Chapter Text
I don't believe it.
I hit the front brakes of my bicycle and planted my feet against the sun-baked cement, squinting against the sweltering afternoon light. Across the dilapidated strip mall parking lot, above one of the storefronts, there was a wide, garish sign advertising Cobra Kai Karate.
That sign hadn't existed the week before. And the longer I stared, the more familiar it became, neighbored as it was by a pawn shop, the Mini Mart, and a small Armenian restaurant.
Before this―before I'd woken up as some random, barely fourteen-year-old girl in southern California―I had watched nearly the entirety of the Cobra Kai series approximately two Christmases ago, because my grandmother had become obsessed with the Karate Kid franchise. Between all the movies and about five seasons worth of the show, both my grandma and I had turned into couch potatoes for the duration of winter break, and I had finally learned where my mother's love of action movies came from.
Still, it was surely ludicrous that everyone that had filmed the show existed in this place too. As far as I knew, I was trapped in some alternate dimension where no one I knew was alive. It was 2017, but just because I'd been flung back eight years, didn't mean social media was still not prevalent. And one of the first things I'd done was use the crappy Android I now owned to look up everyone who I knew or was related to, only to come up scarily empty.
I peered over the near-deserted parking lot and wondered where the camera crew could be. It was strange that they'd used an actual strip mall rather than some fake Hollywood stage set.
I swung off of my bicycle and ambled down from the sidewalk and across the parking lot, rolling the bike at my side, wondering if I could get a glimpse inside the dojo. Although it was probably empty. Maybe they had already wrapped up filming and none would be back until the next season. Under the walkway roof of the strip, I leaned my bike against one of the thin support pillars and tried to get a look inside, but all of the blinds were firmly pulled shut. That didn't keep me from catching an earful of intermittent shouts just barely muffled by the glass partitions.
No way. Could they be filming right now?
I hesitated for only a second longer, wondering just how much trouble I'd get into for interrupting, before ultimately deciding that the lack of security was entirely their fault, and swung open the door with a sharp ring of a bell.
It was…empty?
With the exception of the two guys who portrayed Johnny Lawrence and Miguel Diaz respectively, there was no one around; no camera crew, or director, or producer. Just an empty dojo, hazy with the late September humidity and the pungent smell of rubber mats slick with sweat. Had I interrupted a rehearsal?
"What the hell?" the Johnny Lawrence actor glared at me, stepping away from the dummy they were in the process of pummeling. "Are you lost?"
I narrowed my eyes, disguising the discomfort caused by his overt hostility. "Door was open," I pointed out with false bravado, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder. "Maybe you should lock up if you don't want just anyone barging in."
"What?" He stared at me with a baffled expression. "This is a karate dojo, kid. We're open. Just, you know, not for you."
I stared at him, disbelieving. "Right," I dragged out the word, wondering how much I could play along with their method acting before they told me to get lost. "So, what exactly is the criteria here? Seems pretty exclusive if you've only got one student showing up for class."
His expression briefly ticked in annoyance, before he said plainly, "There are no girls in Cobra Kai."
The Miguel dude looked like he was itching to intervene, so I cut to the chase, using the same method I vaguely recalled him using when Aisha had wanted to join.
"Sounds dumb and outdated," I said. "But you should make an exception for me."
"Oh yeah? And why's that?" he demanded, stalking towards me, Miguel hurrying to shadow his footsteps.
"Because," I snarked, "I'm a paying customer. And beggars can't be choosers."
Perhaps I shouldn't have antagonized the man two heads taller than me and playacting as a karate-trained bully, but surely he would kick me out now; maybe tease me for trying to join a blatantly fabricated dojo built for a show set.
Instead, to my surprise, he halted before me and snapped out a surly, "Fine. Whatever. Take off your shoes before you step on the mat."
"Yes, Sensei," I chirped mockingly with a triumphant grin, briefly wondering if I was about to get my butt kicked. Was that actually allowed?
Deciding it was too late to turn back, I kicked off a pair of frayed Converse and shrugged off my school backpack, tossing it aside. Fortunately, it was still too hot to wear restricting clothes, so my jean shorts and loose tee would be suitable enough. I was also wearing a baseball cap to keep my scalp from burning while out and about, and I momentarily wondered if I should remove that as well. Ultimately, I decided I didn't want to know what the roots of my hair looked like underneath, most likely frizzed up from the combined sweat and humidity.
I bowed briefly before stepping onto the mat, the same way I remembered other kids doing on the show.
"Right," he said, appearing slightly caught off guard by my show of manners. "You can join Cobra Kai. But if you're gonna be here, you can't act like a girl, you understand?"
"What? You want me to go full Mulan? Cut off my hair? Shove a cup between my legs?"
"What? No," he snapped, shifting uncomfortably. "I meant, you can't be getting all emotional. No complaining, no interrupting. You do as I say."
Wow. He sounds serious.
"Yes, Sensei," I said, beginning to wonder what exactly I'd gotten myself into.
"Good," he said with a nod. "What's your name?"
After a beat, I said, "Lorena Beckett." I'd had over two months now to get used to my new name, but my tongue still wrapped awkwardly around it, like trying to break in a pair of new sneakers.
"Johnny Lawrence," he answered back curtly, "but you will address me as 'Sensei' or 'Sensei Lawrence.'"
"Yes, Sensei."
"I'm Miguel Diaz," the lone student introduced himself with a friendly smile, practically bouncing at his sensei's side. "It's good to have another kid around."
I was only able to offer him a nod of acknowledgement, before our so-called 'sensei' was speaking again, a hard gaze now directed at Miguel. "Mr. Diaz," he barked, "demonstrate for Miss Beckett the first lesson of Cobra Kai."
Miguel promptly stood to attention and snapped out an immediate, "Yes, Sensei!" It was, admittedly, kind of adorable.
"Cobra Kai is a way of life," Miguel began, turning to me with a too-serious expression. "We strike first―"
"Diaz!" Sensei Lawrence cut in with a pointed glare. "I said demonstrate."
"Wait." Miguel gaped up at him with dawning horror. "You want me to punch her?"
I guess, from his perspective, I could understand his reluctance, especially with my reflection noticeably displayed along the mirror-lined wall to our left. I was a head shorter than him and essentially a twig, so much so that the hem of my jean shorts were wide around my thin legs. The pale, wavy blonde hair flowing freely from underneath my cap, coupled with the large brown eyes and freckled nose weren't what anyone would call intimidating.
But Sensei Lawrence looked like he was beginning to lose his patience―if he'd ever had any to begin with. "Mr. Diaz, this isn't a knitting class. We are in a karate dojo. What do we do in a karate dojo?"
"We fight―oof!" Miguel turned me with betrayed eyes, clutching his gut.
I shook my hand, knuckles stinging. "Strike first. Got it. What's the next lesson?"
"Huh," Sensei Lawrence said, appearing pleasantly surprised, before he shook his head and scowled again. "Next lesson is learning how to throw a goddamn punch. That was pathetic."
"Yes, Sensei," I said, biting back a grin. It's not like anyone had ever taught me how to throw a proper punch, so I was hardly offended.
Sensei Lawrence turned away sharply and marched back over to the dummy Miguel had previously been hitting when I'd first walked in, and we followed after him.
"The Cobra Strike," he began, "is composed of two parts."
I carefully observed the position of his feet, hands, and arms, tracking every movement as he explained what he was doing, hoping I would be able to replicate it as shown. It didn't seem complicated, but seeing as I had nowhere near the same amount of muscle mass and the dummy was taller than me, I didn't imagine I would have a similar effect.
"Alright, you're up," he said once he was through demonstrating, indicating for me to take his place.
I moved and planted my feet in a similar manner as he had, and with the shout, punched the non-existent snot out of the poor dummy.
"Not bad. Make sure you're lunging with your whole body."
"I am!"
"Well, I suppose that's not saying much," he sighed. "Keep practicing. We only have the one dummy at the moment, so keep switching off until I say otherwise."
"Yes, Sensei," Miguel and I said in unison.
By the time Sensei Lawrence was satisfied with our ability to pummel a dummy, I was thoroughly exhausted, but it turned out that that was only the beginning as he proceeded to run us through the paces. At the very least, I was relieved to find that Miguel didn't have much of an advantage in this field, both of us equally struggling through various reps of push-ups, crunches, and burpees with near-similar noodle limbs. To say that Sensei Lawrence was less than impressed would be a severe understatement.
"What the hell are they teaching kids in gym class these days?" he grumbled, eyeing our forms crumpled along the mat with distaste. "Whatever. Take a break and then get cleaning."
"Cleaning?" I croaked.
"Yeah," Miguel answered, breath shaky. "Inspector's coming back tomorrow to assess the dojo."
"Ugh."
We remained prone on the mat for about another five minutes before we peeled ourselves off and stumbled over to the water cooler to gulp down several cupfulls.
"Would you prefer mopping the mats or wiping the windows?" Miguel asked, crushing his disposable cup and tossing it into the small bin.
"Uh, neither," I said, wiping my chin with the back of my hand, where a few drops of water had spilled. "But mopping might be smarter, since I'm not tall enough to reach the tops of the windows."
"Right, good thinking ahead," Miguel agreed, leading me back to the supply closet and divvying out the cleaning supplies.
It turned out to not be as tortuous as I'd imagined. Somehow, Miguel had gotten his second wind and he proceeded to talk my ear off while we cleaned. By the time we finished wiping everything down, it was dark outside, but Miguel, the poor schmuck, was sent by Sensei Lawrence to clean the toilets. Despite my sympathies, I didn't bother offering a helping hand, more than ready to go to bed.
Instead, I stumbled back towards the corner where I'd tossed my things aside, fishing through my backpack in search of my wallet. While I was reluctant to pay a single dollar after having helped clean the place, I was willing to do so if it meant having the chance to come back. I hadn't actually expected to learn any serious karate moves, but those striking lessons had been pretty awesome.
I was digging my small wallet out from one of the many inside pockets, when the bell above the door abruptly rang.
I remained crouched in the shadowed corner, observing as the man I recognized as Daniel LaRusso crept into the place, his profile leery with caution. I was beginning to think this wasn't a stage set after all.
"Welcome to Cobra Kai," Sensei Lawrence announced, striding out of his office, pace abruptly slowing as soon as he recognized his rival.
Shit. I really am in Cobra Kai.
It was a dizzying revelation.
"―I heard you beat up a bunch of teenagers in that parking lot out there."
I shook my head, tuning back in once I realized I'd missed part of their conversation. Though it hardly seemed to matter, my ears ringing with déjà vu from the familiarity of their words.
"Oh. That," Sensei Lawrence recalled with a hint of mockery. "No. I didn't beat up any teenagers." He stalked forward across the mat and snapped, "I kicked the shit out of a bunch of assholes who deserved it."
"Wow," Daniel scoffed in disbelief, "Johnny Lawrence calling someone else an asshole. That's rich, man."
"He's telling the truth."
Daniel turned to me with a start as I stood to my feet.
"Kyler and his friends beat the crap out of Miguel after he blew their cover at the Mini Mart. They were trying to pass for college students so that they could buy alcohol. So when Miguel accidentally ruined their plans, they beat him up, dumped his grandma's medicine on him, and have been bullying him at school ever since."
Daniel stared at me, expression disturbed, while in turn, Sensei Lawrence was eyeing him with a vindicated grin.
"And another thing," I continued, figuring I was already on a roll, "your daughter and her friends were the ones who wrecked Sensei Lawrence's car. So, with all due respect Mr. LaRusso, the least you could have done was repair it free of charge."
"What?" Daniel said and shook his head. "That's not possible. Sam would never do something like that."
I shrugged and lied, "I overheard them talking about it at school. But if you don't believe me, you should try asking her yourself."
"I will," he said curtly, turning on his foot and marching out of the dojo without another word.
"Damn," Sensei Lawrence laughed. "Remind me to keep you around the next time that prick barges in. How the hell did you even know all that?"
"Miguel was telling me about it earlier," I said truthfully. It was the only reason that that part of the story had been so fresh in my memory, while the part about the car wreck had been memorable enough on its own. "Anyway, how much do I owe you?"
"Forget it. Between cleaning and chasing LaRusso out with his tail between his legs, I think the least you deserve is one free lesson."
"I'll take it," I said. When you were fourteen and relied solely upon a minimum wage part-time job to pay your way through, there was hardly any room left for pride. "When's the next class?"
Sensei Lawrence gestured for me to follow him into his office. "I've written out a copy for you, and I also have all the paperwork you'll need to fill out."
"Bathroom's clean!" Miguel announced, reappearing from the back hall. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"
"Yeah, get in here," Sensei Lawrence called without missing a step.
We joined him inside his office, watching as he divided an array of papers into two piles.
"Now that we'll be officially opened for business, I'll need you two to fill these out," he said, handing each of us a stack.
I briefly flipped through mine, scanning over the registration forms, a medical release form, a waiver of liability, a hand-written schedule, etc.
"This is unexpectedly thorough," I commented.
"I'm not an idiot," Sensei Lawrence sneered. "I'm not getting my ass sued if one of you decides to wimp out over a few broken bones."
"Broken bones?" Miguel whimpered under his breath with appropriate horror.
I shuffled the papers back into order, grumbling, "Isn't that a ringing endorsement?"
But instead of doing the smart thing and hightailing it out of there before I could get dragged into some deranged karate gang war, I agreed to bring back the forms before the start of the next class. After all, I was already trapped in a fictional world where karate would soon reign supreme. And how did that old saying go?
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.