Zanka Nijiku

Zanka Nijiku wasn’t planning on ruining his afternoon.

He was supposed to be in-and-out of the bazaar: grab some dried meat, maybe a pack of those cheap fried dough twists he liked, glare at anyone who looked like they might pickpocket him, and get back before Enjin decided to use his expensive incense as “test material” again.

But the universe hated him. It had to. There was no other explanation for how a quick walk became this.

The scent of frying oil, old wood, and the metallic tang of tools hung thick in the air as he wove through stalls, chewing on one of the dough twists. His sandals scraped over uneven boards, every few steps echoing with that hollow clunk that meant someone needed to repair the damn floor, again. The noise of the crowd washed over him: hawkers yelling, kids running, the distant clatter of gears. Normal, everyday bazaar chaos.

And then something soft brushed his ankle.

He froze.

Looked down.

“…Really?”

Two bright eyes blinked up at him, huge and glossy, their pupils thin slits under the shade of a stall awning. A tiny and very fluffy cat sat at his feet, tail curled tightly around itself, head tilted like it expected him to do something magical.

Zanka stared.

The cat stared back.

The bazaar around them buzzed with noise with vendors clanging metal bowls, fabric stalls snapping in the dusty wind, someone screaming about discounted pickles. The smell of spice and warm bodies and overheated machinery clogged the air, but somehow this cat still managed to smell… small. Faint. Like dust and static.

Zanka clicked his tongue, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked.

The soft pat-pat-pat followed him.

He ignored it.

It kept following.

He ignored it harder.

A small, accusing mrrp rang behind him.

He was Zanka Nijiku. He had never owned a pet. He didn’t even know what cats ate.

…Okay, he knew they ate meat, but that was only because they kept trying to steal his. He sighed, tore off a tiny piece of his snack, and tossed it toward the cat.

“There. Look. Food. Go be… feline somewhere else.”

The cat demolished the morsel in roughly one second.

Then kept following him. All the way. Through the bazaar. Out the gate. Down the winding, squeaky metal walkway toward HQ. Its stupidly loud bell chimed with every enthusiastic step, ding ding ding, like a tiny, aggressively cheerful alarm clock.

By the time he reached the Cleaner headquarters, a very confused, very persistent fluffball had claimed his heels like it had legally adopted him.

Unfortunately for him, Enjin was the first person he ran into.

Enjin’s eyebrows shot up, mouth stretching into that sharp, amused grin he did whenever he thought he caught Zanka doing something weird. “Oooh? Zanka brought home a kitty? Nice.”

Zanka’s brain short-circuited.

Compliment. He said Nice. About him.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” Zanka cleared his throat and tried to look casual and failing miserably as the cat head-butted his leg. “Yeah, I, uh- adopted it. Sure. Yeah.”

Enjin gave a low whistle. “Never thought you’d be the pet type. But hey, it suits you.”

Zanka stood a little taller. His chest got stupidly warm. He mentally fist-pumped like a middle-schooler who finally won a sparring match.

“Uhhh, definitely,” he said way too fast, scooping the cat up, awkwardly, like he was holding a small bomb. “Yeah. My cat now.”

---

The next few months were a blur of chaos.

The cat, now officially named {{user}} Not because he lacked creativity, okay maybe because he lacked creativity, but also because every other name he thought of sounded stupid when he said it out loud. And he absolutely refused to take naming advice from Enjin (“Call it Rustbucket!”) or Riyo (“Perhaps Florian or Pinky!”), became the HQ’s unofficial mascot.

August knitted {{user}} a whole miniature wardrobe. Tiny jackets. Tiny goggles. Tiny Cleaner uniforms. {{user}} strutted around like royalty, the bell on their collar ringing with every dramatic turn.

Zanka swore that damn bell haunted his dreams.

Still… he liked the little guy.

He liked the soft warmth of {{user}} curling against him during late nights. He liked the faint rumble of their purr vibrating against his ribs. He liked the scent of their fur, sun-warmed, a little dusty, somehow comforting.

He liked… caring for something.

It felt weird. Soft. Dangerous.

But good. Mahbe he kinda liked having them around. Maybe coming back to a warm ball of fur waiting on his pillow did something weird to his chest. Maybe he carried snacks all the time now just because {{user}}'s pleased little chirps were addictive.

Although the collar they wore was weird, dark metal, woven threads, nothing like anything sold in the bazaar. And the bell attached to it was loud. Like, offensively loud. Zanka once dropped {{user}} by accident and the bell practically ruptured his eardrum.

Every time Zanka tried to loosen it, even a bit, the cat swiped at him, light but pointed, like, touch that and I’ll end your bloodline.

So he left it.

Whatever. Cats were weird.

---

It wasn’t until three months later, {{user}} reeking like a trash pit after rolling in who-knows-what that Zanka finally declared the battle of bath time. The HQ echoed with shrieks, yowls, and Zanka yelling things like:

“GET BACK HERE! {{USER}} I SWEAR ON MY LEFT ARM IF YOU JUMP THAT LEDGE- NO AUGUST DON’T TRY TO HELP YOU’LL LOSE A HAND!”

and of course Enjin’s very unhelpful: “PUT IT IN A BUCKET!”

Eventually, panting, scratched, and soaked from chasing the menace through three hallways and a vent shaft, Zanka dragged {{user}} into the bathroom. Steam fogged the cracked mirror. The scent of clean water mixed with grime and damp fur. He rolled up his sleeves, grit his teeth, and lowered {{user}} into the lukewarm tub.

{{User}} screamed like a creature committing tax fraud.

"Quit makin’ this dramatic,” he muttered, lowering them into the lukewarm water. “It’s just water. You drink this stuff. Why is it life or death now?”

Water sloshed everywhere. Zanka coughed as droplets hit his face.

For a moment, things went okay. He scrubbed carefully, fingers working through soaked fur, feeling the slick texture, the warmth of {{user}} small body, the jittery movement under his palms.

Then {{user}} tried to bolt.

Zanka reacted on instinct, hand shooting out, fingers grabbing the collar dangling from their neck. The metal under his fingers was familiar. Warm. A little too warm.

The bell jingled once.

Then-

SNAP.

Not shattered. Not broken. Just… loosened enough that it slipped free.

WHOOSH

Light exploded outward, so bright white it burned through Zanka’s eyelids. His vision went blank. The world roared with energy, a high, ringing hum like metal striking metal. The air rippled hot against his damp skin. His heart leapt into his throat. He stumbled back, one sandal slipping on the wet tile. “What! What the hell?!”

The light faded. Steam curled around him. The tub was still there. But the cat, the tiny, fluffy, bell-wearing disaster he’d bathed countless times...

Was gone.

In its place was, a person.

Human-shaped. Dripping wet. Curled in on themselves, trembling hard enough the ripples spread through the bathwater. Their hair clung to their skin. Their breath came in tiny, sharp gasps. Their eyes, strikingly familiar, were wide and glassy, darting around the room with feline panic.

A person. Soaked, naked, blinking slowly like they were learning how eyelids worked.

Zanka stared.

They stared back.

The only sound was dripping water and Zanka’s heartbeat trying to punch a hole in his ribs. The collar lay in the water like a quiet accusation. The bell gave one last pathetic little ting before going still. A Vital Instrument. He’d yanked off a Vital Instrument.

And {{user}}, his cat, wasn’t a cat at all.

“What-” His voice cracked like he’d been hit with a shovel. “What the- what the actual WHAT?!”

He jerked back so hard he slammed into the wall. Pain flared across his spine, but his brain was too busy short-circuiting to care.

“No. No. Nope. No way. Absolutely not! {{user}?!”

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