staff since he was a child, and had watched him grow up and had helped to look after him when he was younger and his parents were away on business, so he regarded her as somewhat of an honorary aunt. “Are my parents in?”
“Master Reginald and Mistress Isla are attending a benefit gala downtown, for the opera. Luciano Pavarotti is the guest of honor this evening,” Alice said. “They’re not due back until after midnight. Will you be staying? I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see you. While you’re here, I can make you some hot chocolate, just the way you like it.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Alice, but no, thank you; I’m just picking up some clothes, some of my stuff from college. I’m thinking about going back to school, so I have to start dressing the part,” Terry said smoothly. He almost felt bad telling her that, but he knew that if he said anything about what he was really up to, it would almost certainly get back to his parents, and his and Kreese’s plot would be over before it even started. Alice was the worst at keeping secrets.
Alice reached up and patted Terry on the shoulder. “Ah, well, your room’s just as you left it. So wonderful to see you, my dear.”
Alice was right, his room was indeed just as he left it. His mother liked to keep it always ready for him, hoping he would stay over with them from time to time, but he just hadn’t had the time recently, what with all his business trips to Asia and now, this favor he was doing for Kreese. While he didn’t mind telling them about the Borneo trip, because that was pertinent to the family business – omitting, of course, how and where he spent his time there most nights – he really didn’t want to have to talk to them about his current preoccupation.
A USC School of Business shirt lay on the top of a folded stack of clean laundry in his walk-in closet from the last time he stayed over, and he picked that up and set it aside. He had many college shirts at his own house, but this one was an old favorite; he was already off to a good start.
He pulled a face as he pulled out a pair of flared brown plaid pants and a white and purple patterned shiny polyester button-up shirt from his freshman year out of a drawer. Even though that was the height of fashion in 1975, there was no way he could wear something like that on a college campus now and fit right in; clearly things had changed a lot in ten years, including college fashion trends.
The pants were also three inches too short.
Humming in consternation and mild disbelief that he actually allowed himself to be seen in public wearing that outfit, Terry set those pieces aside and continued looking through his closet. After some digging through several other drawers, he was able to find a few more t-shirts that were appropriate for his purposes; most of them were plain, solid-colored shirts, but that at least was safe enough. Several pairs of pants hung in the closet next to his basic training fatigues from when he was seventeen, all of which he looked at and tried on, but none of them fit. Clearly, he was no longer the Twig of his military years; he made a mental note to himself to lay off the sweet sticky rice desserts the next time he was in Asia on business.
In the top drawer of his dresser, Terry found his high school tie and graduation cords, his maternal grandfather’s Clan Ross kilt pin, his first set of Army dog tags, and – his hand touched something soft as he reached all the way to the very back of the drawer. He pulled out a well-worn, well-loved British-made teddy bear, clad in full Highland dress and holding a set of bagpipes. His expression softened for the briefest of moments, as he placed his favorite childhood bear carefully back in the drawer and closed it quietly.
The antique Tiffany and Co. grandfather clock in the main foyer downstairs loudly chimed 11:00, and Terry realized he’d lost track of time and gotten carried away looking at his old things. He had to leave before his parents got home, otherwise they would try to convince him to stay over. Because he could never deny his mother anything, he would inevitably end up staying, and he couldn’t really afford to do that right now.
“Fuck,” he said out loud. He stood up and quickly gathered the shirts he’d chosen, put his Army dog tags around his neck, and turned all the lights off in his room. Waving goodbye to Alice on his way downstairs, he let himself out and went home to plan his outfit for the following day’s trip back to campus. After some deliberation and trying on different outfit combinations, he settled on dark jeans and his USC t-shirt, plus a plain black baseball cap and his hair left down under it. He hoped his appearance this time would be appropriate enough so as not to raise any suspicions.
Over the course of several days, Terry watched the students in the dorm courtyard, waiting to hear a familiar name or see a familiar face. Sometimes he hid behind facial hair, a hat, and sunglasses; other days he would show up wearing an expensive bespoke business suit and carrying a fancy leather briefcase, clean-shaven and hair tied back as usual, to look like a distinguished guest or visiting professor. He made sure not to go there every day so people didn’t get too familiar with his face or his presence, but on the days he was there, he made sure to move around every couple of hours so he wasn’t seen for too long in one place; he didn’t want any of the students to recognize him, ask him what he was doing there, or worst-case scenario, report him to campus police. At nearly six and a half feet tall, Terry knew his height alone already made him stand out, regardless of how much he changed his clothing or appearance every time he went to campus, so he had to be extra careful to be as discreet as possible.
On the fifth day of watching and waiting, Terry finally got what he had come for.
“Hey, Mike!” someone called from across the courtyard. “Mike Barnes!”
The name got Terry’s attention and he sat up a little straighter. A tall blond in a grey hoodie stopped in the middle of the courtyard to look around for whoever was calling for him.
Mike raised his arm in greeting when he saw who’d called out his name. “Hey, Andy, what’s up, man?”
“Not much. Do we have karate club tonight?”
Karate club? Terry closed his diary and slid his sunglasses on, watching the two boys intently.
“Yeah, we do,” Mike said, grinning. “Johnny and I will be watching everyone’s form while Sensei leads the kata tonight, so I hope you got some practice time in this week. I know this is very new to a lot of people, so we’ll go slow while everyone learns the moves.”
“Ugh, I can’t wait,” Andy said with a heavy sigh. “I’m drowning in like 200 pages of reading and I really need this.”
Mike laughed. “That’s what you get for being an English major, dude.”
Terry opened his diary back up and made a note confirming the identity of Mike Barnes, adding in the margin that Mike was running a karate club here on campus with Johnny Lawrence. John would be so delighted to hear about that.
“Heeyyy! Heeeeere’s Johnny!” Mike yelled across the courtyard at his approaching roommate. Upon hearing this, the people nearby started to congregate around them. Terry observed with interest that some of them appeared to have been waiting specifically for this.
“Hey,” Johnny said, face flushed and a little out of breath. “Sorry I’m late. Someone dropped a partial box of microscope slides on the floor in the lab and we had to clean it up before anyone got hurt.”
Mike grimaced. “No worries, I’m just glad you didn’t cut yourself. Come on, our fans await.”
Terry set his diary aside and watched the two boys spar on the lawn. Johnny was, as expected, textbook Cobra Kai in his movements; John had taught him well. There were, however, some very slight variations in his technique that Terry could only attribute to Mike’s influence. While Mike was more measured, fluid, and serene in his movements, his style also had traces of the forceful precision of Cobra Kai. Terry noted how evenly matched they were and how some of the other’s techniques bled through in each of their fighting styles – clearly, they’d been learning from one another.
At the end of their session – Mike won, but just barely – they bowed to each other and then to their audience, identical grins on their faces.
“That was amazing,” Terry heard someone in the audience remark to his friends. “I fucking love watching these guys.”
“Bye, Karate Bros!” several people called out as the group dispersed. “See you at Eagle Fang tonight!”
“You’d better be there!” Johnny called back.
“I know where you live!” Mike added gleefully.
Terry opened his diary again and wrote down the words Karate Bros, underlining each word twice. The moniker was quite apt; the two of them certainly looked and acted like they could be brothers. Now, this was something he could really do some damage with: he would break up the Karate Bros by whatever means necessary. He and John would teach Mike to strike first and strike hard and show no mercy, and send him back home to Johnny with his head stuffed full of Cobra Kai teachings. Once they set Mike on the right path and taught him real karate, they would have him take back the All-Valley title from LaRusso, a title and a trophy that boy never should have had to begin with.
Terry closed his diary with a smirk and gathered up his belongings; for this part of the plot at least, he now had a path forward.
~ * ~
It felt like classes had only just begun, but Mike already had a take-home test, a paper, and a presentation all due in the same week. He knew he couldn’t study in the library or on the lawn like he wanted to because he knew he’d just end up socializing with everyone who passed by, so he holed himself up in his and Johnny’s room, surrounded by books and papers and empty takeout containers. By the end of the third day, he was cranky and restless, and it was starting to distract Johnny.
“I swear to God, Mike,” Johnny said without looking up from his Statistics textbook, “I’m going to duct tape you to your chair if you don’t stop pacing. I’m not even kidding, I will do it.”
Mike flopped into his desk chair and slid down into a slouching position. “Ugh, fine, I’m sorry. I haven’t done any karate in four fucking days and I’m going insane. The last time I did any karate was Eagle Fang last week, and you know that shit helps me let out extra energy and I wouldn’t be like this otherwise. Want to go outside and spar?”
Johnny finally looked up, lifting a skeptical eyebrow at his roommate. “Now? At 12:30 in the morning?”
“Come on, Johnny,” Mike said, getting up from his chair and pushing himself up onto the desk to sit on Johnny’s open textbook. “75% of all statistics are made up. There, I’ve just taught you everything you need to know for your class. Let’s go.”
“Dude, get your ass off my book,” Johnny protested as he tried to shove Mike off and free his textbook.
Mike grinned mischievously. “Not until you agree to go outside and spar with me.”
“I should have duct taped you to your chair already without telling you I was going to,” Johnny grumbled.
Mike hopped down and grabbed Johnny by the arm, pulling him up and out of his chair. “Are you afraid you’re going to lose?”
“Oh, challenge accepted,” Johnny said, tugging his arm free. “It’s on.”
Mike immediately tackled Johnny as soon as they got outside and sat on him.
“What the hell, I thought we were supposed to be sparring,” Johnny wheezed.
“Nah, this is more fun,” Mike said, cackling.
“Get off me,” Johnny grunted as he tried to roll over; Mike fell onto the grass next to him.
A soft creak and a hiss of running water sounded from behind their building, and a nearby rotating sprinkler sprang to life, drenching them both. Johnny pushed Mike into the sprinkler spray and took off running across the courtyard, where multiple sprinklers were being switched on for their nighttime watering routine.
“Fuck you, man!” Mike shouted and took off after him. They chased each other around the courtyard, pushing each other into the rotating sprinklers scattered across the lawn, until they collapsed in a wet, laughing heap on the grass.
“I told you I’d kick your ass one day when you least expected it,” Mike said with a wide, smug grin.
Johnny pushed his hair out of his eyes and wrung out the hem of his shirt. “I hate you so much right now.”
“No, you don’t,” Mike said. “You love me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny said. “You wish.”
Mike elbowed Johnny lightly in the side. “Karate Bros?”
Johnny swatted Mike’s arm away, but he was smiling. “Karate Bros.”
“That was fun.” Mike stood up and shook the water out of his hair. “Better than sparring, if you can believe that. I really needed that, and I think you did too.”
Johnny laughed. “Can I put the duct tape away now?”
“Yeah, I think I’m good for now. Hopefully I’ll get at least a few minutes this week for practice, because I know I’m going to need it, or you might need the duct tape after all.”
~ * ~
Mike’s microeconomics class finished early on Thursday, so he took full advantage of that and went to his and Johnny’s usual spot on the lawn to unwind. The paper and presentation were done, so he was going to take a much-needed break before getting back to work on his take-home exam. While he preferred doing the kata that won him last year’s title to unwind, this time he needed to let out more energy than a graceful, precise kata would allow. This was a new kata he’d been learning from his sensei when he had to leave for college, which flowed a lot quicker, with more moves like karate fighting moves, complete with kiais, punches, and kicks. He thought it might be fun to teach it to Johnny, and then, when they both mastered it, demo it to the karate club and possibly teach it to them as well. Even though the club kids were just starting out with Mike’s Greater Capital kata, it wouldn’t be long now before they needed something new to learn, and he wanted to make sure he and Johnny stayed ahead of the game so they always had something to teach.
Mike pulled off his hoodie, set his bookbag down on the grass with his sweatshirt carelessly thrown over it, and immediately got to work on warming up. After a few stretches and deep breaths, he got into ready position and started the routine, letting the moves and energy flow through him. He was visibly relaxed and unguarded, thinking nobody was watching him, and his movements reflected that.
Watching Mike go through his kata, from his spot on a bench in the dorm courtyard, Terry couldn’t help but be impressed by how balanced and focused he was when doing his routine. Strong kiais, precise movements – there was no doubt in Terry’s mind that this kid was a winner. His patience had finally paid off: he could really get the ball rolling on this plot now that he had Mike alone.
“Kata’s really good for working up a sweat,” Terry called from his seat on the bench.
Mike stopped mid-kata and turned around to look at the person who was speaking. He wasn’t sure how long he was being watched, but the guy looked like he’d been sitting there for a while.
“Excuse me?”
“Kata’s really good for working up a sweat,” Terry repeated, his smile growing wider as he walked over, tucking his diary under his arm and pocketing his fountain pen.
Mike blinked. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “That’s an interesting way to start a conversation. Do you start all your conversations this way?”
“A conversation about karate, sure,” Terry said easily, looking Mike up and down with approval. “Especially if I see someone doing kata the way you were just now. You’ve got some real nice form there.”
“Uh, thanks,” Mike said, holding out a hand to the other man. “I’m Mike.”
“Mike,” Terry said, taking Mike’s hand into a gentle handshake and holding on. “That’s a good, strong name. I’m guessing by your t-shirt that you’re in the business school here.”
Mike looked down at his CSUN College of Business and Economics shirt. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
Terry smiled and stepped forward to stand closer to Mike, still holding onto his hand. “I was a business major in undergrad as well. I’m looking into getting my MBA and I wanted to check out your business school, so that’s why I’m here on campus and just so happened to see you doing your kata. Karate’s a passion of mine, too.”
“I’m just a freshman, so I can’t tell you a whole lot about the business school yet,” Mike said apologetically.
“That’s alright. I can go to the business school and talk to the people there for that.” Terry finally let go of Mike’s hand. “I’m also trying to get a feel for the people I should expect to meet here if I decide to attend, so I’m glad we’re getting a chance to talk. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me. I couldn’t help but admire your karate talent.”
“Yeah, of course,” Mike said. “And thank you.”
Terry nodded. “I served in Vietnam in the Green Berets, and part of our basic training was learning karate. My CO studied under Master Kim Sun-Yung in Korea, and he taught us everything he knew. I myself had the privilege of studying under Master Kim as well, after the war.”
“Thank you for your service,” Mike said, bowing his head deferentially. “I’ve got family in the military too, so I have a lot of respect for that.”
“It was my honor,” Terry replied. “But as you might imagine, I faced a lot while serving in combat, and karate has been my way of taking my mind off the horrors I experienced. My war buddy and I – we served in the same squad together in ‘Nam – learned karate together, and it’s helped us both immensely.”
“I can imagine,” Mike said. “My grandfather was an aviator during World War II, and he does woodworking as a hobby. A lot of the things he makes come from his war memories and experiences, like model airplanes and stuff. He’s told me a lot of stories about it, and doing this really helps him too.”
“So, you understand,” Terry said. “War is awful, but it’s unfortunately a fact of life sometimes. All we can do is lean back on the things that give us comfort and peace of mind. For your grandfather, that’s woodworking; for me and my friend, that’s been karate. It’s gotten us through the worst of times. In fact, it’s helped us so much that we’ve decided to pass on our knowledge to a new generation with the hope that karate will help them in the same way it’s helped us.”
Mike nodded. He had many memories of sitting on the floor at his grandfather’s house with his cousins, watching him whittle away on a small model of a plane while he told them stories about the war. He hoped that teaching kids karate would help this guy and his friend as much as woodworking helped his grandfather. “That’s great, sir. How are you going to do that?”
“We’ve just taken over a dojo space in North Hollywood, fully equipped and everything, so we’re planning to open a dojo of our own.”
“Fully equipped?” Mike asked, impressed.
“It’s actually pretty great how all this worked out,” Terry said. “We were told the dojo who was there before us closed some months back and had to leave in a rush. We weren’t given very many details, just that business wasn’t great for them, and they hadn’t paid rent in months. They left a lot of their stuff behind, so we inherited whatever was there. We’ve got a ready-made dojo, pretty much; just a couple of changes and touch-ups and we’ll be good to go.”
“Nice. That was really lucky for you guys.”
“It really was,” Terry agreed. “We’d love to have you if you’re interested.”
“Oh,” Mike said, surprised. “That’s, uh, very nice of you, thank you.”
Terry inclined his head in acknowledgment. “What can I say? I liked what I saw from you, and think you may be a good fit for us.”
“Have you recruited any other people besides me yet?” Mike asked.
“No, we haven’t, not yet. You’re the first one I’ve asked,” Terry said.
“Well, uh, my roommate and I lead a karate club here on campus, do you mind if I pass the word on to all of them? We’ve got a lot of good people; I’m sure at least some of them would be interested.”
Terry sucked a breath in through his teeth. “No, not for right now. We’d like to start small, see how things go first. One step at a time. That’s how all new businesses start, right? I’ll let you know if – or rather, when – we’re ready to accept more students, and you can tell them then.”
“Well, could I at least tell my roommate?” Mike asked.
“How about we just keep this between us for right now,” Terry said. It wasn’t a question.
Mike frowned. “Why the secrecy?”
“It’s not secrecy,” Terry said with a tight smile. “Call it exclusivity, if you like. We’re looking for strong students and people with great potential to start, to build our reputation for excellence. You fit that bill quite nicely on both counts. I can see you’re already a strong karate practitioner, but you have enormous potential to become even better. A champion, shall we say.”
“Actually, I already am a champion,” Mike said. “I won my regional tournament back home this past year.”
“A champion! Well, well. I could already tell when I first saw you that you were a winner.” Terry clasped his hands together in a gesture of praise. “Congratulations, that’s quite an achievement. Where’s home?”
“Sacramento.”
Terry smiled inwardly. This boy was from out of town and therefore a clean slate. “Excellent. How do you like LA so far?”
“I like it a lot here, thank you,” Mike said. “Hey, you know, my roommate’s a champion too, and he’s got two regional championship titles. I think if you have both of us, you may get a better response.”
Terry gritted his teeth. He couldn’t understand why Mike was so hung up on bringing his roommate into this. Johnny Lawrence could not know about any of this, because while engaging him directly would greatly benefit this part of the plot in the short term, doing so could potentially eliminate any chance at pursuing the other half of the plot, which was to get back at Daniel LaRusso and his tiny sensei – and Terry was saving the best part for last.
“No, there’s no need for that,” he said stiffly.
“If champions are what you want for your dojo to make a strong first impression, you can either have both me and my roommate, or neither of us,” Mike argued. “With three championship titles between the two of us, your dojo would be an instant success.”
“You’re a tough negotiator. I can tell you’ll make a fine businessman someday. Do you fight as hard as you negotiate?”
“Harder.”
Terry was impressed with Mike’s negotiation and bargaining skills. But while Mike was good, Terry was still better, and he wasn’t about to lose, least of all to a college kid. “You’re all I need for right now,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “With you as the face of my dojo, I won’t need anything or anyone else for it to be a success. Let’s see how we go with just you first, and then once we get a bit more established, we’ll bring more people in from your little club.”
Mike wasn’t particularly keen to go into this alone, but then, he realized with a start that if he was going to do this, he might have to concede and do this by himself anyway, since he should probably not be volunteering Johnny for … whatever this was. Johnny was clearly still dealing with some past trauma, and Mike didn’t want to put his roommate back into a similar bad situation if he didn’t have to.
“What’s the name of your dojo?” he asked slowly, thinking back to everything Johnny told him.
“It’s, uh, Quicksilver. Quicksilver Dojo,” Terry replied. He and Kreese had agreed not to use the name Cobra Kai until they could get the dojo into a better position for a strong comeback, but hadn’t yet come up with an alternative name; he just needed to say something right now, and that was the first thing that came to mind. “Subject to change, of course. We only just got the idea for out dojo recently and haven’t thought through all the small details, like the name, but we’re certainly open to suggestions if you have any.”
Mike felt the tension in his shoulders relax a little. “No, no, I think Quicksilver Dojo is a good name. You should keep it.”
“Thank you. I think we might.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, could you tell me about your dojo?” Mike asked. “Like, what are your philosophies, your approach to karate?”
“Well,” Terry said, in as humble and sincere a voice as he could muster, “I’ve always believed in the saying ‘if you get, you give.’ I’ve gotten a lot from karate for almost twenty years now; I’ve gotten discipline, health, self-confidence, inner peace – everything that makes me what I am today – and now, I want to give back. So, I’ve decided to team up with my friend, who’s quite possibly the greatest karate man I have ever known, and together, we’re going to teach this new generation everything we know about honesty, compassion, and fair play, with the hope that karate will help our students as much as it’s helped us.”
“That’s very honorable and inspiring,” Mike said. “A lot of that’s true for me as well.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Terry said. “It’s the truth. I really believe it’s time for me to give back, now that I’m in a position to do so, and this is the only way I know how.”
Mike nodded. “That’s really good of you, sir.”
“Thank you,” Terry said. “So, can I count you in?”
Mike hesitated. He didn’t want to make a commitment right then and there, and he wanted to talk to Johnny about it first. He also found it rather odd that this guy didn’t want him to tell Johnny, or anyone else in Eagle Fang, about this invitation.
“You don’t need to answer right now. Here’s my card,” Terry said quickly, sliding a business card out of a slim monogrammed gold card case and handing it to Mike. “Call that number if you decide you’d like to take me up on my offer. That’s my direct line, so I’ll be sure to pick up if you call.”
Mike turned the card over in his hands. It was fancy, heavy textured matte card stock, a deep, rich midnight blue in color and embossed with silver lettering. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, Mr. …” He quickly glanced at the card. “Silver. Mr. Silver.”
Terry smiled. “Call me Terry.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to seem overly familiar.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Terry replied. “I haven’t found anyone who could talk about karate at your level, and you’re a businessman after my own heart. Strong, forceful, tough negotiator – you’ll go far. I see a lot of myself in you.”
Mike flushed. “Thank you, that’s – that’s quite a compliment.”
“Just telling it like I see it,” Terry said.
“Oh, hey, I see what you did there,” Mike said with a chuckle as he looked down at the card again. “Quicksilver, that’s clever.”
“Thank you, I thought it was rather appropriate.” Terry smiled, pleased with himself and his ingenuity, but he knew he was going to have to explain himself and this choice of name to Kreese later. Even if it was just something he came up with on the spur of the moment, he knew Kreese would not be happy that Terry all but named their ‘new dojo’ after himself. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you today, Mike. I’d really like to talk with you again some more sometime.”
“Okay, Terry.” Mike pulled his hoodie on over his head, pocketed Terry’s card, and picked up his bag. “Thanks again for the offer. I’ll think about it.”
Terry winked. “Hope to see you again soon, Mike. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Mike disappeared into the building and took the stairs two at a time; it was almost 6:00, well past their usual dinner time, and Johnny was probably wondering where he was.
“Dude,” he said loudly as he strode into their room and threw his bookbag on his bed. “I just had the weirdest fucking thing happen to me.”
More than anything, it was the books hitting the mattress below that woke Johnny up. Mike was loud all the time, no matter what time of day or night, so he was learning to tune it out. He pulled his headphones off and sat up groggily. “Oh, hey, man. You’re late and I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, I know, sorry,” Mike said, grimacing. “Some random weirdo with a dumb little ponytail came up and started talking to me while I was in our place outside doing kata after class, and we just got done talking. I was in the middle of that new kata I was telling you about, and was really getting into it when he interrupted me.”
Johnny wound the cord of his headphones around his Walkman and set it down next to his pillow. “Oh yeah? Is he interested in joining Eagle Fang or something?”
“Nah, he was some older guy.”
“An older guy? What was an older guy doing hanging out outside our dorm?”
“Huh, that’s a good question,” Mike said. “I didn’t even think of that. He said he’s thinking about getting an MBA here, which is why he was on campus, but that doesn’t really explain why he was sitting outside this building.”
“That’s just weird.” Johnny climbed down from his bed and tugged at the duvet to straighten it out. “How did he even know you were in the business school? You don’t exactly scream ‘stuffed shirt in a courtroom’ yet.”
“Oh, shut up,” Mike said, laughing as he pulled on the strings of his hoodie. “I’m wearing my business school shirt under this and he saw it while I was doing kata, so that’s most likely how he knew. But that’s actually not why he started talking to me. He wanted to talk to me about karate.”
“Karate? Seriously?” Johnny grabbed his keys and ID, and they headed toward the cafeteria, where the dinner line was so long it reached almost all the way up the stairs. “You’re telling me this old guy who doesn’t even go here wants to do karate with us?”
“I don’t think he knew about Eagle Fang until I mentioned it.” Mike ran a hand through his hair. “Look, all I know is that he was sitting there all relaxed and shit on the bench by that big-ass tree in the courtyard, with a cooler and napkins and a water bottle, and writing in some fancy-looking book when he started talking to me. I don’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but dude had to have been watching me like a creep for a while. I didn’t notice him when I got back after Micro, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t already there.”
“How long were you even out there before he started talking to you?”
“Uh, maybe like ten minutes? I’d already gotten through most of the kata, and was so caught up in thinking about how I need to teach it to you so we can maybe teach it to the club, that I didn’t even register that anyone was talking to me at first. I was just doing my thing, when he was like, ‘Kata’s really good for working up a sweat.’ And I’m like, who the hell is this guy? So I said to him, ‘Do you start all your conversations this way?’”
The day’s pizza selection wasn’t the greatest – who in their right mind would want to eat green pizza? Johnny thought to himself – but pizza was the most appealing option of everything else being offered that day, so Johnny sighed and grabbed two slices of pepperoni before following his roommate to a small table by the windows.
“Okay, so what else happened with that weird sweaty kata guy?” Johnny asked, setting his tray down with a clatter. “How did he answer that?”
Mike slid into a chair on the other side of the table. “Sweaty kata guy freaking said yes, man. He claims that’s how he starts karate conversations with someone who he thinks has nice form. That’s super creepy and weird, isn’t it? Who the hell knows how long he was sitting there checking me out?”
“You’ve told me I have nice form,” Johnny pointed out. “You literally said it at the last Eagle Fang meeting in front of like 80 people.”
“Yeah, and you do, that’s not a lie. But the difference between me saying that to you, versus Sweaty Kata saying that to me, is that it’s us, and we were doing a demo, so it’s not weird. But this guy, I seriously thought he was hitting on me for the entire fucking conversation. I’m not into dudes, much less older dudes, but I guess that shit works on some people.” Mike took a large bite of his burger, and half the toppings fell out the other side onto his plate. “Sweaty Kata gave me his card and asked me to call him –”
“He gave you his card and asked you to call him?” Johnny teased.
“Ugh, stop, let me finish.” Mike threw a fry off his plate at Johnny. “Sweaty Kata gave me his card because he invited me to join his new dojo and asked me to call him if I decide I want to join.”
“His new dojo? Well, I suppose someone’s got to take the place of Cobra Kai around here, now that it’s gone.” Johnny retrieved the fry from where it fell in his lap, and ate it. “Why would he be recruiting on a college campus for that, though?”
Mike shrugged. “My dojo back home had classes for adults. But still, doesn’t he realize that college students are busy and don’t have time to do everything they need to do as it is? I mean, I haven’t had time to sleep in a fucking week.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Johnny said. “I thought you told him about Eagle Fang. Why would he still want to recruit you?”
“He wanted the face of a champion for his new dojo, like that would make all the difference between a full dojo and an empty one.” Mike thought it best not to mention that he’d tried to volunteer Johnny for this too so he didn’t have to do it by himself, only realizing his error after he’d already offered. Thankfully, Sweaty Kata had declined, and Mike didn’t feel the need to bring it up.
“It doesn’t work as well in practice as he might think,” Johnny said thoughtfully. “For both years after I won the All-Valley, my sensei used my titles to advertise Cobra Kai to new students and even pushed for me to be made the ‘face of Valley karate’ after my second win – but even with that, he didn’t get as many new students as he wanted. He still got a lot of enrollments, maybe 20 to 30, but I think he was expecting hundreds of new students to descend on the dojo after each of my wins. When that didn’t happen, he blamed me for it, of course.”
Mike scoffed. “And how exactly is that your fault? What did he want you to do, win harder?”
Johnny made a face. “It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that.”
“Everything about your dojo sounds ridiculous, man.”
“That’s because it was,” Johnny said, crumpling up his napkin and tossing it onto his tray. “You ready to head back?”
They left their trays in the busing area, waved to the guy in the kitchen who was always out by the window waving hello to everyone, and headed back up to their room, because Mike still had a take-home exam for Accounting to finish.
“Why does Sweaty Kata want to open a dojo?” Johnny asked as they climbed the stairs to the sixth floor.
“He said that he and his buddy were going to be teaching together as their way of coping with war trauma.”
Johnny froze in the doorway to their room. “War trauma?” he asked cautiously. “What kind of war trauma?”
“They were Green Berets in Vietnam, and learned karate in the military as part of their training. Now they want to pass on their knowledge and expertise to a new generation.”
Green Berets. That was Army Special Forces. They were Army Special Forces soldiers who learned karate in Vietnam as part of their training. Could this be someone who knew Kreese? Was this one of the guys Kreese always talked about in the war stories he told?
Johnny held out his hand, palm up. “Here, let me see his card for a second.”
Mike pulled the business card out of the front pocket of his hoodie, glanced at it, and handed it to Johnny. “Yeah, sure, here it is.”
“‘Terrance A.R. Silver,’” Johnny read off the card. He didn’t recognize the name, but he still didn’t feel quite right about it. He’d heard many stories from Kreese about ‘Twig’ and ‘Ponytail’, but he didn’t know what their real names were, so for all he knew, this Terrance A.R. Silver was one of them. Or maybe he wasn’t. Either way, the details Mike gave – the ponytail, the Green Berets, karate, Vietnam – were way too close for comfort to what he knew about Kreese and his war friends.
“Mike, listen, I don’t have any way to prove this right now, but based on what you’ve told me about him, I have reason to believe he’s bad news. This is not a guy you want to get involved with.”
Mike knitted his brows together. “What do you mean?”
Johnny set the card carefully down on Mike’s desk. “I think he might know my old sensei.”
Mike’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? How?”
“You said he was a Green Beret in Vietnam, right?”
“Yeah.”
“My sensei was, too.”
“So? There’ve got to be lots of Green Berets who fought in Vietnam.”
“Green Berets who fought in Vietnam and specifically learned karate as part of their training?”
“If you’re going to fight a war in Asia, especially as Special Forces, you probably should know martial arts,” Mike pointed out. “Your sensei probably wasn’t the only one who learned karate as part of his training. Think about it: wouldn’t it be too much of a coincidence if this guy who knew your sensei found me, your roommate, practicing karate outside our dorm, and tried to chat me up and recruit me for his new dojo?”
“I don’t know,” Johnny said. “There are too many similarities for it to be coincidental. My sensei would tell us war stories all the time during our classes as part of his lectures, and he mentioned some guy in his squad called Ponytail a lot. Didn’t you say Sweaty Kata has a ponytail?”
“Yeah, it was kind of dumb looking, actually,” Mike said with a soft snort of laughter.
“Yeah, so there’s that, plus the military background, Special Forces karate training, Vietnam – all I’m saying is, be careful. I don’t wish what happened to me on anyone else.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Johnny,” Mike said doubtfully. “The way Terry presented it, his new dojo doesn’t sound anything at all like what you told me about Cobra Kai. He talked a lot about honesty, compassion, fair play, and inner peace, and how karate taught him to be disciplined and self-confident and wanting to give back, stuff like that. He sounded almost like a fucking Hallmark card. He said he’s opening this dojo with his friend because they want to pass these lessons on to a younger generation and help them.”
Johnny had to admit that Mike was right, it didn’t sound anything like Cobra Kai. In fact, it sounded like the precise opposite of what he was taught for the past five years. Instead of being built around fear, pain, and defeat, this new dojo embraced the values of inner peace, compassion, and fair play. Taken by itself, this approach to karate and to life was what he wished he’d learned instead, but it was almost too perfect of a counterpoint to the Cobra Kai philosophy that it made him uneasy.
“Mike, I wouldn’t tell you any of this if I didn’t care. You’re my friend and I care about you a lot, so you get to listen to me say this.” He fixed his roommate with a serious look. “I don’t know what the karate scene is like for you in Sacramento, but it’s a big thing here in the Valley. Huge. It’s like, bigger than football huge. We get like a thousand people in the stands at the All-Valley tournament every year.”
“That’s crazy,” Mike said. “I think we only ever got about half that, if we were lucky.”
“That’s why I’m saying, if you have the choice not to get involved in it, don’t. It’s like a tidal wave that will drown you if you’re not careful. It’ll suck you in and you might not be able to get out until it’s too late. I’ve been through a lot, but I still think I’m lucky to have gotten out when I did, and as you know I’m still recovering. There are times when I regret setting foot in that Cobra Kai dojo, but I can’t say I regret everything about being there.”
“Why not?”
“Karate is something I ended up being really good at, and I got to meet some really awesome friends through the sport, present company included.”
Mike beamed. “Thanks, man. That really means a lot, karate bro. Same here.”
Johnny grinned back. “It’s the truth. We make a good team.”
“Hell yeah, we do.”
“I think,” Johnny mused, “if I’d been in a different dojo from Cobra Kai, doesn’t matter which one, my experience would have been more positive.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one thing, my friends and I wouldn’t have been beaten and hurt and punished every time we did something our sensei didn’t like, or whenever we didn’t perform up to his standards.”
“He beat you and hurt you?” Mike’s eyes widened in horror. “Holy shit, is that what he did to you after the tournament? Is that the punishment you were talking about before?”
“Yeah,” Johnny admitted, eyes downcast. “That was my punishment last year for losing the All-Valley. That was also my punishment for not winning the capture-the-flag challenge at Coyote Creek. That was my friend Tommy’s punishment for not showing up to class one day because he was sick with strep. I could go on, but you get the idea.”
“No fucking way,” Mike cursed under his breath. “How has this guy gotten away with this for so long?”
“He’s kind of a celebrity around here,” Johnny said matter-of-factly. “He gets away with a lot, because Cobra Kai is the reason the tournament is so well-attended every year, and more importantly, we always win.”
Mike simply couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of a karate sensei being discouraging and downright abusive to children. He desperately wanted to help Johnny, and he really wanted to understand the story behind all of it. Johnny had started slowly opening up to him, but there were times he’d still get weird and closed-off. When that happened, Mike knew better than to pry, but he still felt like there was still so much more he didn’t know. The dojo was gone, he found that out for himself, but he could tell whatever happened last year still haunted his roommate.
If he joined this new dojo, Mike thought, there was a chance he could find something out from Terry Silver and his friend about what happened with Cobra Kai and its sensei, and maybe gather enough information from them so he and Johnny could do something about it. And even if they couldn’t, at least he’d know what the deal was, and would be in a better position to help Johnny. Ideally, he’d be able to bring the news back to Johnny that he was safe from anything from his past catching up to him, and that his sensei was dead or in Tahiti or something.
He stared hard at the exam paper in front of him, unable to concentrate on accounts payable and accounts receivable, or current assets and liabilities. Between Terry Silver’s invitation and Johnny’s warning, he couldn’t focus. After ten minutes of staring at the paper and not writing a single thing, he scribbled some bullshit answers that sounded nice and hoped that it would be enough to get him by.
Later that night, Mike and Johnny lay in their respective beds in companionable silence. The overhead light was off, but their string of Christmas lights was still on, which cast the room in a dim, cozy glow.
“What did you tell him?” Johnny asked suddenly.
The bedsheets below rustled as Mike rolled over onto his back. “What? Who?”
“Sweaty Kata. What did you tell him? Did you say you’d do it?”
“I didn’t give him an answer either way,” Mike said. “All I told him was that I’d think about it. I’ve already got a ton of shit going on in school as it is. This week sucked, and it’s probably just going to get worse. We’ve got Eagle Fang, and I won a tournament title already, so why would I need to be part of a dojo while I’m in college? I want to keep up with karate, sure, but I can easily do that here with you and the club.”
Johnny sighed deeply with relief. “Good. That’s so good. I’m glad you decided not to get involved in any of that. Like I said earlier, karate here in the Valley is very intense, and if you can stay out of it, you should. Once it sucks you in, it’s got you.”
“Don’t worry,” Mike said. “I’ll be careful.”
“Just looking out for you,” Johnny said. “Good night, Mike.”
Just looking out for you too, Mike thought to himself as he reached over his head to unplug the Christmas lights from the wall outlet next to his bed. “Good night, Johnny.”
In the dark of the room, Johnny lay on his back and hugged a pillow to his chest, his mind still racing. Even if that Terry guy had told Mike all those pretty-sounding things about honesty and compassion and inner peace, Johnny didn’t like the idea of Mike getting involved in Valley karate at all. Right now, Mike still had the choice of whether or not to stay out of the drama that was Valley karate, and he hoped with all his might that Mike would make the right call.
He frowned up at the ceiling and resolved to find out if Daniel was still in town, or if he’d gone back home to Newark. If he was still around, Johnny wanted to apologize to him for everything that happened last year. Was there an expiration date for apologies? He probably should have apologized a long time ago, but he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to do so until very recently – for months, the mere idea of talking, much less apologizing, to Daniel LaRusso made him nervous and panicky – and even now, he still felt like a work in progress.
If anything, Johnny hoped his long-overdue apology would be enough to get Daniel to listen to him, even if it was only long enough to warn him about Terry Silver.
Notes:
Terry Silver is a mama’s boy. Change my mind.
The acronyms in the housing office search result (which the housing office really should not have given Terry, but he can be very persuasive) after Mike’s and Johnny’s names are for the College of Business and Economics (now the David Nazarian College of Business and Economics), and the College of Health and Human Development, respectively.
Terry’s pitch to Mike to join the “Quicksilver Dojo” is based on the speech he makes in KK3 at the 1985 All-Valley. Yes, I really did have to include the words “karate man” in this version.
The green pizza Johnny sees at the cafeteria is inspired by the shrimp and pesto pizza (which somehow always turned out greener than your average pesto-based pizza) that was offered at my school’s cafeteria. My roommate and I thought it was the weirdest thing for a long time, and only when she dared me to try it did I find out it was pretty good.
Chapter Text
Terry slouched down in the driver’s seat of his borrowed truck, parked on a dead-end side street near the old man’s house. From his vantage point across the street, he could easily see the front gate, the terra cotta tiled roof of the house, and the tops of some trees scattered throughout the yard. He could also make out a few Japanese lanterns hanging from those trees. While he couldn’t see into the property itself, due to the high fence that surrounded the house and yard, he would at least be able to see the old man and the kid come and go. He was dressed comfortably, with a full cooler in the passenger side footwell, ready for a long day of waiting and watching. His diary, securely wrapped with silk ribbon, lay in the passenger seat next to him.
Earlier that morning, he’d gone into his garage to see if any of his other cars would call less attention to himself than a Rolls-Royce convertible or a stretch limo. He needed something that would blend better into the surroundings in Reseda and Canoga Park, but unfortunately, he found that none of the cars he had were suitable for that purpose. Terry ended up asking one of his landscaping staff if he could borrow his car, a sky-blue 1972 Ford Courier. José was visibly thrilled to have the use of Terry’s 1956 Jaguar XK140 Roadster for the next few days.
The best part about being out and about on Sunday mornings was the lack of traffic around LA. Without the hundreds of cars clogging up the highways like on any other day, Terry managed to reach his destination in far less time than he anticipated.
Shifting his position in the uncomfortable driver’s seat, Terry reached over the console for his diary and opened it to the last written page.
Karate Bros.
He smirked with satisfaction at the double-underlined heading to the page. That part of the plan had come together so easily and so well: the Pacific Bell call log led him straight to Johnny Lawrence and Mike Barnes, and he learned a lot about those two and their friendship in the days he’d spent on their college campus. It took some time for him to get Mike squared away, but at least that was done now, and the ball was in the boy’s court. Mike was a fascinating study in both personality and karate technique; he was calm and balanced in his approach, but the way he incorporated Cobra Kai techniques so seamlessly into his own style showed Terry he had enormous potential to be a real fighter, a real winner, a real exemplar of everything Cobra Kai stood for.
Terry hoped Mike hadn’t mentioned anything about their conversation to Johnny, as he requested. He didn’t care as much about the rest of their little karate club as he did about the Lawrence boy specifically; his primary concern was that Mike would refuse the offer or just not call back if he talked to Johnny about it, and Johnny recognized the signs or got suspicious and warned him off. Terry couldn’t do anything to Johnny directly, not only because it might jeopardize his chances with Daniel LaRusso, but also because it could potentially be traced back to Kreese, who was, even now, still somewhat of a local well-liked celebrity here in the Valley. Those in the Valley who followed karate, which was almost everyone, knew that Sensei John Kreese was the reason the Cobra Kai Dojo were perennial winners who put on a good show for the spectators every year without fail. They loved him for it, and Kreese wanted to keep it that way.
Terry still hadn’t heard back from Mike. Granted, it had only been three days since he invited Mike to join the “Quicksilver Dojo,” so he could stand to give the boy some more time. If he didn’t hear from him in the next few days, though, he wasn’t above going back to campus to pay Mike another visit. Terry knew exactly how and where to find him now.
He still hadn’t mentioned anything to Kreese about that ‘new’ name he gave for the dojo when Mike asked about it. Kreese was constantly on edge these days, and Terry knew that when he got like this, anything could set him off. Doing something like this without consulting him first would undoubtedly be one of those things, even if the name was only temporary. Terry knew how much importance Kreese placed on being the name and the face behind the dojo, even if everything was legally in Terry’s name and they agreed at the very beginning that the dojo belonged to both of them equally.
Terry had offered to send Kreese anywhere he wanted for a few weeks’ vacation to rest and relax and get away from all of this for a while, but Kreese wouldn’t hear of it and even got angry when Terry suggested it. Kreese wanted to be close by so he could keep up with, and manage, every detail of their scheme, even if Terry was the one doing all the work while he spent most of his time either silently seething in the dojo office or silently seething in Terry’s pool. It was getting tiresome, having to deal with John being like this almost every day, and Terry hoped to discover something today that would lift his friend’s spirits.
Terry leaned the diary up against the steering wheel and uncapped his fountain pen, poised to write down a formal recap of his and Mike’s conversation from last Thursday – he’d preemptively left himself a few blank pages before the page he’d marked for today’s reconnaissance activities – when a loud, sharp blast sounded from the car horn.
“Shit,” Terry hissed, starting at the sound and sending his pen flying and the diary sliding off the steering wheel and under the seat. Being unused to this car, he must have pressed down too hard on the steering wheel while writing and set the horn off. Quickly attempting to regain control of the situation, he ducked down to retrieve the pen and diary from where they had fallen, hoping that in so doing, it appeared like nobody was in the car in case anyone came looking.
Across the street, the gate opened a few inches and Mr. Miyagi, clad in a sleeveless undershirt, khaki pants, and a sun hat with an adjustable chin strap, poked his head out, looking up and down the street for the source of the noise. He recognized the car horn as that of a vintage Ford, and was ready to open the gate to let Daniel back in – only, Daniel never took the car to church because it was just around the corner and a couple of blocks down, so this was highly unusual.
“Daniel-san?” Mr. Miyagi called. His eyes swept up and down the street again, and he checked his watch. 11:10. Sunday Mass wasn’t due out for another twenty minutes. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the yellow Ford still parked in its usual spot by the inner fence, where Daniel had been hard at work waxing the car earlier that morning. He knitted his brows together, muttering in Okinawan under his breath and shaking his head as he shut the gate and headed back inside.
Once the old man closed the gate and disappeared from view, Terry straightened up in his seat and continued writing, breathing a sigh of relief. Either he needed to move the car to a less conspicuous spot, or he needed to be extra careful not to lean on the horn like that again. He chose to stay put, because he didn’t need the rather loud car engine attracting attention from the other neighbors, or worse, causing the old man to come out again, but he was sure to keep one eye on the gate just in case.
It wasn’t long before Terry was shaken out of his thoughts by someone singing outside, a tune he recognized as a church hymn from when he was younger and actually went to services with his mom every week.
“Love divine, all loves excelling,
Joy of heaven to earth come down.”
A tall, slender, dark-haired young man, dressed in his Sunday best, rounded the corner. He absently wound a rosary around his left wrist while he sang the day’s closing hymn in a pleasant, clear tenor voice.
“Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
All thy faithful mercies crown.”
Terry recognized him instantly.
Daniel LaRusso was even more beautiful in person, almost impossibly so. That picture of him in the paper hardly did him justice. His smile was exactly as Terry remembered it from the newspaper photo, but was much brighter in person; his walk was brisk, but jaunty, carefree, and innocently happy. But there was something in that confident face, something in that cheeky smile, that unsettled Terry. He didn’t know what it was, or why it made him feel that way, but it bothered him.
Daniel unwrapped the rosary from his wrist and slid it into his blazer pocket as he pushed a cleverly concealed door in the fence next to the gate open with his hip and disappeared into the property. Though Terry could no longer see him, he distinctly heard a New Jersey-accented voice call loudly, “Hey, Mr. Miyagi, I’m home! You ready to go fishing?”
A softer, lower-pitched voice responded, something Terry couldn’t hear.
Terry wrinkled his nose with a frown upon hearing that atrocious, grating East Coast accent come out of Daniel’s mouth. He couldn’t understand how someone that beautiful could have such an annoying voice. That ought to be illegal. He knew he would eventually have to talk to this kid and spend time with him, and that voice was a real turn-off. Was there a surefire way to keep the boy from talking? He could think of at least one way; he closed his eyes and smiled contentedly as he imagined his cock, shiny with spit and precome, sliding in and out of that lush mouth.
He could hear his mother’s voice in his head now, reprimanding him for having such dirty thoughts on a Sunday morning right after church, but he didn’t care. Seeing that stunning beauty walk by his car awakened something in him – a primal urge he’d felt many times before – but this time, there was something more to it, like there was a different kind of magnetism drawing him in.
It took him a few moments and some effort to force his mind past that delightful mental image and register what exactly Daniel had just said: he and the old man were going fishing for the day, which meant they would be out of the house for at least several hours.
Perfect.
Terry’s original plan had been to go to the old man’s house and sit in the car all day and watch what they did at home on a Sunday to find out more about them, in the same way he watched and waited on Johnny and Mike’s college campus until he got what he needed, but this was even better. With the two of them gone for a good part of the day, Terry could take the opportunity to go into the house and look around at his leisure. That would definitely allow him to discover a lot more about them than just watching them come and go from their house – provided, of course, that he could find a way in after they left.
He resumed writing in the diary, continuing his recap about the time he spent on CSUN’s campus, meeting Mike, and inviting him to join the dojo. He then outlined the next steps for the plan: how to make the dojo look different from the old Cobra Kai, how to go about getting a new practice gi design made, how to budget his time between Mike and Daniel. He was tapping the end of his pen against the paper, deep in thought about those logistics, when the gate opened again to reveal Daniel, now dressed in jeans, a blue shirt, and a bright orange jacket, and carrying a small backpack over his shoulder. When he pulled the gate open almost all the way, Terry was able to see more of the property, but not by much; an inner fence beyond the unpaved parking area obscured part of the house and most of the yard.
Terry decided he liked Daniel in orange.
“You want me to grab the coolers, Mr. Miyagi?” Daniel said as he propped the gate open with a small rock.
Mr. Miyagi loaded the last of the supplies into the back of the truck and swung the door shut. “Already here, Daniel-san. Now we go.” He started the car and slowly drove the truck out of the driveway, pulling over to the side of the road and idling as he waited for Daniel to close and lock the gate.
Terry watched Daniel closely as he bent down to move the rock keeping the gate open, which afforded Terry quite the view of the boy’s endless legs and tight ass, and closed the gate. The small door next to the gate that he’d used to come back from church earlier that morning opened and he reappeared, hurrying out the door and letting the door swing shut behind him.
Terry waited several minutes before making any move to go inside, just in case they forgot something and had to come back. Since it was already past noon, he grabbed a bottle of San Pellegrino from the cooler to go with his lunch of Benedictine tea sandwiches, so he didn’t have to worry about getting hungry in the middle of looking around the house. He didn’t want to be forced to come back out to the car without being seen to eat something, and then have to go back inside, again without being seen by the neighbors, however few and far between they might be.
Once he finished eating, he crumpled up his napkin and threw it out the passenger side window into the driveway of the house he was parked in front of, closed the window, and got out of the car, looking both ways for any curious eyes before crossing the street.
Terry started by trying the front gate, just in case it was closed but not locked, but it was indeed locked from the inside. He then tried the side door Daniel had used, and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he found that door unlocked, thinking it had locked automatically when Daniel let it close behind him. He was so accustomed to making sure the front gate and all the doors to his own house were always locked, but it didn’t seem to matter as much around here; the old man appeared to live in a secluded, quiet enough area with only a few neighbors nearby that it probably wasn’t as much of an issue if he didn’t always secure his property.
As he closed the little hidden side door very quietly and carefully behind him, he remembered, with a soft chuckle, that he didn’t have to be this quiet or sneak around anymore, because nobody was home.
Just inside the gate, Terry stopped to marvel at a row of meticulously kept vintage cars parked neatly along the driveway and covered carefully with tarps. The only car that was uncovered was a gorgeous yellow Ford Super Deluxe convertible with its top down in the spot nearest to the garden; a wax pot and cleaning rag lay on the ground next to it.
He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the old man’s impressive collection. Even he didn’t have that many vintage cars in such fine condition.
Beyond the row of cars was a house and grounds unlike anything Terry had seen before. In fact, it was just like walking into a whole other world. The house itself was small, painted an unusual but soothing shade of green, and some of the brickwork by the front door needed to be fixed up a bit. It was a typical house one might find in this particular neighborhood, but the Japanese influence throughout spoke to who lived there. It was nothing like the rich elegance he’d known all his life, but he could acknowledge that this house had a beauty and elegance of its own.
Someone had been working on painting the fence; a closed pot of brown paint sat near the fence, with an unwashed paintbrush set on top. A paint mixing stick leaned up against an unpainted portion of the fence, and that area of the garden smelled strongly of fresh paint. The walkways that snaked across the verdant yard were made up of sturdy wooden decking, which looked like they had been recently sanded. Toward the back of the yard was a koi pond with a circular wooden platform in the middle, upon which rested a large flowering bonsai in a ceramic pot with an embossed bonsai and sun logo that Terry recognized from Daniel’s gi in the newspaper picture from the All-Valley. Four smaller bonsai in similar pots kept the platform steady at each of the circle’s cardinal points. Traditional lanterns and Japanese wind chimes hung from a few of the trees, and Terry could just make out strings of lights intricately woven through the branches.
It was clear the old man took great care to keep his property clean, well-maintained, and beautiful, in stark contrast to the houses and neighborhoods Terry had to drive past to get here. Even though the train tracks ran nearby, and the other houses and buildings he passed along the way weren’t in great condition, this place was something else entirely: a peaceful sanctuary in the middle of the chaos of LA.
Terry sat down on a rock near the pond, taking it all in. Since he was in no rush, he allowed himself some time to enjoy the tranquility of the garden and feel at peace, something he never really got a lot of these days. The only sounds in the garden were the soft lapping of water and the occasional gentle melody of the wind chimes swaying in the breeze.
He’d seen many gardens like this during his business trips all over Asia, but they were mostly either tourist attractions or on corporate grounds, and as such, largely came off as commercialized and showy. This garden, though, was exactly how he imagined an Asian garden should look and feel like, created with love and maintained with heart, made to be enjoyed for its own sake and not to impress foreign visitors.
Terry stood and examined the white punching bag on its stand in the middle of the yard, wondering what it might be like to train in a place like this. His own karate training had been so diametrically different: spartan, aggressive, militaristic. The karate he learned from his CO and from Master Kim was specifically designed for war; a place like this would most likely teach karate designed for peace, or something close to it.
He laughed softly. ‘Peaceful karate’ was a wholly foreign concept and an oxymoron, but he wanted to know more about this style of karate that was so very different from his own. He was curious to learn about the karate that bested two-time champion Johnny Lawrence and Cobra Kai.
Terry then tried the front door to the house, which was locked. After jiggling the door a few times and getting nowhere, he turned and sat back down with a huff of frustration on that same rock by the koi pond, finding to his surprise how much the peaceful setting of the old man’s little garden helped him to recenter himself.
After spending a few quiet minutes by the pond, he made his way around the outside of the house, until he saw that one of the large paned windows in their den was unlatched and left ajar.
As he climbed in through that open window, Terry was immediately struck by how this house was so much more like a home than his own. It looked comfortably lived-in, not like his own house, much less his parents’, both of which were closer to museums or event venues than actual homes. They’d had to keep it that way for as long as he could remember, because their houses were regularly showcased in various publications. His parents were well-known for their elaborate parties and events that were always the highlight of society pages and magazines. His own house was photographed for a “35 Under 35” magazine article he was included in, and had even been the subject of an Architectural Digest cover feature not too long ago. As flattering as that was, Terry sometimes wished he had a home he could really live in that he didn’t have to worry about keeping perfect all the time.
Terry paused beside the bookshelf and quickly glanced over its contents. Most of the books were in Japanese, but there were a few old Reader’s Digest issues stacked up on the end of one shelf. An entire shelf was dedicated to pictures, mostly of the old man over the years, but there was also one of him and Daniel, standing next to a wooden rowboat in front of a lake, holding the biggest fish Terry had seen in quite some time. It took both of them to hold the fish up for the photo, and they looked incredibly proud of their angling accomplishment.
The rest of the pictures on that shelf were of the old man from when he wasn’t so old, many of which were pictures of him with other Japanese men in American military uniforms. The insignia on his uniform declared him to be a staff sergeant in the U.S. Army.
Interesting. Another fellow Army veteran. Terry respected that, but that wasn’t going to stop him from doing what he had to do.
Across the hallway from the den was a dim, humid room filled with dozens of bonsai, set one beside the other on shelves four layers high all around the perimeter of the room. The long wooden table in the middle of the room housed another thirty or so small trees, if he had to guess.
Terry picked up one of the potted trees on the table, a tiny Japanese maple tree so small it could fit into the palm of his hand. The small blue-green pot it sat in also had the tree and sun logo embossed on the side, and was stamped with the words “Earth Works Pottery” on the bottom. He briefly considered taking it with him; with that many trees, surely one of them wouldn’t be missed – but then, he remembered he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a plant, least of all a fancy, exotic plant like this one, so he placed the little tree carefully back in its spot on the table. There was a reason he had a landscaping staff to take care of all of that for him.
An open door at one end of the hallway led into a spacious master bedroom, sparsely and simply furnished for a bedroom of that size. A low table sat in the middle of the floor, which held a tea set and a half-bottle of sake. Tucked underneath the table was a rectangular painted box containing a collection of World War II-era newspaper articles about the 442nd Regimental Combat Team and the Manzanar Internment Camp, as well as an official-looking letter informing Staff Sergeant Miyagi that his wife and son had passed away at Manzanar due to complications in childbirth. With the letter was a black-and-white picture of a smiling, pregnant young woman.
Inside the old man’s closet, Terry found mostly khaki-colored shirts and matching pants, with some other earth tones mixed in occasionally; in the midst of these was a World War II Army service uniform, which he recognized from the pictures in the den. Now that he was able to get a better look at all the decorations Staff Sergeant Miyagi had earned during his military service, he was even more impressed, so much so that he almost forgot this man was one of the targets of Kreese’s revenge.
The collection of newspaper clippings made sense now. Mr. Miyagi had been a member of the 442nd during his service; the insignia attached to the sleeve of his uniform, of a white hand holding a torch on a blue background, was hard to miss. That regiment was famous for being the most decorated unit for its size during World War II, so it was no surprise that he received all of these awards and decorations during his time with them. Terry wasn’t able to identify every commendation bar on the uniform, but he was able to recognize the Silver Star, the Bronze Star, and the Purple Heart, at least. Those commendations alone were already impressive enough as it was, even without the rest.
On the dresser next to the closet, two identical diptych frames stood on either side of a bamboo frame containing a photo of Mr. Miyagi and Daniel, standing under some palm trees. The first frame displayed a young Mr. Miyagi and another boy around the same age on one side, and the old man and this same friend in a newer photograph on the other. The second frame showed the teenaged Mr. Miyagi again, this time with a beautiful Japanese girl in traditional Okinawan dress on the left side, and him with the same lady in a recent picture on the right.
By the time Terry finished up in Mr. Miyagi’s room, the sun’s position in the sky was such that it shone straight down the hallway, casting a long ray of sunlight over a panoramic set of square photographs of a stunning sunset reflected over a vast ocean dotted by fishing boats, equally spaced out over the length of the hall. The inscription, written in both English and Japanese, at the bottom of the last photo in the set read Sunset over Tomi Village, 1985. Sato.
Three framed photographs were lined up on a small table in front of the big window in the eat-in kitchen. The first was of Daniel in a ridiculous light blue tux with an even more ridiculous frilly shirt, standing outside in the garden with a pretty blonde girl in a pale pink dress. The lanterns were lit and the lights in the trees were switched on. The garden didn’t just look beautiful – it looked magical.
The second picture, which showed a pretty Japanese girl performing a traditional dance in a blue and white kimono and holding a red fan, had been placed in a clear plastic frame so the caption on the back was visible: Kumiko dancing at Tomi Village o-bon festival, Okinawa 8/15/85. D.L.
The third, in the biggest frame of the three, was taken in this very room, and showed Mr. Miyagi presenting Daniel with a birthday cake, ablaze with candles, at the large oval dining table a few feet away. Daniel wore his white tournament gi open and unfastened over his clothes, with a birthday hat on his head and a party horn in one hand, as he got ready to blow the candles out.
Terry picked up this frame and studied the photo more closely, counting eighteen candles on the cake. Daniel’s incandescent smile in the picture was irresistible, and Terry found himself smiling too.
“Make a wish,” he murmured softly to the photograph as he set it back down on the table with the others.
Terry glanced into the cozy living room, with its comfortable chairs and fireplace, on his way from the kitchen to the spacious, brightly lit central room that served as their main dojo space. The first thing he noticed when he approached the dojo was the set of two banners with Japanese inscriptions that adorned the front wall of the space. In between these two banners was a large vintage black-and-white photograph of an even older Japanese man in a white gi, holding a bo staff in front of him in fighting position.
Terry squinted at the banners. His written Japanese was a bit out of practice, but with some effort he was able to decipher what the first one said.
Karate is for defense only.
He was right, this was in fact ‘peaceful karate.’ The mantra fit perfectly with the serene décor and ambience of the house and garden, and it made so much more sense now. Even so, he still didn’t know quite what to make of it, but he knew John would absolutely hate it. Captain Turner taught them that the best defense was always more offense, and John especially had taken that to heart and drilled that lesson hard into his own students’ heads.
Terry toed his loafers off just outside the sliding shoji door and walked into the dojo. The tatami mat on the floor felt strange underfoot, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, just different from what he was used to. He approached the banners for a closer look, and saw small tears in the fabric from some kind of sharp object that looked relatively new, but had since been painstakingly repaired with tiny stitches. There were several bonsai in this room too, in the same personalized pots as the ones he saw in the yard and the greenhouse down the hall. They were spaced out evenly along the mirrored side walls on a small raised wooden platform that ran the length of each wall.
He bowed to the center of the room and moved into ready position. This kata, the one he used as a warm-up before training sessions with his personal trainers, was rife with elaborate spins, kicks and punches, one right after the other, and ended in a striking position with a loud kiai. He started slow, admiring his form in the full-length mirrors, and began to speed up the pace of his movements as he lost himself in the kata. He caught a glimpse of himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the middle of an elaborate spinning high kick – his own private dojo didn’t allow for this good of a view. He made a mental note to himself to invest in some full-length mirrors of his own.
Terry stopped just short of concluding the kata with its customary kiai when he saw his reflection in the mirror. He suddenly became conscious of how his militaristic style of karate didn’t match up with the dojo he was in; the harsh expression on his face, coupled with his right arm extended straight out in striking position, was so vastly incongruous to his surroundings. Lowering his arm to his side and unclenching his fists slowly, he let the muscles in his body relax, laughing softly at himself and his folly, before bowing to his reflection, and then again to the center of the room. He collected his shoes and left through the shoji screen door that led back out into the garden, musing that if he’d known about this door, he could’ve used it instead to enter the house and wouldn’t have had to sneak in through a window like a thief.
Just off the main house was a small, recently built extension, which Terry gathered was Daniel’s room. It didn’t appear to be a completely separate building, being situated close enough to the main house to be considered an extension of the building. On closer inspection, the new structure was in fact its own separate space, but the color and design were the same as that of the main house to allow for a more or less uniform appearance in the small courtyard it created outside, enclosed on three sides by Daniel’s room, the dojo and front door, and the living room. The fourth side was open and led directly into the garden.
Terry slid the extension’s paper screen door open to reveal a typical teenage boy’s room, kind of messy, but cozy and well lived in: dirty laundry in the corner, a Star Wars film poster and a Bruce Springsteen “Born in the USA” concert poster taped to an unfinished wooden section of the wall, potato chip bags and chocolate milk cartons in the trash. A well-worn copy of The Outsiders lay on the floor, with a relatively recent boarding pass from Okinawa to LAX marking Daniel’s place in the book, and his tournament gi lay carelessly folded at the foot of his bed with an unfolded Bruce Springsteen concert shirt on top of it. The large floor-to-ceiling shoji screens that made up the rest of the walls allowed a lot of light to come in, which bathed the entire room in a soft, muted glow from the afternoon sun.
Terry reached for the Bruce Springsteen t-shirt and held it up to his cheek, his breath catching in his throat as he inhaled Daniel’s scent: light woods, bright citrus, and freshly cut grass. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered what the boy would smell like. It wasn’t what he expected, but he found he liked it – maybe almost too much – and he pressed his lips against the soft fabric, letting his imagination run wild, even though he was confident that if he played his cards right, he’d have the real thing soon enough.
On the messy desk next to the bed, a healthy, well-cared-for bonsai tree sat in a deep blue branded handmade ceramic pot next to a lease agreement in both Daniel's and Mr. Miyagi's names for a commercial space, which was weighted down by another small pot like the ones he’d seen everywhere else in the house. Daniel’s 1984 All-Valley trophy stood on the hutch with his blue-and-white flower hachimaki and his high school graduation cord draped over it, next to a small standing wooden crucifix and a stack of books on Okinawa, bonsai care, and car maintenance. Next to a framed copy of the newspaper article about his surprise win at the 1984 All-Valley was a small square photograph of a very young Daniel, maybe three or four years old, with his parents in front of Coney Island’s Wonder Wheel. Even at that very young age, he had that same bright smile Terry saw in all the other pictures, perched happily on his father’s shoulders with both arms raised skyward. Another picture on the desk, labeled “Daniel’s First Communion, 5/4/75”, showed him in a little white suit and bright blue bowtie, surrounded by about thirty family members, including his parents, grandparents, and a priest in ceremonial vestments, in front of their church. Terry noticed that Daniel’s father, who looked so florid and healthy in the Coney Island photo, looked much thinner and paler in this picture.
Terry recognized the rosary Daniel had been wrapping around his wrist on his way home from church, which was now sitting in a little pile on his desk and tangled up with another chain. It looked like an antique, with mother-of-pearl beads linked together by sturdy silver chain, connected on either end by a silver filigree heart-shaped medallion, and attached to a finely crafted crucifix. Terry examined the intricate detail and fine metalwork of the cross; it had a nice weight to it. He then untangled the rosary from the other chain, a necklace with a small gold cross hanging from it; the cross had a bas-relief raised image in the center of a burning heart with rays of light radiating from it on one side, and Daniel’s name on the reverse.
Terry put the rosary and necklace back on the desk. It was clear that Daniel’s family and his faith meant a lot to him. A part of Terry didn’t want to put Daniel in a position where he might have to betray his devotion to his loved ones or to his church, but another, smaller part of him didn’t care, as long as he got what he wanted. Either way, he viewed it as a challenge to see if he could make Daniel unable to resist giving in to him.
He wandered back into the main house and into the living room, which he’d passed by on his way through the house earlier. As soon as he entered the room, his attention immediately went to the medal on the wall, a military accolade he easily recognized, but had never before seen in person.
In pride of place, hanging on the wall closest to the front door to the house, was a large photograph of Staff Sergeant Miyagi, standing at attention with several other members of the 442nd as they were presented with the Medal of Honor by then-General of the Army Dwight D. Eisenhower, while their commanding officer, a Lieutenant Pierce, looked on proudly. The Medal of Honor itself and some of his other military decorations were displayed next to the photo, in a handmade wooden display box, signed “D.L. 1985” in silver metallic paint pen on the underside of the frame.
He reverently examined the Medal of Honor, taking note of each bar that surrounded it: the Army Distinguished Service Cross, the Army Distinguished Service Medal, the Bronze Star Medal, and the Purple Heart. Clearly, this medal belonged to a true war hero, one who had been duly recognized for his service and valor. This man received highest military honors from a country not of his birth, while Terry, a born-and-bred American, couldn’t even muster the courage to fight when called upon to do so. As he continued to admire the medal, Kreese’s voice and his damning words echoed, unbidden, in his mind:
You were curled up in a fetal position in the back of an NVA cage, whimpering like a damn pussy, while I fought for my life in your place.
Terry lowered his eyes and turned away, feeling as though the medal and the people in the photograph next to it were silently judging him for his own decidedly less valorous service record.
A medium-sized Buddha statue rested on the table underneath the Medal of Honor, which Terry recognized as a symbol of good luck in several different Asian cultures. What did they need good luck for? Hadn’t they already stolen enough of Cobra Kai’s thunder?
He didn’t have to look far for the answer to that: under that very table was a basket full of flyers printed on blue paper, with a simple pencil sketch of an evergreen bonsai tree in the center. Terry grabbed the top one and skimmed it, a smile spreading slowly across his face. This certainly explained the room full of small potted trees he was in earlier, as well as the commercial lease paperwork on Daniel’s desk.
Nariyoshi Miyagi and Daniel LaRusso
cordially invite you to the Grand Opening of
Mr. Miyagi’s Little Trees
130 Avenue 50, Highland Park, CA
Saturday, September 21, 1985
10:00am
Please join us for light refreshments and bonsai care demonstrations
That was this coming Saturday. Now he knew where, and how, he’d be spending his weekend. He generally didn’t frequent neighborhoods like Highland Park, but for this, he would gladly make an exception.
He could use any of the outfits he wore on CSUN’s campus to attend the grand opening incognito. The plain t-shirt and jeans look, with his hair down, was a classic, nondescript look and would attract very little attention. It had served him well on the college campus, and it should serve him just as well here. Add a pair of Ray-Bans and a suede cap for increased anonymity, and that would serve him even better. With a look like that, he shouldn’t be recognized by anyone as Terrance Silver, businessman, philanthropist, and man about town. As far as anyone was concerned, he’d be just another person attending the grand opening, looking for a nice bonsai for his house.
Very pleased with this new development, he folded the flyer into quarters and tucked it into the inner pocket of his leather jacket.
As he did so, a pair of headlights swept across the room as a vehicle pulled into the driveway. Terry glanced outside through the window just in time to see Mr. Miyagi’s truck pull into its designated space and the headlights turn off, with the outer gate wide open and his borrowed blue car just beyond it across the street. The engine switched off right as the passenger side door flew open and Daniel hopped out of the truck.
“Jess is awesome,” he was saying, “but I don’t think of her like that. She’s more like a sister, or a cousin, you know what I mean?”
“Hai, Daniel-san. Always good to have friends like family. Like Miyagi and Sato.”
Daniel’s face darkened and he scowled.
Mr. Miyagi held up a hand. “Atatata. Miyagi know what Daniel-san going to say. Miyagi know you not forgive yet for what he do. But Miyagi forgive Sato long time ago. Miyagi and Sato talk long time before we leave Okinawa. Sato very sorry, wish to make up for lost time, many years of friendship missed. Miyagi happy to give him second chance.”
“Ugh,” Daniel huffed. “I guess so. I think I just need time, you know, like with Johnny and Chozen.”
“Hai,” Mr. Miyagi replied, nodding in understanding. “So. You say you and Jessica-san go see movie tomorrow, on not-date. What you going to see?”
“Back to the Future,” Daniel said. “It came out when we were in Okinawa. She hasn’t seen it yet either, because she’d just gotten here and was dealing with her breakup when it first came out, and didn’t want to do much of anything. I can’t say I blame her; I probably wouldn’t have wanted to do anything either. And really, Mr. Miyagi, I don’t get that guy. How could he cheat on her with her friend like that?”
“Some people not appreciate good things they have,” Mr. Miyagi said. “Not realize what they lose until they no longer have.”
“That’s his loss, then, because she’s great. She deserves someone who’ll treat her right.”
“Hai. Jessica-san very lucky to have friend like you.”
Terry checked his watch and saw that it was past 7pm, and it was already starting to get dark out. He hadn’t realized how much time he’d spent in the house, and he was so glad he’d eaten before he came inside. Flattening himself against the wall and peering out from behind a tall shelf full of various knick-knacks, he watched Daniel and Mr. Miyagi unload several large coolers and buckets from the back of the truck; their fishing trip had clearly been a success. A wooden boat still lay upside down in the truck bed over a battered tackle box and a pair of fishing rods.
Daniel walked out past the row of vintage cars, carrying two heavy coolers, one in each hand. Terry saw he was no longer in the jeans and orange jacket he was wearing earlier; he was now wearing a pair of very short cutoff denim shorts and a sleeveless white top that showed off his long legs and toned arms. Terry instinctively licked his lips and exhaled a soft, punched-out breath as he leaned back against the wall and out of sight.
“Take fish inside, Daniel-san,” Mr. Miyagi said. “Miyagi put boat and equipment away, then help clean fish, make tea.”
“I’ll put the water on,” Daniel called over his shoulder.
“Hai.”
Terry heard Daniel’s footsteps quickly approaching the house, and he looked around the room he was in for a better place to hide, but found none. None that would accommodate someone of his height and build, certainly. There was no easy way out from where he was, especially since Daniel’s footsteps were getting closer to the very door he was presently standing next to, so he took one look at the unlit fireplace and climbed inside, like a strange out-of-season ponytailed Santa Claus with no gifts. Bracing himself against the chimney walls, he grabbed onto the bricks to support himself. It was cramped and narrow up there, but he managed to find a somewhat secure position using some bricks that stuck out enough to stand on and hold onto.
Daniel unlocked the front door and picked up the coolers he’d set down on the doorstep, doing a funny sideways walk to get them, and himself, through the door. They were heavy, more so than usual; all the fish they brought back from the lake today should last them for at least the next two or three weeks. It was a good and productive fishing day for Mr. Miyagi, and Daniel only fell into the lake twice this time.
Humming the same church hymn he was singing that morning – it had been in his head for most of the day – he set the heavy coolers down on the kitchen table, and filled the kettle with water, setting it on the stovetop to boil. He leaned against the counter and plucked at his shirt where it stuck to him; Mr. Miyagi enjoyed knocking him into the lake entirely too much for his own good.
Within a few minutes, Mr. Miyagi came inside from the side entrance, through the greenhouse filled with bonsai, and started work on the first cooler full of fish. Daniel opened the fridge and bent down to look for something to eat.
“You still hungry, Daniel-san?”
“Yeah,” Daniel said into the fridge. Even though they’d had dinner on the way home, he was still hungry; balancing on the bow of a rowboat for hours at a time took a lot out of him. “Do we have any more of that miso ramen from last night?”
Mr. Miyagi shook his head. “No more ramen. Make onigiri.” He closed the lid of the cooler gently and began opening cabinets, pulling out nori sheets and furikake seasoning.
“Oh, no, Mr. Miyagi, you don’t have to do that!”
“Is okay, Daniel-san. Miyagi happy to join you for snack. You make rice like Miyagi show you, Miyagi prepare rest.”
Terry took this opportunity, while they seemed to be nowhere near the living room, to readjust his position in the chimney. He probably could leave through the front door without them knowing if he moved quickly, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Flexing his fingers before grabbing a hold of the bricks once more, he strained to hear as much of their conversation as he could, but their voices were muffled and indistinct from where he was. He couldn’t make out most of the words, but from their vocal inflections, he could tell the old man and the kid had a very close relationship.
Their voices started getting louder and their words clearer, and Terry tightened his grip around the bricks he was holding onto, to make sure his perch was secure enough that he wouldn’t have to move while they were back in the same room with him.
“I’m getting better with my balance, aren’t I, Mr. Miyagi?” Daniel sat down in his favorite stuffed armchair in the living room and stretched his legs out in front of him with a sigh of contentment. He set his steaming teacup on the side table between them and blew on his fingertips to cool them off, and reached for one of the onigiri he’d helped to make. This one was different from the ones Mr. Miyagi usually made; it had little bits of umeboshi, Japanese pickled plum, mixed in with the rice, instead of inside as a filling.
Mr. Miyagi nodded, taking the other onigiri off the plate. “You very good with balance now, Daniel-san. Very much improve since we start last year.”
“Well, you know balance is my thing now.”
“Hai. But you still fall off today!” Mr. Miyagi guffawed. “Even now, you still wet behind ear! You remember first time that happen?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel said, but he was smiling. “How can I forget? The water was so cold that day and I was so not prepared for that. But I’m learning, though, aren’t I? I stayed on a lot longer this time.”
“Always learning,” Mr. Miyagi replied, nodding sagely. “Even Miyagi, still always learning. Every day is lesson, is gift. Miyagi learn much from Daniel-san, just as Daniel-san learn much from Miyagi.”
“But how?” Daniel asked between bites of his tart and savory rice ball. “You’re my teacher. You always have all the answers. I wouldn’t be where I am without you.”
“Not always,” Mr. Miyagi said. “Not all answer.”
“Alright, what are you learning about from me, then?”
“Family. Miyagi not be here either without Daniel-san.”
The phone on the table next to the fireplace rang loudly. Inside the chimney, Terry jumped in surprise, nearly slipping off the bricks he was standing on. It would have been disastrous had he fallen down into the fireplace in front of the old man and the kid during their mushy moment, but thankfully, he caught himself in time and tried to reposition himself in the tight space as best he could.
“I’ll get it,” Daniel said, leaping out of his chair and grabbing the phone mid-ring. “Hello, Miyagi residence, this is Daniel.”
“Hello, Daniel, glad I got you. This is Pat Johnson, calling on behalf of the All-Valley Committee. Sorry to be calling you so late, but our committee meeting just got out, and I wanted to do this as soon as I could because it’s all anyone at the meeting could talk about.”
“Oh, hey, Mr. Johnson,” Daniel said. “It’s good to hear from you, thanks for calling. What can I do for you and the All-Valley Committee?”
Mr. Miyagi glanced up and over at Daniel when he heard the words All-Valley Committee, watching him closely with lips downturned.
“We're calling to ask if you’ll be defending your title this year,” Mr. Johnson said. “Your final match last year was so thrilling, the best we’d had in years – we got so many calls and messages about it for months after the tournament last year. We’re still getting calls about it, believe it or not. It really was quite a fight, and you showed such grace and poise under pressure. You’re an inspiration to so many, including all of us, coming out of nowhere like that and winning against Cobra Kai.”
“Thank you, sir,” Daniel said, smiling proudly. “It was tough, and I went through a lot to get there, but in the end, it was truly an honor to be there and to win.”
“Can we expect to see you back again this year, son?”
“Well, yeah, sure, I …” Daniel trailed off, his smile faltering as he caught Mr. Miyagi’s eye. Mr. Miyagi shook his head imperceptibly, and Daniel deflated a little. “I, uh, I haven’t really had a whole lot of time to think about it. I just started a new business with Mr. Miyagi, and we’ve been real busy with that – but to answer your question, of course I’d like to defend my title, because it was a huge thing for me to compete last year, and karate has become such an important part of my life …”
Daniel knew this was something he wanted to do ever since he won the last All-Valley. In fact, he was entirely ready to say yes without hesitation, until he saw the disapproving expression on his teacher’s face. If he was going to pursue this, which he really wanted to, he would need to sell Mr. Miyagi on it. Judging by that look Mr. Miyagi was giving him, it was going to be a hard sell, but if he was able to sell Mr. Miyagi on that old fruit packing building as the location for Little Trees, he could certainly do this.
“… but I’ll have to discuss this with my teacher first, is that okay?”
“Of course. I wasn’t expecting you to give me an answer today; I was just calling to gauge your interest,” Mr. Johnson replied. “You’ll need to fill out the application form and look over the packet of information anyway, and have your teacher sign off on your participation. We’ll be sending the packets out this week, and you should be receiving yours in the next few days.”
“Sir,” Daniel said, “if the tournament is on December 19th again, you probably should know I’ll be nineteen on the day of the tournament. My birthday’s the day before.”
“It’s alright, as long as you’re eighteen or under by the application deadline, December 2nd, you can still participate,” Mr. Johnson said. “At our meeting today, we briefly considered giving you a free pass to the final, to make the final round extra thrilling by matching you with the best the Valley has to offer – the best after you, of course – but we ultimately decided against it.”
Daniel shook his head. “No, no, I want to earn my way all the way back up to the final round. I’m glad you decided to keep it the way it is.”
“That’s right, you wouldn’t want to go in cold to the grand finale,” Mr. Johnson concurred. “That’s what I told the committee, and I’m glad they agreed with me. Keep an eye out in the mail for your packet in the next few days.”
“Will do. Thank you again for calling, Mr. Johnson. You have a good night.”
“Good night, Daniel.”
Daniel carefully replaced the phone receiver in its cradle, heart pounding. The All-Valley Committee made a special call to invite him, their reigning champion, to come back and compete again! This time last year, he was busy getting beaten up or being run off cliffs on his bike, and for him, this phone call was a testament to how far he’d come since then.
“That was the All-Valley Committee,” Daniel said as he sat back down in his chair, as if Mr. Miyagi hadn’t been there listening the whole time. “They’re asking if I’m going to defend my title this year, and I think I want to do it. What do you think, Mr. Miyagi? Will you train me?”
“Miyagi always train you,” Mr. Miyagi replied.
“Great!” Daniel said excitedly, bouncing in his seat. “Alright, when do we start, can we start tomorrow morning?”
“Atatata,” Mr. Miyagi said. “Miyagi always train you, but not for tournament.”
Daniel’s excitement immediately evaporated. He tried his best to keep the whine out of his voice, but he was only moderately successful. “Why not?”
“No more need to fight, Daniel-san. You fight in tournament last year and win. You fight in Okinawa and win. You use karate to defend honor, defend life.” Mr. Miyagi gave Daniel a very serious look over the rims of his glasses. “If karate used to defend honor, defend life, karate mean something. If karate used to defend plastic metal trophy, karate no mean nothing.”
“But Mr. Miyagi,” Daniel protested. “This is the biggest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and it means something to me. It means a whole lot of something to me.”
“Tournament is in the past, Daniel-san. No more danger, no more bully. Nothing more to prove.” Mr. Miyagi’s tone was firm, like he would brook no argument. “We now have shop. Must move forward, sell bonsai, spread joy. New business, new beginning.”
Daniel straightened up in his seat. “Mr. Miyagi,” he said, “if I compete this year, I’d be defending the honor of having won the title last year. It was a real honor for me to have won, and like I told the committee, karate is such an important part of my life now, and it would mean a lot to me to be there. That counts as defending honor, doesn’t it?”
Mr. Miyagi chuckled at this. He took his reading glasses off, placed them carefully into his shirt pocket, and stood up, dusting his hands off. “Nice try, Daniel-san. You sleep, think about this. Then maybe you see tomorrow morning that plastic metal trophy not needed for life to have meaning.”
Daniel remained seated, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair, while Mr. Miyagi went back into the kitchen with his empty teacup to continue putting away their catches of the day.
“Damn it,” Daniel whispered as soon as he was alone.
He put his head in his hands, groaning softly with frustration. He’d thought his “defending honor” argument was clever, and was disappointed that all Mr. Miyagi did in response was laugh it off. He wondered if maybe Mr. Miyagi didn’t think he could do it a second time, and was just giving all these other reasons about selling bonsai and spreading joy so he didn’t have to come out and say it.
He won against Johnny, he won against Chozen, he could break six sheets of ice with a single hit. Why couldn’t he do this again?
First, learn rule number one.
Daniel sighed. Of course.
It wasn’t that Mr. Miyagi didn’t think he could do it. It was that he didn’t think he should.
He hadn’t forgotten that on the very day he won the All-Valley last year, Mr. Miyagi was already discouraging him from continuing to participate in tournaments. But if there was something he knew about himself, it was that whenever he set his mind to something, he was always determined to see it through no matter what; he was stubborn like that. It was why he’d been so determined to become good enough at karate to have a fighting chance in the All-Valley last year. This wasn’t all that different, was it?
Actually, it was very different. At last year’s tournament, he was defending himself against bullies, against Cobra Kai. Not even a month ago, he defended himself and Kumiko against Chozen in a fight to the death for honor. The two banners hanging in the dojo fifteen feet away, which Mr. Miyagi brought back from his home in Okinawa, reminded Daniel every day that karate was for defense only. According to the tenets of Miyagi-Do, strictly speaking, those situations were a proper use of karate, but this upcoming All-Valley wasn’t. As far as the rules were concerned, there was no real good reason for him to compete again. Bragging rights weren’t enough.
On the one hand, he desperately wanted to participate in the All-Valley again and defend his title, but on the other hand, he didn’t want to go against Mr. Miyagi’s teachings and disappoint him. Mr. Miyagi was right, too, about their new shop. Little Trees was their future now, and tournaments were a thing of the past. They would spend this year building the business, and he would start attending college next year, once Little Trees was more established and he had money from the profits to pay for classes. He didn’t have time for karate tournaments anymore.
Right?
Daniel tugged at his hair with both hands. Mr. Miyagi was right that he needed to sleep on it and think about it again in the morning. Mr. Miyagi was right about everything.
“Oh, Daniel-san, you still here?” Mr. Miyagi said from the doorway, surprised Daniel hadn’t gone to bed yet after their long day out.
Daniel shifted in his chair and pushed himself up. “Yeah, I’m still here. And you’re right, Mr. Miyagi, I probably shouldn’t do the All-Valley again. We’ve got Little Trees now, our opening day’s next weekend, and I – I know I’m a winner. I don’t need another plastic metal trophy to tell me that.”
“Good, Daniel-san,” Mr. Miyagi said, patting Daniel gently on the shoulder. “You go sleep, switch off light, not think about tournament anymore.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll try,” Daniel said. “Good night, Mr. Miyagi.”
“Good night, Daniel-san,” Mr. Miyagi said as he headed down the hallway to his room. “We go to garden shop in the morning. Sooner we finish, sooner you and Jessica-san can go see movie.”
“Yes, Mr. Miyagi.”
With a heavy sigh, Daniel flopped back into his chair. Mr. Miyagi made it sound so easy. He couldn’t stop thinking about the tournament just like switching off a light, no matter what Mr. Miyagi said. And he certainly wouldn’t sleep well tonight, knowing he was giving up on pursuing something he really wanted, something he was so proud of.
“Porca puttana,” he cursed, throwing an arm over his face. How was he supposed to sleep on this when he wasn’t sure he could even sleep?
He pushed himself up and out of the chair, using the armrests for support, and drained the last of the tea from his cup. He took the empty onigiri plate and his empty teacup back into the kitchen and placed them in the sink next to Mr. Miyagi’s teacup, still deep in thought. As much as he tried to focus on other things, like the food he just ate or that picture of his last birthday on the side table, all of his thoughts led back to the same thing.
Mr. Miyagi used to make him onigiri every day when they first started training for the All-Valley.
That birthday picture was taken the night before he won the All-Valley.
He, his mom, Mr. Miyagi, and Ali drank celebratory sake out of these same cups after he won the All-Valley.
Damn it.
“Why is this so damn hard?” he said out loud to himself, covering his face with both hands.
With a final grunt of frustration, Daniel turned the kitchen lights off and headed into the garden toward his room. There was nothing more he could do about it now. He’d try to take Mr. Miyagi’s advice and sleep on it, but he doubted at this point that anything could change his mind.
Up in the chimney, Terry smiled, his head now spinning with ideas. Here was the perfect way for him to make his way into Daniel’s life: if the old man wouldn’t train him, Terry would find a way to become Daniel’s teacher, and train him for this tournament he so obviously still wanted to participate in, even though he’d just finished saying he wouldn’t. Perhaps the boy might be convinced, or even be willing, to go against his teacher’s wishes to do so, if he was really that determined to go for that second title.
Now that Terry was really thinking about it, if he could spirit Daniel away and be the one to teach him and train him, he would do so, and he would enjoy every minute of it. Every champion deserved a good teacher. Terry was always partial to someone who knew what he wanted and went after it, because that was exactly what he would do, too. That’s what he was doing now, in fact: Daniel would have another All-Valley title, but Terry would have Daniel, and that was the best reward of all.
Having now seen the boy in person, and after having spent the past hour in the same room with him and those tiny shorts and that bratty voice that inexplicably turned Terry on, Terry wanted him more than ever. He’d do whatever it took to get him. He would place himself in a position of trust and earn the boy’s confidence, and before either of them knew it, Daniel would be his for the taking. He would win the bet, and not only would he have Daniel, he’d get to have Kreese too, even if it was only for one night.
All the pieces were falling into place, and it was time to start putting the plan into action.
Notes:
The car Terry borrows from José, his landscaper, is the “humble” blue pickup he was driving around in KK3. The car he let José borrow in the meantime is the same year, make, and model as Sebastian’s car in Cruel Intentions.
The hymn Daniel sings on his way home from church is “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” lyrics by Charles Wesley (1747). This has been set to multiple melodies, but the one I have in mind here is “Hyfrydol” by Rowland Pritchard, which is the setting most commonly used in both the Roman Catholic and Church of Scotland/Presbyterian hymnals.
Here is a choral recording of the song, performed by The Cambridge Singers under the direction of John Rutter.The military decorations surrounding Mr. Miyagi’s Medal of Honor here are slightly different from what’s in his official biography/wiki page; I did my best to identify each bar in the frame as it is shown in KK2.
Back to the Future was released on July 3, 1985.
Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” concert tour performed most of August 1984 at the Brendan Byrne Arena (now the Meadowlands Arena) in East Rutherford, NJ. I like to think that attending one of these concerts was one of the last things Daniel got to do at home before moving to LA (a bribe from Lucille, maybe, so he wouldn’t be so negative about moving).
Recipe and background for the Benedictine spread in Terry’s tea sandwiches.
Chapter 5: The Reward
Notes:
CW: some Kreese-typical terminology and politically incorrect remarks about Asian people, and abusive manipulation of Terry by Kreese.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mr. Miyagi’s house was dark and silent when Terry dropped back down into the fireplace. He wasn’t sure, really, how long he stayed up in that chimney. Twenty minutes? An hour? This particular Rolex, regrettably, didn’t have a backlight or glow-in-the-dark hands like some of his other ones did, so he completely lost track of time while he was up there. Considering the ache in his arms and legs, which he was now beginning to feel, he must have been up there for quite a while, and he knew he’d pay for it tomorrow.
Pain does not exist. He’d heard that enough times from Captain Turner, Master Kim, and now Kreese. Pain built character, and the way he spent the day was absolutely worth the pain he was feeling. He’d gotten what he needed, and so much more.
Terry headed quietly back to the den, where he’d first entered the house through the window, but when he saw the old man’s bedroom door at the end of the hall halfway open, he headed for the dojo at the other end of the hall, where he remembered there was a sliding shoji door he could use to leave the house.
He was mindful to take his shoes off before entering the dojo space, even if he was only cutting across one corner of the room that required a few steps at most. He didn’t owe these people anything, and in fact, if everything John told him about this house’s residents was true, he was well within his right to stomp all over their dojo with his shoes on. But if there was one lesson Master Kim instilled in him during his time in Korea after college, it was to respect the art of martial combat. To show a lack of respect to a dojo, regardless of whom it belonged to, was to show disrespect to the art of karate itself. With that in mind, he made sure to bow to the center of the room before sliding the door shut behind him.
Terry sat on a rock in the garden for a couple of minutes, stretching his legs and shaking them out. Holding onto those bricks in the chimney’s cramped interior for that long was much harder on the muscles than he thought it would be, especially for someone as physically fit as he was. It was almost completely dark in the yard; the only light came from Daniel’s room, where he was undoubtedly still awake and agonizing over whether or not to compete in the All-Valley. This dim light, muted by the shoji screens, gave Terry just enough visibility to find his way out of the yard. He was looking forward to the chicken paillard dinner on the menu Milos presented him with that morning; it would be the perfect end to a productive and surprisingly eventful day.
There weren’t very many cars on the road at this hour, so it was an easy drive home, traffic-wise, for Terry. However easy the drive itself was, his thoughts about everything he learned today were a completely different story.
For one thing, he found himself having trouble reconciling the Daniel LaRusso Kreese described to him with the Daniel LaRusso he saw at the house today. Until mere hours ago, he’d been operating under the premise that Daniel was a bratty, talentless fraud and his sensei was a small but deadly Asian homicidal maniac, but that wasn’t at all what he saw.
Well, Daniel was still bratty, but Terry actually liked this attitude on him.
John had never once steered him wrong in the many years they’d known each other, and he felt bad doubting him like this. Normally, Terry had no reason to doubt Kreese or anything he said, but this time, it was different: he’d seen evidence to the contrary for himself, and he wanted to know more. He wanted to know more about this boy, and why John had described him so negatively. The boy he saw today was, by all appearances, a good kid. He was smart, brave, fiery, devoted, and beautiful. He was confident, maybe even too much so, but Terry liked that. He was a budding businessman, and the All-Valley Committee clearly held him and his karate prowess in such high regard as to personally call him to invite him back. And yet, despite all of this, there was a certain virtue about him, a sweetness and innocence, that appealed to Terry.
It would be so much easier, Terry mused, for him to ‘wreck’ Daniel if he was in fact the obnoxious, irredeemable punk Kreese described on the day they made their wager. He certainly wouldn’t feel as guilty doing any of what Kreese was asking of him to a repellent little shit who deserved everything he got. He wouldn’t have to worry about stripping away that childlike innocence and having to live with that on his conscience for the rest of his life. But Daniel wasn’t just a nameless, faceless number waiting in a line at the door like so many of Terry’s previous conquests had been – he was different. Terry couldn’t really pinpoint yet how or why this boy in particular made him feel different; all he knew was that he had a lot of thoughts to work out in his diary when he got home.
It was almost 10pm when Terry finally pulled into his long driveway. Too preoccupied in his thoughts of Daniel LaRusso and of this exciting new prospect of training him for the All-Valley, he failed to notice the black van parked under a tree in a darkened section of the parking area beyond the porte-cochère as he headed into the side entrance and up the narrow stairs to the main hallway of the house.
The first thing he noticed when he reached the house’s foyer was that the door to the Ardmannoch Suite, the fanciest salon in the house, was thrown wide open and all the lights inside blazing. That specific room never got used unless he was entertaining high-ranking business contacts or family members, so it was particularly unusual for that room to be open, especially at this late hour. There were no events on his schedule that he was aware of, and he didn’t recall Margaret telling him that the room had been booked for some photoshoot, unless it was a last-minute thing that happened while he was out. Or maybe his parents were entertaining guests at his house without telling him, which wouldn’t be the first time this happened. That, however, wasn’t possible because they were out of the country – so who could possibly be using the nicest room in his house at ten o’clock on a Sunday night?
~ * ~
Kreese leaned back in his seat in one of Terry’s newly reupholstered cream silk Victorian armchairs, with a half-eaten plate of chicken paillard topped with fresh salad greens on the side table next to him and a generous pour of scotch in his hand. He knew he ought to feel calmer and more rested, given that he’d spent most of the week availing himself of all the things Terry’s house had to offer – his pool, hot tub, Turkish bath, and personal dojo among other things – but instead, he was feeling tense and on edge. Maybe he’d spent too much time by himself and with his own thoughts lately, but he was starting to lose patience with Terry’s apparent lack of progress on their scheme, and this angered him. In the weeks since they made their wager, Terry had spoken to him at length about “going back to college” and “making new friends,” and Kreese couldn’t understand why he would be focused on that of all things, when they had far more important matters to be attending to. Today, Terry was supposedly “paying some friends a visit,” and Kreese would wait here all night if he had to, so he could remind Terry of the promise he made that he was, as far as Kreese could tell, currently failing to keep.
Clearly Twig didn’t understand the gravity of this situation, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care. Kreese couldn’t comprehend, nor would he accept, how unconcerned and flippant Terry seemed to be about all of this. As far as Kreese could tell, Terry was treating their scheme like some kind of game, a chase, another one of his many one-night conquests, when it was so much more than that. Kreese was starting to question Terry’s loyalty and commitment to their cause since he wasn’t responding with his usual unrestrained enthusiasm, as Kreese expected he would, to any of this; instead, Terry was being quieter, more pensive, like he had something up his sleeve, and Kreese didn’t like having secrets kept from him.
Kreese cut a big piece of chicken paillard with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, chewing angrily. He always expected to be able to call on Terry at any time and for any reason, and rely on him to do whatever he needed done. He also expected this to continue for the rest of his life, as Terry had promised him all those years ago. Until now, Kreese had never really asked for much. Sure, there was Cobra Kai and all its assets and properties, the months-long trip to Korea five years ago, the intensive private training sessions with Master Kim, their matching cobra tattoos, the hefty registration fee for the Sekai Taikai that they ended up not doing – but this time, he was asking for his livelihood, his career, and his purpose in life back. He was asking for the people who took it away from him to be rightfully punished. He was asking for revenge.
These were things Terry’s money could not buy – he couldn’t just throw money at this problem like he always did and make it magically go away. The stupid kid had already shown that every time he got knocked down, he’d come back stronger than before and would keep fighting until he won. The kid and his sensei were a continued threat to Cobra Kai’s very existence, and Kreese needed them gone, permanently if possible. Cobra Kai was his greatest pride, the one thing he and Terry created together and built up from nothing, and for Terry to show such a lack of seriousness and focus angered him. Even though Terry still had his vast fortune and his successful business to fall back on, without Cobra Kai, Kreese had nothing, and he wanted it back. All of it. His dojo, his students, his prestige, his reputation, everything he lost after last year’s All-Valley – and he was ready and willing to do anything and everything to get it back, whatever it took. Together, he and Terry would bring Cobra Kai back, and bring it back better than ever, like they were always meant to do – if only he could get Terry to stop being distracted by frivolities and get fully on board with the plan.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Kreese demanded as soon as Terry appeared in the doorway. “I’ve been waiting here for almost two hours.”
“Johnny?” Terry said, raising both eyebrows in surprise at the angry, vicious tone in his friend’s voice that he’d never had directed at him before. “I wasn’t expecting you to still be here. Is everything alright?”
Kreese ignored the question, and sneered at Terry’s dirty and disheveled appearance as he looked him up and down. “God, look at you. You’re filthy.”
Terry closed the door behind him and wiped soot off his nose with the back of his hand. He set his diary down on the corner of the marble coffee table, resting his fountain pen on top, and sat down on the sofa on the other side of the table from Kreese. “What’s going on with you, John?” he asked, sighing. “I know things aren’t great for you right now, but –”
“No, you really fucking don’t, do you,” Kreese snapped, pointing an accusing finger at Terry. “Mr. High and Mighty CEO who’s too busy getting dirty with college students to worry about keeping his priorities straight.”
“What are you talking about?” Terry asked, genuinely confused. “I’ve been doing nothing but working on our project for weeks now.”
“And what do you have to show for it?” Kreese asked, giving Terry a pointed look.
“A lot, actually.”
“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting,” Kreese said in a sharp tone, clicking his tongue in reproach. “I haven’t seen or heard anything from you about the progress you’ve made since we made our agreement, so I have no choice but to conclude that you’ve made none. Honestly, Terry, I’ve heard nothing but shit about college and friends out of you lately. Hanging out for weeks on college campuses looking for your next conquest? I’m very aware of how far you’ll go to get a pretty young thing in your bed, but I didn’t expect you to go this far.”
“I’m not –” Terry took a deep breath in an effort to stay his temper; it was obvious that Kreese was trying to bait him into losing it. “Tell you what. Let’s go into the Thistle Room and talk there, so Milos can close up this room. I leave that one open all the time.”
“No, I think I want to stay here,” Kreese said stubbornly, as he physically dug his heels into the Persian rug. The hurt and upset look in Terry’s eyes did not go unnoticed, but he wasn’t about to let that make him falter or hold back. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.
Terry glanced down at the drag marks Kreese left across his carpet and sighed. “You know I only use this room to entertain very special guests on very rare occasions.”
Kreese straightened up in his seat, leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up on top of Terry’s diary on the coffee table. “Alright, so entertain me. I’m your very special guest tonight.”
Terry narrowed his eyes, first at Kreese’s dirty shoes resting on top of his diary, then at the plate containing what should have been his dinner, and finally at Kreese, who was now taking a long, deliberate sip of his drink. “Clearly you didn’t need me here to be entertained. Did you really show up here and help yourself to my dinner?”
“Well, technically it was offered to me, so no. Your man Milos can be very accommodating.” Kreese carefully watched Terry’s reaction over the rim of his Glencairn glass. “Mmm. This is real good stuff. Quality. Why have you been hiding it all this time?”
Terry’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open when he saw exactly which bottle of scotch sat on the side table next to Kreese’s plate. The unusual shape of the bottle and the platinum-leaf label gave it away immediately. “Are you drinking my grandfather’s scotch? How on earth did you even get to that?”
“I always wondered what you were hiding in that fancy locked cabinet in the cellar, so when it was clear you’d be back late, I had Milos open it up for me. This” – Kreese squinted at the silver label on the bottle – “Glenmorangie Earl of Ross Edition, Aged 50 Years, on the top shelf in there caught my eye, and I thought I might want to give it a try while I waited for you to come home.”
Terry closed his eyes and sighed heavily in exasperation. This was not at all how he envisioned the rest of his evening would go. Under any other circumstances, he would be delighted to see John and enjoy his company, and glad to share his home and his food with his friend, but this time, Kreese had gone one whisky bottle too far.
“So, your grandfather, huh?” Kreese threw back what was left in his glass and toasted Terry with the empty glass, before reaching for the bottle again. “Well, I had no idea. I’ll drink to that. To Your Lordship, then – or, should I say, Your Highness?”
Terry moved swiftly across the room, grabbing the bottle off the side table before Kreese could get to it, and held it over his head and out of reach. “Stop it, John,” he snapped. “I’m taking this now, you’ve had enough. Why are you really here?”
“I’m here to check on the status of our wager. See how you’re doing with everything you’re supposed to be doing.”
This line of conversation annoyed Terry. He was already not pleased to come home, exhausted and hungry, to find Kreese drunk and in a foul mood, sitting in his best room, drinking his best scotch, and eating his dinner. And now, Kreese was questioning him about his daily activities in a way he was wholly unaccustomed to being spoken to – as though he were a low-level Dynatox employee with a thankless job description being micromanaged by his supervisor.
“I’m making progress,” he said brusquely as he corked the bottle shut and set it down hard on the marble table next to his diary. “You’ll see it when I’m ready to show it to you.”
Kreese smiled with smug satisfaction when he saw Terry’s face twitch with annoyance. He loved how he could get such strong reactions out of the other man from even the smallest things. “Oh, but I love hearing every detail,” he said in a low voice. “Tell me a story, Terry.”
Terry sighed again and looked away, willing himself not to lose his composure. “You told me I could handle this however I wanted and could take all the time I needed to do it. Now, for whatever reason, all of a sudden you want to know everything about what I’m doing and keep close tabs on my progress? You’ve never had a problem with anything I’ve done for you before, or how long it took for me to get it done, and you have always been satisfied with the results.”
“The difference is that this situation we’ve found ourselves in is an especially serious one that affects both of us, so you’d best stop treating it like a game before I lose my patience. And you don’t want me to be angry with you, now, do you?”
“No, of course I don’t,” Terry said. Despite his irritation, he still hated the thought of John being anything less than completely satisfied and happy with him.
“This is a matter of revenge,” Kreese continued, his voice rising. “Revenge is war, and war is hell, and we fight until we win, because defeat does not exist, does it?”
Terry stared down at the pattern on the carpet and muttered something under his breath, which Kreese didn’t quite hear but could tell it was not something good.
Kreese stood up from his armchair to loom over Terry, casting him in a long shadow. “I can’t hear you, Lieutenant.”
“No, Captain, it does not,” Terry said in a louder, clearer voice, lifting his head defiantly as he did so.
“That’s better.” Kreese made his way around the table between them and sat down next to Terry on the sofa, so that their legs were touching; he knew the barest touch from him would pacify Terry and make him compliant again. Kreese was not by nature a patient man, but Terry had never liked it when he was angry; he hoped this outburst would set Terry back on the right path toward some real progress. The scotch was another story – he could tell Terry was most upset about that, but he was not in a frame of mind to offer any apologies. He had never been good with apologies, anyway, so it was just as well. “I want to hear a story.”
“Alright, fine.” Instinctively, Terry’s body relaxed at the small physical contact and he glanced down at their legs. “How’s this for a story: I just spent the better part of the last hour stuffed up a chimney like some demented Santa Claus.”
“Huh. So that’s why you look like you’ve been trying out for a part in Mary Poppins,” Kreese said with a sardonic grin as he dusted some ash off Terry’s pant leg, letting his hand linger for a brief moment on Terry’s inner thigh. “Whose chimney had the honor of being cleaned by your fancy designer jacket?”
“The old man’s,” Terry replied, rolling his shoulders as he started to really feel the ache in his muscles from earlier that day, now that they were talking about it. “I’ve spent most of the day in his house, and boy, did I find out a lot about the kid and his teacher.”
Kreese raised his eyebrows. “You actually made it into the house?”
“Yes, I certainly did,” Terry said. “I was prepared to sit in the car and just watch them from across the street, and didn’t even consider going inside an option until they left to go fishing for the whole damn day. I had my run of that place for hours.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I got in through an open window in their den. I could have stayed outside and sat in the car all day, but I had a clear opportunity to look around the house for hours with no likelihood of getting caught, so I took it. Now I have so much useful information about the old man and the kid that we can now use for our plan.” Terry gave Kreese a meaningful look. “So, Johnny, can you look me in the eye now and tell me that that’s what you call ‘no progress’?”
Kreese couldn’t argue with Terry on this point, so he just pressed his lips together and shook his head, shrugging. “No, I suppose not.”
“So let me do my goddamn job the way I think it should be done,” Terry gritted out. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, come on now, Terry, I never said you didn’t,” Kreese said softly. For as long as Kreese had known him, Terry never responded well to being confronted. Even when he was a teenager in basic training, Terry always took the praise he was given, something he almost never got at home from his father, and used it as motivation to soar higher than everyone else. Kreese was very well aware of this, and he had no problem with using that knowledge to make sure Terry did exactly what he wanted, and did it well. “That’s why I always come to you whenever I need anything, because I know you’ll do such a good job for me.”
“Well, it’s what I promised, remember?” Terry said grumpily. Admittedly, he was still annoyed, but he had never been able to resist praise, especially when it came from John.
“How could I forget? You’ve never disappointed me, and I don’t expect you to disappoint me now.” Kreese smiled, pleased at just how quickly and strongly Terry responded to his praise. “Come here, Twig. You’ve had a long day. Let me take care of you.”
Terry shuffled forward to let Kreese ease his leather jacket off his stiff shoulders, which Kreese set aside over the back of the sofa they were sitting on. Terry shivered involuntarily when he felt the warmth of Kreese’s fingers brush against the back of his neck near his collar, and moaned with relief and satisfaction when Kreese began to massage his shoulders.
“I was saving that bottle of scotch to toast our victory when all this was over,” Terry said, as his eyes landed on the bottle on the table, which was thankfully still mostly full. Staring at the bottle’s broken wax seal, he felt some of his annoyance return, even with John’s hands firmly on his shoulders. It was one of fifty bottles specially created by the distillery for his grandfather’s 80th birthday, and that particular bottle had been gifted to Terry for his college graduation. He wasn’t lying about wanting to save it for a very special occasion, and there was nobody he wanted to share it with more than Johnny, but only when the time was truly right. “Couldn’t you have been just a bit more patient? Good things come to those who wait.”
“Oh, but you know patience was never my strong suit.” Kreese rested his forehead against the back of Terry’s head as he continued his ministrations. “When I want something, I don’t stop until I have it. You understand.” He slid his hands slowly from Terry’s shoulders down his arms, to rest on either side of his waist, just above his hips. “I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s about time I supervise you a little more … closely.”
Terry let out a small gasp when he felt Kreese’s hand slowly inching down toward his crotch, and he tried to turn around to face his friend. “Johnny, do you – do you really think that’s necessary?”
Kreese held Terry in place with one hand, while sliding his other hand further down to rub Terry’s cock over his slacks. “Yes, I think it is necessary. As your superior officer, Lieutenant, I believe it’s my duty to manage you and keep you on task. I think a more, shall we say, hands-on approach is what’s needed, to remind you of what’s truly at stake here.”
“I know what’s at stake, Johnny,” Terry said in a strangled voice.
Kreese leaned back against the pillows behind him and gently guided Terry by the shoulders to lie back against him. “Well, then, in that case, if you tell me everything about what you’ve been up to all these weeks, I may have a reward right here” – he rocked his hips and pressed himself against Terry – “waiting for you.”
Terry’s moan of pleasure and surprise was so loud it echoed off the far wall, and Kreese smiled.
“You like that?” Kreese brushed his lips against the back of Terry’s neck as he went back to palming Terry’s cock, feeling it harden and swell under his touch. “Oh, yes, I see. You do like that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Captain, I do,” Terry said, voice unsteady, as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
Kreese darted the tip of his tongue out and traced a thin line along Terry’s neck. “I can’t hear you, Lieutenant.”
Terry broke free of Kreese’s hold and turned himself over so he was on top, relishing the rush of power he felt as he gazed down at Kreese. Bracing his arms on the pillow on either side of Kreese’s head, he rocked his hips downward to communicate what he wanted that night, and smiled when he felt that Johnny was just as hard as he was from all this.
“Yes, Captain,” Terry repeated, his voice low, “I do.”
Terry rocked his hips again, allowing himself a soft moan when the hard lines of their cocks rubbed against each other, and lowered himself so that their chests were pressed together. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned down, resting his weight on his elbows, to capture Kreese’s lips with his own.
“Now, now.” Kreese stopped Terry’s mouth with two fingers before Terry could kiss him. “The way this works, my dear boy, is that you show me something nice, and I’ll give you something nice.”
“What kind of something nice?” Terry asked, breathless but eager, eyes wide.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Kreese murmured.
Terry parted his lips and moaned softly as he gently sucked on Kreese’s fingertips.
“Good boy.” Kreese slowly drew the moist pad of one finger across Terry’s mouth. “That’s right. Talk to me. Tell me everything. Let me hear all about how good you’ve been for me.”
Terry reluctantly pushed himself back up into a sitting position. He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed not to get more from John at that moment, but if what he’d gotten so far was anything to go by, the reward he’d get later could very well be what he’d dreamed of for years. If he played up his story and shared everything he knew and had done – not just with Daniel LaRusso and his sensei, but Johnny Lawrence and his roommate as well – there was a pretty good chance at least some of his teenage dreams would come true that night.
He began by describing the old man’s house, how it was so different from the surrounding neighborhoods, how clean and well-maintained it was, how its garden was what a genuine Asian garden should look like. He then talked about the old man’s impressive vintage car collection, the photographs of Daniel, Mr. Miyagi, and their friends displayed throughout the residence, and the peaceful Okinawan-style dojo that was at the heart of the house. He chose not to share his thoughts about the old man’s style of karate or the two banners on the dojo’s wall; he’d managed to calm John down enough to be able to talk to him and have him listen without making any interruptions, and he didn’t want to bring up anything that would agitate him again.
Kreese reclined against the couch’s soft tasseled silk pillows, making no comment or acknowledgment as Terry spoke. He really wasn’t listening to the substance of what Terry was saying, as his attention was more focused on Terry’s body language, which was the complete opposite of when he first got home. He was glad to see that Terry was back to normal, after having given him a little taste of what could be in store for him if he continued to do what he was supposed to do.
“Huh,” he said during a break in Terry’s narrative, “it sounds like the kid and the Jap think they have it good, don’t they? I think it’s time to show them how wrong they are about that.”
“He’s Okinawan,” Terry corrected.
“Six of one.” Kreese shrugged nonchalantly. “Fucking Asians all look the same anyway.”
“He and the kid went to Okinawa recently,” Terry said. “I don’t know how long they were there, but they have pictures in the house of a sunset from someplace called Tomi Village and a photo of a girl dancing at a local festival. I also saw a boarding pass from Naha to LAX stuck in a book in the boy’s room. They got back less than a month ago.”
“Tomi Village? Over by Kadena? I think I know the place. Middle of fucking nowhere.” Kreese scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That tracks. What else do you have for me?”
“The old man is a World War II vet,” Terry said, unable to keep the note of admiration out of his voice. “Staff sergeant in the 442nd, highly decorated: Medal of Honor, Silver Star, Bronze Star Medal, two Purple Heart commendations. There was also a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember now. That Medal of Honor is on display on the wall in the living room, and his Class A dress uniform with full military insignia and decorations on it is in his closet, next to all of his maintenance man uniforms.”
Kreese frowned. “The 442nd, huh?”
“Yeah. When I saw that squad insignia on his uniform, it didn’t surprise me at all, given all of his other commendations. You know, they had more Medals of Honor awarded to them than –”
“Yes, I know they did, fucking Japs,” Kreese interrupted. He didn’t want to hear Terry say it, because it reminded him yet again of just how much those slant-eyed foreigners got recognized for their valor when he himself had never been so much as acknowledged for his own service. Dropping his commanding officer into that snake pit to his death after their rescue had arrived might have had something to do with that, but he only did what he had to do to get himself and Twig out of there alive. Their survival was something he would never apologize for, and it even got him a faithful disciple for life.
“There’s even a picture of him receiving his Medal of Honor from President – well, General, I guess, at the time – Eisenhower himself,” Terry continued.
“Well, isn’t that nice.” Kreese tried his best to sound blasé about this whole business, but judging by the quizzical look on Terry’s face, he hadn’t succeeded. He would just as soon chew on glass as admit he was even remotely impressed by the wartime accomplishments of the little slope who ruined his life, so he said nothing else, lest he give any more of himself away. He balled his hands into tight fists, clenching his teeth just as tightly, as the intricate webs of scarring from his last encounter with the old man appeared across his knuckles. “Tell me about the kid.”
“Daniel LaRusso is living there in his own little room. Looks like the old man built it for him not too long ago. It’s a separate structure that you can tell was not an original part of the property, but they made the aesthetic the same: shoji screens, tatami mats, wind chimes, traditional lanterns, but it’s got the usual things you’d find in a teenage boy’s room – books, concert posters, family pictures, all that stuff. They’ve got a new business, too; I saw a lease for a commercial space on the kid’s desk with both their names on it, and I found this in the front hallway.” Terry pulled the flyer he’d taken with him from the house out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Kreese.
Kreese sat up and eyed the blue paper warily. “What the hell is that?”
“Their new business,” Terry said. “Have a look.”
“Grand Opening, Mr. Miyagi’s Little Trees, Highland Park?” Kreese read off the flyer. “They’re selling those stupid little fucking – what do they call them, ‘banzai’? – trees now?”
“Apparently so. One of the rooms in the main house is full of them,” Terry said. “I almost took one with me. They have so many it probably wouldn’t have been missed.”
Kreese glanced up at Terry. “Why didn’t you?”
Terry snorted. “Do I look like I know what to do with something like that?”
“Honestly? Not really.” Kreese turned his attention back to the flyer and looked it over once more. “You’re going to this,” he said. “I need you to go to this grand opening event of theirs.”
Terry smirked. “Already way ahead of you. I’ve set aside my whole weekend for them.”
“Tremendous.” Kreese tossed the flyer onto the floor and leaned forward to mouth at Terry’s jaw. This was the Terry he was used to seeing – the one that was so compliant and eager to please – and he smiled against Terry’s warm skin. “You know just what to do to satisfy me, Terry.”
Terry flushed and tipped his head back to allow Kreese more access. “I’m doing this for you, Johnny,” he said softly. “You know I do everything for you, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Kreese licked at the corner of Terry’s mouth. “And that is why I’m doing this for you.”
John tasted like cigars, fresh herbes de Provence, Dom Pérignon champagne vinaigrette, and 50-year-old Highland scotch. Terry’s soft, wanton moan filled the small space between them, and he shivered as Kreese’s lips brushed against his own. He darted his tongue out to trace Kreese’s mouth, seeking entrance.
“Ah,” Kreese smiled and opened his mouth to receive Terry’s probing tongue. “That’s my good boy.”
Terry surged forward and deepened the kiss, intoxicated with John’s praise and the intense sensation of John’s warm tongue sliding against his.
“My sweet Twig,” Kreese murmured between kisses, tender yet firm, soft yet masterful.
Terry slid one hand behind Kreese’s head, pulling him closer, wanting so much more. It felt like it had been ages since he last felt John like this. What more would it take for him to feel the weight of John’s cock next to his, bare skin against bare skin, both held together in John’s strong, steady grip? If he was extra good tonight, would he fall asleep in John’s arms right here on this couch, with the taste of him still lingering on his tongue?
He very reluctantly drew back, taking Kreese’s bottom lip into his mouth and giving it a gentle caress with his teeth as he did so. He wanted more, but there was still so much left for him to tell. “Wait,” he breathed, “I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”
“Oh?” Kreese gave Terry’s ass a little squeeze. “Continue, then. I like hearing how good you’ve been.”
“Pat Johnson from the All-Valley Committee called while I was there, up in that chimney,” Terry said as he traced small circles across the exposed top of Kreese’s chest, his fingertips carding through the soft, thick hairs there.
“Fuck that guy. I’m sick of hearing his fucking voice on my answering machine every other goddamn day,” Kreese groused.
Terry’s gentle motions stopped abruptly. “Why, what’s he asking now?”
“You know, the usual same old about dues and registration for the tournament,” Kreese said. “It’s getting annoying. I don’t know why he keeps calling with the same shit every time. I thought the deadline was December 2nd.”
“It is. But you and I both know as well as the committee does that we’re a big draw every year, and they want to lock us in for advertising purposes,” Terry said. “Of course they want Cobra Kai on their promotional material, it’s what sells and brings people in. Don’t worry, I’ll pay whatever needs to be paid once we start getting students again, and I’ll personally see to it that he stops harassing you.”
“Students? What students?” Kreese was starting to get agitated again. “In case you haven’t noticed, Terry, there are no students in the dojo and there haven’t been for months.”
“I know, and I’m getting to that,” Terry replied, planting a soft kiss on Kreese’s collarbone. “Do you want me to tell my story or not?”
“Of course I do,” Kreese said, mollified. “Continue.”
“He was calling on behalf of the All-Valley Committee, to speak to Daniel about defending his title at this year’s tournament.”
Kreese’s eyes widened at this, and he looked up at Terry with interest. “Why the hell was he calling on a Sunday?”
“That’s when they have their meetings now,” Terry said, straightening up. “It’s when everyone on the committee can make it.”
“Oh? And how would you know that?”
“Well, seeing as the All-Valley Sports Federation recently received a generous donation from yours truly that is enough to cover all renovations, state-of-the-art equipment and facilities, and maintenance for the Arena for at least the next five years, they’ve made me an honorary member of the tournament committee. I’m not required to attend their meetings like the rest of the committee members are; they know I’m a very busy man and my time is extremely valuable, so they make sure to keep me duly apprised of everything they discuss.”
Kreese snorted. “A generous donation, huh? Interesting what you can pass off as philanthropy these days. Does this mean they’re naming the arena after you now?”
“The Terrance Alistair Ross Silver All-Valley Sports Arena?” Terry considered this for a moment. “It does kind of have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? It hasn’t been mentioned yet, but I certainly wouldn’t be opposed.”
“It sounds ridiculous,” Kreese said flatly as he pushed himself back up. “Money isn’t the answer to everything, Terry.”
Terry rested a hand on Kreese’s chest and met his eyes with a knowing look. “But it’s the answer to a lot of things, Johnny. As the All-Valley’s benefactor and an honorary committee member, I now have inside information that participating senseis do not. I now have access to areas of the building that participating senseis do not. They’re even building out a special benefactor’s suite for my own personal use whenever I’m attending events, and I can invite whomever I want to join me there,” he said with a suggestive raise of his eyebrow. “As such, I’m fully expecting to hear from the committee in the next day or two that their reigning champion is interested in defending his title this year. I already know that, of course, but I’ll do my best to sound appropriately pleased and surprised when they tell me.”
Kreese scoffed under his breath, but Terry had a point; he couldn’t really argue with it if Terry’s money got him inside information about the tournament. “Is he now?”
“Oh, believe me, he absolutely is.” Terry rubbed his hands together. “I could tell, even before he said anything. The second the words All-Valley Committee come out of Pat’s mouth, I already knew what his answer would be.”
“You actually heard this conversation?”
“Are you kidding? The kid was standing literally two and a half feet from me when he took that call. He was so close to me, I could hear the whole conversation, including what was being said on the other end.”
“Well?” Kreese prompted. “Don’t keep me waiting. What did they talk about?”
“Pat told Daniel he was an inspiration to so many people after last year, and extended a personal invitation for him to return to defend his title. I could tell he was so ready to say yes right then and there.”
“Well, did he?” Kreese asked.
“No.”
“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”
“He didn’t give an answer. He hesitated before telling Pat he needed to talk to his teacher first,” Terry said. “After he hung up, he and the old man had this whole back-and-forth about how he wanted to do it but the old man wasn’t too keen on the idea, so Daniel said he probably wouldn’t do it, they have their new tree store, et cetera, et cetera. But it was clear as day to anyone with half an eye that he does want to do it.”
“What if the Jap says no?”
“The old man already did say no,” Terry said. “Apparently he doesn’t believe tournaments are a good use of karate, or something.”
Kreese let out a derisive bark of laughter. “Are you kidding me? That’s the only good use of karate. If that slope really believes that, he’s more of an idiot than I originally gave him credit for.”
As much as Terry wanted to respond that there had to be something to Mr. Miyagi’s approach to karate if it could defeat Cobra Kai, now was not a good time to do that, since John was getting worked up again like he did whenever they talked about the kid and the old man.
“Alright, so say the little punk decides he doesn’t want to do it after all,” Kreese said. “Any way we can make him compete?”
“Johnny, I already told you, he wants to compete. He wants to defend his title – called it an honor that gave his life meaning, something like that.” Terry grasped Kreese by the shoulders with both hands. “Listen to me. I left the house with Daniel still agonizing in his room over what to do, because he wants to do it. He’s dying to do it. And if there’s one thing I saw in that boy today, it’s that he’s willing to go to any lengths to fight for what he wants and what he feels in his heart. He’ll find a way, if not on his own, then with my help.”
“And what way is that, Terry?”
“The Way of the Fist, sir!” Terry stood up and raised a fist in the air with a flourish. “You said you wanted revenge on them, didn’t you? Well, since the old man won’t train him, I will offer to be his teacher, and that’s how I’ll make sure he goes through with it. I’ll remove him from the old man’s influence and be the one to train him, and that’s how I’ll get him to trust me. I’ll fill his pretty little head with all sorts of wild ideas that’ll make his head spin so fast he won’t be able to resist.”
“Why on earth would you want to teach him?” Kreese gaped at Terry in disbelief. “How the fuck is this going to help bring Cobra Kai back? Are you seriously considering using our techniques to help him?”
Terry, who had been pacing back and forth in front of the sofa, spun on his heel and turned to face Kreese. “Because it goes against everything the old man has taught him. I won’t tell him it's Cobra Kai. I’ll tell him it’s something else, or maybe I won’t tell him anything at all, either way. The point is, I’ll teach him things that will make him feel invincible, and I guarantee you he won’t be able to resist that feeling. Forget ‘karate is for defense only’ and whatever else the old man’s been teaching him, all he’ll know when I’m done with him is that if a man can’t stand –”
“– he can’t fight,” Kreese finished. “That’s brilliant, Terry.”
“And don’t think I’ll stop there,” Terry continued, inspired and energized by Kreese’s approval. “He’ll be my greatest triumph. All the others from before – all insipid, faceless people I don’t care enough about to even remember their names – don’t compare. Daniel LaRusso is the prize I’ve always wanted.”
Kreese eyed Terry skeptically. “You really think that little shit from Jersey is better than all those hot side pieces of ass you keep telling me about?”
Terry flopped back down onto the couch next to Kreese, making sure their legs were touching again. “None of them were a challenge, Johnny. It was boring. I can’t even tell you the banality of it all after a while, to have people throwing themselves at me because of my money and not having to do a single thing for it. This, however, will be a challenge.”
“How so?”
“He’s really attached to the old man, and his family and his faith are very important to him. When I first laid eyes on him, he was on his way home from Sunday Mass, holding a rosary and singing a church song. This beauty won’t be throwing himself at me like all the others. I’ll have to put forth a real effort this time, and believe you me, I will make him mine.”
“Are you sure you’re up for that challenge?”
“Oh, I’m not only up for it, I’m ready for it.” Terry’s eyes flashed with keen determination. “And you know that once I start something, I won’t stop until I win.”
Kreese chuckled. “Ha. A good Italian Catholic boy. Good luck with that one. You’ll need it.”
“Well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?” Terry remarked with a smirk. “We’re the same, you and I. We don’t give up until we get what we want, because defeat does not exist in this dojo, does it?”
“No, it most certainly does not, sensei,” Kreese replied, with a smirk of his own.
“That being said, though, Johnny, I don’t want him to give up his personal beliefs or compromise his values,” Terry said. “Therein lies the real challenge I’ve set for myself: I want him to continue believing in God and keeping the bonds he has with his family and the old man, and still not be able to stop himself.”
“Oh, that’s delightful.” Kreese reached up and began to play with the end of Terry’s ponytail. “If you manage to pull this off, Terry, the reward I have in store for you will be so much more than anything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Terry said confidently. He leaned in for a kiss, but Kreese turned his face to the side at the last second, and Terry ended up kissing air.
“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself, Twig,” Kreese warned, turning back to face Terry, who was now pouting with disappointment, and patted him gently on the cheek. “Don’t get so carried away with Daniel LaRusso that you forget everything else you need to do for me.”
“Oh, I’ve already taken care of all that,” Terry said as he leaned into Kreese’s touch. “I did yours first, because I wanted to save the best for last.”
“Have you really?” Kreese said, the pleasant surprise evident in his voice. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything before? And here I thought you’d just been laying idle these past few weeks. You could have been rewarded so much sooner if only you’d kept me updated about what you’ve been up to all this time.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” A smile spread slowly across Terry’s face. “I wanted everything to be ready before I said anything to you. The puzzle pieces had to be in place. Those things I’ve been telling you about college and friends – they were meant to give you hints about what I was doing without giving too much away. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I know it’s been hard for you, I really do, but if you’d just waited for me to be completely ready, I would have presented you with a masterpiece. I’ve only ever wanted to give you nothing but the very best, Johnny.”
“And you do, Terry,” Kreese said, smiling softly back at Terry as he brought their heads close and rested their foreheads together. “You always do.”
Terry loved when Johnny talked to him like this, and liked it even better when Johnny treated him like this, and he flushed pink as a flash of heat ran down his body. “So, I’ve spent the past couple of weeks finding and recruiting our first student for the new and improved Cobra Kai. His name is Mike Barnes, and he’s from Sacramento. He’s a freshman at Cal State Northridge, and is this year’s Greater Capital Region Under-18 champion.”
“That is supposed to impress me how exactly?” Kreese asked, his expression souring slightly as he pulled away. “For all we know, he won his tournament just like LaRusso did, by deceit and sheer dumb luck.”
Terry shook his head, frowning at the abrupt loss of contact, but he rallied. “No, no, he definitely deserved to win. I watched him practicing out on the lawn in front of his dorm on several occasions, and he’s got a lot of natural talent and the potential for being the Cobra Kai champion we’ve always wanted.”
“Better than Johnny Lawrence?” Kreese asked. Whatever may or may not have happened last year, Johnny Lawrence still meant something to him, and probably always would. He wouldn’t feel this strongly or go to such lengths for just anybody.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Terry replied. “They’ve got different styles, but I’d say they’re evenly matched, almost perfectly so.”
Kreese narrowed his eyes. “What are you trying to tell me, Terry?”
“What I’m trying to tell you, Johnny, is that I know they’re evenly matched, because I’ve seen them fighting side by side.” Terry couldn’t hold back his excitement any longer. “Mike Barnes is Johnny Lawrence’s college roommate.”
“Ah!” Kreese exclaimed, an impressed smile spreading across his face as he clapped his hands together. Now this was interesting – an exciting, unexpected development that made his and Terry’s scheme that much more enjoyable. “Now it comes out. Well done, Twig, well done. You found Johnny Lawrence and his roommate, and you recruited the roommate to join Cobra Kai? Oh, Terry, you always find a way to surprise me. Yes, I like that. I like that very much.”
Terry smirked, preening as he let John’s words of adulation wash over him. “Yeah, I thought you might.”
Kreese put his hand on Terry’s shoulder and ran a finger up the side of his neck and behind his earlobe, feeling Terry’s breath hitch as he did so. “I’m not even going to ask how you found him, because I know you don’t like giving away all your secrets.”
“That’s right, if I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore, now would they?” Terry cupped Kreese’s elbow and leaned forward so the tips of their noses were just touching. “No, I only apply that rule to business; I don’t keep secrets from you. You asked me for a story, so by God, Johnny, you’re going to get a hell of a story.”
Kreese listened to this part of the story with far more attention than the first part about Terry’s day at the old man’s house. He was interested to hear that his former student was still in the area and attending college nearby, and that his roommate just so happened to be another karate champion like him. Kreese’s interest was especially piqued by the college karate club the two of them started on campus. If Johnny was off at college sharing his karate knowledge with others, maybe Cobra Kai wasn’t entirely dead after all. At least he knew the five years he wasted on the boy weren’t a complete loss.
“They called the dojo?” Kreese asked, when Terry finished talking. The look on his face was soft, wistful. “Do you think Mr. Lawrence was calling to ask to come back?”
“I’ve thought about that too, Johnny, and unfortunately I can’t tell you if it was or not. All I know is that that number was on the printout I got from Pacific Bell when I had the line reconnected.” Terry gave his friend a sympathetic look. “You still care for the boy, don’t you?”
“I made huge sacrifices for that boy,” Kreese said with a sigh. “I thought he was everything Cobra Kai represented. I saw so much of myself in him.”
“I know you did,” Terry said. “I know how much he meant to you.”
Kreese’s expression hardened, and he looked up at Terry with eyes blazing. “And then he failed me. I have no use for failures.”
Over the last five years, Terry had heard so much about this kid who shared John’s name, the one John pinned all of his hopes on for the future of Cobra Kai. This was the boy for whom Kreese decided to forgo entering Cobra Kai into the Sekai Taikai. Cobra Kai could have been a worldwide phenomenon by now, but instead, because of Johnny Lawrence, there was no more Cobra Kai. With a scowl, he wondered what would have happened if, on that sunny afternoon in Korea, he hadn’t deferred to Kreese. Now that he thought about it, their current predicament could be traced all the way back to that day John put Johnny Lawrence ahead of him.
Kreese frowned when he saw the resentful expression on Terry’s face, and he quickly surmised the reason for it: Terry was jealous. But as much as Johnny meant to Kreese, and as angry as he was about what Johnny had – or rather, hadn’t – done, Terry had been the one constant in his life since he was 21, and he knew Terry wouldn’t leave him as easily as Johnny had. After all, their lives were bound together by a promise.
“Terry,” Kreese said, “I wouldn’t be where I am without you. We’ve been through so much together, you and me. You’ve been a part of my life for almost twenty years now, and that’s not going to change. People like Johnny Lawrence come and go, but you’ve always been here for me.”
Terry looked away, unable to meet Kreese’s gaze. The realization that there was someone who replaced him as the foremost in John’s eyes, even if only for a little while, stung deeply, but he desperately wanted to believe that John was telling him the truth now.
“That’s why I’m here tonight,” Kreese continued. “I want us to do this together, like we were always meant to do. We created Cobra Kai together, we’ll bring it back together. You just take care of LaRusso, I’ll deal with Johnny Lawrence and his roommate.”
“Don’t worry about Lawrence,” Terry mumbled, still sulking. “I’ll take good care of him, too.”
“I know,” Kreese replied soothingly. “But I need to be the one to finish him. Don’t worry, we’re still in this together – don’t you want to do this with me?”
“I do,” Terry said after a moment. “I want to do everything with you, Johnny. You know that.”
“Then let me do this. I want to help you, like you’ve always helped me.”
Terry couldn’t really understand why Kreese was so intent on getting his revenge on Johnny Lawrence. As far as he could tell, the boy’s only transgression had been to come in second place. However, he knew how much hope and trust Kreese had placed in this boy, who then failed him in the most public and humiliating way possible. From that perspective, especially because it came from someone who very strongly believed that defeat does not exist, he supposed he could see why his friend wanted his own back from the boy after what happened. The roommate would just be collateral damage, a means to an end. Even if Terry had been looking forward to continuing what he’d started with the so-called Karate Bros, he couldn’t in good conscience deny John the chance to finish whatever he’d left undone. This was John’s fight, not his, and something he didn’t fully comprehend anyway, so maybe he was better off leaving this part to John after all.
“Alright,” Terry finally agreed. “You and me, we’ll do this together.”
“I like the sound of that,” Kreese said. “I knew I could always count on you, Terry. And now, as I promised, because you’ve shown me something very nice, it’s my turn to give you something nice.”
He didn’t wait for Terry's answer; the eager light in the other man’s eyes was answer enough for him. He cradled Terry’s head with both hands and brought him in close for a heated, open-mouthed kiss. There was something about the prospect of enacting his grandest scheme yet, with his faithful enforcer by his side, that really turned him on.
“Terry, you’ve been such a good boy for me,” Kreese murmured as he bent himself over Terry and reclined both their bodies back against the silk pillows on Terry’s side. It was his turn to gaze down at Terry, who looked almost otherworldly lying underneath him and gazing back at him with stormy blue eyes, the loose ends of hair that had escaped from his ponytail forming a dark halo around his head against the cream silk upholstery. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I did it for you, because I’m yours, Johnny,” Terry said, allowing his body to relax into the pillows, his eyes drifting shut as Kreese’s arms tightened around him. “I’ve always been yours.”
“And you always will be.” Kreese covered Terry’s body with his and nudged Terry’s knees apart, settling himself between the other man’s legs and rocking his hips gently forward.
Terry threw his head back, lips parted in a silent moan. “Yes,” he gasped. “Johnny, oh, yes.”
“You like that?” Kreese asked. “Does that feel good?”
Terry nodded. “Yes. It feels so good.”
Kreese propped himself up with one arm and, with his other hand, pulled Terry’s shirt up and over his head, and tossed it aside onto the floor next to the bonsai shop flyer he’d dropped there earlier. “Tell me how good.”
“That feels so nice. I love feeling you on me,” Terry moaned. “You’re always so good to me.”
“Mmm,” Kreese hummed appreciatively. “I love hearing you.”
“Come to bed with me, Johnny,” Terry pleaded. “I want you with me, in my bed. I need to feel you now.”
“No, Terry, I want to stay here,” Kreese said, his voice low and rough, as he reached between them to palm Terry’s cock again. “I don’t want to wait any longer to give you your reward. Tell me, do you want your reward now?”
“Yes,” Terry replied brokenly, bucking his hips upward into Kreese’s hand. “Yes, I do.”
Kreese gave Terry’s cock a gentle squeeze over his slacks. “‘Yes’ what?”
Terry’s entire body shuddered and he bit back a moan. “Y-yes, Captain.”
“I like it when you call me that,” Kreese purred as he licked down Terry’s chest, drawing patterns across Terry’s skin with the tip of his tongue. “Who’s my good boy?”
Terry drew in a jagged breath as Kreese closed his mouth around Terry’s nipple, sucking gently. “I – ah – I am.”
“‘I am’ what?” Kreese said against Terry’s sweat-damp skin.
“I am, Captain.”
“And what does my good boy want?”
“Touch me,” Terry panted. “I want you to touch me.”
“You didn’t say please.”
“Please!” Terry cried out in a strangled voice, squeezing his eyes shut. “Goddamn it, Johnny, please.”
“I love it when you beg,” Kreese murmured softly, leaning forward again to mouth at Terry’s jawline. “It makes me hot. Do you know that’s what you do to me? Do you like that?”
“Yes! Yes, I do.” Terry squirmed with growing frustration. “I like it very much.”
“I like it very much, sir,” Kreese corrected. “Let’s try this again. Do you like that?”
Terry reached down to undo his slacks, but Kreese swiftly swatted his hand away and grabbed his arm by the wrist, pinning it down against the sofa pillows.
“I like it very much, sir,” Terry said, as he struggled to free his arm.
“Stay,” Kreese commanded.
Instinctively, Terry stopped struggling. He knew that tone of voice very well; he’d heard it from Kreese many times, on and off the battlefield. For Kreese, Terry would do anything; for Kreese, when he used that tone of voice, Terry would do anything immediately. He stilled, letting his body relax into the soft cushions with a resigned sigh.
“Very good, Terry,” Kreese murmured, as he let go of Terry’s wrist to tug at the waistband of his pants. He leaned down and kissed Terry roughly, aggressively, and with one hand, deftly unbuttoned Terry’s slacks and slowly undid the zipper, his fingertips ever so gently dancing over the smooth silk of Terry’s boxer shorts, along the length of Terry’s cock. “Such a good boy.”
Kreese’s body thrummed with an exhilarating feeling of power as he watched Terry coming apart under his touch, and it was this, above all else, that aroused him. He grinned wolfishly down at his most devoted disciple, and his cock twitched at seeing Terry so docile and submissive. With one swift movement, he divested the younger man of his slacks and boxer shorts, tossing them carelessly on top of Terry’s discarded shirt.
“Johnny, I want it,” Terry whimpered. “Please.”
“Tsk.” Kreese clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Patience, Terry. Good things come to those who wait.”
“Oh, but – but you know patience was … never my strong suit,” Terry countered shakily as Kreese flicked the head of his cock with his thumb.
“Now, that’s not fair,” Kreese chided as he pulled his hand back, “using my words against me like that. I don’t want to have to punish you, but you may have left me with no choice.”
Terry bucked his hips aimlessly, searching for contact and groaning when he found none. His cock jumped, weeping precome across his abdomen, and Kreese smiled.
“Johnny,” Terry whined.
“Terry,” Kreese replied, mimicking Terry’s plaintive tone of voice. He placed his hand lightly on Terry’s inner thigh, massaging it gently and purposefully ignoring the one place he knew Terry wanted to be touched. He didn’t intend to ‘punish’ Terry for very long; after all, he was supposed to be giving his loyal soldier a well-deserved reward. He knew from years of experience, however, that withholding the promised reward, whether that was words of praise, or soft touches, or finally letting Terry suck him off, only intensified Terry’s reactions to him. His cock strained in the confines of his pants, seeing just how effortlessly and skillfully he could play Terry like a violin.
Terry’s face contorted, his eyes dark and clouded with unfulfilled want, and after several more interminable, excruciating moments, Kreese finally relented. He leaned forward and kissed a spot behind Terry’s ear as he took Terry in hand again.
“What else do you want, Your Highness? Tell me what you want.”
“Ungghh, that’s – that’s good.” Terry inhaled sharply as Kreese sucked and nibbled on his earlobe, just the way he liked it, and his hips jerked when Kreese’s hand closed around him. “I want … I want …”
“Say it, Lieutenant,” Kreese ordered. “Use your words.”
“I want to feel you.”
“How do you want to feel me, Terry?”
“I want to feel your cock against mine,” Terry cried out, clinging desperately to the other man’s shoulders. “I want it so bad.”
“Hm, I don’t know, let me see,” Kreese said, tilting his head to the side as he considered Terry’s request. “No, I think I want to save that one for next time. Give you something to look forward to.”
“Then touch me again. Please, Johnny, let me feel you.”
Pressing his chest against Terry’s body, Kreese began to stroke Terry, slowly at first, gradually increasing the speed and pressure of his ministrations as the warmth of Terry’s precome coated the palm of his hand. He hummed softly in Terry’s ear and told him over and over how good he was being.
Terry’s vision clouded and his mind went blank. He suddenly felt like he was all of seventeen again, dreaming of being kissed, held, and fucked by the handsome, strapping soldier sleeping a mere arm’s length away from him in their camp tent.
But that was then. This was now, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.
“Does my good boy want more?” Kreese asked between intense, deep, rough kisses, as he sped up his strokes. “Tell me, Lieutenant. Do you want more of this?”
“Yes, yes, Captain, I do, I want more,” Terry gasped, breathless, against Kreese’s mouth. He arched his back to feel the weight of Kreese’s body against his, and bucked his hips in time with the intensifying strokes. With a jolt of heat that ran the length of his entire body, he began to feel that familiar tension rising from deep within him and he thrust his cock more insistently into Kreese’s firm grasp, desperately chasing his pleasure. “Oh, God, I … give me more, I want a lot more, I –”
“If you want more, you’re going to have to do more,” Kreese said, as he suddenly let go of Terry and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I think this is reward enough for tonight.”
“What?” Terry’s eyes flew open. “Johnny, no, don’t stop!”
“I look forward to seeing more of your excellent work.” Kreese smirked down at Terry as he slowly wiped his hand off on the luxurious cream-colored cashmere blanket draped over the back of the sofa. “And if you keep it up, I might have more of this for you as well.”
“Oh, come on!” Terry cried out in protest.
“Down, boy,” Kreese whispered, giving Terry’s naked body a last once-over as he stood up and adjusted his pants.
Terry could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sofa, his dusty slacks and crumpled silk boxer shorts pooled on the floor by his feet, while Kreese let himself out of the room, swiping the bottle of Terry’s grandfather’s Glenmorangie off the marble table on his way out as he shut the door decisively behind him.
Terry let out a loud, strangled shout of frustration and disappointment. He gritted his teeth; they were now at the point in the cycle of their relationship where he’d have to start again from scratch, toiling and straining and doing everything he possibly could to earn back Kreese’s favor – only for Kreese to grant his approval, give him his ‘reward,’ and leave Terry unsatisfied yet again. But despite knowing how it was going to go, as it had for nearly eighteen years now, Terry kept on coming back for more, every single damn time.
The bottle of scotch was no longer on the table, and given what just happened, Terry knew there was only one place it could have gone.
Angry now, he yelled a string of profanities at the antique Baccarat crystal chandelier hanging above him before lying back down to try to stroke himself to completion, but his own hand just didn’t feel the same as John’s on his aching cock.
Fuck.
He was in for a long night tonight.
Notes:
The Earldom of Ross, in the peerage of Scotland, has been a dormant title since 1625, so I’ve borrowed it for Terry’s mother’s side of the family. The lordship of Ardmannoch, for which Terry’s finest salon is named, is a subsidiary title of the earldom of Ross (and, as such, Terry’s courtesy title when and where applicable).
The Glenmorangie Distillery, Tain, Ross-shire, Scotland.
Chapter Text
Johnny shut his psychology textbook with a loud thump. Instead of focusing on the assigned reading for his classes, he spent much of the weekend thinking about that strange man Mike talked to a few days ago. He also thought a lot about Daniel, and how he would go about apologizing for everything he’d done and warning him about Mike’s weird new acquaintance. Even though Daniel had a good teacher who looked after him and protected him like a real sensei should, Johnny sensed something was off about this Terry Silver that even Daniel’s teacher might not be prepared for, so he wanted to go and tell Daniel about him anyway.
The problem was, though, that every time he thought he’d talked himself into going, he found a way to talk himself out of it. Maybe Daniel didn’t want to see him and was doing so much better without him in his life, and all he’d do was ruin it, again, by showing up at his place. Maybe Daniel wouldn’t accept his apology, thinking it was some sort of trick to bring his guard down. Maybe Daniel was still angry with him and would attack him on sight, which would be no less than what he deserved. Hell, maybe Daniel wasn’t even here in LA anymore and he was worrying for no reason.
“Jesus, Johnny!” On his side of their room, Mike jumped at the sound and nearly fell out of his chair. “You scared the fuck out of me.”
“Sorry,” Johnny said sheepishly. “I just can’t … none of this is making sense right now. I think I’ve read the same paragraph twenty times and I still have no idea what it says.”
Mike grabbed an Oreo from the half-finished box of cookies on the desk in front of him and turned around to face his roommate. “What’s going on?”
Johnny didn’t want to bring up Terry Silver or his invitation; Mike hadn’t mentioned him all weekend and had made no indication that he was inclined to accept the offer. Johnny hadn’t seen Terry’s business card anywhere in their room since he asked to look at it, and he hoped Mike had thrown it out.
“Nothing really, just thinking about some stuff from last year,” he settled on saying.
“Huh. Like what?”
Mike said nothing, only nodding his head occasionally, as Johnny told him about a guy named Daniel from his high school, whose rivalry with him ended in a face-off at the All-Valley final. This was the first time Mike had heard anything about this guy, but from what little he knew about Johnny’s old dojo, he could only imagine what Johnny and his friends did to him. As usual, Johnny didn’t get into a lot of specifics about what happened, but Mike was used to that by now. Even so, his curiosity grew with every conversation they had about this, because every time they talked about Johnny’s past karate experiences, Mike was left with even more questions than he started with.
“I haven’t talked to him since the tournament, but I’ve been wanting to apologize to him for a while. It might be too late now for an apology,” Johnny finished.
“No, I don’t think so.” Mike broke another Oreo apart and popped the plain side whole into his mouth. “It’s never too late to apologize.”
As part of Johnny’s efforts to put his life back together after the All-Valley, he spent a lot of time thinking about how he would apologize to the people he’d wronged while he was in Cobra Kai, Daniel and Ali most of all. He had no expectations of forgiveness or friendship from either of them after everything he’d done to hurt them, but he was still afraid to hear what they might say to him. He feared that their rejection of his apology would confirm that he was in fact everything Sid and Kreese said he was: a weak, pathetic loser who wasn’t worth anyone’s time or friendship or care. Still, the very least he could do was to say those two very important words to them.
“You’re right.” Johnny nodded slowly and checked his watch. “It’s still early. I might go and do it now, before I talk myself out of it again.”
“Wait, hang on, you mean like right now? Can’t it wait until like, tomorrow or something?”
“I’ve wanted to do it ever since the All-Valley, but every time I thought about doing it, I talked myself out of it.” Not surprisingly, Johnny was getting that same feeling of trepidation again as he spoke, and his resolve started to waver. “Like, what if he doesn’t accept my apology and tells me to get lost?”
“At least you’ll have done your part,” Mike replied. “You put in the effort to find him after all this time to apologize, and that counts for something. If he tells you to get lost, go to hell, fuck off, whatever, that’s on him. If he doesn’t, you might come back having made a friend.”
“I don’t expect him to want to be friends,” Johnny said quietly. “After what I did, I wouldn’t want to be friends with me either.”
“You won’t know until you try,” Mike said. “I think this is a good thing for both of you.”
~ * ~
Johnny pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket as soon as he got to his car. He’d written down the address of Daniel’s old apartment complex, which was pretty close to where he used to live as a kid, and hoped that Daniel was still there. The thought of apologizing to Daniel was still daunting, but it helped that he had another reason to seek Daniel out and talk to him.
The drive wasn’t far. He turned onto Saticoy and slowed down as things started to look more familiar. Once he caught sight of the high chain link fence outside the South Seas Apartments, which was familiar to him for all the wrong reasons, he pulled over and parked in front of what appeared to be a construction site well in progress.
“Excuse me,” Johnny said to the first man in a hard hat that he saw when he walked through the gated entryway. The reflective strip on the back of the man’s vest read MAXIM DEVELOPMENT INC. “I’m looking for someone who used to live here. Is there any way I can find out where he might have moved?”
“No, I don’t think so, sorry,” the worker said. “We don’t have access to the old residential lists. We’re just contractors for the company handling the renovations. You can ask Jeff in the office, though. He might know more.”
The construction office was set up in a room with louvered doors on the outside of the building, marked “Maintenance.” Jeff, the construction manager, sat with his feet up on the desk, loudly eating out of a takeout container of Chinese food.
Johnny knocked softly on the door and took a tentative step inside. “Hello, sir, I was sent here by one of your guys outside to ask about someone who used to live here.”
Jeff swung his legs off the desk, burping as he stood up. “Who’re you looking for?”
“The last name is LaRusso, I don’t know which apartment they were in, but I know they lived here,” Johnny said.
Jeff pulled a thick folder out of a drawer and flipped through the pages, humming as he did so. “Hm, let’s see here: Lacey, Lacson … ah, here we are. LaRusso, Apartment 20? Huh, this is weird. They left no forwarding address.”
Johnny sighed. Maybe Daniel was back home in Newark after all, and he would never get to apologize now.
Jeff dropped the folder on the desk with a thud. “Sorry, son. I wish I could tell you more, but I got nothing.”
“That’s alright, thank you for looking. Have a good –” As Johnny turned to leave, his eyes landed on the door with the Maintenance placard on it, and something clicked in his memory – a short but agile Japanese man in a brown maintenance uniform, emerging from that very same door and jumping over the fence to fight him and his friends – and he whirled back around. “Wait a minute. What about former employees? Would you be able to tell me where to find the maintenance guy who used to work here?”
~ * ~
There was something calming and reassuring to Johnny about driving through the familiar neighborhoods of Reseda on his way to the address Jeff gave him. Nariyoshi Miyagi, Jeff had said, was the name of the South Seas’ former superintendent, and he lived in Canoga Park, about fifteen to twenty minutes’ drive away. Johnny was disconcerted that he didn’t actually know the name of the man who’d saved his life until now.
If he couldn’t apologize to Daniel today, he could still thank Mr. Miyagi for saving him.
Johnny parked the Avanti on the dead-end side street across from the house matching the address Jeff gave him, and spent a good few minutes just staring at the high fence in front of him, working up the courage to get out of the car and do what he came here to do. Bowing his head, he rested his forehead against the top of the steering wheel with an exasperated sigh. “Ugh, just do it already,” he said aloud to himself. It had taken him this long already to get here, and he knew that, despite whatever misgivings still remained, he shouldn’t give up now. “It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine.”
As Johnny approached the tall gate, a brown eye peered out from between the slats of the fence, and Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise when he heard a familiar, unmistakably Jersey-accented voice address him from the other side.
“Johnny? Oh my God, no way. Johnny Lawrence? I heard your car coming up the street, and then when I saw those golden locks, I knew it had to be you. What are you doing here?”
Johnny didn’t expect to be met here by Daniel himself, especially not with a greeting like that, and it threw him for a loop. Still, it was far better than any alternative he’d thought up over the past few months.
He supposed he could lie and say he was in the neighborhood and thought he’d stop by, but the neighborhood, a quiet residential area rather out of the way of regular traffic, didn’t appear to get a whole lot of people coming around who didn’t already live there. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could answer, a hidden door in the fence opened to reveal Daniel, in jeans and a sleeveless black shirt, with his blue-and-white hachimaki tied around his head. To Johnny’s added surprise, Daniel didn’t look angry or suspicious at all to see him – just curious, more than anything else.
“Hey, LaRusso, uh, Daniel. I came here to – well, I just want to say, I’m sorry for everything I did last year,” Johnny said in a rush.
Daniel LaRusso was not usually one to be rendered speechless, but he was so caught off guard by Johnny Lawrence finding him at home and apologizing to him that he just stood there, gaping stupidly like any one of the fish Mr. Miyagi brought home from the lake.
“I was a real dick to you,” Johnny continued, breaking the awkward silence. “I had a lot of shit going on back then, and you were the nearest and easiest target. I know that’s no excuse for my behavior. Whatever I had going on personally wasn’t your problem, and you didn’t do anything to deserve any of what I did, and I’m sorry, I really am.”
Daniel still wasn’t saying anything. Johnny’s throat felt oddly tight, and he swallowed hard and cleared his throat before speaking again. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to come to you and say this, but I had to pick up the pieces of my life and work on myself first. I still feel like a work in progress, but I didn’t want to wait any longer to apologize.”
When Daniel remained silent, his normally expressive face unreadable, Johnny’s confidence started to falter and he tugged nervously at the hem of his blue sweater, but forced himself to go on. “You probably already know I left Cobra Kai after the All-Valley, and I’ve been trying really hard since then to do better and be better, both for myself and for others. I’m working hard to unlearn everything I was taught at Cobra Kai: I’ve replaced ‘strike first, strike hard’ with a gentler touch, and I’m making a conscious effort to treat everyone better, as a friend first rather than as an enemy. I was never taught the difference between mercy and honor in Cobra Kai, and it’s something I wish I’d learned a lot sooner. Looking back, I see now that being constantly angry and vigilant was the wrong way to live my life, and I want to be better. I realize I’ve still got a long way to go, but it’s felt so good to let go of everything I knew before, and look forward instead of back.”
Johnny shifted his weight anxiously, kicking at the gravel under his feet as the silence dragged on. He wasn’t used to speaking that much from the heart all at once, and he suddenly felt self-conscious about having said so much, since Daniel was usually the talkative one. But he wanted to say it all now, just in case this was his only chance to do so.
“I’m glad you won the All-Valley. You really deserved to win, and I stand by what I said to you after our final match: you really are alright, LaRusso. I was, and still am, in awe of how quickly and how well you learned karate, and I could only hope to be as good as you in so short a time. If I could take it all back, start all over and do things right, I would, and I hope that one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. If there’s anything at all I can do to make things up to you, just name it.”
Daniel hadn’t told him to get lost or tried to fight him yet, so that was a good sign, at least, but his total lack of response was a different kind of nerve-wracking. “Well, um, thanks for listening,” Johnny said. “Before I go, though, there is one more thing I want to –”
“Wait,” Daniel said suddenly. “You don’t have to go.”
“I – I don’t?”
“No. Stay, uh, please,” Daniel said. “I have something to say to you too.”
Johnny braced himself for the worst. Even though he’d had a lot of time to ready himself, and had thought up any number of scenarios for how this might go, he still didn’t feel prepared for whatever Daniel was about to say to him.
Daniel took a deep breath before speaking, gathering his thoughts. He was really struck by this very different Johnny Lawrence standing in front of him: this Johnny was calmer, more introspective, and dare he say it, gentler. Gone was the larger-than-life bully in the bright red leather Cobra Kai jacket; in his place was a soft-spoken, more balanced person with no traces of bravado or anger left in his face. In Johnny’s words and his mannerisms, the way he carried himself now, and even in his eyes, Daniel could see the long, hard road Johnny had trod that led him here to Mr. Miyagi’s doorstep. Daniel had seen for himself how badly Johnny was treated by his teacher, and couldn’t imagine what, and how much, Johnny had gone through over the past year to get to where he was now.
Remembering what Mr. Miyagi said the other day about forgiveness and second chances, Daniel mused that if not for Cobra Kai and Ali getting between them for stupid reasons, he and Johnny might have been friends from the beginning, and they wouldn’t have missed out on almost a year of friendship. Johnny said he wanted to start over the right way, which meant there might truly be a possibility they could be friends now. All Daniel needed to do now was accept his apology.
“I forgive you, Johnny,” Daniel finally said. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
Johnny gasped in surprise and relief. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, really.” Daniel realized that Johnny had taken his earlier silence to mean he didn’t accept the apology, and he wanted to fix that immediately. “I admit it took me a while to get there, but I had a lot of time to think while I was recovering, and I kept thinking of what Mr. Miyagi said to me after the tournament – he told me that for a person with no forgiveness in their heart, living is an even worse punishment than death. That really stayed with me since then, and I didn’t want to be that person. I didn’t want to continue fighting after the fight was already over.
“One of the first things Mr. Miyagi ever said to me was that there’s no such thing as a bad student, only a bad teacher, and your teacher was the worst. I don’t blame you or your friends for what happened at the tournament; I know your teacher made you do it. I know he taught you to think and act like that. And after what I saw happen after the tournament that day, I knew for sure that whatever you guys did to me wasn’t really you, it was Cobra Kai. If anything, I blame your teacher. I guess what I’m trying to say is that once I came to terms with all that, it was very easy for me to forgive you.”
Hearing Daniel say those words – I don’t blame you, I forgave you a long time ago – was like a healing balm to Johnny’s heart, and he felt like a great weight had been lifted off his chest and he could breathe again. “Thank you, you have no idea how much that means to me,” he said sincerely. “I’m so glad I found you here so I could tell you that.”
“And I appreciate it, Johnny, thanks.” Daniel also felt much better, now that they finally worked things out and cleared the air between them. He’d worried that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to forgive Johnny when the time came, and now that he had, he was confident they could now put the past behind them for good and start over the way Johnny wanted. “You want to come in?”
“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you.” Johnny offered a small, tentative smile as he stepped inside. “Is your sensei home? If it’s okay, there’s something I want to say to him too.”
“Yeah, sure, what’s that?”
“I haven’t forgotten how he saved my life, and I’m so grateful for that. If not for him, I wouldn’t be here right now talking to you. I wouldn’t be looking forward to bigger and better things in my life.” Johnny looked down at the dusty unpaved driveway and sniffled, chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check. “I’ll never forget what he did for me, and I want to thank him for giving me that second chance.”
“He’s good like that,” Daniel said as he latched the gate door shut. “I can’t count how many times he’s helped me out, too. Don’t worry, he should be back soon. He literally just left when you got here. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you again, especially now under better circumstances.”
“Much better,” Johnny replied gratefully. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to do it until now.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m glad you came over.” Daniel stopped in front of Mr. Miyagi’s vintage cars and turned to face Johnny. “Because, you know, I think I owe you an apology too.”
Johnny frowned. “What for?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t help you in the parking lot after the tournament,” Daniel said softly. “I shouldn’t have just stood there like a dummy, but I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure you’d accept my help, and for all I knew, your teacher would have come after me next. I saw what he did to your friends and how easily he took them out, and I knew there was no way I’d get anywhere against that. But that doesn’t excuse it. I still should have tried, and I definitely shouldn’t have just left you there.”
“What? No, Daniel, you don’t need to apologize for that. Your sensei saved me, and that by itself was more than enough.” Johnny looked away as the worst memories of that day came rushing back, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Anyway, I should have known what would happen if I lost, so I probably deserved it.”
Daniel stared at Johnny, horrified that he could even think such a thing. How could anyone believe they deserved to die after performing as well as Johnny had at the tournament? “Hey, Johnny, look at me. I don’t want to ever hear you say that again, alright?”
“Sorry,” Johnny whispered stiffly, eyes trained on the ground between them. “I just –”
“No,” Daniel said firmly, placing a gentle hand on Johnny’s shoulder in an attempt to get him to look back up. “You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. What the hell kind of a teacher does that to their student who did as well as you did? You can’t think like that, Johnny. You just told me you’re working on moving forward and leaving Cobra Kai behind. So, leave it behind. There’s so much more out there for you than just that.”
A car roared down the street outside and both boys jumped in surprise. Realizing where they were still standing and suddenly feeling like a bad host, Daniel hurried to open the inner fence door that led into the house and gardens. “God, Johnny, I’m so sorry. What the hell are we still doing out here? Come on inside, I just made some iced tea.”
Overwhelmed by Daniel’s kindness, understanding, and forgiveness, Johnny took a moment to compose himself before going the rest of the way inside. As he stepped through the house’s inner fence gate, he was greeted with a gorgeous vision of a well-kept home and Japanese-style garden, complete with ornamental rocks, traditional lanterns, bonsai trees, and a little koi pond. This was a beautiful property that belonged more on a postcard or magazine cover than in a small, modest neighborhood in Canoga Park, a bright spot in an otherwise mundane setting. “This is – wow, this place is amazing, Daniel. Do you live here too?”
Daniel beamed. “Yup, this is me right here,” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the recently built structure behind him. “Ma had a management seminar thing her new company made her attend in Fresno over the summer, so Mr. Miyagi built this up for me so I wouldn’t have to be stuck there by myself for two months. He started it, but we finished it together. Of course he made the building process a part of my training, because that’s what he does.”
“He makes you build houses as part of your karate training?”
Daniel shook his head and laughed. “No, but he makes me wax his cars, sand the floor, paint the house and the fence, stuff like that. Muscle memory, you know. He says anything you do can be turned into a training opportunity.”
Johnny tilted his head to the side, considering this. “I never even thought of it that way, but it makes sense. That’s a good idea, actually. Certainly beats whatever I had to do.”
“Man, I was pissed as hell when I thought Mr. Miyagi was making me fix and clean up his entire property when I first started. I never guessed at the time that he was doing it to teach me blocking moves.” Daniel turned around and patted the side of the small building that was his room. “This thing here ended up being part of my training for months after I was done with PT, and now I live here because my apartment complex is being completely renovated right now. I came back from being away all summer to find out that I lost my home and Mr. Miyagi lost his job. Thank God for this place, though, ‘cause I don’t know what I’d have done, with Ma back home in Newark and all our stuff in storage.”
“I saw the construction. I went by there first today and asked around to see if anyone knew where you’d moved to, but nobody did,” Johnny said as Daniel walked past him into the main house. “Then I remembered your sensei used to work there, so I asked about him and the construction manager gave me this address.”
Daniel’s surprised face appeared at the window. “You were actually looking for me?”
“Yeah, I’m attending college near here, so I wanted to see if you were still around so I could talk to you.” Johnny didn’t want to ruin their first real friendly conversation by mentioning Terry Silver just yet; he wanted to enjoy it for a while first before broaching that topic.
Daniel emerged from the house with two glasses of freshly brewed iced tea and a bag of Japanese snacks under his arm, handing Johnny one of the glasses and gesturing for him to have a seat on the newly sanded deck walkway. “No kidding. Where are you at now?”
“I’m at Cal State Northridge,” Johnny said. “It’s so close by, it sometimes feels like I never left home. I could’ve gone to UCLA with Bobby or USC with Tommy and Jimmy, but I wanted to stay closer to home to be near my mom.”
“Hey, yeah, I think I’ve been by your school a few times, it’s just like up the street, right?” Daniel opened the package of nori-wrapped rice crackers he brought for them to snack on, and offered it to Johnny. “Mr. Miyagi and I go to a garden shop kind of around that area, up on Reseda Boulevard.”
Johnny took a seat next to Daniel, setting his drink and the bag of crackers between them. “I think I know the one you’re talking about; my mom goes there a lot. Sid hates dealing with the garden and landscaping, so he lets her do what she wants with it. She does a nice job and has a lot of fun with it, and Sid’s happy because the garden looks great for all the celebrities that come to his parties.”
“Wait, who’s Sid?”
Johnny’s expression darkened. “Oh, yeah. My stepdad, Sid Weinberg.”
“Stepdad?” Daniel blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a stepdad.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I didn’t, honestly,” Johnny said through his teeth. “He’s a big-shot TV producer for Lorimar with an ego to match. My mom met him while working as a secretary for his company. We didn’t have a whole lot before she married him, but we made do with what we had. I was happier then, and I like to think that in some ways, she was too. I know it’s because of Sid that I have nice things and grew up in a nice house, but really, there was nothing nice about any of it.”
Daniel frowned. “I guess I just thought of you as always having had a nice life with a lot of money.”
“No, it wasn’t always like this for me, and I learned pretty quickly that money doesn’t always buy happiness,” Johnny said resignedly. “Between Sid and Sensei Kreese, I felt like I was in a gilded cage. I didn’t realize just how bad it was for me until I got out of it.”
Hearing this, Daniel realized how much he and Johnny weren’t so different after all: both only sons of single mothers, who found father figures in their karate senseis. Even though their teachers couldn’t be more different, there were still many other similarities between them. Different but same, Mr. Miyagi once said about him and Ali; he was beginning to see now how true this was for him and Johnny as well. “I’m happy for you, Johnny,” he said. “I really mean that. I’m glad you’re out of Cobra Kai, and I hope things continue to get better for you.”
“Thank you, Daniel, that means a lot coming from you,” Johnny replied. “Being in college, even so close to home, I feel so much freer, like there’s so much ahead of me that I’ve yet to discover. Before, it was like my life was planned out for me: I’d marry someone who made Sid look good and got him in with the right people, and I’d go and work for Sid at Lorimar or become Sensei Kreese’s co-sensei. After the All-Valley, I didn’t want any of those things anymore. So many worlds opened up for me after I left Cobra Kai. I didn’t know just how much I was missing out on when my focus was only on karate for so long.”
“Are you still doing karate, though?” Daniel asked.
“Honestly? After the tournament, I wanted nothing more than to forget that I was ever a part of Cobra Kai or that I even knew karate.” This was the first time Johnny had discussed the details of his time since the All-Valley with anyone like this – he hadn’t even told Mike this much – and it felt good to let it out. “I hid all of my trophies in a box under my bed. My tournament gi, which always had a special place in my closet, is now stuffed in a drawer so I don’t have to look at it anymore. As hard as it was for me to forget that ‘phase,’ as Sid likes to call it now, it was even harder for me to keep thinking about it. So, I buried myself in schoolwork and classes, and did my best to pretend like that part of me didn’t exist.”
“You can still do karate without Cobra Kai,” Daniel pointed out. “You don’t have to stop doing something you enjoy and are good at because of them.”
“Actually, my friends and I stopped doing karate altogether after the All-Valley, and tried to leave it all behind and move on with our lives. At the time, the association was too strong. We left our practice gi at the dojo when we quit right after Christmas, and I really thought I’d moved past that part of my life,” Johnny said. “But then, I went off to college and got assigned a roommate from Sacramento who’s a regional karate champion too, and he reminded me just how much I love karate. We started a karate club on campus because the school didn’t have one, and it feels great to be doing karate again and sharing our knowledge with the other students.”
“What’s it called?” Daniel asked.
Johnny beamed proudly. “The Eagle Fang Karate Club.”
“Eagle … Fang? Are you serious?” Even though it sounded like a good name for a college karate club, Daniel still couldn’t hide his amusement at it.
“Hey, it’s a cool name, okay?” Johnny said, frowning. “An eagle can kill a cobra, that’s why I chose it.”
“I like the symbolism, but you do know eagles don’t have fangs, right?”
If Daniel had made that comment to him last year, Johnny would have answered it with a punch to the face, but instead, he just let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “I do now. I looked up the anatomy of an eagle in the library, but only after we’d chosen the name and made it official on the Sport Club registration form. We still thought it was a cool name even if it doesn’t make sense, so we just went with it. I also found out that same day that the more scientifically accurate name would be Mongoose Kai, because the mongoose is the cobra’s real natural enemy due to their agility, quick attacks, and natural venom resistance. Did you know that mongooses actually eat cobras?”
“Not gonna lie, I like Mongoose Kai better.” Daniel liked this new science nerd version of Johnny; it was a vast improvement over last year’s King Karate version. “What I like best about it is that it’s the direct opposite of Cobra Kai, but that’s okay, you can save it for something else, maybe if you ever decide to open up your own dojo or start another karate club. Or like, if you start a band or something.”
“If you told me that this time last year, I would have seriously considered it,” Johnny said. “For most of high school, I was so focused on Cobra Kai that I just assumed I’d become a sensei myself. I know Sensei Kreese wanted me to take over from him eventually, so that’s where I expected to end up, back in the Cobra Kai dojo for the rest of my life. But things changed, I ended up following a different path, and now, I get to look forward to eight more years of school.”
Daniel made a face. “Eight more years? God, I can’t even imagine being in school for that much longer. What are you studying?”
“Sports medicine,” Johnny replied. “I’ve got you to thank for inspiring me to go into that field. I want to help injured athletes heal and get back up and fighting again. Think of it as my way of making amends for what I did to you for the rest of my life.”
“Look, Johnny, you don’t have to keep beating yourself up over it, okay? It was just a dislocation. I hardly even notice it anymore.” Daniel swung his left leg back and forth to demonstrate. “See? It’s fine. I was back up and running in like two months.”
“Yeah, but dislocations can still have lasting effects even if it isn’t hurting you anymore and you’ve gotten yourself back up to full strength again,” Johnny pointed out. “So, I hope you’re keeping up with your physical therapy and exercise, and resting and keeping it elevated whenever it bothers you.”
“Yes, Dr. Lawrence,” Daniel said, grinning cheekily. “I can’t count how many times I’ve heard that. All the orthopedic surgeons and sports medicine specialists I’ve seen in the past year said the exact same thing to me.”
Johnny blushed pink, liking the way that title sounded with his name, but his expression quickly became serious again. “I really wish I knew some of this stuff I’m learning now when I was still in Cobra Kai. It would’ve helped a lot.”
“Why’s that?” Daniel asked, frowning. “What happened there? Did your teacher hurt you? Was what happened after the tournament not just a one-time thing?”
“No, it wasn’t. It happened all the time,” Johnny said with a deep sigh. This was also something he hadn’t discussed with anyone apart from his friends, but he felt Daniel had a right to know why things happened the way they did last year. “Sensei said it was his way of keeping us, his ‘soldiers,’ in line. If we were off sync during warm-ups, if we didn’t do a move exactly right, if we were late, or even if he just felt like it, we’d be punished. If we complained to our parents or anyone else about what he did, he made it clear the consequences would be far worse. We didn’t see it then, but he kept us trapped there. We weren’t allowed to be friends with anyone from the other dojos; he made us believe they were the enemy, so we just didn’t talk to them at all. He didn’t want us to be exposed to any karate that wasn’t Cobra Kai. For him, Cobra Kai wasn’t just the right way, it was the only way, and he never let us forget that.”
Soldiers? The enemy? Was Johnny’s former sensei really treating a youth karate tournament like an actual war? Daniel couldn’t imagine Mr. Miyagi doing or saying or teaching him things like that. That a teacher would treat his students this way was such a foreign concept to him. “Why would he do all those things to you?”
“Sensei told us he was training us to be fearless, to be winners,” Johnny explained. “He taught us that that fear, pain, and defeat did not exist in his dojo, and anything less than the best was a sign of weakness that he beat out of us. Winning was expected, so he never said anything when we did. If we lost, even to each other, he’d call us worthless and pathetic and tell us we weren’t good enough to be Cobra Kai. It was never about sportsmanship or fair play for him, it was about winning and dominating everyone. He always said that ‘second place is the first-place loser,’ and that’s why he was so pissed off about the All-Valley – because I was that first-place loser instead of the three-time winner he wanted me to be.”
“That’s not true. You were still a winner,” Daniel said vehemently. In this regard, at least, Daniel could see where Mr. Miyagi was coming from with his disapproval of karate tournaments – because it turned some people, like John Kreese, into monsters. “Doesn’t matter what he thinks, you were up on that winners’ podium with me, and that makes you a winner too.”
“He didn’t see it that way,” Johnny said, his voice catching. He never thought he’d have Daniel come to his defense so fiercely like this, and it touched him. “That would have been my third title in a row, and he desperately wanted those bragging rights for Cobra Kai. When you took that away from him, he snapped. I’d never seen him go that far before. He was out of control, and he – well, you saw what he did to us. After your sensei took him out, he got in the dojo van and drove off, leaving us all behind in the parking lot. Thankfully, Jimmy had his car, so the guys all left with him. I don’t know how long I sat there by myself before I recovered enough to drive myself home.”
Daniel closed his eyes and sighed. “Damn, now I really feel bad for just leaving you there like that.”
“Don’t,” Johnny said to the ground. “After what I put you through, you probably didn’t feel like you had a reason to stick around. I can’t blame you for that.”
“But it still would have been the right thing to do,” Daniel said. “Whatever you guys did to me before, it was still wrong of me to just walk away after what your teacher did to you.”
Johnny shook his head, blinking back tears, and fixed his distant stare at the large bonsai tree on the balance wheel on the other side of the yard as he spoke. “It’s probably just as well you didn’t; I needed to be alone, and I don’t want to think of how I might have reacted if you’d come over. I’d nearly lost my life, my world was crumbling around me, and I just felt so empty. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that.”
“No, I get it. I probably wouldn’t want anyone to see me like that either.” While Daniel could understand Johnny’s perspective, he still regretted having departed the arena with Mr. Miyagi while Johnny and his friends still lay, physically and emotionally crushed, on the parking lot pavement.
“One moment I was a champion, and the next moment, my sensei was telling me I was a loser and that I was off the team. It was a lot for me to deal with all at once.” Johnny clasped his hands together tightly in his lap and pressed them between his knees to keep them still. “I didn’t know what I was going to do or where I was going to go. I was lost; Cobra Kai had been my whole life for five years. My friends and I all knew we couldn’t continue at Cobra Kai, but without it, there was this gaping hole in our lives that we didn’t know how to fill. We knew we couldn’t go back there, but we had no idea where else we could go, and that was a blow to all of us. Bobby was angrier than I’ve ever seen him. Tommy was in shock. Jimmy couldn’t even talk, he was so traumatized, and Dutch was physically sick that night. We were all in a really bad place.
“It took all of us months to move past Cobra Kai and put our lives back together. Bobby became a youth minister at his dad’s church and is now studying to become a priest, and he’ll eventually take over the ministry from his dad. Dutch started caddying at the country club, and now he’s got a regular list of members who specifically request him. Tommy joined the lacrosse team and got an offer from USC to play for them. Jimmy got a new girlfriend, and being with Jenny has helped him so much. As for me, I found that schoolwork took my mind off everything and let me get my life back on track. I had a 4.0 for the last two quarters of senior year, and I think that helped me get into the sports medicine program I’m in now. If I continue to do well, I’ll have a real shot at medical school.”
“I’m so happy to hear you’re doing a lot better now,” Daniel said sincerely. “I’m glad you and your friends had each other while you were recovering from all this.”
“Bobby’s sorry too, you know, for last year,” Johnny said softly. “Even though we’re not at the same school anymore, he’s still my best friend and we still talk a lot. He says he prays every day for forgiveness for everything we did while we were in Cobra Kai, and he mentions you often. He includes you, too, when he says his prayers and intentions for all of us. I think that’s his way of making amends for what he did to you.”
“Next time you talk to him, could you tell him I’ve forgiven him too? He apologized to me on the mat at the tournament, and that’s enough for me. He said he didn’t mean it, and I believe him,” Daniel said. “I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life beating himself up over it any more than I want you to.”
“I will. He’s been feeling so guilty since the tournament, and knowing you’ve forgiven him will be so good for him,” Johnny said. “You know, he was the first of us to leave Cobra Kai, right after he was disqualified.”
“He didn’t finish out the tournament with the rest of you?”
Johnny shook his head. “As soon as the ref made the call, he ripped his belt off, threw it on the floor at Sensei’s feet, and walked straight out of the arena. It was really something. I never thought I’d see anyone stand up to Sensei the way Bobby did.”
“I wish I’d seen that,” Daniel said. “I’ve got to hand it to him for quitting right then and there and leaving it all behind.”
“Me too,” Johnny agreed. “It was incredibly brave of him. He was even braver for waiting for us outside the arena instead of leaving and avoiding Sensei altogether, just so he could tell us he wouldn’t be returning to Cobra Kai. It didn’t matter that he never got to tell us, because by the end of that night, we all knew we wouldn’t be going back.”
Daniel let out a low whistle. “I can’t imagine how your teacher took it, having one of his best students quit in front of hundreds of people like that.”
“He was humiliated. Furious. Nobody ever dared to challenge him like that before, and his anger should’ve been my first hint that something bad was going to happen afterwards. After Bobby left, Sensei told me to finish you off.” Johnny shut his eyes tightly against the memory of Kreese, eyes grim and jaw set as he dispassionately wiped Johnny’s bloodied nose and ordered him to sweep Daniel’s leg. “Especially after seeing what he made Bobby do, I didn’t want to do it.”
“Well, why did you?”
Johnny gazed back over the yard at the koi pond. “Because I knew, probably better than anyone else in the class, what the consequences were for what Sensei called ‘insubordination.’ I had no idea that the consequences for not following orders this time would be so much worse than if I’d stood up to Sensei Kreese and told him no –”
“Johnny, why are you still calling him that?” Daniel interrupted, unable to stop himself. “Your teacher. Kreese. That’s his name, right? Why do you keep calling him ‘Sensei’? He’s not your teacher anymore.”
Johnny faltered, unable to come up with a good reason why he was still giving his former teacher that much deference. “I –”
“He doesn’t deserve that title from anyone, least of all you.” Daniel huffed out a sharp, angry breath. “Look, I know you can’t just switch that off like a light after five years. But that isn’t what a teacher does. He doesn’t deserve your respect after what he did to you. In fact, he shouldn’t even be a teacher at all anymore.”
“He isn’t,” Johnny said quietly.
Daniel looked up in surprise. “Seriously? How do you know?”
“I told my roommate about Cobra Kai,” Johnny said. “It was only fair, if he and I were going to be running Eagle Fang together, and I can’t talk about my karate background without mentioning Cobra Kai. I didn’t give him a lot of specifics so he wouldn’t try to find out more about it, but even with what little I told him, he still managed to find them in the phone book in the library and called the number.”
Daniel gasped. “Why the hell would he do that?”
“He said he wanted to prank call the dojo, but I don’t know. Anyway, the number was disconnected, so he didn’t get to order however many pizzas and have them sent there,” Johnny said. “The dojo probably shut down not long after the All-Valley, since there was no one left. The entire class left with us the day my friends and I quit.”
Daniel grinned. “Well, if there’s one good thing to come out of that phone call, it’s that we know Cobra Kai’s gone. We’re all better off without it, am I right?”
“Yeah,” Johnny replied, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It feels weird to say that, because it was such a big part of my life for so long, but I’m glad it’s gone.”
“A dojo that tries to kill you for coming in second place doesn’t deserve to exist,” Daniel said indignantly. “Johnny, do you know how many people would’ve loved to come in second place at the All-Valley? Literally everyone else in that arena who wasn’t you or me. You should be proud.”
“I’ve never been so happy to lose a tournament as I was that day,” Johnny admitted. “I’m glad you came back out to fight. I wouldn’t have wanted to win my third title by default, and I knew you weren’t going to give up.”
“You really made me work for it. Even without the knee injury, I bet I still would’ve had to, so give yourself some credit.” Daniel patted his left knee gently. “It really was a good match. The All-Valley Committee actually called me a couple days ago to tell me people are still talking about it.”
Johnny’s eyes widened. “No way. They called you just to tell you that?”
“Well, and to ask me if I want to compete this year to defend my title,” Daniel said. “They said they’re still getting calls about our match because it was so thrilling, and told me that even though I’ll be too old on the day of the tournament, as long as I’m eighteen or under by the registration deadline on December 2nd, I can still enter.”
“In that case, I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” Johnny said thoughtfully. “I mean, they never called me to personally invite me back to defend my title, so the fact that they called you says something. I say go for it. After all, you won’t be fighting me this year.”
Daniel’s lips twitched upward in the smallest of smiles, but his expression remained pensive. “Mr. Miyagi has already told me he doesn’t think I should compete again.”
“Why not?”
Daniel sighed, shoulders slumping. Despite Mr. Miyagi’s advice, he still hadn’t stopped thinking about it, and he knew he wouldn’t stop thinking about it anytime soon. “The short version? He doesn’t believe in tournaments. The long version is that he feels very strongly that karate is for defense only. That’s the first rule of Miyagi-Do Karate, and he’s so dedicated to upholding those teachings to the letter so he can honor and carry on his family’s tradition of using karate to defend honor and life, not to win prizes.”
“I respect that, but couldn’t you say this is like defending the honor of winning, or something?” Johnny asked.
“Hey, you know, that’s what I said too!” Daniel exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “I felt so smart when I thought it up, but Mr. Miyagi didn’t buy it. We’re also opening up a bonsai shop together, so he’s using that as another excuse for me not to do it. He thinks we need to focus our energies on ‘selling bonsai and spreading joy’ instead of winning tournaments.”
Johnny had noticed all the potted bonsai trees placed throughout the yard earlier, and now it made sense. “A bonsai shop? I think people around here will really like that. How did you decide on it?”
Thankful for the change of subject, Daniel smiled as he reached for the bag of rice crackers and poured a few out into his hand. “Mr. Miyagi has this enormous collection of bonsai, and he’s always dreamed of having a bonsai shop for his retirement years, so I surprised him when we got back by leasing out a space for him to start one. I won some money in a bet over the summer, which was technically supposed to pay for college this semester, but I used it instead to lease the shop space and pay for some of the renovations. I have a good feeling we’ll earn back way more than that once we really get it up and running, and I’ll have more than enough to pay for college then.”
“It sounds great. Where’s it going to be?”
“Out on Avenue 50 in Highland Park, like right off the train tracks,” Daniel said, as he broke a nori-wrapped rice cracker in half. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but we’ve been cleaning the place up and it’s looking real nice inside. We’re calling it Mr. Miyagi’s Little Trees. Our grand opening is this Saturday – you should come, and I’ll show you around. We’ll also have food and bonsai care demos and stuff.”
Johnny brightened at the invitation. “I’d love to, thank you so much. Can I bring my mom too? I think she’d really enjoy this.”
“Absolutely! Give me one second, I’ll be right back.” Daniel darted quickly into the main house and came back outside with a few flyers from the basket in the living room, which he handed to Johnny. “Here’s the info. I gave you a few extra, in case you or your mom want to tell your friends about us.” Sitting back down on the deck, he took a sip of his iced tea and stared pensively into the glass as he swirled the melting ice cubes around the bottom. “We’ve been preparing the shop for weeks, and I think it’s going to be awesome, but once we open for business, Mr. Miyagi’s probably right that I probably won’t have time to train for the All-Valley again. Mr. Miyagi won’t say it, but I think he just doesn’t want to see me get hurt again, especially after what happened last summer.”
“Why, what happened last summer?” Johnny asked.
“Oh, man, where do I begin?” Daniel set his now empty glass down on the deck, his frustration over the All-Valley forgotten for the time being. “Mr. Miyagi and I spent the whole summer in Okinawa. Right after graduation, Mr. Miyagi received a letter saying his dad was sick and didn’t have much time left, so he went home to see his dad and I wanted to be there for him. My dad died when I was eight, so I thought it’d help Mr. Miyagi to have someone with him who understood what he was going through. I don’t regret that I spent my college money on that plane ticket, because what mattered to me most was that I was supporting Mr. Miyagi when he needed me. We just got back about three weeks ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Johnny said sadly. “I’m sure he appreciated having you there during a difficult time for him.”
“He did. It wasn’t all sad, though,” Daniel replied. “Lots of other things happened this summer too. Mr. Miyagi got back together with Yukie, the girlfriend he left behind when he came here, and renewed his friendship with his old best friend, Mr. Sato, after he saved Mr. Sato’s life during the big typhoon that destroyed the village. And then, during the o-bon festival in the castle last month, Mr. Sato’s nephew challenged me to a death match –”
“Whoa, hang on,” Johnny interrupted, holding his hands up. “You can’t throw out stuff like ‘typhoon’ and ‘death match’ and expect me to just let that go without questions.”
Daniel launched into his story from the very beginning, while Johnny listened intently. Daniel’s summer was clearly a lot more exciting than his own, most of which was spent drinking with the guys in the Encino Oaks pagoda by the golf course and joyriding in the club’s golf carts, courtesy of Dutch. As he listened, Johnny thought to himself that trouble seemed to follow Daniel everywhere he went, even halfway across the world – but at least Daniel couldn’t ever say his life was boring.
Over an hour later, Daniel was still talking, his enthusiasm never waning, and Johnny was completely absorbed in the story. Who knew the goings-on in a small rural village in Okinawa could be so interesting?
“… and I said, ‘Live or die, man?’ and he said, ‘Die,’ but tradition or not, there was no way I was going to kill him, especially in front of all those people, so you know what I did instead?”
“What did you do?” Johnny asked breathlessly, eyes wide.
Daniel pinched his nose between two fingers. “HONK.”
Johnny covered his mouth with both hands. “No. Tell me you didn’t. In front of the entire town?”
“Yeah, I did,” Daniel said, chuckling at Johnny’s surprised expression. “Took a leaf right out of Mr. Miyagi’s book. The look on his face, man – he really had no idea what to do with that.”
“Do people actually die in these fights?” Johnny’s voice was muffled by his hand still covering his mouth.
“Yeah, they do,” Daniel replied. “That really is how they settle honor disputes in Okinawa. I think the concept behind it is that you regain your honor if you win, but if you lose, you no longer have to live with dishonor. The day before Mr. Miyagi was supposed to fight Mr. Sato, he gave me his last will and testament that said I’d get this house and his truck if he lost, so he knew what might happen. He also reminded me before I fought Chozen that the rules were different there, like he wanted to make sure I knew I could die. When it came down to it, though, I couldn’t kill Chozen, because that’s not who I am, and that’s not what I was taught. So I just honked his nose instead.”
Johnny looked at Daniel with renewed admiration. Even if a heavily regulated youth karate tournament in LA was nothing compared to an Okinawan honor death match, he now understood better why Mr. Miyagi was so opposed to Daniel competing again. “What happened to Chozen, was he still dead to Mr. Sato since he lost?”
“No, they talked things over after the festival, and Mr. Sato welcomed Chozen back into the house and the family. He wanted to give Chozen a second chance the same way he got a second chance,” Daniel replied. “Right before Mr. Miyagi and I left to come back here, Chozen came to the house to apologize to me. He said he didn’t want to live a life of regret, and wanted to learn to be better. It’ll take time for him to leave everything he’s known his entire life behind and turn over a new leaf, but in the last couple days we were there, I could tell he was trying, and that’s all I can ask from him right now.”
Even though he had been with Kreese and Cobra Kai for only a few years, Johnny was already having a hard enough time unlearning everything he was taught there, and while he recognized the similarities between Chozen’s situation and his own, he couldn’t imagine having to unlearn everything he knew his whole life and start over completely.
“I’ve learned a lot from Mr. Miyagi about forgiveness and second chances, especially in the last couple of months. I saw how easily he forgave Mr. Sato the day after the typhoon, and that really stuck with me. And just the other day, he talked to me about how happy he was to give Mr. Sato a second chance at their friendship, and I decided I wanted to try to do that too, for you and Chozen,” Daniel continued thoughtfully. “It’s great to see them now – it’s like they never spent a day, much less forty years, apart. Mr. Sato calls here a lot, at really weird hours sometimes because of the 16-hour time difference. Thankfully we don’t really get a whole lot of calls here, because the phone line is tied up for hours whenever they’re talking.”
“Well, they do have forty years’ worth of stuff to catch up on,” Johnny remarked with a soft laugh.
“I don’t understand most of what they’re saying, but I hear my name a lot,” Daniel said. “I can sometimes get a few words here and there with the limited Okinawan I picked up over the summer. Like for example, their last conversation was about Mr. Sato wanting to come visit around Christmas. I heard the word for ‘visit’ multiple times and ‘Christmas’ was in English, so I can probably count on getting kicked out of my room while he’s here.”
“That’s pretty good for only being there a couple months. I wish I could pick up languages that quickly.”
Daniel laughed softly. “Kumiko tried to teach me, but I didn’t get to practice much because she preferred to practice her English with me. She was supposed to come here with me at the end of the summer, but then she got a scholarship to a dance school in Tokyo. It’s been her lifelong dream to be a dancer, so I told her she should take the scholarship instead. It was too good an opportunity for her to pass up.”
Johnny could understand that. College was the first time he’d been able to follow his own dreams, instead of the dreams that had been chosen for him by those who never truly knew him or cared what he wanted.
“It’s only for three years, so we decided we’d see what we have between us when she’s done.” It was Daniel’s turn to stare across the yard at the koi pond. “Do I wish she came here with me? Sure. Do I miss her? Of course I do. But more than anything, I want her to be happy, and from the letters she’s sent me, I can tell she is. She’s so talented, I know she’ll do great as a professional dancer.”
Listening to Daniel speak of this other girl with such affection, Johnny wondered what happened with Ali, but didn’t want to ruin the good day they were having by asking about it. They had both agreed to put the past behind them and leave it there, but he still felt a pang of discomfort when he thought about the two of them together. As much as he wanted to ask Daniel about it to get the closure he never got from Ali, he decided it was better to just let it go.
“I hope so,” he settled on saying instead. “I’m glad she’s getting to follow her dreams, and you never know what will happen later.”
“You’re right,” Daniel agreed. “We may get back together, we may not, but we promised each other before she left that we’ll always be friends regardless, and she’ll always have a special place in my heart. By the time I see her again, she’ll be a full member of her dance company, and I’ll be a bonsai shop owner and maybe also a two-time All-Valley champion like you. All I need to do is convince Mr. Miyagi to sign off on the form.”
“If there’s one thing I learned about you last year, it’s that you won’t give up, no matter what,” Johnny said. “I don’t want you to go against your sensei’s wishes, but I think you can do it. Have you gotten to practice at all?”
“I haven’t had a lot of time, between getting the shop ready and settling into my new little room here, so I’ve been doing kata mostly to unwind at the end of the day,” Daniel replied. “Mr. Miyagi started teaching me his family’s kata when we were in Okinawa – I think being home brought him closer to his family’s traditions, and it’s such an honor that he wants to pass them on to me. Do you know any kata?”
“I’ve just started learning, actually,” Johnny said. “We never learned it in Cobra Kai, but Mike, my roommate, has been teaching me. I don’t know why Sen– uh, Kreese was so against it. I’ve found it’s helped me a lot with form and precision.”
“It helps me with focus and balance,” Daniel replied. “Mr. Miyagi says that whenever I find my life going out of focus, I just have to go back to the basics of life to find balance again. Breathe in, breathe out. Like this.”
Johnny followed Daniel’s lead, closing his eyes and taking a slow, deep breath. Pleasantly surprised by how easily he found peace and balance with just a few deep breaths, he made a mental note to introduce this technique to Eagle Fang at their next meeting.
“Once I’ve done this a few times, and find my center and my balance, I feel ready to start my kata,” Daniel said as he stood up and stretched his arms out. “I’m still learning this one, but I can show you what I’ve got, and then you can show me the one you’re learning.”
They bowed to each other with respect and Johnny did his best to follow along, his movements about half a second behind Daniel’s. He found Mr. Miyagi’s kata to be very peaceful and relaxing; it was not so much focused on form and technique as what he’d been learning from Mike, but rather balance and harmony. The tranquil atmosphere of Mr. Miyagi’s yard provided really lent itself to the slow, graceful serenity of this kata, and Johnny found himself getting lost in the routine without feeling so hard-pressed to concentrate on what came next, because the movements made sense when taken all together.
“Hey, that was really good,” Daniel said as they bowed to each other again at the end of the routine. “You did much better than I did when Mr. Miyagi first started teaching it to me. What about you, which kata are you and your friend doing?”
“Mike taught me the one he won his kata competition with, which we’re teaching the karate club now. Start with your arms crossed in front of you, like this.”
This kata had more precise, sharp movements than the one Daniel knew, but it still flowed nicely, almost like a traditional dance that Kumiko might perform. It was a bit of an adjustment for him after doing nothing but Mr. Miyagi’s kata for the past few weeks, but he quickly got into the flow of this new routine and thought to himself that once he learned this one better, he could use it as a morning kata to help him start the day off properly.
Daniel and Johnny were both so engrossed in learning kata moves and routines from each other that neither of them heard the engine of a pickup truck turn off or the gate door open.
“Ah, Daniel-san.” Mr. Miyagi stepped through the gate into the yard, carrying a large evergreen bonsai tree in both hands. “Did not realize you have guest today. Learn new kata?”
“Oh, hey, Mr. Miyagi, welcome home!” Daniel called. “Yeah, this one’s a new kata, Johnny’s been teaching me – you remember Johnny Lawrence from last year, don’t you?”
Mr. Miyagi set the bonsai down gently on the deck by the gate and made his way over to where the two boys had been practicing. “Hai, Miyagi remember. Good seeing you, Johnny-san.”
Johnny was suddenly seized with a jolt of anxiety when his eyes met Mr. Miyagi’s. This was his moment to finally thank the man who saved his life, and he wanted to make sure he did this right, not least because this was an older man and sensei who, quite frankly, scared him a little bit, especially after having seen him take out John Kreese so easily.
“Mr. Miyagi.” Johnny bowed deeply before the older man. “Thank you for saving my life last year, and for giving me another chance to do better. I want you to know that it’s because of you and what you did for me that I’m not in Cobra Kai anymore and I’m following a different path. You not only gave me my life back, I feel like I have a brand new life now thanks to you, and that means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“Very welcome, Johnny-san,” Mr. Miyagi said kindly, bowing in return. “No blame self for what happen. No such thing as bad student, only bad teacher. Is fault of teacher if student learn wrong things. With different teacher, hopefully learn better things.”
“Daniel said that was one of the first things you ever told him,” Johnny said. Even though he’d already heard it that day, hearing Mr. Miyagi say it to him directly made the message that much more powerful: Mr. Miyagi, a teacher himself, recognized just how bad a teacher Kreese had been, and because he didn’t blame Johnny any more than Daniel did for having done all the things he did under Kreese’s instruction, Johnny shouldn’t continue to blame himself, either.
Mr. Miyagi nodded sagely. “Hai. Teacher say, student do, no other choice. Failure of teacher not your fault. Very important to remember. Doing better now?”
“Yes, I am, thank you,” Johnny replied. “I’m still working on myself, but I’m taking one day at a time and hoping I end each day better than the last.”
“Good, Johnny-san. Need help, just ask. No need to go through alone.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Miyagi disappeared into the house with the large bonsai, coming back out after a few minutes to make the first of several trips back and forth to the truck to bring other smaller bonsai inside. When Daniel and Johnny offered to help, he waved them off and told them to carry on with what they were doing, claiming there weren’t that many more to bring in and that it was nothing he couldn’t handle on his own.
“Are all of those for your shop?” Johnny asked.
Daniel flopped down onto the grass and lay on his back, squinting up at the cloudless sky. “Yeah, we’re keeping the trees here until opening day. I told Mr. Miyagi, I don’t think we should bring all the trees over to the shop and leave them out when we’re not even open for business yet, so we set up a sort of makeshift greenhouse in what used to be my room before the new one got built. Best to have them here to keep an eye on them, and that way nobody breaks in and steals ‘em, you know?”
Johnny followed suit and lay down on the lawn next to Daniel. “If you need help taking stuff over before your grand opening, let me know. I’ll clear out my trunk for the trees and whatever else you need brought there.”
“Be careful, I might be asking you for help all the time now that you’ve offered,” Daniel joked.
“I don’t mind,” Johnny said. “It’s what friends do, right?”
The dojo’s shoji door slid open, filling the air with the delicious savory scent of food being prepared, and Mr. Miyagi poked his head out. “Dinner soon, Daniel-san. Johnny-san stay for dinner?”
Johnny scrambled to stand up. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly impose –”
Mr. Miyagi held a hand up, motioning for Johnny to remain seated. “Atatata. Please. Hurt old man feelings.”
Johnny flushed pink and sat back down. “Oh, I’m sorry, yes, I would love to join you for dinner. Thank you for having me.”
Mr. Miyagi gave Johnny a pleased smile. “Welcome.”
Daniel sat up quickly, unable to contain his excitement. “Ohoho. Are we having what I think we’re having?”
“Hai. Daniel-san favorite, miso ramen. Almost ready, few minute,” Mr. Miyagi said from the other side of the shoji door as he headed back inside.
“Yes!” Daniel pumped a fist in the air. “We did the preparations last night, even before we knew you’d be here, so this works out great. Kumiko and I used to go to this little family-owned hole-in-the-wall place in Naha for ramen, and that’s where I really fell in love with it. We tried all the different kinds they had there, and I loved every last one of them. It’s my new favorite thing.”
Johnny made a face in response. He’d had a lot of grocery store ramen when he was younger, when that was all he and his mother could afford to eat, and despite it being a college student favorite, especially among his floormates, he just couldn’t imagine willingly eating it anymore. “Do you mean like, those dried packets you get at the grocery store?”
“Oh, God, no,” Daniel said. “That’s not real ramen. This is real ramen. I’ve had a lot of that awful freeze-dried stuff too, and trust me, it’s nothing at all like that. It’s so different, it’s like something else entirely. With authentic Japanese ramen, everything is made from scratch, and I mean literally everything. All of the ingredients are prepared separately. Not just the veggies and meats and seasonings, but the broth, and even the noodles themselves. There’s a whole technique and everything.”
“You actually make the noodles yourselves?”
Daniel nodded. “Yeah, that’s the way to do it. There are so many different noodle types, too. All made from scratch.”
“Why do you have to make everything you put in separately?” Johnny asked. “I thought you’d just throw everything into the pot.”
Daniel leaned forward, gesticulating enthusiastically with his hands as he explained the process. “Each one has a different flavor from being prepared separately, so every ingredient brings a little something different to the meal, and when you put it all together, it’s just, like, magical. You put the toppings into the bowl in their own little place, and it looks really beautiful when it’s first served to you. Once you arrange it all in the bowl, you put these pink and white naruto fish cakes and a marinated soft-boiled egg on top. That’s to make the broth creamier and richer when you eat it. You dunk it in there and let the yolk mix in with the hot broth to cook it the rest of the way, and it’s just so good, you know? I promise you’ll love it.”
Johnny didn’t look entirely convinced. Pink fish cakes? Marinated eggs? It sounded weird, but sure, he’d try it once.
Daniel caught the funny look on Johnny’s face and grinned. “Hey, I get it. I wasn’t sure either when Kumiko first explained it to me, but once I tried it, I couldn’t get enough of it. Still can’t.”
The front door opened, and Mr. Miyagi held the door open wide. “Boys, come inside. Dinner ready. Daniel-san, show Johnny-san how put together.”
Johnny leaned on the counter and watched Daniel carefully set the chilled handmade noodles into the bottom of the bowl before ladling the broth over them. He looked on and listened with interest while Daniel laid each ingredient in its proper place, explaining each one as he went along. Having had only college cafeteria food for the past month, he had developed a newfound appreciation for home-cooked meals, even those overly elaborate dishes created by Sid’s kitchen staff, so this was a real treat for him.
“Here you go,” Daniel said, as he placed the large steaming bowl of ramen in front of Johnny with a flourish. “Dinner of All-Valley Tournament Champions. And their teachers.”
Johnny examined his bowl of soup closely, marveling at how beautiful it looked and how delicious it smelled, with all the different aromas and flavors melding together into one dish; it was unlike anything he’d ever had before. He excused himself to make a quick phone call to Mike, but once he got back, he had to sit on his hands while waiting for Mr. Miyagi and Daniel to finish arranging their own bowls, and much to his embarrassment, his stomach let out a very audible growl.
“Ah!” Mr. Miyagi chuckled. “Someone hungry.”
Johnny’s face reddened. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until we sat down.”
Daniel slid into the chair next to Johnny and set his bowl, with an extra helping of teriyaki mushrooms, down in front of him. “Buon appetito!”
“Itadakimasu,” Mr. Miyagi said, folding his hands together.
“Thank you for dinner,” Johnny said. He watched what Mr. Miyagi and Daniel did with their bowls to see what he should do, and followed their lead when they dunked their marinated egg into the broth and swirled it around, mixing all the ingredients together. When he took his first taste of the miso broth, he thought to himself that this was the best thing he’d had in a long time, and it warmed him all the way through. “This is amazing.”
“Mr. Miyagi has been teaching me how to cook all these delicious things from home, and I learned some from Yukie when I was over there, but it never comes out the same way when I make it.” Daniel waved his soup spoon around as he spoke. “After we got back, I tried making Mr. Miyagi Okinawa soba on my own as a surprise, and, well, let’s just say he told me I ought to stick to mac and cheese.”
Johnny laughed at this, and Mr. Miyagi joined in heartily. “What Miyagi say is, Daniel-san already very good at making American mac and cheese, much better to leave sōki soba to Miyagi.”
“Well, that’s not quite the same thing,” Johnny said. “I’m sure it was still delicious.”
Daniel wrinkled his nose. “No, it was pretty bad. The noodles were all wrong, but I know what to do now.”
“Hai. But flavors pretty okay for first time,” Mr. Miyagi said. “So, Johnny-san, tell us more about new path you follow now?”
“I’m in college over at CSUN. Because of my grades that I got after leaving Cobra Kai and concentrating on school, I got into their sports medicine program,” Johnny replied. “I want to take the things I’ve learned and use them for good – to help others, not hurt them.”
“He wants to do orthopedic sports medicine,” Daniel added.
“Ah, going to be doctor?”
“That’s the plan, but right now, I’m just hoping I'll pass Anatomy,” Johnny said. “This time last year, I wouldn’t have thought I’d be doing this. I thought I’d just teach karate at Cobra Kai for the rest of my life, but of course all that changed last year.”
“Sometimes you not know where life take you,” Mr. Miyagi said. “Miyagi also follow very different path from what family expect. Instead of becoming fisherman like father, Miyagi come to America, same age as you. Go to war, go to college, learn building maintenance. Miyagi never expect teach Daniel-san karate. Life full of surprises.”
“You’re telling me,” Johnny agreed. “Today alone has already been full of surprises.”
“You still practice karate?” Mr. Miyagi asked.
“Johnny and his roommate started a karate club at their school,” Daniel answered before Johnny could say anything. “They’re the student leaders and they’re teaching kata right now. When you got home, he was teaching me the one he learned from his roommate.”
Mr. Miyagi nodded in approval. “Now student become good teacher.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Johnny said. “Every time I stand up there in front of everyone at Eagle Fang, my biggest fear is that I’m going to turn out just like my old sensei, and that’s not the kind of teacher I want to be. That’s not the kind of person I want to be.”
“Because you make choice not to be like teacher, will never become like teacher.” Mr. Miyagi pointed his chopsticks at Johnny for emphasis. “You choose to follow different path, so must now look forward, never back. Karate not only what you learn from teachers, Johnny-san. Like Daniel-san karate not only Miyagi-Do, Johnny-san karate not only Cobra Kai. What you learn from teacher, from Miyagi, from others, only root karate. Because your root strong, must choose own way to grow, direction to take, path to follow. Learn from others, find own karate from within. Your karate become reflection of all you see and learn in life. Is more than just karate. Is personal expression of what inside you. Understand?”
Johnny gave the older man a solemn nod. “Yes. Yes, Mr. Miyagi, I understand.”
Mr. Miyagi smiled. “Very good. Do not let past define future. This first lesson from new teacher.”
“I’m honored,” Johnny murmured, bowing his head. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” Mr. Miyagi lowered his chopsticks down to rest on his hashioki. “Lesson over now. Daniel-san, you tell Johnny-san yet about bonsai shop?”
“Yeah, I’ve already invited him to the grand opening, and he’s bringing his mom too,” Daniel said into his glass of Minute Maid. “I’ve been trying to get the word out in the neighborhood, and I’m going to put up and give out flyers to people this week, so hopefully they won’t be the only ones who show up on Saturday.”
As dinner progressed and the three of them conversed over their bowls of ramen, Daniel couldn’t help but reflect on how much he’d learned about Johnny in one day that he didn’t learn in one year, and how similar they truly were in so many respects. They could have been friends much sooner, if only they’d allowed themselves to be. With Johnny already having acknowledged the errors of his past behavior, Daniel could now admit that he wasn’t entirely blameless in the whole situation either and could have behaved better too: he didn’t have to sucker punch Johnny after Johnny knocked him into the sand with Ali’s radio, nor did he have to keep baiting Johnny and his friends after their senseis agreed to a truce before the tournament.
“Aha, you boys,” Mr. Miyagi said merrily, waving his hand between them. “Daniel-san, Johnny-san. Different but same.”
Daniel, happy to hear Mr. Miyagi say what he’d thought earlier that afternoon, glanced at Johnny and they exchanged grins.
“If only we’d given each other a chance and behaved differently from the beginning, we could’ve figured that out a lot earlier,” Johnny said.
“But that’s okay, we’ve agreed to start over. The right way,” Daniel added.
Mr. Miyagi chuckled. “Hai. Glad to see you boys friends now.”
At the end of the meal, Johnny gathered up all the dishes and placed them all carefully into the sink, before following his hosts outside into the yard. “Thank you for dinner,” he said, bowing. “The ramen was delicious, and your home is so beautiful.”
“Niffee debiru, Johnny-san. Happy to have you. Come back again.” Mr. Miyagi bowed and headed back into the house, leaving Johnny and Daniel outside by themselves.
“He likes you, I can tell,” Daniel said. “I think he’s happy to see how much you’ve changed since the last time he saw you, and I am, too. I had a great time with you today. I wish we did stuff like this instead of fighting all the time last year.”
“Yeah, I really enjoyed this too,” Johnny agreed. “Thank you for having me over today. You were right about the ramen. I liked it a lot.”
“I’m not gonna say I told you so, but I told you so.” Daniel threw his head back and laughed, his dark eyes shining in the light of the overhead streetlamps. “But no, really, I’m glad you liked it. Thanks for coming over, I’m glad we got to talk and hang out. And hey, since you’re still in the area, if you ever want to get away from school for a little bit, you’re welcome to come over whenever. We can practice kata some more, maybe I’ll teach you some about bonsai, and one day we’ll have to have you try Mr. Miyagi’s amazing ponzu toro.”
Johnny smiled. “All of that sounds great. I’ll be sure to take you up on it sometime.”
“Good, you better. This was really fun. See you again soon, okay? Don’t be a stranger.” Daniel grinned back. “See you on Saturday at the grand opening?”
“Of course,” Johnny said. “Wouldn’t miss it. Good night, Daniel.”
Johnny waited until Daniel made it all the way back inside before starting his car and heading back to campus. The drive was much shorter without the regular daytime traffic to contend with, but it was still past 10pm when he pulled into the student parking lot. As he turned off the Avanti’s engine, he thought fondly about how his day with Daniel and Mr. Miyagi had gone. He was so grateful for Mr. Miyagi’s kindness and hospitality, and for Daniel’s forgiveness and friendship.
Mike was right. Johnny had finally done what he’d wanted to do for months, and came back having made a friend.
He smiled as he replayed the events of the day in his head while making his way back to his dorm, and right as he walked into his building, he realized with a start that he never got around to warning Daniel about Terry Silver.
Notes:
Maxim Development, Inc. is the development company named on the construction poster outside the South Seas Apartments in KK3 when Daniel and Mr. Miyagi return from Okinawa. The nature of the construction in this story has been changed from building a new condo complex on site to simply a full renovation of the existing complex (since we see 34 years later that it is still the South Seas Apartments and looks much nicer than when Daniel lived there).
Chapter Text
Terry was in the bath when the phone next to the jacuzzi rang loudly, startling him. He hated that phone, but since it was an authentic Victorian-era phone and a gift from his great-aunt, he felt obligated to keep it.
“Terrance Silver,” he said into the old-fashioned receiver, his clipped tone of voice barely concealing his irritation. The only person who ever really called him on this line, apart from his parents, was John, and after what happened – and what didn’t happen – between the two of them the other day, he was in no mood to entertain calls from his old squad mate.
“Hi, Mr. Silver – Terry,” said an unfamiliar voice on the other end.
“Who is this? How did you get this number?” Terry demanded.
“This is Mike Barnes. I met you a few days ago outside my dorm and you invited me to join your new dojo?”
Terry’s face broke out into a wide grin, his irritation evaporating. “Oh, yes, Mike! So good to hear from you. I was wondering if maybe you’d forgotten about me already.”
“Yeah, sorry it took me a couple days to get back to you.” Mike sat down at his desk with the phone and set Terry’s business card on top of the box of Oreos he’d been eating. “I just had a ton of work for class this weekend that I had to finish, but I kept your card right here to remind me to call you. It was nice meeting you last week.”
“Oh, no need to apologize. It was entirely my pleasure to have met you and spent time with you.”
“Thank you,” Mike said. “That’s actually what I’m calling about. If your offer to join your new dojo is still open, I’d like to take you up on it – that is, if you’re still interested in having me.”
“Of course I am,” Terry replied smoothly, unable to keep the self-satisfaction from coming through in his voice. “On the contrary, I was starting to think you might not be interested in me.”
Mike tilted his desk chair onto its back legs and grimaced, instantly reminded of just how weird, bordering on creepy, this guy really was, but he couldn’t let that stop him, for two major reasons: he wanted to use this new dojo as an opportunity to find out whatever information he could that might help Johnny, and he wanted to learn new techniques from these guys that he could then bring back to Johnny and their karate club. “Uh, well,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m certainly interested in learning what you have to teach.”
“Excellent!” Milos turned the tub’s jets back on, and Terry leaned back into an increasingly voluminous cloud of eucalyptus spearmint-scented bubbles. “And I’m certainly interested in teaching an eager, talented student like yourself. How does Friday afternoon work for you?”
“This Friday? You mean, like, three days from now?”
“That’s right. The sooner we get started, the better, don’t you think?” Terry didn’t wait for Mike’s response; this new development filled him with anticipation, and made him forget any resentment he had been feeling toward Kreese. Now that he had his answer from Mike, he couldn’t wait to tell his old friend that everything was a go and they could finally get things started. “We’re at 5223 Lankershim Boulevard in North Hollywood. Do you know how to get there, or shall I have someone pick you up and bring you over?”
Mike couldn’t ask Johnny for directions, because the last thing he wanted was for Johnny to know what he was doing, and he really couldn’t afford to let Johnny talk him out of this. Anyway, it wasn’t like Johnny was even around right now for him to ask; Johnny had gone out for the afternoon to apologize to some guy from high school, so Mike had taken advantage of this perfect opportunity to return Terry’s call.
“I’m still learning my way around this area,” he admitted, as he rifled through the plastic tray on his desk for his sticky notes and a pencil, “but I can look it up in the library or ask someone. You said it was 5223 –”
“No need. I’ll have my driver, Victor, come by your school to pick you up,” Terry cut in. He couldn’t risk Mike asking someone who knew that address and having them ask questions about it, especially if that someone was Johnny Lawrence. “How does 4:00 sound?”
Mike took a long look over at Johnny’s side of the room, wondering exactly how he would explain to his roommate why he would be missing their Friday afternoon lawn karate, and more importantly, why he was leaving campus by himself in the first place.
“Um,” he said slowly.
Terry’s smile immediately disappeared and he scowled. “What? Is there something more important you could be doing instead, on a Friday at four in the afternoon?”
“Well, my roommate and I like to do karate out on the lawn in the quad after class. We’ve got lots of people who come around to watch us whenever we spar with each other, and I would have to miss it if I’m going to be at your dojo. We started doing it at the beginning of the school year just for fun, but it’s sort of become a thing now, and I kinda don’t want to disappoint everyone –”
Terry narrowed his eyes. “Surely your roommate and your audience would be okay with you missing a day to look into pursuing, shall we say, a new business opportunity?” he said through his teeth.
Mike perked up when he heard those words, and he leaned forward with interest, the front legs of his desk chair landing with a loud bang on the floor under him. “A business opportunity? What kind of business opportunity?”
“Maybe if you come to the dojo on Friday afternoon at 4:00, you’ll find out what I mean by that.”
Mike frowned, his mind conflicted. On the one hand, he always looked forward to his and Johnny’s lawn karate, and their following was quickly growing. Last Friday, they were pleasantly surprised to see that some upperclassmen had brought big bags of chips and several six-packs of sodas, and it quickly turned into somewhat of an unofficial party to kick off the weekend until Residential Life staff and campus police arrived to break it up. He and Johnny spent the rest of that evening talking excitedly about making their lawn karate a new campus tradition, and possibly expanding it to include the rest of Eagle Fang once they’d had a bit more training – and he didn’t want to lose that momentum after such a huge success last week. But on the other hand, Terry was offering him what might be the chance of a lifetime with this new business opportunity.
“Alright,” he said as his gaze fell again on Terry’s business card resting atop the Oreo box. “I’ll be there.”
Terry’s wide, easy smile returned, as though nothing had happened. The wheels in his mind were already turning, thinking of everything that had to be done at the dojo now that Mike had accepted his offer. He figured three days should be just enough time for him and Kreese to get things, if not fully ready, then at least looking like they were well into that process. “Excellent! I’ll send Victor to collect you after class, let’s say around 3:45? The dojo isn’t far. Remember, we’re keeping this between us for right now, alright?”
As if Mike needed reminding that he wasn’t supposed to talk to Johnny or anyone else about this invitation, for the sake of what Terry had termed “exclusivity.” He still didn’t understand the reasoning behind it and found it strange and sketchy, but despite himself, his curiosity about the business opportunity Terry was proposing was quickly winning out.
“Right, yes, of course,” he replied.
“Good man. I’ll see you on Friday afternoon, then, Mike. I look forward to seeing you again and spending more time together.”
The line disconnected before Mike could respond, so he wordlessly replaced the phone in its cradle, his eyes still fixated on Terry’s blue business card. Sighing, he picked the card up and held it by its corners with two fingers, spinning it around idly with his other hand. He didn’t know what exactly he’d just gotten himself into, but far be it for him to pass up the chance to be part of a new business venture this early in his college career. If he took it, he would be the envy of those stuffed shirts in the business fraternity he was going to pledge – the ones with the three-piece suits and monogrammed leather briefcases who loved to hear themselves talk about how rich and successful they would be after starting their own businesses after graduation.
But more than anything, he saw Terry’s invitation as a way to help his roommate move beyond his past. In the month since they’d met and started practicing karate together, Johnny was already doing much better, but Mike knew it would take so much more than that for Johnny to fully recover. Since Terry said he and his friend were just starting out with their dojo here, they probably wouldn’t have a lot of the information Mike was looking for, but at least it was a good enough starting point.
But there was one sticking point that he simply couldn’t get past: Johnny’s advice about not getting into Valley karate if at all possible. He’d been really adamant about it, more so than Mike ever expected someone could be about something like that – and Mike had heard enough over the past month to know that whatever happened to Johnny stemmed from his involvement in Valley karate. But how else was he supposed to do this? He believed he had a strong enough constitution to withstand whatever he was being warned against, as long as he always bore in mind that he was doing all of this for Johnny. If he thought of it that way, there was really only one path forward – so why not go for it?
Because Johnny told you not to, that’s why, dumbass, he admonished himself. Do you want whatever happened to him to happen to you too?
Of course not, another part of his mind answered back. Forget this shit, it’s not worth it. Call the weird sweaty kata guy back to tell him you changed your mind.
And what, give up that business opportunity he’s offering?
Mike quickly lost track of time as he sat there at his desk, arguing back and forth with himself over this and getting lost in a maze of thoughts about Terry and Johnny and Valley karate, when the phone, still on the desk, rang suddenly. He jumped in his seat, lunging for the receiver and gripping it tightly with both hands.
“Hello,” he gasped.
“Hey, Mike, you okay?” Johnny’s concerned voice came through, loud and clear, from the other end. “Did I wake you up?”
“Yeah. I mean no. I mean yeah,” Mike replied, taking a calming breath and relaxing his grip on the handset.
“… Dude, seriously, are you alright? What’s going on over there?”
“Fuck.” Mike exhaled deeply and cleared his throat. “Sorry, man. Yeah, I’m fine, everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” Johnny asked, frowning in concern.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure, totally fine,” Mike said unconvincingly. “I was, uh, you know, just sitting here thinking about a bunch of shit, and then the phone rang right next to me and freaked me out. Where are you? Did you find that dude you were looking for?”
Johnny sighed at the sudden change of subject, but he wasn’t about to ask any more questions, since Mike clearly didn’t want to talk about it. It was the least he could do, after all the times Mike didn’t pry whenever Cobra Kai came up in their conversations. “Daniel? Yeah, he’s in the other room. Took a while, but I finally found him at his sensei’s house, and we’ve been talking all afternoon. He and his sensei have invited me to stay for dinner, so you guys go ahead and get dinner without me, okay?”
“He accepted your apology, huh?”
Johnny peered into the kitchen at Daniel and Mr. Miyagi, who were leaning over the large steaming pot of miso ramen and talking animatedly to each other, and he smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”
Even though his face still felt stiff and tense and it felt weird to move any part of it, Mike still managed a grin at hearing this. “Told you. Everything good between you now?”
“I think so. So far so good, but we’ll see how this dinner goes.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Sucks that you’re missing out on cheesesteak night tonight, though.”
Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “Nah, it’s alright, there’ll be other cheesesteak nights at the cafeteria. We’re having ramen.”
Mike snorted. “What? You don’t even like ramen. You never eat any whenever Andy makes it.”
“No, and that’s because he makes grocery store ramen, which is awful, and then he dumps out the broth before eating it, which is weird. Mr. Miyagi, Daniel’s sensei, is from Okinawa, so this is the real deal. Daniel told me it’s all made from scratch.”
“Well, shit,” Mike said. “A home-cooked meal? I’m fucking jealous, man.”
“As you should be. I kinda had my doubts at first, but Daniel told me all about how it’s made, and showed me how to put the ingredients together in the bowl, and I’ve warmed up to the idea. Mike, I’m not kidding, the way you’re really supposed to make ramen – there’s so much more to it than Andy’s awful shit. This stuff looks and smells so good.”
Mike blew a raspberry into the phone. “Rub it in, why don’t you.”
“Hey, you’re getting cheesesteaks, don’t complain.” Glancing over his shoulder into the kitchen again, Johnny saw Daniel carefully bringing the remaining ramen bowls to the table one at a time; Johnny’s own bowl, which Daniel had put together for him, was already set down at his place. “Okay, I gotta go, we’re about to eat. See you later tonight.”
Mike reached for Terry’s card again after he hung up the phone, and stared hard at it without really seeing it. Guilt washed over him, as though Johnny had just caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. And maybe he wasn’t, but he couldn’t think of any other way to do it. He felt bad for going behind Johnny’s back like this and ignoring his warnings, but if he used this opportunity to get his first real business experience as well as find the information he needed to help Johnny with his personal struggles, and helped Terry and his friend get their new dojo off the ground, he’d call that a huge success all around.
He tugged the top drawer of his desk open and tucked the business card all the way in the back, out of sight. Telling himself that both he and Johnny would be all the better off if this arrangement ended up working out still didn’t lessen the guilt he felt about keeping secrets like this. How the hell was he going to explain to Johnny, even if he used the vaguest terms possible, why he’d have to miss Friday’s lawn karate?
~ * ~
Kreese pulled the door to his apartment shut with a sharp twist of the knob. Sometime in the past few months, at least since he stopped teaching, the door had become misaligned with the door frame, and it now took a lot more effort for him to open and close it, and he couldn’t even lock it without pulling the entire door up by the knob since the locks no longer lined up properly. He never bothered to fix it or ask Terry to send someone over to do it for him; instead, he just stopped locking that upstairs door, since nobody except him came into the building anymore anyway.
He dragged his shoulder along the wall as he descended the dark, narrow stairs to the first floor, and with a swift upward motion, flipped the switch at the foot of the stairwell. Light flooded the hall and vestibule, and the single overhead light fixture that was still working glared harshly off the glass over his U.S. Army 1970-72 Karate Champion photo that he still kept in pride of place on the wall outside the sensei office. Closing his eyes with a heavy sigh, he turned away from the photo in disappointment when he rounded the corner from the stairway to find nothing but a silent, empty dojo yet again.
Once upon a time, the very act of turning the lights on in the dojo each day exhilarated and energized him, but now, gazing over the mess of what was once a meticulously kept space, he just felt tired. Even though it had been over nine months now since he’d had any students, a small part of him still hoped – expected, even – to see a class full of eager students awaiting his every command every time he came downstairs, but his hopes and expectations were dashed every time.
Kreese wandered into the main dojo and kicked at one of the sparring flags on the floor with a huff. He knew he was spending far more time reliving his glory days as the head of the best dojo in the Valley than he should or cared to admit, but it had been his entire life for the past ten years, and he wanted it back. Without it, he felt like the world was passing him by, and he, along with Cobra Kai, would soon be nothing more than a distant memory.
The dojo was once so bright, vibrant, and alive, a far cry from the empty, derelict space he was now met with. Dust particles hung heavy in the air and clouded the mirrors along the far wall. One corner of the All-Valley Tournament poster taped to the wall next to the room’s entryway had come unfastened and hung down, obscuring much of the brightly colored graphic promoting the Under-18 All-Valley Karate Championship on December 19, 1984.
December 19, 1984: a date which will live in infamy, Kreese thought darkly to himself as he glared daggers at the tournament poster he was once so proud to display on his dojo’s wall.
Seizing hold of the loose corner of the poster, he savagely ripped it off the wall with an angry shout, tearing it in half. With his other hand, he pulled down whatever remained of the poster, balled it up in his fist, and threw it onto the floor and ground it into the carpet with his heel.
It didn’t make him feel as good as he thought it would.
The phone in the sensei office rang and Kreese ground his teeth together. He’d never noticed it before, because he always had more important things to think about, but the shrill electronic ring of this phone, combined with the clanging of the older extension upstairs in his apartment, sounded so dissonant together, like fingernails on a chalkboard, and it really grated on him now and made his already bad mood even worse. He decided that if it was the All-Valley Committee calling yet again about dues or registration or some other bullshit, he was just going to hang up on them without saying a thing.
Kreese sat down behind his desk, piled high with unpaid bills and neglected paperwork, and glowered at the phone as it continued to ring. From where he sat, he could clearly see, through the office window, the life-size black-and-white cardboard cutout of himself that Terry had gotten made for the dojo when they were first starting out, and he scowled. Standing in fighting position, in what was then a brand-new Cobra Kai sensei’s gi, he looked ready to take on the world and everyone in it.
How far they’d come since then, and yet, it seemed, not far enough.
“Kreese,” he barked sharply into the phone’s receiver, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.
“Johnny!” After the conversation he had with Mike, Terry could barely contain his enthusiasm. This exciting new development all but made him forget that incident between them the other day.
“What is it now, Terry?”
Clearly, John was in one of his moods again, but his testy tone of voice did nothing to dampen Terry’s high spirits. Terry wanted to cheer him up enough for them to properly celebrate, instead of letting him spend the day moping around in the empty dojo again, like he so often did these days. “Meet me in the dojo in an hour. It’s party time.”
“I’m already downstairs,” Kreese replied shortly. “What are we celebrating?”
“Our triumphant return,” Terry declared, throwing the arm not holding the cordless handset out in a dramatic flourish.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Terry shrugged his long black silk robe off, dropping it in a dark pool in the middle of the Louis XV Savonnerie carpet in his dressing room, and sauntered, stark naked, into the first of a series of interconnected expansive walk-in closets. “Remember that kid I told you about the other day, Mike Barnes?”
Kreese’s nose wrinkled in a sneer. “Who the fuck is that?”
“The Sacramento champion, Johnny Lawrence’s college roommate, remember? I just had a call from him.”
The tension in Kreese’s jaw lessened ever so slightly upon hearing this. Normally, a simple phone call was nothing to be celebrated, but given the nature of this call, even he couldn’t say this wasn’t progress. His desired end of a reborn Cobra Kai was, of course, still miles away, but after all, a journey of a thousand miles always began with a single step. “Yeah, so?”
“So, this means we can finally get started. He’s interested in taking me up on my offer to train with us, and that means that before he arrives, we’ve got lots of work to do.” Terry held the phone in place between his head and shoulder as he leafed through a cedar-scented drawer full of mulberry silk boxer shorts in a vast assortment of patterns and colors. “We have three days to get the dojo looking like we haven’t been around for ten years and just took the place over from someone else, and are only just starting to get things ready for business.”
Kreese let out a humorless laugh. “Is that what you told him?”
Terry pulled a freshly dry-cleaned pair of rich, coppery brown textured silk boxer shorts from the drawer, and tossed them onto the oversized velvet brocade ottoman behind him. “It’s a good cover story, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t mention anything about Cobra Kai?”
Terry sat down on the edge of the ottoman. “No. I thought we agreed not to use that name again until later, when we’re ready.”
“Excellent. So he’s really coming to the dojo?”
“Friday at 4:00. I’m sending Victor out to pick him up and bring him over.”
One corner of Kreese’s lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. “It’ll be good to get back to teaching again. This boy of yours better not disappoint me, not like my last one did.”
“He won’t,” Terry said. “I told you before, I think you’ll be pleased with this one. I watched him over the course of several days, and every time, I was impressed with what I saw. I could tell almost immediately that he’s a winner, real Cobra Kai material. He’ll be the one to put Cobra Kai back on top.”
Kreese smiled his first real smile of the day. “Now, I like the sound of that. But I want us to do this together this time around. I need you, Terry. I’ve always needed you.”
Terry’s body warmed all over and he inhaled softly through parted lips. “I’m the boss now, Johnny. I can do more of what I want with my time these days, and that means I’ll be here for whatever you need. There’s so much I want us to do together.”
“Do you remember how we ‘christened’ the dojo, right before our very first class?” Kreese asked, his voice soft with fond remembrance. “You wanted us to start the dojo off right, with a ‘proper christening,’ or so you said. You were so insistent on it.”
“Anything worth doing is worth doing right,” Terry said. “It’s tradition. And I wanted to do it right, for both of us.”
“So you remember that in this very office, ten minutes before that class started, you laid me down on the sofa in here and gave me the best blowjob of my life?”
Terry chuckled. “Yes, of course I remember. I don’t think you’ve come that hard on my face, before or since. That’s not something I’ll forget anytime soon.” He leaned back into the soft pile of large, tasseled pillows artfully arranged in the middle of the ottoman, carelessly knocking a couple of them to the floor. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to stay quiet since the kids were already outside waiting for class to begin.”
“Mmm, I’m sure it was hard for you. It was hard for me, too – no pun intended, of course.” Kreese got up from behind the desk and began to wander around the small room as they spoke. “The only thing that would’ve made it better than it already was, was hearing you scream the way you do.”
“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m loud. I would’ve thought you were used to that by now.”
“I am,” Kreese said. “And I like it. I like it when you’re loud for me. I like hearing you scream around my cock as you come, the way your mouth moves around me when you do …”
“You’re the only one who makes me scream like that,” Terry murmured, his free hand inching downward. “God, Johnny, I’m already so hard. You have no idea what you do to me.”
Kreese chuckled softly and lay down on that very same office sofa, sliding his hand under the waistband of his pants. The intoxicating sense of power he got from seeing just how easily he could control Terry, even with the slightest bit of dirty talk, excited him. “Doesn’t take much, does it?”
“It never did. You know that.” Terry sank deeper into the ottoman’s pillows and parted his legs slightly, a groan of pleasure escaping his lips as he took himself in hand.
“I heard that,” Kreese said with a half-smile. “Are you touching yourself?”
“Mm-hmm,” Terry replied, drawing in an uneven breath.
“Are you imagining it’s me touching you?”
Terry’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Always.”
Kreese’s smile widened as his hand closed around his cock, which swelled in his hand from the memory of the soft warmth of Terry’s mouth on him. “Well, imagine me rubbing our cocks together. You and me, in my hand, pressed against each other. You like that, don’t you?”
On the other end of the line, Terry let out a strangled moan, imagining John’s hand around him instead. “So much. I like it so much, Johnny.”
The delicious noises Terry was making heightened Kreese’s pleasure even more, and he languidly thumbed at the bead of precome that had formed on the head of his cock. “Yes, that’s right, Twig, let me hear you. You know how much I like hearing you.”
Terry groaned softly into the receiver and let his mind drift: he’d dreamed of this for years – he and John, enjoying each other and their pleasure, together. Words were momentarily lost to him as he imagined himself intimately pressed against John, and he sighed audibly and let his pleasure take over.
Kreese shut his eyes, leaned back into the worn sofa cushion with a soft contented noise, and began to stroke himself, allowing his mind to go back ten years on this very sofa, visualizing Terry on his knees before him, his black sensei’s gi carelessly undone and his hand on his own cock while Kreese pumped his cock between Terry’s lush, pink lips and brought them both swiftly to completion.
“I’m here for you now,” Terry said, his voice trembling. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”
“Just imagine my cock next to yours. Can you feel me? Can you feel how much I need you?”
Terry’s grip tightened around his cock and his strokes grew faster. “Mmm, yeah, I can feel it. I need you too, Johnny.”
“That’s my good boy.” Kreese’s strokes remained unhurried and his touch soft and light, the way he knew Terry’s mouth felt on him. “Do you know what else I want right now?”
“Tell me,” Terry said, arching his back against the ottoman’s lush pillows. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want Cobra Kai to be the best dojo in the Valley again,” Kreese said. “To be on top.”
“Unh,” Terry grunted into the receiver. “On top.”
“I want to be on top again, Terry. Do you think you can do that for me?”
Terry squeezed his eyes shut, picturing John on top of him, their bodies pressed tightly together, and instantly, a spurt of precome dribbled through his fingers. “Yes, yes, you’ll be on top.”
“God, you sound so good right now,” Kreese said softly as his cock twitched in his palm. “Say it for me: Cobra Kai –”
“Cobra Kai,” Terry panted. “Cobra Kai –”
“Say it, Terry,” Kreese commanded, slowing his movements to a stop; Terry always responded to that tone of voice so well. “I want to hear you say it. Cobra Kai – say it –”
“Never dies!” Terry moaned.
“Good. That’s just what I want to hear,” Kreese rasped out, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Now, hurry up and get yourself over here; I want us to finish this the right way. Don’t keep me waiting any longer than you absolutely need to.”
Terry didn’t need to be told twice. Without another word, he hung up and tossed the phone handset onto the ottoman, hurried to clean himself off and get dressed, and was ready to go within minutes.
~ * ~
Terry pulled his Rolls-Royce convertible into the small parking lot adjacent to the dojo. Before he left the house, he’d had Margaret call into the office to say that he’d be out for the day ‘on personal business.’ If word got back to his father, which it invariably did, Terry would just say he was working on a business investment. It was technically true: Cobra Kai was still Terry’s business investment, just not the type his father approved of. Anyway, the man everyone at Dynatox called “The Tycoon” didn’t have to know everything about what Terry was doing. His father would find a way to find fault with him no matter what he did, so he decided to put it out of his mind and devote his full attention to the task at hand.
From across the parking lot, he spotted Kreese through the building’s large plate glass windows: clad in a standard-issue white Cobra Kai practice gi, he stood tall in the middle of the main dojo space, hands on hips, like a master surveying his domain. Terry shivered and licked his lips, and he hurried to make his way inside.
As he pushed the dojo’s front door open, he noted that the doorbell sounded as old and tired as the dojo looked: the entire place looked even worse for wear than the last time he saw it.
Kreese spun around as soon as Terry’s reflection appeared in the dojo’s mirror, and he picked up the practice gi he’d slung over the back of a folding chair along the wall, tossing it to Terry, who handily caught it.
“Well, that has to be some kind of record,” Kreese quipped. “Twenty minutes? I’m impressed.”
“What can I say?” Terry said. “I aim to please. What’s this for?”
“Spar with me, for old time’s sake,” Kreese said. “It’ll be our dojo’s last hurrah – the dojo we created together.”
“It’s still our dojo, Johnny. That will never change.” Terry tossed his leather jacket and the practice gi onto the student storage shelves next to the row of trophies that were displayed on top, and a cloud of dust flurried up into the already hazy air above them. “Because Cobra Kai – say it –”
“Never dies,” Kreese finished, his serious expression replaced momentarily with a meaningful smirk. “Come here, you.”
“Mmm,” Terry hummed, as Kreese pulled him close by his belt loops. “I got here as quickly as I could.”
“I know you did,” Kreese said into the hollow of Terry’s neck. “You always come so quickly for me.”
Terry pulled away, lips pursed in a petulant frown. “Not this time.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Kreese said. “Patience, Twig. Good things come to –”
“—those who wait,” Terry finished, still pouting. “You keep saying that.”
“You’ll see what I mean in time,” Kreese said, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Spar with me, first.”
Terry turned around, tugging hard at the strings of the blinds for the windows facing out to Lankershim Boulevard, which sent the blinds plummeting down with a loud whoosh. He threw a glance over his shoulder when the blinds came to rest on the low windowsill, very conscious of Kreese’s eyes on him. Sliding his feet out of his suede loafers, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pants and let them drift to the floor of the now dim, shaded dojo, not caring one bit if the silhouette of his impressive physique was visible from behind the drawn blinds in the midafternoon sun. In fact, it gave him a thrill to think that people out there on the corner of Magnolia and Lankershim were enjoying the show.
Looking Terry up and down appraisingly, Kreese had to appreciate just how much the other man had changed over the years they’d known each other. Terry had been barely Kreese’s height and half his size when they first met all those years ago, but while they were in Vietnam, as if overnight, he shot up half a foot and everything on his skinny frame filled out nicely. Very nicely, from what Kreese could see now. He took in the fine definition of Terry’s arms, his rippling back muscles, trim waist, and tight ass, and unconsciously licked his lips. Certainly, Terry was no longer the Twig he first met at basic training, the weedy kid who, despite looking much younger than his seventeen years, insisted that everyone call him Terrance. Now, his full name fit him like a glove, but even so, he would always be ‘Terry’ to Kreese.
Kreese’s eyes lingered on the impressive package Terry was sporting under the rich burnished brown silk of his boxer shorts, and he immediately knew Terry had worn them today just for him – that particular shade of brown was his favorite color. It also did not escape his notice that Terry hadn’t yet fully recovered from their earlier conversation, and his cock jumped under his gi pants at the sight.
Terry padded across the room to retrieve the practice gi from the shelf where he’d left it, and smiled to himself when he noticed Kreese watching him, raw desire burning in his eyes. His smile grew wider when he heard soft footsteps behind him and felt a warm mouth close over his shoulder.
Kreese sucked gently on Terry’s shoulder, grazing his teeth over the smooth skin. He slid his hand up Terry’s right side, coming to rest over the cobra tattoo on Terry’s ribcage, and gently massaged it with his fingertips.
Terry leaned back, covering Kreese’s hand with his own. Dropping the gi pants he was holding to the floor next to him, he spun around to face Kreese and their lips immediately met in a kiss. With a contented sigh, his eyes fluttered shut and he allowed himself to melt into the kiss. He always looked forward to these special intimate moments with John, as few and far between as they were. Especially after their earlier conversation, he knew he’d be well rewarded today, and he would savor every moment of it for everything it was worth.
John’s unshaven face was rough, but Terry didn’t care. He gently sucked on Kreese’s bottom lip and breathed in his distinctive scent of drugstore soap, sweat, and musk, an altogether familiar scent that had not changed in the years since their lips first met like this.
Kreese ran the tip of his tongue against the seam of Terry’s lips. He smiled as Terry’s mouth immediately opened for him, letting his hand wander down from Terry’s cobra tattoo to his hip and then to his ass, pulling him closer so their hips were flush against each other. “Are you ready to spar with me now?”
“No,” Terry said, kissing Kreese again, deeper this time.
Kreese chuckled softly. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you?”
“No,” Terry repeated. “Why, should I?”
Kreese allowed Terry one more long kiss before reaching down to disengage Terry’s hands from his waist, and jerked his chin at the practice gi on the shelf behind them. “No, of course not. If you’re a good boy for me today, you may very well get more later. Get dressed and let’s go.”
The fabric of the practice gi was scratchy and stiff and nothing like the luxurious silk gi Terry had at home. He thought to himself, as he tied the drawstring of the too-short pants and fastened the overly long belt around his waist, that he would just as soon fight John in just his boxer shorts than subject himself to this level of discomfort. It would certainly make things easier for them both in the end, he thought, if he had less clothing to deal with. He would much rather skip to the end and get his promised satisfaction instead of having to go through this ritual first, but on the other hand, he knew from years of past experience that their sparring sessions almost always led to something more, and Terry was determined that today be no exception.
He knew that look of detached determination on Kreese’s face all too well; he’d seen it many times over the years before every fight, whether on the mat or on the battlefield. This time, however, it was mixed with something else: there was a spark of heat in that otherwise cold, critical, and calculating stare he knew so well, just waiting to be ignited.
From across the mat, Kreese watched Terry closely as he tightened the black belt around his lean waist, which set it off very nicely. The two of them hadn’t had a proper spar in years; between Kreese’s teaching schedule and Terry’s business commitments, the last time they had a chance to properly face off against each other was in Korea, five years ago, under Master Kim’s watchful eye. This time, here in the dojo they’d built together, there would be no distractions, least of all in the form of a small girl with a big crush.
Squaring off in the middle of the mat, they bowed to each other, two tightly coiled cobras primed to strike. No sooner had they straightened up than they both immediately sprang into action, their moves at once fluid and forceful. They circled around each other in an intricate dance of punches, kicks, and blocks. While they both had the same foundations, from Captain Turner and Master Kim, Kreese had taken their teachings to heart far more than Terry had, and favored more straightforward martial techniques; Kreese was as forceful as Terry was graceful, and as aggressive as Terry was cerebral, and as much as Kreese might disapprove, Terry’s mastery of kata was what set his style apart.
Terry loved sparring, especially with Kreese; nobody among his cadre of personal trainers could keep up with him the way John could, and even though it had been some time since they last did this, he knew they were just as well matched as Johnny Lawrence and Mike Barnes were to each other. John had had the benefit of years of regular training and exposure to karate while Terry was off at college or working at his family’s business, but Terry had his personal trainers to keep him fit and ready for a time like this. Most of all, though, he luxuriated in the physical contact sparring afforded him, which only served to heighten the simmering tensions between them even more.
As they fought, Kreese had to admit that he hadn’t expected Terry to have become quite this good; years ago, when they were still practicing and learning together regularly, he could defeat Terry easily, nine times out of ten. With Terry’s work commitments leaving him less time to practice, Kreese was sure his continued proximity to karate would have given him the upper hand, but seeing how Terry was deftly matching his every move and even getting some hits of his own in, he was forced to admit to himself that Terry had indeed improved significantly since the last time they faced off.
In addition to teaching, Kreese had made sure to keep up with his own karate and spent every spare moment outside of classes honing his craft. Living upstairs from the dojo and all its equipment ensured that he could practice at any time, even in the middle of the night. In the months since his students abandoned him, he had far more time to himself to practice and sharpen his skills when he wasn’t busy seething over everything he’d lost.
Energized by this chance to spar against a worthy opponent, something he hadn’t done in in too long, Kreese threw a high spinning kick, which Terry effortlessly dodged and answered with a fluid sweep, knocking Kreese to the ground; Kreese immediately sprang back up onto his feet and landed a punch on Terry’s side. Terry grunted softly but rallied, light on his feet and color high in his cheeks, responding with a roundhouse kick that sailed over Kreese’s head.
Grabbing Terry’s bare lower arm to hold him in place for a precise hit, Kreese readied himself for a laser-focused hit to the stomach. Terry gasped as a knot of something formed in his stomach at the heat of their skin-to-skin contact, and his eyes went unfocused for a split second.
Taking advantage of Terry’s momentary distraction, Kreese easily swept Terry’s leg, causing Terry to land flat on his back, staring dazedly up at the ceiling, until Kreese’s smirking face came into view. “Point. Winner.”
“I almost had you, Johnny,” Terry said breathlessly.
Kreese knelt over Terry, his arm raised for a finishing move, but instead of the hit Terry was expecting, he slowly lowered his fist and twined his arm around Terry’s slender waist. “Not this time.”
“One day I’ll have you,” Terry said. “Just you wait.”
“We’ll see about that,” Kreese replied, tightening his hold and leaning down for a kiss.
Terry’s mouth opened eagerly and readily under Kreese’s, and he swirled his tongue languidly against Kreese's. They both moaned in unison as they savored the taste of each other, pressing the lengths of their bodies tightly together.
Kreese broke the kiss and breathed in the sharp, herbal scent of Terry’s expensive body wash as he licked a broad stripe across Terry’s throat. With one knee, he parted Terry’s legs and settled between them. “How good you’re being for me today, Twig,” he purred against Terry’s smooth cheek. “So very good.”
“I can be even better, if you want me to be,” Terry said, darting his tongue out to lick at Kreese’s earlobe, gasping softly when the hard line of John’s cock lined up against his own. Instinctively, he thrust his hips upward, his cock straining under his gi pants.
“I can feel you,” Kreese said, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
Terry knew Kreese already knew the answer to that question, so he said nothing; instead, by way of response, he spread his legs wider and angled his hips higher to try to align Kreese’s cock with his clothed ass.
Feeling Terry’s muscles contract against him, Kreese smirked, thrilled at how eager and responsive and needy his little Twig – well, clearly not so little now – was being. “Say please.”
“Please. Give it to me, Johnny, please.”
With a knowing grin, Kreese retracted his hips so that they were still touching, but only just. “How much do you want me? Tell me.”
Terry cupped Kreese’s ass with both hands and pulled him back down. “So much. I want it right here.”
“Do you need me?”
Terry laughed softly. “Oh, you know I do.”
Kreese settled his body between Terry’s legs again. “As much as I need you?”
“Always.”
Their lips met again hungrily, their legs tangled together and their cocks straining to be let out. Kreese gently pulled Terry’s gi top open, sliding his hand underneath the stiff fabric to tease Terry’s nipples.
Terry shivered and gasped softly against Kreese’s rough cheek as he leaned into the other man’s touch. His hips jerked involuntarily when Kreese took one of his nipples, and then the other, and rolled them between two fingers. John was teasing him again, and his breath hitched when Kreese captured his mouth in another deep kiss. Their kisses grew more heated and frantic, as their hands roamed freely over each other’s bodies.
Kreese released Terry’s bottom lip from between his teeth, kissing and licking in turns down his jaw and torso. Drawing Terry’s gi top to the side, he let his mouth linger over the cobra tattoo on Terry’s side that matched his own, sucking gently on the cobra’s head and humming softly against Terry’s skin. Rolling over onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow, he planted a trail of kisses across Terry’s chest as he lightly drew his free hand over the visible tent in Terry’s pants.
Moving further downward, Kreese took the drawstring of Terry’s pants between his teeth and nosed at Terry’s abdomen, inhaling his scent deeply. “Do you want to know what I’ve been thinking?”
Terry’s hips bucked in response, and a soft moan escaped from his lips. His heart began to race in anticipation, and he reached down to run his fingers gently through Kreese’s hair, his mind running wild with possibilities. “What?”
Kreese slid his torso over Terry’s, bracing himself over the other man again, and kissed him hard. “I think we should have a rededication ceremony before we open our doors to students again.” He ran his hand down the length of Terry’s ponytail and wound the end around his pinky finger. “A ‘rechristening,’ if you will.”
“Why wait?” Terry asked, pulling Kreese down for another open-mouthed kiss.
Kreese brushed his tongue, slow and teasing, against Terry’s, but quickly broke the kiss and propped himself up on one elbow, idly rubbing Terry’s hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Because we still have a lot of work to do before we can get to that point, and the sooner we get started, the sooner we can have that rechristening.”
Terry looked up at Kreese, eyes wide and hopeful. “Just like last time?”
“Just like last time,” Kreese said with a fond smile. “So, how about you start by telling me more about this kid we’re going to be training, so I know how low to set my expectations.”
“How high, you mean.” Terry nudged the inside of Kreese’s wrist gently with the tip of his nose and shifted his hips to adjust so he was pressed up against Kreese’s thigh again. While he couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed that things hadn’t gotten farther this time, Kreese did have a point: the sooner they got things done, the more time they had to enjoy each other. “Mike Barnes possesses a breadth of natural talent that I have no doubt will meet your exacting standards. I’m not talking on the level of you or me, mind, but I watched him work through a complicated kata last week like it was nothing. I’m telling you, he’s exactly what we need right now.”
Kreese’s lips twisted into a frown. “What the hell, you didn’t tell me he was a fucking ballerina. I don’t want that dance shit anywhere near my dojo.”
“Johnny, I know you’ve never taken much stock in kata –”
“You’re damn right I haven’t,” Kreese interrupted. “I’ll never understand why you insist on doing it. I keep telling you, it’s a waste of time and serves no purpose.”
“—but this kid’s form is unreal because of it. It’ll show through in his fighting style; he’s a proven champion. I’ve told you this already, but I think you’ll really like him.”
Kreese rolled his eyes and let go of Terry’s ponytail as he pushed himself upright. “Fine, if you say so. What else do I need to know about your Mr. Barnes?”
Terry propped himself up into a semi-inclined position with both elbows and tugged at the hem of his gi to readjust it. “He’s not from around here, so I don’t expect him to know anything about Valley karate or what happened to us last year. We can use that to our advantage.”
“A clean slate.” Kreese stood up and offered his hand to Terry to help him up. “Excellent. I can work with that.”
Terry stood up and, not letting go of Kreese’s hand, tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “It’s obvious to me that he’s been learning from his roommate, so you could say he has some Cobra Kai in him already. If he can learn Cobra Kai techniques this quickly from the likes of Johnny Lawrence, imagine how easily he’ll learn from you.”
Arm in arm, they made their way around the dojo, in turns reminiscing about Cobra Kai’s heyday, and pointing things out that needed to be taken down and changed. They were in full agreement about removing everything pertaining to Johnny Lawrence, as well as the trophies presented by the All-Valley Committee to Cobra Kai in both the years Johnny won, which were inscribed with both his and Cobra Kai’s names, but some of the other things displayed throughout the dojo were a different story entirely.
Stopping in front of the sensei office, Terry carefully slipped his hand behind Kreese’s U.S. Army 1970-72 Karate Champion photograph and began to lift it off the wall.
“No,” Kreese said firmly, holding Terry’s wrist in place to stop him from moving the picture any further.
“Yes,” Terry replied, just as insistently.
“Why, what’s wrong with it? Why can’t we keep it there? It’s been in that same place for ten years.”
Terry wrenched his arm free of Kreese’s tight grip, while still managing to keep a firm hold on the corner of the framed photograph. “For exactly that reason: because it’s so obviously been in that same place for ten years. How are we going to explain that away if we’re only supposed to have just moved in?”
“Mr. Barnes doesn’t have to know that, does he?” Kreese argued, eyes narrowed.
“Maybe he doesn’t,” Terry said, shrugging, “but his family has a military background, and the second he sees it, he’ll figure out pretty quickly that ‘U.S. Army Karate Champion’ is just something we made up to give you credibility as a sensei. And we can’t have that, can we?”
Kreese snatched his other hand back from the crook of Terry’s arm and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, frowning deeply. “No,” he said sullenly. “No, I suppose we can’t. I’ll let you have this one, Terry, but just know I’m not happy about it.”
“I’ll keep it safe at home,” Terry said.
Kreese grunted reluctantly in acknowledgment. “It’s really a damn shame we have to take it down; I’m very fond of that picture you took of me.”
“It’s a good picture; I’m not surprised you kept it up this whole time,” Terry said, preening. “Don’t worry; it’ll be safe and sound in my house. If it really means that much to you, we’ll put it back up once Cobra Kai is back in business.”
“Fine. But I’m keeping the standee here.”
“You’re wearing a Cobra Kai gi in it, John,” Terry pointed out. “If you’re going to keep it here, make sure it stays in the sensei office where Mike can’t see it. Otherwise, take it upstairs to your apartment, or I’ll bring it home with me and keep it with everything else.”
If Terry was so insistent on taking the Army Karate Champion photo down, Kreese was just as determined to hold onto the standee of himself and keep it in the building – whatever it took to keep at least something of the original Cobra Kai, his Cobra Kai, in place. If that meant having to keep his likeness in a corner of the sensei office and live under its intense stare for the next three months, reminding him every day of everything he’d lost, he’d grit his teeth and deal with it.
Alternatively, he thought, it would serve his motivation to waste no more time in exacting his swift and merciless revenge on everyone who deserved it. That, he could accept.
“Okay, I’ll keep it in the office,” he conceded, looking away so he didn’t have to watch the picture get taken down.
Terry glanced over at Kreese and, seeing the dejected look on his face, let go of the frame and left it on the wall for the time being. “Alright, let’s see. These trophies will have to go, too. The tournament photos can stay up as long as our logo isn’t in them. Nothing that says ‘Cobra Kai’ on it can be visible once Mike is here.”
“No,” Kreese said stubbornly. “Go ahead and take the ones from ’82 and ’83, but the rest stay here.”
“They can’t.”
“I’m not letting you pack the All-Valley trophies up and take them home with you, Terry. They don’t belong in a basement, not even yours. They belong here, in the dojo that won them.”
“Be sure they stay in the office too, then,” Terry said. “Keep them in there along with your precious standee. If you want to put something out to replace them, use the ones we got from the Southern California open invitationals back in ’76 and that competition we did with Master Kim in ’80. Anything will do, so long as they don’t have ‘Cobra Kai’ engraved on them. Same thing with everything else in the dojo proper. We’ll have to take the branding in the windows down as well.”
Kreese scowled, hating the thought that the Cobra Kai he created and built up was about to be packed away into boxes and consigned to the cold, cavernous dark of Terry’s basement.
“It’s only for now, Johnny,” Terry reassured him. “Everything will go back in its proper place when this is all over. Provided, of course, that everything goes according to plan.”
“Make sure it does,” Kreese replied gloomily.
Terry cupped Kreese’s face in both hands and rested their foreheads together. “I’ll do everything in my power.”
Kreese eyed Terry through long, curling, golden-brown lashes. “Promise me,” he insisted.
Terry sighed. “I’ll do everything in my power,” he repeated.
“Good,” Kreese said, leaning forward and pressed his lips to Terry’s, closing the space between them. “Now, shall we get started?”
“Well, there’s just one more thing, and we’ll be good to go,” Terry whispered between kisses.
Kreese abruptly pulled back, frowning. “What is it? I thought we’d discussed everything already.”
Without a word, Terry turned on his heel and strode purposefully out of the building, Kreese in tow. He’d barely made it out the front door and onto the busy sidewalk when he spun back around and pointed to something above Kreese’s head. “That. We’ve got to do something about that.”
Kreese squinted over his shoulder at what Terry was pointing at. “What are you talking about? You can’t possibly mean –”
“The dojo sign, yes.”
Kreese’s eyebrows met in a deep scowl of displeasure. The “Strike Like a Cobra Kai” hand-painted sign across the building’s façade was specially commissioned by Terry when they first opened, and there was, and would never be, another one quite like it – Terry made sure of that. It was Kreese’s pride and joy, second only to the dojo itself and the sterling reputation the dojo granted him. While it may have been just a mural to anyone else, to him, it was physical, tangible proof of Cobra Kai’s existence. It was a daily reminder that Kreese needed now more than ever, and he couldn’t believe Terry would even think to suggest doing anything with it. He would not under any circumstances allow Terry to take that away from him.
“That’s not just a no, that’s a fuck no, Terry,” he snapped. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you paint over that.”
“Who said anything about painting over it? All I’m saying is we take the part that says ‘Cobra Kai’ over the door down, and put something temporary there for now. Cover up the rest of the mural if we have to. We’ll put it back up again later.”
Kreese jutted his chin out stubbornly. “I’m not taking it down.”
“We don’t have to take all of it down, just that one part,” Terry said. “If we leave the whole thing up there and just cover the logo and name up, there’s still a chance Mike will see it; and if he sees it, Johnny Lawrence is sure to hear about it, and that’s game over for us. Do you want that?”
“You can’t get rid of that one part without fucking the rest of it up,” Kreese argued. “‘Strike like a’ what? The sign won’t make sense without it.”
“Okay, then we cover up the rest of it. It’s only temporary.”
“And put what in its place?”
Terry shrugged. “We don’t need to put anything in its place. If we’re supposed to be ‘in the process of renovating,’ part of that process is waiting on proper signage with our dojo’s name and branding on it to arrive. So, the old signage comes down and is replaced with branding bearing our new name.”
“But we don’t have a new dojo name,” Kreese said, furrowing his brow and frowning with exasperation.
Terry said nothing for a few moments, lowering his gaze to a crack in the concrete sidewalk between them. This was not the way he had wanted to broach the subject of the dojo name he’d provided to Mike.
Kreese’s eyes narrowed into angry slits when he realized Terry had been hiding something from him. “Terry, what did you do now?”
“Well, since I thought we agreed not to use the name Cobra Kai until we were in a better position for a strong comeback …” Terry said slowly.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“… I had to give Mike a name, since he asked me what the name of our dojo was.”
If Terry had been so willing and able to hide this small but very important detail, what else could he possibly be hiding? They were supposed to be in this together, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen if Terry was keeping secrets. “What did you tell him?” Kreese demanded.
Terry sighed. “Quicksilver Dojo.”
Kreese’s voice was dangerously low. “Quicksilver? Did you just say Quicksilver?”
Even though Terry knew all along that Kreese would not be happy about it, he was fully prepared to stand by what he’d done. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” he said, lifting his chin. “I told him our name was Quicksilver Dojo.”
Kreese grabbed Terry by the front of his gi. “And why, may I ask, did you do that?”
Terry yanked his gi out of Kreese’s grasp and took a step backward, out of Kreese’s reach. “Johnny, I had to tell him something. We hadn’t decided on a temporary name yet – hell, we still haven’t. What was I supposed to tell him?”
“Of all the things you could have told him, you had to tell him ‘Quicksilver’?” Kreese snapped, his voice rising fast. “I didn’t like that name the first time you suggested it, and I sure as fuck don’t like it now.”
“You don’t have to,” Terry said. “It’s just for now. We’ll always be Cobra Kai, but the name serves our purposes for the time being.”
“Quicksilver,” Kreese spat the word out like it was a bad taste on his tongue. “Why would you tell him that? This isn’t your dojo, it’s mine.”
“It’s ours,” Terry corrected.
“Damn it, Terry! I am the one here every day. I am the one who’s been teaching the students. I am the one who has led this dojo to victory after victory over the past ten years.” Kreese lunged forward and punctuated every ‘I’ with a forward punch. “Where do you get off telling people it’s your name on the dojo?”
Terry raised his arms into fighting position and easily blocked every hit Kreese tried to land on him, his temper quickly rising to match Kreese’s. “Okay, so what if I did? I pay for everything here anyway: the property taxes on this place, the equipment, the maintenance, the utility bills – hell, I even cover part of your living expenses upstairs. You know just as well as I do that there would be no Cobra Kai without me.”
“Who the fuck do you think made Cobra Kai the best dojo the Valley has ever known? Me! Where the hell were you?” Kreese leapt forward, forcing Terry back into the dojo’s front doorway, right under the Cobra Kai sign they were fighting over. He resented Terry for being so difficult and unreasonable about this, especially after the promise Terry had made to him years ago, and he would do whatever it took to remind the other man of that and put him back in his proper place. “Oh, right, I’m the one who built this dojo up from nothing while you had your head up your father’s ass.”
“Where do you think the money came from that gave you the means to do that?” Terry shot back.
“And what is it now? Tell me that.” Gesturing up at the Cobra Kai sign with one hand, Kreese gave Terry’s shoulder a hard shove with the other in an effort to turn him around to face the building’s tired-looking façade. “Look at it. Look at it! There’s nothing left, nothing! Nobody’s been in there except us for almost a year now. Do you think I like coming downstairs every morning to an empty dojo? Do you think I like looking at the empty spot on the shelf where the 1984 All-Valley trophy should have gone?”
“Think about it for just one second, would you? The best way for us to get our revenge and our reputation back is to lay low for now, and when the time is right, burst back on the karate scene, seemingly out of nowhere, to take this year’s All-Valley by storm and leave everyone else in the dust, as we’ve always done. Let everyone believe we’re gone, but we’ll be here the whole time, biding our time as cobras do, until it’s time to strike. Your reputation will be the same as it ever was, once we show everyone at the All-Valley that Cobra Kai truly never dies.”
“They walked out on me, Terry! Every single one of them!” Kreese pushed Terry aggressively back into the building. “And now, instead of helping me, like you promised you would, you’re dealing the death blow.”
Terry had no intention of giving Kreese that satisfaction by taking the bait, but he still wasn’t going to just lie down and take it, because that wasn’t the Cobra Kai way. “Death blow? You’re kidding me, right? I’m bringing this dojo back to life! You know you can’t do this without me, you said so yourself.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I did all of this without you!” Kreese aimed a powerful punch at Terry’s solar plexus. “You were never here. You abandoned our dream when I needed you most!”
Terry intercepted the punch, closing his larger hand around Kreese’s tight fist, making no indication that he was affected by the force of Kreese’s punch into his palm. “Yeah? Well, guess what, I’m here now! And what do you do? Instead of thanking me for all the things I’ve done for you, you have the gall to stand there and tell me I’m killing a dojo that’s already dead. What the hell happened to ‘I need you, I’ve always needed you’? The fact of the matter is, Johnny, you did nothing about any of this for months until you called me and I agreed to help you. Let’s face it: you need me. You know you need me.”
Roaring with indignation, Kreese used his fist, already in Terry’s grasp, to shove Terry back against the wall outside the sensei office, which sent Kreese’s beloved Army Karate Champion photo crashing to the vestibule’s linoleum floor.
“Now look what you did,” Kreese said accusingly.
Terry scoffed. “Good. Thanks for taking it down for me. That’s one less thing I have to worry about.”
Kreese clutched fistfuls of Terry’s gi with both hands and maneuvered him toward the main dojo. “Fuck you, Terry,” he spat.
Terry held Kreese’s wrists with both hands and turned his body sideways, steering them into the student shelving units, which caused several trophies still resting on top to tumble with a clatter to the ground. “Fuck me? Are you offering?”
Kreese’s grip tightened and he pulled Terry closer, so their noses were almost touching. “I swear to God, don’t start that shit with me right now, or –”
“Or what?” Terry said challengingly.
“Or I’ll make sure you never forget it,” Kreese snarled. “You of all people should know what that entails.”
Terry narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” Kreese said through clenched teeth, shoving Terry backwards onto the sparring mat. “It’s a promise.”
Terry landed on his back in the middle of the sparring mat where, not even half an hour ago, they had fought, and kissed, and fought some more. “You better make good on that promise.”
Kreese sneered down at Terry. “Oh, don’t you worry. When I promise someone something, I actually do it.”
At this, Terry’s nostrils flared and he drew in a sharp, indignant breath. One arm shot out to sweep the back of Kreese’s leg to unbalance him and take him down, and he smirked triumphantly when Kreese landed gracelessly on top of him.
Kreese quickly recovered and righted himself, straddled Terry, and with eyes blazing, pinned him down to the mat with a vice grip on his shoulders. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
“I know I am,” Terry said defiantly. “You just can’t bear to be wrong and for me to be right.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kreese growled, his hands gripping Terry’s shoulders even tighter and his eyes boring even deeper into Terry’s.
Terry didn’t flinch; rather, he welcomed the pain and the pleasure of being held down like this. His blue eyes, so dark they were almost black, held a challenge he knew Kreese wouldn’t be able to resist. “Make me,” Terry said. “Do what you feel, Johnny. Do what you feel. I dare you.”
Kreese glared at Terry, his eyes just as dark and challenging, and he barked out a derisive laugh. “You dare me, Terry? You dare me?”
“Yes, I fucking dare you,” Terry said, baring his teeth. “Do what you feel. Do it.”
They stared each other down, unblinking, neither one willing to yield even an inch to the other. The moments dragged on silently as the two men’s eyes remained locked in a stalemate.
Finally, Kreese struck first.
Seizing Terry’s head with both hands, he crushed their lips together hard, Terry’s cry of surprise spurring him forward. He forced Terry’s mouth open with his tongue and thrust it inside, grinding his hips down against Terry’s. He braced his arms on either side of Terry’s head, drove Terry’s legs apart with one knee, and moved his body between them before claiming Terry’s mouth in another bruising kiss.
Terry gave back as good as he got; their tongues dueled fiercely as they licked desperately into each other’s mouths. He wrapped his legs around Kreese to hold him in place, right where he wanted him, and rolled them over so he was on top. Leaning over Kreese, he held his shoulders down against the mat and kissed him, just as Kreese had done to him moments before. There was so much he wanted right now, and the momentary thrill he felt from being on top and gazing down at Kreese like this only heightened his desire and longing for John to touch him.
With a guttural grunt, Kreese rolled them back over so he could regain control, tangling their legs together and pressing the hard line of his cock against Terry’s. The rough practice gi they wore, already somewhat uncomfortable, suddenly became stifling and oppressive, and they both struggled to relieve themselves of the fabric separating them from each other.
As he struggled to untie the knot on Kreese’s belt, Terry huffed with annoyance, knowing he shouldn’t have put the gi on in the first place; he should have insisted that Kreese fight him in just his boxer shorts. He pinned Kreese’s leg firmly between both of his own, canting his hips upward and running his hands over Kreese’s bare chest, and pulled him close, bringing his head back down for another kiss.
“Fuck,” Kreese swore, as he broke the kiss and impatiently swatted Terry’s hands out of the way with one hand, pulling the knot in Terry’s belt loose. Terry’s gi top fell open and Kreese leaned down to press his chest flush against Terry’s, his breaths coming quickly and heavily into the crook of the other man’s neck. He swirled his tongue over Terry’s nipples while he deftly worked the drawstring of Terry’s pants, and forced them down over his hips, almost to his knees.
The sound of tearing fabric filled the dojo as the brown silk of Terry’s boxer shorts ripped along its seam, and Terry’s cock sprang free, right into Kreese’s waiting hand.
“Johnny,” Terry moaned brokenly, shifting his hips in a vain attempt to free himself of the damp, ripped fabric bunched up under him, but only got himself tangled in them even more.
“Shut up,” Kreese growled, closing his mouth roughly over Terry’s again. Slipping his hand under the small of Terry’s back to lift him up, he tugged the remains of Terry’s gi pants and boxer shorts the rest of the way off and tossed them on top of a nearby fallen practice dummy. With that hindrance out of the way, he parted Terry’s legs again and rested them over his bent knees, before leaning over Terry once more. Terry was now at his mercy, and true to the teachings of Cobra Kai, he would show none.
Terry untied the drawstring of Kreese’s pants and slid the waistband of Kreese’s faded cotton boxer shorts down over his hips, just enough to remove that last barrier between them. He closed his hand around Kreese’s cock and held it against his own, his long fingers surrounding them both and holding them together, and gasped when Kreese’s hand closed around his and began to move, slowly at first, but quickly speeding up to a feverish, desperate rhythm that made Terry cry out over and over again. He quickly lost himself in the delightful sensations of the friction of skin on skin on skin: their cocks sliding slickly under Kreese’s strong grip while Terry held them tightly together, with the added pressure of their bodies on either side – it was so much better than Terry ever imagined it could be.
As their pleasure in themselves and each other mounted, Kreese and Terry locked eyes, this time in an unspoken challenge of who would lose control first. Kreese clenched his teeth together, determined to win, to watch Terry come apart under his touch as visible proof of his control over him. His strokes became broader and more deliberate, even as the tension within him began to rise and his self-control began to slip away.
Terry’s breaths came fast and shallow as his own arousal approached its zenith. Every fiber of his being screamed out that he would do everything necessary to destroy John’s enemies, if that meant he could have this again, and more. He’d reclaim his rightful place in John’s eyes after Johnny Lawrence was taken care of. The little old man and that boy, that beautiful boy, who took down and humiliated Cobra Kai at the All-Valley would finally get what they deserved. He was never more certain in his life than he was in this very moment that he would do anything for Kreese, even kill for him if that’s what it took, if it meant he could feel like this all the time.
“Oh, Johnny, you feel so good,” Terry breathed. “Be good to me, please be good to me.”
“I said shut up,” Kreese gritted out. With that, the last of his self-control fell away and he threw his head back with a shout as he let himself go, his seed spilling out over his fingers and onto Terry’s abdomen. He stroked himself all the way through his orgasm until the blissful waves subsided and his cock began to soften in his hand.
Straightening up, his eyes locked again on Terry’s, Kreese ran his fingertips over the white trails he’d left on the other man’s body, smearing them into his flushed skin. He drew in a sharp breath, reveling in the sight of his come marking Terry as his own. “God, Terry, you look so good like this.”
“Johnny,” Terry moaned. “Don’t stop, I’m so close … let me come, please –”
“I’m not done with you yet,” Kreese growled, soft yet commanding. “Finish yourself off. I want to watch you.”
Terry swelled with pride, knowing he was the one responsible for John’s pleasure, and his fingers danced frantically over the length of his cock, the palm of his hand now coated thickly with Kreese’s come, and his body shook uncontrollably as he brought himself closer and closer to the edge.
“Look at me.” Kreese slid his hand down between Terry’s legs and traced small circles around the other man’s entrance, which puckered at his touch. He could feel that Terry was close, very close. He took one finger, still slick with his own come, and slid it into Terry as he whispered, “Now, come for me, Twig. Come for me.”
The moment their eyes met again, Terry came instantly, hot liquid spilling over his fingers in spurts as wave after wave of pure pleasure crashed over him. Flashes of white heat surged through his body as he rode out his high, with Kreese’s finger held firmly inside him.
Slowly and deliberately, Kreese slid his finger out, crooking it just so as he did. “Oh, yes, Terry. You come so good for me.”
With a deep, satisfied sigh, Terry allowed his body, still trembling with the aftershocks of his release, to sink into the worn sparring mat, his come-slick fingers still curled loosely around his cock. “You know I do everything for you, Johnny,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, I know you do,” Kreese murmured against Terry’s swollen lips, his own voice husky and rough. “Okay, Twig, I’ll allow it. We’ll use Quicksilver … for now.”
Notes:
Maurice Ravel’s Boléro was my musical inspiration for the Cobra Husbands part of this chapter – when my college orchestra performed this years ago, my director made a lot of sexual references during rehearsals about the piece’s repetitive melody, strict rhythms, and gradual crescendo to a final climax, and I never forgot that comparison. I can’t count how many times I listened to this recording, performed by the Berlin Philharmonic under the direction of Pierre Boulez, while writing this chapter.
The unusual way in which Johnny and Mike’s friend Andy prepares his grocery store ramen is exactly how a college friend of mine would make and eat it. Like Johnny, our other friends and I didn’t quite understand it, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
The Savonnerie carpet is a French style of rug first manufactured in the 17th century, characterized by fine hand-knotted wool or silk pile. It is so called because the original factory was located in a renovated soap (savon) factory on the Quai de Chaillot near Paris (now the location of the Musée d’Art Moderne), and was under the exclusive ownership of the French crown (manufacture royale) from 1627 to 1768. The use of these carpets was reserved for the court and royal family, and were also used as diplomatic gifts.
Chapter Text
Mike’s last class on Friday was Accounting, not that he’d have been able to tell anyone what they discussed in class that day. He’d spent most of the class – most of the day, really – lost in his own thoughts. He still hadn’t gotten to talk to Johnny yet about missing their lawn karate in favor of going to Terry Silver’s new dojo, because Johnny was almost always out of the room for his early morning science lectures before Mike was even awake for his first class and usually didn’t get back until just before dinner. As a result, Mike had spent the last few days wrestling with how to address this. He probably shouldn’t have put it off for as long as he did, but nothing he’d come up with over the past few days sounded right. Should he say he had a job interview off campus? Or that he was meeting some friends who were in town for a visit? He didn’t want Johnny to ask too many questions that he himself didn’t have the answers to, and he didn’t want to put himself in a position where he would have to either lie or reveal some of the information he was told not to talk about, so maybe it was best for him to say nothing at all. But he couldn’t just up and leave without saying anything to anyone, could he?
He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize class had ended and a few of his friends were standing in front of his desk waiting for him.
“Mike? MIKE! The fuck is wrong with you today? We’ve been standing here screaming at you for like five minutes. Are we going or what?”
Mike jumped in his seat, sending his notebook and pen flying under the desk in front of him. “Oh, sorry. Yeah. Nothing’s wrong, I’m good. Just, you know, thinking about a bunch of shit, that’s all.”
One of the guys bent down and picked up Mike’s notebook and slapped it back on his desk. “Bullshit, it’s not like we all haven’t noticed how fucking weird and out of it you’ve been acting all day. This isn’t like you, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, Rob, I’m sure,” Mike lied. “Seriously, I’m fine. Just a long week, I guess.”
“I don’t believe you, but if you say so,” Rob said. “Lawn karate later?”
“Uh.” Mike puffed his cheeks out and blew out a breath through pursed lips. “Maybe. Let me talk to Johnny and see what’s up.”
“Wait a second, dude, what do you mean, ‘maybe’?” Rob’s voice was loud enough that some of their classmates turned around to look at them with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. “You guys have to do it, or you’re going to screw up all of our plans we’ve been working on all week. Andy’s already reserved tables from Facilities for the quad, and Steve and I ran into those loud upperclassmen from last week at the cafeteria this morning. Annoying as fuck, but they told us they’re bringing chips and soda to the thing today, so whatever, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike said absently. “Yeah, that’s great.”
Steve leaned over and enthusiastically punched Mike in the shoulder. “Dude, we’re so going to make this the next big thing on campus. Karate block party! Eagle Fang’s where it’s at on Friday afternoons!”
“Yeah, I hope so. It’s gonna be awesome.” Normally, Mike would be fired up and enthusiastically high-fiving his friends when talking about Eagle Fang, but even to his own ears, his words fell flat and sounded like they were coming from far away. He was so distracted and in his own head that he didn’t notice the odd looks his friends were giving him. “Hey, listen, I have to run and take care of a couple things real quick, so you guys go ahead and I’ll meet you back home, okay?”
When he was sure his friends had left and he was alone again, Mike checked his watch. 3:15. He had 45 minutes to figure out what to tell Johnny and how he was going to say it. He already felt anxious enough with his other friends just asking ordinary questions about lawn karate, and he hadn’t even really told them anything.
He headed out to the Student Recreation Center and wandered around for a while, watching people practicing and working out, until he came to the room where he and Johnny held Eagle Fang meetings, and he turned away with a guilty sigh and quickly left the building.
He sat on a bench under a tree in the quad outside his dorm, until he realized this was the bench Terry Silver was sitting on when they first talked, which only made him feel even more unsettled.
He went into his building and checked his and Johnny’s campus mailbox, even though they’d only checked it last night, and it was just as empty now as it was then.
He knew he was stalling, but he still didn’t feel like he had it figured out. Time was quickly running out, and at this point, he had mere minutes to come up with something, or –
“Mike?”
Mike whirled around at the sound of his name, eyes darting nervously around the dorm’s lobby until they came to rest on Johnny, who was dressed in an old West Valley High sweatshirt and jeans.
“I left you a note on your desk, but I’m so glad I ran into you. Where have you been?”
“Just, you know, taking a walk around campus,” Mike said, shrugging. “Where are you off to?”
Johnny pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows. “So, um, you remember that guy Daniel from high school that I went to see a few days ago?”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“Well, he’s opening up a bonsai shop with his sensei and their grand opening is tomorrow, and he just called me to ask if I could help him and Mr. Miyagi bring the trees over and set up.”
“Is that where you’re going now?”
Johnny nodded contritely. “I know this is really short notice, but it sounded like he and Mr. Miyagi desperately need an extra pair of hands to make sure everything gets done for tomorrow. I don’t know what that means, exactly, so I can’t really say how long I’ll be, but it’s probably safe to say I won’t be back in time for our lawn karate. Would it be alright if we just skip it for today?”
The tension in Mike’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Yeah, of course,” he said.
Johnny frowned upon seeing the noticeable slump in Mike’s shoulders. He knew how excited Mike was about what continuing to do their karate demonstrations in the quad every weekend would mean for the future of Eagle Fang, and he hated to have to disappoint him. “I’m really sorry, Mike; I know we’ve been talking about it all week, and I know our friends have all these great plans –”
Mike shook his head, holding both hands up reassuringly. “No, Johnny, seriously, it’s fine. You’re fine. I already talked to Rob and the guys after class. We’ll just say the Karate Bros are taking a day off. Everyone should get a day off, right?”
“You sure?” Johnny asked uncertainly.
Mike nodded. “Don’t worry about it, I promise. Go ahead and do what you need to do. When I get upstairs, I’ll put a thing on our door saying no lawn karate today. I’ll put a plug in for Eagle Fang too, since we can’t do it in person. Hopefully we’ll get some more new people at the next meeting.”
They clasped hands briefly before Johnny turned to leave. “Thanks, dude.”
“See ya, man.”
The moment Johnny disappeared through the dorm’s front door, Mike breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Had he known the problem would solve itself so easily like this, he might have paid more attention in class today.
Feeling lighter than he’d felt all day, he took the stairs two at a time up to his floor. Dropping his bag in front of his and Johnny’s door, he grabbed the dry-erase marker attached to the whiteboard on the door and hastily scrawled a message before anyone came by and began asking questions:
NO LAWN KARATE TODAY
Come see us in the quad again next week!
Eagle Fang K.C. – Tuesdays @ 8pm in the SRC
Bite like an Eagle!
– Johnny and Mike
At 3:55, Mike re-emerged from his room wearing a crisp short-sleeved button-up shirt and slacks – he already knew Terry, but he wanted to make a good first impression on Terry’s friend – with a red duffel bag containing his practice gi, karate shoes, and a water bottle slung over his shoulder. As the door shut behind him, he caught sight of the notice he’d written on their whiteboard, and instead of feeling relieved like he did when he first wrote it, another pang of guilt hit him for going behind Johnny’s back like this. He hated lying, especially to someone he considered a good friend, but on the other hand, he knew he didn’t want to pass up this opportunity that might, among other things, help him help Johnny.
His stomach growled and he cursed under his breath; he’d been too worried and lost in thought to consider eating lunch earlier, but he didn’t have the time to deal with that now. He should have grabbed a bag of chips or something off the snack shelf in the room before leaving, but it was too late for that.
Mike stopped short in the middle of the quad when he spotted the shiny black vintage Rolls-Royce stretch limousine parked along the street at the opposite end of the quad, looking very out of place on a state college campus. “Holy fucking shit,” he said out loud as the impeccably dressed, uniformed man standing next to the car beckoned him over.
As Mike approached, the uniformed man gave him a curt nod. “Master Michael Barnes?” the man said in a soft, lilting continental accent.
Mike blinked and hesitated, unused to being addressed this formally. “Yeah, I’m Mike.”
The man bowed slightly. “I am Victor, chauffeur to Mr. Terrance Silver. I will be escorting you to Mr. Silver’s dojo this afternoon.”
Mike knew Terry was sending someone over to pick him up today, but he certainly wasn’t expecting anything like this. “Oh, um, hey, Victor, it’s nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.”
Victor opened the limousine’s back door and gestured inside with a gloved hand. “The pleasure is all mine, of course. Please, come in. There are some things inside for you, compliments of Mr. Silver.”
Mike climbed into the surprisingly spacious and well-appointed vehicle and set his duffel bag down next to the softly lit minibar, blinking rapidly to allow his vision to adjust to the dimness of the interior. A small, glass-fronted fridge, containing a plate topped with tea sandwiches and small blinis topped with caviar and crème fraîche, glass containers of assorted freshly pressed juices, and a tray of beautifully crafted miniature pastries, was cleverly built into the granite bar countertop. Overhead, an ingeniously designed wooden rack held intricately cut crystal glasses of various sizes and styles in place, and a bottle rack, equipped with bottles of vintage Louis Roederer Cristal Brut and Glenmorangie scotch whisky, rested atop the counter directly over the refrigerator. At the end of the minibar was a car phone, which Mike picked up and held to his ear, wondering if the thing actually worked or if it was just for show.
“How may I direct your call today, Mr. Silver?” said a pleasant voice on the other end.
Mike nearly dropped the receiver in his surprise. “Oh, shit, sorry, never mind, thank you,” he said, hurriedly hanging up the phone and backing away from it until the back of his legs hit the seat behind him, a cushy seat upholstered in the softest black quilted leather that, to his added wonder, was heated from within.
What kind of person would need an insane party limo like this? he thought to himself.
Well, Terry Silver, obviously.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, leaning back in his seat as a reclining footrest with its own foldable legs slid up under his knees to extend his legs out. “This is so unreal.”
Mike looked down either side at the length of car seats that stretched all the way to the back of the limousine; they were uniformly upholstered in quilted black leather, much like the fancy leather reclining chairs in his grandfather’s library. The blankets stationed periodically along the row of seats were made of the softest fabric Mike had ever felt. The tag on the end of the blanket next to him read 100% Vicuña; he could only assume the rest of them were the same.
A small envelope, addressed to him in neat, flowy script, lay on top of a small package on the seat next to him, wrapped in red and black tissue paper and tied with satin ribbon. The card inside was fronted with the same midnight blue card stock as the business card Terry had given him, and monogrammed with Terry’s initials in silver leaf.
Dear Mike, it read. Welcome aboard! Please make yourself at home. There are some refreshments in the fridge that I’ve had specially catered for you; feel free to help yourself to as much as you’d like.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Mike said with a chuckle, retracting the footrest back under his seat as he got up to take a closer second look at the vehicle’s minibar.
A speaker somewhere overhead crackled to life and Victor’s softly accented voice filled the back cabin. “If you’re ready, Master Barnes, we’ll be on our way presently.”
“Yeah, sure, I’m ready,” Mike called out, not really knowing where to direct his answer and wondering if Victor even heard him.
In response, the car engine started with a soft rumble under Mike’s feet. Remembering how hungry he was, he grabbed two glass bottles of fresh juice from the fridge and loaded tea sandwiches, pastries, and caviar blinis onto a gold-adorned plate from the bar. He set them down on the bar’s granite countertop and turned his attention back to the package that came with Terry’s welcome message.
I’ve also taken the liberty of having this gi and belt made just for you. The measurements should be right; I like to think I have a good eye for such things. If you’re going to join us, why not do so in style?
The red and black paper fell away to reveal a crisp white gi with a personalized black belt tied neatly around it; rubbing the hem of the new gi gently between his fingers, Mike could tell immediately that it was made of a more luxurious and substantial material than the old practice gi he’d brought with him. He didn’t claim to know the first thing about fabrics, but he could tell it was made of an expensive, high-quality material. He unfurled the belt and ran his fingers lightly over the embroidered letters of his name, before carefully reaching for the gi top and slipping it on over his clothes.
Terry was right, it fit perfectly – even better than his high school tournament gi that had been custom made for him, and he’d had his measurements taken more than once for it. Terry had gotten it exactly right after having met him only one time, no measurements necessary.
What you have here is a mere taste of what you could enjoy as part of our team. Should you need anything else, all you have to do is ask.
I look forward to seeing you again soon.
Yours,
Terry
To say Mike was impressed by everything he’d seen so far would be an understatement. Retrieving his plate of refreshments off the counter, he sat back down in his original spot, leaning back into the smooth leather seat and breathing deeply. Was this really the kind of thing those people at his business fraternity meetings talked about having once they had their own businesses? If so, he thought with a satisfied smirk, well, he was already way ahead of all of them.
“Cheers, you goddamn pretentious fucks,” he said aloud, raising his bottle of juice in an exaggerated toast. “You all better watch out, I’m gonna be your fucking boss someday.”
And I’m going to look damn good doing it, he added to himself as he slid the gi top off his shoulders and laid it back on the seat next to him.
Mike picked up one of the small, spongy pancakes topped with caviar off his plate and examined it closely. The caviar was an unusual translucent golden color that he’d never seen before. Popping the blini whole into his mouth, he tipped his head back against the quilted headrest with a soft moan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head; this was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. The blini was soft and chewy; the cream light and cool on his tongue, which, paired with the feather-light touch of fresh dill on top, offset the saltiness of the caviar perfectly.
Too soon, the limo came to a complete stop and the bright afternoon sunshine filled the interior as Victor pulled the car door open. “This way, please, Master Barnes,” Victor said, gesturing toward the building behind him. “Mr. Silver and Mr. Kreese await you inside.”
Mike stepped out of the limo into the blinding sunlight to find himself in front of a dull-looking, run-down building with only a couple of small trophies displayed in the dusty windows and half its signage above the door missing. Compared to everything else on the block, it was rather dingier than the others and stood out because of it, and not in a good way, standing in stark contrast to the luxurious ride he’d just enjoyed.
It wasn’t a very good first impression for this new dojo.
Pushing the front door open, he briefly glanced up at the ring of a forlorn-sounding bell somewhere above his head. Suddenly, the lights snapped on in the darkened vestibule and he jumped in surprise.
“Ah, Mike, come on in!” Terry said, waving Mike inside. He was already dressed in his favorite black gi with three-quarter sleeves, worn loosely on top the way John liked it on him. “Pardon our dust. As you can see, we’re still getting settled in and have just started remodeling, but we hope to have it done by the time we’re ready to formally open our doors to students.”
“Nah, that’s alright, it looks good so far,” Mike said, watching his reflection in the dojo’s mirrors take everything in with a quizzical expression on his face that he didn’t realize he was making. His gaze wandered over the length of the room: various karate equipment lay in disarray under the windows looking out to the parking lot, where the limo that brought him here was now parked; ladders were installed at various points around the room and half the dojo floor was covered over with paint-splattered canvas drop cloths; and the wall brackets meant to hold martial arts weaponry sat empty, waiting for the paint around them to dry. The entire dojo smelled of fresh paint and sawdust, and he rubbed at his nose in an effort not to sneeze.
“Tell me,” Terry said, dusting his hands off. “How was your ride over, did you find everything to your liking?”
“It was … it was great. I –” Mike paused, not wanting to look or sound stupid in front of Terry, so he settled on saying, “I really appreciate you sending someone to pick me up. The food was amazing, and the gi fits perfectly. Thank you.”
Terry smiled. “Just as I thought. If you decide to work with us, you will have many opportunities to enjoy all of this and more. Shall we get started?”
Mike nodded and set his gym bag down on top of one of the still-dusty student shelves and leaned in to take a closer look at the practice and tournament pictures above the shelves that the other dojo had left behind. The entire hallway was impressively decorated with awards and accolades – trophies, medals, certificates, and ribbons adorned the walls and shelves on either side. They were mostly invitational trophies from tournaments he’d never heard of before, some of which weren’t even in English, but regardless, whoever was here before had been highly successful. “You weren’t kidding. The people who were here before you really did leave a lot of stuff behind,” he observed.
“I understand they had to leave in a rush,” Terry said noncommittally.
“Who are all these people?” Mike asked, peering at a group picture of the 1975 All-Valley winners.
“They’re from that other dojo, probably,” Terry said. “It was all already here when we got here, and it’s better than nothing, so we’re keeping it up for now until we get our own things.”
Looking down the row of framed tournament photos on the wall, Mike noticed several spaces left open at the end; there were no awards or photographs displayed from the last few years. “Hm. Looks like there are a couple missing here.”
Terry shrugged. “Guess they didn’t win again after ’81.”
Upon closer inspection, Mike could tell that something had been there before, but was hastily and somewhat carelessly removed. “But what about this right here, it’s –”
“They might have taken those with them,” Terry said impatiently, as he adjusted the front of his gi to loosen the neckline even more. “I’m not going to speculate on the thought process behind what they did.”
Mike didn’t have a chance to ask more questions or look at any of the other items the previous dojo left, because another man, shorter than Terry but more solidly built, emerged from the sensei office in a plain black sleeveless gi.
“I’d like to introduce you to Sensei John Kreese,” Terry said. “This is the friend I told you about last week – the greatest karate man I’ve ever known.”
Mike bowed to Kreese, arms straight at his sides. “Sir.”
Kreese did not return the bow, but instead gave Mike a long, appraising look, and after several long moments, finally nodded. “He’ll do,” he said over his shoulder to Terry. “So, Mr. Barnes. Sensei Silver tells me you’re a karate champion.”
“Yes, sir, I won the Greater Capital Region Under-18 this past year,” Mike said proudly. “Both kata and kumite divisions.”
“So I’ve heard. I’m sure you think that’s quite an accomplishment,” Kreese said. “And maybe it is, but don’t get too cocky. You may be a champion, but there’s a lot you still don’t know.”
“I’m sure there are lots of things I still don’t know,” Mike said confidently. “But, of course, I’m always interested in learning more. Sir.”
“Good, good. I like your attitude, Mr. Barnes. Because here, at this dojo, I’m going to teach you techniques you don’t have. Techniques that you need to defeat anyone who stands in your way, until there’s no one left and you stand alone.”
Mike shot a quick glance beyond Kreese’s shoulder, where Terry was still standing. “What about Terry, will he be teaching too?”
“Sensei Silver is a very busy man and has other commitments,” Kreese said, squaring his shoulders tightly and glaring at Mike for his disrespect.
“It’s alright, John.” Terry put a calming hand on Kreese’s upper back, hoping his touch would make the tension in Kreese’s shoulders subside; he frowned, nonplussed, when it didn’t. “Sensei Kreese is right: I’ve got a family business to run, which takes up a lot of my time, but just know I’m leaving you in good hands. He and I have agreed that he will be the one to teach you our new method and show you what we’re all about.”
“Oh, sorry, I thought you would be teaching together,” Mike said thoughtfully, noting with curiosity the two older men’s body language. “I was hoping to learn more from you after we talked last week.”
“I might not be teaching you directly, but the techniques you will be learning are just as much mine as they are his; whatever Sensei Kreese will teach you is what I would teach you myself if I were here in person,” Terry said. “He and I developed the method we will be teaching here at the Quicksilver Dojo –”
“The Way of the Fist,” Kreese cut in sourly, shaking Terry’s hand off.
“—together,” Terry finished, dropping his hand heavily back down to his side with a pang of disappointment.
“Well, I look forward to learning from you, then, Sensei Kreese,” Mike said.
“Good.” Kreese turned on his heel and strode into the dojo and took his usual sensei’s place at the far end of the room, in front of the tall ladder and several paint cans Terry’s people had left there, while Terry wordlessly made his way back into the office and shut the door loudly behind him.
“What do we study here?” Kreese barked without turning around, basking in the thrill of opening the class in the same way he’d opened so many others over the years.
Mike stopped in his tracks in the doorway, eyes darting from side to side apprehensively. He was not expecting the question, nor was he expecting the class to start this way; none of his other classes or programs or camp sessions were like this, nor were any of his instructors this intentionally intimidating.
Kreese turned around to face Mike and stared him down. “I can’t hear you.”
“Uh … karate?”
“Are you being smart with me?” Kreese snapped.
“Sorry, Sensei Kreese, I’m not being smart with you. I thought I was here to learn karate. Sir.”
“Wrong. You are here to learn the Way of the Fist,” Kreese said, pacing back and forth in front of the mirrors. He kicked the canvas drop cloth under the ladder and paint cans aside. “Let’s start over. What do we study here?”
“The Way of the Fist, sir,” Mike replied obediently, stepping the rest of the way into the dojo and taking his place on the mat.
“I can’t hear you.”
“The Way of the Fist, sir!” Mike said, louder this time.
“That’s better. And what is that way?”
Without thinking, because it had been so ingrained in him for over half his life, Mike stood tall and looked straight ahead, automatically reciting the mantra he’d studied for years: “Strength, honor, and respect, sir.”
The boy had gotten the ‘strength’ part right, at least, but Kreese couldn’t help but scoff aloud at the mentions of ‘honor’ and ‘respect.’ There was no place for honor or respect in a world that was out to get you, where the only rule to live by was ‘kill or be killed’ – in other words, win or die. Kreese had been confronted with that very choice years ago, facing off against his commanding officer on that rickety wooden bridge, and he didn’t for a second regret what he chose to do that day. Since then, he had lived his life according to the very principle that had saved it, and was determined to teach all that came through his dojo the value and importance of that lesson. Mike Barnes would be no exception.
“Wrong, Mr. Barnes!” Kreese’s face was now inches from Mike’s. “The answer is, ‘Strike first, strike hard, no mercy, sir!’”
Mike blinked, his gaze lapsing from full attention to look over at Kreese questioningly. “Strike first, strike hard, no … mercy?”
“That is correct.” Kreese grabbed his collar with both hands. “Now, I’m going to ask you again: what is that way?”
“Strike first, strike hard, no mercy, sir,” Mike dutifully recited back, looking straight ahead again.
“Forget about your honor and respect nonsense,” Kreese commanded. “This is a karate dojo, not a knitting class. I don’t know what other crap you were taught before, and quite frankly, I don’t care, but I don’t want to hear or see any of it here. Your first lesson is this: do not, I repeat, do not ever let yourself be obligated to anyone. Never show them deference, because deference is weakness. You may talk all you want about strength and honor, but you don’t know the first thing about what that really means. It means you fight for what’s rightfully yours and take it. Seize it with both hands, and make sure nobody will ever be able to take it away from you. If you don’t fight for everything you are due, then nobody else will. Fight hard, and don’t stop fighting until you win.”
Mike nodded slowly as he processed this, while Kreese looked at him expectantly, his gaze boring into him as though the older man could see right through him and into his mind. The last thing Mike wanted was for his new sensei to take his doubt for weakness, so he finally replied, in a voice that he hoped sounded surer than he felt, “Yes, sensei.”
“I can’t hear you,” Kreese growled, the directness of his gaze only intensifying.
“Yes, sensei!”
Kreese gave Mike a curt nod, finally breaking their eye contact to pace circles around Mike once more. “You’re doing yourself and others a disservice by thinking that one championship title is enough. Your karate is holding you back, Mr. Barnes. You can become so much more; it’s time to unleash your true strength. Let your anger and your passion fuel your every move: every kick, every punch, every point you score. Fight as if today is your last. Strength, determination: that is the Way of the Fist.”
Mike pondered this silently, frowning. He didn’t know whether to be offended that Sensei Kreese was calling him arrogant for taking pride in his achievements, or flattered that Sensei Kreese saw potential in him to be even better than he already was. He was also puzzled by what he was now hearing from Sensei Kreese, which was the complete opposite of what Terry had pitched to him last week. While this approach might make sense for military veterans like them, it was nothing like the karate he’d been taught. Sure, he was always up for learning different ways to be better at karate, but was it really worth setting aside all the valuable lessons he’d learned over the last ten years for this?
Why do we fight? his old sensei’s voice echoed in his mind. We fight so others don’t have to.
He wondered if there was a way to take this new approach and apply it to what he already knew, so he didn’t have to set those lessons aside completely. If he unleashed his strength and commanded deference from others, he could use that to fight for what he believed was right to protect those he loved: his family, his friends, and Johnny.
They may have only known each other for about a month, but Mike had never had a friend quite like Johnny who understood him so well and intuitively in so short a time. Everyone at school who’d mistaken them at first for brothers had been right, in a way: he already felt like they were brothers in karate and in life, if not in blood, and he knew Johnny felt the same. As Johnny had looked out for him as he settled into his life in a new city, so too would Mike do whatever he could to look out for Johnny.
In the silence of the dojo, as he watched an array of conflicting emotions flit across Mike’s face, Kreese frowned deeply. For all of this boy’s vaunted qualifications as the state capital’s reigning regional champion, he could tell already that Mike was, underneath all the talent and confidence, soft. Soft like the twelve-year-old Johnny Lawrence that first stepped through his doorway all those years ago. Mike’s expressive face was giving too much of himself away, but Kreese would fix that and use it to his advantage.
“Alright,” he barked. “Get dressed and we’ll get started. Go change in the bathroom around the corner. Hurry up.”
Mike bowed to Sensei Kreese and hurried into the small, cramped bathroom with his duffel bag. Weirdly for September, the heat was on in the bathroom, and beads of sweat almost immediately began to run down his back as he unfolded the new gi Terry had gifted him and put it on. As he changed into his new gi, he took note of the set of small photos hanging on the wall in the otherwise bare room, which showed a younger Terry and a younger Kreese standing on either side of an older man in ornate robes, with a beautiful mountain vista in the background. In small white letters at the bottom of each photo, someone had written Chiri-san, 1980.
He didn’t know where that was or what it meant, but the clear bond of friendship between the two men in that set of photographs spoke to him; it reminded him of himself and Johnny, and he hoped their friendship would have that kind of staying power as well.
Kreese was still pacing back and forth impatiently at the front of the room when Mike got back; without any preamble or any interruption to his pacing, he called out, “Pain does not exist in this dojo, does it?”
“No, sensei,” Mike said as he stepped back onto the mat.
“Fear does not exist in this dojo, does it?”
“No, sensei.”
“Defeat does not exist in this dojo, does it?”
“No, sensei!”
Kreese smiled now, all teeth. “Why do we train karate?”
“To fight so others don’t have to,” Mike immediately answered.
“Wrong!” Kreese thundered. “We do not train to be merciful here. Mercy is for the weak. Here, in the streets, in competition: a man confronts you, he – what is the problem, Mr. Barnes?”
“Sir, don’t you think there can be times where showing mercy can be a strength rather than a weakness?” Mike said, having shifted out of full attention stance, his eyebrow creased in thought. “I’ve always used karate to redirect any negative energies into something positive. You see, when I was younger, I had some anger management issues, so my parents started me on karate as a way to let it all out and turn it into something good instead.”
Kreese stopped directly in front of Mike and glared at him. “Are you here to teach or be taught?”
“I’m here to learn, sir.”
“Then you’ll listen to what I say and do exactly as I tell you, and only then will you realize and fulfill your true potential.”
Mike knitted his eyebrows together as he considered this. While he’d originally agreed to come here because he liked the sound of what Terry had told him about inner peace and compassion and giving back to the karate community, he was starting to come around to the sound of what Sensei Kreese was saying about how to reach his full potential by being strong, impervious to pain, and utterly fearless.
“Yes, sensei,” he said softly.
From somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind, a memory Kreese hadn’t thought of in a long time suddenly came to him: he’d been just like this too, when he was Mike’s age – young, naïve, idealistic, hopeful – and so desperate to prove himself to the first person who saw more in him than anyone else in his small hometown did. It was only when Captain Turner singled him out for a place in Special Forces that, for the first time in his life, he felt like he could be more than just a poor kid who spent long hours waiting tables at the local diner so he could escape the grim reality of his home life.
“I just want to look out for you, and teach you to look out for yourself,” he said in a quieter, gentler tone. “Not everyone in this world is a friend, Mr. Barnes. You have to understand, I learned karate during my time in Vietnam. The man who taught me strongly believed that we needed to know how to fight like our enemies if we were to win against them. And it was also there, in the middle of the jungle, that I learned from that same man that there are more enemies than friends in this world. He taught me that you’re never truly safe in this world, even from the people who are supposed to protect you, the people you think you can trust. I want to prepare you for that, but you have to trust me.”
Mike swallowed, surprised at being taken into Sensei Kreese’s confidence so quickly like this. He’d gone into this expecting only to try out their new style of karate. Then, if he was lucky, they’d ask him to help them renovate the dojo while they were fixing up the place, or even bring him on as an assistant or student teacher once they opened. A job opportunity, more than anything, like Terry said. But if, by chance, this was also part of the job description, far be it for him to question it too much. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I will – I mean, I do.”
“As it happens, I too know a little something about anger. I spent most of my younger years so angry and resentful at how everyone judged me for my circumstances. For a long time, I did everything I could to hide that away, but there came a day when I realized I could use that anger and resentment for something much greater: I took it and channeled it into fighting with everything I had for what I believed was right. With it, I saved my girl, Betsy, from an abusive relationship. With it, I saved Sensei Silver from almost certain death at the hands of our CO. I nearly died too, but believe me when I say that karate saved my life that day. Captain Turner never expected me to use the lessons he taught me against him, but that’s what saved me. Saved us.” Kreese placed a firm hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Listen to me, learn from me, and I will make you more powerful than you ever were. Would you like that?”
It did sound appealing, and as long as Mike remembered to use this newfound power for good, this different perspective could very well help his karate become even better than it already was. “Yes, sir, I would.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Kreese turned and picked up a pair of handheld punching pads from the shelf behind him. “Now, show me what you’ve got.”
Mike steeled himself and moved into ready position, and immediately went to work channeling his nerves into his punches.
“Harder! Fight harder! What are you, a ballerina? These punches are weak!” Kreese taunted, holding the pads up to Mike’s eye level. “You see this? Imagine it’s the face of your enemy. He’s right here in front of you, and he’s out for blood. What are you going to do, are you going to take it lying down, or will you stand and fight?”
“I’m going to stand and fight, sir,” Mike replied.
“I can’t hear you!”
“I’m going to stand and fight!”
“Then do it! This world is not a kind place, Mr. Barnes. The guerrillas didn’t show us mercy in the Vietnam jungle that day. My CO wasn’t about to show me mercy either. Why should I show anyone else mercy? Why should you?” Kreese clapped the pads together loudly, and a flurry of dust flew up between them. “I saw, with my own eyes, humanity stripped down to its barest, basest form. Life or death. Kill or be killed. Which would it be? I made my choice, now you’ve got to make yours. From now on, you need to treat everyone as a foe before you can think they’re a friend. Guilty until proven innocent. Trust nobody until they’ve proven that they can be trusted. That’s the only way you’ll survive: no mercy!”
Mike leaned into his punches more, energized and moved by Kreese’s words. Over the sound of his racing heart and the rush of blood in his ears, he cried out, “No mercy!”
“The world is divided into two types of people: the strong and the weak. Winners and losers. Which one are you?” Kreese shouted. “Show me you’re a winner. Show me you’re truly worthy of learning the Way of the Fist!”
As the strength and cadence of his punches increased, Mike’s mind was fixated on only one thing: Sensei Kreese had killed someone and was using that, of all things, as the basis for his karate philosophy. He was proud of it, even. That in itself should have been disturbing to Mike, but instead, he found it inspiring: Sensei Kreese had chosen life over death, strength over weakness, winning over losing. In this moment, Mike hoped that if it ever came down to it, when he too was faced with humanity, stripped down to its barest, basest form, he would make the same choice.
He was jarred out of his thoughts when his fist met something softer than a punching pad, and he glanced swiftly up to see Kreese, smiling broadly and enveloping his fist with the hand that had been holding the punching pad Mike had, in his forcefulness, knocked out of it. “Yes, Mr. Barnes,” Kreese said. “That’s very good. You’re every bit the champion you say you are, and I like that. You truly are worthy of learning the Way of the Fist, and believe me, I don’t say that lightly.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mike said breathlessly.
Kreese nodded curtly. “Twenty minutes on the punching bag, and then cardio exercises for the next forty. I’ll be in the office. I’m sure Sensei Silver will be quite interested to know just how far you’ve come since you first got here.”
~ * ~
Terry slumped morosely into the cushions of the office’s worn sofa. The sofa was a secondhand that he and John had purchased together when they had just returned from Vietnam and were first starting out with the dojo. He could have gotten a brand-new high-end replacement for it years ago, but they had so many memories associated with this sofa that he was hard-pressed to let it go.
That one small act of Kreese shaking his hand off had left him feeling rejected and resentful, and while he knew he shouldn’t be this upset over something so otherwise insignificant, he’d spent the greater part of an hour sulking on their old sofa and staring wistfully at the picture on the desk of the two of them and Ponytail at basic training, longing for those days when he always had Kreese’s approval, when Kreese and the others in their squad had treated him as somewhat of a pet project.
John’s favor was like the sun, he mused to himself as he ran a finger along the outside edge of the framed photograph: gloriously warm when turned on him, but colder than ice when it wasn’t. He idly wondered whether that warmth he so enjoyed might ever turn so hot as to burn him, and whether that would be worse or better than the bitter cold he was currently feeling.
The door opened to reveal a jubilant Kreese, and Terry straightened up in his seat, photo frame still in hand. “So, you like?”
Kreese shut the door quietly behind him, a wide, satisfied grin on his face. “I like.”
The glorious warmth was back, and Terry quickly stood up from the sofa to meet Kreese in the middle of the small room. “How did it go?”
“What a gem you’ve found, Terry. He’s magnificent. That tournament title of his – you were right, it’s not just shit talk. He’s a real champion, everything Johnny Lawrence could have been.” Kreese reached up and cupped Terry’s head with one hand, tugging gently on the end of his ponytail. “Whenever I start to think you might not come through for me, you always manage to surprise me. And this time, you’ve really outdone yourself. I knew I could count on you.”
Terry scowled, even more resentful now with this latest slight. As if he hadn’t been consistently proving his usefulness and abilities for years with anything and everything Kreese wanted. He pulled away, slamming their basic training picture back down onto the desk. “Well, of course, what else did you expect,” he said sullenly as he flopped back down onto the sofa, crossing his arms tightly over his chest against that now familiar bitter cold.
In many ways, Terry was still the overly eager-for-approval teenager Kreese had first met all those years ago, and while that should have reassured him of Terry’s continued loyalty, it only annoyed him that after all these years, Terry still required a lot of the same attention and maintenance that he really didn’t have time to give anymore. “What the hell is the matter now?” Kreese demanded, exasperated.
Terry looked down and turned his body away. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Twig, I know you,” Kreese said. “I know what it means when you get like this.”
Terry spitefully pulled his gi closed, all the way up to his neck, and crossed his arms more tightly around himself. “Like what.”
“No, don’t do that, let me look at you,” Kreese said softly, taking Terry’s hands in his, which allowed Terry’s gi to fall back open as he stood back up. “You know how much I like it when I can see what’s under that gi of yours. Come here.”
Terry let his arms hang limply at his sides while Kreese slipped a hand under the folds of Terry’s gi and began to work his way up his side, across his chest, and back down again. Terry knew what Kreese was doing and he tried to resist, but in spite of himself, he shivered at the other man’s touch, and Kreese smirked.
It didn’t take much. It never did.
“Now, what are we going to do about this wonderful gift you’ve brought me?” Kreese murmured.
Terry reached for the slim manila folder on the sofa containing Mike’s paperwork and handed it to Kreese. “It’s all in here. I had Legal deal with it; they really did a clever job with including everything I asked for.”
Kreese skimmed each page, humming in agreement as he read, until the second to last page, where his thoughtful, approving expression turned to one of shock and indignation. “Twenty-five percent? You can’t be serious.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Kreese glared at Terry. “How about zero percent? Offer him something else.”
“What do you suggest, then?” Terry asked. “I offered him a business opportunity as an incentive to come here, so there’s his business opportunity.”
“How about giving him a real job. Something that will actually benefit us, gain us something, help us win. Or, you could just pay him off, like you do with everyone else. Kids like that don’t take much to impress.”
Terry bristled. “It’s not just about the money, Johnny, or the business opportunity. It’s about Cobra Kai. That’s the benefit, right there. Mike Barnes is the key to our success. He’s Johnny Lawrence’s roommate, so he’s perfect for this. There is no one else. Without him, we can’t bring Cobra Kai back and hurt Lawrence in the process. Two birds with one stone. Send him back home every day with his head full of Cobra Kai, and that’ll really mess with them both. Mike Barnes will become a constant reminder to Johnny Lawrence of what he walked away from when he left you and this dojo behind.”
Kreese’s expression clouded over. He would never forget the last time he saw Johnny Lawrence. It was the week after the All-Valley, the day Johnny and all his friends quit. The lingering look of contempt, disappointment, and regret that his erstwhile favorite student had given him before leaving the dojo for the last time still haunted him.
Terry took Kreese’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Your dear Mr. Lawrence may have thought he’d gotten away from Cobra Kai for good, but we’ll see to it that his best friend brings it home to him every day. Then, he’ll know he will never really get away from it, it will follow him wherever he goes, because it’s part of him now. Because Cobra Kai is forever.”
Kreese gave Terry’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Mmm. Hit him where it hurts. I like it.”
“I’ll see to it that Mike is well compensated for his time and efforts, of course. He’ll get a weekly draw, access to and use of the dojo and the Rolls limo at any time, all meals while he’s here or otherwise working with us, plus the custom silk practice and tournament gi that I’ve already had made for him. I’ve opened an account with my bank in his name, so he has a place to put whatever he earns from us.” Terry enumerated each perk, as he said them, on the fingers of his free hand. “It’s all there, in the contract. I’m also considering giving him that red Ferrari convertible I hate.”
Kreese looked at Terry incredulously and pulled his hand back. “That’s not how this works! You’re giving him all this shit and paying him to have me train him?”
Terry waved his hand airily. “Don’t worry about your expenses, I’ll cover them. What matters is that you’ll be teaching again. Bringing Cobra Kai back. Getting your revenge. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Not if you plan on giving the dojo away when this is done. What would be the point otherwise?”
Terry sighed. “We’re not ‘giving the dojo away,’ Johnny. This business interest is wholly contingent upon specific performance of the contract’s terms. You understand, we have to make the pot at the end of the rainbow so enticing that he does everything according to our plan.”
Kreese pushed the contract into Terry’s chest. “That business interest is the dojo, Terry! I worked my ass off to build this dojo up from nothing, and you can’t just give it away like this. Not to him, or to anyone else. Forget twenty-five, he’s not getting ten, or five, or even one-hundredth of a percent of this dojo. Might I remind you that this very dojo is at stake in our wager? If I win, which I fully intend to do, I’m claiming all of it for myself. Every last bit.”
“You won’t,” Terry said through his teeth.
“Won’t I, though? Watch me.” Kreese scoffed under his breath. “I’m willing to bet you still haven’t said a single word to Daniel LaRusso, much less even laid eyes on him, since that day you spent creeping around his house.”
“What? That was only five days ago,” Terry said defensively.
Kreese barked out a sardonic laugh. For as long as they’d known each other, Terry had always been so easy to read. “Ha! I knew it. You really do want to lose this wager, don’t you? It’s already been over a month since we made that bet, and what have you done? Nothing, as far as I can see. Shit or get off the pot, Terry. At the rate you’re going, just take the loss now, let me have Cobra Kai already, and stop wasting everyone’s time.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Terry protested. “I seem to recall you telling me you didn’t care how I did it or how long it took me, just as long as I got it done, so I’ve been biding my time until a good opportunity presents itself. And, as it turns out, that opportunity is tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes, the grand opening,” Kreese said with a snort of derision. “I can’t think of a more thrilling way to spend my Saturday than skulking around a plant store.”
“Well, I think it sounds great. And if it will ultimately get me what I want, then all the better for me.”
“And for him too, I’d imagine.”
“I do have a reputation to uphold,” Terry replied, shrugging.
“Fine job of that you’re doing right now,” Kreese sneered. “Run along, then, after your little Italian prize. Leave Mr. Barnes, and the dojo, to me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You know you can’t do this without me,” Terry said. “Otherwise, you never would have called me to begin with.”
Kreese hated to admit it, but Terry was right about that. If he hadn’t called Terry, he would still be on the road to nowhere, living an empty life of nothing but banal routines and bitter memories.
“I’ve put an NDA in there too,” Terry said. “Just to cover all our bases.”
Kreese raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Non-disclosure agreement. Standard corporate procedure. We make people sign them all the time as part of their employment contract to protect our business interests and trade secrets. They can’t talk about what they’re doing when it comes to their job, especially if they’re in R&D or involved in implementing any of our new waste management solutions.”
Kreese twisted his mouth into a sideways grimace. “Explain to me why we need to offer him any part of the business at all, then, if he’s just going to be working for us?”
“He won’t be. Not technically, anyway,” Terry said. “We’re simply hiring him to do a job: to represent our dojo in this year’s All-Valley, and win against the defending champion. That’s it. He won’t be working for us in the strictest sense, because he’s coming in for a specific purpose, but we still retain some level of control over how he does this job we’re hiring him to do. That puts him in that murky area between employee and independent contractor, so I’m making sure we account for both. If he were strictly signing on as an employee, the NDA would be a matter of course as part of his contract, but since he’s not, I don’t mind paying a little extra for his discretion.”
“Fine,” Kreese said, still frowning.
“As for the business interest you’re so concerned about,” Terry continued, “it's more like a partnership offer upon completion of this contract, after all terms have been fulfilled. Specific performance, as I said. It’s not giving the dojo away. We’re just bringing someone else on to help.”
Kreese growled low in his throat. “I don’t give a shit what you say it is, Terry. I refuse to give up any part of the dojo. There has to be something else you can offer him.”
“He called me back because he liked the sound of what I was offering. Dangling this opportunity in front of him won’t affect our own interest for the time being; think of it as an incentive for him to do the best job he can for us,” Terry said. “It’s not a done deal until he wins: either he wins us the All-Valley title back from Daniel LaRusso and we give him the portion of the business interest he’s earned, or he doesn’t win and we keep the business for ourselves.”
“I will not accept defeat,” Kreese argued. “Defeat does not exist in this dojo, remember?”
“You can’t have it both ways, John,” Terry said. “If he signs this paperwork today that says that upon completion of the contract he earns it, then we have no choice but to give it to him. Otherwise, we’d be liable for breach of contract.”
“I know how contracts work,” Kreese snapped.
“I know you do,” Terry said, “which is why you know I’m right.”
Kreese scowled. Terry was right about that as well. When had Terry become so adept at doing things without having to defer to Kreese or look to him for help and approval? As much as Kreese might hate having to go out of his way to give Terry the level of attention he craved, it was abundantly clear that Terry could stand on his own now and didn’t need Kreese anymore. And he hated that, too.
Terry began to rearrange the scattered paperwork into its proper order, and pulled out a single sheet of paper and laid it down on the desk. “Here’s the NDA. It’s the standard Dynatox template we use, but with some parts rewritten to fit our purposes. It says that Mike can’t talk about our method and our plans – giving away trade secrets, as it were – until we’re ready to go public. It lays out what he can and can’t talk about, and that he can’t share that information with –”
“Johnny Lawrence,” Kreese said immediately.
Terry nodded. “Any competing entity, so that technically includes the karate club he and Lawrence run. So, he comes here, we teach him the Way of the Fist. Let him internalize it, make him live it – but he can’t share it with them, as much as he might want to.”
“Why not just tell him he can’t talk to anyone at all about anything we’re doing here?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t go that far,” Terry explained. “I ran into that same issue when I was first scoping out new waste management locations throughout Asia. I told the locals I hired there that they couldn’t talk about who they were working for, what they were doing, nothing. Got in trouble with Legal for making it overly broad.”
Kreese shrugged. “If you say so, and if your lawyers say so, but regardless, we’re going to make him take it that way. You know I don’t want any of this to get out before we’re good and ready, Terry. Let everyone believe Cobra Kai has closed its doors for good. Let them believe I’m dead and gone. But we’ll roll into the All-Valley in December, and prove once and for all that Cobra Kai never dies.”
Terry put the paperwork, now again in order, back into the manila folder and pointed it at the office door. “If we have nothing more to discuss, let’s go out there and get Mr. Barnes officially on board, and finally get this ball rolling.”
~ * ~
Mike stared up at the dusty clock on the wall, watching the second hand follow its steady orbit. More than an hour had passed since Sensei Kreese had disappeared into that office, and he’d long since completed everything his new sensei had asked and more. Now that he was done, time seemed to move so much slower. He didn’t want to knock on the door and interrupt anything, but in theory, if he were to leave right now, he could still get back in time to do a quick kata demonstration on the lawn before dinner. While it wouldn’t be the big event their friends were so excited about, it was something he could do without Johnny, and it would be at least something to kick off the weekend properly.
He lay down along the sparring mat’s tape border and stretched his exhausted body out. As he raised his arms painfully over his head, he realized with dismay that any lawn karate, even just that quick demo he’d been considering, was out of the question. He had been so stirred by Kreese’s words and new style of teaching that he’d gotten carried away trying to apply it to his exercises. Sitting back up into a cross-legged position, he stretched his arms out in front of him, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands, and thought, not for the first time, that Kreese and Terry might have completely forgotten he was still out there.
Now that he’d had some time for Kreese’s lessons to sink in, all his questions and misgivings were returning and he was beginning to think he no longer wanted to do this, even with that fancy car ride and the business opportunity he was promised. For one thing, he still could not reconcile what Terry told him with what Kreese had just taught him, and that inconsistency between the two aroused some suspicions. More importantly, what he’d found inspiring about the Way of the Fist in the moment he heard the words now troubled him. ‘Kill or be killed’ aside, what Kreese had said earlier brought something Johnny had told him to mind, about how his former sensei had taught him to think of everyone else as an enemy. He wondered if Sensei Kreese’s lesson was akin to what Johnny said. It sounded awfully familiar.
… But that wasn’t exactly what Sensei Kreese said, was it? He simply said that trust and friendship had to be earned, rather than freely given, after people proved themselves worthy. Johnny’s former sensei’s teachings didn’t appear to consider the possibility that they ever would.
Maybe it wasn’t the same thing after all, and he was just overthinking it.
That, however, still left the win-or-die mentality that had never sat well with him. There was certainly some value in what Kreese said about displaying strength and fearlessness before one’s enemies – and there was that word again – but in the end, he didn’t think he could stand behind a karate philosophy that made the choice of victory or death its foundation.
He needed to get out of there.
He had no idea how to get back to campus from wherever he was, but he’d figure it out.
Searching the room for a back door or some other means to make a quick exit if necessary, Mike rose quickly from the mat and went to gather his things. The luxury ride from campus to the dojo had been the best thing about this entire day, but he couldn’t justify selling himself out just for caviar blinis and petits fours in a vintage Rolls-Royce. Or, for that matter, the expensive new custom gi he wore, or that elusive business venture Terry kept tempting him with, which he now was starting to believe was merely a ruse to get him to come over and didn’t actually exist.
Before he could cut and run, though, something in the series of competition photographs displayed above the shelf holding his gym bag halted him in his tracks: he spotted, amidst the banners of the participating dojos at the 1980 All-Valley Championship – among them the Locust Valley Karate Club, Topanga Karate, and the rather amusingly named Krunch Karate – a Cobra Kai banner.
Until now, Cobra Kai had just been an abstract concept in Mike’s mind, something out of crazy stories. He did not discount or dismiss Johnny’s experiences, but between the disconnected phone line he’d called and the often vague stories Johnny told about that dojo, he was never fully able to conceive of Cobra Kai as a tangible entity. Seeing the dojo’s banner for himself in that photograph now made those stories, and Johnny’s inner torment, all the more real for him.
His heart ached for Johnny.
That was it. He had to take this opportunity, before he left, to examine the memorabilia displayed throughout the room for some clues that would allow him to understand Johnny’s state of mind better, and hopefully fill in some of those blanks Johnny would always leave whenever Cobra Kai came up in conversation. Anything that would help. After today, he might not have another chance.
He spent the next several minutes so engrossed in searching the photos for useful details that he didn’t hear the office door open behind him.
“Ahem. Mr. Barnes.”
Shit.
Mike started and whirled around, almost running into the two imposing figures in the narrow hallway. He should have left when he had the chance, instead of wasting that precious time poking around the dojo for clues he didn’t even get to find.
“Sorry, Sensei. I’ve finished all the exercises you gave me, so I just …” He couldn’t very well tell them what he’d really been thinking, so he just trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“At ease, soldier,” Kreese said. “You’ve done well today, and we’re very pleased with what we’ve seen from you so far.”
Mike bowed. “Thank you, sir.”
“We’d like to bring you on board officially,” Terry said. “Together, I think we can accomplish great things.”
“Like what?”
“We think you’d make an excellent brand ambassador for our new dojo,” Terry replied with a big smile. “You’ve been quite receptive to learning our method, and you’ve taken to it very well, which is precisely what we wanted to see from you.”
“What is that, exactly?” Mike asked.
“We’d like you to represent this dojo at the All-Valley Tournament this December,” Terry said, nodding his head toward the photos behind Mike. “There are lots of pictures of the All-Valley here that should give you an idea of what to expect. I know you’ve been in lots of tournaments already, but they do things a little differently here.”
Mike nodded. He’d been participating in karate competitions since he was nine years old. How different could this possibly be?
“We’ll tell you what to do and teach you everything you need to know. Think of it as on-the-job training. It’s part of what we’re hiring you for,” Terry said.
Mike crossed his arms. “Which is?”
“We want you to showcase our new method at this tournament to show everyone in the Valley we’re the next big thing,” Terry replied. “You just have to do two things: compete against the reigning champion, and win the title for our dojo.”
“The newest dojo in the Valley with this year’s Golden Trophy? People won’t be able to resist,” Kreese added. “We’re planning to open our doors officially after the tournament, so winning that title will be quite the draw for new students.”
Mike frowned. Competing for fun was one thing, but going in it to win it? He already had a regional title; what would he want with another? Not only that, but Johnny also had two of these, and look what that had done to him.
“What’s in it for me?”
“Think about it this way,” Terry said. “Once you show the Valley what we’re about, everyone will be flocking here to learn the Way of the Fist. John Kreese’s karate. We’ll take over the Valley and you’ll be the one to blaze that trail for us. You just have to do as we say, and the rest will be history.”
“So, your way or the highway?” Mike asked dubiously.
“That’s right,” Kreese replied. “You’re not here to do what you already know. You’re here to learn to be better than your best. You’re here to show the Valley what people could become if they follow the Way of the Fist. At this dojo, we create winners. You will become everything you were meant to be, and so will everyone else who comes after you.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Mike said. “You came to me. You saw me doing karate and you liked what you saw. Then you found out I was a champion, and you needed a champion, so here I am. It sounds like you need me more than I need you.”
Terry smiled, impressed; Mike truly was the tough negotiator he’d said he was, but if he was going to put up a fight, Terry was more than ready for it. These discussions were something he did on a daily basis. Compared to some of the other contracts he’d had to negotiate, this was nothing.
“You’re right,” he said. “I did come to you, because I knew from the start you were the right man for the job. I never considered anyone else after meeting you; I knew right away you were the one we wanted. Let me be clear, though: it’s not about you needing us, or us needing you. The fact is, we need each other. You want to become better at karate, learn new things that will expand your horizons. We need you to demonstrate we’re a winning prospect. I think this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both of us.”
“I’m still not hearing what I get out of this,” Mike said impatiently. He could have been back on campus by now, having a blast with his friends and promoting Eagle Fang to a large, enthusiastic audience, but instead, he was wasting his time here in this dingy dojo with these two weirdos.
Terry handed Mike the manila folder he’d been holding, but Mike made no move to open it. Instead, he held the two men’s gaze steadily for several long seconds. He didn’t have much experience at all with negotiating contracts, not even in a hypothetical class setting, but he wouldn’t let himself be intimidated. They had far more experience and leverage than he did, he knew that, and he knew they knew it, too.
“It’s all in there,” Terry said, indicating the folder with his chin. “If I were to just tell you everything, what would be the fun in that?”
Mike stared down at the first page of the contract. The language looked familiar from what he knew from class, but there was something weird about this one. Even though the document bore the heading “Contract for Services,” it didn’t sound like any of the contracts he’d studied. This said he would undergo months of rigorous training under Kreese’s supervision at the dojo so he could enter the All-Valley Tournament under the dojo’s banner, face off against a specific person, and win that match against them to claim the title.
Was this the business opportunity Terry kept on hyping up to him? If so, it was a real letdown.
This was also not something he could guarantee. He’d do his best to win, of course, but in a championship setting, a lot of things were out of his control. The only performance he could really guarantee was his own, and even that was still dependent on external factors the contract couldn’t cover.
As a contractual obligation, it didn’t make sense. Short of cheating, he couldn’t think of a way to secure the outcome they wanted.
“What if I don’t advance to the final?” Mike asked. “What if the defending champion doesn’t?”
“Then that’s a breach of contract,” Kreese responded immediately.
“No, not exactly,” Terry said quickly, giving Kreese a pointed sidelong glance and ignoring the dirty look Kreese gave him in return. He knew Kreese was only bringing it up because he’d mentioned it earlier, and he also knew how much Kreese hated being corrected like this. So much for knowing how contracts work, he thought to himself. “Regardless of the outcome, you will still be fairly compensated for the work you’ve done for us. There’s only one thing that’s contingent upon you winning the title against the reigning champion. The full details are on page 5 of that contract.”
Mike flipped through the paperwork to page 5 without reading the other pages, and nearly dropped the contract when he saw the line he was sure Terry was referring to.
Upon successful fulfillment of all Services as defined in this Agreement, Provider shall be granted a twenty-five percent (25%) ownership interest in the Dojo.
That certainly changed things. Whatever doubts he still harbored, the prospect of being a part owner of a new business was extremely difficult to pass up.
Observing Mike’s reaction closely, Terry straightened up to his full height and advanced a few steps, causing Mike to shuffle backward as far as he could go, right up against the student shelves behind him. “All we ask is that you trust us,” he said softly.
“As you promised me you would, Mr. Barnes,” Kreese said, coming forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Terry. “I’ve already told you: I only want what’s best for you.”
“You’ll be well looked after here,” Terry said, nodding at the folder in Mike’s hands. “I make a point to give everyone who works with me nothing but the very best. Have another look. You’ll see what I mean.”
“I understand,” Mike said. If they were still trying to intimidate him, it wasn’t going to work.
“Good,” Terry said, taking a step backwards and nodding at the folder again.
Once the two men retreated to give him space to consider, Mike flipped back to the first page of the contract and began to read its terms carefully, line by line. He already knew what they were asking of him, so he didn’t look at it as carefully. What really interested him was what he would get out of this, and whether it would be worth it.
He didn’t have to read far to see that it absolutely was. A thousand dollars every week, payable every Friday afternoon. Daily chauffeur service and specially catered meals whenever he was at the dojo or otherwise engaged in dojo business. Luxury accommodations whenever he needed them. The use of a company car. The personalized gi he currently wore, plus another formal one for tournaments. His own business bank account. The list kept going for almost a full page.
The last page of the contract was marked Nondisclosure Agreement. He’d heard about these before, but couldn’t figure out why he would have to sign one for this job. This was a karate dojo, not a matter of national security. But then again, these were Special Forces people and they’d probably been trained to think that way. “Do I need to sign this too?”
“Yes, of course,” Terry replied. “It’s for our protection. And for yours as well.”
Mike knitted his brows together. “Okay, let me see if I have this right: I have to sign this thing saying I can’t talk to anyone about anything I’m doing here?”
“You could say that,” Kreese said.
“Nothing at all?”
“Mike,” Terry said, “please understand, the Way of the Fist is a highly specialized proprietary method that we’ve put a lot of effort into developing over many years. The Quicksilver Dojo will be the culmination of everything John and I have been working toward since we returned from military service. As such, we want to keep it exclusive to us and our trusted partners until we’re ready and all the proper protections are in place. Remember how I told you in our first conversation that I wanted you to keep this between us? That’s all this is.”
Mike tilted his head to the side, considering this. “You mean like a secret society or something?”
“Yeah, that’s one way of looking at it,” Kreese replied, trying not to roll his eyes.
“What do I tell people, then, if they ask where I’m going every day?”
“Tell them you have an internship downtown,” Terry said easily. “That’s all they need to know. The rest is none of their business.”
“How am I going to explain the limo?”
“It’s a service provided by the company you’re working for.”
“What about this gi?”
“Say it was a gift.”
“From whom?”
“A friend.”
Mike frowned. “You’re asking me to lie?”
Terry shrugged Mike’s concern off, proud of himself for having come up with all those answers so quickly and effortlessly without giving away his true intentions. “You’re not lying. All of that is technically true.”
“But that’s –”
“—standard procedure for safeguarding company secrets,” Terry finished for him. He was losing patience with this conversation. What had initially impressed him about Mike’s negotiation skills was now starting to annoy him. “You will, of course, be well rewarded for your discretion.”
“Really,” Mike said skeptically. “How well?”
Raising a pointed eyebrow, Terry lifted a small rectangular piece of paper from the desk and handed it to Mike. “As I was saying. There’s a lot more where this came from, should you join us.”
All of that hard-nosed confidence he was taking pains to display disappeared in an instant. When he saw the number on the check, Mike’s mouth fell open in shock as his heart leapt into his throat.
Pay to the order of Michael Barnes
Fifty thousand and 00/100 Dollars
Kreese smirked at Mike’s unvarnished reaction. Now they had him exactly where they wanted him. “Do we have ourselves a deal, Mr. Barnes?”
Mike nodded mutely. Fifty thousand dollars? That was more than enough to cover his college expenses until graduation and law school. Forget the questions he still had, he would be stupid not to accept this offer. And they did say they’d take very good care of him if he joined them.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, sir,” Mike said hoarsely. “Sign me up.”
“Excellent! I’m pleased you came to the right decision. All you need to do is sign your name here, and here.” Terry gently took the folder from Mike and placed the last two pages of the contract on the desk, laying an enameled gold fountain pen over the signature line of the nondisclosure agreement.
Mike hurriedly scribbled his name on both signature lines and handed the pen back to Terry without a word.
“We appreciate your trust in us,” Terry said, beaming as he shook hands with Mike. “Congratulations, and welcome aboard.”
Returning the handshake with confidence, Mike’s smile was equally bright. “Thank you, sir. It’s a real honor.”
Kreese, however, remained unsmiling as his grip tightened on his gi collar. “Start on Monday. Be ready.”
Mike bowed. “Yes, sensei. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Dismissed,” Kreese barked.
Mike picked his duffel bag up off the shelf and turned to leave, but before he could get too far, he quickly turned back around. “I have one question before I go, if that’s alright. If I’m going to be part of this dojo, I need to understand how the Way of the Fist works. My question is why I learned different things from each of you: Sensei Kreese, you said this method was about facing the world with strength, but Terry – Sensei Silver – you mentioned discipline and self-confidence when we first talked.”
“That is a very good question, Mike. I’m glad you asked. Even though they sound very different from each other, these perspectives are two sides of the same coin,” Terry said smoothly. “On the one side, we have John, who teaches pure strength and determination, and then on the other, we have me. I believe that carrying that strength and determination throughout your life will lead to self-empowerment and confidence, allowing you to act as an instrument of peace in everything you do. You will learn how showing the kind of strength Sensei Kreese speaks of will allow you to ensure a better, more peaceful world for everyone.”
“Compassion through strength. Inner peace through power. Self-fulfillment through victory,” Kreese added. “This will free you from the shackles of your past and make you a better and stronger person, to stand firm against a cruel and inhumane world.”
Mike nodded. When put that way, he could see how it made sense. There could be something to this philosophy after all. Now, the questions he’d had seemed so silly.
“Strength, determination, that is the Way of the Fist. Always remember that, Mr. Barnes.”
Mike bowed again. “Yes, sensei. See you on Monday.”
The moment the door swung shut behind him, Mike stopped on the front steps and again examined the check still in his hand. His eyes kept going over the letters of his name and the amount payable with all its zeroes, as if to convince himself this wasn’t just a dream. Fifty thousand dollars? He couldn’t believe it.
Oh boy, was he so glad he didn’t leave.
Two hours ago, Mike arrived at the dojo as just one of many first-year college students trying to find his way in a new city. Now, he was leaving the dojo as a real businessman, with tens of thousands of dollars to his name and the prospect of earning so much more. He’d train, compete, and win the tournament, and by the end of this semester, he would be a 25% shareholder in the next big karate dojo in the Valley.
There was no way the business fraternity could turn him down now.
“Eat that, Deltasigs,” he said out loud, grinning triumphantly. “I’m your fucking boss now, bitches.”
Sensei Kreese was right. With strength to guide him and determination to fuel him, there was nothing Mike Barnes, karate champion and future small business owner, couldn’t do.
Notes:
I tried to make the most logical, if not legal, sense out of this Frankenstein’s Monster of a service contract, employment contract, and partnership agreement (with a nonexistent business entity, no less) as I could. Any ‘errors,’ such as they are, are my own (and the Dynatox Legal Department’s too, but mostly mine). As for the way the contract negotiations were conducted … well, that brings up a whole other set of issues I claim no responsibility for. That’s on Terry and Kreese.
Adjusted for inflation, the $50,000 consideration Mike received for signing the “Quicksilver Dojo” nondisclosure agreement is worth approximately $146,000 in 2024. He is right that that initial payment would easily cover his college tuition until graduation, and then some: CSUN had a $342 tuition fee in 1988, so it would have been about the same, if not slightly less, in 1985.
The Iota Upsilon Chapter of the Delta Sigma Pi Professional Business Fraternity was established at CSUN in 1980. The fraternity’s real members are, I’m sure, wonderful people and not the snobby stuffed shirts Mike thinks they are.
Mike’s golden caviar and blinis.
The vicuña blankets in Terry’s limo.
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