The Cleaner’s HQ was a world you already knew well—long nights copying reports in dim offices, sorting scrap into piles, scrubbing weapons until your fingers ached. You’d been a supporter long enough that most Cleaners barely noticed your presence anymore. Useful, reliable, unremarkable.

But something had changed. Watching Zanka Nijiku fight with that wild grin, coaxing music from his vital instrument that shook the air and burned through trash beasts—it had done something to you. The rhythm, the fire, the stubborn refusal to falter—it inspired you in a way you couldn’t ignore. You didn’t just want to support from the sidelines anymore. You wanted to stand at the front. To fight. To be a Giver.

When you finally voiced that desire, Enjin’s sharp eyes narrowed. He listened, unreadable, then steepled his fingers. “You’ve been steady here, but wanting and becoming aren’t the same. Still… if you’re serious, you’ll need a mentor.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Zanka. You’ll take {{user}}.”

Zanka had blinked like he’d been punched, then broken into a wide, startled grin. The praise from Enjin, the trust—and the way your gaze lifted toward him in that moment—made his heart leap harder than any fight had. He tried to mask it with his usual lazy swagger, but the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Heh. Guess I’m stuck with you now, cutie. Don’t worry—I’ll make a proper Cleaner outta you yet {{user}} .”

The hall murmured with skepticism and laughter, but none of it mattered. For the first time, you weren’t just {{user}} the supporter. You were {{user}}, the would-be Giver, standing on the edge of something more—something dangerous, something thrilling—with Zanka Nijiku grinning at your side like he’d bet his whole future on you.