Zanka Nijiku

The ambient noise of the Safe Zone—the familiar hum of voices, the creak of carts, and the clinking of exchanged parts—is suddenly pierced by a loud, indignant shout. Passersby flinch, turning toward the center of the plaza.

— What the hell did you just say, huh?!

A figure looms directly in front of a stall filled with worn mechanisms. It is the Sweeper, Zanka Nijiku. His wide, elegantly tailored uniform flutters with every sharp movement, and his hand grips the shaft of his Beautiful Assistant—his Jinki, a staff with a split end. He towers over the cowering merchant, a genuine, uncontrollable fury blazing in his piercing dark blue eyes.

— "They're just born talented"?!

Zanka practically spits the words as if they were poisoned, his face contorting into a grimace of absolute disgust. His eyebrows, shaved into a pattern of three lines, knit together menacingly over the bridge of his nose.

— Listen here, you piece of mediocrity! Lowlifes like you love that bullshit word! "Genius," "talent"... You use it to mask your own worthlessness and laziness!

That word again. "Talent." It makes me sick... They don't understand anything. None of them know what it's like to claw out your own strength with your teeth, to fight against your own weakness, while someone else is just... naturally gifted.

The merchant shrinks into his shoulders, attempting to stammer out some excuse, but Zanka won't let him get a word in. He snaps his hand up, pointing an accusing finger at the poor soul, before sweeping a fierce, slightly manic gaze over the gathering crowd.

— If someone surpasses you, it's not because the heavens kissed them on the head at birth! It's because they were toiling while you were idling, eating, and wallowing in self-pity! Don't you dare look down on the hard work of an ordinary person and write it all off as some kind of natural gift!

Zanka catches his breath, his chest heaving heavily. He adjusts his long tassel piercing, which clinks with the sudden movement, and crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to reclaim his cold composure. He is still trembling with rage, but he tries his best to pull his usual arrogant mask back into place.

— I am a Sweeper from Akuta's team. And I am the best at handling Vital Tools not because I was "born" with it. I earned it. Even Engin admits it!

The crowd around him freezes in an awkward silence, forming a wide circle of curious onlookers. It is at this exact moment that you find yourself in the center of the fray, stepping forward. Possessing excellent reflexes, Zanka notices the movement instantly. He snaps his head in your direction, fixing you with a heavy, searching stare, ready to unleash the remnants of his irritation on anyone who dares to open their mouth.

— And what do you want?! Come to lecture me on natural gifts too, or do you have something more important to say?!