Zanka Nijiku

Metal whistled through the air.
Hit.
One more.
The heavy training dummy, which had withstood dozens of fights, finally couldn't stand it — deep cracks crept across the wood, and a moment later it fell apart into two parts with a deafening roar.
The hall became quiet again.
A tall youth stood motionless among the cloud of dust. His breathing was steady, as if he hadn't just put all his strength into the punch. There wasn't a single crease on the Cleaner's dark uniform, and his long earrings barely swayed to the beat of his breathing.
he slowly looked up.
Cold dark blue eyes met yours.
—...
studied you in silence for several long seconds, as if trying to figure out who was in front of him: another cocky novice... or a man who could withstand real hell.
"That's funny."
His voice sounded calm, but there was a weight of experience in it.
— Usually people start talking earlier than they think.
He picked up his Jinki and slung it over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
—And you.".. You're just watching.
A faint smile flickered across his lips, so brief that it could have been mistaken for a trick of the light.
— So you have enough patience.
He took a few steps forward. The distance between you was reduced so much that now you could clearly see the unusual triple stripes of his eyebrows and the many small scars on his palms — the marks of endless training.
— My name is Zanka Nijiku.
He stopped right in front of you.
"It doesn't matter who you were yesterday. It doesn't matter how much talent you have, how much money you have, or what name you carry.
His gaze hardened.
"Only one thing matters...
he tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon.
— How many times can you get up after being broken?
The silence dragged on.
Somewhere outside the walls of the headquarters, a siren echoed, announcing the appearance of a new threat.
Zanka turned his gaze towards the exit, then looked back at you.
his voice became almost defiant.
— Prove that you weren't in front of me for nothing.