Bratva: Some things never changes

"Yo."

Izuku stopped in his tracks as the familiar voice reached his ears. Turning around, he immediately recognized Mei, her short jet-black hair slightly tousled, her usual no-nonsense expression softened just a little. She was wearing the standard CSA combat attire, much like his own, minus the mask.

"Been a while, ey?" he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Mei returned the smile, walking over and pulling him into a quick hug. "God, I missed you," she said before stepping back, her eyes scanning him. "How've you been? Heard from Yu that you've been switching tongs."

"People grow," Izuku replied with a shrug. "Yu's just the exception. For him, it's backwards."

Mei let out a loud laugh at that, clutching her sides. "Same old Izu. Never pulling punches, even for him."

Izuku smirked, shaking his head. "He makes it too easy."

Yu, Mei, and Izuku were on one team after graduating basic training. Where Yu and Mei graduated at 13 years old, Izuku graduated at 9. Nevertheless, they had a bond akin to siblings.

Their laughter faded as the mood shifted slightly. Mei looped an arm around Izuku's neck, steering him back toward the CSA HQ. "Much as I'd love to catch up like I did with Yu," she started, her tone light but with a serious edge creeping in, "you know why we're here."

Izuku's expression darkened as he glanced at the faint glow of the rally tattoo on his shoulder, still barely visible even in the dim light. "The flare," he muttered. "Damn thing never goes off at a good time, old fuck as usual."

"Tsk," Mei clicked her tongue. "Careful, Izu. As much of a pain in the ass as he is, the brass still runs the show."

"I know," Izuku said, exhaling sharply. "But you can't tell me he doesn't enjoy making us run circles just to remind us who's in charge."

Mei shot him a sideways glance, smirking despite the tension. "Still got that mouth on you. Just don't let it get you in trouble again."

"Trouble?" Izuku scoffed. "Trouble finds me even when I keep my mouth shut."

"Yeah, well, maybe try harder," Mei teased, her tone lighter now as they reached the looming gates of the CSA HQ. Without another word, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, her usual calm demeanor settling over her like a shield.

As they entered the CSA HQ, the usual tension filled the air. The dimly lit corridors and the echo of their boots on the tiled floor were all too familiar. Izuku and Mei didn't say much as they navigated through the hallways, their focus already shifting to whatever mind fuck lay ahead.

Reaching the debriefing room, the two of them pushed through the heavy doors to find several operatives already seated around the central table. The atmosphere was serious, with quiet murmurs filling the room. At the head of the table stood Commander Gokoku, the old fuck Mei had just warned Izuku about.

The commander looked up as they entered, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Took your time," he said in his usual gruff tone, motioning for them to sit.

"Was catching up," Izuku said flatly, earning a sharp look from Mei, who subtly elbowed him in the ribs as they sat down.

Gokoku ignored the comment, motioning for them to take their seats. Once the room was settled, he spoke, his voice cutting through the air. "What I'm about to tell you is classified. You breathe a word of this to anyone outside this room, and you'll regret it. Got it?"

A few people exchanged uneasy glances, but everyone nodded in agreement. Gokoku gave a small grunt of approval before continuing. "Let's start with this: Who here knows anything about the Uzumaki clan?"

Only a handful of hands went up—six out of almost ninety operatives. Gokoku pointed at one of them. "You. What do you know?"

"Uh… they were wiped out during the Second Great Ninja War," the operative said.

Another spoke up. "Seal masters. Experts with Water Jutsu and Kenjutsu. All dead now."

"Same," another added. "Nothing new to add."

Gokoku let out a slow sigh. "Right. That's what the world thinks. Now, let me tell you what really happened."

He handed out a few thin files to the operatives near him. Mei and Izuku flipped theirs open, skimming through old reports, maps, and logs.

"During the start of the Second War," Gokoku began, his tone flat but deliberate, "our intelligence picked up on something unusual. Suna, Iwa, and Kumo were moving their forces—large-scale coordination. At first, we thought it was a joint attack on Konoha, but things didn't add up. Kumo's forces made an unexpected turn and headed straight for Kiri."

The operatives exchanged uncertain glances, their attention locked on Gokoku.

"A week later, the Uzumaki clan was wiped out. But two days before that, something unexpected happened. A group of Uzumaki refugees landed near our compound. They were running—being hunted by a joint team of Iwa, Kiri, and Kumo shinobi."

Izuku's brow furrowed slightly, and Mei tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

"Our guards intercepted the enemy team and brought the refugees back to the compound," Gokoku continued. "The clan head at the time made a call—a risky one. He let them stay. In exchange, the Uzumaki gave us their knowledge of sealing. All the seals we use now—communication, genjutsu concealment, identification—that's all thanks to them."

Gokoku paused, letting the gravity of his words settle over the room. His sharp gaze swept across the operatives, silently daring anyone to challenge him. "For years, we've protected them. In return, they've kept their existence—and ours—a secret. But now…" His expression darkened, jaw tightening. "They're demanding more. Freedom. Some are even claiming they have the right to migrate to Konoha."

A heavy silence blanketed the room, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone. Mei's eyes flicked toward Izuku, who was leaning back in his chair, hand supporting his head. His face betrayed no emotion, but the subtle shift in his posture made it clear he wasn't buying into the dramatics.

Gokoku continued, his tone sharp and uncompromising. "You don't need me to tell you why this is a problem. If Konoha—or any of the other nations—finds out we've been sheltering Uzumaki survivors, it'll blow everything wide open. Our operations. Our networks. Our existence. They'll start asking questions we can't afford to answer."

The room stayed quiet until someone, as usual, broke the tension. "Good ol' clusterfuck, huh?" The voice was unmistakable—Izuku. His tone was dry, cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a blade.

Gokoku gave him a brief glance but, as expected, ignored the comment. "Now, here's what I expect from you. Nothing. You wait for the call to the frontlines if negotiations fail. Until then, some of you will rotate between patrols and surveillance of their outpost."

At that, Izuku shifted, sitting up straighter, his focus sharpening. "They've got outposts now? I thought they were supposed to be isolated," he said, skepticism clear in his voice.

Gokoku nodded curtly, his expression unreadable. "They were. But over the years, they've fortified their position. They've trained their younger generation and established small outposts near the eastern Nirinobu River. Most of their shinobi were only Genin during the siege, but they've grown since then. We've monitored them, however their movements have been… controlled. Until now."

Mei raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "So, they're not just refugees anymore. They're armed and organized."

"Exactly," Gokoku confirmed, his tone grim. "They've grown comfortable, maybe too comfortable. And now, they think they can start making demands."

Izuku leaned back in his seat again, processing the information. "So let me get this straight," he said, his voice carrying a dry edge. "You're telling us to sit tight and wait for this powder keg to blow up? Sounds like a great plan."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Gokoku, but he didn't rise to it. "Your orders are clear. Patrols, surveillance, and readiness for deployment if necessary. Nothing more, nothing less. The negotiations are being handled by someone else."

Mei snorted softly, barely audible but dripping with sarcasm. "Great. That always works out."

Gokoku shot her a warning glare but didn't address the comment. "Dismissed."

As the operatives filed out of the room, Mei caught up to Izuku, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Armed outposts, trained refugees, and demands for freedom. This doesn't feel like it's gonna end clean, does it?"

Izuku exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap of his gear as they walked through the dimly lit corridor. "It's already weird enough for them to even consider rebelling. So if the talks fail…" His voice trailed off, but the look in his eyes said it all—he already had an idea of how bad things could get.

Mei raised an eyebrow, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face. "What do you mean by weird? Wait—" Her eyes narrowed. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

Izuku glanced at her, his expression calm but firm. "I'm the heir, remember?" His tone wasn't cocky, but it carried the weight of his position. "There's a lot I know that doesn't make it to the briefing room."

Mei stopped mid-step, crossing her arms as she glared at him. "And you didn't think to share that with me? Or anyone else?"

Izuku gave a small shrug, looking straight ahead. "It wasn't relevant before now. Besides, there's a difference between knowing something and it actually becoming a problem."

"Sure doesn't look like you're surprised by any of this," Mei muttered, walking beside him again, though her tone was edged with irritation. "So what's the plan, oh wise heir? If this goes south, what do you think happens?"

Izuku glanced at her, his face unreadable. "If it goes south, we'll be the ones cleaning it up. That's all you need to worry about for now."

Mei rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, great. That's comforting. I love being kept in the dark, by the way. Makes me feel super secure."

Izuku smirked faintly, though his tone remained steady. "You'll know what you need to when you need to. Just don't lose your head before then."

Mei scoffed, shaking her head as they turned a corner. "Typical. But fine—just don't say I didn't warn you when this all blows up in our faces."

Izuku didn't respond, his focus already shifting back to the weight of the mission ahead. He knew Mei had every right to be frustrated, but this wasn't something he could fully explain yet—not until he had more clarity himself. For now, all they could do was wait.

The day after

As dawn cast an orange glow across the deep blue sky, Izaku lay in the grass outside the compound, flipping through a book. He was waiting, and though the morning was calm, he was starting to feel restless.

Finally, Izuku appeared, moving through the trees and looking slightly sleepy. "I'm not late, am I?" he asked, stopping a few paces away.

Izaku glanced up, eyebrows raised. "Only a little," he muttered, closing the book in his hands with a soft thud.

Izuku chuckled, brushing some dirt off his jacket. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting." He noticed the book in Izaku's hands and gave a nod toward it. "You're really into that one, huh?"

Izaku shrugged, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "It's interesting. About chakra molding—figured it's good to know if I want to keep up."

"Smart," Izuku said, as he started unpacking a bunch of wooden toys, most accurately shinobi tools such as Shurikens and Kunai's. "Chakra control takes time, but understanding the theory is half the battle. I got the chance to understand that before my first training session."

Izaku raised an eyebrow. "Ningu? I thought we were doing chakra practice and conditioning."

Izuku smiled as he placed the wooden tools neatly beside them. "Your body and chakra are key, yeah. But tools like kunai and shuriken are just as important for a shinobi."

Izuku straightened up, gesturing around them. "Everything is a tool—the ground, the trees, the sky. All of it can be used if you know how. That's what separates a skilled shinobi from a regular fighter."

Izaku looked around, thoughtful. "So... it's about knowing how to use what's there?"

Izuku gave a small nod. "Exactly. But before we jump into anything big, let's start with the basics while your body builds up strength."

Izaku looked puzzled. "Like what?"

"Simple," Izuku replied, motioning for him to stand. "We're going for a walk."

Izaku gave a skeptical look but stood up anyway. "So... just walking?"

"Yeah," Izuku said, grinning. "But here's the catch. You're not just walking—you're practicing control over your body for two whole hours. Try moving as quietly as you can. Notice how you place your feet, shift your weight, and listen to the sound your steps make."

Izaku took a careful step forward, eyes on the ground, his movements a bit awkward at first. He kept glancing at his brother for approval.

Izuku nodded, his voice low. "That's it. Small steps. And focus on each step instead of just getting somewhere. Think of it like... blending in with the ground."

Izaku nodded slowly, taking another step, this time softer. He could feel the difference, how the weight shifted through his body, making him feel a bit more in control.

They continued this way, moving silently through the forest, with Izuku occasionally stopping to give a quiet tip or a small gesture.

As the day wore on, Izaku grew increasingly frustrated. Every step seemed to betray him—twigs snapped, leaves crunched, and he kept stumbling on roots hidden beneath the grass. He could feel Izuku's eyes on him, calm and patient, which somehow only made it more frustrating.

"Try shifting your weight to the balls of your feet, not your heels, also try step on clearer ground or grouped sticks trying not to crack one of them, while keeping a sort of rhythm with the sounds surrounding you, " Izuku said after another misstep, his voice steady. "And don't rush. Think about each step."

Izaku nodded, his jaw clenched as he gave it another shot. He carefully lifted his foot, placing it down with what he thought was a feather-light touch, only for another twig to crack loudly. He groaned and threw a quick, annoyed glance at his brother. Izuku's expression was calm, showing no sign of impatience or disappointment.

"It's not as easy as it looks, huh?" Izuku said with a small smile. "It's normal to struggle with it. No one gets it right on their first day."

Izaku let out a breath and gave a reluctant nod. "Guess not," he muttered, feeling his shoulders relax just a little.

"Look, we're not here to make you perfect in a day," Izuku continued. "This is the kind of thing that takes time and patience. Even if it feels frustrating, you're building the muscle memory each time you try."

Izaku glanced at the ground, kicking at a stray leaf. "So, just... keep trying?"

"Exactly. Every step counts, even the ones that seem wrong." Izuku's tone was encouraging, and he motioned for Izaku to keep going.

They spent the rest of the morning practicing, with Izaku taking one cautious step after another. Some were quieter than before, and he could feel small improvements, but others still felt clumsy and loud. By midday, his legs ached from all the careful movements, and he was sweaty from the focus it demanded.

Finally, Izuku placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's call it a day," he said with a smile. "We'll keep working on it tomorrow. Now, let's try something different. Let's work on shuriken throwing."

Izaku sighed in relief, picking up a wooden shuriken. "Finally. At least I might see some progress with these," he said, holding it up, looking hopeful.

Izuku watched him grip the shuriken and winced slightly. "You don't exactly have blade discipline yet, huh?"

Izaku looked up, confused. "Blade discipline?"

"If you held a real one like that, you'd probably cut yourself. These things are sharper than they look." To demonstrate, Izuku picked up one of the real shuriken, giving it a gentle flick. It sailed cleanly through the air and embedded itself in a nearby tree with a soft thud.

Izaku's eyes widened as he watched the shuriken fly from Izuku's hand, slicing through the air and sinking into the tree with a soft thud. He hadn't even seen him aim.

"See?" Izuku said, turning back to him. "It's all about control. These aren't toys, and if you don't respect the blade, it'll end up hurting you more than anyone else."

Izaku looked down at the wooden shuriken in his own hand, gripping it a little tighter. "So... how do you hold it without messing up?"

Izuku stepped over, guiding Izaku's fingers. "Hold it with your thumb on one side, fingers on the other, while the middle to control it's trajectory from the center. Keep it steady, and let your wrist flick it forward. Don't throw it hard—focus on letting the weight do the work. Too much force, and it'll miss the mark."

Izaku nodded, feeling the shift in his grip, and took a deep breath, trying to mimic his brother's smooth, relaxed stance. He flicked his wrist and let the wooden shuriken go. It flew a little off-course, hitting the tree bark with a clumsy bounce. Izaku frowned, but Izuku just chuckled.

"Not bad," Izuku said, his tone encouraging. "It took me a while to get it right, too. Aim isn't about strength—it's about focus and patience."

Izaku shrugged, a little disappointed but also determined. "Guess that means more practice?"

Izuku smiled, nodding. "Every day. You're picking it up fast. Just keep at it, and in time, it'll be second nature."

Two years later

Two years had passed since that quiet afternoon when Izuku had taught Izaku the basics of throwing a shuriken. The compound had changed little, but the atmosphere around the brothers was different. Izaku was no longer the quiet, serious kid he'd been back then. He had grown taller, more focused, his once hesitant movements now replaced by the poise of someone who had spent countless hours in training. He had grown into his own version of the skillset his brother had introduced him to.

One early morning, Izaku was out in the compound's training yard, his grip steady as he held a real steel Kunai in his hand. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, his mind calm and focused. With a smooth flick of his wrist, he released the Kunai, watching it slice through the air with precision. It embedded itself into the center of the target, exactly where he had aimed.

Izuku, who had been watching from the sidelines, clapped slowly. "Nice one," he said, walking over with a smile that held a mixture of pride and satisfaction. "Took you some time though."

Izaku turned, a quiet but unmistakable pride in his eyes as he met his brother's gaze. "Thanks," he replied, his voice steady. "I've been doin' it every day, of course it got good results."

Izuku nodded, walking up to examine the target, where the kunai was embedded right in the bullseye. His lips curved into a small, approving smile. "It shows. That's a clean shot." He crossed his arms, giving Izaku an appraising look. "Honestly, you're sharper than I was when I started one year into my training. You've taken this seriously, and it's paid off."

Izaku shrugged, but he couldn't completely hide the satisfaction that flickered across his face. "Well, you set a pretty high standard," he said, trying to sound casual but unable to keep the warmth out of his tone.

Since that first day in the training yard, Izaku had been dedicated, training with his brother nearly every day, only taking weekends to rest and recover. Over the years, Izuku had tailored the training regimen to match Izaku's growth, carefully adjusting it as his younger brother's body matured and adapted. They had moved from the basics to more advanced skills, each phase building upon the last.

Their training sessions covered everything from conditioning and basic self-defense to handling and throwing ninja tools. Izaku had learned to handle shuriken and kunai with precision, his aim improving through hours of repetitive practice. By now, he could reliably hit stationary targets and was starting to work on moving targets. Izuku emphasized technique over raw power, drilling into him the importance of control, balance, and the small adjustments needed to compensate for distance or wind.

The practical skills weren't limited to tools; Izuku also instructed him in poisons—a skill often ignored by young trainees, but one that could save his life someday. He learned the basics of identifying toxic plants, understanding how to handle venomous substances, and even the simplest methods of mixing and applying poison. Izuku was meticulous, warning him about the risks involved and the importance of careful handling. In the field, a small dose could be the difference between victory and a quick defeat, but misuse or sloppy preparation could just as easily backfire.

But the hardest part, by far, was Taijutsu. Izuku had introduced him to a blend of martial arts styles that his family had practiced for generations after each physical conditioning, known as the Utsukuro Taijutsu style. It wasn't flashy or aggressive; it was a calculated approach built on a combination of evasion, defense, and precise strikes. The style was heavily influenced by techniques from both the Senju and Uchiha clans, though Izuku adjusted it to fit Izaku's abilities.

The Senju influence gave Izaku a base of flexibility and defensive maneuvers, emphasizing body positioning and footwork to avoid strikes without wasting unnecessary energy. This part of the training was less about power and more about timing—learning when to move, when to pivot, and how to let an opponent's force work against them. Izaku spent countless hours practicing these movements, getting used to the flow and rhythm of dodging and countering.

The Uchiha influence, on the other hand, focused on quick, decisive strikes designed to create openings and end fights swiftly. But without the Sharingan, Izaku couldn't use the more advanced techniques that required split-second timing. Without that visual advantage, attempting those moves would leave him vulnerable to counterattacks.

As a result, Izuku taught him only the basics of the Uchiha Katas, those he could realistically perform without relying on heightened perception. They focused on keeping a stable stance, maintaining balance, and using straightforward, efficient strikes. This meant Izaku had to learn to read an opponent's body language instead, relying on observation rather than preternatural reflexes. It wasn't easy—he couldn't just leap between offense and defense like an CSA Agent could, so his movements had to be more cautious and deliberate.

"Aight, time to start Chakra control." Said Izuku as he walked in front of a tree.

Izaku had also been trying to get his Chakra unlocked, as his Chakra conductors were still too small for his reserve to be of use, so he started getting drilled with Chakra control.

Flashback

One evening, while they were training Taijutsu.

"You don't need to copy everything," Izuku had reminded him during one training session. "It's more important that you learn to adapt what you know. Take the fluidity of the Senju and the precision of the Uchiha, and make it work for you. Don't try to be something you're not."

Izaku nodded, his breath steady despite the exertion. He shifted his stance, relaxing into the fluid movements of the Senju Kata. "I get it. But it's harder than it looks, blending the two styles without losing focus."

Izuku stepped forward, correcting Izaku's posture with a light tap on his shoulder. "It's not about blending them perfectly. It's about finding what feels natural to you. Your style doesn't have to look like mine—or anyone else's."

Izaku exhaled slowly, absorbing the advice. "So... what if my natural style ends up being nothing like Utsukuro at all?"

Izuku grinned and dropped into a relaxed Seiza position. "Then we call it the Izaku Style. Now, come on. Let's start unlocking your chakra."

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Author not: I am rushing things I know. I am just trying to get to the juicy part.