The way their schedule breaks down, the Underground trio's first day in the Training Corps begins with training and ends with cleaning, dinner, and sleep.

Levi doesn't know what people who enter training have to gripe about. Seems like heaven to him.

He's glad he decided not to skip this. He and Isabel and Farlan had the discussion. He could have killed Smith, gotten the documents they needed, and gone on their way, but no good opportunities seemed possible. They decided to wait for a better opportunity to present itself rather than rush in. Levi will be better able to get the man alone later, after he and his friends are more trusted by the Survey Corps in general.

That trust is going to be difficult to gain. These stuck-up pigs are distrustful of people from the Underground. They think that he and all who are born into the same shitty circumstances are criminals.

For the most part they're right, but what bothers him is how much better they think they are just because they were born up in the light of the sun.

He and his friends take a table to themselves at dinner. The rest of their team is still wary of them, though they're not openly hostile. They have too much else on their minds. Everyone on their team has been quiet, murmuring only in careful, cowardly whispers since training that day. There's a credible rumor that one trainee is still in the infirmary – the one who was ordered to attack his partner. A girl at a table near theirs says to someone in a hushed tone that the medical staff is treating his fever, that he may have a blood infection from the deep bite wound on his wrist. There's a chance that he'll die.

The girl that bit him is at another table. She's still in some state of shock. Her friends pat her back and tell her it's not her fault, but she doesn't seem comforted. It's hard to tell if she's even hearing any of it. And the others around her still seem shaken, like they're unsettled at what potential for cruelty can be found in friends they thought they knew, friends who seemed so sweet and innocent.

Levi isn't surprised. He's seen worse than what happened today.

Isabel and Farlan don't seem too affected, either. Isabel is back to her cheery self; Farlan falls back into his sarcastic and patronizing banter with her easily. Mostly, they're happy about the food.

Levi had thought that the food wouldn't be anything impressive. He'd heard about shortages aboveground and since the military is funded by taxes, he'd expect the soldiers to be eating worse than the civilians. That clearly isn't the case. For dinner they were rationed fresh bread with butter, potatoes, and venison.

"If this is how the military feeds us, maybe we should forget the job and stay on forever," Isabel says as she stuffs her face with the meat first.

"Keep your voice down," Farlan scolds her.

A man's shadow falls over their table as Officer Frey looms in the doorway, blocking the light from the braziers outside. He smiles slightly and walks over to sit with them. He is more relaxed now than the way Levi saw him during training. As if he just heard Isabel, he says candidly, "You guys are lucky you were sent here. This training camp gets better rations than the others, so if you're hungry this is the best place to be."

"I've never had meat before!" Isabel squeals.

Officer Frey is a little taken aback for a second. He smiles at her sympathetically. "Be careful then, or you might get sick."

She does not heed the advice. Instead she stuffs her mouth with bread and chews like a caricature.

Farlan rolls his eyes, completely embarrassed by her. He changes the subject and asks Frey, "You're not eating?" seeing that he doesn't have a tray of food like everyone else.

"Already ate," he explains. "I normally take meals in a different building with the other officers. I just wanted to come by and ask how you three are settling in."

His demeanor now is drastically warmer than it had been when he was overseeing the training of the team. He wasn't cruel during training, but he was authoritative and grim. Levi had thought that was his personality, but now he wonders if that has more to do with the watchful eye of Instructor Raban.

Levi asks shrewdly, "Why is the food better here?"

"Oh, um… I don't know for sure. Anything I could tell you would only be rumors and hearsay."

Levi narrows his eyes. "Then tell us the rumors."

"People say it has something to do with Instructor Raban… I don't know…" he says nervously.

He speaks more softly when it's about her. It's like he's afraid that she's always just around the corner. As far as Levi could see, she's just a small girl. She's obviously a little insane, but nothing to be as afraid of as people seem to be. Maybe he just isn't frightened as easily as some.

"Well," Frey says as he gets up. "Try to get a lot of sleep. PT at six in the morning can be pretty tough when you're new."

Physical training is nothing to Levi. It's too easy. He goes through the exercises without breaking a sweat, in direct contrast to Isabel and Farlan, who look like they might die.

After about ten minutes of their team being led through exercise drills outside by Officer Frey, the short, delicate-looking Instructor whom everyone seems to fear so much strolls over. She carries a cup of tea in her right hand, sipping from it every so often. Levi feels like he hasn't smelled tea in forever.

She looks down her nose and corrects the form of different trainees as she walks around. She does so with the most colorful language possible.

"Church, get your hips up. Are you trying to do a push-up or fuck a groundhog hole?"

When Isabel snickers, the Instructor sneers at her, "You're no better, Mags. Get down there and kiss the fucking ground."

She stops in front of Levi. He can't look up at her as he does push-ups with the rest of the team, but he can see her boots and smell her tea.

She stands there for what feels like a long time, but Levi doesn't break his concentration or stutter or stop. After a minute, she says, "What side do you favor, Snowflake?"

He isn't sure if he should stop exercising to answer her or if she'd chew him out for that. Since he can easily do both, he doesn't stop as he tells her, "Ambidextrous." Then, he hopes she can't see him roll his eyes from her vantage point as he adds, "Sir."

It sounds like she's rolling her eyes too as she says, "Nobody's really ambidextrous."

He stays silent and doesn't argue with her, even though she's dead wrong. He's just as good on his left side as his right. She tells him to switch to one-handed push-ups and he puts his right hand behind his back. After ten of those, she tells him to switch to the right.

He can feel her eyes scanning for any sign of weakness. He keeps going even as she moves around to his left side. She circles him, looking for any imperfection she could criticize.

She tells him quietly, "Don't let your shoulder drop."

He doesn't know what she thinks she sees, but his shoulder isn't dropping. He could do this in his sleep.

The next time he pushes up, his arm extended straight, she tells him to hold that position. Then he feels something light and warm being set down on his back, in between his shoulder blades.

She steps back and says, "Keep going. Don't spill my tea."

He lowers himself slowly, careful not to lean toward his off hip. Pushing back up is harder. Normally he would just explode up, but needing to control the motion and do it slowly almost makes him shake.

After three excruciatingly slow one-handed push-ups finished without spilling any burning hot tea on himself, she takes the teacup off of his shoulders and commands, "Stand up."

She smirks at him a little when he gets up and locks his eyes on hers. Not many people do that. Even her officers seem to avoid eye contact with her. She sips her tea and then gives him a slight nod. "Take off your shirt."

Levi doesn't flinch. He doesn't ask her if he's right about what she just said, he just does it, because if she's trying to intimidate him it's not going to work. He shrugs off the tan jacket with its crossed swords on the shoulder and holds it draped over his arm as he unbuttons his white shirt. She breaks eye contact to look him up and down as he strips.

When the shirt comes off, Erna smirks. She doesn't try to hide how impressed she is. The Underground thug is ripped like she's literally never seen before. Every muscle is sharply defined without an ounce of body fat to soften them. She would be questioning Smith's story about picking him up from the Underground, because there's no way anyone scraping their existence out without sunlight or enough food should be able to gain that much muscle, but the proof is in how pale he is.

She tells him after a barely audible snicker, "Jesus fucking Christ… Okay, Snowflake. You're exempt from PT." She turns on her heel and begins walking away, curling a finger at him and telling him, "Come with me."

He follows her, and the whining Isabel and Farlan are doing as the team switches to mountain climbers falls behind him. His instructor mutters to herself in between sips of that hot black tea that, if they were in a different setting, he might kill to get a taste of, "Put anymore muscles on you and you'll be able to kill us all."

He smirks to himself. He could kill them all now, no more muscles needed. That's more due to his quick reflexes… and practice. But there's the risk to reward ratio to think about, always.

She gives him a look over her shoulder and tells him, "You can put your clothes back on." Then, as she keeps leading him wherever they're going, she says, "I wouldn't have thought you would follow orders so well…"

That makes him bristle. His fingers push especially forcefully at the buttons of his shirt. He wants to beat that smug smile off of her. Taking orders isn't something he's accustomed to. He gives orders.

He takes a deep breath. This whole job is going to be one big exercise in self-restraint. He can't wait to kill that Survey Corps prick whose classified documents are the whole reason for this.

Erna noticed the way his shoulders heaved when she teased him about following orders. Out of the corner of her eye, she can spot the angry way he puts his shirt back on. She smiles to herself and makes it a plan to keep pointing out how well he falls in line if that's what pisses him off the most.

She's so bored sometimes. Not that she doesn't like how everyone fears and respects her and is too afraid to speak up for themselves, but she's excited by the prospect of this new trainee losing his temper and giving her a reason to come up with new, more sadistic, more creative punishments. Not to mention the fun she's going to have learning how to push his buttons. She's almost giddy at the chance that he might push back and finally present her with a challenge. She hasn't felt really challenged or pushed to use her wits since she and Smith were trying to expose and manipulate each other, and that was years ago.

All of the recruits who come through her training facility are pretty much the same to her because of a few key characteristics: they want to be there in some measure, they want to do well, and they are afraid of her. Levi is different. He's defiant. She hasn't seen 'defiant' in years.

They walk up on a couple of officers doing basic maintenance checks on a pile of 3DM gear. She beckons for one of them and they run over to her with a set. Erna shoves the gear at her new trainee and says, "Okay. Let's see why that bushy-eyebrowed fuck took such an interest in you."

There's a portion of the training grounds with poles of giant tree trunks at least ten meters tall that's for more advanced 3DMG training, after the trainees start to get the hang of ascending and rappelling off the cliffside but before they're ready to practice in the real forest. She takes him there directly and tells him, "You can put that on now."

She checks the second hand of the pocket watch in her jacket as he buckles the straps of the harness. She clocks him at about thirteen seconds, which is around above average, but he hadn't looked to her like he was rushing. He could probably be much faster if he wanted to. His fingers are deft and fast at the buckles, never making a wrong movement or hesitating.

He waits for an order.

She puts her watch away.

"Show me what you can do, Snowflake."

His eyes narrow slightly at the nickname, but that's it. He's not the most expressive. He turns around and he's gone suddenly, flying away from her.

Erna hates to admit to being impressed with anyone or anything ever, but as she watches him, she can't deny it. He's very fucking impressive. She's never seen anyone maneuver like him, not even when she was watching the veterans in the Survey Corps.

On top of that, he makes it look effortless. Graceful, even. Of course, he's tireless as well. She should have guessed from his physique that he'd have a ridiculous amount of stamina. After six minutes she gets bored of watching, brings her thumb and forefinger to her lips and lets out a long, high-pitched whistle that he should be able to hear all the way up there.

He comes down easily, even doing a flip and sticking the landing flawlessly.

She rolls her eyes and then looks him up and down. His breathing is as easy as ever. Not a bead of sweat on him.

Erna finds herself extremely interested in him. He's not like what she's used to and it's intriguing in her overall monotonous, chained, and restricted life, so she stares at him, very consciously, making aggressive eye contact as is her habit, and he returns the glare equally which makes it feel like a silent power struggle to her, even though she intrinsically will always have the upper hand. She breaks the silence with, "How old are you, Snowflake?"

He makes a small 'hmph' sound before replying, "Probably older than you."

"You don't look it."

"You don't even look nineteen."

She laughs. Levi doesn't know how old she claims to be, but her laugh is girlish. Still, there's something off about it. It's like a sardonic mockery of an innocent little girl's musical laughter.

She steps closer to him and in a low voice, she paints a pretty picture, "I have free reign here, you know. I could slit your throat for not giving me a straight answer and nobody would question it. The military police would cover it up and you would just be another forgotten cadaver."

He tilts his chin up slightly as if offering his throat for a fair shot. "You could try," he answers back.

There isn't a trace of cockiness to his expressionless voice, but it's there in his body language and it gives her a tingling feeling up her spine. He's underestimating her, of course, but she's used to that. What she isn't used to is being unsure about whether she could take him. After seeing his physique and reflexes, she thinks her only viable mode of attack would probably be psychological or emotional… but he doesn't have any tells of weaknesses in that regard. He's unreadable. Even more so than Smith was. She has a strong feeling that, underestimation or not, he's probably right to think that he would beat her every time in a fair – or hell, even an unfair – fight.

And yet, somehow she has him here all but at her mercy. It's very exciting for her. It's like Erwin brought her a very dangerous predator to put in a cage and play with at her discretion.

Erna smirks and walks a slow circle around him, taking in everything slowly: the outlines of his back muscles that show through his shirt, his straight but relaxed posture, his square stance… When she returns to face him, she says with no small amount of wonder in her voice, "How on earth did they bring you in, Snowflake?"

As she was sizing him up, Levi's been able to do the same. She's different now, without so much of the psychotic drill instructor demeanor, though he has no doubt that aspect of her is genuine, too. She has a hard and alert quality to her at all times. Even when her body language shows any signs of relaxation, it's like a farce – an act to trick you into letting your guard down. He can start to get a feel for the intimidation there that wasn't obvious at first because he was looking for it wrong. When he saw how afraid everyone was of her, he was looking for common affectations of people who try very hard to be intimidating and he found none. She doesn't try; she simply is. Intimidation comes off of her like a pheromone. She's the kind of woman who can make someone say too much, or hold their breath at the wrong times… the kind of woman that, if he wasn't careful, could get in his head and make him so conscious of favoring his right side that he would overcompensate and fall to his left.

So instead of answering her question, he tightens his jaw. He won't risk getting caught in a lie with her, and he can't have her know the truth, that the only reason he was caught was because he wanted to be.

There are, of course, repercussions to his silence. She shrugs and rather uncreatively orders him to get down and do push-ups until she gets tired. She stands there and watches silently, boring holes into the back of his head with her eyes. She doesn't count. She doesn't make him count. That would be pointless, because there's no set number at which she would decide it was enough. Instead of numbers, she decides limits on an individual basis. She watches for muscle tremors, shortness of breath, tears… those are signs that someone has done enough for her.

In her head she keeps a loose count to herself just out of curiosity. Somewhere around one hundred and seventy-five or two hundred, she tells him that he's done even though she hasn't seen the faintest hint of a muscle tremor.

He pauses mid-push up and holds himself there, looks up at her, and asks, "You're tired?"

Him being a smart-ass earns him a hard and swift kick to his left ribs with enough force to knock him to his side. She pushes him over onto his back with the heel of her boot and then brings her foot down hard on his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. He has to suppress the instinct to fight back, difficult as it is.

She narrows her eyes and watches him get his breath back. She gloats over him and says with a biting and arrogant tone, "Now I am."