Work Text:
Givers are looked down upon. Amongst the Hell Guards, it is common to repudiate those whose affection and devotion is turned towards an object. An anchor. A crutch. Something so banal and material which worth is defined by those who can't achieve greatness by their own merits.
Zanka knows that. Has been taught that in the Academy. Hell Guards are taught to specialize in one weapon, with enough basics to be able to perform with a small variety. Funnily enough, for Zanka had once thought such specialization to be similar to Giver's reliance on their given Vital Instrument, just without all that flourish. You picked your weapon, you trained with it until you mastered it, and it then became an extension of your own person. How the Guards never saw the irony in their believes and their practice... Zanka would never know.
Givers and their Vital Instruments are looked down upon. The reliance of one another was something that was scoffed at— the object held no power if the Giver wasn't around. And the Giver wasn't worth their weight if their Instrument wasn't around, either. Hell Guards, then, were rigorously trained. In mind and body, they practiced and grew to become people who could stand on their own, who could stand against both aberrations such as Trash Beast and Givers.
Zanka knows that.
So once upon a time, he did not think much about it. What did he care about such thesis when he already had his sight set ahead. He would work his ass of to be great, to be better than anyone else— he would show them his genius and take seat on the coveted golden chair, something his sister had not been able to do.
He is just a phony, though. He had played pretend and had been allowed to think himself a genius, way above his peers in every aspect. Even with all his efforts, with all the long nights of training and studying, he had never been praised as high as this newcomer had been. Hyo, a girl from the bums with no noble blood or defined past, had thoroughly beaten Zanka along with those who he thought below to him. What the fuck did the name Nijiku carried if not just the weight of the family's exploits? It did not help Zanka at all.
If his sister had not sat atop the class as the best of the best, what chance did Zanka have, now?
None. And Zanka knew that. Less of all with the stupid stick he had picked up as— as— as something that could not even be considered a weapon. What could someone like him, with a run of the mill stick, even begin to accomplish? Zanka knew he was weak. Just as frail as the stick. It could barely be considered a staff, if you asked him. So where did that leave him?
He might as well crawl into a hole and die of shame.
Zanka carries the stick with him everywhere he can, not only to remind himself that he is just as average as the stick is, but as a promise to himself that he will make something out of himself, ordinary as he is. He will make something out of them. He trains with the staff daily. Brings it to his bed when he decides to meditate before calling it a night. His fingers run over the rough wood many times, learning its every bump and valley, appreciating the bony knots he feels under his hands.
When he gets a splinter off of it, he decides to do some maintenance. He sands down the rough edges that need upkeep, passes a layer of oil over it. When it rains, Zanka makes sure to keep his staff in dry conditions; he keeps it under shade when the sun beats down on them. If anything happens to soil his staff, he makes sure to diligently clean it as soon as possible.
He thinks about carving something into it, once or twice. But decides against it, doesn't see the point of embellishing the staff far beyond what it already looks like. Zanka doesn't have to pretend nor change who he is, so why should his staff do so? They are one and the same, he thinks.
Zanka carefully wraps bandages around the staff's body when a crack splinters its wood, the treatment of their training (or the lack of his own skill when faced off against Hyo) showing its sharp edges. He makes sure to cherish every new callus that populate his hand, aware that it all amounts to him becoming better. At one point, after finishing another of his personal training sessions, he finds himself running his mouth.
He talks to the staff. About the day they had, about his doubts, his thoughts. He eventually realizes that it is selfish of him to do all the talking, and allows himself to ask questions to his staff, too, hoping it would provide some clarity among his thoughts.
Zanka finds himself thinking back to the stranger that had helped him, a promise of his return a constant thought in his mind. He should probably go check the area, in case he has returned. Zanka wants to personally thank him for the words that had changed his outlook on life. It had pushed him to strive for better results (in the hopes that, some day, he can close the skill gap evident between him and Hyo).
Whenever he wakes up, Zanka's hand reaches towards his staff. It has become a habit, now, including the staff in his life. Every morning and night, when he is unsure what he should eat, he runs a list off with his staff until they settle on an answer. Every morning Zanka is sure to greet her with a Good Morning, and every night Zanka always bids Good Night. The staff helps reach for things high above, too. Such a lovely thing it comes to be, assisting Zanka on his every day routine.
They do their best to ignore people's weird looks and snark comments.
The Hell Guards' task is to keep humans under control if they ever run awry, the only thing of importance, to them, should be their own prowess along with upholding the laws. Anomalies such as Trash Beasts, "animals with no thought", are of no importance to them. That is left to those called Cleaners. Necessary for the disposal of Trash Beasts that can only be eradicated through the use of Vital Instruments.
Zanka knows that.
Becomes painfully aware of it when the Cleaner's logo is clear in Enjin's clothes (the stranger had introduced himself, joyously praising Zanka for the efforts he had put into his training, notes the care he's put into his staff). When Enjin leaves, a promise to come back in the air, Zanka wishes he could go with him. Hell Guards take care of humans, though, not Trash Beasts. And it's not like Zanka can do anything to help this man— without being a Giver, there was no way to put an end to the Trash Beasts. Zanka surely would not be as helpful as he would like.
He could be an assistant, though. The thought bounces in his head, each passing moment making it sound less insane. It's been months and he has yet to catch up to Hyo. What purpose does he have here, holed up with his classmates who can't look past their own weaknesses, and pitted against someone that seems impossible to catch up to?
Enjin had not looked weak to Zanka. Enjin was a Giver, entrusting a part of himself onto his Vital Instrument. Zanka admired that. It surely took courage to do it, right? But as he parts way with Enjin, he catches sight of his sister's gaze, who stands ways away from them, on the opposite side of the street. Her eyes hold contempt, he realizes.
His name is Zanka Nijiku, and his family name has always had story with the Hell Guards. To think himself of ever working on the Cleaners side might as well be changing families, bringing up a stain that would never leave him.
Zanka knows that.
He feels mortified, then, when in one of his usual late night training sessions his staff's shape shifts towards something more defined. It only lasts for a moment, though, as he feels the thrill of his weapon become something more, something stronger. Zanka allows himself a moment to simply look at it, marveling at its shape.
He brings it closer to him, inspecting the new material that shapes the forks. Almost reverently, he traces its shape, running his fingers against it, acquainting himself with the new strength his lovely staff holds. He fiddles with the sharp protrusions that come from the fork, three at each side, one of which curls out and forward, thicker than the others.
"You look amazing." He says, smiling from ear to ear.
With newfound zeal, he decides to try his staff's new looks. When he swings it against a nearby tree, he lets out a joyous laugh as the bark breaks under his staff's force.
"Look at you!" He twirls with it, feeling the changes that come with the new look.
He would have to train with this new shape, too. Zanka feels exited about it.
Givers are looked down upon in the Hell Guards — Zanka knows that, all too well. So it is not with shame that he decides to leave the Academy. Absolutely not. But this stranger, Enjin, came back into town just as he said he would. Zanka could not let this opportunity pass him by. He would show the man that he had changed, had overcome the weakness that had consumed him back then. And if things ever looked like he was going to get kicked down a well again... Zanka would have to keep trying harder. Would have to work his ass off more. But he wasn't alone now, not when his Lovely Assistaff had reciprocated his emotions. He had decided to become someone better, and along with his efforts, his staff had done the same— it was now something worthy of being called a weapon.
He shows his staff's new looks to Enjin, basking in the praise the man gives him, far higher and more sincere than he could ever hope to find in the Academy.
Enjin extends the invitation to him. To join the Cleaners. The other side of the coin, Zanka thinks. He informs his family of his decision. He tells them that he wants to travel around, hone his skills further. He tells them he wants to join the Cleaners, even shows off his Lovely Assistaff with both pride and nerves mixing in the pit of his stomach. The familiar weight of his staff comforts him.
Kyoka is the first to speak. His sister had always been quick to speak her mind, words sharp and pointed to one's throat. She'd called his bluff, brought up how stupid the mere thought was. His brother wasn't any better, had stepped up to show him how weak he still was. Enjin steps in to diffuse the situation, with an easy smile and neutral words that earn a snort from Kyoka. He praises Zanka's progress so far, acknowledging his fortitude for moving forward in life through all the weaknesses his family claimed he had. It simply emboldens him, he hangs onto the praise as he resolutely tells his family that he would be going with the Cleaners.
They don't get it the way he does. Zanka knows that, recognizes the derision in their eyes.
He doesn't care.
He goes with Enjin, Vital instrument in hand.