INT. POND IN THE WOODS - DAY Robby Keene, ex-karate bad boy turned misunderstood anti-hero, trudges through the wilderness. A smirk plays on his lips as he zeroes in on his target -- a serene, glistening pond nestled among the trees. Sunlight dances off the water's surface, inviting Robby to partake in its secluded aquatic sanctuary. ROBBY (smirking to himself) Time for little me-time, Johnny Lawrence style. He glances around, ensuring total privacy, and there's not a soul in sight; even birds seem to respect Robby's need for solitude. With the confident swagger of a dude who's won, lost, and won again, Robby begins the sacred ritual of disrobing. Each garment, a symbolic shedding of societal constraints: his COBRA KAI t-shirt, his sweat-stained dojo sweats -- until he's left in nothing but his nature-given uniform. He pauses, a mischievous grin on his face, then with the drama of a Shakespearean actor taking a final bow, he removes his black boxer briefs. Even the sun seems to cast a more respectful glow on the scene as Robby's butt, toned from years of high kicks and sweep-the-leg squats, makes its cinematic debut. ROBBY (throwing boxers aside) Freedom! With the uninhibited joy of a Karate Kid unleashed, Robby saunters into the pond, The water envelops him like a cool embrace from an old friend. He dives, strokes, and backflips, each move a testament to his agility. The water's surface calms and Robby floats, gazing at the cloudless sky, a Zen master in his floating temple. Then, with the tranquility of a monk in deep meditation, Robby feels a bubbling within. A smirk tugs at his lips as he angles his backside to the depths and -- PFFFT. Robby chuckles, the vibrations sending ripples across the pond. Again, PFFFT. Louder. PFFFFT-TT-TT. A symphony of flatulence echoes around the oasis. Fishes flit about, shocked by the sudden disturbance. One... two... three fish float to the surface, belly-up, stunned into unconsciousness by Robby's noxious emissions. Their tiny aquatic faces wearing expressions of "What the heck, man?" ROBBY (trying not to laugh) Guess I'm fishing with the Keene method today. Snatching the piscine casualties with glee, Robby prances to the shore, a proud angler armed with unconventional tackle. Gathering sticks and kindling -- with that same butt skywards, now sporting a few grass stains for good measure -- he builds a modest campfire. Flames flicker and crackle, the smell of woodsmoke mingling with the fading scent of Robby's gastric symphony. One-by-one, he impales the fish on sticks and holds them over the fire, his stomach rumbling with a hunger that only the freshest, most dubiously procured meal can satisfy. ROBBY (to the fish) You guys really fell for it, huh? The fish sizzle and pop while Robby's impeccable abs dance in the firelight. The sun dips lower, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, and Robby feasts like a king in his undisturbed kingdom. A contented sigh escapes him as he leans back, hands behind his head, basking in the glow of his firelit triumph. ROBBY (to himself) Cobra Kai never dies, but it sure can clear a pond. FADE OUT.