Chapter Text
If you were to ask someone who was the first person to land on the moon, they would indubitably know the answer. If you were to ask someone who was the second, they would stutter and stammer. Surely, knowing the first was enough.
It is the same here, at Hell Guard's Academy.
If you were to ask someone who was the top student in Kamuatari District's very own Hell Guards’ Academy, they would always, always, answer Zanka. They pay no mind to the one who was always second-best, who was always one move away from having victory. They pay no attention to you, the one working just the same amount, but the one who always ended up on the sidelines.
It was quite ironic, you thought.
Your family's jewelry and heirlooms had all been golden, and they had always said gold was your color.
So why is it that you were always the silver medalist?
And as that dirty-blond haired boy walked up on that stage you had always dreamt of walking on, you made a promise to yourself.
I will never, ever, be caught—
“—so all I wanted to say is, hardwork will always pay off. So don’t ever worry about—”
—trying too hard.
The golden medal around his neck was glistening. He shone in it. He basked in its glory.
As you touch your own medal, its damned silver color reflecting the world around you, you wondered if its strap was long enough to hang—
“.. Now let’s also give a round of applause for everyone, for making it through the semester!"
A beat.
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A second beat.
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And it erupts.
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Hardwork, huh?
Said by the person who’s always been on top. By the person who always seemed to do it effortlessly.
It was not fair.
He’s a genius, and you’re just.. you.
How come all of your hardwork never paid off?
Zanka had probably made that speech without you in his mind. He's only looked at you, what, maybe once or twice? You don't even think he knows your name. Why did you care anyway? It's not as if you work hard to be seen by anyone. To be seen by Zanka, of all people.
It’s just not fair.
________________________
Weeks of pleading could never convince them.
"There are better schools," you had claimed.
"But the Hell Guards' Academy trains your discipline more," your parents had reasoned, "You have gone there for an entire year, why not keep going til you become an official Hellguard? It’d be a waste if you just stopped a quarter through your studies. That Nijiku boy is there, he will be such a great influence on you.”
When your parents heard of the Nijiku’s youngest prodigy’s decision to enroll in Hell Guard’s Academy (as if it was surprising that the younger brother of the Squad One’s first and second-in-lead would train to be a Hell Guard himself), they immediately sent you there. Perhaps they thought that sending you to the same school as him would motivate you to be even better. They don't know that his very presence drains your previously passionate fire to achieve. Because whatever you do, he was always better in some way.
Now, just the same as when you were both eleven and driven for success in that wretched primary academy, Zanka was still the first choice here.
Of course, you made sure to follow your resolution. For the past year, you tried just hard enough to maintain your position of second, but not hard enough to gain first. It's always been this way. You have never tried to change it.
Change has always been uncomfortable, anyway.
At least, that is what you thought as you saw the boy—who has been your rival for eight years—in a chokehold by a mere transfer student.
On that day, twenty-nine clean cuts echoed through the training grounds. But noone ever expected there to be a thirtieth, because he never lost.
Zanka, the spectacular prodigy, never lost.
Until this day.
You see your classmates moving in shock, as Zanka slowly tries to regain his composure. Whispers and discussion could be heard, but they are quick to expell any thought about them being the inferior ones. They all just say, "Her style is too sloppy. She caught me off balance, is all."
And maybe you shouldn't have insulted them in your mind, because you almost thought that too. You forgot your own promise, didn't you? You never wanted to try too hard anymore. It doesn’t matter if someone better than you finally takes your place as the prodigy’s rival.
And no, your promise was not born because of fear of failure, or perhaps the fear of never fulfilling your potential. It's just tiring and draining, to try so hard all the time, to reap, but not sow.
Zanka's different though, because of course he is. He has always been different. He always shone brighter than anyone else. In your eyes, he was the blinding sun who overshadowed all other orbital objects. He needed not the small stars in the sky, as he was the giant star itself.
(Unfortunately for you, you were the small star that could only play a background role. The star that burns out fast. The star that died long, long ago. The star that noone pays attention to, not even their kin—the biggest star in the galaxy, the sun—does.)
He never grew tired of trying. You know he always works hard behind the scenes; when the curtains are still closed and the audience has not yet come. All so that he may be the best leading actor on the stage.
Zanka laughs it off—and gosh, that laugh sounds so fake you wish you could rip off his throat and take it apart to hear his real, authentic laugh, because a sun that bright must have a laugh equally as radiant, and he must not waste that—and says he needs to train more.
You envy the way he treats his loss with such elegance, no matter if that elegance was faux. What matters is what they all see.
You see his back slowly but steadily leave the grounds. It's funny how that never changes. His back will always be all that you see, because you are always chasing after him. Some things never change, and no matter how much you hated change you wish your fate as second-best would turn on its heels and change. But change is uncomfortable, isn't it, Zanka? Maybe now he can finally get a taste of his own medicine, the feeling of inferiority he bestows upon everyone else within his vicinity.
There is something weird, though, about the way Zanka walks it off.