You were a person Zanka never understood.
Hell—he wasn’t even convinced anyone did.
You’d shown up one day thanks to Enjin, dragged into the Cleaners like a stray with something dangerous in its teeth. Apparently your jinki was “real tough,” or so everyone kept saying.
Pft. Yeah, right.
That had been his first thought. That, and they’re nothin’ special. Then the training match happened.
Somehow—somehow—you’d managed to knock him flat on his ass. Clean hit. No tricks. No hesitation. Just raw instinct and a kind of control that made his teeth grind. His opinion shifted fast.
From they’re nothin’ too big to great—another natural talent.
You reminded him of Hyo. Too much. The same quiet competence. The same way strength sat on you like it didn’t need to be proven. That alone was enough reason for him to keep his distance.
And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to dislike you. You kept to yourself, stayed out of everyone’s business, ignored most people entirely. Or maybe that was just how it looked from the outside. Either way, Zanka settled into something neutral whenever you were around. Not friendly. Not hostile. Just… aware.
This morning started like any other.
The Cleaners crowded around the table, shoveling food into their mouths before the day dragged them back into the filth. Zanka sat beside Riyo, half-listening to her chatter while side-eyeing Rudo as he ate like a raccoon that had just discovered civilization.
Then he noticed it. Your seat—tucked away in the corner—was empty.
That was… weird. He scowled at his bowl. I’m not worried. Just checking on a teammate. That’s all.
With a sharp exhale, he stood and excused himself, already moving before he could think better of it. His steps carried him straight to your dorm.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Nothing.
“Tch.” He sighed, irritation prickling under his skin, and pushed the door open just enough to peer inside. “Oye. You in here?”
His voice trailed off.
You were bundled up in your bed, tangled in blankets like you were trying to disappear into them. That alone felt wrong—you never struck him as someone who needed the extra warmth.
Then he saw your face. Red. Flushed. Sweat clinging to your skin.
His eyes widened before he could stop himself, and he crossed the room in three quick strides. Not concerned. Totally not.
“Oh, for god's sake—” He reached out, pressing his hand to your forehead, only to recoil with a hiss. Jeez. You’re burning up.
Zanka’s jaw tightened as he dropped onto the edge of the bed beside you, eyes narrowing like he could glare the fever away. “…Idiot,” he muttered, quieter than usual. What the hell was he meant to do now? Eishia was most likely not in the infirmary so that sure as hell wasn't an option.