In a cave surrounded by darkness, agonizing screams echoed, the kind of screams that could drive any man to madness. However, Izuku was different. He was accustomed to such things.

Back during the ambush, he had managed to capture a high-ranking Kiri shinobi tasked with disrupting Konoha's supply lines during the Fourth Great Shinobi War. At the time, he had done everything he could to conceal his actions from his kin—whether it was knowledge of his survival, his appearance in case the trio of chunin he chased escaped, or simply his whereabouts.

When he captured the battered shinobi, it took him fifteen days to extract information. At first, torture wasn't an option; he relied on his Sharingan. However, a Kiri shinobi was still a Kiri shinobi. The man's mind was strong—not in the sense of resilience, but in the sense that it was so deeply entrenched in madness that the Sharingan proved ineffective at Izuku's current level. So, torture it was.

Through the process, Izuku learned that no ambush had been expected in the region where he was attacked. This confirmed his suspicions of a false flag operation. He already had his doubts about someone, but now he had proof—or at least enough to act on.

"Please, I've already told you everything I know!" the civilian begged, his voice hoarse from hours of illusions and psychological torment.

"Maybe," Izuku replied calmly, his tone devoid of empathy. "But I need to confirm what you've said. In the meantime, I'll keep looking for more."

Within the first fifteen minutes, Izuku had extracted information about a carriage transporting what appeared to be ordinary merchandise from Noodle Country to Konoha. However, the civilian revealed that the merchandise wasn't locally sourced. Instead, it was something the captured ANBU needed—add to that they didn't have enough storage scrolls, which were in short supply.

Curious about the contents, Izuku sent Flower and Snow to investigate the location the civilian had described. Now, he waited for their report, continuing to extract information in case he had missed anything. After all, in a world where chakra made people far more resilient than in his old one, and where Konoha's reputation alone was enough to deter most leaks, he couldn't afford to overlook even the smallest detail.

As time dragged on, a faint crackle came from his VOCD. It was Snow, who had picked up the device lent to the Sky ANBU to maintain contact during their mission.

"Snow to Crow, how copy?" his voice came through, steady but urgent.

"This is Crow. Send traffic," Izuku responded, his focus sharpening.

"We've found something, and you're going to want to hear this."

"Tell me you found some juice," Izuku said, his tone hopeful but cautious.

A moment of silence followed, the tension palpable as Izuku waited for Snow's response. When she didn't answer immediately, he repeated, "Snow, did you find proof?"

"Negative," Snow replied, his voice tight. "We found a stash of sealing supplies. The ANBU had seal tags and scrolls... and they're Uzumaki-made."

Izuku froze. Uzumaki seals were renowned for their efficiency and potency, crafted by a new generation of seal masters who had studied the ancient legacy of Uzushiogakure. This was a problem—a big one. Not only did Konoha's ANBU know about the potential existence of the revitalized Uzumaki clan, but they also had ties to the Utsukuro clan—Izuku's own clan.

As he struggled to process the implications, a new voice broke through the VOCD. It was Takahisa. "Rakkasan, this is Castle Actual. Repeat your last."

Takahisa's sudden presence on the line meant he had been monitoring their communications throughout the mission. Izuku felt a mix of relief and pressure. On one hand, he didn't have to figure this out alone. On the other,if shit hit the fan, as the clan heir, he knew he would need to take the shit into his own hands if things escalated.

Snow's voice came through again, firm and clear. "I say again, Noodle Country has Uzumaki seals, and they are not for self-use."

A day before the findings, Izaku and Akiko were training in their backyard, focusing specifically on chakra control. Izaku's brother had given him a task: to train his chakra concealment to a practical level, or at least to a beginner's proficiency. However, this required excellent chakra control—something Izaku was still developing.

Due to his excess Yin energy, Izaku had first needed to strengthen his body before diving into chakra training. He had done just that, but now, for this homework, he needed a more efficient method to refine his control. His chakra reserves had grown significantly, thanks to the balance of his newly cultivated Yang energy and his natural Yin energy. While his total chakra was only at a mid-Genin level—as Izuku loved to point out—it was still far above average for a child from a shinobi clan.

To tackle this challenge, he turned to an expert in the field: his mother.

Akiko wasn't just an iryo-nin; she was also a trained shinobi. However, Izaku didn't know which division or role she had held within the clan. Her expertise in chakra control was undeniable, and she had agreed to help him with his training.

Now, Izaku was performing chakra pull-ups under her watchful eye. Using his palms, he adhered to a solid surface and began pulling himself up without relying on his grip strength. This exercise, similar to the tree-walking technique, required continuous chakra control. It not only strengthened his coils but also helped him focus chakra into his hands for jutsu. Advanced versions of the exercise would involve using just his fingertips, further refining his control and precision.

As Izaku strained through the pull-ups, Akiko observed him closely, her Sharingan active to monitor the flow of his chakra. "Good, but you're using about 2 Units too much chakra on the ascent. Try to regulate it more evenly. Think of it like a steady stream, not a burst."

The "Unit" Akiko referred to was a measurement Izaku had established for himself—the amount of chakra he felt comfortable using without adding or restricting. It served as a personal ruler to gauge his chakra expenditure.

Izaku grunted in acknowledgment, adjusting his chakra output as he continued. The exercise was as much about strength training as it was about chakra control, and Izaku had merged the two to maximize his efficiency. It was grueling work, but he was determined to improve.

"I'm trying, Mom. It's just... harder than I thought," Izaku said between short gasps for air.

Akiko smiled softly, her Sharingan deactivating as she stepped closer. "It's supposed to be hard. If it were easy, everyone would master it. But you're doing well. Just keep at it."

As much as he had joked about it in his past life as a teenager, Izaku now understood that chakra control was undoubtedly one of the most challenging disciplines a shinobi had to master. He had always thought of it as requiring precision—focusing chakra into specific body parts demanded fine motor skills and concentration, much like playing a musical instrument, painting, or performing surgery in his old world. He remembered learning to play the guitar in about a month back then. All he needed was the tune, a bit of practice, and he was set. Repeat a song four or nine times, and he could play it decently.

But this was different. Instead of a month of practice and a few tries to master a song, he had to repeat exercises countless times just to understand the basics of his chakra network. The leaf, tree, and water exercises had taken him a full year to perform naturally. Now that he thought about it, where had the rest of his years gone?

Before he could dwell on that thought further, his mother called out to him. "Alright, that's enough for today. Let's go home."

Izaku was about to protest, but he remembered his mother's character. If she decided he didn't need more training for the day, that was the end of it. He wasn't sure if it was premeditated or simply motherly affection—like how his father had refrained from training him too rigorously in his early years.

Izaku sighed, reluctantly nodding. "Fine. But tomorrow, can we start earlier? I want to get this down as soon as possible."

Akiko smiled, ruffling his hair. "Of course. But only if you promise to eat a proper dinner and get some rest tonight. Deal?"

Izaku grinned. "Deal. But only if you make those vanilla cakes for breakfast."

Akiko rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. "You and your sweet tooth. Fine, vanilla cakes it is. But only if you promise to eat something healthy for dinner tonight. No sneaking extra rice instead of vegetables."

Izaku groaned again, this time more dramatically. "Mom, you know I hate peas."

"And I know you'll eat them if I put them in front of you," Akiko said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, come on. Let's get inside before your father eats all the leftovers."

As they stepped inside, the smell of dinner filled the air. Takahisa was indeed at the table, a bowl of rice in hand. He looked up, grinning. "About time you two showed up. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about dinner."

Akiko shot him a look. "And I was starting to think you'd forgotten how to save food for the rest of us."

Takahisa laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged. But in my defense, I was hungry."

Izaku rolled his eyes, grabbing a bowl and serving himself. "You're always hungry, Dad."

Takahisa winked. "That's because I'm a growing man."

Akiko snorted, sitting down beside him. "Growing sideways, maybe."

The three of them laughed, the warmth of the moment filling the room. For Izaku, it was a reminder of why he worked so hard—not just to become stronger, but to protect the people he loved.

As they sat down to eat, Izaku poked at the peas on his plate, trying to hide them under a pile of rice. Akiko noticed immediately, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Izaku, don't think I can't see what you're doing. Eat your vegetables."

Izaku groaned, stabbing a peas with his chopsticks. "Why do they have to taste so... peasy?"

Takahisa chuckled, shoveling a bite of rice into his mouth. "Because they're peas, kid. They're supposed to taste like peas."

Izaku shot his father a look. "Thanks, Dad. That's really helpful."

Takahisa grinned, unbothered. "Anytime."

Akiko shook her head, hiding a smile. "You two are impossible. Izaku, just eat them. They're good for you."

Izaku sighed dramatically but finally took a bite. "Fine. But only because you're making vanilla cakes tomorrow."

Akiko raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that a bribe now?"

Izaku smirked. "Maybe."

Takahisa leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Vanilla cakes, huh? Sounds like I'm missing out. What do I get if I eat my peas?"

Akiko shot him a look. "You're an adult, Takahisa. You don't get bribed for eating your vegetables."

Takahisa feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Wow. No respect. I see how it is."

Izaku laughed, the tension from his earlier training session melting away. For a moment, it was easy to forget about chakra control. As for the peas, it wasn't that he hated them, in fact, he loved them before bein reborn. However, its tast is vastly different now, worst than boiled zucchinis.

As the meal wound down, Takahisa turned to Izaku, his tone more serious. "So, how's the training going? Your mom said you're making progress."

Izaku nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Yeah, I think I'm getting better. Mom's helping me with chakra control. It's... harder than I thought, but I'm getting there."

Takahisa smiled, ruffling Izaku's hair. "That's my boy. Just remember, it's not about being perfect. It's about putting in the work and not giving up."

Izaku nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I know. Mom said something like that too."

Akiko smiled, clearing the plates from the table. "Great minds think alike."

Takahisa leaned closer to Izaku, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Just between you and me, your mom's the real expert when it comes to chakra control. I'd still be tripping over my own feet if it weren't for her."

Akiko turned around, her hands on her hips. "I heard that."

Takahisa held up his hands, grinning. "What? It's a compliment!"

Akiko rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "You're lucky I love you."

Izaku chuckled, shaking his head. "It's awkward being with you two together, you know."

Takahisa raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Awkward? What's awkward about your parents being hopelessly in love? Isn't that what a lot of kids dreams of?"

Izaku gave him a deadpan look. "No, Dad. What every kid dreams of is not having to witness their parents being...like this."

Akiko laughed, leaning against the counter. "Oh, come on, Izaku. It's not that bad. Besides, you'll appreciate it when you're older."

Izaku groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Yeah, yeah. Of course I would. I'm pretty sure I'll be shasing it for life."

Takahisa smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Awkward, huh? Wait until you start bringing friends over. Then you'll really see awkward."

Izaku's eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn't."

Takahisa's grin widened. "Oh, I would. Imagine me telling them all about the time you—"

Izaku cut him off, his face turning red. "Okay, okay! I take it back! You two are... fine. Totally normal. No awkwardness here."

Akiko chuckled, shaking her head. "Nice try, but you're not getting out of it that easily. Your father's right—you'll do the same thing with your kids someday."

Izaku sighed, slumping in his chair. "I highly doubt that."

Takahisa reached over and ruffled Izaku's hair. "Don't worry, kid. One day, you'll look back on this and laugh. Or cringe. Probably cringe."

Izaku groaned again, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the teasing, he couldn't deny that moments like these made him feel... safe. Loved. He dearly missed that feeling. While he didn't know if he had achieved happiness later in his past life, he didn't care now. This was enough.

As the laughter died down, Akiko glanced at the clock. "Alright, it's getting late. Izaku, time for bed. You've got an early start tomorrow, remember?"

Izaku nodded, standing up from the table. "Yeah, yeah. Early training, vanilla cakes, no dragging my feet. Got it."

Takahisa grinned. "And don't forget the peas."

Izaku shot him a look. "You're not helping, Dad."

Takahisa held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just looking out for your health, kid."

As Izaku headed to his room, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Sure, his parents were a little embarrassing, but he wouldn't trade them for anything. They were his family, and that was all that mattered.

Lying down on his bed, he let his thoughts wander. In his past life—or at least what he remembered of it—his first seventeen years had been filled with struggle. His father had died in some unknown land, serving a so-called "motherland" that had ultimately ruined their family. His mother, overcome with grief and stress, had fallen ill. Yet, she had worked two jobs to support them, sacrificing her health and happiness.

As for Izaku himself, his life had been a series of battles—against bullies, against anger, and against the world itself. A friend had once described him as having a "kind and naive soul," but those years of hardship had twisted that kindness into something akin to a beast. It wasn't until later, after making peace with his past, that he had found some semblance of calm.

But even then, life hadn't been kind. Rent was due, his mother was hospitalized, and bills piled up. At sixteen, he had dropped out of school, a decision that had sparked countless arguments with his mother. He had taken on odd jobs, fought to support his younger brother's education, and endured the daily grind of a life filled with bullshit.

Now, as he lay in bed, he remembered how Naruto had been his pillar during those dark times. As fucked up as it sounded, it was the truth. Naruto's unwavering optimism and determination had kept him going, even when everything else seemed hopeless. Before and after those three years of madness, Naruto had been a constant source of inspiration.

His daily life was about working tirelessly, arguing with his mother about his decision to drop out, and ensured his brother an education he needed for his future, even if it added more arguments to his daily life. It was a routine filled with more and more bullshit, but he had endured. Yet, as he thought back, he realized he couldn't remember much beyond his eighteenth birthday. He knew he had lived longer than that, but the memories were hazy, as if shrouded in fog.

Izaku sighed, staring at the ceiling. "What happened after that?" he murmured to himself. But no answer came. The past was a mystery, and the future was uncertain. All he had was now—this life, this family, and this chance to make things right.

As sleep began to claim him, Izaku made a silent promise. No matter what type of shit lay ahead, he would protect the people he loved. He wouldn't let history repeat itself. Not this time. Hopefully at least.