บท 2: Chapter 2: Bullying
Xander sat through the rest of the lecture in a daze, barely hearing the words of the teacher as she continued her lesson. His mind was a storm of confusion and fragmented thoughts. The fluorescent lights above flickered slightly, adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment. He felt as though he were inhabiting someone else's body, the lingering echoes of his past self clashing with the foreign sensations of this new life.
The bell finally rang, jolting him back to the present. Around him, students began packing up their things, the noise of shuffling backpacks and chatter filling the air. Xander followed suit, though his hands moved on autopilot, stuffing books he didn't recognize into a backpack that didn't feel like his.
"Alright, everyone," the teacher called out over the din. "Don't forget, we'll have a quiz on Chapter 5 next week. And Xander, try to stay awake next time."
The class erupted into laughter, and Xander forced a sheepish grin, nodding as though he understood what she was talking about. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and followed the crowd out into the hallway.
...
The corridors of the school buzzed with activity, students talking, laughing, and shouting as they moved between classes. Xander's eyes darted around, taking in the bright posters advertising various clubs, sports teams, and events. The atmosphere felt strangely nostalgic yet alien at the same time.
It wasn't until he overheard a snippet of conversation that his stomach twisted into knots.
"Man, I hate this place," a boy muttered to his friend as they walked past. "West Valley High sucks."
Xander stopped in his tracks. **West Valley High.** The name hit him like a thunderclap, his mind suddenly connecting the dots.
"West Valley?" he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the noise of the hallway. He knew that name. He'd heard it before—but not in his own world. No, this was a name he'd only encountered in the context of a fictional story.
The hallways, the posters, the teenage cliques—it all started to feel eerily familiar. His pulse quickened, his breathing shallow as he pushed his way toward the nearest exit, needing air, needing space to think.
...
Outside, the late afternoon sun bathed the campus in warm light. Xander's steps faltered as he walked across the school's front lawn, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The pristine, sprawling grounds, the distant sound of a football practice, the hum of teenage life—it all felt surreal.
But then, he saw it.
Across the street, standing tall and gleaming in the sunlight, was a massive billboard. The image of a man with a winning smile and a shiny car stood prominently, accompanied by bold letters that seemed to scream at him:
"LaRusso Auto Group – We Kick the Competition!"
Xander's breath caught in his throat. He staggered back a step, his mind reeling. Daniel LaRusso. The Karate Kid.
He was in the world of Cobra Kai.
As the realization hit him, Xander couldn't contain himself. He let out an audible gasp, his face breaking into a grin so wide it felt like his cheeks might split. The rush of excitement coursing through him was overwhelming. Out of all the worlds he could have ended up in, *this*—the *Cobra Kai* universe—was the jackpot.
"Holy crap!" he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he stared back at the LaRusso Auto Group billboard. It felt unreal. **Cobra Kai.** The world where martial arts weren't just a hobby; they were a lifestyle. Where teenagers settled their problems with epic, high-stakes fights instead of passive-aggressive texts. A world where you could literally *karate your way to the top*.
This was *perfect*.
He had always been into martial arts in his old life. Well, kind of. Watching *Cobra Kai* had inspired him to take up a few lessons at a local dojo. Granted, his time there had been cut short—one measly incident involving the girls' changing room and a poorly timed attempt at "exploration," and suddenly, he was *banned for life*. But that was years ago! He'd changed. Definitely. Well… probably. *Cough.* Maybe not.
He shook his head, pushing the memory aside. What mattered now was that this world offered him a second chance. A chance to not only live out his martial arts fantasies but to do it in a place where the stakes were higher, the drama thicker, and the punches more dramatic.
"This is it," he whispered, his voice trembling with barely restrained glee. "This is my shot. My time to shine."
Xander looked down at his hands—young, nimble, full of potential. This wasn't the body of the slightly pudgy Michael Roberts who'd spent more time sweet-talking women than working out. This was the body of a high schooler. A fresh start.
"I'm going to be the best," he declared to himself. "No, not just the best—*the ultimate karate champion*. LaRusso? Lawrence? Hawk? They won't know what hit them."
The thought of facing off against the iconic characters of the show filled him with adrenaline. Sure, he didn't have any real skills yet—his last fight in his previous life had ended with him curled up in a ball, begging for mercy—but that didn't matter. He had time to train, to grow stronger, to dominate.
But first… he needed to figure out what he was working with.
He glanced around the school grounds, searching for anything or anyone that could help him orient himself. A group of boys near the entrance caught his eye. They were shoving each other playfully, their laughter carrying across the yard. One of them wore a letterman jacket with a patch that read *West Valley High Wolves.*
"Okay," Xander said to himself, adjusting his backpack and taking a deep breath. "Step one: figure out who I am in this world. Step two: find a dojo. Step three: become a karate god."
The plan was simple. Foolproof.
Xander strolled confidently toward the group of boys, his heart racing with excitement. He had no idea who they were, but they looked like the kind of people who could give him some insight into this world—or at the very least, help him get his bearings. As he approached, he raised a hand, calling out, "Hey! Guys!"
But just as the words left his mouth, a sharp pain lanced through his skull.
"Ah!" he gasped, clutching his head. It was like a spike driving through his brain, sudden and relentless. His vision blurred, and he staggered to the side.
The boys turned to look at him, their expressions quickly twisting into cruel smirks.
"Well, well," one of them drawled, his voice thick with mockery. "If it isn't *Xander Wolfe*. What's the matter, loser? Forgot how to walk straight?"
The others laughed, their jeering voices cutting through the pain.
"Maybe he hit his head too hard when he tripped over his own feet last time," another one added, nudging his friend with a grin.
Xander's breathing quickened, the pain in his head intensifying as their words echoed around him. Their faces blurred and shifted, becoming more familiar with each second.
Memories began to surface, crashing over him in relentless waves.
He saw himself as a young boy, sitting at a wobbly kitchen table in a dingy apartment in Reseda. His mother, exhausted and frazzled, set down a plate of microwaved food in front of him before collapsing into a chair. The air was thick with the sound of the neighbors' shouting and the faint hum of an old, battered fridge.
He'd never known his father. That absence had been a constant, a gaping hole in his life. And while his mother worked herself to the bone to provide for them, they had always been barely scraping by.
He saw himself at school, the lanky kid in secondhand clothes, sitting alone at lunch with a book in his hand. He'd been a nerd—smart, quiet, and introverted. But there had been one thing that made him stand out, whether he liked it or not: his looks.
Good looks weren't a blessing in his world. They made him a target.
The same boys standing in front of him now had been his tormentors. Every day, they'd corner him in the halls, shove him into lockers, or beat him up behind the school. They hated him—his face, his intelligence, everything he was. But underneath their mockery and violence was something else: jealousy. He could see it now, reflected in their sneering faces.
The memories overwhelmed him, the pain in his head reaching a crescendo as if his mind were tearing itself apart to make room for his past.
"Hey! Wolfe! You gonna cry or something?" one of the bullies sneered, stepping closer.
Another boy shoved him from behind, sending him stumbling forward.
"Yeah, you better cry, pretty boy. Maybe we'll take it easy on you if you beg."
The first punch landed square in his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. Xander doubled over, clutching his abdomen, but the blows kept coming. A kick to his ribs, a slap to the back of his head—it was like muscle memory for them.
And just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, something strange happened.
A flash of pink light appeared before his eyes, cutting through the haze of pain. Xander blinked, his vision sharpening as a translucent hologram materialized in front of him, hovering in the air.
The words were bold and glowing, accompanied by a faint chime:
[Quest Triggered!]
[Objective: Survive the Bullies
Reward: 10 Experience Points + Unlock "Basic Combat Instincts" Passive Skill
Failure Penalty: Severe Injury]
"What the hell?" Xander muttered, his voice hoarse. He stared at the floating text, half-convinced he was hallucinating.
Another punch landed, snapping him back to the moment.
The bullies didn't seem to notice the hologram—they were too busy laughing and taking turns hitting him. But Xander's eyes remained fixed on the glowing words, his brain struggling to process what was happening.
A second chime echoed in his ears, and new text appeared:
[Hint: Fight Back or Run. Time is Limited]
Something inside him stirred. The instinct to cower, to endure the beating like he always had, was still there. But now, another feeling rose to the surface—anger.
For the first time in his life, Xander Wolfe wanted to fight. And maybe, just maybe, he could.
To be continued...
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