The days bled into weeks, each sunrise heralding another cycle of sweat, strain, and Shadis's soul-flaying bellows. We graduated from basic ODM maneuvers in the forest to more complex drills involving simulated Titan targets – grotesque wooden effigies erected in clearings, complete with strategically placed nape targets cut from softer wood.
Speed and precision were paramount. Flying through the trees was one thing; engaging a target, striking accurately while compensating for momentum, and escaping before a theoretical counter-attack was another beast entirely.
Predictably, Eren attacked the dummies with unrestrained fury. His speed was incredible, his commitment absolute, but his raw aggression sometimes compromised his technique. More than once, I saw him overshoot, his blades slicing deep but slightly off-center, or needing a frantic correction to avoid crashing after a strike.
My own runs were… different. Mikasa's body moved with an eerie fluidity, the complex calculations of trajectory, gas usage, and blade angle happening almost below the level of conscious thought. The wooden napes yielded cleanly to my blades, strike after strike. The instructors murmured approval, Shadis watched with that unnerving intensity, but my focus remained locked on Eren.
During one particularly challenging drill requiring squads to engage multiple targets in quick succession, Eren charged ahead, aiming for the largest dummy. Connie and Sasha struggled to keep formation, their movements lacking Eren's raw speed. I saw it unfold – Eren striking true, but leaving his flank exposed as he recovered, right in the theoretical path of a second 'Titan's' swing.
Without breaking stride, without a word, I altered my own trajectory. My strike on my designated target was clean, efficient. Then, using the momentum, I swung wide, positioning myself momentarily between Eren and the 'threat' as he regained control, firing my anchors to pull away just as seamlessly. To an outside observer, it might have looked like a standard evasive maneuver after my own strike. To me, it was a shield thrown up for a fraction of a second.
Eren didn't seem to notice the specific maneuver, caught up in the adrenaline of the drill. But later, as we were cleaning our blades, he frowned thoughtfully. "That last run… felt smoother. Like the timing just clicked for everyone."
Armin nodded, wiping down his gear. "Mikasa's positioning was key. She covered the gap seamlessly after her strike, allowing you time to recover, Eren, before Connie and Sasha engaged the third target."
Eren looked at me, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Oh. Right." He didn't say thank you this time, just gave a curt nod, accepting it as part of our squad dynamic. He was internalizing my role, my reliability, without questioning the how or why too deeply. Perfect.
The distance created by my enhanced competence and protective interventions remained. While respected, even admired by some like Sasha and Connie, I wasn't exactly approachable. Jean continued to treat me with simmering resentment, throwing himself into training with a competitive fire aimed squarely at Eren, as if trying to prove something to me by beating him. It was pathetic, and I ignored it utterly.
Reiner and Bertholdt were harder to read. Reiner maintained his 'big brother' persona, offering tips, engaging easily with others, including Eren. But I caught his eyes lingering on me during drills, that cool assessment never quite leaving his gaze. He knew I was exceptional, and he knew my focus was Eren. I felt like a piece on his internal chessboard, one he was still figuring out how to play or neutralize. Bertholdt remained a nervous giant, actively avoiding interaction with me, which suited me fine. Annie remained Annie – detached, aloof, her own formidable skills honed in isolation, observing everyone with unnerving stillness.
The strain of this double life was a constant companion. Lying on my bunk at night, the barracks filled with the sounds of exhausted sleep, my mind raced. I replayed the day's events, analyzing interactions, gauging perceptions, ensuring I hadn't slipped up. Had my intervention been too obvious? Did Reiner see more than I intended? Was Eren starting to suspect something beyond mere Ackerman talent?
The urge to just be – to gush over Eren like the fangirl I still was deep down, to vent my fury at Jean, to confide in someone about the terrifying future hurtling towards us – was a physical ache. But I couldn't. I was Mikasa Ackerman now, the shield. My own feelings, my past identity, had to be ruthlessly suppressed, buried beneath layers of stoic competence and unwavering devotion.
Sometimes, staring at my reflection – those calm grey eyes, the sharp features, the black hair that wasn't mine – a wave of dissociation washed over me. Who was I? The fangirl trapped inside? Or the Ackerman warrior she inhabited? The lines blurred, and the loneliness of my position felt crushing.
But then I would see Eren. Arguing passionately with Armin over tactics, pushing himself past exhaustion in training, staring towards the horizon with that burning desire for freedom in his eyes. And the resolve would harden again.
She gave up on this, I'd think, the memory of the epilogue a splash of ice water. She settled. She let Jean Kirschtein desecrate his memory. The anger was a familiar fuel, burning away the self-pity, sharpening my focus. I won't.
One evening, sitting outside the barracks as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Eren came and sat nearby, skipping stones across a puddle left by the afternoon rain. Armin was inside, engrossed in a borrowed book.
We sat in silence for a long moment, a comfortable quiet that had grown between us.
"Graduation's not that far off," Eren said finally, not looking at me, his voice subdued. "Choosing regiments."
"Yes," I replied softly.
"Survey Corps," he stated, his voice hardening with conviction. "There's no other choice. I have to fight them. I have to see the outside world."
"I know."
He finally turned to look at me, his turquoise eyes searching my face in the fading light. "You'll be there, right? You're strong enough for anything. Top of the class, probably."
The question hung in the air. The original Mikasa's answer was always a given, driven by her need to protect him. My answer was the same, but the foundation was different. It wasn't just about protection; it was about ensuring our shared destiny, preventing the divergence I knew was possible.
"Where you go, I go, Eren," I said, my voice quiet but absolute. The echo of my earlier declaration to Jean, but softer now, meant only for him. "Always."
He held my gaze for a second longer, then nodded, a small, almost imperceptible tension leaving his shoulders. He seemed to accept it, needing that reassurance. He turned back to the puddle, skipping another stone.
Watching his profile against the darkening sky, the fierce determination etched there, my silent vow resonated stronger than ever. This bond. This promise. This is what matters. I will be the blade that clears his path and the shield that guards his flame. No matter what.