for the love of kungfu

It had been two days since the village was subsumed in the fury of an angry god. Two days since I became the student of the Third Hokage, took a trip into his mindscape, and cast a janky, jury-rigged genjutsu that—by all accounts—shouldn't have worked.

In those two days, the village had developed a peculiar tension. A brittle kind of stillness wrapped in motion, like a bowstring drawn taut. There was a tenderness in the air, a strange vigour in the people. It all spoke of things stirring behind the scenes—actions in the shadows, deals brokered in the unseen.

I might've spent more time worrying about it if Kakashi hadn't returned. Apparently, he was determined to take his duties as seriously as possible, which—unfortunately for me—included my education.

And my training.

I heaved breath through my mouth and nose, lungs burning, as I juked left to avoid a punch to the throat from a very enthusiastic Rock Lee. Our teachers watched from the sidelines: Gai-sensei flipping through the air, shouting encouragement with all his heart.

"Burn your youth, young leaves of Konoha! Burn!"

Meanwhile, Kakashi remained seated in the shade of a tree, offering the occasional contrived critique with all the energy of a man halfway through a nap.

Duck, I heard his voice whisper in my ear—again—through a genjutsu I'd already dispelled six times! I ducked anyway, narrowly avoiding a spinning roundhouse kick that would've taken my head off. The follow-up punch smashed into my shoulder, but my Mage Armor held. It now covered my entire arm.

The spar continued.

I'd been thinking a lot over the past two days. I wanted to be a wizard—a proper, classical wizard. Staff in hand. Arcane wisdom in mind. I'd thought, maybe I couldn't do that with chakra alone. But then... Lord Third was a wizard in all but name. Decades of knowledge, mystical arts, chakra theory—he was what I wanted to be.

So maybe I could learn. Maybe I would become a kung-fu wizard.

But I wasn't giving up on the dream of classic wizardry either. I would find that magic. If it didn't exist in this world, I'd just make it myself.

Still... the world wouldn't wait for me to finish my research while I fumbled with chakra control and scribbled spell theories in a notebook. No. I had to get strong—now. I had to master the established system. Build a foundation, sharpen the blade, then carve my path through the arcane.

That meant I needed the know-how to throw some goddamn hands.

Wham!

Lee skidded back across the grass, arms crossed to absorb the punch. He hadn't dodged in time. He was faster, but I hit harder. Much harder.

Still, he didn't stumble. Didn't flinch. The moment his feet touched the ground, he was already moving again.

We clashed in a flurry of taijutsu. Lee launched himself into the air with acrobatic grace, twisting and flipping, every part of his body a weapon. I stayed grounded—solid and rooted—using my armored arms to deflect his strikes and deliver punishing counters.

His movements grew more ridiculous by the second, each one faster, bolder, more outrageous. He launched himself into a flying kick aimed for my head, missed, and left himself mid-air, no leverage to dodge.

I lunged forward.

My fist connected—

And Lee exploded into smoke.

My eyes widened. Substitution? Before I could process the mistake, a foot shot out of the dispersing smoke, sandal-first, and slammed into my face.

"Leaf Hurricane!"

My vision went black.

I woke up in the dirt.

It took a few seconds to replay the last moments in my head, but when the pieces clicked together, I couldn't help but groan.

Lee had used the Bunshin.

Not only that—he'd integrated the full-body seal techniques I taught him directly into his combat style. Seamlessly. So seamlessly that I, the guy who taught him the method, didn't even realize what he was doing until it was way, way too late.

What a monster.

"Good job gremlin-kun." The mask-clad face of one of my teachers poked into my view of Konoha's blue sky.

"Indeed, quite the show." Guy commended from off to the side.

"Still got my ass kicked." I groaned out my still throbbing as I got to my feet.

"Lee is a year older and trains a lot harder. Not to take anything from you mini-me, you throw a mean kick." kakashi said now standing to the side book in hand.

"Thank you Kakashi-san." Lee said, a small blush gracing his cheek.

"Hmmm." was all Kakashi said in reply.

""Ughk! So hip!"" Guy and Lee exclaimed in unison, both clutching at their chest.

I had begun to accept that all ninja were a little crazy in one way or the other.

I moaned as I popped my back with a stretch.

"This was a great session Lee, and thank you for your advice Guy-san, but I'm afraid I must be going. I have an appointment to make."

"You are more than welcome Izuku-kun! Have a youthful day!" Guy exclaimed with a thumbs up and a gleaming smile

"Yosh!" Lee exclaimed, somehow fired up by my leaving and diving into one-handed split push ups…..

…..I'm just gonna go.

I lost track of Kakashi as I left the training grounds, given how seriously he had been taking his duties recently he should be in the shadows somewhere.

I put that out of my mind. I had an appointment to keep.

Time to meet Hidachi's parents.

—scene break—

The mansion sat on the edge of Konoha like something from an old ink painting—stoic, timeless, and impossibly still. The wooden gate stood before me, embedded in a low stone wall that reached just about my chest—probably waist-high on an adult. 

I could feel the eyes on me before I even touched the gate. Shinobi guard. Hidden behind the eaves, folded into the trees, beneath the shadow of paper walls. They didn't show themselves, but I knew they were there. Watching. Their gaze tingled across my senses.

Still, my presence was expected.

I stepped forward and pushed the gate open. 

The gravel path crunched beneath my sandals as I walked toward the main house. My stomach turned with every step. I'd rehearsed this meeting at least two dozen times, cycled through a hundred versions of what to say. None of them felt right.

I was here to speak to Korumaru's family. To explain why his daughter had spent a weekend in the hospital. I had rehearsed this meeting in my head but the words didn't seem adequate no matter how well composed they were in my head.

I was just a few paces from the porch when the rice paper door slid open with a sharp thack.

Twin boys, maybe six or seven, came barreling out of the house in a flurry of laughter, limbs, and gleeful shrieking. Brown hair, grey eyes. They shared some of her looks. Kuro's delicate bone structure, the same cat-like features—only where she was a blade sheathed in silk—sharp and subtle—they were just loud and alive and… normal.

"Are you Kuro's friend?!" one shouted, pointing at me.

I blinked. "Uh… yes?"

The other doubled over with laughter. "She doesn't have friends!" he said and they both giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Kid humour was weird.

I opened my mouth, not even sure what to say, when the door slammed open again and Kuro stepped out.

"GET THE FUCK BACK IN THE HOUSE, YOU LITTLE SHIT-MONKEYS!"

They bolted. Screaming and laughing all the way.

And then it was just her.

Framed in the doorway, bathed in the amber light of the fading sun, Korumaru Hidachi looked every bit the porcelain doll she usually did—but she sounded like an angry sailor. It startled me more than I wanted to admit. Not because she swore—she had when we first met. But because it wasn't the girl I'd gotten used to.

That strange politeness. The gentle tone. The dreamy smile.

They were for me, I realized.

Only for me.

And this—this mask she wore now, with the swearing and the snarling—this was for them. For her family.

Her voice and face didn't match. Her eyes weren't dead the way they were at school, but they were not quite alive either. Too still. Too… blank.

Then she turned to me, and like always, it changed.

Her whole face lit up with that strange affection of hers—wild and too big and too much—and she skipped forward, fingers twitching like she couldn't wait to get her hands on me.

"Izuku~!" she sang, arms wide. Voice and tone completely different from a moment ago.

I caught her in a hug, more out of reflex than anything else. I'd gotten used to her eccentricity, but this time… this time it was hard to ignore it.

Why?

Why lie to the people who raised her? In the confines of her own home?

We sat for tea inside soon after, the quiet clink of porcelain and the gentle scent of sakura leaves filling the room. Tabana—her father's wife, not her mother, Kuro had clarified earlier—served us, silent and distant. She didn't look at me.

The room was serene. Too serene.

Kuro's father, Jiro Hidachi, was thin and elegant, with the calm aura of a man who built his reputation on knowing how to tell a good deal from a sucker's bet. His smile was warm, his voice smooth—but his eyes were sharp. Analysing me.

"So," he asked after our brief pleasantries, "what exactly happened the day my daughter ended up in the hospital, Hanama-san? My daughter has refused to say a word, and despite appearances, she is rarely so stubborn."

Straight to the point.

I kept my tone even. "Due to actions I took on behalf of the village, I've been granted proxy status. Kuro-chan was with me when someone tried to exploit that."

His smile didn't falter, but it cooled. "And what actions earned you such a title?"

"I can't say without the Hokage's permission."

A pause. Then a sip of tea.

He didn't fully believe me, but he was too well-mannered to press further.

"Proxy status," he mused aloud. "That would explain the incident. And what do you intend to do with that position?"

I gave a half-smile. "I'm still under instruction, years away from graduation. I don't intend to act prematurely."

He didn't buy that either. His eyes said it all.

Still, he nodded. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Midoriya-san. You should stay for dinner."

I almost declined, but that could backfire, and I preferred it if this guy liked me.

"I'd be honored to." I said.

He nodded again. "Dinner will be ready in a few hours. Why don't you and Kuromaru take a walk around the estate?"

We did.

The grounds were stunning, in the same way all japanese mansions in this period were. Winding paths, koi ponds, gently rustling bamboo.

And yet, all I could think about was what she wasn't saying.

"Kuro," I asked, quietly, "why… why the performance? Why fake all that stuff with your brothers?"

She didn't answer immediately. When she did, her voice was soft. Empty.

"Because I know what I am."

That stopped me.

She kept walking.

"I'm ugly, Ku-kun. Inside. Wrong. I'm something that no one can love once they really see. I love my family—but they don't see me. They can't. Because if they did… they wouldn't be able to look at me. Not really."

Something about the way she said that made my chest itch.

"Have you been… hiding from me, too?" I asked, feeling more invested in the answer than I thought I would.

"At first," she admitted. "But then… Mizuki happened. And you saw me. All of me. And you didn't turn away."

She finally turned to face me.

"It made me hope," she whispered. "That maybe, someone could see Kuromaru Hidachi and stay."

I didn't hesitate this time.

"I'm not going anywhere." it surprised me how much I meant that, I hadn't known her that long. By the standards of the man I once was, we shouldn't be that close, but I wasn't that man and this was a girl that I saw life and death with. I'm not going anywhere unless she chases me away.

She went still. Blank. The mask dropped completely.

"…Are you sure?" she asked.

Her voice was flat. Lifeless.

And I—hesitated.

Not because I didn't care.

But because it was so much. Because she was so much.

And in that instant—she broke. Cracks opened in her mask to display things I couldn't name but as soon as they appeared, they closed.

Her face twisted, then smoothed into a smile that felt like shattering glass.

"It's fine," she said. "You've seen enough. I don't need you to see the rest."

She turned to walk away.

I caught her hand.

"I want to see it," I said. "But I need to do something first."

I cast the jutsu—Mind Meld, I had named it—and a strand of yin chakra reached out to bind us.

Then we were inside each other's thoughts. Each other's fears. I felt her terror. Her hope. Her guilt. And her love.

Now we were exposed to each other and I could peer into her as easily as she peered into me, there would be no misunderstandings.

I stared into her eyes, wordlessly encouraging her to speak.

"It started with my mother," she whispered.

A green-haired, orange-eyed woman appeared in their shared mindscape. Elegant. Aloof.

Kuro narrated, voice trembling with memory.

Her mother hadn't loved her father. The marriage to Jiro was business, a political alliance. She'd played the part for a while, enough that Jiro had adored her. But when Kuro turned three, things changed. Her mother began to drink. She had lovers. She smiled less. Laughed never.

Kuro had watched her father break.

And she'd wanted to fix it.

So she did.

She was six.

The pillow had been soft. Her mother, unconscious from wine. Kuro remembered the feeling of sitting on that face. Of giggling when her mother stopped moving. A problem solved.

The exhilaration and exultation she felt in that moment sickened me.

She'd been so proud.

Until she saw her father cry.

He couldn't look at her again—not really. He never stopped loving her, but he feared her. Izuku saw it—Jiro's silent, trembling sobs, his hand clutched over his mouth, the disbelieving horror in his eyes as he stared at the small child who had just killed her own mother.

Kuro had approached him with joy, pride gleaming in her eyes, expecting praise, expecting love.

But instead, she was met with a grief so sharp it carved something out of her.

"I did it for you, Daddy," she had said, confused by his tears. "She made you sad. I made her stop."

He hadn't screamed. He hadn't struck her. He had knelt before her and held her gently, as though she might break. And through his tears, he had whispered:

"That wasn't your burden to bear." he said, gently holding her face"I am sorry, Kuro-chan."

But it was too late.

The damage was done.

In their shared mindscape, Izuku felt the seismic weight of that moment. The fracture. The twisting. The moment the world taught a six-year-old girl that love was not always returned just because it was offered. That some kinds of love—especially hers—could never be understood.

That was when she learned to hide.

To lie.

To smile.

To be the perfect daughter when her father remarried. The perfect big sister when new children came. She buried Kuromaru Hidachi beneath masks and mannerisms, beneath politeness and perfection and a cultivated eccentricity. All to protect what she loved. All so they wouldn't be afraid of her the way her father had been.

When the vision faded, she stood in front of me, eyes glowing red, one tomoe spinning in each eye, her voice trembling.

"So, Ku-kun," she asked. "Can you still look at me?"

I was tempted to lie.

But I couldn't even if I wanted to.

She'd feel it.

So I hesitated.

She turned and began walking. Smile in her voice. Lie on her lips.

"It's fine," she whispered. "You don't have to see the rest."

I hurried after her, intercepting her path and blocking the way.

If she had told me on day one—I would've run. If she had told me a week ago, even then, I might have pulled away. If I had only heard the story, I might have said no. Might have decided she was too dangerous.

But through the Mind Meld…

I had felt it.

Felt her tiny, trembling fingers gripping that pillow. The confused exhilaration in her chest. The bright, clear logic that had led her to the act. Not rage. Not cruelty. Love.

A child's twisted, pure-hearted logic. She had loved her father. She had feared for him. And she had wanted to make the pain go away.

The fact that she got off to it was just a happy accident.

It was horror. It was monstrous. But it was also… very, very human.

And then he felt her begin to withdraw. The beginnings of despair creeping up the bond like rot.

She had shown me everything.

And I was hesitating.

"I…"

My voice caught. Not from doubt anymore, but from the enormity of what it meant to choose this. To choose her. After having heard this, seen it. Felt it.

Kuro's face crumpled. She turned away, the mask rushing back over her like a tidal wave. "It's fine," she said with a smile that hurt to look at. "Really. I knew it was asking too much. What we already have is enough. You don't need to—"

"I choose you, Kuro. All of you. Even the parts you think are too ugly to look at." my heart pounded in my chest whether from exhilaration or fear I wasn't sure. A part of me didn't believe it. Didn't believe I could possibly be okay with this.

But the strands of yin chakra hanging between us hummed to the tune of my truth.

I meant it.

Her eyes widened.

And then—laughter.

It started quiet. A single, choked giggle. Then another. Then more. Until she cackled as loud as any witch and with twice the menace.

And then—the kiss.

Sharp. Violent. Bloody.

She pushed me back against a tree, kissed me like I was salvation and poison at the same time. And I kissed her back. Because she had shown me everything. Unable to help myself.

When she pulled back, her breath was hot against my lips. Her Sharingan still spun.

Three tomoe in the left.

Two in the right.

"I love you, Ku-kun~," she breathed.

I didn't know what kind of love this was. What it would become.

But I knew this:

She had claimed me, and I her

There was no escaping her now, and I wouldn't.

Even if I could.

I didn't stay for dinner.

I stumbled through the village, my steps carrying me home on autopilot. When I reached my apartment, I walked in on shaky knees, collapsed onto my bed, and lay there for a while.

Today has been… a day.

But it wasn't over.

I dragged myself up and sat cross-legged on the floor. After only a few moments of focused breathing, I was standing once more on the waters of my mind.

The surface was calm. Still. No crashing waves.

A reflection of my own inner peace.

I wasn't who I used to be. But that was okay. I couldn't afford to be him—not anymore. He wouldn't have survived in this world, no matter how much he trained. He was too soft.

He wasn't me.

He wasn't a shinobi.

I focused on my purpose and quieted the waters even further, until the surface shimmered like crystal glass. Then I looked down into those blue depths and felt my mind reflected back at me.

The day's events played out with perfect clarity across the mirrored surface—but I moved past them. That wasn't why I was here.

I dove deeper, beyond the present. Past my first day at the academy. Past the orphanage. Beyond the blurry sights and muffled sounds of my birth—and further still.

Then I was looking at another life.

Another person.

Thoughts and experiences not my own—yet mine all the same.

Fascinating. But I could come back to that later.

I sifted through the tangle of memories, bypassing irrelevant details and focusing on the ones I needed.

Specifically, anything that mentioned the word chakra.

It said a lot about how much of a nerd he'd been that hundreds of hits came up.

I settled in.

I was going to study every single one.

I had kidnappers to dodge, people to protect, and a very unhinged girl to keep leashed.

I needed every advantage I could get.