Bratva: Some things never changes

The sun hung high in the sky, its warmth chasing away the chill of the morning. Izaku made his way down a familiar dirt path, his legs still a little sore from the morning's training. His shuriken rested in a pouch on his side, a reminder of his routine until the return of his brother. But for now, he wasn't thinking about that. Today was about something else—seeing his friends.
He approached a small clearing where the trees opened up to reveal two figures. One sat perched on a low-hanging branch, swinging his legs idly. The other was sprawled out on the grass below, lazily tossing a rock from one hand to the other.
"Yo." Izaku called out, a small smile breaking through his usually serious demeanor.
Tagami, the boy on the branch, looked up, his jet black eyes lighting up when he spotted Izaku. "Finally! Thought you weren't coming," he said, jumping down with practiced ease.
Kioshi, still lying on the grass, let out a groan. "He probably got roped into more training with his brother."
Izaku shrugged, walking closer. "Ye, something like that. I was perfecting how to throw shuriken today." 
Tagami's eyes widened with curiosity. "Real ones?"
"Yup," Izaku admitted, earning a snort from Kioshi.
"Figures," Kioshi said, sitting up and brushing dirt off his shirt. "I mean, your brother sounds like he's trying to turn you into a clone of him. Next, he'll have you running missions before you can even run properly."
Izaku sighed. "Nah, he's chill. In fact, I was the one to make him train me."
"Ey relax, 'am fucking wit you," Kioshi said with a wave of his hand. "But seriously, when's the last time you did something fun?"
"Right now, I guess," Izaku shrugged.
Tagami grinned and nudged him. "Good answer. C'mon, let's do something."
The trio moved toward a small stream nearby, where Tagami had set up a makeshift fishing line with a thin piece of string and a bent nail. He was always coming up with little projects like this—tinkering with things, figuring out how they worked.
"You're still trying to catch fish with that?" Izaku asked, eyeing the contraption skeptically.
"Hey, don't knock it," Tagami said, carefully lowering the line into the water. "It's all about patience and technique."
"It's about luck," Kioshi muttered, flopping onto a nearby rock. "And Tagami is broke of it."
Izaku chuckled despite himself and sat down on the grassy bank. Watching Tagami work his fishing line was strangely calming, even if it seemed like a pointless effort. Kioshi, meanwhile, picked up rocks and started throwing them at the water absentmindedly.
"So," Kioshi said after a moment, his voice casual but probing, "how's life with your big brother back?"
Izaku closed his eyes, unsure how to answer. "It's... different. He's always around now, and everything feels more tense."
"Tense how?" Tagami asked, glancing up from his fishing line.
Izaku shrugged, picking at a blade of grass. "Training. Talking about being a shinobi. Stuff like that."
Kioshi snorted. "Sounds exhausting. Glad I'm not in your shoes."
Tagami shot him a look. "God damn it, Kioshi. It's not like Izaku has a choice in this even if he does. And besides, having someone like Izuku as a brother has to be kind of cool, right?"
Izaku thought about that for a moment. "It is, I guess. But it's also... a lot. Like I am walking in a minefield."
Tagami nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. The CSA is more like a factory for PTSD riddled individuals."
Kioshi rolled his eyes. "Great pep talk, Tagami. Real inspiring."
Tagami ignored him, focusing on his fishing line again. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with the sounds of the stream and the occasional rustling of leaves.
Eventually, Tagami stood up, holding his line triumphantly. "I got one!"
The other two scrambled to their feet, peering into the water. Sure enough, a small, silver fish dangled from the end of the line, wriggling in protest.
"Well, I'll be damned," Kioshi said, genuinely impressed. "You actually caught something."
"Told you it's about technique," Tagami said, grinning as he carefully removed the fish and released it back into the stream.
Izaku watched the fish dart away, a small smile on his face. "Guess you do have some luck."
"Of course!" Tagami said, puffing out his chest. "Now, who's up for a race back to the compound?"
Kioshi groaned. "Do you ever stop moving?"
"Not when I'm winning," Tagami shot back, already taking off.
Izaku smiled, feeling lighter than he had in days. He and Kioshi exchanged a glance before sprinting after Tagami, their footsteps pounding against the forest floor.
For a little while, the weight of training and expectations melted away, replaced by the simple joy of being a kid again. They ran, laughed, and shouted through the trees, their voices echoing in the open air.
By the time they reached the edge of the compound, all three of them were out of breath and grinning like idiots.
"Who won?" Tagami asked between gasps.
"Not you," Kioshi said, collapsing onto the grass dramatically.
As the boys caught their breath, Kioshi sat up, running a hand through his messy black hair. "Damn, Tagami, I thought you were fast. Guess all that training with pops wasn't enough, eh?"
Tagami rolled his eyes, still panting. "I was pacing myself. You know, being familiar walking silently, training of some sort."
"Training, my ass," Kioshi shot back with a laugh. "You got smoked, and you know it."
Izaku chuckled, brushing grass off his clothes. "Four years younger and still at your level."
"A win is a win," Kioshi said, leaning back on his elbows. "Plus, everything's a competition. Even sitting here doing nothing, I'm probably better at it than you two."
Tagami smirked, shaking his head. "Sure, Kioshi. You win at being a useless bastard."
"Exactly," Kioshi said without missing a beat, a cocky grin spreading across his face.
The banter felt easy, natural. Izaku leaned against a tree, feeling a little more relaxed. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this—just hanging out without the weight of expectations pressing down on him.
"So," Izaku said after a moment, his tone shifting slightly, "Engaged to the CSA yet?"
Kioshi snorted, leaning back on his elbows. "Yeah, about a year and a half ago. What, you didn't know?"
"I heard," Izaku said, glancing between them. "Just didn't think to ask until now."
Tagami, who had been fiddling with his backpack, nodded. "You know how it is. They start looking at you when you hit a certain age, and before you know it, they give you the option to volunteer."
Kioshi let out a bitter laugh, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, 'volunteer.' More like 'voluntold.' They're just waiting for you to screw up or show some potential, and then boom—you're on their radar."
Izaku frowned, his brow furrowing. "I thought it was a purely volunteer contract?"
Tagami glanced at Kioshi, then back at Izaku. "It is... technically. But they changed the rules two years ago apparently. Now you're either signing up because they're watching your every move, or because everyone around you is. It's not like they're twisting your arm, but you feel it, you know? The pressure."
Kioshi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "They don't force you, Izaku, but they sure as hell make you think twice about not signing up. It's all this 'for the good of the clan' crap. Like you're the bad guy if you say no."
Izaku was quiet for a moment, processing their words. "So... what made you guys sign it?"
Tagami was the first to answer, his voice steady. "I wanted to make something of myself. I mean, sure, there's pressure, but there's also opportunity. Training, education, a path forward. It's not perfect, but it's something. Better than staying in the same place forever."
Kioshi, meanwhile, snorted and crossed his arms. "Me? I signed because my old man wouldn't shut the hell up about it. 'Honor for the family' this, ''tis our duty' that. Figured it'd shut him up if I just went along with it." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "But don't get it twisted—I didn't do it for them. I did it for me. If I'm stuck in this, I'm gonna play it my way."
Izaku looked up. "Shit. Looks rough."
Tagami shrugged. "It's... kinda? They've got us on basic stuff for now—memorizing procedures, Specializations, physical and device drills. Nothing too intense yet."
"Yet," Kioshi echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "They're saving the good stuff for later. Right now, it's all 'do this, don't do that.' Half the time, I feel like a robot."
"Better than feeling useless," Tagami said, though his tone wasn't sharp.
Kioshi shot him a look but didn't argue.
Izaku sat quietly, processing their words. He'd always known the CSA was a big part of their lives, but hearing it firsthand felt different. "Shit, hearing it like that, it's almost like you are regretting it."
Kioshi snorted, harsh and bitter. "Regret it? What's there to regret? You think we had a choice? Nah, man. They make it sound like some 'big man ting,' like we should be grateful to 'serve our duty.'" He jabbed the air with his fingers in mock quotes. "But it's just a trap."
Izaku frowned. "It can't be all bad, though... can it?" His voice faltered slightly, unsure if he was even allowed to challenge Kioshi's frustration.
Tagami stepped in, his tone calm but resolute. "Not everyone sees it that way," he said. "It's a path. One with risks, sure, but also opportunities. You just have to make the best of it."
Kioshi rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they might get stuck. "Spoken like a true poster boy. What, they got you writing propaganda now?"
"Shut up, Kioshi," Tagami shot back, though there was no real venom in his voice.
Izaku glanced between them, unsure of what to say. He didn't want to take sides, but the tension was palpable. "What about you, Tagami?" he asked finally. "Do you think it's worth it?"
Tagami paused, considering his answer. "I think... it depends on what you make of it. If you go in expecting it to be easy or fair, you'll hate it. But if you take it seriously, if you're willing to work, it can be something more than just orders and drills."
Izaku nodded slowly, trying to make sense of that. "Like... it's not about what they make you do, but what you do with it?"
"Exactly," Tagami said, giving him a small nod of approval.
Kioshi let out a derisive laugh. "Yeah, sure. 'Something more.' Like what? A gravestone with your name on it?"
Tagami's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
zaku shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to take sides, but the air between them felt heavy, like it could crack open any second. "I mean... Kioshi's got a point," he said carefully, picking his words like he was crossing a minefield. "It is scary, innit? Thinking about all the ways this could go wrong. Thinking about what you're giving up."
Both boys turned to look at him, their expressions unreadable.
"Yeah," Kioshi admitted after a moment, his usual bravado slipping. "It's scary as hell. But you can't let them see that. You gotta act like it's no big deal, like you've got it all figured out. Otherwise..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"Otherwise they'll eat you alive," Izaku finished quietly, and Kioshi gave him a sidelong glance, like he hadn't expected him to get it.
Tagami nodded, his gaze distant. "Plus, it's not just about you. It's about your squad, your team. If you falter, you're putting them at risk. That's the part that gets me sometimes."
-------
The forest stood tall and serene, ancient trees stretching skyward, their gnarled branches forming a dense canopy that filtered the sunlight into dappled patches on the forest floor. A cool, damp breeze carried the scent of moss and earth, and the only sound was the faint rustle of leaves swaying high above.
Then, the stillness shattered.
Three figures streaked through the trees, moving so fast they were little more than a blur—like whispers of shadow and light. For a fleeting moment, the sharp glint of light off a blade caught the eye, followed by the faintest ripple of disturbed air.
A man in black CSA attire emerged from the shadows moments later, observing the three blurs. His gear—black robes behind armor plates, a tactical backpack snug against his back, and pocket rigs holding an assortment of Kunai, Shuriken and Tags with different properties. His face was concealed behind a balaclava and a stark porcelain mask that reflected the faint rays of sunlight. In his gloved hand, he carried a small, sleek VOCD (Voice Over Chakra Device), its soft glow barely noticeable in the dim forest light.
He paused for a moment, surveying the area before speaking into the device. His voice was calm, clipped, and precise. "Rakkasan to Snowflake, receive? Over."
Static crackled before a response came through. "Snowflake to Rakkasan, heard you. Status? Over."
"We're at the LZ. Moving to meet our fellas. Over," he said, his voice steady.
After a pause, the reply came sharp. "Copy. Watch for hostiles. Stay low. Over."
"Understood. Out." Lowering the device, he muttered, "Aight, let's move."
Two figures emerged from the shadows, both clad in black like him.
"That's a fancy toy," one of them, a man, said, nodding at the VOCD.
The other, a woman, snorted. "Perks of working with the redhead, huh?"
"Almost forgot how painful it is to be professional with you" the man with the VOCD sighed, already slipping back into the trees.
The two figures followed closely, their movements quiet but deliberate, their black attire blending seamlessly with the shadowy forest.
"Aw, come on, don't be like that," the woman teased, her voice light but laced with a smirk. "You love us. Admit it."
The man with the VOCD didn't look back. "I tolerate you," he said flatly, his tone as dry as the root beneath their boots.
The other man chuckled under his breath. "That's basically a confess- CS(Chakra signature)" He suddenly snapped, his voice lowering to a whisper. The three of them crouched low, blending into the underbrush.
"Friendlies?" the VOCD operator snapped, his voice lowering to a whisper.
The woman tilted her head, her playful expression fading as she scanned the dense forest. "Snow?" she asked quietly.
"Look like friendlies to me, they seems to be waiting, your call Crow." Snow muttered, his eyes narrowing behind the porcelain mask. He placed a hand on one of the kunai strapped to his rig, the other hovering near his flash tag.
The group stayed still for a moment, the only sound their steady breathing and the faint rustle of leaves.
"Could be," the masked man crow replied. "Or it could be something else."
The woman's hand drifted to a tag on her belt, the faint markings on it pulsing softly. "If it's not them, they're about to have a really bad day," she muttered, her voice tight with anticipation.
The silence stretched on, heavy and tense. Crow fingers tightened around his kunai.
'Snow, Left flank,' he signed with his hand, motioning with two fingers to the left. 'Flower, right. Me, clearing.'
The three figures moved in near-perfect unison, slipping through the trees like shadows, closing in on the source of the group.
The three moved silently, splitting off like shadows. Snow flanked left, Flower went right, and Crow crept forward, kunai in hand.
The forest was deathly quiet, every sound magnified. Then, a man-A teenager from his voice- closed the space and placed a Kunai in his jugular. "Identify yourself."
Crow froze but didn't give in to his instincts. "Your skin like dawn, Mine like musk" he called softly.
The boy holding the kunai hesitated but tightened his grip. "I said, identify your—" His words cut off as a muffled voice came from the trees.
"Captain! What are you doing?"
The boy's captain stepped forward from behind a tree, his dark blue gear blending into the shadows. His voice was calm but edged with authority. "One paints the beginning, of a certain end."
Snow and Flower emerged from their flanks, making the ANBU tense. The captain's gaze flicked between them before turning to his team. "Ease up kid. They're the good guys. If they weren't, we'd already be rotting corpses."
The teenager hesitated, finally lowering his kunai. "Sorry, sir."
"And who are they supposed to be?" Said the teenager that was holding crow's throat hostage, lowering it in the process.
Instead of answering his subordinate's question, he walked to Crow and extending his hand. "Team 5, Cat," he turned toward the one that was holding crow hostage, "Bear, and pigeon. Apologies for the unprofessional display. They're rookies."
In return, crow shook his hand ."Rakkasan, Crow, Flower and Snow. Understandable, everyone needs a baptism under fire." 
The captain nodded. "They'll get there." He glanced at his team, his voice. "Eyes up. Situational awareness doesn't end when you meet allies."
The rookie who had held Crow hesitated, then lowered his weapon fully. "Sorry, sir," he muttered.
Snow stepped forward, her gaze locking on the captain. "Next time, verify before you escalate. Out here, mistakes get people killed."
"We got intel that the Daimyo is having trouble with a faction of aristocrats growing power, we are here to fix that." Said crow, his voice low and cold. His choice of words making the older ANBU tense up slightly.
"That's why we're on edge," the captain replied. "We suspect foreign shinobi might be pulling the strings."
At that moment, the group started moving, seemingly toward the capital direction. "Same suspicion here. But do you have solid proof? We're not here to waste time chasing ghosts."
The captain's tone turned grim. "Not yet. What we do know is this: the head of the treasury was poisoned. Shortly after, someone loyal to the aristocrat faction took their place."
Snow and Flower exchanged glances, their faces unreadable but their postures tense. Crow pressed further. "Any leads on how they managed it? Guards integrity, accomplices?"
"Not enough to go on," the captain admitted. "The replacement is well-insulated, and whoever's behind it knows how to cover their tracks."
"If it's foreign shinobi, they'll leave a trace. No matter how careful they are, nobody operates flawlessly."
The captain gave a curt nod. "Let's hope you're right. Otherwise, the Daimyo's court is in for a long game of shadows."