The first sensation was rough wool scratching against a cheek far too smooth to be my own. The second was the dull, rhythmic thudding ache behind my eyes, a headache born of confusion rather than any familiar indulgence. The third was the smell – stale sweat, damp wood, and something metallic, like old blood faintly lingering in the air.
This wasn't my room. My room smelled faintly of vanilla air freshener and the lingering scent of instant ramen. My bed was soft, piled high with Eren Jaeger plushies and fanart posters plastered above my headboard. This… this was a hard, unforgiving bunk bed in what looked like a communal barracks. Rows upon rows of identical beds stretched out in the dim morning light filtering through high, barred windows.
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed its way up my throat. Where was I? Had I been kidnapped? Did some weird convention prank go horribly wrong?
I tried to sit up, and the movement felt… wrong. Too fluid, too strong. My limbs, usually prone to tripping over air, responded with an effortless grace I'd only ever dreamed of. My hands, when I brought them up to rub my aching head, were calloused but slender, fingers long and capable. Not my own slightly chubby, nail-bitten ones.
A lock of hair fell across my vision. It was black. Impossibly, raven black. My hair was a mousy brown.
My breath hitched. No. No no no no no.
Scrambling off the bunk with that alien agility, I looked around wildly. Uniforms lay folded neatly on footlockers. Plain, practical, military-style. Tan trousers, white shirts, brown jackets with… with an insignia. Wings. One blue, one white. The emblem of the—
"Oi, Mikasa! You finally awake?"
The voice cut through my spiralling panic. I whipped my head around. Standing a few bunks down, already half-dressed, was a boy with startlingly turquoise eyes and messy brown hair. He looked younger than I remembered from the screen, sharper edges, less world-weariness, but unmistakably…
Eren. Eren Jaeger.
My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the cage of bone. It felt like it might actually burst. He was real. Right there. Breathing. Annoyed, apparently.
And he had called me… Mikasa.
A cold dread washed over me, even colder than the initial panic. I stumbled backwards, needing support, and my hand landed on the rough wooden bunk frame. Mikasa Ackerman. The prodigy. The Ackerman. Eren's devoted shadow.
And the woman who, in that epilogue that still made my blood boil, moved on. Had a child. With Jean. Less than a handful of years after Eren sacrificed everything for them, for her.
Bile rose in my throat. I wasn't just in Attack on Titan. I was her. The ultimate betrayal, embodied. The thought was so repulsive, so fundamentally wrong, that I almost gagged.
"Mikasa? What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost." Eren took a step closer, concern flickering briefly in those intense eyes before morphing back into impatience. "Come on, we'll be late for Shadis if you don't hurry."
Shadis. Keith Shadis. Training Corps. Oh god, it was that day. The first day. Year 847.
My mind raced, a torrent of future knowledge crashing against the rocks of present reality. The fall of Shiganshina was three years ago for them. For me, it was a story consumed, analyzed, obsessed over. Eren's burning desire for vengeance, Armin's quiet intelligence, Mikasa's… clingy, stoic devotion that ultimately wasn't enough.
Wasn't enough? A new, fierce thought cut through the nausea. She wasn't enough. She failed him in the end. Settling for domestic bliss with Jean Kirschtein of all people? Horse-face? The guy who couldn't hold a candle to Eren's passion, his drive, his everything? The disrespect was staggering. Waiting barely three years… it was practically dancing on Eren's grave.
But I was here now. Inside Mikasa's body. This incredibly capable, Ackerman-powered body.
This wasn't a nightmare. This was… an opportunity.
A fierce, possessive protectiveness surged through me, so potent it almost knocked me off my feet. My Eren. He was right here. Young, vulnerable beneath the anger, unaware of the horrors awaiting him, the betrayals, the crushing weight of the future.
I could protect him. I could be the support he truly needed. Not the stoic, emotionally constipated Mikasa who couldn't properly articulate her feelings until it was too late. Not the Mikasa who settled for second best.
I would be the Mikasa Eren deserved. The perfect partner. The unwavering shield. The one who would never let him down, never leave his side, and certainly never replace him with someone as utterly mediocre as Jean.
The thought of Jean sent another wave of revulsion through me. Just imagining his face made my (Mikasa's) fists clench. I'd have to see him today. Interact with him. Pretend not to loathe his very existence.
"Mikasa!" Eren snapped, louder this time, jolting me back. "Seriously, snap out of it!"
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself in this unfamiliar body. I forced the disgust down, replacing it with grim determination. I glanced at Eren, trying to replicate the calm, slightly vacant look Mikasa usually wore, though inside my fangirl heart was doing frantic somersaults.
"Sorry, Eren," I said, testing the voice. It came out quiet, melodic, but strong. Mikasa's voice. "Just… didn't sleep well."
He grunted, seemingly accepting the flimsy excuse. "Whatever. Just get dressed. Armin's already waiting."
Armin. My gaze softened slightly. Sweet, brilliant Armin. Eren's best friend. He was crucial. Protecting Eren meant protecting Armin too. They were a package deal. My mission priorities: Eren first, Armin a close second. Everyone else? Irrelevant, unless they actively threatened Eren.
I turned towards the footlocker, my movements still feeling slightly detached, like piloting a highly advanced mech suit. The uniform felt rough but sturdy. As I pulled on the shirt, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a nearby windowpane, distorted but undeniable. Black hair framing a pale, angular face. Grey eyes, calm and deep, currently wide with suppressed turmoil. The red scarf wasn't there – she didn't wear it constantly during training, only sometimes. But the potential was there.
Okay, I told myself, pulling the straps of the harness tight, the leather cool against my skin. Okay. I'm Mikasa Ackerman now. Stage one: Survive Shadis. Stage two: Ensure Eren Jaeger never, ever has cause to doubt my absolute devotion. Stage three: Keep Jean Kirschtein as far away from me and Eren as humanly possible.
A small, almost predatory smile touched lips that weren't mine. This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was about correction. About ensuring the ending Eren deserved. With me – the true Mikasa – by his side. Forever.
Let the training begin.