Leaning against the doorway of the dojo office, John Kreese studied Miguel and Hawk quietly as the two boys went about the third day straight of carrying out their punishment of cleaning the sweaty mats after class. His thick brows furrowed to the bridge of his nose, and he scrutinized them in stoney silence, arms crossed over his chest ominously, one hand tightly holding a cold bottle of Coors Banquet that he took a swig from every once in a while.

It still didn't sit right with him, what Cobra Kai had been shaped into under Johnny's tutelage. Not just over some of his questionable lessons, but also the look of the classes overall. Back when he had opened his first dojo to the public, Kreese never would have allowed in the students that Johnny now opened his doors to. But these were brand new times, and Kreese had to adapt.

People often didn't think he was capable of adapting, but John Kreese hadn't survived everything he did without being able to modify, reshape, acclimate, and manipulate. Didn't mean he had to like it, of course. But he wasn't the King Cobra for nothing. If Johnny thought he could simply take that title away from him, just because he was the Sensei now, he would discover whose venom was the deadliest between the two of them.

Johnny had better never forget that Kreese was Cobra Kai, and Cobra Kai would never exist without him in some shape or form. Cobra Kai never died.

The kid Kreese wanted most to see wearing the Cobra Kai colors was Johnny's boy, Robby Keene. He would have liked very much to teach the son of the man whom he considered to be the closest thing to a son he'd ever have. To carry on the legacy to the next generation. Besides, Robby had that original Cobra Kai material in him: he was strong, driven, all-American. But Johnny wouldn't lift a finger to get his own kid away from the influence of Daniel LaRusso. It wasn't right. The boy should've been with his father in Cobra Kai, not being corrupted by Miyagi-Do.

But Kreese was a patient man. He had spent decades brumating, after all. He could wait a little longer to get what he wanted.

In the meantime, since he was unable to train Keene, Kreese then thought about the influence he might have on the Hispanic kid, Diaz. He could see that clearly the boy had a lot of skills. A true pragmatist in his fighting style. He was the most promising one in the whole class, he wasn't the new All-Valley Champion for nothing. Johnny had taught him well, Kreese had to admit that. Maybe a little too well. Diaz had an unshakable loyalty towards Johnny, he was liable to follow that man right off a bridge. A possible problem for Kreese if he was going to keep Cobra Kai on track. Diaz would take some extra work, on his part.

His first and second choices out of his sway, that left the Jew kid with the harelip, Hawk.

Taking a swig from his beer bottle, John Kreese peered over his shoulder at Johnny, who sat in the chair at his desk, flipping through some paperwork while nursing his own drink. "That kid, Hawk," said Kreese, looking back over at the boys scrubbing the mats, "is it just me, or is he a…oh, what's the politically correct term for it these days?" A touch slow? A high-functioning half-wit? What the shrinks in the military used to call a Section Eight? "Is he, y'know, a little challenged in the head?"

Kreese had served with a few people like that, back during his tours in Vietnam. Project 100,000, it had been called; or McNamara's Morons, as they'd been nicknamed by the other soldiers. They never should have made it passed bootcamp. Kreese remembered one man was practically a mute, a man of very few words. Another fellow would freak out at the slightest provocation. One unfortunate guy had even been still a bedwetter, nobody wanted to bunk with him.

None of them had been fit for service. Oh, they had been pleasant enough, personality-wise. Nice fellows. They were so desperate for approval, so eager to please, those types. The perfect ones to send into the foxholes to check for landmines.

Johnny glanced up at his Sensei with a brief look of unease. "He's a little weird, but he can fight no problem," he said, tossing the stack of papers to the side before grabbing a nearby karate magazine. Somewhat defensively, he added, "I wouldn't let anyone stay in my dojo if they weren't badass."

Ah, so Johnny had no idea what he had on his plate, did he? Kreese suspected he didn't, from the way he disciplined the boy, from the way he so obviously missed the hostility he was fostering in Hawk. Sure, humiliation was part and parcel for training young soldiers, Kreese was totally behind that. After all, he'd taught Johnny all about discipline. But with those "special" ones, sometimes a bit of a mild touch every once in a while would yield much better results. Not soft, of course, there was nothing soft about Cobra Kai. Just a little encouragement, to keep them from wigging out.

"Was he the one who attacked your son from behind at the All-Valley Tournament?" asked Kreese smoothly, taking another deep drink from his beer. His probing eyes never left Hawk and Miguel. He simply kept watching, observing them as they joked with each other while they continued cleaning the mats.

He could hear the pages of the magazine being flipped behind him, but he did not turn around to see whatever look his old student must have been giving him. "Yeah," answered Johnny. "But I took care of it. He won't do anything that stupid again."

The corners of Kreese's hard mouth creased into a smile. Couldn't Johnny spot a ticking time-bomb when he saw one? Where was his vigilance? That was a mistake on his part. You didn't pull the pin out of a grenade and then drop it by your feet. You threw it at your enemy so it blew them up instead. Could Johnny not see that? Didn't Johnny know that you never pushed the challenged ones too far? Kreese knew he had never seen the shit of war, but hadn't he ever watched Full Metal Jacket at least?

"That's good, that's good," he replied plainly, finishing off his beer. He wiped his lips with the back of his arm slowly before turning back around to smirk at Johnny. "Those types you need to keep on a short leash. He'll thank you for it later." The King Cobra had a knack for seeking out and detecting a weak link. And Hawk was a weak link. Just the type of soldier he would need. At least until he could get to Diaz or Keene.