Johnny Lawrence's POV

The 101 was a parking lot. The Valley sun beat down on the back of my neck. I drove my ’79 Porsche with the top down. Its cherry-red paint shone like it was still 1984, fresh off the lot.

This car was my one big splurge, paid for with handyman jobs and bar bets. It wasn’t just a car. It was my ticket back to feeling like I was on top of the world. The wind whipped through my mullet. The engine purred, low and mean, like a cobra ready to strike.

I gripped the steering wheel, the leather worn smooth under my thumbs. For once, my heart felt light. That mess at the mini-mart was over. The cops let me off with a warning.

The rich kids' parents were too scared to press charges after they saw their boys' wrecked faces. That old fire, that rush, felt good. Now it was just a low buzz in my veins.

Maybe I’d text Robby. Hey kid, your dad has wheels now. Let's get burgers. Yeah, right. He wouldn’t answer. But dreaming was free.

The light ahead turned red. I slowed to a stop. The radio crackled with Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Too damn fitting.

I checked the rearview mirror. A silver Mercedes was right on my tail. The driver was a teenage girl, her ponytail bouncing. She had her phone in her lap, thumbs flying. She was laughing at a text, eyes off the road. A cute kid, maybe my son Robby's age.

The light turned green. I tapped the gas. The Porsche accelerated smoothly. I hugged the curve, just enough to feel the engine respond. To feel alive.

But the car behind me didn’t move. Then I heard a crunch on the back of my car.

The sound was awful. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. My world tilted as the Porsche jerked forward. The hood buckled like paper. Smoke puffed out, smelling of burnt rubber and regret. Our tires locked, skidding us both sideways.

“What the fuck!” I roared.

I killed the engine and shoved my door open before the car had even stopped rocking. I stumbled out. My boots hit the pavement. My heart was slamming against my ribs. Fury, hot and blind, boiled up inside me. That was my car. My last grip on the good old days. The one thing that roared louder than the doubts in my head.

I circled the wreck. The front end was smashed. The grille was twisted like a bad roundhouse. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. No crying. Not Johnny Lawrence.

The girl tumbled out of her car. Her phone clattered on the street. Her face was pale. Her ponytail hung limp.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she stammered. Her voice was high and shaky. Her hands twisted the hem of her skirt. “Dad, it’s gonna be okay,” she muttered into her phone, already dialing. Tears streaked down her cheeks.

I knew that voice. That face.

Samantha. LaRusso.

Daniel’s princess. She still had that cheerleader glow, even in a panic.

Of course. It was fate’s sick joke. The Valley’s way of kneeing me in the nuts.

“Are you texting or driving, Princess?” I snarled, stepping closer. I was close enough to smell her vanilla perfume mixed with fear-sweat.

Her eyes went wide. She backed up against her car door. “I swear, I looked up! The light changed so fast! My dad—Mr. LaRusso—he’ll fix this! I promise!”

LaRusso!

The name hit me like a crane kick to the gut. My old hate flared, bright and hot. That smug bastard. With his empire of shiny cars and his bonsai tree bullshit. Now he’d get to drag my pride into his repair shop like a trophy kill.

A tow truck wailed up beside us. Its hook dropped with a crash. The chains clanked, cold as handcuffs.

“No, no, wait! That’s my car!” I lunged forward and grabbed the cable. The metal burned my hand. The tow truck driver just shrugged his beefy shoulders.

“Sorry, pal. Policy. Accidents go to the shop on file.”

“LaRusso Auto,” the girl said, nodding frantically. “Yeah. Dad owns it. They’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of it?” My voice cracked. Raw emotion spilled out. The anger and grief punched through the cracks in my cool.

Now it was being towed away. The chains rattled like laughs from the gods. They were indifferent. Cruel as a ref’s whistle stealing your victory.

I glanced around. A crowd was gathering, gawking. Horns blared. I saw a skinny kid hanging back by a bus stop pole. Miguel. That bullied kid from the apartments. His eyes were wide, like he’d just seen a ghost.

He looked like he’d taken another beating at school. Probably from those rich kids in their polo shirts. I felt a pang for him. We shared that ache. The ache of being the underdog, always getting kicked when you’re down.

Hey, kid, I almost called out. Stay strong. But the words stuck in my throat. It was too tight.

Cops rolled up, lights flashing. They took out their notepads. Statements flew back and forth like bad katas. They gave me a ticket for reckless driving. They gave her a warning for distracted driving. First offense.

Bullshit.

I signed the paper. My hand was shaking. The ink smeared. I watched my car get dragged down the road. The bumper scraped the asphalt, throwing sparks like dying stars.

Sam was hovering, her phone to her ear. “Dad, hurry! It’s bad. Real bad. It’s a guy… from Cobra Kai or something!”

Cobra Kai.

The words hung in the air, heavy.

I could hear Daniel’s voice, tinny through the speaker. He was getting the details. The lot number.

“Yeah,” I muttered to myself. “Come get your mess, Sensei.”

I turned away. My boots felt heavy on the asphalt. My shoulders slumped under the weight of it all.

The Valley hummed on. Cars zipped past. People glanced at the wreck, then forgot about it. I was just another dent in the road.

Emotions crashed over me, wave after wave. The rage faded, leaving a hollow ache. It sat in that empty pit where my glory used to live.

Robby wouldn’t care about the car anyway. He just saw me as the flake dad. Not the champ.

I saw Miguel slink away as his bus pulled up, late. His face was a mix of pity and something else. A spark. The kid needed a break. He needed to learn how to fight.

Me too.

But the snake in me coiled tighter. I wasn’t broken. I was just pissed.

LaRusso, I thought. We’ll meet again. And next time, no traffic lights. No mercy.

For now, I just trudged home, alone. The indifferent buzz of Reseda swallowed me whole.