The rest of Shadis's 'welcome' was a blur of bellowed insults and terrifying pronouncements about the hell we had willingly signed up for. He painted a grim picture of shattered bodies and meaningless deaths, designed to weed out the faint of heart. Several recruits looked ready to bolt, their faces pale and slick with sweat. Not Eren. He stood rigid, absorbing every threat, his knuckles white. It only seemed to fuel the furnace inside him. Armin trembled slightly beside me, but his eyes held a spark of stubborn resolve.
My own reaction was strangely detached. Intellectually, I knew the danger was real, far more real than any anime could convey. But the Ackerman body felt… capable. Grounded. And my focus wasn't on Shadis's words, but on the boy standing beside me. Every warning Shadis issued only solidified my purpose: keep Eren safe. Be his shield. Be the strength he could rely on when his own fire threatened to consume him.
Finally, Shadis dismissed us with a roar, ordering us to gather for the aptitude assessment. The tension broke, and a wave of nervous chatter filled the air as recruits scurried towards the testing area.
"He's… intense," Armin murmured, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.
"He's trying to scare us," Eren growled, though his voice lacked its earlier explosive anger, replaced by a simmering determination. "Good. Anyone who runs now wouldn't have lasted anyway."
"We won't run," I said, my voice quiet but firm. I looked directly at Eren, pouring all my conviction into the gaze. "We'll face it together."
Eren met my eyes, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it settled back into his usual focused intensity. He gave a curt nod. "Yeah. Together."
My heart leaped. He acknowledged it. A small victory, but significant. The original Mikasa might have said something similar, but I meant it on a level she couldn't comprehend. I meant forever.
As we walked towards the large wooden structures housing the balance simulators, my eyes inevitably found Jean again. He was swaggering slightly, laughing with Connie and Sasha (who looked considerably less traumatized now that the potato incident was over). He caught my eye again and offered a hopeful grin. I turned away instantly, my lip curling in disgust. Pathetic. He clearly hadn't gotten the message. Or maybe he thought my earlier coldness was some kind of playing hard-to-get? The arrogance!
The instructors began explaining the first test: maintaining balance while suspended in the harnesses that simulated the Omnidirectional Mobility Gear. It tested core strength, equilibrium, and the innate spatial awareness needed to operate the complex machinery. Failure meant being reassigned, likely to garrison duty or, worse, manual labor clearing farmland. For Eren, it would be devastating.
I watched as recruit after recruit was strapped in. Some managed shaky stability, others flailed wildly before collapsing upside down in ignominy. My gaze sharpened when Eren stepped up. I knew what was coming. I knew about the faulty belt. But knowing didn't stop the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.
He looked confident as they strapped him in, his usual determination etched onto his features. The winch hoisted him into the air. For a split second, he held it. Then, catastrophically, he flipped, head rushing towards the ground before the harness caught him, leaving him dangling upside down, disoriented and furious.
Laughter erupted from some corners of the crowd, Jean's voice annoyingly prominent among them. "Looks like someone's eager to kiss the ground!"
A protective rage surged through me, so fierce I almost broke ranks. How dare they laugh? How dare HE laugh? Eren's face was flushed red with humiliation and anger. He demanded another try, insisting he could do it.
"Eren..." Armin whispered beside me, his voice tight with worry.
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay put. Interfering now would draw unwanted attention. Shadis hadn't intervened yet. I had to trust the timeline, trust that Eren would find a way, just like he did originally. But seeing him struggle, seeing him mocked… it felt like a physical blow. My Eren, humiliated like this. Unacceptable.
After a brief, tense exchange, Shadis allowed Eren down but didn't grant an immediate retry. Eren stormed off to the side, muttering furiously, Armin trailing anxiously after him. I wanted desperately to follow, to offer comfort, to somehow fix it. But my name was called next.
"Ackerman, Mikasa!"
Taking a deep breath, I pushed down the swirling emotions – the rage at Jean, the worry for Eren, the sheer surrealism of it all. I stepped forward, letting the instructors buckle me into the harness. The leather felt snug, the metal clasps cold. As the winch lifted me, I expected… something. A struggle? A moment of disorientation?
There was nothing.
It felt as effortless as standing on solid ground. My body instinctively found its center, muscles adjusting micro-movements faster than I could consciously think. I hung perfectly still, balanced, the ground several feet below. The Ackerman instincts were truly terrifyingly effective. There was no thought involved, just pure, innate capability.
I glanced down, maintaining the perfectly balanced posture. My expression remained neutral, mimicking the stoic calm everyone expected of Mikasa Ackerman. Inside, however, a fierce satisfaction burned. This power… this was how I would protect Eren. This effortless competence was my greatest tool.
From my vantage point, I could see Eren watching, his expression unreadable. I saw Jean staring too, his earlier mockery replaced by wide-eyed disbelief, maybe even a hint of grudging respect. Good. Let him see. Let everyone see. Let them see the strength dedicated solely to Eren Jaeger.
The instructor nodded curtly, clearly impressed but unsurprised given Mikasa's reputation even as a newcomer. "Alright, Ackerman. Down."
I was lowered smoothly back to the ground, unbuckling the harness with steady hands. I immediately turned, my gaze seeking Eren. He was still standing apart with Armin, looking dejected but also thoughtful, no doubt already analyzing what went wrong.
I walked towards them, ignoring the stares of other recruits, ignoring Jean completely as I passed him. My focus was singular.
"Eren," I said, stopping before him.
He looked up, frustration warring with shame in his eyes. "Don't say anything, Mikasa."
"You'll figure it out," I stated simply, meeting his gaze. There was no doubt in my voice, only conviction. "Your determination is stronger than faulty equipment."
He blinked, surprised by my unwavering faith, perhaps expecting pity or disappointment. A spark reignited in his turquoise eyes. "Yeah… Yeah, you're right. There has to be a reason. I will figure it out."
Armin looked relieved by my support. "We can ask the quartermaster to look at the belt later, Eren."
"Yeah," Eren agreed, his focus shifting inward, already problem-solving.
My heart swelled with a fierce pride and possessiveness. This was my Eren. Even when knocked down, his spirit wouldn't break. And I would be here to make sure of it. I stood beside them, a silent, steadfast presence. Let the others pass their tests, let Jean preen over his easy success. It didn't matter. All that mattered was Eren, Armin, and the path ahead. I had passed my first practical test effortlessly, but the real challenge – safeguarding Eren's future and ensuring my place in it – had only just begun. And I wouldn't let faulty equipment, or arrogant horse-faces, stand in our way.