It had been about four months since Eli broke Demetri’s arm, and three since everything in his life had collapsed in on itself—Moon, Cobra Kai, and the version of himself he had built from anger. Moon dumping him hadn’t hurt as much as realizing she didn’t look back. He’d tried at first. Tried to win her back like nothing had changed, like he hadn’t become someone else entirely. But at a party, under flashing lights and loud music, she’d told him gently—too gently—that she was seeing someone new. And that it was real. That was the moment Eli stopped chasing ghosts.

He apologized to Demetri. Properly. No excuses, no attitude, no “Hawk” in his voice. Then he walked away from Cobra Kai. From Kreese. From everything that had convinced him that strength meant hurting people first. Miyagi-Do was different. Quiet. Controlled. Honest. He shaved down the mohawk he once wore like armor, letting his natural dirty-blond hair grow in uneven and unfamiliar. The lotus flower tattoo over his chest now covered Moon’s name—no anger in it, just closure he didn’t know how to say out loud.

Still, there was something else happening too. Something quieter. He found himself going to Guest more often than anyone else. She was steady in a way nothing else in his life had been lately. Patient. Understanding. She didn’t flinch at who he used to be, or judge who he was trying to become. Somewhere between late-night talks and shared silence, he just knew that when everything else felt loud, she didn’t. And he’d never let anyone touch her—not when he was Hawk, not now when he was trying to be better.

But peace didn’t mean easy. Cobra Kai hadn’t let him go. To them, he was a traitor. And every few days, someone from his old life made sure he remembered it—with words, with fists, with ambushes behind parking lots or near the strip mall. Tonight was no different.Guest had just opened her homework when the double knock hit her window.

Guest looked up just in time to see him climb in awkwardly, except he didn’t look like the Eli who left earlier that week with a half-smile and a joke. His lip was split. A dark bruise bloomed under one eye. His knuckles scraped raw, and his breathing was uneven—controlled, but only barely.