[ Well, he can't turn that down. It's been a while since he had a kid who was really interested in his techniques instead of silly things like ethics and playing fair. ]
[ Billy's buzzing with it. It's been sitting on his brainstem since that mess in October, then through all through that fallout, sorting up from down and who from what. His dream with Terry had, ironically, felt less fraught. He'd been a proud student, eager and wanting.
Terry's establishment is near empty when Billy slides in, boots heavy on the cobles. When he sees Terry, he doesn't bother saying 'hi.'
Instead: ] Sometimes I still feel it. That center of gravity. I've always been able to plant my feet, I don't get pushed around on the court. But it— [ a pause, he likes it, whenever muscle memory seeps in, learned from his time with Terry in the void. ] It's different. Feel like I could be in two places at once if I were quick enough. Like I could run circles.
It'll be even better when you master it. And it's good that you remember. We can speed through the introductory stuff, then. I'll refresh you on the basic forms later so you can practice.
[ Practice. The dreaded P word he knows so many young people hate hearing. The grueling hours of repetitive motion it takes for fighting to become truly second nature. ]
How's your flexibility? Show me how high you can kick. [ He steps back, waiting for Billy to demonstrate. ]
[ Of course he remembers, he thinks, the void had briefly rewritten him in something else, into— into clay.
'Practice' is a dreaded word. He'd like to be good at karate now. He'd like to be fucking great at breaking kneecaps now. But Billy had never minded the endless routine of lay-ups, of running suicides, of doing anything that would turn his brain the fuck off.
He's still limber from his morning run, from the activity of Rubilykskoye. One foot stabilizes the other comes up, a quick jabbing kick into the air. He doesn't know what it tells Terry. ]
[ Billy watches Terry's fists like a dog might watch a rabbit. Or maybe its owner as it waits for release. He nods. ]
So. Make them think they've dodged.
[ He thinks about how it will feel to crush a nose under his elbow, his fist. The crunch. ]
I can do that. [ Said slowly. He can. But, he needs the practice. Wets his lip. ] How about rule three, or, let me guess, you want me to work for it some more?
I'm afraid so. [ He shakes his head, as if his hands are tied by the unbreakable karate laws of the universe. ] It won't stick as hard if I teach you all at once.
[ Terry remembers what it's like to be young and impatient, but now that he's old he find it amusing to dangle that carrot and make them wait for it. ]
The last one's a doozy, though. It'll take a guy out in one hit once you're at my level.
[ His nose wrinkles at that, though he tries to hide it under his guise of youthful indifference. He's not indifferent. He wants the unmatchable power of karate. He wants to take a guy out in one hit. He can think of multiple guys he wants to turn into pulp. ]
Yes. More than I did. I had to take over the family business once my father passed, but he kept on going.
[ Despite everything, he still talks about Kreese with stars in his eyes. ] A real legend. His students won every tournament there was. [ Almost. But he doesn't say that, mostly because he still doesn't count Daniel as a real champion that beat Cobra Kai fair and square. ]
[ Terry talks like he's got stars in his eyes. Billy doesn't really have the full picture, not really, but he can't help but ask with a little impudent smile. ] Which one of you is the better teacher then? Am I getting second rate?
[ That's good enough for Billy, who isn't really that interested in this mysterious teacher, who's more interested in peeling back layers around Terry, in finding out what he can get. ]
Got it. So I'm getting it good.
So. No rule three today. [ A beat. ] Let me see the move.
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[ He recalls more of that life than most of them, likely because it was so close to reality. Save for one extra student. ]
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[ Well, he can't turn that down. It's been a while since he had a kid who was really interested in his techniques instead of silly things like ethics and playing fair. ]
Alright. Come by the club and I'll show you.
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what do you get out of this?
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Besides, it's not like I can go and watch TV when I'm bored.
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[ Billy's not in the void, he doesn't feel the same as he did there, but still, the words potential and good student make buzz. ]
fine. [ like Terry asked HIM. ] i'll go to the club.
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[ Sarcasm. How well does that come out here? Who knows. ]
I'll be waiting.
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[ Billy's buzzing with it. It's been sitting on his brainstem since that mess in October, then through all through that fallout, sorting up from down and who from what. His dream with Terry had, ironically, felt less fraught. He'd been a proud student, eager and wanting.
Terry's establishment is near empty when Billy slides in, boots heavy on the cobles. When he sees Terry, he doesn't bother saying 'hi.'
Instead: ] Sometimes I still feel it. That center of gravity. I've always been able to plant my feet, I don't get pushed around on the court. But it— [ a pause, he likes it, whenever muscle memory seeps in, learned from his time with Terry in the void. ] It's different. Feel like I could be in two places at once if I were quick enough. Like I could run circles.
I want more.
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[ Practice. The dreaded P word he knows so many young people hate hearing. The grueling hours of repetitive motion it takes for fighting to become truly second nature. ]
How's your flexibility? Show me how high you can kick. [ He steps back, waiting for Billy to demonstrate. ]
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'Practice' is a dreaded word. He'd like to be good at karate now. He'd like to be fucking great at breaking kneecaps now. But Billy had never minded the endless routine of lay-ups, of running suicides, of doing anything that would turn his brain the fuck off.
He's still limber from his morning run, from the activity of Rubilykskoye. One foot stabilizes the other comes up, a quick jabbing kick into the air. He doesn't know what it tells Terry. ]
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[ He misses the days when he used to be that flexible. Although he can still kick high enough, that was the first thing to start going. ]
But that stuff's not the fun part, is it?
[ He knows that Billy wants the second rule, but keeping 'em in suspense for a bit makes it all the sweeter when they get what they want. ]
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Yeah, [ Billy says slowly. ] This shit's all practice. I can practice. I want you to teach me rule two.
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A good elbow to the face'll do the trick, and it's an easy hit to land if they think they've dodged a punch.
[ He mimes throwing a punch at about the average head height and then quickly pivoting to a side jab with his elbow. ]
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So. Make them think they've dodged.
[ He thinks about how it will feel to crush a nose under his elbow, his fist. The crunch. ]
I can do that. [ Said slowly. He can. But, he needs the practice. Wets his lip. ] How about rule three, or, let me guess, you want me to work for it some more?
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[ Terry remembers what it's like to be young and impatient, but now that he's old he find it amusing to dangle that carrot and make them wait for it. ]
The last one's a doozy, though. It'll take a guy out in one hit once you're at my level.
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Where'd you learn all this shit anyway?
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[ Which is the only clue he'll give to the fact that he used to be a scrawny loser. For now. ]
After the war, my partner and I trained with Master Kim Sun-Yung in Korea. Then I went back home to LA and started teaching.
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But he preens a little, just a little at the compliment. But it's obvious in the way his shoulders loosen, his mouth curves just a little. ]
Your partner teach too?
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[ Despite everything, he still talks about Kreese with stars in his eyes. ] A real legend. His students won every tournament there was. [ Almost. But he doesn't say that, mostly because he still doesn't count Daniel as a real champion that beat Cobra Kai fair and square. ]
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[ Billy's exactly the sort of student he would have wanted, but Kreese was strict and rarely ever praised anyone. ]
And he didn't know my signature move.
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Got it. So I'm getting it good.
So. No rule three today. [ A beat. ] Let me see the move.
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[ At least spar with me. ]