CHAPTER 8: THANKSGIVING COMPLICATIONS
POV: Ivyn Mikaelson
November's end brings the Valley's version of cold—sixty degrees and Californians in jackets like it's Arctic tundra. Thanksgiving approaches with the social complexity of a military operation.
Two invitations. Two worlds that cannot occupy the same space simultaneously.
Sam's formal request: "My parents want you to come for Thanksgiving. Please?"
Johnny's gruff announcement: "Dojo Thanksgiving. For students with nowhere else to go. You in?"
The irony isn't lost on me. I qualify for both. The orphan. The boyfriend. Two identities separated by a wall of secrets I'm building brick by brick.
I choose Sam. Because rejecting her family's olive branch would damage something I'm trying to build. But I promise Johnny I'll stop by the dojo afterward.
Another compartmentalization. Another lie of omission. Another weight I'll carry.
The LaRusso house smells like rosemary and promises. The dining table dressed for celebration, enough food to feed an army. Crystal glasses. China plates. The kind of Thanksgiving that exists in movies but never in my memory—either life.
Amanda welcomes me with genuine warmth, pulling me into a hug that makes my chest tight.
"We're so glad you could make it."
Anthony ignores me with teenage indifference, focused on his phone.
And Daniel watches. Always watching. The intensity of a man protecting something precious, trying to determine if I'm threat or ally or something in between.
Louie—Daniel's cousin, apparently—makes jokes that land somewhere between friendly and testing. Feeling out where I stand in the family hierarchy.
The meal itself is surreal. I'm passing artisanal stuffing across mahogany to a karate legend while trying to remember table manners from a life I didn't actually live. Sam holds my hand under the table. A small anchor of support.
When Daniel asks what I'm thankful for, I answer with careful truth.
"Second chances. Places that feel like home even when they're not yours. People who see past circumstances to who someone's trying to become."
Amanda's eyes glisten. She touches her napkin to them quickly.
Daniel's expression is unreadable. But Sam squeezes my hand tighter, and that's enough.
After dinner, Daniel pulls me aside. The garage. Car restoration project spread across workbenches—ostensibly why we're here, but we both know better.
"Sam's happy."
"I hope so."
"I don't know if I trust you yet." He leans against a partially disassembled engine. "But I trust her judgment. Don't make me regret that."
I meet his eyes. "I won't, sir. She matters to me more than anything."
It's true. Sam is the first genuinely good thing I've built in this life. Untainted by manipulation or strategy. And the thought of losing her feels like falling.
Daniel nods slowly. "Good. Keep it that way."
We return to the house. Dessert. Coffee. Normal family things that feel anything but normal when you've never had a family.
When I leave, Amanda hugs me again. "You're always welcome here."
I believe her. And it makes the lies heavier.
[REPUTATION (LARUSSO FAMILY):]
[DANIEL: +10 (Earning cautious respect)]
[AMANDA: +15 (Motherly affection)]
[SAM: Trust level maintained]
The dojo at sunset is starkly different. No abundance here. No crystal or china.
Johnny with a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store. Six-pack of beer. Paper plates. Miguel. Aisha. Two newer students whose names I'm still learning.
No families. No traditions. Just people who don't fit elsewhere finding temporary belonging in a strip mall dojo.
Johnny's already three beers in. Getting philosophical the way alcohol allows.
"You know what I'm thankful for?" He gestures with his beer. "That I'm not my piece of shit stepfather. That I can still kick ass when needed. That you kids gave me a reason to put on the gi again."
It's vulnerable. Uncomfortable. Nobody knows how to respond.
Miguel breaks the tension. "I'm thankful Sensei taught me to punch Kyler in the face."
Laughter. Genuine. Relieved.
Aisha: "I'm thankful I'm not scared to walk the halls anymore."
They turn to me. I feel the weight of two Thanksgivings. Two worlds.
"I'm thankful for teachers who give a damn. And friends who show up when it matters."
Johnny raises his beer. "To showing up. And to not being pussies about feelings."
We eat on the dojo mats. Afterward, Johnny has us run basic drills. Light work. More about solidarity than training.
When he demonstrates a technique, he mentions his old sensei taught him. I can't help myself.
"Was he a good teacher?"
Johnny's face darkens. The beer loosening things he usually keeps locked tight.
"He was the devil in a gi. Taught me everything and taught me wrong. Made me think cruelty was strength."
The room goes quiet. Miguel shifts uncomfortably.
"Why do you teach differently then?" Miguel asks.
Johnny considers. "Because I want you to be better than I was. Or maybe I just don't want to become him."
I file this away. Johnny's aware of Kreese's poison. Which might make preventing his return easier. Or might mean Kreese will be more subtle in his manipulation when he comes.
After the others leave, Miguel lingers. Helping me and Johnny clean up. Paper plates in trash bags. Stacking chairs.
"Can I ask you something?" Miguel's voice is careful. Nervous. "About girls."
My stomach drops. "I know what's coming. I know exactly what's coming."
"Sure."
He takes a breath. "There's this girl at school. Sam LaRusso. She's smart, kind, seems like she really sees people, you know?"
Every word is a knife. Because he doesn't know. Doesn't realize he's confessing to the boyfriend about the girlfriend.
"I was thinking about asking her out, but she's dating someone. That new guy, Ivyn. And honestly, he seems decent. I don't want to be that guy who—"
I interrupt gently. "Miguel, let me stop you there."
He looks at me. Hopeful. Desperate.
"Sam's happy with her boyfriend. And speaking as your friend, trying to pursue someone who's in a committed relationship—that's not the move. It won't end well for anyone."
Miguel nods slowly. Disappointment clear on his face.
"Yeah, you're right. It's just..." He trails off. "When I see them together in the halls, she smiles at him the way I wish someone would smile at me."
The words hit harder than any punch in training. Because Miguel doesn't know he's talking to the boyfriend. Confessing envy to the object of that envy.
The absurdity would be funny if it weren't so painfully human.
"You'll find someone who smiles at you like that," I tell him. "But it won't be by chasing someone else's girlfriend. Trust me on this."
Miguel accepts the advice with good grace. We finish cleaning in comfortable silence.
Walking to my car, I realize I've just prevented one potential love triangle. But the guilt over lying to Miguel about my identity is a new weight to carry.
[RELATIONSHIP PRESERVED:]
[MIGUEL DIAZ will not pursue SAM LARUSSO romantically]
[DIVERGENCE FROM CANON: MODERATE]
[CHARISMA: +4]
[EMPATHY: 52 → 58 (+6 from handling complex emotional situation)]
[COMPARTMENTALIZATION: 350/1000 XP (+175)]
[STRESS RESISTANCE: +5]
That night, I lie awake replaying both Thanksgivings. The warmth of Sam's family. The broken solidarity of the dojo. Miguel's unknowing confession.
The System tracks stats but can't measure the cost of living multiple truths simultaneously.
Sam texts: "Thank you for tonight. My mom loved you, and even Dad seemed less hostile. Maybe we're building something good here."
I respond with love and affection. Every word genuine. Every omission a betrayal.
Across town, Miguel probably lies awake thinking about Sam. Not knowing his friend and the boyfriend are the same person.
And Johnny's probably drinking alone. Thinking about the sensei who broke him. Wondering if he's breaking his students in different ways.
The Valley sleeps. Unaware that in six months everything will change.
And I'm the only one who knows the storm that's coming.
I fall asleep reviewing defensive techniques. Because if I can't prevent the emotional damage my secrets will cause, I can at least prepare to protect people from the physical violence ahead.
The System offers no comfort. Just data. Cold and clinical.
Sometimes that's all there is.
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