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Almost like clockwork, Goka showed up at his door while he was in the middle of packing. The younger Nijiku expected it, but he still flinched when he felt his older brother walk through the door without knocking. He closed his eyes for a moment but didn’t turn around.
The older brother was not as vocal as his sister about Zankas’ decision. His reaction was that of coldness, not fury, but it hit just as hard. The resentment shone clearly through his eyes, and Zanka couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a few seconds before averting his gaze out of guilt.
“Ya can’t stop me, Goka. I already told Kyouka. I’d made up my mind.”
His brother shook his head dismissively. “It’s not me that you need to answer to. Father wants to see you. He is not happy with you.”
The younger Nijiku’s eyes widened and he swirled around to glance up at his elder. His brother scowled back, not bothering to hide his displeasure.
Oh.
Oh.
Zanka bit his lip instinctively. “I already told Kyouka. She told me to leave—"
“Zanka,” Goku cut him off with a cold anger. You arrogant fool. “Did you think you could slip away without seeing him? Your cowardice is unbefitting of the Nijiku name.”
Yup. That was probably true. Add that to the list. It wasn’t his only defective quality, and definitely not the worst, according to the unspoken Nijiku code of conduct.
“It don’t matter,” he retorted, deflecting. “I doubt he’ll let me keep tha’ name anyways.”
“That is entirely up to you.” Goka turned away. “Come with me.”
His brother’s no-nonsense demeanor left little room for defiance. Zanka grimaced but complied.
..
.
The head of the Nijiku clan was a powerful presence.
He felt his father’s disparaging gaze on him as soon as he entered the room. His brother’s cold stare reflected his father’s disappointment.
Any time he was called to stand before the head of the family, it never bode well. Zanka’s heart was beating slightly too fast, his pulse elevated. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow even before they entered. By the time Goka made his way to stand beside his father at the head of the reception hall and Zanka knelt in front of them, his whole body was shaking. The mural behind the leader of the family loomed over him, the visages of angry spirits seeming to jump out of the wall, eager to eat him alive.
Goka was correct, there was no running from this. He couldn’t go back on his decision. He didn’t belong at the Hell Guard. He knew that now.
But still. Anxiety formed a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. He fought to keep his breathing under control.
The fifteen-year-old spared a glance to his right, where he had placed his staff. It was a comforting presence, amongst the immense pressure that hovered over him.
“Your sister informed me that you have become a codependent. Is this true?”
“Yes, father,” he responded as calmly as he could muster. There was no use hiding it.
“Codependents are the weakest of all humans.” The head of the clan recited. It was a lecture Zanka heard a thousand times before from his sister. “Their reliance on a single object makes them vulnerable, easier to take advantage of. And their powers make them arrogant. They are blind to their own weakness. Do you understand?”
“Yes, father.”
“This is a disgrace, Zanka.”
I know. Zanka bowed his head lower. I’m sorry.
“I cannot have a codependent tainting our family name. It is unacceptable.”
Then let me go.
“…I’m sorry, father.”
“Stand up.”
The teenager reluctantly got to his feet but kept his head lowered. He sensed his father approach and saw the slap coming in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t turn away. He learned a long time ago that trying to avoid it would only make things worse.
The blow stung.
“Your sister also told me that you expressed a desire to join the Cleaners.”
Zanka felt his face flush red. Kyouka really did tell him everything. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the floor in front of him. “…yes, sir.”
“Steadfast and virtuous. We of the Nijiku family have had noble blood running in our veins for generations. Your sister, brother, and myself have taken on the responsibility of governing the Ground. That is your responsibility, too.”
The youngest clan member bit his lip. He’s heard this lecture a thousand times as well. It was getting stale.
“You are a Nijiku. Your place is with the Hell Guard. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“Yes father.”
“I will not have a Nijiku flame heating water for those degenerates.”
Zanka winced but stayed silent.
“I raised you better than this, Zanka.”
“I can’t help what I am—"
“Yes, you can.” He cut him off gruffly.
Zanka stood frozen in place, as he was taught to all his life. He stared down at the floor numbly, fists clenched at his sides.
The head of the Nijiku clan shot a questioning glance at his eldest son. Goka straightened up and stared back at him expressionlessly, then gave a subtle nod. The older man sighed heavily and turned back to his youngest.
“There is a very simple solution to this problem.”
Zanka glanced up, suspicions rising. He noticed his father’s gaze shift to his right, eyeing the staff laying by his side. There was a coldness in his eyes, a malicious glint that set off alarm bells ringing in his mind.
“Give me the stick.”
“Huh?” His stomach fell.
His father held out his hand expectantly.
“Hand it over, Zanka.”
Oh.
Oh no.
The realization hit and he felt his heart clench in his chest, his cool façade crumbling in an instant. NO.
He didn’t realize he had picked it up until he was already holding it, clutching Lovely Assistaff to his chest like a lifeline.
No, no, no, no, no…
“Zanka, listen to reason!” Goka called from across the room.
The boy swiveled around to look at him, eyes wide, unable to hide the panic on his face.
The older Nijiku brother grit his teeth. His brother could never really control his emotions, could he? Dammit, Zanka! Why is it so hard for you to understand?
“If you don’t end this childishness now,” he growled. “There’s no going back.” I can’t protect you anymore.
“Goka, you—” His younger sibling’s eyes widened slightly, a wave of understanding hitting him. “Ya knew he would…?!”
Kyouka was very transparent about what she thought of his newfound powers. She didn’t mince words and didn’t waste any time telling him to get the fuck out. But Goka was harder to read. He was disappointed but…as far as he could tell, he didn’t want him to leave. Despite Zanka’s status as a Giver, he would have tried to convince their father to consider other options.
Fuck. Was this his idea?
The betrayal hit harder than he expected it would. He gripped the staff tighter, knuckles white around the handle. He couldn’t give it up. He wouldn’t.
“Zanka,” his father warned. “Give it to me.”
“No, I can’t—!” It slipped out before he stop himself, before he could think.
FUCK. You never say no to him. Never.
His father stepped forward. He flinched back instinctively, despite knowing it was useless. Despite knowing this was the wrong move. His father had a lifetime of training and experience in combat. His own strength, power and agility paled in comparison to a former leader in the Hell Guard. He could disarm him in an instant. It was futile to refuse. Still, he clung on to his vital instrument with desperation.
He felt his Lovely Assistaff be wrenched out of his grasp but he couldn’t do anything about it. His father tore the vital instrument out of his hands with one hand, and viciously backhanded him across the face with his other.
Zanka stumbled to the floor, clutching his cheek.
NO!
He stared up at his father with wide eyes. The elder Nijiku held up the staff with both hands. It would be so easy. It would only take a second for him to snap her in half across the knee, to destroy her—
SHIT.
“NO! You can’t!”
He wasn’t supposed to say no, or talk back, but he couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t ignore the utter wrongness of his staff in his father’s hands, completely at his mercy.
“DON’T! Please—”
The head of the Nijiku household frowned deeply and tightened his grip around the wooden stick, bending it in the middle. Lovely Assistaff groaned under the pressure, the wood straining to keep it’s shape, the sound of splintering wood filling the hall.
“PLEASE!” The desperation kicked in and Zanka dropped to his knees and bowed down to the floor. “Please don’t break her!”
In the back of his mind, he knew what this looked like. He knew he was groveling at his father’s feet, all for a wooden stick, a piece of garbage that should have been thrown away a long time ago. But he didn’t care.
“Please don’t…please…” He begged.
Lovely Assistaff was a part of him now. If she was destroyed, he would lose a part of himself as well. The only part of him that he cared about anymore. He couldn’t…He couldn’t do it without her.
“You can’t. Please! Please don’t…!”
Goka watched the scene unfold before his eyes. He didn’t look away.
Kyouka warned him about this, didn’t she? He was always so quick to see the bright side of Zanka’s naïve personality. He was always so quick to see his good qualities, but Kyouka was able to see through it all. She warned him of Zanka’s weakness, but he didn’t believe her.
‘You gotta keep lookin’, or you won’t see what’s in front of you.’
He could see it now.
There he was, his little brother, unraveling right before his eyes. All because of a single object. A single worthless piece of trash.
Sister…you were right. I see the weakness you warned me about.
“Pathetic,” he uttered.
Zanka snapped his head up to look at him, wide-eyed, fear and panic written all over his face. He could never control his emotions.
“That is a valid assessment, Goka,” their father acknowledged coldly. The head of the clan regarded his youngest with contempt, grip tightening around the wooden staff.
Zanka looked up at him fearfully, his attention focused entirely on his vital instrument.
“Pathetic is correct. But you are wrong about one thing, Goka.” He sighed deeply. “The stick is not the problem. It is just a symptom. Destroying it will not solve the problem. Do you understand?”
“Yes, father,” his eldest responded dutifully and lower his head, his straw hat obscuring his face.
Zanka shot a furtive glance at his brother. Goka looked back at him with disdain, not unlike his sister. Not at all like he looked at him when they were younger, when he ran to him in the middle of the night after a nightmare. When he would seek him out after a particularly harsh lesson from their father. Goku used to always meet him with a smile.
His heart fell. What had changed?
“Nijiku Zanka,” His father addressed him now. “I see you for what you are now, your true nature.”
Oh.
Yeah.
How could he forget?
“I turned a blind eye to your weakness all these years, thinking you would grow out of your childishness and start to take your responsibilities to the clan seriously. But I cannot ignore it now.”
So they finally realized it too.
He wasn’t gifted. He wasn’t perfect like Kyouka. He wasn’t half as hard-working as Goka.
“You are a failure. Destroying this is not going to change that.”
Zanka stared numbly as his father threw the staff across the room as if it was burning him. It landed with a dull thud on the floor, scratched up and splintered but intact. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the relief flooding his very being.
“Thank—”
He was cut off by a sudden punch in the gut. The unexpected blow knocked the wind out of his lungs and left him curled up on the ground. He clutched his stomach, trying to catch his breath again, and stared up at this father in alarm.
“Stand up.”
Shit. SHIT. He struggled to push himself off the floor. There was a seething anger behind his father’s dark eyes. The young Nijiku felt a shift in the room, the pressure bearing down at him.
His eyes darted towards the staff laying across the room, the only source of comfort in this situation that was quickly turning to shit.
Every cell in his body screamed at him to run, to get away, to escape—But there was no running from this.
It took him a minute to rise shakily to his feet.
He didn’t flinch back when his father raised his fist and punched him in the face. The blow knocked him off his feet again and once again he found himself on the floor, a black eye blossoming across his brow.
He couldn’t run. He had disgraced the Nijiku name, after all.
“Your teachers informed me about your decline in performance at the academy. All the time and effort this family has spent training you, hiring tutors to instruct you, giving you every conceivable advantage, and you still lose to an urchin from the slums.”
Zanka let out a shaky breath.
That was true. He couldn’t deny it. He had fooled himself, as well as his family, into believing he was somehow more gifted than he actually was. Led them to believe that he wasn’t a waste of time.
“Stand up.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and stood.
Another blow to his shoulder instantly knocked him back down to his knees. A kick in the chest sent him sprawling onto his back and coughing up blood. Each hit was calculated, concentrated power. His family was elite, after all. His father was no exception. He knew exactly where to strike to make it hurt.
This was his punishment.
A kick to the side and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Although…what difference did it make? No use hiding his weakness anymore. If the feeling of shame wasn’t so overwhelming, he would almost be relieved. They finally figured out what he really was. The teen grinned despite himself until another blow to the stomach knocked the air from his lungs.
“Your sister is right. You are a stain on our family name, Zanka. A disappointment.”
He did try. Countless sleepless nights studying. Grueling training sessions with Kyouka, with his trainers. Solo training sessions when no one was looking. Of course he tried. But none of it mattered anymore. The Golden Throne. Joining the Hell Guards. Standing, as an equal, side by side with his brother and sister. It was never meant to be for mediocrity like himself. He could see that now.
“Stand up.”
Zanka stood. Only one thought crossed his mind: Survive.
This was just another test. Just another lesson he had to endure. Grin and bear it.
If he could just survive this and join the Cleaners, so be it. Maybe there, he could be of some use. He could get better.
Another kick to the stomach, another slap to the face.
It hurt, but it was worth it.
Zanka instinctively put his arm up to block another blow. That was a mistake; his father grabbed his hand and viciously twisted it until he heard a snap. The youngest Nijiku cried out and clutched his wrist in agony.
“Tell me, Zanka: What makes you think the Cleaners would take a failure like you in? If they knew how weak you really are?”
Another blow to the chest and he stumbled, coughing up blood and spit. Zanka squeezed his eyes shut.
Huh. He hadn’t thought of that. He just assumed they took all Givers in. And Enjin thought he had potential...
Maybe that was his naiveté again?
Another well-placed hit across his shoulders brought him down once again.
He heard his father commanding him to stand up, but it was getting harder to get back up again. He struggled to prop himself up but his wrist screamed in protest and he collapsed onto his face pitifully. Goka watched silently as he tried again and again to rise, only to be brutally beaten back down onto the floor.
Eventually, he stopped trying to stand altogether.
Eventually, the room grew quiet.
The head of the Nijiku clan observed his youngest curl in on himself, reaching out towards the wooden stick he had chosen over his family. He kicked it away and made his final decision.
“Zanka: As of today, you are disinherited. You are no longer a son of mine, and you have no place in the Nijiku family. You are no longer welcome in this house. Don’t ever come back.”
…
..
.
The streets of the old village were empty as usual. His brother felt like dead weight as Goka dragged him by the scruff of the neck towards the gate leading out of town. Zanka was silent, limp and lifeless, save for a death grip on that stupid staff of his. Despite the damage to his body, he still clung to it like a child.
Goka was equally silent. He had nothing to say to his younger sibling. Not anymore.
As he neared the town gate, he noticed that that blond Cleaner named Enjin was there, waiting— just as Zanka had said he would be.
How disappointing. Part of him was hoping the Giver would have left by now. Maybe then his brother would see reason and realize what a foolish decision he had made. Maybe he would have given up and returned home where he belonged.
He sighed softly. It was far too late for that.
“Oi!” the Cleaner called.
The eldest son of the Nijiku family pretended not to notice the look of alarm etched across the blond man’s face when he threw Zanka down at the Cleaner’s feet.
“He’s your problem now.”
Without sparing his brother a second glance, Goka spun around and headed back home.
“Oi,” Enjin repeated and knelt down by the youngest Nijiku’s side as his elder brother walked away. The kid looked rough. He was sporting a nasty-looking black eye. Flakes of blood marred his standard academy uniform, his breathing was shallow and painful, and bruises covered any skin that was visible.
He looked like he’d been mauled by a trash beast.
Well, fuck.
“You alive?” he asked, tentatively.
Zanka groaned and opened his one good eye to stare up at the Cleaner groggily. “Ahh…Enjin.”
His next breath caught in his throat, and he rolled onto his side and dissolved into a coughing fit. Once it subsided, he spat out some blood on the dusty ground and wiped the side of his mouth.
“And here I thought you looked like crap when you were stuck in that well for three days. Way to outdo yourself this time.”
The boy smiled weakly. Enjin watched patiently as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing when he put too much weight on his right wrist. With the other, he clutched his staff to his chest and rested his weight against it, using it to hold himself up. The staff looked just as beat up as he was.
“You waited fer’ me.”
“Promised I would,” he replied, a little too quickly.
“I am not a Nijiku no more,” the boy admitted and looked up at him. “…Disinherited.”
Yeah…he kinda guessed as much.
Despite having one eye swollen shut, the teenager fixed his attention entirely on him and the Giver was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. He could sense he was trying to read him, to analyze his reaction. He had to fight against the urge to look away in discomfort. Despite the clear lack of self-worth he observed in his previous encounters, and the accent, there was a keen intellect behind those pale blue eyes. It was an intuition that could only be honed from training to fight humans rather than trash beasts.
The Hell Guard were really something, huh.
“I ain’t gifted like the rest of my family. In terms of combat ability, I’m just average,” the self-professed mediocrity continued. “But I’m a Giver.”
Enjin’s gaze fell to the staff in his hands. The teen gripped it tightly but didn’t break eye contact.
“I want ta’ join the Cleaners,” he professed. “I might not look like much now. But if ya take me in, and give me a chance, I’ll prove to you that the average can some day surpass the naturally gifted.”
There it is. Enjin glanced away at the horizon. The fire still burns.
“I told you already,” the leader of the Akuta Cleaners responded calmly. “This place sucks and I’m taking you with me. But you don’t have to make such a big deal about it.”
Zanka’s eyes widened.
“Ahhh,” he closed his eyes and a grin broke out across his face. “Thank you!”
Enjin glanced away sheepishly. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Then sighed.
“We have a healer back at the base,” he said. “She’s still figuring out her powers, but she’ll be able to fix you right up in no time.”
“I don’t—” The kid started suddenly, hesitation evident in his face. “I can handle this, you don’t need ta—"
“Hmmm?” Enjin gave him a questioning look. “I don’t know what kinda messed up logic you nobles operate on, but you realize you’re no good to us all beat up, right?”
Zanka blinked.
“The sooner you’re healed, the sooner you can get to work.” He beamed. “Welcome to our band of weirdos!”