Zeke sat on the old leather couch in the dimly lit basement, the smell of sweat and dust filling his nostrils.

John, stood before him, his eyes sharp and intense, radiating an aura of authority and power. Behind him, the mural of a cobra coiled menacingly on the wall, its eyes seeming to follow Zeke's every move.

Kreese's gaze shifted momentarily to the stairs, where Sofia was taking selfies with her phone. He shook his head, a look of disdain crossing his features. "This pipsqueak generation," he muttered. "They don't know what it means to fight. To survive. But you, Ezekiel, you're different. You have the potential to understand."

Zeke sat up straighter, feeling the weight of his grandfather's words. He had always looked up to Kreese, sensing the strength and discipline that emanated from him. Now, he was eager to learn more about the legacy he was supposed to uphold.

"Cobra Kai isn't just a dojo," Kreese began, his voice low and commanding. "It's a way of life. A philosophy that has been passed down for generations. Your father went through the same training, and now it's your turn."

He led Zeke to a room at the back of the basement. The walls were adorned with old photographs and newspaper clippings of karate tournaments. In the center of the room, a framed poster displayed the Cobra Kai creed: "Strike First. Strike Hard. No Mercy."

Kreese pointed to the poster. "This is the creed of Cobra Kai," he said. "Strike First. Strike Hard. No Mercy. Each of these rules is essential. Let me explain."

He turned to face Zeke, his expression serious. "Strike First means you don't wait for your opponent to make a move. You take the initiative. You control the fight from the very beginning. In life, as in karate, hesitation is your enemy."

Zeke nodded, absorbing every word. Kreese continued, his voice rising with intensity. "Strike Hard means you put everything into every move. You don't hold back. You give it your all, every single time. It's about power and determination."

"And No Mercy," Kreese said, his eyes narrowing. "No Mercy means you don't give your opponent a chance to recover. You finish what you start. You show them no compassion, no leniency. In a fight, mercy is weakness."

Zeke felt a surge of determination. He wanted to prove himself worthy of the Cobra Kai legacy, to show his grandfather that he had what it took to be a true fighter.

Kreese walked over to a wall covered in trophies and medals. "Cobra Kai won several All Valley tournaments before 1984," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "We were unstoppable. But then everything changed."

He picked up a framed newspaper clipping and handed it to Zeke. The headline read: "Local Boy Wins All Valley Karate Tournament." Beneath it was a picture of Daniel LaRusso, the boy from Reseda, holding the trophy.

"After some slope and a scrawny boy from Reseda turned everything to nothing," Kreese said, his voice filled with bitterness. "We lost everything. And it happened again the following year. Cobra Kai was humiliated. Daniel LaRusso and his sensei destroyed everything we built."

Zeke stared at the picture, feeling a mix of anger and determination. He could see the pain in his grandfather's eyes, the resentment that had festered for decades.

"But now, Cobra Kai is back," Kreese said, his voice filled with a fierce resolve. "And it is rightfully ours. Your legacy. It's time for you to reclaim it."

Zeke looked up at his grandfather, a fire burning in his eyes. "I won't let you down, Grandpa," he said, his voice steady and determined.

Kreese placed a hand on Zeke's shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "I know you won't, Ezekiel. You have the heart of a fighter. And with Cobra Kai's teachings, you will become unstoppable."

As they stood in the basement, surrounded by the remnants of Cobra Kai's former glory, Zeke felt a sense of purpose like never before. He was ready to embrace his legacy, to follow the path his grandfather had set before him. The road ahead would be tough, but Zeke knew he had the strength and determination to succeed.

"Remember the creed, Ezekiel," Kreese said, his voice echoing in the room. "Strike First. Strike Hard. No Mercy."

Strike First

Zeke walked through the bustling hallways of East Valley High School with a sense of purpose he hadn't felt before. His grandfather's words echoed in his mind, giving him a steely determination that bolstered his confidence. The whispers and pointed fingers from his former teammates didn't faze him. He was ready for whatever came his way.

As he made his way to his locker, he spotted the usual group of football players lounging nearby. Their mocking laughter was louder than usual, clearly directed at him. Carter, the team's quarterback, was the first to speak up.

"Hey, look who it is!" Carter shouted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The ex-football star. How's it feel to get kicked off the team, Kreese?"

Zeke felt his fists clench instinctively, but he took a deep breath, recalling his grandfather's advice: *Fight smart.*

"You guys must be really worried," Zeke said, his voice calm but loud enough for everyone around to hear. "Without me, you'll be lucky to win a game this year."

The smirk on his face and the confidence in his voice caught them off guard. Carter's face twisted in anger, but Zeke wasn't finished.

"And you, Carter," Zeke continued, "you better hope your arm doesn't give out again like it did last season. The team can't afford more missed throws."

He turned to the next kid, Marcus, the team's running back. "And Marcus, you might want to lay off the snacks. Can't have our running back out of breath after the first quarter."

Each jibe was met with uncomfortable laughter from the surrounding students, who were all too eager to see the football players taken down a peg.

"Shut up, Kreese!" growled Jason, the team's linebacker. "Or I'll kick your ass right here."

Just as Jason took a threatening step forward, the principal, Mr. Henderson, appeared at the end of the hallway. "Is there a problem here, gentlemen?"

The group of football players immediately backed off, trying to act nonchalant. Zeke smiled, knowing he had won this round without throwing a single punch.

"No problem at all, Principal Henderson," Zeke said, his smirk widening. "Just having a friendly chat."

The principal looked between them suspiciously but eventually nodded and walked away, leaving the group in awkward silence.

Zeke turned back to his locker, the victorious smirk still on his face. He had struck first, not with his fists but with his words. He had used his wit and confidence to assert his dominance, proving that he didn't need to resort to physical violence to make his point.

As he walked to his first class, the students around him gave him nods of respect and whispered approval. He knew that today, he had taken the first step in reclaiming his legacy. The creed of Cobra Kai was more than just words; it was a way of life, and he was beginning to understand what it truly meant.

🐍

After the incident, Zeke found himself more reflective than usual. During lunch, he sat alone, going over the morning's events. He realized that striking first didn't always mean a physical strike. It meant being proactive, confident, and unafraid to take the lead. It was about asserting oneself in a world that often tried to push you down.

Later that day, during gym class, Zeke noticed the football players were unusually quiet. The coach seemed to avoid making eye contact with him. As the class progressed, Zeke's mind wandered to his grandfather's training. He could almost hear John's voice, reminding him to stay sharp and vigilant.

When the final bell rang, Zeke made his way to the parking lot. He was about to get into his car when he heard someone call his name. Turning around, he saw Carter and a couple of other football players approaching him. Zeke squared his shoulders, ready for whatever was coming next.

"Look, Kreese," Carter began, his tone surprisingly non-confrontational. "We've been talking, and... well, maybe we underestimated you. You're tough. We could use that."

Zeke raised an eyebrow. "You're not kicking me when I'm down. What do you want?"

Carter sighed. "The team needs someone like you. I know Coach kicked you off, but maybe we can convince him to let you back on. What do you say?"

Zeke thought for a moment. Part of him wanted to tell Carter to shove it, but another part recognized the strategic advantage of being back on the team. It would give him more opportunities to prove himself, to apply the lessons of Cobra Kai in a broader context.

"I'll think about it," Zeke said finally. "But if I come back, things are gonna be different."

Carter nodded, seemingly relieved. "Fair enough. See you around, Kreese."

That was bullshit, he wasn't coming back.

As Zeke drove home, he couldn't help but smile. He was starting to understand his grandfather's philosophy on a deeper level. Striking first wasn't just about winning fights; it was about commanding respect and seizing opportunities. It was about shaping your destiny, one step at a time.

Back at home, Zeke found John in the garage, working on an old punching bag. The sight of his grandfather training reminded him of their conversation the night before.

"How was school?" John asked, not looking up.

Zeke leaned against the doorframe. "Interesting. Had a run-in with the football team."

John glanced at him. "And?"

"And I handled it," Zeke replied. "No fights. Just words."

A rare smile crossed John's face. "Good. Remember, kid, Cobra Kai isn't just about fighting. It's about being smart, being prepared. You're starting to get it."

Zeke nodded. He was starting to get it, indeed. And he was ready for whatever came next.

Strike Hard

The next day, he was more focused than ever. The principles of Cobra Kai were becoming second nature to him, and he was eager to demonstrate what he had learned.

Today, he had decided it was time to put the "Strike Hard" principle into action, but he wasn't planning on doing it through physical combat—at least not yet.

Instead, he would strike with words and presence, a form of psychological warfare he had come to master under his grandfather's tutelage.

As he walked into the school's gym, Zeke noticed the football players gathered at their usual spot. Their laughter and casual banter filled the space. Carter and his friends were busy discussing their latest game, but Zeke's arrival had an immediate impact. Heads turned, and conversations quieted as he walked towards them with an air of confidence.

"Morning, gentlemen," Zeke said, his tone smooth but commanding. His eyes locked onto Carter, who looked both surprised and apprehensive.

Carter tried to muster his usual bravado. "What do you want, Kreese?"

Zeke smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Just thought I'd drop by and see how things are going. Heard you guys have a big game coming up."

The football players exchanged glances, unsure of Zeke's intent. Carter, trying to regain his composure, responded, "Yeah, we're going to crush it. Why? Are you here to cheer us on?"

"Not quite," Zeke said, stepping closer. "I'm here to give you a little reality check."

The atmosphere shifted. The players, sensing something was about to unfold, fell silent. Zeke continued, his voice steady and authoritative.

"You see, without me, you've got a serious problem," Zeke said. "I might not be on the team anymore, but don't kid yourselves into thinking you're set for the season. The real problem is that you've lost something more than just a player—you've lost your edge."

Carter's face reddened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but Zeke cut him off. "Think about it. I was the one pushing you, challenging you. Now, you've got nobody to push back against. Nobody to test your limits. You're thinking about the past, but that's not going to get you far."

Zeke's words cut deep. The football players shifted uneasily, their confidence shaken. They hadn't expected Zeke to come back with such a sharp critique. Carter's jaw tightened, and he took a step forward, but Zeke's calm demeanor held him at bay.

"And let's not forget," Zeke continued, his voice rising with intensity, "that your so-called team spirit is nothing but a facade. You think you're all tough, but you're just a bunch of overgrown boys playing a game. When things get real, you're going to crumble."

One of the football players, Marcus, couldn't contain his anger any longer. "You think you're so tough, Kreese? Come on, let's settle this right now."

Zeke shook his head with a smirk. "Settle what? You're all bark and no bite. I'm not interested in fighting you. I'm here to remind you of who you're dealing with. I'm the one who pushed you to be better, and now that I'm gone, you're going to see just how much you'll fail."

Before Marcus could reply, Principal Henderson walked into the gym, his gaze shifting from Zeke to the football players. "Is there a problem here, boys?"

Zeke took a step back and put on a polite smile. "No problem at all, Principal Henderson. Just having a discussion with my former teammates."

The principal nodded, giving Zeke a brief but approving glance before leaving the gym. The football players looked around, their bravado deflated. Zeke had struck hard with his words, leaving them to grapple with the uncomfortable truth of their situation.

As the players began to drift away, Zeke turned on his heel and walked out of the gym, feeling a sense of satisfaction. He had managed to do that without physical confrontation. He had shown them that his presence alone was enough to shake their confidence and make them reconsider their complacency.

Later that afternoon, Zeke met with John in the garage, where his grandfather was working on the old punching bag. Zeke's expression was one of quiet satisfaction.

"Had a bit of a showdown at school today," Zeke said, trying to keep his tone casual.

John raised an eyebrow. "And how did it go?"

"I struck hard," Zeke replied, "but not with my fists. I used my words. Showed them that they're not as invincible as they thought."

John nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Good. You're learning the essence of Cobra Kai. It's not just about physical strength; it's about dominating your environment, using every tool at your disposal."

Zeke looked at the punching bag, the weight of his grandfather's lessons settling in. "I'm getting it. It's not just about fighting. It's about proving your worth in every way possible."

John patted Zeke on the back. "Exactly. Keep honing that mindset, and you'll find that you can strike hard in ways you never thought possible."

As Zeke left the garage, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He wasn't just playing a role; he was embodying the principles of Cobra Kai, using them to navigate the challenges of his world. And with each challenge he faced, he grew more confident in his ability to strike hard and make his mark.

No Mercy

The early morning light barely penetrated the grime-covered windows of the old gym on the edge of town. The place was a relic of a bygone era, with worn-out equipment and dust-covered mats. Zeke stood in the middle of the gym, his breath visible in the cool air. Today, he was not just practicing the Cobra Kai creed; he was living it.

His former teammates—Carter, Marcus, Greg, and Jason—stood in a line across from him, their faces a mix of confusion and apprehension. They had agreed to meet him here, thinking it would be a confrontation, but they weren't prepared for what awaited them.

"Why the hell are we here, Kreese?" Carter asked, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "We thought this was just going to be a chat."

Zeke's eyes narrowed as he sized them up. "It's not a chat. I figured it's time we settle things. You've had a lot to say about me since I got kicked off the team. Let's see how you handle yourself now."

Greg scoffed. "You think you can take us all on? You're outnumbered."

Zeke smirked, his confidence unwavering. "Outnumbered? Maybe. But I'm not here to play fair. I'm here to show you what happens when you cross me."

Without waiting for a response, Zeke took his fighting stance. He had spent weeks honing his skills, and now it was time to put them to use. Carter and Marcus moved in first, their attacks aggressive but clumsy. Zeke anticipated their moves with ease.

Marcus swung wildly, his punch missing Zeke by inches. Zeke sidestepped and delivered a precise strike to Marcus's ribs, making him stagger back. As Marcus tried to recover, Zeke moved in swiftly, landing a sharp kick to his midsection that sent him crashing to the ground.

Greg charged next, his fists flying. Zeke dodged his punches effortlessly, his movements smooth and deliberate. When Greg tried a low kick, Zeke caught his leg and twisted, sending Greg sprawling across the floor. Greg groaned as he tried to get up, clearly winded and disoriented.

Jason, seeing his friends falter, rushed at Zeke with a determined expression. His punches were fast but lacked precision. Zeke absorbed the blows, using his body weight to deflect and counter with calculated strikes. With a quick, powerful kick to Jason's chest, he sent him crashing into the wall. Jason slumped down, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.

Carter, the last one standing, looked on in disbelief. "You're insane, Kreese!"

Zeke, breathing steadily and focused, stepped towards Carter. "Insane? Maybe. Done with your shit? Yes."

Carter, clearly way out of his league, tried to muster one last charge. He lunged at Zeke with a desperate swing.

Zeke moved with practiced precision, dodging the attack and delivering a crushing blow to Carter's head. Carter crumpled to the floor, clutching his face and struggling to breathe as his nose began to bleed.

Carter, barely able to speak, looked up with a mix of pain and fear. "You're... you're something else, Kreese."

Zeke shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "No, Carter. You just should have known better."

Carter struggled, fear now evident in his eyes. "Zeke, please—"

"No mercy," Zeke hissed, his grip tightening. He delivered a final, devastating punch to Carter's stomach, making him double over and collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The gym fell silent as Zeke walked away from his former teammates, who were left in various states of disarray and discomfort. Zeke felt a sense of finality as he stepped out into the cool morning air. He had proven his point, not just to his former teammates but to himself.

🐍

Zeke drove home with a sense of grim satisfaction. His knuckles were still slightly bruised from the fight, but he didn't care. Today, he had shown his former teammates what it meant to mess with him. As he turned into the driveway, he felt a surge of anticipation. His grandfather needed to hear about this.

John was in the garage, meticulously cleaning a set of weights. His stern face barely softened when he saw his grandson, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes.

"Kid," John greeted, setting the weights down. "You look like you've been through the wringer. What happened?"

Zeke stepped out of the car, a confident smirk playing on his lips. "I taught those assholes a lesson they won't forget. Just like you taught me."

John's eyes narrowed with intrigue. "Tell me exactly what you