The approaching graduation hung over the 104th like a tightening noose. The drills intensified, the instructors' critiques became sharper, and a nervous energy permeated every corner of the training grounds. The illusion of camaraderie, of shared hardship forging unbreakable bonds, began to fray, replaced by the cold calculation of individual ambition and the looming weight of choosing a future – a future potentially filled with death.
But for me, the impending graduation wasn't about fear or ambition. It was about securing a position, a trajectory, that would keep me closest to him. Eren.
My thoughts, once compartmentalized, were now almost entirely consumed by him. It wasn't a conscious decision, not a deliberate obsession. It was… a gravitational pull. Every action, every observation, every strategic calculation filtered through the lens of his well-being, his potential, his future.
When he sparred, I didn't just see a fellow recruit honing his skills. I saw the raw, untamed power that would one day be unleashed against the Titans, the burning rage that fueled his determination, the vulnerability hidden beneath the bravado. I cataloged his weaknesses – the tendency to overextend, the occasional lapse in defensive posture, the frustration that clouded his judgment – not to criticize, but to anticipate, to compensate, to shield him from harm.
When he laughed, a rare and precious sound, it resonated within me like a physical warmth, chasing away the coldness that had settled in my soul. When he frowned, a shadow crossing his features, I felt a corresponding ache, a desperate need to alleviate his pain, to erase the source of his sorrow.
I found myself studying his habits, his preferences, the subtle nuances of his expression. The way his brow furrowed when concentrating, the slight twitch of his lips when suppressing a smile, the way his eyes lit up when discussing strategy with Armin. These details, insignificant to anyone else, were precious to me, fragments of the complex, beautiful soul I was determined to protect.
It was… consuming. A quiet, relentless tide that threatened to overwhelm my carefully constructed facade of stoicism. Sometimes, during quiet moments, I'd catch myself staring at him, lost in thought, and have to forcibly redirect my gaze, fearing I'd reveal the depth of my devotion.
The original Mikasa's love for Eren was a quiet, unwavering devotion, a protective instinct born of shared trauma. Mine was… something more. It was admiration, respect, a fierce protectiveness, yes, but also a profound understanding of his pain, his purpose, his potential. And a desperate, almost primal need to ensure that potential was realized, to prevent the tragic fate I knew awaited him.
The knowledge of the future was a burden, a constant weight on my chest. I saw the shadows lurking around him – Reiner's calculated kindness, Bertholdt's silent observation, Annie's detached scrutiny. They were all assessing him, evaluating his strengths and weaknesses, preparing for a game I didn't fully understand but knew would have devastating consequences.
And Jean… Jean was a constant irritant, a symbol of everything I despised. His open hostility, his relentless attempts to prove himself superior to Eren, his lingering, pathetic glances in my direction – it fueled a simmering rage within me. He represented the future I was fighting to prevent, the future where Eren's memory was tarnished by a shallow, undeserving connection.
The tension among the recruits was palpable. Graduation loomed, and with it, the agonizing choice of which branch to join. The Garrison, the Military Police, or the Survey Corps. Most dreamed of the relative safety of the interior, of a life free from the horrors of Titan combat. But Eren, of course, was unwavering.
"I'm joining the Survey Corps," he declared during dinner one evening, his voice ringing with conviction. "There's no other option. We have to fight them. We have to find a way to win."
Armin, ever the pragmatist, nodded in agreement. "It's the most dangerous path, but it's the only one that offers a chance to truly make a difference."
A wave of relief washed over me. He hadn't wavered. He hadn't succumbed to the fear that gripped so many others. He was still the Eren I knew, the Eren I was determined to protect.
"Then I'll join the Survey Corps too," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I'll be by your side."
Eren looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You don't have to do that, Mikasa. It's dangerous."
"I want to," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "My place is with you."
He didn't argue. He just nodded, a small, grateful smile touching his lips. "Alright. Then we'll face it together."
The weight of that promise settled upon me, heavy and exhilarating. I would follow him into the heart of darkness, into the jaws of death, and I would do everything in my power to ensure he emerged unscathed.
But the closer graduation came, the more I realized that simply joining the Survey Corps wasn't enough. I needed to excel. I needed to become indispensable. I needed to hone my skills to an even sharper edge, to anticipate every threat, to protect him from every possible danger.
I began pushing myself harder in training, exceeding even my own already exceptional standards. I spent hours practicing ODM maneuvers in the forest, perfecting my technique, pushing my body to its limits. I devoured every book on Titan biology, military strategy, and combat tactics I could get my hands on, absorbing information like a sponge.
The other recruits noticed. Whispers followed me through the barracks.
"She's obsessed," I overheard Connie mutter to Sasha one evening. "Always training, always watching Eren. It's kinda creepy."
"She's just… dedicated," Sasha replied, her voice hesitant. "She's always been protective of him."
"It's more than that," Connie insisted. "It's like she's trying to become his shadow. She doesn't even talk to anyone else."
Their words stung, but I ignored them. Their perceptions didn't matter. Only Eren mattered.
Reiner, as always, observed with a detached curiosity. He approached me during a break in training, his expression unreadable.
"You're pushing yourself very hard, Ackerman," he said, his voice smooth and even. "Are you sure you're not overdoing it?"
"I'm preparing for the future," I replied, my voice cool and dismissive. "The Survey Corps demands excellence."
"Of course," he said, his eyes lingering on my face. "But there's a difference between preparation and obsession. Don't burn yourself out before the real fight even begins."
His words were a veiled warning, a subtle attempt to unsettle me. He was probing, testing my limits, trying to understand my motivations.
I met his gaze steadily, refusing to betray any emotion. "I'm perfectly capable of managing my own training," I said, turning away to resume my exercises.
He didn't press the issue, but I felt his eyes on my back as I moved. He was watching me, waiting for me to falter.
But I wouldn't falter. I couldn't. The weight of the promise I'd made to Eren, the shadow of the future I was determined to change, fueled my every action. I was Mikasa Ackerman, and I would be ready. I would be strong. I would be his shield. And I would ensure that, no matter what horrors lay ahead, Eren Jaeger would survive. Even if it meant sacrificing everything else – including myself. The thought didn't frighten me. It solidified my resolve. He was worth it. He always would be.