The air the next morning was thick with anticipation. While the previous day had been about Shadis's shock-and-awe tactics, today felt different. Today held the weight of consequence. Those who failed the aptitude re-assessment faced the quiet shame of reassignment. For Eren, it felt like the weight of the entire world rested on his ability to stay upright in that harness.
He was quieter than usual as we walked to the training grounds, his usual explosive energy coiled tight within him. He hadn't slept much, I knew; I'd heard him tossing and turning long after I'd feigned sleep myself. Armin walked beside him, offering quiet words of encouragement, reviewing the theories about the faulty belt they'd discussed last night.
I walked on Eren's other side, a silent pillar. I didn't offer platitudes. He didn't need empty words. He needed faith. And my faith in him – bolstered by foreknowledge, yes, but genuinely felt – was absolute. I projected calm, competence, an unwavering belief that radiated outwards. Let that be my support.
When we arrived, the balance simulators stood like skeletal judges against the pale morning sky. Shadis watched impassively as the instructors began calling names for re-tests or final confirmations. My eyes scanned the crowd, inevitably landing on Jean. He stood with Marco and Connie, deliberately avoiding looking in our direction. Good. Let the distance remain. Let him understand the lines I had drawn in the dust yesterday were permanent.
Finally, Eren's name was called. "Jaeger, Eren!"
He took a deep breath, his jaw set. He exchanged a quick, determined look with Armin, then glanced at me. I met his gaze steadily, offering a small, almost imperceptible nod. You've got this.
He strode forward. This time, however, before strapping in, he spoke, his voice clear and firm. "Commander Shadis. Request permission to swap equipment belts with another recruit. I believe my assigned belt is faulty."
Shadis raised a skeptical eyebrow but surprisingly nodded. "Fine. Swap with Wagner. Quickly."
Thomas Wagner, looking bewildered, swapped belts with Eren. My internal monologue did a small cheer. Yes! The crucial step. Now, it was just up to Eren's own grit.
They strapped him into the different harness. The winch began to turn. My breath caught, despite knowing the outcome. Seeing it happen was different. He rose into the air… and held. Perfectly still. Balanced. The tension that had held him rigid was replaced by focused control. He wasn't just hanging there; he was commanding his position in the air.
A collective gasp went through the recruits. Armin let out an audible sigh of relief, a wide grin splitting his face. Eren hung there for a long moment, proving his point, before smoothly bringing himself back down as the instructors lowered him.
He landed lightly on his feet, a fierce look of triumph blazing in his eyes. He didn't cheer or shout, but the energy crackling off him was unmistakable. He had done it. Proven himself. Proven it wasn't his failure.
Shadis approached, picking up Eren's original belt. He examined the clasp Eren and Armin had suspected. With a grunt, he snapped it. The metal piece clattered to the ground. "Faulty equipment," Shadis announced gruffly, though there was a hint of grudging respect in his tone as he looked at Eren. "Your assessment stands, Jaeger. Don't let that potential go to waste." He tossed the broken belt aside. "Dismissed."
Eren's shoulders, which had been rigid with tension, finally relaxed. A grin – a real, relieved grin – broke across his face as he turned towards us. Armin rushed forward, clapping him on the back, babbling excitedly.
I walked towards him calmly, stopping just before him. Our eyes met. His grin softened slightly, gratitude mingling with the triumph.
"Told you," I said quietly, the words holding layers of meaning only I understood.
He just nodded, the intensity back in his eyes, but this time it wasn't fueled by frustration, but by vindication. "Yeah. Yeah, you did."
Nearby, I saw Jean watching the scene, his expression unreadable but decidedly sour. He quickly looked away when he noticed me glance over. Perfect. Let him stew. He was irrelevant.
The success buoyed Eren's spirits immensely. The cloud of humiliation lifted, replaced by a renewed, almost ferocious, energy for the training ahead. As the instructors began the next phase – familiarization with the actual ODM gear components, maintenance, and basic ground drills – Eren threw himself into it with gusto.
My own aptitude continued to be unnervingly high. The complex web of straps and triggers felt intuitive in my hands. The maintenance steps seemed obvious. While others fumbled, I assembled and disassembled the practice gear with quiet precision, always keeping Eren and Armin within my line of sight.
I made sure to partner with Eren whenever possible during drills, positioning myself as his natural complement. My effortless competence balanced his sometimes reckless energy. When he almost fumbled a sequence, my hands were there, guiding his almost unconsciously, correcting the motion before the instructors noticed. He didn't object; it felt natural, like an extension of his own will.
Armin, meanwhile, absorbed the technical details like a sponge, already pointing out potential tactical applications the instructors hadn't even mentioned. We fell into a natural trio: Eren the driving force, Armin the strategist, and me… the unwavering shield, the silent enabler, the ever-present strength.
Sitting on my bunk that evening, cleaning the practice gear assigned to me (a task I performed with meticulous care), I reflected on the day. Eren had passed. Jean was keeping his distance. I was integrating myself seamlessly, establishing the role I intended to play.
This is just the beginning, I thought, testing the trigger mechanism. The horrors were still years away. The Rumbling, the betrayals, the heartbreaking choices… they loomed large in my memory, but distant in this timeline. For now, my mission was clear: Train. Become stronger. Become indispensable to Eren. Protect him and Armin. Ensure that the path ahead diverts sharply from the one that led to that unbearable epilogue. Ensure that this Mikasa, my Mikasa, would never fail him.