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Chapter Text

When Zanka was a child, he blindly idolized his family. He was instilled with the proud history and traditions of the Nijiku family and their important role within the Hell Guard. He was shown a path forward, one carved out and predetermined by the circumstances of his birth. 

Zanka was lucky, in a way. The kids around him would never receive the opportunities that he did. They didn’t have the specialized training from a young age, taught by the most experienced and skilled masters. By the time Zanka would join the academy, he had already been shaped into a weapon, while others had yet to develop discipline. It’s why he could believe, for a time, that he was a natural talent.

Zanka saw his older siblings as deity-like figures before him. He stood in their shadows. Some of his earliest memories were watching them train, watching Kyouka push Goka, and, in turn, being pushed by their father. Zanka was too young to train at that age, barely coordinated enough to walk or run. Even then, he watched, and he mimicked.

“Look at that,” Kyouka pointed to him. “Even our baby brother has a stronger will to learn than you do.” At the time, Zanka felt like the world was his. Receiving praise from Kyouka was a rare occurrence, even back then. He hadn’t yet realized that she was only praising him to punish Goka. To drive a wedge in the family and build resentment and anger, an inner flame, as she put it.

“Your flame is strong,” she would tell him soon after. “You have great potential, Zanka. Don’t waste it.” 

Zanka began training at the age of six. It started with physical conditioning and simple drills. But as he showed promise in his athletic ability and stubborn drive to improve, Kyouka took a special interest in him, sidelining their brother.

“Why is it that Zanka can master this, yet you can’t?” She would ask them both. Goka always tried to keep a stoic front, but even he would crack every so often.

Goka wasn’t as confrontational as Kyouka. He lacked her desire to physically overpower her enemies. But he was not soft, either. In fact, he could be equally as cruel when conditions demanded it of him.

“I heard Kyouka.” Goka had pulled him aside after one of their training sessions. One in which Goka had done quite well. “She thinks you have started to stagnate. She won’t say it outright, not yet. But I thought I should warn you.”

Zanka tried to clarify what he meant, what he needed to work on. Goka kept tight-lipped.

…

“How can I be better?” He asked his sister desperately.

“If you have to ask, then you already know your weakness,” she would answer.

“Please, Kyouka, I don’t wanna stop improvin’.” Zanka was nearly in tears. He thought of the cruel way she treated Goka, the punishments she inflicted on him when he struggled or failed. Zanka didn’t want that.

Kyouka was not pleased. “Pick yourself off the floor, Zanka. You are making a fool of yourself.”

He struggled to his feet.

“Your weakness, Zanka, is that you are too soft.”

“What?”

“You fear that you might struggle, and so you grovel at my feet. A Nijiku picks himself up, carries forward, and faces any and all adversity without fear or hesitation. I’ve seen you hesitate.”

“I…” he swallowed. “I will stop hesitating, then. I will be more resilient.”

“Good. Then I think we are done here.”

Zanka woke with a start as the early sunrise broke through his blinds. The beginning of another day in Cleaner HQ.

…

“I told ya, I’m feelin’ fine.” 

“Oh–I’m, uhm… well I still think we should…” The healer looked to the others nervously for help.

“Don’t worry about him, Eishia. Zanka just can’t handle all the attention~”

Zanka smacked Enjin’s hand away before it could pat him on the head. Like a pouting child, he crossed his arms with a huff. “Whatever. Head’s fine, no pain. Can I leave now?” 

Despite him having had regular check-ins since returning to the work, something about this one felt…off.

Eishia’s gaze darted between the two men accompanying Zanka. Gris looked to Enjin then nodded, moving towards the infirmary door. He closed it, stationing himself by its side. Not quite blocking the exit, but making it known that escape wouldn’t be an option, much to Zanka’s dismay.

“What is this?”

“Zanka,” Eishia started. This couldn’t be good. “How have you been feeling uhm….mentally?”

“Huh? I jus’ said. My head’s been fine.”

A beat of silence passed, like they were all having a silent conversation without him. Dread pooled in his gut.

Gris spoke next. “Do you remember when you first woke up back at HQ after being injured?” 

“‘Course I do, Where’s this goin’?” Zanka asked impatiently.

“You had a panic attack.”

A what? 

Zanka remembered freaking out when he’d woken up, crying in front of his team. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever forget that experience. He’d felt so stupid for letting that happen.

“It wasn’t anythin’ serious,” he replied, suddenly very uncomfortable with all the eyes on him.  He shifted in his seat.

“You were hurting yourself, Zanka,” Enjin said bluntly. “And could hardly breathe.”

“I said I remembered,” he snapped back. Were they just doing this to humiliate him? The room was tense, and Zanka still had no idea what they were trying to accomplish by springing this on him all of the sudden. 

“...And that’s not serious, to you?” Gris asked hesitantly, trying to gauge him. Enjin looked like he wanted to bash his head into the wall, opting to tap his finger on his crossed arm instead.

Zanka squirmed in his seat. “Well, no. Usually it ain’t… that bad. But ‘ts fine.” He answered, convincing nobody.

Usually…

“Does this sort of thing happen…often?” The supporter’s eyebrows creased together in a way that made Zanka feel small. He hated that feeling more than anything else on the surface.

He understood now. “Look, if yer worried about my job performance, I assure you, it won’t impact my abilities on the field. I’ve already completed a buncha’ jobs since without issue.” This time, he looked to his superior, Enjin, waiting for him to corroborate.

“Right.” Enjin agreed. “Zanka, why exactly do you think we’re bringing this up?”

“Uhh…” Zanka averted his eyes. He couldn’t imagine any answer he’d give would be taken too well. Overall, he had realized that the Cleaners didn’t view weakness the same way the Hell Guard did. They were far more lenient with his behaviour. Which made this whole interaction even more confusing to the young Nijiku.

“...I don’t know.” And he truly didn’t.

“Well, uhm… In the Cleaners, mental health is seen as–it’s just as important to us…as your physical health.” Eishia answered with a warm but hesitant smile, hoping he’d understand.

Zanka’s face told them that he did not, in fact, understand.

“What the hell’s that supposed ta mean?!”

Gris gave him a more straightforward answer, “You went through something traumatic and haven’t spoken to anybody about it. We’ve respected your privacy, and will continue to do so, but we’re also… worried about you, Zanka.” He didn’t miss the way the supporter’s eyes lingered a little too long on his sleeves. His body stiffened under their gaze. He’d let this go way too far.

“You’ve nothin’ to worry about. And what’re ya on about with this ‘trauma’ bullshit? ‘Ts ridiculous.” He let out a humourless huff.

Traumatic. The idea was laughable. He could’ve fought back against Kyouka; this had already been established! By them, no less! Trauma was… it wasn’t something a privileged Nijiku experienced. Most of the world starved and lived in squalor while his family reigned over them. They inflicted trauma. He was given everything he needed to survive, and the same couldn’t be said for the victims of his family. The thought of it made his blood boil.

His siblings, his parents. They gave him opportunities, they believed in his potential. They had his best interests at heart, even if in the end they were wrong about him. He was the weak one. Everything they did made him stronger. Even when…

“Zanka?”

“Hm?”

“Where were you just now?”

Suddenly, he was back in the infirmary. “What?”

“You left us for a moment there…” Gris’ eyes were scrutinizing him.

“Maybe ‘s the concussion lingerin’…” He tried.

“It’s not,” the supporter replied without missing a beat. “You were right about it being fully healed, earlier.” 

These bastards. “Just…leave me alone, will ya? I don’t need you to coddle me.”

“This isn’t coddling, Zanka,” Enjin argued back.

“Whatever.”

“We just want to make sure you’re doing alright, even in regards to things that you may not want to talk about.”  For some reason, the normally calming presence of Gris only infuriated Zanka. Frustration welled up. Anger, waiting for an opportunity to explode. He hated how they thought they understood him, how they drew conclusions about him, and pitied him for it. He couldn’t deal with this anymore.

Zanka stood from his seat, unable to sit still any longer. “Well, I’m doing a hell of a lot better than when I was with my family. You people have no idea what yer talking about…” His fists clenched at his sides as his breathing picked up. His body vibrated with a blinding feeling. How dare they treat me like this, talk down to me? His jaw tightened and breathing picked up.

“Zanka, calm down,” Enjin tried to placate him, stepping towards him like he was some feral beast needing to be tamed.

“Fuck you!” he exploded, “You don’t get to keep tellin’ me what to do like ya know what’s good for me!”

“Zanka-!” Suddenly, Enjin was much closer than he had realized, hand outstretched. Zanka’s body involuntarily jerked back with a flinch, slamming back into the wall behind him. He felt that crushing feeling in his lungs, like they couldn’t get enough air. His ears were ringing again.

It’s just Enjin, his brain told him. 

…Right. Deep breath.

He quickly composed himself, his expression turning neutral. A skill he had developed growing up. Enjin’s outstretched hand lowered in slow motion, like the man had no idea what to do with his body.

“Thank you for your concern,” Zanka spoke to the floor. “But I don’t need any of this.” He turned his back to his higher-ups. Gris didn’t step in his way as Zanka left the room.

“Zanka-” Gris put his hand on Enjin’s shoulder, preventing him from following.

…

A couple moments of silence passed before Enjin spoke. “Well, that fucking sucked.” He didn’t think he’d sleep well tonight, thinking about that look Zanka gave him right before leaving.

“It’ll take time,” Gris added comfortingly, though strained. “The fact that he let himself get angry at us is a good sign.”

“What? Gris, he looked petrified.”

“You think Zanka would have spoken to his family like that? I don’t think he would, given what we know. He’s willing to test the limits with us. Ultimately, it’s a good thing.”

“Great, so Zanka’s anger is something to encourage?”

“He’s angry because he's trying to protect himself. Once he realizes he doesn’t have to, he might be more receptive to our help…” His eyes moved to the young healer, who looked about as shaken as Enjin did. “Trauma like this is complicated and somewhat unpredictable. He’s probably more confused about it than any of us are. Not to mention his refusal to accept that’s what it is. As I said, it’ll take time. We’ll have to be patient.”

...

Zanka was an idiot. He still didn’t understand what the Cleaners were trying to accomplish there, but he’d made an absolute fool of himself. Again. It’s like these people knew which buttons to press to bring out his worst self. Sometimes, Zanka really hated it here.

The moment his shock from the situation abated, he felt that fiery heat in him again. He was pissed. At what? It didn't matter. He needed to let it out somewhere. He needed to hit things. Like a child having a tantrum. Well, if they were going to treat him like a kid, what’s the harm in acting like one?

“Riyo,” he found her in the lounge. Without giving time to respond, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the room. 

“Zanka, what’re you doing?”

“We’re going to spar.”

…

“Sooo, you gonna tell me what’s up?” 

“No.”

“‘kay.”

...

A new supporter was joining the Cleaners.

They’d all been called into the lounge, and Zanka was uncomfortable, to say the least. He stood stiffly with Assistaff next to his team, pointedly avoiding looking in Enjin’s direction. Things were still awkward since his little… outburst. And neither one was willing to reopen that can of worms.

This was the first time he’d be on the other side of an introduction. The experience was terrible when he first joined. There were far more Cleaners than he’d originally expected. His welcome party had been a nightmare to get through.

Thankfully, since then, it seemed like everyone had been running on different schedules. The HQ was nearly empty most days. Even tranquil, at times.

Today, however, another welcome party was being held. This naturally drew in most of the organization.

“I’d like to welcome our newest Supporter, Follo Tunito,” Gris introduced. It seemed Follo would be training under the man, meaning Zanka would likely see a lot of him. Fantastic.  

Follo was around Zanka’s age, maybe a little older? He seemed a little nervous but put on a friendly front.

“Hello, everyone. I’m happy to be a part of the Cleaners. I promise, I won’t let you down!” Zanka tried to conceal his cringe at the kid’s declaration. He was far too optimistic and upbeat for the work he was signing up for. Nobody else seemed to bat an eye, though.

These types of parties were not Zanka’s cup of tea. For his own introduction, he stood anxiously as countless faces introduced themselves to him, tried to pry into his personal life, then left disappointed when he refused to give open answers.

They tried again after his first mission, a couple of months back. Zanka’s first successful mission, Riyo had declared. It was really just an excuse for the Cleaners to drink themselves stupid, which Zanka had quickly picked up on. He didn’t drink alcohol, so once the others had sufficiently distracted themselves, he slipped out unnoticed.

When Follo’s introductory speech was over, Zanka moved to make a beeline to the exit, not wanting to humour the party at all. But a force held him back. Riyo had grabbed his shirt. She then dragged him to the nearest table, ignoring his sounds of protest.

“Ya don’t gotta hold on to me like that.”

Unfortunately, Riyo saw right through him. “Well, it seems like you’re waiting for the first opportunity to bolt, so I kind of do have to.” Zanka sighed dramatically in response, letting her know he was displeased. “Relax. It's a party, you should try to enjoy yourself. C’mon, have some fun!”

“Not really my idea of fun.”

“So what is your idea of fun?”

“...”

“That’s what I thought.”

This was going to be a long night. Zanka brought his head down to the table, trying to drown out all the sounds around him. Drunk idiots, yelling about this or that anecdote from their jobs, from past parties. This wasn’t a party for Follo by any stretch of the imagination. Just an excuse for everyone else to get drunk as shit. As usual.

Riyo slid him her drink. “Have a sip, you’ll feel a lot better~”

“Aren’t ya younger than I am?”

“Soo…?”

“Riyo, I’m too young for that stuff. Not good for yer development ‘n all that.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a stickler for the rules. Here I thought the great and mighty Zanka was paving his own path in life. Buuut if you insist on it, then-” 

“Fine-” He took the glass. “Just– if it will shut ya up.” He drank. The alcohol stung, burning far worse than he’d have expected. It tasted awful. He had to hold back a gag. How did anybody enjoy this stuff? He finished all of it, to prove a point. Thankfully, the glass was not entirely full.

Riyo watched in shock and awe. Bet she didn’t expect that. “Well, you’ll definitely enjoy yourself now...”

“Like hell.”

Unfortunately, the alcohol did help, pretty immediately. Almost as fast as he drank it, he felt a warm buzz flow through his body. Zanka felt slightly less on edge. The sounds around him began to soften and melt together.

“You’re Zanka, right?” The new Supporter took a seat at the table, stretching out his hand as a greeting. Reluctantly, Zanka shook it. He looked to Riyo, only to realize she had left him there alone. He turned back to Follo. This would be fine, of course.

“Yeah."

“It’s nice to meet you! I heard you’re the most recent recruit before me. From the sounds of things, you have a really strong bond with your vital instrument, am I right?”

“I s’ppose so.”

“You know, I want to become a giver one day, help take down trash beasts for real.” Follo’s gaze became distant, like he was in a daydream. “It seems like random chance, who becomes one or not. How did you bond with your… stick…”

“My Lovely Assistaff,” Zanka corrected. “Was there for me when it mattered most. I don’t really know how it happened. It just did… Guess I could relate to her, in a way.”

Follo contemplated his words, a slight frown on his face. Perhaps disappointment.

Zanka continued, “I wish I had a better answer for ya. But I really don’t know how these things work.” 

Truth is, he hadn’t really thought about his bonding experience with Lovely Assistaff before this. Not consciously, at least. He only felt her soul’s pull when he was desperate to not die of dehydration in a hole. When he had the will to push himself back to his feet. But based on what he’d heard from others, most vital instruments were items cared for for years or more by their giver. Sometimes even objects passed through generations, deeply cherished by multiple people. In Zanka's case, it was a stick he'd been with for three days.

Follo smiled. “It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.” He sounded far too optimistic for someone who had no clue how to achieve his goal. “Besides, until I do, I’ll work twice as hard to ensure I can support those who do have an instrument!”

Zanka contemplated this for a moment. His mind was a bit fuzzy, which made speaking to people feel easy.  “I think some things come more naturally to people, but if ya work hard, you can achieve it, too.”

Follo looked at him with wide eyes. “You really think so?”

Before they could continue, the sounds of a nearby conversation trickled in, catching both of their ears.

“...Why can’t the boss recruit any more useful members? Ones who can actually do shit against the beasts.”

“It’s ridiculous, our whole organization will be full of non-givers before we know it. Makes the whole idea of the Cleaners obsolete.”

“Did you hear the kid earlier? Said he’ll become a giver. Just like that!” They both laughed.

The rest of the party guests didn’t seem to notice the two’s conversation, but Zanka and Follo were well within earshot. Almost as if they wanted the latter to hear them. The new supporter looked down at his lap. 

What assholes, Zanka thought. Even if Follo wasn’t a giver, supporters were the backbone of the Cleaners. Gris alone had saved their asses countless times. Even without a vital instrument, he was a force to be reckoned with. 

The Cleaners at the bar clearly didn’t understand how valuable their own teammates were. They probably never had to think about it before. Saw themselves as above everyone else. Zanka felt disgusted by them. He also felt… incredibly confident.

He let the liquid courage guide him, rising from his seat.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to…” Zanka paid him no mind, stalking to the two men on the barstools, Lovely Assistaff in hand.

They were still going off about the supporters. Running their ugly mugs to speak against the very people who defended them in the field. The bastards had no idea what it meant to struggle beneath others, to fight to make something of your life, only to be shit on…

“Hey.” They looked at Zanka, confused. He didn't even know these guys’ names. “Shut yer damn mouths,” he warned, holding out Assistaff. “Before I make ya.”

“Not sure what you’re on about, kid. Go piss someplace else,” The larger of the two chuckled. He was the one who had called supporters useless. He took a drink from his beer. Certainly not his first, given the sloppy way he spoke.

“You know exactly what I’m on about. How dare you disrespect your comrades like that.” The men looked unimpressed, but otherwise completely unbothered. Zanka continued in their silence, not willing to back down. “You’re both good for nothing’s, insulting our supporters like that. You’ve no idea just how hard they work to keep yer sorry-asses from harm's way.”

Zanka was unaware of the attention he was drawing, the nearby conversations that paused to watch their exchange. The big man seemed to notice. His tune changed; he was annoyed.

“No need to make a scene here, kid. Besides, you’re a giver too, are you not? What’s it matter?” He turned back around to his drink.

Zanka clenched his jaw. These idiots had no idea how ignorant they were. “Ya, I am a giver. And I’ve been saved by our supporters time and time again. You pricks don’t get to just sit there and look down on them!” Zanka felt Assistaff activate, fuelled by his anger.

The man stood, finishing his beer. His expression had dropped. He was pissed. His eyes glowed a pale orange, contrasting Zanka’s blue. He towered over Zanka, muscular body shadowing the smaller Cleaner.

“Maybe you’re just weak. Needing to be saved like that all the time.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, lifting his chin up as a challenge. Watching Zanka’s face closely. He definitely knew which buttons to press.

Zanka’s blood roared in his veins. He tightened his grip on Assistaff as the man’s box cutter came into view, that same orange glow around it.

“Maybe you need to be taught some respect.” He spat back, rising to the bait, lifting Assistaff into a more threatening position.

“You should be careful who you speak to like that, kid. My little blade here happens to love whittling down scrap wood.” He moved into a fighting stance. With the threat to Zanka’s most treasured item, their fates were sealed. 

Without hesitating, Zanka swung first.

...

The party had been going great. Better than great, actually. Enjin had expected his young disciple to flee the moment Follo’s introduction was over. To his astonishment, Riyo had managed to keep Zanka in place, even getting him to talk to the new supporter. Sure, it felt like more of a hostage situation, but it was effective nonetheless.

Enjin had kept his distance since their infirmary interaction a few days ago. Clearly, they had pushed him too hard, and Zanka pulled away because of it. It was like walking on eggshells; they never knew what would set him off. And it’s not like the damn kid would open up about anything. Proud as ever. They still hardly knew anything about him. Despite his struggles, Zanka was always adamant about keeping up a front. Even after it collapsed, he brought it back in place as soon as possible, moving on as if nothing had happened. They couldn’t force their way through; they had to be cautious.

For that reason, Enjin kept to himself, even as Riyo gave the kid alcohol. It’s not like she didn’t drink all the time, anyway. Though it was unlikely that Zanka had experienced it before. The kid was pretty disciplined, and drinking just didn’t suit his character or his family background.

At the very least, the beer seemed to help ease him into the environment. Not that Enjin was keeping track.

“You know, he won’t disappear if you look away.”

“I’m not- When did you even get here?!”

“I’ve been here long enough to watch you watch him for the past couple of minutes.” Enjin side-eyed Semiu, who lounged comfortably on the couch next to him. Enjin was turned over the armrest towards Zanka.

“Just wanna make sure things go smoothly.”

“I’m sure Zanka knows how to speak to people, Enjin. Or what, did you think he was holed up in his room all day while being top classman of the Hell Guard academy?”

“Based on how he acts here, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“It’s different here. He’s doing fine, though. I just passed by. He may generally avoid people, but he can hold his own in a conversation. When he wants to.”

Enjin huffs. “Right. And you got all this from your glasses?”

“No, I’m just not an idiot.”

“Hey-”

“See, look. He’s even taking the initiative to talk to people.” They both watched as Zanka approached the bar. “Why don’t you relax? Not like you to waste a good party, especially when everyone else is enjoying themselves. You seem down.”

At that, Enjin turned his attention away from Zanka, lowering his voice as he spoke, "I just don’t know what to do, Semiu. He refuses to talk to us about anything. Not that we’re the most compassionate folks around, but there’s something really wrong here. He just seems so off.”

“Mm, right.” Semiu eloquently added.

“Why do I even bother… You’re right, I should just let it go.”

“Well, no, that’s not exactly what I–”

“You’re both good for nothing’s, insulting our supporters like that. You’ve no idea just how hard they work to keep yer sorry-asses from harm's way.”

Zanka’s voice rang out across the room. Enjin and Semiu both turned their attention, seeing the kid’s jinki aimed at another Cleaner. Zanka’s voice silenced most of the room, though Zanka seemed completely unaware.

This couldn’t be good. Enjin looked to Semiu, who rested her chin on her interlaced hands.

“Not gonna put a stop to this?” Enjin asked. Semiu’s focus didn’t waver. She shrugged. Enjin sat back in the couch, following her lead. Semiu didn’t seem too concerned with the situation. Or she was waiting… for something.

Zanka activated his vital instrument. Enjin shot her another glance. 

“Maybe you’re just weak. Needing to be saved like that all the time.” 

Enjin looked to Semiu expectantly. “Seriously?! Okay, well, if you're not going to do anything, then somebody needs to be the adult here.” Thankfully, unlike the rest of the room, Enjin was sober for a change. He’d been too… distracted to get through more than a single drink.

“-My little blade here happens to love whittling down scrap wood.” 

Enjin had barely gotten two steps towards the chaos when Zanka struck out, slamming the senior cleaner into the wall across the room. Everyone moved out of the way, some cheering on the fight as if it were a regular bar scuffle. Enjin saw Riyo across the room. She looked at him guiltily. He would deal with whatever that was later.

Zanka was charged at, easily deflecting the oncoming attacker with his staff. It didn’t deter the older opponent. “That all you got, brat?” Now closer, he sprang out again, fast.

Enjin’s eyes widened, seeing the speed at which the attack was coming, but being too far away to stop it. It was a close-range weapon, unlike Zanka’s mid-range staff.

But miraculously, Zanka dodged. He dodged without a hint of fear or doubt. As if the older Cleaner was moving in slow motion. As if Zanka already knew how the fight would end. “Hardly,” he replied. As he dodged, Zanka maneuvered under the other Cleaner’s arm, using his own force against him. He gracefully and violently sent him down to the ground, pinning him in place with the end of Assistaff.

The man’s eyes were wide, the shock in them reflecting the shock in the rest of the room. In Enjin.

…

“Shouldn’t be lookin’ down on others when you’re the one who ended up on the ground.” Zanka glared at the man, who still hadn’t deactivated his weapon. “Apologize. To Follo ‘n the other supporters.”

Instead of responding, the fallen Giver looked to his side. Zanka followed his gaze to see the entire room around them, watching like they’d been in a fighting ring. Somehow, Zanka had completely failed to notice his surroundings. As if he forgot where he was for a moment. Zanka deactivated his staff, unpinning the man beneath him. 

The room was silent. Zanka suddenly felt embarrassment wash over him. Everyone was watching. He was frozen in place, suddenly very aware of his own presence, awkward in his body. How much of that did they see? And hear?! He refused to look anybody in the eye. His vision blurred too much to focus, anyway.

Too distracted by his own thoughts, Zanka failed to notice the giver beneath him standing up. He failed to see that his eyes still glowed and that he held a look of unbridled rage, having been humiliated by the newest Giver. 

Zanka was too preoccupied with the sudden attention that he didn’t see the man’s weapon increase in size, nor did he see him move to attack.

All Zanka saw were flashes of yellow on either side of his body. He stumbled forward and turned to see his would-be assailant’s arm held up in the air by two pairs of hands, ready to attack with his blade. It was much larger, his name, Jett, lighting up on the metal.

He had been a second away from making contact. Enjin and Semiu held him in place. Their eyes both glowed. 

“What’re you doing?!” Jett yelled to his superiors. “This brat attacked me! You gonna let him get away with it?”

“I saw the exchange,” Semiu responded coldly. “Looks like you got your butt whooped by a kid and couldn’t handle it.” She tightened her hold. Jett let out a pained gasp. “It’s time to stand down.”

He looked to Enjin to plead his case, but bit his tongue when he saw the look in the man's eyes. There was no winning this. The orange glow faded out as he resigned. “Whatever,” he hissed, jerking his arm back from their hands.

“Take a walk and cool your head,” Semiu ordered, leaving no room for argument as he was escorted out of the room.

With one of the culprits gone, only Zanka remained, looking both embarrassed and incredibly nervous. “And you, my office. Let’s go.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied without argument.

Enjin and Semiu walked him out of the room.

…

“Sit,” she pointed to the chair opposite her desk. Enjin stood to her side, leaning his weight on Umbreaker. Zanka reluctantly took a seat.

“What happened?” Semiu asked, sounding a bit impatient. Though that’s how she often spoke.

“Dumbass was speaking down on the supporters. Follo got upset, so I put ‘m in his place. Prick deserved it.”

Enjin had to stifle a laugh at his bluntness, turning it into a cough as Semiu looked in his direction. Semiu narrowed her eyes at the younger Cleaner. Zanka was unfocused, words starting to slur, clearly inebriated. “Zanka, how much have you had to drink tonight?” He cocked his head slightly.

“Had one glass, ‘s was Riyo’s. Tasted real bad.” 

“What did it taste like, exactly?” She asked. Enjin shot her a questioning look.

“Like how rubbing alcohol smells.”

Enjin’s eyes widened. “You- Zanka, did you drink a glass of Vodka?!”

“I’on know?! Quit yelling at me! Was whatever Riyo gave me…”

“He’s fucking drunk, Semiu. Holy shit.” Enjin couldn’t decide if this was hilarious or something he should be upset about.

“Ya and? So was the bastard. Didn’t help ‘im any when I kicked his ass.”

“Adults can handle their alcohol better. And they also don’t drink a glass of vodka. Frankly, I’m shocked you’re as coherent as you are right now.” Semiu studied the boy for a moment. “It does bring up an interesting point, though. You unknowingly went against one of our fastest close-range fighters, yet you dodged his attack like it was childsplay.”

Zanka made a face like he was talking to a bunch of idiots. “Well ya, sister used ta train me by shootin’.” 

Wait, what?

“What do you mean shooting?” Enjin asked, confused.

“Bullets. Ever heard of ‘em?” Zanka huffed a laugh to himself as he used his fingers to mock shoot Enjin. “Gotta dodge ‘im, ‘s the game.” He stated it as if it were the most obvious, normal thing in the world.

“Your sister shot bullets at you to train you?” Semiu clarified.

“Ya, ‘s’what I said. Fix my reflexes.” 

There was a lot to unpack. 

“Right, of course. Is your sister the one who mostly trained you, then?”

“Semiu, what are you doing?” Enjin asked under his breath. "Shouldn't we be talking about what just happened?” They were supposed to be chastising the kid for fighting, letting him off with a warning, and calling it a night. Personally, he didn’t care that Zanka had fought that jackass. Enjin just wanted to get him out of the room. The kid looked like he was about to start freaking out once he noticed all the eyes on him.

“In this state, I’d be shocked if he retained a single word either one of us had to say. It can wait. Besides, weren’t you just complaining about how you couldn’t get him to share anything with you?”

“Yeah, but we can’t just take advantage of him like this! He’s not in his right mind.”

“Then by all means, try again tomorrow. Ask him all about how he played bullets with his sister, I’m sure he’d me more than willing to-”

“Will ya just shuddup already? I told ya, my head hurts. Jus’ do whatever it is yer gonna do already.”

…

Enjin never thought of himself as a particularly moral person. But the privacy of others was one thing he always took seriously. And in turn, others respected his own privacy. But Enjin was also an infinitely curious man, and the boy sitting before him was an enigma who raised questions with no answers. In this case, learning more about Zanka now could, hypothetically, help them help him. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Answer the question, Zanka.”

“Ugh, fine. Ya, my sister trained me. Why ya askin anyway?”

“Just curious.”

“You guys’re impossible, I swear. Never get what ya want from me...”

“We want to get to know you, Zanka.”

“Eh, why?”

“Because we’re your comrades, you’re a part of our team.”

Zanka’s eyes moved to the side, both in thought and avoidance. “What’dya wanna know?” He slurred.

“More about your family life,” Enjin answered. Even completely inebriated, Zanka’s body stiffened at the mention. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

“Well ‘s just my sister and brother. They’re older than me. An my parents, busy people.”

“Brother?” Enjin didn't even know he had a brother.

“Goka? He’s… I dunno. He looks up to my sister. Guess I do too. But we aren’t similar, really."

“You look up to your sister?” He clarified.

“Looked…” Zanka corrected.

It was unnerving how unrestricted Zanka was in his answers. He’d usually clam up when people so much as turned their attention to him, let alone asked such invasive questions. Enjin felt the guilt eat away at him, knowing that Zanka would shut down these questions under normal circumstances. But there were some things he was curious about.

“Zanka, the day we met, who did you see in your home before we left?”

“Kyouka ‘n Goka…”

“Your siblings… and who injured you?”

“Mm, mostly Kyouka….”

“Mostly?”

“Goka held me… couldn’t move. Hurt m’arms a lil’.”

It was overwhelming, more than anything else. It’s not like they needed any of these answers, per say. Enjin had already inferred a lot of it. But still, it felt different knowing concrete truths about Zanka. Enjin looked to Semiu, who had been quiet since he started questioning the kid. Her expression was as unreadable as ever.

“This feels wrong,” Enjin said under his breath.

Instead of answering, Semiu asked the next question: “How have you felt since joining the Cleaners?”

“Bad.” Enjin’s head snapped up at that. What? 

“Zanka, is something wrong? What feels bad?” Enjin felt a spike of panic. He knew something was off but… was he unhappy here? Were there problems he had with the Cleaners, themselves? With him? Zanka paused to think, allowing a desperate anticipation to build in Enjin.

“I jus….w’na do good ‘s all…” The kid was becoming less coherent by the minute.

“You are doing good,” Enjin tried. “Hell, Zanka, you fought off a veteran cleaner while piss drunk and didn't even break a sweat.”

“Yer just sayin’ that… ta be nice n’ all. You don’t gotta lie to me…”

This damn kid.

“Your self-doubt is infuriating, you know that? I’ve sparsely met people more capable than you, Zanka. And you’re a teenager who only became a giver a couple of months ago!”

Zanka only shook his head. “Yer wrong. I’mma screw up, then it’ll be even worse. I’ll fail ya…”

“Like hell you will! I’ll say it as many times as it takes for me to break through that thick skull of yours. You’re talented, I’m already impressed by the progress you’ve made. We all are, you idiot.”

“But what if I stop gettin’ better?”

“It doesn’t matter! You’re strong now, you don’t need to prove a thing, and you certainly aren’t going to fail us. Where is this coming from?”

“‘Ts the whole reason 'm here isn’t it? I was a failure, ’s the only reason we ever met. And fer some reason, you won’t believe me when I tell you that’s what I am.”

“When we met you immediately proved that you aren’t some failure, you connected with Lovely Assistaff and chased after us.”

“I had nowhere else to go.”

“You could’ve stayed in the well.”

Zanka sucked in a breath. “…Maybe I should've stayed there.”

“...What will it take for you to believe the things I’m saying to you right now?”

“I don’t know…” The kid whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Enjin sighed, resolve quickly fading. “That’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”

...