So I'm John Lawrence's son

Night had fallen over the LaRusso house, the silence broken only by the ticking of the clock in the living room. Sam sat on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees, the screen illuminating her face with a cold glow. Robby's email was open before her, his words cutting like a sharp blade: "Jack… has he told you who his parents are? I need to know who he is." She bit her lip, the weight of the truth—that Jack was Johnny's son—pressing on her chest. Telling her everything felt risky, like she was handing over a piece of furniture that wasn't hers to play with.

She opened a new message, her fingers hovering over the keyboard before she began: "Robby, Jack doesn't talk much about his family. He said he lost his mom and his dad is someone who recently showed up. I don't have any more details. He's just as confused as you are. I hope you're holding it together." She read it again, her heart pounding. It was true enough not to be a lie, but vague enough to protect Jack. Robby didn't need to know about Johnny—not yet.

"Sam?" Daniel's voice echoed from the kitchen, where he was making tea. He appeared in the doorway, holding a steaming mug. "You look like you saw a ghost ten minutes ago."

She turned the laptop toward him, letting him read Robby's email and her response. "I don't know if I did the right thing, Dad. He wants to know about Jack, but… I can't tell him everything."

Daniel took a sip of his tea, his eyes scanning the words on the screen. "You're walking a tightrope, but you're doing the best you can. Robby is trapped, physically and emotionally. Dropping a bomb like that now could break him. But he'll figure it out, Sam. Sooner or later."

"I know," she murmured, closing the laptop with a soft click. "I just hope it's not for me." She sent the message, the sound of it sending echoing like a whisper in the dark.

The next morning, West Valley High was buzzing with teenage energy, but to Jack Sullivan, the air felt thick with something else—furtive glances and hushed murmurs. He limped through the halls, his cast-wrapped arm swinging at his side, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The voices followed him like shadows. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore them, but each word weighed heavily on him.

During recess, he leaned against a wall near the courtyard, the warm sunlight contrasting with the chill inside him. That was when Kyler appeared, a predatory grin plastered on his face, flanked by two friends. "Sullivan, the great broken hero," he sneered, loud enough to draw stares. "First he cheated on Moon, now he's stuck with LaRusso. What do you think Robby would make of that?"

Jack looked up, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. "You don't know shit, Kyler. Stop talking nonsense."

Kyler stepped forward, laughing. "I know he's in jail while you're parading around with his girlfriend. Some friend, huh?"

Before Jack could retort, Sam appeared, cutting through the crowd with quick steps. "Kyler, get out of here," she said, her voice sharp as a blade. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

Kyler opened his mouth to respond, but Eli appeared beside Jack, his red mohawk gleaming in the sunlight. "He's Cobra Kai," Eli said, his narrowed eyes fixed on Kyler. "You don't mess with him." The threat in his tone was clear, and Kyler backed away, muttering something before walking away with his friends.

Jack looked at Eli, surprised. "Thanks, Hawk."

"It's not for you," Eli said dryly. "It's for the dojo." He walked away, leaving Jack and Sam alone in the courtyard.

Sam turned to him, his face softening. "Are you okay?"

"Sort of," he admitted, rubbing his neck with his good hand. "Those rumors… they never stop."

She nodded, her eyes filled with guilt. "I know. But we're going to get through this together, okay? I'm not going to leave you alone in this."

He gave a weak, grateful smile, but the echo of the murmurs still followed him like a dark cloud.

In the reformatory, Robby Keene was leaning against a concrete wall, the noise of the other inmates echoing in the background. He held a borrowed tablet, Sam's email open on the screen. "His father is someone who showed up recently. I don't have any more details." Her answer was a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, and it irritated him. She was hiding something—he could feel it in her tone, in her choice of words. The photo of Johnny and Martha, folded in the pocket of her gray uniform pants, felt like it was burning against his skin.

He opened a new message, his chest tight with a mixture of anger and curiosity. "Sam, stop treating me like an idiot. Jack's dad is Johnny, right? I have a picture of him with Jack's mom. If you know, tell me. I deserve to know." He sent it, the click like a gunshot in the silence. If Jack was Johnny's son—if they were brothers—then the ground beneath his feet would crumble. He needed the truth, even if it was a blow.

That night, Jack's apartment was enveloped in a stillness broken only by the hum of the tiny refrigerator. He was sitting on the mattress, his cast-covered arm propped up on an old pillow, trying to open a bag of chips with one hand, when he heard a light knock on the door. Before he could get up, Tory Nichols walked in, a paper bag in her hands and a mischievous smile on her lips.

"I brought tacos," she announced, tossing the bag onto the makeshift table next to the mattress. "Your arm is a mess, Sullivan. Let me help you." She took the bag of chips from him, ripped it open quickly, and handed it back to him before sitting down on the floor next to him.

Jack laughed, a light sound that eased the weight of the day. "Don't you get tired of saving me?"

"I live next door," she said, taking a taco from the bag and handing him another. "And I'm not going to let you starve just because you're stubborn. Eat."

He accepted the taco, biting into it as he looked at her gratefully. "Thanks, Tory. It's been a… rough day."

She nodded, chewing before answering. "I heard about Kyler in the courtyard. He's an idiot. Eli stood up for you, right?"

"Yeah," Jack said, with a half smile. "I don't know if it was me or Cobra Kai, but it helped. And Sam was there, too."

Tory paused, Sam's name bringing back an echo of the confusion she'd felt at the hospital, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. "Good thing you have backup. How are you dealing with the rumors?"

"I'm trying to ignore it," he admitted sincerely. "What about you? How is Miguel?"

"He's fine," she replied quickly, before changing the subject. "Hey, is there anything on TV? Let's watch a show. No drama tonight."

Jack grabbed the remote with his good hand, turning on the small TV in the corner of the room. They tuned in to Brooklyn Nine-Nine , laughing at Jake Peralta's antics as they ate tacos and shared a can of soda Tory had taken from his fridge. The conversation flowed smoothly, like water in a still stream—they talked about school, about the dojo, about how Jack had almost spilled the coffee on the patio earlier. It was easy, natural, and for a moment, the weight of the rumors and the guilt and the shadows lifted.

Tory helped clean up the mess of tacos, throwing the wrappers in the trash while Jack adjusted the volume on the TV. They settled side by side on the floor, the mattress serving as a backrest, the sound of laughter from the show filling the space. But between her laughs, Tory would sneak glances at him, the memory of what she'd heard in the hospital— "I fell in love with you" —still burning somewhere inside her. It was just friendship, she told herself. That was it. But the way he smiled, the ease of it, stirred something she didn't want to face.