Chapter Text
Chapter I
Year 853
The world had been irrevocably altered since the revelation, a seismic shift in the fabric of collective reality. Knowing that they were not the only inhabitants of humanity, that their entire existence had been a mere fraction of a greater whole, was, to a certain extent, cathartic.
After the initial shock and emotional numbness, it was to be expected that the situation within the Island would change drastically. Paradis was like a pot of water on the stove: steam swirled and a few bubbles of violence rose to the surface, which rippled from the intense heat, but the water seemed to hesitate and, as popular wisdom would have it, the pot watched and never came to a boil.
Once the Maria wall was recovered, the Reconnaissance Legion went from being a group of potential traitors to the most coveted squadron among the young cadets beginning their training. Enrollment numbers doubled, and it was even necessary to expand the small barracks that were intended for the limited number of suicidal individuals who chose to offer their lives for a selfless and cruel cause.
That morning, from the top of the gallery, Commander Hange Zoë and her right-hand man, Levi Ackerman, watched the training battles of the new recruits closely.
"Well? What do you think?" Hange asked without taking her eyes off the two boys in the center of the field.
Levi did not respond immediately, remaining silent, his expression deadly serious, impossible to read.
"They're pathetic, a complete disaster," he concluded bluntly. It was clear he wouldn't elaborate.
"Oh, come on, don't be so hard on them," said Hange in an amused tone, trying to lighten the mood.
"I have to be. Otherwise, they'll die as soon as they set foot outside the walls."
Hange sighed.
"We're not fighting Titans anymore."
"I know," Levi pointed out.
The Commander kept her eyes fixed on the combat. The boys danced around each other, waiting for the perfect moment, that opening to launch their attack and take down their opponent.
"Erwin would be happy to see what we've accomplished," she said with a sad smile.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, four-eyes, but he'd be disappointed," Levi said grimly.
Far from arguing, Hange remained silent and pressed his lips together. On days like this, it was best to listen to his partner's complaints and keep quiet, since there was no human power that could change his mind. This was a lost fight.
The young men moved without rhythm or purpose.
"Stop!" Levi shouted.
The jostling stopped.
He hurried down the wooden steps to the center of the field. The other cadets ligned quickly in two rows in front of him.
"This isn't a dance class," he sneered. "If you keep acting like idiots, you'll be dead the moment you cross the walls."
Terrified, the young men fell silent.
Levi was a meticulous trainer. He refused to teach them the flashy techniques used in fighting Titans until they had mastered the basics.
"All I've seen you do is roll around on the ground like morons. If I wanted to train animals, I'd be in a circus. Should I make a recommendation for you?"
The cadets lowered their eyes.
"That's what I thought," he muttered. "Ackerman!" he said in a commanding voice.
Amazed, the students turned their attention to the slender, enigmatic figure of the girl who was worth a hundred soldiers. The entire Survey Corps seemed obsessed with her. The Heroine, Mikasa Ackerman, was associated with every record in the military, a true exception.
Levi scanned the boys' faces until he found his next target. Without thinking twice, he hurried over to call Jean, who took three decisive steps forward.
"Show these brats what I'm talking about," he snapped.
Not quite sure what to do or say, Mikasa stood still.
"Didn't you hear me? Or do I need to repeat myself?" Levi snapped at her.
Mikasa frowned.
"I heard you loud and clear," she replied.
"Then what are you standing here like idiots?"
Mikasa's steely gaze wavered from her captain's furious face to Jean's confused and fearful expression.
It wasn't the first or last time the two had been immersed in the torturous training sessions of the strongest soldier in humanity. Combat was an ordeal that shattered the spirit and exhausted the soul.
"It's okay, Mikasa, it's just a demonstration," Jean said, as if he could read her mind.
"You heard Kirstein. Now get in the center or you'll spend three months cleaning toilets twice a day," he warned.
Mikasa limped toward the designated spot. Nothing sounded less appealing than turning around and walking away. She had needed to summon all her courage to stand in front of Jean, not knowing whether she should attack or not.
The main reason for her nervousness had nothing to do with the combat exhibition. She had faced and defeated titans with the simple, elegant movements of her sword. However, aware of her superhuman strength, what truly terrified her was the slim chance that everything could go wrong.
The rest of the cadets had formed a circle around them. Mikasa was too angry with Levi to notice their glances. She only had eyes for Jean, who began to move around her, stepping forward and backward in quick, calculated movements.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to concentrate, and with little effort, she elegantly dodged the first attack. Jean launched a combination of quick, precise strikes, but Mikasa moved with almost supernatural fluidity, anticipating his every move. A right hook was aimed at her face; she leaned back, avoiding the impact by a narrow margin. Another blow, this time from the left, grazed her ear as Mikasa spun on her heels.
But then, an unexpected fist came toward her cheek. Mikasa didn't have time to dodge it completely, and the blow landed, sending a sharp pain through her face. The impact was more of a blow to her pride than to her body. Her gaze met Jean's, who froze on the spot. His expression reflected a mixture of regret and surprise.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt.
Levi, who was watching the fight with critical eyes, wasted no time in intervening.
"Ackerman, stop playing around!" he shouted with an authority that brooked no argument.
The captain's words fell like a bucket of cold water on her. Jean's apology vanished from her mind and determination took its place. She adopted a more aggressive stance and advanced toward him with. Her first blow was straight to the stomach, a quick and lethal move. Jean barely had time to raise his arms in defense, but it wasn't enough.
Soon the fight intensified. Jean, recovering quickly, countered with a series of kicks and punches. Mikasa blocked and dodged with almost mechanical precision, her muscles working in perfect harmony with her fighting instinct. However, Jean Kirstein was far from giving up. In a destabilizing move, he managed to catch Mikasa with a sweep, knocking her to the ground.
The sand crunched under her weight as she fell, and in an instant, Jean was on top of her, trying to pin her down. The pressure on her joint was intense. The rules of combat were clear: fight to incapacitate for ten seconds or to the first drop of blood. In the blink of an eye, with a quick twist and a cry of effort, Mikasa managed to break free. In the process, her elbow connected with something hard, which cracked instantly.
Jean let out an unnatural growl and brought his hand to his face, groaning.
The entire field fell silent as everyone alternated their gaze between them.
Frightened, Mikasa got back to her feet and Jean stepped back, blood trickling between his fingers. His eyes, filled with pain and confusion, met hers again.
"Oh, shit," she muttered nervously. Clumsily, she managed to stand up. "Oh, shit, shit, shit," she repeated over and over. "Jean, I..."
When she tried to take a step forward, he recoiled reflexively.
"I-I didn't mean to," she stammered.
Mikasa knew perfectly well that a fatal scenario could unfold before her eyes in a matter of seconds. In the past, she had fought other comrades, defeating them in the blink of an eye without breaking a sweat. However, right now she felt that luck was not on Jean's side that day and that, due to cruel twists of fate, Levi had chosen him as the sacrificial victim.
"For Ymir!" he growled. "I think it's broken."
Levi pushed his way through the shocked students, his expression as unflinching as ever. Mikasa, still shaken, turned to Jean, guilt clouding her gaze.
"I'm so sorry," she apologized, mortified.
In an attempt to stop the blood flowing from his nose, Jean pressed both nostrils at the same time, raising a bloody hand in a gesture of acceptance or warning.
"It's no big deal," Levi interjected indifferently. "I've seen worse. Take your hand away, Kirstein, let me check it out."
Jean looked at his captain suspiciously but nodded, revealing his face stained with a grotesque crimson color. Levi scrutinized the affected area.
"I think it's broken," Jean muttered. "Am I right?" he asked, his voice tense with pain.
"It's hard to tell because I'm not a doctor, but you're probably right," Levi replied, with a grimace that could be interpreted as a smile.
Jean let out another curse, a mixture of frustration and agony.
"I should go to Hange," he said, clenching his teeth.
Levi shook his head, his expression stern.
"No, if you want to keep your nose intact."
Now Jean looked genuinely horrified.
Levi stood up straight and looked at his cadets.
"Get back to your training. The show is over."
The boys who had been watching with a mixture of fascination and concern immediately dispersed, resuming their routines with renewed focus. Mikasa, still feeling the weight of guilt, stood still, watching Jean with concern.
Jean looked scared, his hazel eyes betraying a fear he was trying to hide with bravery. Mikasa couldn't have felt more mortified. Guilt and concern mingled in her heart, creating a lump in her throat.
Levi let out a sigh.
"I'll walk you to the infirmary," he said.
Before Jean could respond, Mikasa stepped forward.
"No, I'll do it," she muttered. "It's my fault, I have to make sure he's okay."
The captain shook his head.
"It's not necessary, Mikasa. You've done enough for today. Get back to your duties," he ordered, making it clear that there was no room for objections.
Mikasa lowered her gaze, shame and guilt settling on her shoulders, but she nodded slowly. She knew that arguing with her superior would not change anything, and deep down she understood that he was right. With one last worried glance at Jean, she turned and headed back to her training post.
With a hollow feeling in her chest, she watched them walk away, heading toward the other side of the field. Jean's figure grew smaller and smaller as they receded into the distance.
The sound of her teammates' combat filled the air, a mixture of shouts, blows, and the clanging of weapons. But to her, everything seemed muffled, as if she were underwater, distant and unimportant. The world around her continued on its course, but she felt disconnected, lost in her own thoughts.
Every movement on the field seemed like a stark reminder of what had just happened. The precious blows, the elegant dodges, everything reminded her of the moment she had failed to r restrain her strength. The memory of Jean's frightened face and Levi's disapproving gaze haunted her.
Mikasa clenched her fists, feeling the hardness of her own bones against her skin. She knew she had to focus. But at that moment, the emotional pain was sharper than any physical wound.
With one last glance in the direction Jean and Levi had disappeared, Mikasa took a deep breath of the freezing air. She forced herself back to reality; she couldn't afford to be distracted any longer.
She paced back and forth like a caged beast, unable to tear herself away completely. The minutes passed slowly, each one stretching out in her mind as she bit her thumbnail, a nervous habit she rarely let herself indulge in. Her footsteps marked an almost hypnotic pattern on the floor.
As Levi had said earlier, they had all suffered worse things on the other side of the walls in their battle against the Titans. Wounds, pain, blood, and death were part of their daily reality. However, Mikasa deeply hated the idea of hurting her fellow , those with whom she shared her life and fought side by side. She was aware of her abilities and superior strength, and that awareness only added to her guilt.
As she walked, memories of the training session kept replaying in her mind. She could see the exact moment when her elbow had connected with Jean's nose, feel the resistance of his body against the ground, hear the crack that had followed. Every detail was etched in her memory, a reminder of her mistake.
Finally, the infirmary door opened, and Jean appeared.
Tired, he massaged his neck as he let out a sigh. Surprise spread across his face when he saw her there, waiting for him. She looked at him too, noticing the bloodstains on his shirt, as well as on his chin and neck.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Mikasa felt a lump in her throat, but managed to hide it with a sigh.
"I wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay," she replied sincerely. "What did the doctor say?" she wanted to know, unable to hide the anxiety in her voice.
"It's not broken," he replied, "but it took a while to stop the bleeding to determine that."
A momentary feeling of genuine relief washed over her, and she felt some of the weight on her shoulders lift. The tension in her body began to ease, although the remorse still lingered.
"I... I'm so sorry," she said.
When she lifted her face, she noticed that Jean was avoiding looking at her. The awkwardness in the air was palpable, and Mikasa, nervous, felt the need to clear things up.
"I didn't mean to do it, you know that, right?"
"Yes, I know," he replied, but there was a note of distance in his voice that did not go unnoticed.
"I'm so sorry," she repeated.
"Mikasa, please stop," he asked, his face wearing a mask of exasperation and exhaustion. "You've been saying the same thing since the fight ended." His voice was firm but not cruel.
She looked him straight in the eyes and swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She had the impression that Jean was upset with her, and she really believed it.
"Jean, really, I..." she tried to explain.
He raised a hand to interrupt her.
Realizing he had been a little harsh, he cleared his throat, searching for the right words. However, far from apologizing, he opted for a more practical solution.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go change."
Jean's blunt attitude took her by surprise. Although the relationship between the two was based simply on the camaraderie that years of living together had conferred, Mikasa now realized that this view was nothing more than a crude illusion.
"Yes, of course," she replied, trying to hide her unease.
Jean walked past her without looking at her. She didn't exist, she was abolished, and that was punishment. She followed him with her eyes, watching him walk away, his figure darkened by the light filtering through the windows.
Without showing any attempt to look back, Jean simply continued on his way, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway, uneasy and with much to think about.
The feeling of emptiness in her chest mixed with confusion and worry. Jean's words had been clear, but his tone and behavior left her wondering if he was really okay with what had happened. Mikasa blamed herself, and that made her angry.
As she looked around, the hallway seemed longer and lonelier. Mikasa knew she had to find a way to reconcile not only with Jean, but also with herself.
…
That same night, as they sat in the dining room, the atmosphere was charged with a slight, almost imperceptible tension that dissolved amid the murmur of conversation and the clinking of cutlery. Connie, with a mischievous smile, commented that he had heard Mikasa had kicked his butt. The light from the lamps flickered gently, creating dancing shadows, but Jean, impassive, did not flinch. He chewed his food slowly, focused on his plate while maintaining a deliberate silence.
Receiving no response, Connie became even more animated.
"So it's true," he said, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. He turned her gaze to Mikasa, who remained stoic, her expression unreadable. "I'm not surprised," Connie continued in a joking tone. "She kicked everyone's butt. She'd even kick Captain Levi's butt."
Jean looked up from his plate, glaring at Connie with a warning and weary look.
"Watch what you say," he snapped.
He didn't want his friend to get into trouble, especially with someone like his captain.
Far from feeling intimidated, Connie smiled and let out a light laugh. He picked up his spoon and began to eat, his carefree and cheerful attitude contrasting with the seriousness of the situation.
Mikasa looked away from the boys and focused on her own plate, where the food remained almost untouched.
"Are you going to eat that?" Sasha asked with her mouth full.
The black-haired girl looked at her calmly, blinking a couple of times as if processing the request before responding.
"No, go ahead."
Without further ado, Sasha took the bread. She began to devour it with a speed that stunned everyone around her.
Mikasa fell into a thoughtful silence, her gaze lost somewhere far beyond the walls of the dining room.
Connie's laughter filled the room again, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jean get up from his seat, taking his tray with him.
"You're always quiet, but today you're particularly serious," Sasha pointed out. "Did something happen with Armin and Eren?" she asked.
Sasha's question made her frown, shifting her attention from Jean to her friend.
"No, why? Do you know something about it?"
Sasha gave her a reassuring smile.
"I was just guessing," she shrugged.
Mikasa tightened her lips and looked away from her friend, turning her attention to the objects scattered on the table, finding refuge in the everyday nature of the utensils and plates.
The scene from that afternoon in the infirmary hallway played over and over in her mind, like an endless loop that knew no fatigue. Every gesture Jean had made, every word, every glance exchanged, all contributed to fueling her thoughts and reflections. Jean's attitude had been clear, his words cutting like a sword, his response uncompromising. All of this led her to painful introspection, forcing her to face the reality of her relationship with him.
For years, ever since their time as cadets, she had felt the distance and resentment in the way Jean treated her. She had been aware that much of that animosity was rooted in the bond she shared with Eren, a bond that Jean did not fully understand and which, to a certain extent, he considered obsessive. With her direct nature and brutal honesty, she made her feelings clear, unafraid of the consequences.
However, amid that frankness, Mikasa couldn't help but notice a visible discrepancy in the way he interacted with others and the way he addressed her. There was something more than mere distrust or resentment in their interactions, something deeper and more complicated that escaped her understanding. And as she continued to mull over these thoughts, the murmur of the dining room and the clinking of cutlery seemed to fade away.
"What did you say?" Mikasa asked, blinking wildly at the sound of Sasha's voice.
"I said, a penny for your thoughts," Sasha repeated.
Mikasa didn't answer right away. Instead, she wondered whether or not she should express what she was feeling at that moment. Besides, she and Jean were good friends, and the last thing she wanted was to cause more trouble between them.
However, Sasha was the only one who could give her an accurate perspective on the situation, and like Jean, she wouldn't dare lie to her just to tell her what she wanted to hear, although Mikasa wasn't sure she could handle the truth.
"Do you think he hates me?" she blurted out.
Confused, Sasha raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
"Jean."
Sasha fell silent.
"Well?" Mikasa asked insistently.
"What?"
"What do you think about it?"
"I..." She swallowed. "I'm sorry, I never imagined you'd be interested in that kind of thing."
"Why not?"
"To be honest, all you think about is Eren," she shrugged, a little embarrassed.
The blush rose unstoppably up her neck.
"T-that's not true," she blushed, her cheeks turning red and her tongue tying itself in knots. "I'm interested in you and the others too, it's just that... with Eren, I can be more... open," she finished awkwardly. Too awkward.
Sasha sighed.
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," she smiled.
Mikasa mimicked the gesture.
"What makes you think that?" she asked.
"After the incident in training, I've been thinking about it and I've come to a conclusion."
"Which is...?"
"I'm sure Jean doesn't like me," she replied.
She stared at the table, too embarrassed to meet her friend's inquisitive gaze.
"You're imagining things, and it's just tormenting you," she said, pointing at her with her fork. "I can assure you that Jean doesn't hate you. He's just offended. You kicked his butt in front of the younger cadets, and that hurt his ego."
Mikasa wasn't entirely convinced.
"Nothing like that has ever happened before," she protested.
"It's more common than you think. Jean can act like a spoiled little boy from time to time."
"If that's the case... What should I do?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate.
"Give it time, it'll pass."
Mikasa began to play nervously with her hands, her fingers intertwining and entwining as her thoughts raced.
"What will happen if it doesn't pass?" she asked.
Sasha looked at her with an understanding expression and replied frankly:
"Then your doubt will be resolved."
Although her words were sincere, they didn't completely dispel Mikasa's uneasiness. Noticing her worried expression, Sasha placed a comforting hand on hers.
"Don't look so mortified," she said softly. "It was an accident, okay? Besides, I'm sure Jean could never hate you."
Mikasa frowned at that statement.
"How can you be so sure?" she asked, her eyes searching for a hint of certainty on Sasha's face.
She smiled with a warmth that was meant to be reassuring.
"I know him," she said with conviction. "Jean isn't like that. He can be rough and direct, but he doesn't hold hatred in his heart. Things will work out, you just have to give him space."
Mikasa nodded slowly, absorbing Sasha's words. Although her concerns hadn't completely vanished, her friend's certainty offered her a glimmer of comfort. The weight of Sasha's hand on hers conveyed support, like an anchor in the middle of the ocean, reminding her that she was not alone. And as the din of the dining hall continued around her, Mikasa felt a small spark of hope blossom inside her.
Mikasa entered Hange's office and stood in the middle of the room.
Although it wasn't the first time she had been summoned to the Commander's office, she couldn't help but notice the changes that had taken place since Hange's appointment. The walls were the same color, and the shelves were lined with dusty books stacked halfway up.
In the center of the room stood a desk with hundreds of papers on its surface, covered with letters she couldn't decipher from where she stood at the entrance.
Beyond the mountains of papers and accounting books, Hange waited. Noticing her presence, he looked up from his papers and gave her a welcoming smile.
"Mikasa, thank you for coming."
"Captain Levi mentioned that you wanted to see me," she replied.
Hange nodded, apologizing with another tight smile.
"I'm sorry to have taken you away from your duties."
"No problem," she replied, showing her willingness to help.
With most of the Titans terrorizing the island defeated, the Legion's work had been reduced to training, studying, and preparing for future attacks. Now, with her new rank of Commander, Hange not only had to look after the well-being of her subordinates, but also meddle in the kingdom's political affairs and the delicate negotiations that the high command held behind closed doors.
It didn't take a genius to realize that she hated it, but there was no other option. Erwin had given her the position shortly before he died, and the other members of the Queen's Council agreed with the decision, even though it terrified her.
"Could you help me take this pile of papers to Jean?" she said, pointing to the tall, messy stack on the desk. "He's in the library."
Mikasa looked at the tall pile of documents.
That explained Jean's absence from the training camp that morning.
"Yes, of course."
Carefully, she picked up the pile, making sure to keep her balance so they wouldn't fall. Hange thanked her with a smile as she left the office, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.
The library wasn't far away, and as she walked, Mikasa thought about Sasha's words. Maybe this would be an opportunity to talk to Jean, to try to clear things up between them. When she reached the door, she braced herself mentally, took a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside.
She stood in the doorway, watching the scene in front of her. Jean was standing beneath the windows, where the old, tattered curtains swayed in the wind's rhythm. His face was illuminated by the dim evening light, which cast orange and red halos as it hit the glass. He was surrounded by more documents, and near where he stood lay a steaming cup of tea. The place smelled of ink and old paper.
Mikasa approached slowly, noticing other details as she got closer. She noticed the way Jean frowned whenever he concentrated on something, his fingers stained with ink and the sleeves of his shirt slightly rolled up to his elbows.
If Jean had noticed her presence, he didn't let on. Mikasa cleared her throat slightly to get his attention. Jean looked up from the paper and gazed at her for a moment.
"Hange sent these. Where can I put them?"
Jean glanced around, pointing to the desk with a slight gesture.
"Anywhere is fine."
Mikasa obeyed, carefully placing the mountain of papers on the worn wooden surface. She glanced at what he was doing and noticed that it was a meticulous inventory of documents belonging to the office of former commander Erwin Smith.
"Do you need help with anything?"
Jean did nothing to stop her from staying, but his body language said it all: "I want to be alone."
"No, I'm fine," he replied, not paying much attention and sounding distracted.
Hearing that, Mikasa opened her lips to confront him directly, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it formed.
She had thought it was her imagination, but she was right: there was a harshness in Jean's treatment of her lately. He seemed determined to upset her whenever he could.
"Are you really?" she asked.
He looked away, but this time only for a second or less, and when he looked back at Mikasa, she thought she detected a hint of irritation. Had her tone sounded condescending? She looked back at Jean's eyes, speckled with orange and green. He spoke in a perfectly pleasant voice.
"Yes, everything's great. Why do you ask?"
"Well," Mikasa replied, "I have the impression that something is wrong between us."
He wasn't offended. She was reading too much into things, and she was the one who was nervous and upset with herself.
Jean's brow quickly furrowed.
"No, nothing's wrong," he said, but there was a note in his voice that suggested there was more behind his words.
Jean held her gaze with the same defiant look she was giving him.
"Are you sure you don't need help?" The courage escaped her lungs, and she closed her eyes against the inquisitive green gaze upon her.
"Yes, I am. You can leave if you wish. Perhaps Hange has more tasks for you."
Mikasa nodded, accepting his answer. Although she wanted to do more to repair any rift between them, she knew she couldn't force the situation.
"All right," she conceded. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know."
"Sure," he murmured.
With a bad taste in her mouth and a strange feeling settling in her chest, Mikasa headed for the door. As she reached the threshold, she glanced back over her shoulder, watching Jean bent over his papers, the evening light bathing his figure in a golden glow. She had tried to open a channel of communication, but she couldn't help feeling that there was something else that remained unsaid.
Deciding it was time to leave, she turned around and walked out of the library. As she walked down the hallway, her thoughts swirled in her mind. The bitter conversation, the lingering doubts, and the discomfort of not having completely resolved the issues between them all mixed together in an internal storm.
When he reached the end of the hallway, he paused for a moment. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Mikasa realized that throughout the week she had felt strange and seen things in a strange way, as if everything were already in the distant past, heightened by posthumous ironies she didn't quite grasp.
Tired from training, Mikasa massaged her stiff muscles, letting out a sigh before heading to the armory. Her fingers felt numb and her arm ached after spending a couple of hours in the same position, practicing shooting. As she walked, she reflected on how exhausting the day had been and wondered if all that effort would really be worth it in the future.
Most of the boys had left for the day, but he wasn't surprised to find a group of young cadets gathered inside. However, he decided to ignore them. He began putting everything away, and that's when he overheard their conversation.
"What's up with Cressida?" one of them asked.
"Don't be fooled, I bet she's just a slut like the women in the underworld, they're all the same," said another with a certain disdain.
"She wouldn't bother me," replied the first. "I'd kill a hundred titans to get my hands on her."
They all let out a mocking laugh.
Mikasa felt a mixture of anger and revulsion, but decided not to intervene, remembering how important it was to keep calm and focus on her own business.
With that thought in mind, she set about counting the bullets she had used. It would only take a few seconds to write down the number before she dashed off toward the barracks.
"Would the girl worth a hundred soldiers be interested in going out with me?" one of them ventured to ask.
She heard the muffled laughter and whispers of the other two boys behind her. They must have been first-years.
"I'm not interested," she replied without looking at him.
Before he could reply, she heard the door open and saw Jean enter. The two looked at each other for a brief moment, but just as they had been doing for the past few days, they ignored each other's presence and continued with their work.
He took off his vest, while Jean began to follow the same routine.
The young cadet wasn't going to give up and continued to insist. He moved closer and, with an elegant smile, blurted out:
"It must be exhausting to keep up that impeccable soldier facade for so long," he murmured. "Come on, there's nothing wrong with letting loose once in a while. I can show you the fun side of the district, I promise you'll have a good time," he said confidently, playing with the ends of his scarf.
Mikasa glanced at him, her expression unchanging. She knew that responding to his provocations would only encourage his behavior, so she decided to ignore him. She walked past him, ready to leave as soon as possible.
"You're a stuck-up bitch," the boy spat out with all the bitterness he could muster in every word. "You think you're better than all of us? I was just being nice. You're just horrible. A man would have to be extremely desperate to fall in love with you," he continued relentlessly.
Everyone was looking at her now.
Her ears were ringing, drowning out the cadet's words. She felt so small, as if she were about to crumble into dust.
"Don't cry," she told herself. "Please, don't cry." Her eyes throbbed from the pressure of holding back tears.
She swallowed hard, feeling her heart beating wildly and a lump in her throat. She wasn't one of the prettiest girls in the Legion, and she had always found it difficult to relate to others. Every time she compared herself to the other young women, a pang of insecurity pierced her.
She knew that everyone saw her as nothing more than a tool, a living weapon. Eren praised her for her strength, but there were also moments when she could see the glimmer of disdain in his eyes. But could anyone really fall in love with her? It was a question she had never wanted to ask herself, or at least that's what she tried to pretend.
The boy's words hit her deep inside, a place she had tried to ignore for so long. She looked around at the other spectators. What did they see in her? A companion, a threat, or simply a means to an end?
She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Jean, his eyes moist with sympathy, but he said nothing.
Now she felt betrayed. Was he just going to stand there and watch?
The laughter rang out behind her like knives in her ears.
"They need to be put in their place every now and then," said the boy, mockingly and contemptuously. "Maybe someday someone will manage to get the stick out of her ass."
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
She turned around.
He looked her in the eyes and smiled smugly.
Mikasa took two steps toward the boy and, with a fluid movement that even he couldn't predict, subdued him, pinning him to the ground. She locked her knee into his spine and grabbed one of his arms. Without caring, she pulled hard, making him scream in pain.
Her companions tensed, considering intervening, but a single glance from her kept them at bay. The message was clear: don't get involved.
"Please, let me go!" he begged, desperate.
Something cracked sickeningly. The boy's eyes popped out of their sockets.
Turning a deaf ear to his pleas and far from feeling sorry for him, she pulled harder. Soon the pleas were replaced by cries of agony, the sobs echoing in the air.
Before he could continue, she felt an arm wrap around her waist and pull her away with a sudden jerk. Jean separated her with an impressive display of strength, leaving him with no choice but to struggle.
"Let me go," she ordered.
"Enough," he said in a low but firm voice. "That's enough."
Annoyed, she began to struggle with Jean. Breaking free would be easy; after all, she was the strongest soldier in the Legion. Her tense muscles fought against her comrade's firm grip in a pathetic attempt to free herself.
"This is none of your business," she insisted.
Why was he interfering now?
As if he could read her mind, Jean replied,
"I'm preventing something worse from happening."
The other boys rushed to help their comrade. They both helped him to his feet.
"You're a monster!" he shouted, tears streaming down his face.
The accusation hit her like a punch in the gut. Another one. She clenched her jaw, her eyes burning.
"Let me go," she demanded again of Jean.
He hesitated for a moment, but his grip loosened slightly.
"Mikasa, you don't have to..."
"Let me go!" she repeated, her voice breaking.
Finally, Jean gave in and released her.
Mikasa quickly passed by him, not bothering to look at him. Anger and shame mingled inside her.
Jean watched her, worried, hurt. He wanted to say something, to stop her, but the words stuck in his throat.
The office was submerged in an oppressive silence, the kind that drowned words and made breathing a burden. The dim light from the single candle cast long shadows on the walls, flickering slightly as if the flame itself were nervous. Hange leaned over her desk, interlacing her fingers, her gaze fixed on Mikasa. She had never seen her like this before: defiant, yet fragile.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she asked cautiously.
Mikasa stood in the center of the room, her posture rigid and her silver gaze lost. She seemed to be studying the worn floorboards, tracing the lines and cracks with a distant focus. Her silence was not a refusal, but a fortress, built hastily and desperately.
Hange sighed.
"You're not like this, Mikasa. We're not here to punish you, but I need to understand."
"Don't be proud, Ackerman," said Levi, who was lying next to the commander with his arms crossed. He had no patience for a gentle approach. His eyes were sharp, and his voice cut through the air like the sharp blade of a sword. "You'd better talk or you'll be suspended."
The woman's shoulders tensed, and a flicker of emotion crossed her face. She swallowed hard, her throat visibly strained before she spoke.
"It was nothing," she murmured, her tone barely above a whisper.
"Nothing?" repeated the captain incredulously and irritably. "The boy ended up with a broken nose and a dislocated arm."
"Levi," Hange called reproachfully. When he turned to her, she softened her voice, though the underlying steel remained. "What I mean is, it's strange that you attacked him. It's not in your nature to act that way."
Mikasa's silence was an abyss, deep and impenetrable. Every second that passed felt like an hour.
She was too ashamed to repeat exactly what the cadet had said to her. The more she thought about it, the faster her despair crystallized into rage.
"Mikasa, please. I'm trying to help you. But I can't do that if you won't talk to me."
She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her knuckles white from the force she was exerting. She seemed to be fighting an internal battle, the words pressing against her lips, desperate to escape but held back by an invisible force. The memory of the incident replayed in her mind like a relentless loop, each repetition more vivid and painful than the last.
She could still feel the rush of blood in her ears, the wave of uncontrollable rage that had driven her to lash out at him. The crack of bone, the cry of agony, the sickening thud as she hit the floor. It was all too clear, too real. She felt ashamed of herself for allowing the words to affect her, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry in front of her superiors, nor was she going to allow them to feel sorry for her.
With a gloomy expression, Hange closed her one eye and said:
"In that case, I have no choice but to suspend you while we conduct our investigation. You will be removed from your daily duties and assigned to other tasks."
Mikasa nodded, a silent, resigned acceptance. She looked at her captain for a second.
"Can I go now?" she asked.
"Of course," the commander admitted.
Ready to leave, she took a deliberate, controlled step, but before she reached the door, a loud bang echoed through the room.
Hange frowned.
"Come in."
The door flew open, revealing two guards flanking a disheveled Jean Kirstein.
Without quite knowing why, Mikasa felt her heart lurch violently in her chest as a lump began to form in her throat.
Jean's face was bruised and he had a cut above his eyebrow that was still bleeding. His honey-colored eyes locked for a split second with the black-haired girl's silver gaze, and a myriad of unspoken words passed between them.
"What happened?" Hange asked urgently, realizing the situation.
One of the guards stepped forward, his posture as rigid as the expression on his face.
"There was an altercation in the barracks. Apparently, Cadet Kirstein got into a fight with three of his comrades," he explained.
Tired, Hange massaged the bridge of her nose, letting out a sigh.
"What's wrong with everyone today?" she muttered, more to herself than to the others in the office.
"Bring him in," Levi ordered, assessing the situation. "Ackerman, it's time to go," he snapped.
She nodded reflexively. Before leaving, she paused for a moment longer at Jean's side. As she passed him, their shoulders almost brushing, she swallowed hard.
…
Mikasa didn't leave.
Instead, she remained in the dark hallway, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her scarf, a nervous habit she couldn't control. It had been an hour since Jean entered the office, and the murmur of voices from inside had become a constant background noise. Time stretched out, and every second that passed only served to increase her intrigue and anxiety.
Unable to stand any longer, she curled up on the floor, leaning her back against the cold wall. She listened intently, every sound in the hallway amplified by the silence that surrounded her. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of worries and assumptions. Seeing Jean in that state only served to destroy her already damaged nerves.
Suddenly, the door creaked open and she tensed like a bowstring; she raised her head so quickly that, with a little more force, she would have been suffering from whiplash.
She noticed Hange's voice saying goodbye to Jean and wishing him a good rest, and after a few seconds, the person she was looking for materialized in front of her, under the doorway, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hallway.
She stood up awkwardly, her legs feeling numb. Their eyes met the moment Jean took a step forward. There was something in his eyes, weariness from the time he had spent in the office and surprise at seeing her there, waiting.
They both stared at each other, neither saying anything at first. The silence between them was thick, suffocating.
Ashamed, Jean broke eye contact, looking away as if searching for the right words. She felt the lump in her throat again, but before she could speak, he whispered, almost inaudibly:
Jean cleared his throat.
"I thought you'd left already. Were you here the whole time?"
Mikasa nodded, her face remaining stoic, but there was a glint of reproach in her eyes. He scratched the back of his neck, a sign of discomfort, and let out a sigh that seemed to carry with it all the tension that had built up over the last few days.
"You shouldn't have gotten yourself into trouble for me," she reproached him, though there was underlying concern. "I handled the situation perfectly, you didn't need to get involved."
He didn't respond immediately, instead weighing his words before answering. The hallway felt narrower with his presence.
"I'm not a damsel in distress," she added, reaffirming a fundamental truth about herself.
"I know."
Mikasa frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Then why did you do it?"
Jean looked away from her face and stared at the floor, like a child whose mother had just scolded him for not rising to the occasion.
"Because I didn't act the way I should have when that idiot insulted you," he finally admitted. "I was a coward."
The confession hung in the air.
"I think I owe you an apology," he added.
Mikasa frowned, slightly surprised.
"Why?"
"I acted like a real idiot. I was resentful and my ego was hurt by what happened in training. That made you think I hated you, and the truth is, I don't. I... I..."
He stopped; his cheeks turned red, visible even in the dim light. Mikasa looked at him, but he was staring at some spot on the floor.
"I-I like you," he finally managed to say, shrugging his shoulders.
Mikasa felt frustrated. Her face and hands were burning, and she felt as if she were connected to him in some microscopic way.
However, that shy facade didn't last long, and before she could say anything about it, he stepped forward.
"I think you're amazing, Mikasa. I was just jealous."
She blinked once, twice, three times, trying to process what she had just heard. The confusion was evident on her face, and her mind was working overtime to understand the strange dynamic between the two of them.
Now it was her turn to look down at her lap, nodding to herself.
"I'm sorry if my attitude led you to imagine things. I didn't mean to," he finished apologizing, expressing his thoughts with all the sincerity he could muster, the same sincerity he had cowardly avoided in recent days.
"Thank you for being honest with me," she mumbled.
Finally, the weight on her shoulders disappeared.
Jean didn't hate her, quite the opposite.
"I would never lie to you, would I?" he smiled.
Mikasa mimicked the gesture, a shy smile mirroring his. The hallway no longer felt so oppressive.
After a few seconds, he broke the silence with a sigh.
"Maybe it's time to go back to the barracks," he suggested.
They both started walking side by side, their footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor. The closeness was comforting.
"What did you say to Hange?" she asked suddenly.
Jean looked ahead, his expression calm.
"Just the truth. Why didn't you do it?"
Mikasa shrugged, a slight expression of indifference on her face.
"It wasn't worth it."
He stopped suddenly. Mikasa turned to him, confused.
"You may be the strongest soldier in our entire generation, but there's nothing wrong with asking for help. It's okay to be vulnerable sometimes. We all are."
She fell silent.
She had forgotten the last time she had asked for help. Probably before her parents died, or maybe it was when she arrived at the Jaeger home. The truth was, she couldn't say for sure. Life had forced her to grow up and mature in leaps and bounds. Mikasa Ackerman was not the type of person to ask for help. On the contrary, she was the girl others turned to when things got tough.
What Jean had just said challenged the image she had always had of herself.
He gave her one last look.
"Good night, Mikasa," he said goodbye.
"Good night, Jean."
From where she stood, she watched him rush into his room, the door closing gently behind him. She stood there for a moment, listening to the faint echo of his footsteps fade into the silence of the hallway.
She let out a deep sigh, turned on her heels and began walking back to her dormitory. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, but she had a new clarity about them and a sense that something had changed between them.
To be continued