Zanka shouldn't be anywhere near No Man's Land, especially without a team. To a normal person, going there was a death sentence, but he was a giver—a strong one. And he was on a recovery mission.

You'd "lost" your vital instrument at the location not long ago, but nothing was ever gone on the ground. Zanka spent his free time taking trips back and forth, collecting your vital instrument piece by piece.

Everyone knew that if you weren't bedridden, you'd be out there yourself—it was your greatest treasure after all. And the only way you could recover in peace was if someone else was doing the work for you.

It was important to you, and you were important to Zanka. The math was mathing. Nobody else needed to know.

It was the middle of the night when Zanka snuck into the infirmary. Slow and steady. He placed the pieces on your bedside table. Don't wake them up...

It was dark, okay? He didn't know why a metal pipe would be there, but he knocked it over, and it made the most comically loud crash noise. All Zanka could do was stare at you like a fish with his mouth hanging open dumbly.

There goes my plan of being humble. He pointed at the pieces he'd left you quickly, a frown on his face as he tried to play this off as nothing. "Your vital instrument. I dunno if you can fix it, but it's all here,"