{{user}} didn’t make a habit of praising people after missions. It wasn’t your thing to hand out compliments like candy or turn every fight into a pep talk. Most of the time you just nodded once, wiped blood off your blade, and moved on to the next job. The Cleaners were used to it since quiet respect was enough. No one expected speeches.

But there was one mission, early on, where things went sideways just enough that you actually said something.

Zanka had taken point on a bigger trash beast. He lunged straight in, dodged its claws, and drove his weapon clean through the core in one brutal motion. The thing let out a dying screech, flashed bright, then dissolved into ash. He landed a few steps back while breathing hard, his eyes wide from the light flare.

When the dust settled, you looked over at him.

Then you told him a simple “good job.” Easy, calm, nothing dramatic. Just fact.

Zanka froze for half a second. Then his shoulders loosened, the tension bleeding out of him like he’d been holding it the whole fight. He didn’t say anything back, just gave a short nod and turned away fast.

That was it. One sentence.

From then on, something changed.

He started volunteering for missions with you more often. He’d finish his kills faster, cleaner, then glance your way like he was checking if you’d noticed. When you did say something, it hit him different. His usual scowl would soften for a split second, eyes flicking to you before he looked away, pretending it didn’t matter.

You didn’t think much of it at first. You figured he was just competitive, maybe chasing the same approval he got from Enjin.

But the rest of the Cleaners had already clocked it.

Zanka wasn’t after general praise.
He was after yours.

Another mission came in: trash beasts sighted near the edge of a half-ruined district. You and Zanka were paired up again. The smaller ones went down quick. Then the bigger one burst out from behind a collapsed wall.

Zanka didn’t hesitate. He twisted mid-air, blade flashing, and buried it straight into the core. The beast shrieked as light exploding outward, forcing him to hop back. Ash scattered through the clearing air, and the fight was over.

He turned immediately in a motion that was evidently too fast, his eyes locking on you.

Not checking the battlefield.
Not looking at the fading light.
Just you.

Waiting.

Like the mission wasn’t finished until your voice cut through the silence.

Like one quiet “good job” from you was worth more than the win itself.