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ŕ§[â]_01.2026 áľáľ â Ë
âÍ ââŚWords; 1,1k.
âÍ ââŚContent; You are slowly losing your will to continue.
âÍ ââŚCharacter: Zanka; Enji (Mentioned).
âÍ ââŚWarning; Ooc(?).
â°â⤠âŚRue's note: This is more of a character study than anything;; I'm sorry in advance if Zanka or Enji is ooc.
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You don't know when it start. When everything start to feel more like a chore than a choice. When you no longer want to wake up to life, when you start to stay with death.
Zanka doesnât notice it at first, not in a clean, definable way. Itâs more like something going slightly off rhythm and refusing to come back in place. He doesnât understand it, and it irritates him. And because this is Zanka Nijiku, he responds the only way he knows how.
Pressure.
So when he sees them start pushing harder, training longer, forcing themselves past the point where the body should stopâhe doesnât question it. Because thatâs exactly what he would do, what he did do, the logic is simple: if something is missing, you compensate with effort, you close the gap with force, you donât sit still and wait for it to come back. So he watches them closely during that phase, waiting for the moment they push back.
And for a while he almost respects itâthe way they grind themselves down without complaint, the way they donât slack even for a second. It looks right on the surface, it follows the same rule he lives by, but thereâs a difference he canât ignore, because no matter how hard they push, thereâs no sharpness behind it. No tension or resistance, just repetition.
Thatâs where the confusion starts to settle in, sharp and uncomfortable, because effort without reaction doesnât fit into anything he knows how to deal with. Itâs inefficient, itâs wrong, but he doesnât say anything yet. He just matches them, increases the pressure, assumes theyâll snap back into place if pushed far enough, because thatâs whatâs supposed to happen.
But it doesnât.
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And the shift into the second phase is worse, not because they stop, but because they adjust.
They start giving themselves space, not out of laziness but out of calculationâlike theyâve already realized brute force isnât fixing anything. So they try something else: pacing themselves, stepping back just enough to breathe. They going out more, connect more, prioritize themselves more. They still training, still showing up, still doing everything theyâre supposed to do. Just without that edge of self-destruction. Like they've accept the limits instead of tryinbg to break through.
And that acceptance irritates him.
Zanka doesnât accept limits like that, not internal ones, so his frustration starts leaking through in small ways: shorter responses, harsher corrections, testing them mid-training with unnecessary pressure just to see if theyâll react, if thereâs anything left that resists being pushed. But they donât. They adapt too easily, and that ease feels wrong.
It feels like theyâve already decided something he hasnât been told, and he canât stand not knowing what it is. Because if thereâs a rule here, a reason why this is happeningâhe needs to understand it.
Because if they fight him, even a little, that means something is still there. But again, they donât. They adapt, they respond, they improve, but they donât resist. They don't fucking fight.
So it builds, slowly, until it spills over in a way thatâs rare for him, not explosive, just directly aimed at the one person he thinks might actually have an answer, so at some point, after watching one too many âperfectâ runs that feel completely hollow, he goes to Enji.
âTheyâre doing everything right. So why is it not working.â and thereâs something off in the way he says it.
Not doubt exactly, but tension, confusion. Like heâs asking about them and himself at the same time and refusing to acknowledge it. Because if the answer is "They just canât reach it right now.â it doesn't break anythingâbut it doesn't sit clearly either. It doesnât give him a mechanism, a way to act, something to push against. It just⌠requires waiting. And thatâs what frustrates him. Still, he doesnât reject it. Because itâs Enji. And Enji isnât the type to ignore realityâif he says itâs still there, then it means thereâs something left to reach. Zanka doesnât understand howâbut he accepts that much, and holds onto it, even if it leaves him with nothing immediate to do.
It's not gone.
Oh but spare him.
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Then come the last phrase, the one that unsettles him in a way he canât ignore anymore, because they go back to pushing hard againâbut itâs not the same, not even close.
The structure is there, the intensity is there, they train their body, refine their thinking, optimize their decisions, they become more efficient, more controlled, arguably even more competent. But the core is gone, their effort is completely detached from outcome. Theyâre not trying to âget it backâ anymore, theyâre just⌠continuing. Like a system that keeps running after the purpose has been removed.
When Enji steps in, Zanka doesnât focus on what he says, not really, he already knows the shape of itâsteady, grounded, an opening instead of an answerâbut what matters is what happens next, because this is the variable Zanka didnât have before, the point where things should split, where this version of him should diverge from that path.
And for a moment, it almost does.
They listen.
Thereâs no rejection, no hostility, just that same quiet attention Zanka himself wouldâve given, like theyâre weighing it properly, like part of them still understands exactly whatâs being offered, and thatâs the part that hits hardest, because it means this isnât ignorance nor blindness, they see the way out being handed to them. And for a split second, thereâs something thereâsomething that almost looks like it could turn, like it could catchâbut it doesnât.
They just donât take it.
Not because they donât want to. But because they already know how it ends.
Because itâs not refusal out of fear, not resistance, not even hopelessness in the usual senseâitâs acceptance, the kind that comes after trying every possible way out and finding none of them worked, the kind that doesnât argue anymore because it already reached its conclusion.
Zanka feels something in his chest tighten at that, sharper than before, because thereâs no argument to break, just certainty. The kind that comes from trying every possible way forward and finding that none of them changed anything, and thatâs when it stops being about them and starts turning inward whether he wants it to or not.
Because he recognizes it.
Not just the state or the pattern but the exact endpoint. That quiet, functioning emptiness. That continuation without expectation. That ability to keep moving while already having let go of where it leads. Because to them, itâs already too lateâand for the first time, Zanka canât tell if the difference between them is something that can be bridged⌠or something that only exists because he never reached that point to begin with.
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