CHAPTER 54: WAR COUNCIL IN STUDIO APARTMENT
My apartment wasn't designed for seven people.
It was barely designed for one person. A studio that real estate agents would describe as "cozy" and normal humans would describe as "depressing." Kitchenette along one wall, bed that doubled as a couch, a bathroom the size of a closet, and approximately zero privacy.
Now it contained six teenagers and enough tension to fuel a nuclear reactor.
"This has cult vibes," Demetri announced from his position wedged between the refrigerator and the wall. "I'm just saying. Secret meetings, mysterious warnings, the charismatic leader—"
"I'm not charismatic," I said.
"You have a cult following in the underground fighting scene and a nickname that sounds like a religious title. You're charismatic."
Tory had claimed the only chair, lounging like a queen on a throne made of secondhand furniture. Hawk perched on the kitchen counter, which creaked dangerously under his weight. Miguel sat on the floor, nervously working through a bag of chips. Aisha leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching everything.
And Sam—Sam had arrived fifteen minutes ago, unexpected and unannounced, and was now standing in the middle of my tiny apartment looking at Tory like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn't have all the pieces for.
"Why is she here?" Tory asked, not bothering to hide her hostility.
"Why are you here?" Sam shot back.
"I was invited."
"So was I. Ivyn texted me last night. Said it was important."
Both of them turned to me. So did everyone else.
"Great." I grabbed an empty pizza box from the counter—last night's dinner, or maybe the night before—and started drawing on the inside lid. "Everyone's here. Everyone's confused. Let me explain."
"Please do," Sam said. "Because right now this looks like my boyfriend having a secret meeting with his other girlfriend."
"I'm not his girlfriend!" Tory sounded genuinely offended.
"I'm not his girlfriend either!" Sam paused. "Wait, I am his girlfriend. That's not the point—"
"The POINT," I interrupted, "is that dangerous people are interested in Cobra Kai."
The room went quiet.
"Dangerous how?" Miguel asked.
I drew on the pizza box. Circles. Lines. A crude diagram that probably looked insane to everyone else but made sense in my head.
"Rich people. Powerful people. Psychotic people who used to run Cobra Kai before Johnny, who have resources and connections and a history of destroying anyone who gets in their way." I held up the box. "This is Terry Silver. He bought me breakfast yesterday and tried to recruit me."
"The DynaTox guy?" Aisha frowned. "My parents have stock in his company."
"Sell it. He's not interested in chemicals. He's interested in martial arts. Specifically, in corrupting martial artists and using them as weapons."
"How do you know?" Hawk demanded.
"Because he told me. Between the eggs and the recruitment pitch, he explained exactly what he wanted—loyal soldiers who would do whatever he said without question." I pointed at the diagram. "He's already watching us. Scouts at training sessions. Surveillance on our families. He knows where we live, where we work, who we're dating."
Sam's face went pale. "He knows about us?"
"He knows about everyone." I drew more lines on the box. "But here's the thing—he's moving faster than he should. Something spooked him. Maybe the viral video, maybe our cross-training, maybe just the fact that Cobra Kai is actually producing decent fighters again. Whatever the reason, he's accelerating his plans."
"What plans?" Tory leaned forward, interested despite herself.
"I don't know exactly. But I know we need to be ready." I set down the pizza box. "All of us. Together. Training in everything—Cobra Kai, Miyagi-Do, street fighting, whatever works."
"Mix styles?" Hawk looked personally offended. "That's sacrilege."
"That's survival."
Silence stretched through the apartment. I watched faces process—Hawk's resistance, Miguel's calculation, Tory's predatory interest, Aisha's careful evaluation.
Sam spoke first.
"My dad would hate this." She took a breath. "I'm in."
Tory's eyebrows rose. Something shifted in her expression—not respect exactly, but recognition. One warrior acknowledging another.
"If LaRusso's girl is in, I'm in," Tory said. "Can't let her outwork me."
"This is insane," Demetri protested. "Cross-training with rival dojos to fight mysterious billionaire villains? This is literally the plot of a bad action movie."
"You can just do the thinking parts," I offered.
"Oh." He considered. "Okay, that's acceptable. I'm in for the thinking parts."
One by one, they committed. Hawk with reluctant aggression. Miguel with determined focus. Aisha with practical acceptance.
"One question," Miguel said. "How do you know all this? About Silver, about his plans, about—" He gestured at my pizza box diagram. "Any of this?"
"I have sources."
"What sources?"
"Good ones."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
The room processed my non-answer. I could see the doubt—they weren't stupid, any of them. But they also weren't leaving.
"He thinks he's psychic," Demetri stage-whispered to Hawk.
"I am psychic!" I committed to the lie. It was easier than the truth.
"Sure you are," Tory drawled. But she was smiling, which was terrifying in its own way.
---
Forty-five minutes later, we'd established training schedules, assigned partners, and nearly started three separate fights over pizza toppings.
"Pineapple is an ABOMINATION," Tory declared, threatening Miguel with a menu.
"It's sweet and savory! The combination—"
"The combination is WRONG."
Sam caught my eye across the chaos. Is this what we're defending? her expression asked.
I shrugged. Apparently.
She laughed despite herself.
When everyone finally left—Tory first, then Hawk dragging Demetri, then Miguel and Aisha together—Sam stayed.
"You're hiding something," she said.
"Everyone keeps telling me that."
"Because it's true." She stepped closer. "The way you knew about Silver. The way you know things before they happen. It's like you've seen it all before."
"Maybe I have good instincts."
"Maybe." She kissed me, soft and quick. "But whatever you're hiding, I hope you'll tell me eventually. When you're ready."
I wanted to. God, I wanted to tell someone. Anyone. The weight of knowing everything and nothing was crushing me.
"Eventually," I promised.
She left. I stood alone in my destroyed apartment, surrounded by pizza boxes and conspiracy diagrams and the growing certainty that I was in way over my head.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Impressive gathering. Let's discuss their future.
Silver. He knew about the meeting. Of course he did.
I deleted the message. Grabbed my keys.
Time for professional help.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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