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The day before they were to ride into hell, the mess hall of the Scout Regiment was a symphony of chaos. It was loud, stuffy, and smelled of stale bread, cheap stew, and the nervous sweat of soldiers trying desperately to pretend they weren't terrified. Shouts and boisterous laughter echoed off the high stone ceilings, a fragile shield against the grim reality that awaited them beyond the walls. For many in this room, this would be their last meal.
At a table near the back, tucked away from the worst of the noise, Akira was trying, and failing, to enjoy a moment of peace. Every time he brought a spoonful of stew to his lips, he could feel dozens of eyes on him. Whispers followed him like a shadow: "That's him... the Titan of Light..." , "I heard he can destroy a wall with one punch..." , "He looks... normal." It was exhausting. He wasn't a legend; he was just a guy trying to eat his dinner.
Across from him, Erin shoveled food into her mouth with a grim determination, while Armin tried to reason with her. "Erin, if you eat that fast, you're going to be sick on your horse tomorrow."
The brown-haired girl swallowed a massive mouthful before replying, "Better to be full and sick than hungry and dead, Armin."
Mikasa, sitting silently beside Akira, her blue scarf a familiar comfort, simply shook her head at her friend's antics.
Suddenly, their relative quiet was shattered.
"Oi, Nakamura!"
Jean strode up to their table, slamming his hands down with a loud bang that made the cutlery jump. Connie and a few other recruits followed him like a pack of hyenas.
"Jean, what the hell do you want?" Erin grumbled, her mouth still half-full.
The boy, Jean, ignored her completely, his eyes locked on Akira. "I heard you're not our instructor anymore. Out there," he said, hooking a thumb towards the window and the world beyond, "we're equals. Comrades." He puffed out his chest. "So, I was thinking. How about a little friendly competition? To see who the real top dog of the 104th is."
Akira didn't even look up. He just kept slowly eating his stew. "Not interested."
"Afraid you'll lose?" Jean taunted, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "Let's make it interesting. An arm-wrestling match. Right here, right now. If I win," he paused for dramatic effect, shooting a glance at Mikasa, "maybe some people will finally see who the strongest soldier around here really is."
Connie whistled. "Ooooh, he's pulling out the big guns!"
Akira let out a long, weary sigh. The sigh of a man who had fought gods and monsters and was now being challenged by an overconfident child. Without a word, he set his spoon down, wiped his mouth, and placed his right elbow on the rough wooden table. He didn't flex. He didn't even make eye contact. He just opened his hand, a silent invitation.
Jean's grin widened. This was it. He rolled up his sleeve, made a show of cracking his knuckles, and gripped Akira's hand. The entire mess hall had gone quiet, a circle of onlookers forming around their table.
"Ready when you are," Akira said, his voice flat and bored. He took another bite of his stew with his free hand.
"You're going down!" Jean grunted. He leaned in, putting his entire body weight into it. His muscles bulged, veins popped on his forehead, and his face turned a deep shade of crimson. He strained, he grunted, he pushed with every ounce of strength he possessed.
Akira's arm didn't move a single millimeter. He chewed his food slowly, swallowed, and then, with a slight, almost imperceptible twitch of his wrist—
BANG!
Jean's hand slammed onto the table so hard the wood splintered. The force of it sent him stumbling backward, his eyes wide with shock and his arm trembling.
For a second, there was dead silence. Then, the entire mess hall erupted. Erin let out a shriek of laughter so loud she nearly choked, falling off her bench and pounding the floor. Connie was howling, holding his stomach. Even Armin had a wide, disbelieving grin on his face.
Akira simply picked his spoon back up. "Anyone else?" he asked the room at large. No one took the offer. He glanced over at Mikasa, who was trying to hide her face behind her scarf, but he could see the corners of her lips twitching upwards in a rare, secret smile. That, at least, made the whole stupid display worth it.
---
The fiery orange and deep purple of twilight bled across the sky as Akira escaped the suffocating noise of the castle. He found his way to a secluded training yard, the air cool and still. He wasn't alone.
In the center of the yard, a lone figure moved with a lethal grace that was both beautiful and terrifying. A blonde-haired girl, her blue eyes focused and cold, spun and kicked, her movements a perfect, deadly dance. Each strike was precise, powerful, and aimed at an invisible enemy.
He didn't try to hide his approach. The crunch of his boots on the gravel was enough of a warning.
She stopped mid-kick, landing as silently as a cat, and turned to face him. Her face was a mask of indifference, but he could feel the sudden tension in her Ki, a sharp spike of alarm. She knew he was there to do more than just watch her train.
"Annie," he said, his voice calm, but heavy with the weight of their shared secret.
She just stared at him, her hands loosely held in a familiar fighting stance.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he began, his tone quiet, intimate. "We both know what's coming tomorrow." He took a step closer, his blue eyes piercing through her defenses. "You still have a choice, Annie. You don't have to do this."
The air crackled. Her carefully constructed mask didn't shatter; it hardened into something sharp and dangerous. Her reaction wasn't shock. It was the fury of a caged animal being reminded of its bars.
"A choice?" she hissed, her voice a low, venomous whisper. "You talk about 'choice' like it's something everyone has. You don't know a damn thing about me, or what I have to do." Her fighting stance tightened, her body coiling like a spring, ready to lash out. "Don't push me, Nakamura. I won't hesitate to silence you for good."
He saw the fear behind her threat. The desperation. He knew attacking her or arguing with her would be pointless. So he did something that threw her completely off balance.
He ignored the threat entirely. He stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate, and gently adjusted her stance with a light touch to her shoulder. "You're putting too much weight on your back foot when you pivot," he said, his voice the even tone of a teacher, not an accuser. "It leaves you open for a sweep. Keep your center of gravity lower."
It was a genuine piece of advice. An act of kindness in the face of her murderous intent. And to her, it felt like a dagger twisting in her gut. He was helping her. He was treating her like a comrade, a friend, even as they both acknowledged the terrible truth of her impending betrayal.
She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. She just stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, guilt, and a terrifying, unfamiliar warmth. After a long, agonizing moment, she simply turned and walked away, her movements stiff and robotic, disappearing into the growing shadows without another word.
Akira watched her go, a profound sadness settling in his heart. He had offered her a choice. And she had refused to take it.
---
Later, he found the special group he had taken under his wing on the main training grounds. The sun had set, and the field was lit by the warm, flickering glow of torches.
"Alright," he called out, his voice snapping with an authority that made them all stand a little straighter. "One last session before the big day."
He turned to the most skilled of his students. "Mikasa. Attack me. Everything you've got. Don't hold back."
She nodded, her expression serious. She drew her blades, the steel singing as it left the scabbards. In a blink, she was on him, a whirlwind of deadly, graceful motion. She was a storm of flashing steel, her attacks coming from all angles, each one aimed to kill.
Akira stood in the center of it all, his eyes closed.
He didn't move like a fighter. He moved like a leaf in the wind. He swayed, he ducked, he weaved, his body a blur of motion. Her blades sliced through the air where he had been a microsecond before. He wasn't just dodging; he was flowing around her, anticipating every thrust, every slash, through the ripples in her Ki. With a final, fluid movement, he stepped inside her guard, his hands gently closing around her wrists. Her blades clattered to the ground.
"Your power is incredible, Mikasa," he said softly, his eyes opening. "But your control is what makes you truly dangerous. Never forget that."
He let her go and turned to the next student. "Erin. Your turn."
The brown-haired girl looked nervous, her green eyes wide. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to get angry," Akira said simply. "Think about the Titans. Think about the day the wall fell. Channel all of that hate, all of that rage, and fire it at that dummy over there."
Erin's face hardened. She took a deep breath, her hands clenching into fists. A faint, chaotic aura began to swirl around her. With a raw scream, she thrust her hands forward. A massive, uncontrolled wave of energy erupted from her, not a beam, but a violent explosion that obliterated the training dummy and tore a huge, smoking crater into the ground behind it.
She stood there, panting, shocked by the sheer destructive force.
"See?" Akira said, walking to her side. "Power without control. Your anger is a forest fire, Erin. It burns everything in its path, including you." He looked her in the eyes, his own gaze calm and steady. "But your will, your heart... that's a cool, clear river. You don't have to put the fire out. You just have to guide it. Steer it."
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Close your eyes. Forget the anger. Feel my Ki. It's calm. It's focused. Now, feel your own. Find the river inside the fire. Aim it."
She took a shaky breath, her eyes squeezed shut. She focused, channeling not the rage, but the determination beneath it. She opened her eyes, thrust her hand forward again, and this time, a thin, precise, brilliant beam of light shot out, piercing the very center of a new target fifty yards away with a sharp hiss.
She stared at her hand, then at the perfectly centered hole, her mouth agape. A slow, wondrous smile spread across her face. "I... I did it."
Akira returned her smile, his own filled with a genuine pride that made her heart flutter. "I know," he said. "I never doubted you for a second."
---
The moon was a silver sliver in a sea of endless stars. The night was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Akira's soul. He sat on the stone ledge of the castle's battlements, staring out into the darkness beyond the walls, the weight of his secrets and his promises pressing down on him.
He heard the soft crunch of boots on stone behind him but didn't turn. He knew who it was. The faint scent of soap and steel, and the quiet strength that always seemed to surround her.
Mikasa came to stand beside him, her blue scarf a comforting splash of color in the monochrome night. She didn't speak for a long time, just stood there, sharing the silence with him.
"You're troubled," she finally said, not as a question, but as a statement.
He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his light blue hair. "Erwin... he gave me my orders for the expedition." He couldn't tell her the details, but he could share the weight. "It's a difficult role, Mikasa. He's asking me to... hold back."
She was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the dark horizon. "I know what's really bothering you," she said, her voice soft but certain. "It's not the fear that you will die. It's the fear that we will, and you won't be there to stop it."
He turned to look at her, surprised by her insight. She knew him so well.
"You've spent your whole life being a shield, Akira," she continued, her dark eyes meeting his in the soft moonlight. "You think you have to carry the weight of the world on your own. But you don't. Not anymore."
She took a step closer, her hand gently taking his. Her touch was warm, grounding. "Look at me. Look at Erin, Armin... all of us. We are not the helpless children you saved anymore. We are soldiers. We are your soldiers. You trained us. You made us stronger. Now you have to have faith in that strength."
Her words hit him harder than any Titan's punch. Faith. It always came back to faith. He looked at their joined hands, then back at her earnest, beautiful face. He saw the girl he had saved all those years ago, and the strong woman she had become. He saw his family.
A slow smile spread across his face, a genuine one that reached his eyes and eased the tension in his shoulders. He squeezed her hand. "You're right."
He stood up and, without another word, pulled her into a gentle hug. He rested his chin on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. He felt her arms wrap tightly around his waist, holding on as if he were an anchor in a storm. For the first time all day, the crushing weight on his chest lifted, replaced by a fragile, tentative hope.
They stood there for a long time, under the vast, starry sky, two scarred survivors finding strength in each other, on the eve of a battle that would change everything.
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•To Be Continue•
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