Chapter Text
The training bay was empty, but the tiny desk tucked into its far corner was anything but. Reports spilled over the edges. Sticky notes layered on top of one another, corners curling, ink smudged from too many late nights.
The air smelled faintly of rust and old sweat, metal and effort soaked into the walls. Scorch marks scarred the concrete from failed drills. The overhead lights hummed, the sound carrying too loudly in a space built for shouting, for impact, for chaos. Now there was only the echo of your own shifting boots.
Being the official trainer for the Cleaners wasn’t easy. You oversaw everything. Recruitment of new Supporters and Givers. Combat drills. Compatibility assessments. Paperwork. Endless paperwork. And when they were ready, you signed off on their graduation and sent them into the field.
It was a lonely job. There wasn’t a team behind you. No assistant. No co-trainer.
Just you.
The hum of the overhead lights pressed in. The air sat heavy with rust and old sweat.
Then—
Bootsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Confident enough that you already know what asshole was making them.
Only one person walked into the beautiful silence that was the training den at lunch time, like it was background noise ready to fill.
“Didn’t know this place doubled as an office.”
His voice carried easily across the bay.
You sighed before lifting your head.
He stood halfway between the entrance and your desk, beige coat hanging loose from broad shoulders, dark red tank stretching across muscle like he hadn’t bothered to cool down after patrol.
And of course Umbreaker rested carefully over his shoulder. “You’re tracking dirt across my mats, Enjin” you said flatly. A smirk pulled at his mouth. Those horizontal dimples appeared instantly.
“Didn’t realize you were territorial.”
“Can’t a girl keep her things nice.” The words fell out of your mouth coated in sarcasm.
“Mm.” He stepped closer anyway, the smell reached you before he did. Tobacco. Faint and trapped underneath it was something cleaner. Almost like he’d tried to cover it and failed.
He stopped at the edge of your desk but didn’t lean on it. Didn’t invade. Just stood there, tall and solid and unfairly relaxed.
“You look exhausted, T-baby,” he said. His teasing gaze dropped to a look of concern.
Your jaw tightened slightly at the familiar nickname you received the second you stepped in the trainer position.
“Your field report’s on the left stack. Team Akuta needs to submit damage assessments within twenty-four hours. That includes you.”
He glanced at the stack but didn’t touch it.
“You always this strict with everyone,” he asked lightly, “or am I special?” You blinked at him once. Slow.
“You’re behind.”
“That wasn’t my question.” He tilted his head just slightly. Studying you now. Not in a way that felt invasive. Just…curious.
You didn’t actually know Enjin. Not really. You knew his file. His combat stats. His leadership evaluations. The way new recruits gravitated toward him without trying.
But this version of him, standing too casually in your workspace, wasn’t in any report.
“You’re stalling,” you said.
He huffed a quiet laugh.
“I just got back from clearing three sectors. Let me breathe for a second.”
“Congratulations. You’re still late.”
He stepped around your desk before you could tell him not to. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough that his presence shifted the air beside you.
His shadow fell across the reports.
“You ever leave this room?” he asked.
You didn’t look at him. “Frequently.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Your intuition off today?”
He grinned at that.
“Never.”
That confidence again. Easy. Almost boyish. It would’ve been irritating if it didn’t feel so steady.
You reached for another report, but your hand paused midair when his fingers brushed the edge of the paper at the same time. Not intentional.
Not exactly. You both stilled for half a second. Then he pulled back first. “Didn’t mean to steal your work,” he said lightly.
“You couldn’t handle it.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow lifted. “Is that a challenge?”
“It’s an assessment.” His eyes held yours a second longer than necessary.
Something unspoken hovered there. Not heavy. Not dangerous. Just… awareness. He stepped back, finally grabbing the top folder from the stack.
“I’ll send the report tonight,” he said. “Don’t stay here all evening.” You frowned faintly. “That’s not your concern.”
“Sure it is.”
“Why?”
He adjusted Umbreaker on his shoulder, expression softening just a fraction.
“Because if you collapse from overwork, I’ll have to train the recruits myself.”
You stared at him.
“That would be catastrophic.”
He laughed, low and warm.
“See? You care.”
“I care about standards.”
“Mm.”
He started walking toward the exit, boots echoing again.
Then paused. “Hey.”
You looked up.
Those sharp yellow eyes met yours, less playful now. “Get some rest,” he said. Before he turned and left. The bay felt quiet again.But not as empty.
Months passed since that conversation, and you had your hands busy with training the newest recruit.
Zanka’s staff struck the hard concrete with enough momentum to spark. The sound rang through the training bay, ricocheted off steel beams, and dissolved into the constant fluorescent buzz overhead.
“Again,” you snapped.
Zanka adjusted his grip without complaint.
Sweat darkened the collar of his uniform, the ceremonial cut of his Cleaner gear made him look composed even now, while he was winded. You stared into the young boy's controlled eyes.
Too controlled.
He lunged first this time.
Staff sweeping low before he snapped upward, activating just enough to strike with a sharpened edge. Zanka was fast, more collected than he was a month ago. Stronger too.
You pivoted inside his reach and struck his wrist with the flat of your plastic practice blade.
He hissed but didn’t drop the weapon.
Impatient, you huffed, hooking his ankle from the side and pulling his feet from under.
He went down so hard, concrete vibrated under the impact. Zanka rolled, recovered, and came at you again.
Better.
Still hesitating.
You saw it in the half-second where his eyes searched your shoulders before committing. In the micro-adjustments meant to compensate for imagined counters that weren’t there.
You disarmed him again.
Lovely Assistaff skidded across the mat and clattered to a stop.
The echo felt too loud in the empty bay.
Zanka stood still for a moment, chest rising and falling steadily. His face had already smoothed back into composure, but his fingers flexed once at his side.
“You paused,” you whispered flatly.
Zanka leaned forward, staring holes into the rubbery mat you both were on. “I recalibrated.”
A strand of hair fell as you shook your head. “You compared.”
His jaw tightened.
A faint tremor flickered behind his calm exterior. Not explosive. Contained. The kind of anger that burns inward. “So what, you think I’m measuring myself against you?” he said tensely.
“I think you’re measuring yourself against everyone, and I'm not sure where ya grew up, but that won't be needed here, so cut it out.” The metal, sweat, and dust settled heavily in the silence that stretched.
From the far wall came the slow scrape of something shifting against concrete.
You didn’t look.
You didn’t need to.
Enjin had arrived.
Leaned against a support pillar near the entrance, coat open, one boot braced casually against the wall. Umbreaker rested against his shoulder, wire coiled neatly. He looked relaxed. He always did. But his eyes were attentive. Watching everything.
“Finish the drill,” you told Zanka.
Zanka retrieved his staff and attacked again. Harder now. Less polished. Sloppier.
You pressed him until his breathing roughened and his movements lost their ceremonial precision. Forced him to choose instinct over calculation.
He slipped once. That was enough.
You disarmed him for the third time and knocked him flat. The crack of his back against the floor sounded through the bay.
You stood over him. “In the field,” you said quietly, “no one cares what category you’ve placed yourself or them in.”
His breathing steadied.
“The craziest bitch I've seen out there would get you in 5 seconds flat. You hesitate because you’re afraid of being average or less than,” you continued. “That’s ego. Not weakness. But it will still get someone killed.”
Zanka stared at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up.
He didn’t argue.
He bowed his head once.
“…Understood, Ms.T.”
“Dismissed.”
He rose, collected Lovely Assistaff, and walked past Enjin without speaking. His posture was straight. Controlled. But the set of his shoulders told you he was thinking.
The doors shut behind him.
The bay exhaled.
For a few seconds, there was only the hum of lights and the faint scrape of your boots against dust as you reset the floor.
“That was rough.” Enjin’s voice carried easily across the space.
You didn’t answer. He pushed off the pillar and walked toward you, boots slow and unhurried. “You didn’t need to press him that hard.” You kept gathering equipment.
“He’ll be on your team soon, Enjin.”
“I’m aware, but he’s already pushing himself past exhaustion.”
“He volunteered for additional sessions.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
You straightened slowly.
“Mean what.”
The edge in your voice surprised even you.
Enjin stopped a few feet away. He wasn’t smiling.
“I’ve seen recruits fold under less,” he said. “You’re drilling into his worst fear, T.”
The words landed wrong; you felt it immediately.
Something in your chest tightened.
“I’m addressing it,” you replied. “There’s a difference.”
“You could build him up instead of tearing him down.”
That did it.
The room felt smaller.
“I'm the trainer here, man! You think I’m tearing him down, then just find a new one.” Enjin hesitated at your loud outburst.
“I think you’re treating him like he’s already failed.”
You stared at him somewhat mockingly.
“I’ve buried people I went easy on,” you said.
The words came out quieter than expected. Enjin didn’t move. You stepped past him, rubbing the spot where Zanka had left a scuff in the concrete.
“You think I enjoy pushing them like that?” you continued, voice steady but lower now. “You think I haven’t tried encouragement. Confidence building. Controlled progression.”
You set the rag down carefully.
“I’ve watched trainees leave this bay feeling capable. I’ve watched their dumb smiles on their way out.”
Your hands rubbed harder.
“I’ve watched them die, I've watched them get butchered, supports or givers, it doesn't matter out there, you know?”
Silence.
The fluorescent lights hummed louder somehow.
“When you lower the standard,” you said, refusing to make eye contact, “you tell them they’re ready before they are.”
Enjin’s grip on Umbreaker tightened almost imperceptibly.
“You lead them in the field,” you continued. “You get to make split-second calls. You get to adjust when things go wrong.”
You looked at him fully now. “I don’t.”
The words were sharp but not loud.“If I misjudge them in here, you’re the one who pays for it out there.” That hit. His jaw shifted slightly.
“You think I don’t know that, that I don’t carry that?” he asked.
“I know you do.” You stand facing him, finally, taking a step closer.
“But I’m the last safe environment they get to learn what's hurting them.”
The air between you felt dense.
“You think I’m harsh,” you said. “I think I’m precise.”
Enjin studied your face differently now.
“y/n,I know you’ve got field experience,” he said quietly. “You were the youngest supporter when I was just getting in here.”
“So?”
“And you still train like you don’t trust anyone to compensate.”
“I don’t trust luck,” you corrected.
Another long silence.
You exhaled shakily.
“I don’t care if they resent me. I don’t care if you think I’m unfair. What I care about is whether they can move when they’re bleeding and exhausted and scared.”
Your throat tightened, just slightly.
“I care about whether they hesitate.”
Enjin’s posture shifted. The challenge had drained out of it.
“I know you think, i dont think about all that,” he said.
“I think you believe in potential.”
“And you don’t?”
“I believe in preparation.” The tension shifted again. Not sharp anymore.
Heavy. “You don’t have to carry all of that alone,” he said after a moment. There was no accusation in it now. Just observation. You looked away first. “That’s the job.”
“No,” he said quietly. “That’s what you decided it was.”
You start walking towards your tiny corner of paperwork and peace. You shook your head.
“If you want to adjust my standards, submit it formally.” A faint, tired edge slipped into your voice. “I’ll look over every metric.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“I’m not filing a complaint.”
“Then what are you doing right now?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked around the bay. At the scuff marks. The cracked concrete. The faint bloodstains that never fully scrubbed out.
Then back at you. “I misjudged it,” he said. Not defensive.
“I don’t agree with everything,” he added, “but I see it.” The offense in your chest loosened slightly. “You’re not wrong,” he continued. “He needed that.” The admission was quiet. Real.
You studied him. “You still don’t like it.”
“No.” A small, tired huff escaped you.
“Good.” He looked at you sharply.
“You shouldn’t.” That caught him off guard. The air shifted again, softer now.
“You’d make a terrifying group leader,” he said. “You already are,” you replied. “That’s why I’m this strict.” His eyes lingered on your sitting form longer than necessary. Something thoughtful there now.
Something heavier than before.
“Don’t burn yourself out,” he said finally. “I won’t.”
A pause.
“I can’t.”
He nodded once. Then adjusted Umbreaker against his shoulder. “I’ll send Zanka back tomorrow,” he said. “Same time.” You inclined your head. “Good.” He turned toward the exit, then paused.
“For what it’s worth,” he said without looking back, “I’m glad it’s you in here.”
You didn’t answer. But you didn’t correct him either. The doors slid shut.
The bay was quiet again.
Still heavy.
But not questioned.
The Cleaner dinner was less a party and more a controlled containment of personalities.
Long folding tables. Industrial lighting softened by paper lanterns someone had clipped over the bulbs. The air thick with steam from hot food and the faint metallic smell that never fully left Headquarters.
You sat beside Semiu.
She had already finished eating. Of course she had. Her glasses hung from their beaded chain against her collar as she watched the room with the kind of focus most people only used during missions.
“You’re being watched,” she said calmly. You didn’t look up from your noodles. “By?”
She adjusted her glasses back onto her face, lenses catching the light as she subtly shifted her perception. “Pretty boy Enjin. Repeatedly.” That made you glance.
Across the room, Enjin stood near the drinks table, coat unzipped, tank visible beneath. Umbreaker rested against the wall beside him. He wasn’t laughing like the others. He was listening — but not fully present.
His gaze flicked back to you just as yours met his. He didn’t look away immediately. Though neither did you. Semiu hummed faintly. “Unresolved disagreement?”
“Resolved,” you said evenly. “Just not publicly.”
Before she could respond, movement approached from your right.
Zanka.
He stopped at the end of the table, posture straight, uniform immaculate even in this informal setting.
“Ms.T.”
Semiu’s eyes moved between you both but she said nothing. You gave a slight nod. “Nijiku.” He remained standing for a second longer than necessary, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“I spoke with Enjin.”
“I noticed.”
A small pause.
“I reviewed the drill footage afterward.” Semiu leaned back slightly, interested now. Zanka continued, voice low enough not to carry.
“You were correct.” You didn’t soften. He didn’t falter. “I adjusted in the moment because I was anticipating counters based on academy models. Not field behavior.” His jaw tightened slightly. “You were forcing response conditioning.”
“Yes.”
Another beat.
“I’ve watched what happens when Cleaners hesitate,” he added quietly. “But I have not… experienced it the way you have.”
There it was.
Not pity. Not apology.
Acknowledgment.
Your fingers stilled against your cup.
“I’ve killed people who thought restraint made them merciful, Honey,” you said calmly. “All it does is make them predictable.” Semiu’s gaze flicked to you briefly; that was new information even for her.
Zanka nodded once. “I understand.”
And this time, he did. He inclined his head, not as a subordinate, but as someone accepting correction. “I will correct it tomorrow.”
“You will,” you agreed.
He stepped back.
But before he left fully, his eyes flicked once toward Enjin. A quiet exchange passed between them from across the room, not words, but awareness. Zanka moved away. Enjin did not. He was looking at you differently now. Not defensive. Not challenging. Evaluating. Semiu followed the line of sight again smirking. “He didn’t expect that one, huh?”
“No,” you said. “He didn’t.”
A chair scraped softly across the floor. You turned slightly as someone took the open seat beside you.
Tamsy.
Even seated, he was tall. The oversized gray coat hung open, winged sleeves nearly swallowing his hands as he leaned back comfortably. The yellow Cleaner insignia caught the light when he moved. Up close, the scar over his right eye was more severe than most people realized. It cut down his face and disappeared beneath his collar. His eyes — pupil-less in rest — fixed on you with mild curiosity.
“Am I interrupting something serious?” he asked.
His voice was smooth, unbothered.
“Only professional recalibration,” you replied. “Ah.” He tilted his head slightly, long blond bun shifting, navy tassels brushing over his shoulders. “My favorite kind of dinner conversation.”
Semiu smirked faintly. “You’re late.”
“I was detained,” he said lightly. “Someone needed help locating their missing mask.” His coat shifted when he crossed one leg over the other, fabric falling open enough to reveal the white polo, navy tie slightly loosened. The silver labret beneath his mouth caught the overhead light when he smiled.
You felt it before you looked.
Enjin’s attention sharpened.
Tamsy rested his elbow against the table, winged sleeve sliding back just enough to reveal the missing pinky on his right hand as he reached for a glass.
“You train them too hard,” he said conversationally.
“Why's everyone tell’n me how to train today?” He studied you a second longer than necessary. There was nothing mocking in it. Just interested. “I’ve seen your field logs,” he added. “You don’t go easy.”
“No.”
His lips curved faintly. “That explains a lot.”
Across the room, Enjin shifted his weight. You didn’t look at him this time. You stayed angled toward Tamsy. Semiu noticed. Of course she did. “You’re making someone tense,” she said under her breath. “I’m having a conversation,” you replied evenly.
Tamsy’s gaze flicked briefly past you, just once, catching the direction of Enjin’s stare. When his attention returned to you, something amused flickered there. “Should I be concerned?” he asked quietly.
“About?”
“Being used to make a point.” Your expression didn’t change. “If I were making a point,” you said, “I'd be all up on Semiu right now.”
His smile deepened, subtle, but real.
“How fun.” Across the room, Enjin finally looked away first. But not before you felt the shift in him. You weren’t someone he could undermine publicly and correct privately. You didn’t bend. And you didn’t need him to validate it. The noise of the dinner swelled again around you. But every few minutes, without meaning to — His eyes found yours.
The alarm cut through the room, sharp and painfully loud. Front gate perimeter breach. Semiu didn’t flinch. She was already standing before the second pulse hit, glasses sliding back into place as her posture shifted from relaxed to operational in a breath. “Unscheduled visitors,” she said calmly.
A few Cleaners groaned. Someone muttered about ruined food. Enjin pushed off the wall. You stayed seated for half a second longer. Then you stood.
Semiu glanced at you as she adjusted her choker. “I have it,” she said. “I’m aware.” You rolled your shoulders once, slow, loosening.
“But im mad bored.”
That made her pause.
A faint smile ghosted across her mouth. “Try not to damage the entrance,” she replied. You moved toward the front corridor beside her. Behind you, chairs scraped. Of course they were following.
Cleaners were many things. Nosy being one of them.
The front entry hall lights flickered to full brightness as the outer reinforced gate rattled under impact. Shouting carried through the metal. Random Grounders. Multiple, armed, yelling some random shit about some misconduct. Semiu stopped ten paces from the inner threshold and activated her Vital Instrument.
The world shifted around her. Her yellow eyes sharpened, time fracturing into layered motion only she could perceive. Outside, six men. Guns. Poor formation. Too much noise.
“Amateurs,” she said softly. The inner gate rolled open.
The first man stumbled forward aggressively, weapon raised.
He didn’t see you move. You closed the distance before he finished inhaling. Your hand clamped around the barrel of the gun and wrenched it sideways. The shot fired, ricocheting harmlessly into reinforced concrete.
You drove your elbow into his throat.
He dropped.
The second attacker swung the butt of his rifle toward your head. You ducked, pivoted, and slammed your palm into his sternum with enough force to lift him off his feet before he hit the floor flat on his back, breath gone.
Behind you, someone let out a low whistle. You didn’t look. Semiu stepped forward next. To the observers, it looked effortless. To her, it was calculation. She weaved between two attackers before they even committed to their movements, striking precise nerve points, disarming one, flipping another with a controlled redirection of momentum. Efficient. Clean.
Three down.
One tried to retreat.
You caught him by the collar before he made two steps and swung him bodily into the metal support beam hard enough to dent it. The remaining two opened fire wildly.
You didn’t slow. You moved. Forward. Fast. Unpredictable.
A bullet grazed your sleeve, but your momentum didn’t falter. You slid low, swept one attacker’s legs out from under him, then rose into the second with a driving shoulder that sent him crashing into the exterior railing.
The gun clattered across the floor. Silence fell in under thirty seconds. Six men groaning, but no Cleaners injured.
You exhaled once and rolled your neck.
Behind you, the observing group had gone very quiet. Semiu deactivated her Vital Instrument, glasses dimming as time returned to normal flow. She looked at the scene.
Then at you.
“You overcommitted on the fourth,” she noted calmly.
“He was compensating left,” you replied.
“He wasn’t.”
You glanced at the unconscious body. A pause.
“…Noted.”
A few of the Cleaners laughed under their breath.
You turned toward the hallway, only to be met with Enjin standing at the front of the small crowd now. Watching you like he was recalculating something fundamental in that small head of his.
Umbreaker hung loose in his grip, but he hadn’t drawn it. He hadn’t needed to. Zanka stood slightly behind him, mouth hanging open.
And for the first time since you’d met him—
There was no academy polish in his expression.
Only some fucking understanding. You walked past them. “Formation was sloppy,” you said to no one in particular. “If they’d had discipline, two of you would’ve been hit watching.”
That snapped a few of the rookies straighter. You stopped in front of Zanka briefly. “Tomorrow’s drill,” you said evenly. “Now you’ve seen why.” His jaw tightened, not in offense.
In resolve.
“Yes.”
You moved again. When you reached Enjin, you didn’t stop.
But he spoke anyway. “You didn’t draw a weapon.”
You kept walking. “I didn’t need one.”
A beat. “You’re not a Giver.”
“No shit.”
That answer carried weight now. You reached the end of the corridor before turning slightly.
“The day you people stop underestimating support is the day I'm dead,” you added loudly, addressing the whole crowd. The words weren’t dramatic. They were factual. Then you left them standing there with the groaning intruders and dented steel.
Behind you, the silence stretched.
Zanka broke it first.“…That was pure physical output.”
Enjin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were still on the hallway you’d disappeared down. “Yeah, that's Ms.T for you,” he said quietly.
And for the first time that night—
There was no disagreement left in his voice.
Only respect.