The rest of the hand-to-hand combat session passed with a subtle but palpable shift in the air around me. Recruits seemed hesitant to make eye contact, their movements slightly more cautious when paired against me or even near me. My swift, almost dismissive handling of Bertholdt, followed by the precisely timed 'stumble' that sent Jean sprawling and subtly aided Eren, hadn't gone unnoticed. It wasn't overt aggression, but a demonstration of effortless control that was perhaps more intimidating.
Bertholdt avoided my gaze entirely, retreating into his usual quiet shell, though I caught him watching me occasionally with wide, nervous eyes. Reiner, however, was different. After his spar with Eren concluded (a hard-fought draw, with Eren landing some solid blows thanks to the brief respite I'd created), he approached Eren not with antagonism, but with grudging respect.
"Not bad, Jaeger," Reiner said, offering a hand to help Eren up from his final position on the ground. "You've got spirit." His eyes flickered towards me for just a second, a calculated assessment that sent a shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the day. He saw more than the others. He was evaluating, filing away information. As a warrior, he recognized capability when he saw it.
Eren, still catching his breath, took Reiner's hand but seemed oblivious to the undercurrents. "You're strong," he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow. "But I'll surpass you." Typical Eren bravado, but fueled by the genuine effort he'd put in.
I stood nearby, ostensibly stretching muscles that didn't feel particularly strained, observing the interaction. Reiner's friendly facade towards Eren felt infinitely more dangerous than Jean's open antagonism. Jean was an annoyance, a symbol of future failure. Reiner and Bertholdt were ticking time bombs, architects of the tragedy that shaped Eren's life. My protective instincts flared, extending to encompass this new, insidious threat I couldn't yet openly combat.
Jean, meanwhile, nursed his wounded pride from a distance. He didn't approach me again – the message, both verbal and physical, seemed to have finally sunk in. But the look he shot me across the mess hall later that evening was pure venom. He clearly knew the stumble was intentional, an act of humiliating defense aimed at protecting Eren from him. His resentment simmered, adding another layer to the complex social dynamics I now had to navigate. He started pointedly trying to excel in other areas, particularly in drills where he could directly compete with Eren, seeking validation elsewhere. Let him try. His efforts were meaningless noise compared to my purpose.
Later, back in the relative quiet of the barracks, as I meticulously cleaned the ODM gear components assigned to our squad, Armin sat beside me, polishing his own set with less inherent skill but more intense concentration. Eren was across the room, locked in a competitive argument with Connie about some minor drill detail.
"You were incredible today, Mikasa," Armin said quietly, his blue eyes serious. "During the sparring, I mean. Not just with Bertholdt, but… the way you moved near Eren and Reiner."
I paused, meeting his gaze. Armin missed very little. "I merely maintained awareness of my surroundings," I replied, keeping my tone even. "It's important during combat drills."
Armin nodded slowly, accepting the surface explanation but likely sensing more beneath it. "Right. Of course. It's just… you seem even more focused than usual. Especially when Eren's involved."
"Eren is family," I stated simply, echoing a sentiment the original Mikasa held dear, but infusing it with my own fierce, absolute conviction. "Protecting family is natural." And he is more than family. He is everything.
Armin seemed satisfied with that, turning back to his gear. But his observation lingered. I was more focused. Every action, every word, every display of strength was calculated now. It had to be. I wasn't just Mikasa Ackerman, the quiet prodigy. I was an agent of change, armed with foreknowledge and fueled by a desperate need to avert the future I knew. Every 'effortless' display of skill was a carefully calibrated move to establish my reliability, my indispensability to Eren, while trying not to raise too many red flags for observers like Shadis or, more dangerously, Reiner.
The weight of Mikasa's strength wasn't just physical; it was strategic. It was a weapon, a shield, and a burden. Using it felt instinctively right when defending Eren, a surge of righteous power. But the potential consequences of misuse, of revealing too much knowledge or capability too soon, were terrifying.
Training shifted again in the following days, moving towards group exercises and basic ODM maneuvering drills on the ground and low structures. Teamwork became paramount. Our trio – Eren, Armin, and myself – fell into an instinctive rhythm. Eren pushed forward, aggressive and eager. Armin analyzed, strategized, pointed out flaws in approach or potential hazards. I moved like a shadow, anticipating needs, covering weaknesses, my superior spatial awareness and agility making me the silent linchpin that held our formation together, often compensating for Eren's occasional recklessness or Armin's physical limitations.
During one exercise involving navigating a low obstacle course as a squad, Eren nearly took a tumble from a wooden beam. Before Armin could even shout a warning, I was there, my hand steadying his arm, my body acting as a counterweight until he regained his balance. It happened so fast, so seamlessly, it barely broke our stride.
"Thanks, Mikasa," he muttered, flashing a quick, almost grateful smile before refocusing on the course ahead.
He was starting to expect it. Not consciously, perhaps, but on some level, he was internalizing my presence as a safety net. A small, satisfied smile touched my lips, unseen by the others. This was progress. This was the bond I needed to forge – unbreakable, unquestionable reliance.
That evening, watching Eren and Armin huddled together, excitedly discussing ODM possibilities, mapping theoretical routes through a forest on a scrap piece of paper, my resolve hardened into diamond. Jean could glare all he wanted. Reiner and Bertholdt could watch with their hidden agendas. Shadis could push us to our limits. None of it mattered as much as protecting this scene, this bond, this future where Eren lived, thrived, and hopefully, eventually, saw me – the true, devoted Mikasa – as the only one he ever needed.
I picked up my whetstone again, the rhythmic scraping a quiet vow in the dim barracks light. I will not fail him. This time will be different.