"Can you understand any of this?"
A stack of paper was set neatly before her. She licked the pads of her fingers, the faint taste of pie lingering in her mouth as she glanced up into his stern gaze. He looked solemn, blue eyes hard and firm as he glowered down at the sheaves of muddled parchments across his desk.
An arm reached out from beside her, long fingers plucking out a parchment from the stack and flicking it audibly in the air once.
Hange leaned closer, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose as she narrowed her eyes.
"Huh," she squinted at the scribbled lines.
Amelia sat beside her, casually reclining in her seat. She reached for another slice of pie as Hange examined the writing once more, her expressions colored with faint amusement.
"This is the worst handwriting I've ever seen," Hange declared, letting the parchment fall back onto the stack. "And that's saying something, considering my own penmanship looks like a chicken trying to write left-handed."
"Precisely," Erwin deadpanned.
Hange snorted, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes as she adjusted her glasses.
Amelia lifted an eyebrow when both of them turned towards her, and Erwin frowned.
"You said he was literate," he said accusingly.
She met his gaze with calm confidence as she set down her slice of pie and reached for the cup of lukewarm milk. "He is literate."
"Well, this doesn't look like he's literate." Hange hummed skeptically, tapping a chewed nail against the parchment. "I can't tell if he's trying to sign his name or cast a spell here."
Amelia licked the remnants of the pie crust from her fingers. "You both know writing formal reports isn't easy work, right?"
Erwin let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How is he supposed to handle paperwork with this writing?"
"It can't be that bad," Amelia reached ahead and picked up the paper by the corner.
Erwin's gaze flitted to her sticky fingers disapprovingly but she ignored him, skimming through the written text. Her brows knitted together slightly and she blinked.
"Oh," she snorted. "I can't make out a single word."
"Maybe it's just his handwriting," Hange suggested with a shrug. "He's better with blades than he is with a quill, that's for sure."
Erwin sank back into his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He exhaled a long, frustrated sigh.
"He just needs a little help," Amelia suggested calmly. She pressed the parchment back onto the stack and reached for the cup of milk again. "A few more reports and he'll get the hang of it."
"We don't have the luxury of time," Erwin frowned deeply. "I'll fix his reports this time but he needs to manage on his own. Can he even read properly?"
Amelia's brows furrowed at the sharpness of his tone. "I'm sure he can."
Erwin pinned her with a stare that seemed to reach right through her, weighing her with the same intensity he brought to every decision. Amelia held his gaze, her frown deepening as the silence stretched between them.
Hange glanced back and forth between them, quiet.
"You've been assigned as an instructor here, Amelia." Erwin said solemnly.
Amelia's fingers tightened around the lukewarm teacup. She leaned back in her chair, heat in her gaze.
"I haven't been assigned to teach them like children," she responded calmly. "That's the job of the military instructors you hire to drill them during basic training. I didn't spend years getting my apprenticeship just to end up teaching grown men how to read basic reports, Erwin."
"It's your responsibility—"
She cut him off immediately, a sharp edge to her voice. "I'm not being paid for an extension of my contract either."
The muscles in Erwin's jaw tightened, not taking kindly to being interrupted in front of his subordinates. Hange shifted awkwardly in her seat and pretended to arrange the mess of parchments into neat stacks on the table.
Amelia met that cold stare head on, cradling the lukewarm cup between her palms.
She could see the strain in his expressions, the effort it took to keep himself composed. Her grip on the cup tightened, briefly hoping she could crush the ceramic between her soft palms. Maybe if she had trained like them, if she had ever run drills or looked death straight in the face as a Scout and miraculously survived, the weight of his authority would carry more force. But she hadn't and all that military protocol and chain of command meant nothing but shit to her.
I'm not one of you.
Her fingers loosened, her breath tugging softly past her lips as she gently lowered the cup into her lap.
Erwin's brow furrowed slightly, his expressions hinting at thoughtfulness for a moment. His gaze swept over her, studying her with the same dissecting look she had often watched him give to battle strategies and military maps. She could feel him practically peeling back the layers of her façade, probing at the raw emotion that simmered beneath her calm demeanor.
Her gaze betrayed her, flicking down to the bandages wrapped tightly around his hand.
Realization colored his blue eyes.
Her posture instantly stiffened, and she forced herself upright, willing the tension from her spine. Damn it—
"He's going to be a great asset to the Corps," Erwin said, his voice measured. "To humanity."
"You can't even keep him in check," she finally spat, her tone sounding more bitter than she intended.
Her voice trembled slightly, anger straining against her attempts to leash it. She had become an expert at keeping it buried, hiding the rage that boiled in her veins. But as her gaze fell to his hand again—those bandages, lighter now than before— her chest tightened. The numbness spread through her ribcage, replaced by a seething warmth that rose beneath her skin.
"He tried to kill you in the middle of the field."
She had cornered Moblit the moment she found him alone, far from Hange's constant presence. She had backed him against the stone wall, her gaze fixed on him until he broke under the weight of it and stammered out the entire story.
"They were planning to kill the Captain," he had confessed, his eyes darting to the side. "But he already knew about it. One of them tried to take him out on the field… but the Captain caught his sword and subdued him."
It wasn't her place to meddle in such affairs. Especially not when those matters concerned the man seated across from her, his pale blue eyes regarding her like she were nothing more than a silly little girl who once used to fuss over his scraped knees and light bruises.
"Seeing your comrades die does things to a soldier," Erwin said sagely.
For a moment, her hands twitched around the cup of milk.
She considered throwing the contents across the desk and onto his face. If Hange wasn't here, maybe she would have. Instead, she set the cup back down with a soft clink.
"If he wants to leave," she said calmly, "then why not let him?"
Erwin's response was immediate. "He cannot leave the Corps."
His frigid tone told her all she needed to know.
Amelia stared at him, and Erwin breathed out slowly. Tension gathered in the set of his thick brows, his shoulders sagging slightly.
Hange sank further into her chair, abandoning the pretense of being preoccupied with the messy sheets of writing. She looked fully invested in their conversation, her eyes flickering between them with quiet curiosity.
"Amelia," Erwin seemingly held back a sigh. "This isn't your place to interfere."
"I'm aware of my duties," she said, her gaze dropping to the table now. Her hands rested in her lap,and she felt the searing frustration buzzing in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to stomp out of his office, grab her things and retreat to her father's old bed where she could sleep until this churning anger finally burned itself out. "You don't have to remind me."
"He needs to learn how to read and write," he said gravely.
She assumed he could sense the turmoil roiling beneath her calm exterior. He reminded her of when they were children, his voice small and hesitant through the crack of their father's door, testing the waters before stepping into the darkened room where she lay staring at the wall, seething with quiet rage. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Amelia?"
Her words came out flat and final.
"It's not my job, Erwin."
She finally lifted her gaze, meeting the cold blue of his eyes. The brutality of the world had turned them icier, their chill reminiscent of the icy peaks described in one of the old books locked away in her father's study.
"I teach theory," she said flatly, "not basic language."
Erwin's eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. The tension between them seemed to thicken, and Hange nervously glanced between them before she slowly lifted a hand in the air.
"I could teach him?" Hange offered, grinning faintly.
"Amelia is a teacher," Erwin repeated, his voice cool and steady. "She's the most qualified to teach him how to read and write."
"Amelia isn't getting paid for that," Amelia frowned at him. "And she already has more than enough work in her schedule."
"Damn," Hange whistled in amusement, laughing weakly. "So we're referring to ourselves in the third person now?"
Erwin dragged his chair back with a rough scrape, sighing audibly.
"You might not see it now," he grimaced, his deep voice reverberating through the office. "But he's a valuable asset, someone who could bring us one step closer to uncovering the truth. His strength—"
The legs of her chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Erwin paused, his expressions flattening when she abruptly stood up and pushed her chair back.
Hange's amused expression faltered into a look of concern.
"Oi, Amy—"
Amelia turned away from them both, walking for the door.
She deliberately kept her movements controlled, keeping her stride even as she resisted the urge to let her heels pound against the stone floor. She had promised herself she would remain calm and poised—
The door slammed shut with a resounding slam.
Amelia stood leaning against the closed door, her breaths quick and shallow. Her face was flushed with the heat of her anger, the emotion burning bright and fierce within her chest.
Damn him. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Damn him!
Amelia clutched her hands near her chest and stared down at her feet. The burning ire refused to leave her.
The feeling continued to linger, an ache that tugged ponderously in her chest whenever she thought of those bandages. The sight of them twisted her stomach into knots, a slow chill seeping through her veins that left her frozen for a moment. She had promised herself that she wouldn't feel like this anymore and yet here she was, standing in an empty hallway after letting her emotions get the better of her.
She had made that decision the day she climbed into that carriage, her bags handed to her without a word, and she had stared out the window as it carried her away from everything she had ever hoped for.
That life just wasn't for me, she had coaxed herself back then.
Regret clawed gently at her ribcage.
Her gaze drifted across the hallway to the large open windows where the view beyond stretched to the distant wall. Wall Rose stood tall and formidable. It's presence was like that of a cage that kept them all penned in a quiet little world.
She was born to stay within these walls, her fate sealed long before she had even touched the books that lined her father's study.
Amelia breathed softly.
She pushed away from the door and walked down the corridors, descending the winding staircase that seemed to go on forever. The castle hummed with life, Scouts passing her by with friendly smiles or curious glances. Her hand instinctively reached down to clutch the round watch hanging from her hip, the cold metal pressing calmingly against her palm.
When she stepped out into the open training grounds, the air hit her with a cool bite.
The wind tugged at the loose strands of hair framing her face and whipped her blond braid to the side. She kept walking, the rough air stinging her cheeks until the familiar sound of retracting wires reached her ears. The sharp clang of metal against wood, followed by the dull thud of landing feet echoed through the training grounds. She halted soon enough, her hands falling to her sides as she peered up at the canopy of trees.
There was a brief blur of green among the branches.
He had paused atop a thick bough, looking down at her through the dense foliage. He was too high up for her to make out the finer details of his expression, but she could almost picture the familiar scowl etched onto his face as he disregarded her presence and launched himself off the branch with a practiced leap.
The wires whirred and locked ahead of him, and she clearly heard the faint hiss from the near empty canisters.
He disappeared into the dense green again, vanishing between the shifting leaves.
Amelia clenched the pocket watch between her fingers, the cool metal pressing into her palm as she silently counted down six minutes. The wind picked up once more, tousling the stray hairs near her forehead as she glanced up at the sky.
Thick gray clouds gathered steadily in masses.
Exactly after six minutes, the crack of wires split the air.
Amelia straightened at the low hiss of gas, her eyes flickering over to him as he landed some distance away from her.
He didn't acknowledge her presence, his back to her as he trudged towards the supply room set a good distance away from them. She idly watched as he gripped the blades in his hands, clicking away at the hilts to release the dulled metal.
His wounds had healed faster than expected, even with the deep cuts from the handles tearing into his palms. Her traitorous thoughts reeled back to the memory of a broader hand clutching a teacup, the bandages still stark against his pale skin. Moblit's careful mutter filled her ears once more. "The blade had sliced into his hand."
Amelia's jaw tightened.
"You don't know how to read?" She demanded abruptly, her loud voice carrying across the open space.
Levi halted mid step, turning his head to meet her heated gaze. His cold gray eyes stared back at her, and he scowled. "What the hell did you just say?"
"I asked you a question," Amelia set her hands on her hips and frowned. "Do you know how to read?"
Levi shot her a withering glare.
"Don't shout," he snapped roughly. "'Course I know how to fucking read. The hell are you even here for?"
"Don't lie," Amelia pressed, her brow furrowing in clear frustration. "You couldn't even get through the report you were assigned. I thought you were supposed to be literate."
"That's 'cause I fucking am," Levi turned fully to face her now, his eyes narrowing into a hard stare. "Doesn't mean I wanna waste my time writing some shitty reports."
She crossed her arms under her chest, her gaze never wavering, and he scoffed, wiping his hands absently on the front of his gear.
"If you came all the way out here just to nag me about some shitty paperwork," he muttered, "you're wasting your time."
He was lying again. She could see it in the way his glare hardened as his hands fell to the gear at his sides, fingers grazing the hilts. He turned and strode towards the resupply area.
She stubbornly trailed behind him.
"You're going to have to learn," she said solemnly. "It's a necessity for a Scout to know how to read and write."
"Good," he shot back. "I don't wanna be in this shitty place anyway."
The dark fabric of his cape rippled as he marched, the insignia on the back gazing back at her. The sight of it made her anger surge uncontrollably, burning up from her chest and spreading through her limbs.
"You don't really mean that."
He stopped abruptly, glancing over his shoulder.
The wind tugged at his dark green cape, rippling against the pull of his stride, and she could see the tension straining the muscles in his neck.
"You wouldn't be wearing that if you didn't want to be a Scout," her voice was deceptively calm despite the furious thrum of her pulse.
Levi's scowl deepened and he turned to face her fully. "I'm pretty damn sure I know what I said—"
She cut him off promptly.
"Did your friends say the same thing?"
His hands twitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides as his jaw tightened immediately. "Hah?"
"Isabel and Furlan," she said, meeting his furious glare. The wind whipped her braid to the side, and she watched his cape billow slightly, the edges rippling with every gust. "Did they not want to be Scouts?
A brief pause followed as he blankly stared at her. Her eyes flickered down to his clenching hands, the skin over his knuckles turning white. Her words seem to strike a nerve that was still raw and bleeding beneath the surface.
The corners of his lips pulled back into a furious snarl. "Watch your fucking mouth—"
"Did they not like wearing the same uniform?" She pressed once more. It wasn't her place to use their deaths like this, but it was for the sake of something bigger— for Erwin, the Scouts, humanity itself. "Didn't they fight for the same freedom you wear on your back?"
She saw the shadows on his face clearly. His fists were tightly clenched, his jaw locked in place. For a moment, she thought he might knock his fist right into her grimacing mouth.
She tilted her head slightly to the side, her voice steady. "Erwin said I'll be teaching you the proper way to read and write."
Levi took a threatening step forward, his eyes ablaze. "Fuck that bastard."
"It's either me or Hange," she met his gaze calmly, her stance firm. "You're getting a teacher either way."
A look of cold disgust flashed in his eyes, and he glowered at her darkly. "I don't want you or shitty glasses teaching me a damn thing—"
"Wouldn't they want you to learn, though?" Amelia offered instead. She watched his face closely, gauging his reaction. His brows furrowed slightly, and she added the next words more cautiously, watching the tension in his muscles. "If Isabel and Furlan were still here, they'd want you to do better."
In an instant, he was standing before her.
Her body jolted and she almost stepped back, blinking because she didn't expect him to move so fast. He stared up at her blankly, his dark gray eyes roiling with unspoken fury.
"Oi," he gritted out, his voice low. "Don't use their names to get your way."
She had half a heart to tell him that she didn't know what he meant. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she wasn't trying to manipulate him. Why would she ever use the memory of his dead friends as a bargaining chip? But this wasn't about his anger or her intentions. It was about the freedom they all fought for and the prison that caged them.
But of course, he wouldn't understand that.
Well, she peered down into his narrowed glare, not now at least.
"They were my students too," she responded calmly. She didn't have the fists to fight him with, nor the speed or strength to match him blow for blow. But she had words, and as a woman she liked to believe that gentle words were able to mold angry little men into whatever she wanted. "I should at least be allowed to speak their names."
Levi's jaw tightened, and he inhaled sharply through his nose, taking a deliberate step back.
"I meant what I said," Amelia continued, holding his gaze. "Your friends died for a cause. The least you can do to honor them is to adapt and change. Standing still doesn't keep their memory alive."
He glowered at her. "I know pretty damn well what I have to do."
"Do you?" she said abruptly, staring at him. "What do you really want to do now though?"
She watched him carefully as his scowl deepened and his fingers curled into tight fists by his sides.
A faint sigh left her lips.
"Honor their memory by striving to be more than just a fighter in the field," she clasped her hands behind her back and shrugged, smiling when he frowned at her. "The first step is learning how to read and write properly. They weren't able to do it. But you can, and me and Hange can help."
For a moment, he simply stared at her.
The wind picked up again, tugging at his cape and sending loose strands of black hair across his forehead. Silver eyes reluctantly glanced her way before he shifted on his feet, wordlessly making his way ahead.
She watched his cape flutter in the wind, the insignia on the dark fabric burning into her vision each time she blinked. Her hands clutched into loose fists as she hurriedly raised them to her chest.
"You can drop by in the afternoon!" She yelled, raising her voice to carry over the roaring wind. "In the staff room!"
He didn't acknowledge her, continuing to walk away and she stood there as he disappeared into the distance. Something wet and cold touched the tip of her nose. She tilted her head up, squinting against the faint drizzle that followed soon after.
.
.
.
.
.
He left the canisters in the supply room.
Her words had been so stupid, ringing in his head like a bad joke. He needed time—time to figure out his next move, to disappear from this godforsaken place. Anywhere but here. Kenny had taught him enough. He could read, he could write. Hell, he could get by just fine without fancy words or penmanship. Slicing through throats, making people listen, getting what he wanted— that was what had kept him alive. Survival didn't give a damn about grammar.
The way she'd looked at him, like she understood him, made his skin crawl. And that bushy browed bastard—he acted the same way too. Like they could possibly know what he was going through. Like they had even a clue about the weight he carried. They didn't. They never would. His pain was his alone, carved into him like scars that would never heal.
He'd led them to their deaths. The only people he'd ever cared about. The only ones who ever cared about him. All gone because of him.
The weight of the guilt crushed him.
"Fuck," he spat under his breath.
That stupid woman had the audacity to look him in the eye and tell him what his friends would've wanted for him. As if she knew. As if she had any right.
"Fuck her," he muttered, peeling off his sweaty uniform. "Her and that shitty bastard."
The fabric clung stubbornly to his skin, sticking to him like the grime he felt in his soul. He smelled filthy. He felt filthy.
He stepped under the icy stream of the shower. His muscles stayed taut, his jaw set. He stared down at the water pooling around his feet, swirling dark before slipping into the drain. The bitterness inside him felt the same—pooled in his chest, rising to the back of his throat like bile.
Droplets slid down his face, dripping into his eyes and running down his nose. Wet black hair clung to his forehead, and he blinked slowly, his lashes heavy with water. His body ached from relentless training, every muscle sore and throbbing. But none of it dulled the pain. None of it drowned out their faces.
Isabel's hollow, accusing eyes. Furlan's slack jaw, his lips parted mid scream. Both of them asked the same question— "why didn't you save us, Levi?"
He stood stiffly under the shower, his eyes focused on the ground where the water pooled around his feet.
The bitterness in his chest deepened further, creeping up into the back of his throat and he refused to close his eyes, knowing damn well that their faces would emerge the moment his eyelids fell shut.
What would they really want?
He had never cared for a proper education in the first place. His role had always been clear; he had the hands that made sure they all survived. Furlan handled the finances and Isabel kept the house in check.
Even in their grand plan, his dream had always been tied to theirs. They would get an above ground citizenship. Then they would buy a house. A real one. Not like the sorry little thing they lived in before.
He'd start his own tea shop. Furlan would manage the money and Isabel— he breathed softly — she'd go to school.
Not the makeshift lessons they'd managed at their creaky table where Furlan scratched out numbers on a piece of parchment and Isabel frowned in concentration. An actual proper school for her. She'd sit at a desk, surrounded by books and work her way toward a degree. She'd have a future worth something.
And after that? A job, a good one. The kind that would let her stand tall and proud. Maybe, if she wanted, they'd even find someone decent for her to marry. Someone who'd treat her the way she deserved. He and Furlan would have always been there for her, no matter what.
But for him? He'd never thought about it much.
His dreams weren't important. He could live with nothing, so long as they had everything.
"I'm gonna marry a pretty girl and have tons of kids," Furlan had cracked a grin after a particularly good haul, both of them sprawled on the cold stairs of their little house. "Bet you'd love being called uncle, huh, Levi?"
And now there was nothing.
No school, no wedding, no tea shop. Nothing but the nasty warm blood that refused to wash off his hands no matter how hard he scrubbed it off.
The water cut off with a sharp hiss when he twisted the knob again.
"What will you do?" Furlan had asked one evening after Isabel lamented about cleaning the kitchen again, and Levi had arched a brow. "Hah?"
"Yeah, Levi." Isabel had pressed, her head tilting in that familiar way. "What will you do once we're outta this dump?"
He stood near the lockers, changed into a pair of fresh pants with a clean cotton shirt in his loose grip.
Silver eyes glanced at the cracked mirror at the side.
His gaze traced the lines of his reflected torso, pausing on the angry crimson marks crisscrossing his skin.
Tight leather binds from the gear had dug into him, leaving deep impressions around his shoulders, chest, and legs. The brands were carved into his flesh by the relentless pull of the harnesses. Thick lines wrapped around his body like faded ropes, the skin raw and flushed from the friction of leather and steel. Across his chest, the strap had left a vivid stripe over his ribcage.
The weight of the gear lingered in his bones even now. His body remembered the pressure and the way it held him tightly, binding him to a life he wanted to escape.
Through the haze of his reflection, blue eyes appeared—a memory from that terrible day. They stared at him from atop a horse, framed by tousled blond hair. Those eyes carried the same piercing intensity he remembered from today, an equal shade of sky blue. Both of them had stared at him with similar firmness, with equal rage as they asked him the same question— "what will you do now?"
His hand rose instinctively, and he touched the scarlet mark across his chest with callused fingers.
The courtyard was a swamp of churned mud and waterlogged grass.
She adjusted the weight of the dry parchments cradled in her arms, her heels scraping against the slick stones as she shifted in her spot. Her head tilted back, blue eyes squinting up at the gray sky that seemed intent on making her life miserable.
Rain dripped steadily from the edge of the shed's roof, the drops pattering against the ground in an endless rhythm. The light drizzle splattered against her sleeves whenever the wind shifted.
Amelia's gaze dropped to the grass beyond the flagstones.
She leaned forward slightly, peering down at the polished tips of her black shoes. A frown curled her lips when she noticed how the shine was replaced by a dull sheen of rainwater.
Her eyes scanned the courtyard again, searching for the stone pathway that should have stretched toward the west side of the castle. It was completely swallowed by mud and rainwater.
Her frown deepened.
She hated waiting. But the thought of trekking through the sludge was even worse.
"I'll give it five more minutes," she muttered.
The sudden squelch of boots on wet stone caught her attention, and a presence flanked her on either side. She blinked, keeping her gaze trained on the sodden courtyard as familiar figures stepped in her peripheral vision.
"Amelia?"
A hand grazed her shoulder and she nearly rolled her eyes. From the other side, a head leaned closer and sniffed loudly near the back of her head.
"You're still here?" Mike's deep voice rumbled, his nose nearly brushing the back of her head.
Amelia adjusted the parchments in her arms and sighed wearily. "My contract got extended."
"Really?" Nanaba's tone softened with mild surprise. She stepped closer, the damp fabric of her tan jacket brushing against Amelia's arm as she inclined her head in contemplation. "Didn't know the Corps still had the budget to keep substitute instructors on board."
"I heard she's doing it for free," Mike added, leaning in again.
The tip of his nose brushed against her hair, and he grunted when an elbow jabbed straight into his ribs.
Amelia shot him a dull glare. "Stop that."
"Sorry," he sniffed unapologetically as he stepped back, rubbing his side. "Force of habit."
"For free, huh?" Nanaba raised her brows in amusement. "Never pegged you as the charitable type when it came to the Corps."
Amelia sighed once more. Her eyes drifted to their drenched jackets and rain-soaked hair. Droplets clung to the top of their heads and slid down their necks, but neither seemed to care. Her brows furrowed in slight irritation.
"Don't you two have soldier duties or something?" She grumbled.
"We were actually on our way to Erwin," Nanaba said casually, planting a hand on her hip. "Then Mike here caught a whiff of you from the corridors. Said you smelled kinda…?"
Mike puffed up his nostrils demonstratively. "Like you needed some assistance."
Amelia let out a frustrated sigh.
"I need to get to the staff room," she muttered, her gaze darting toward the distant building across the courtyard. "So I took a shortcut and now I'm stuck here because of the mud."
Mike raised a brow and Nanaba tilted her head, curious. "Mud?"
"I bought these shoes a week ago," Amelia stuck out one foot from beneath her rain-speckled dress. The hem of the fabric shifted, revealing a pale shin and a pristine black shoe as she huffed in annoyance. "I'm not about to ruin them now, alright? They were expensive."
Mike snorted, unimpressed. "All this trouble over a pair of shoes?"
Nanaba clamped a hand to her mouth, stifling her laughter and Amelia rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." She muttered loudly, grimacing at the muddied courtyard. "It's not easy buying new shoes when you're not living off public taxes."
The statement drew loud, unapologetic snorts from both of them. She frowned when they closed in on her on either side, their shoulders pressing against her and hemming her in as they casually boxed her between themselves.
"Seriously?" Amelia snapped, narrowing her eyes as she craned her neck to glare at them one by one. "Can you guys back off a bit? I'm really not in the mood for this right now—"
"Squad Leader Nanaba!"
Hands ripped away the parchments in her arms and Amelia blinked, her hands curling around empty air as Nanaba cradled the stack to her chest.
The blonde nodded firmly, her expressions all serious. "Yes, sir!"
Amelia paused momentarily, her eyes growing wide when strong arms slid beneath her knees and back before lifting her clear off the ground. Her breath hitched as the world tilted when she was hoisted up and pressed securely against Mike's broad chest. His jacket smelled faintly of rain and leather, the fabric rough against her cheek.
Mike grinned toothily as he stomped his foot on the flagstones. "Are you ready, soldier?!"
Amelia squirmed in his hold. "What the hell are you two—"
Nanaba stepped forward, clutching the parchments in one arm as she slammed a fist to her heart. A faint smile curled her lips as she saluted. "Awaiting orders, sir!"
Amelia fidgeted in the utterly ridiculous princess carry, her hands instinctively grabbing onto the lapels of Mike's jacket.
"Wait a second—"
"Charge!"
Mike roared, surging forward into the courtyard.
Amelia squeaked, clutching tighter as the two sprinted into the rain. Rain splattered against their faces, droplets clinging to their hair and lashes as cold air rushed past. Dirty water splashed beneath Mike's boots, flinging around mud and dirt everywhere. Nanaba raced alongside them, her boots sloshing noisily in the puddles. She whooped loudly, rain dampening her hair and streaking her cheeks as the three of them dashed madly towards the west wing.
The group came to a screeching halt under the shelter of the stone archway, their breaths puffing out in quick laughter and fogging the cool air.
Amelia sat cradled in Mike's arms, blinked owlishly as he grinned. He shifted her weight slightly, holding her securely to his chest as he turned to Nanaba with a schooled grimace.
"Status report, soldier!"
Nanaba squinted at Amelia's feet, bending slightly for closer inspection.
Mike shifted again, hoisting Amelia's knees higher and purposely tilting her sideways. Amelia yelped, her legs wavering in the air as she clutched his jacket tighter.
"Clean shoes!" Nanaba declared, straightening with a proud nod.
Mike feigned concern. "Any casualties?"
Nanaba held up the stack of parchments, the top sheets faintly speckled with rain.
"A few injuries," she said solemnly, "but no casualties, sir!"
Mike puffed out his chest with exaggerated pride, his grin stretching from ear to ear.
"Mission accomplished!"
Amelia stumbled slightly once he set her back on the ground, her knees wobbling from the sudden return to solid footing. Nanaba's hand shot out instinctively, holding her steady before extending the stack of parchments to her.
Amelia cradled them against her chest, a look of disbelief on her face. She glanced between the two again, her lips twitching upwards when they grinned at her like silly schoolchildren.
The corners of her mouth curled into a genuine smile, and Amelia huffed out a light laugh.
"Thank you," she grinned faintly, blue eyes softening. "I know I can always count on the Scouts."
Mike straightened further, his hands set firmly on his hips. He inhaled deeply as Nanaba playfully pressed a fist to her chest and winked. "Always ready to dedicate our hearts to our resident teachers."
"Pretty ones at that," Mike added with a flare of his nostrils.
Amelia rolled her eyes as he sniffed loudly once more, slamming his fist to the side of his ribcage.
"Of course," Amelia snorted, looking amused. "How can I ever repay you both?"
Nanaba curled a hand around her chin, briefly feigning contemplation before she grinned impishly. "Your tax money sounds good."
Amelia sniggered, pursing her lips to hold back her laughter and Mike grinned down at her. "Treating us to drinks sounds good too."
"We can do that," Amelia said honestly, looking up at them with a genuine smile.
Mike offered a wide grin, turning on his heel as he bid farewell. Nanaba lingered briefly as her hand lifted in a gentle wave.
"Oi," she waved, her voice soft. "It's always good to have you here, you know."
Amelia tightened her grip on the stack of papers against her chest, the damp corners curling slightly in her hold. She responded with a grateful smile, watching as the two made their way down the dimly lit corridor. Her eyes lingered on the insignia emblazoned on the back of their jackets, slightly streaked with rain. The faint sheen of water clung to the fabric, darkening the green emblems further.
I like being here too, she swallowed the words down before they reached her lips.
Her gaze dropped, falling to the tips of her shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her long navy dress. They were still spotless, the black leather glinting faintly in the dim light.
She glanced up again.
Their fading silhouettes caught her eye first, their jackets swaying gently as they walked, the insignias on their backs growing dimmer with each step. Her gaze drifted downward, catching the mud and grime clinging to their boots and creeping up to their ankles. Rain dripped steadily from the edges of the stone archway above her head and the squelch of their boots against the wet floor echoed faintly through the corridors, growing softer until it faded completely.
Amelia continued standing there until the two disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
A quiet, shaky sigh left her lips and she peered down at her unblemished shoes once more.
The staff room finally looked spotless.
Levi lowered himself into one of the chairs, the wood creaking faintly beneath him as he scanned the place.
The ink stains that had once marred the desk were wiped clean from existence. The disorganized stacks of old parchments were neatly arranged, their edges aligned in perfect order and the dusty shelves gleamed faintly in the filtered light from the window. He had scrubbed, swept and mopped twice over until the place looked brand new.
He leaned back, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. These suicidal idiots barely had the sense to survive in combat; expecting them to understand basic hygiene was apparently asking too much, he supposed. Hell, even his cramped home in the Underground had been cleaner than this disgusting excuse for a headquarters.
His glare shifted to the door, narrowing as his patience thinned. His foot tapped impatiently against the wooden leg of the table.
"Fucking late," he muttered under his breath. "Damn woman has the nerve to call herself a teacher when she can't even show up on time."
Another minute passed, and Levi drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He briefly considered leaving the room to hunt her down and sneer in her face, throwing her self righteous talk back at her.
The door finally creaked open.
"Tch. If this is your idea of professionalism," he deadpanned, annoyance clear in his voice. "No wonder these shitty brats can't do anything right—"
He paused, brows arching faintly when a pair of bare feet scuffed against the clean floor.
His gaze sharpened immediately, taking in the sight of the two boys. Familiar faces grated on his nerves as the brats lingered in the doorway, their eyes darting towards him like an animal caught by a hunter.
"Hahh?!" The taller one broke the silence with a sneer, his scowl deepening as he stared directly at him. "The fuck's he doin' 'ere?!"
Recognition settled in, and Levi's brow twitched slightly.
He remembered these brats. The stable boys that were lurking around Amelia like two stray mutts looking for scraps of attention. The taller one had a big mouth, irking him during their last interaction too. Apparently the stable boys were getting an education too.
Levi's lips pressed into a thin line. Did she seriously expect him to sit through her lessons with these brats? His jaw tightened further.
"S-Simon!" Another trembling voice broke through the tension. A second face peeked out from behind the taller boy, wide green eyes flicking nervously into the room. "D-Don't say that out loud!"
Simon scoffed, carelessly stepping further into the room. His bare feet slapped against the floor, leaving muddied smudges, and Levi's right eye twitched.
"I can say whatever the fuck I wanna say out loud!"
Theodore darted forward, grabbing at Simon's arm in an attempt to pull him back. "Ya know M-Miss Amelia said not to curse, r-right?"
Simon rolled his eyes, yanking his arm free with a sharp tug.
"Look around, Theo." He gestured broadly at the room. "She ain't 'ere, so we're good to say whatever we want."
Levi leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. His sharp gaze fixed on Simon, pinning him in place without a word. The brat glared back at him challengingly.
Theodore nervously chewed his bottom lip, clutching a battered notebook tightly to his chest. Beside him, Simon clicked his tongue and the two turned to stare at the other figure in the room.
Levi met their stares with an unimpressed calm. His cool gray eyes flickered from Theodore's frightened face to Simon's furious scowl, mildly intrigued by the boy's audacity.
"May-maybe we should just w-wait outside?" Theodore suggested meekly.
"Stop fuckin' stutterin'!" Simon snapped. Theodore flinched, his fingers tightening around the notebook. "Ya sound weak when ya do that!"
"S-Sorry, Simon!"
Levi watched the exchange boredly. The brats were a mess—faces streaked with soot and grime, their bare feet caked in cracked mud. Their clothes weren't better either. Their vests were stained and wrinkled, a faint stench of horse manure wafting through the air the moment Simon moved closer. Levi's nose scrunched in disgust and his fingers twitched towards his cravat before he decided against it.
Simon ventured up to the table and plopped down across from him, scowling deeply.
Theodore hesitated, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other before cautiously taking a seat beside the other boy.
Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. His brows furrowed as he considered how the brats reeked and their loud voices grated against the silence of the room. Yet, that damn woman still wasn't here.
"We were 'ere first!" Simon barked abruptly, his glare hardening. "If ya got a problem, then ya can leave!"
"B-But, Simon!" Theodore squeaked from the side. "He was 'ere before us!"
"Ya fuckin' moron!" Simon twisted around to snarl at him. "Ya sidin' with him now?!"
"N-no! I was just sayin' that actually he was 'ere before—"
"Can you brats shut up?" Levi deadpanned.
Theodore immediately clamped his mouth shut, shrinking into his seat. Simon shot Levi a fiery glare, his hands curling into fists. Levi sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair and turning his sharp gaze to the door. If she thought he was going to sit here and tolerate this shit—
"Don't tell us what ta' do!" Simon snarled furiously. He fumed in his seat, looking like he'd launch himself across the table any second. "As if I'd let some shitty ol' rat from the Unde—"
"Ya were in the same squad as Isabel, right?"
Silver eyes snapped sharply to the other boy.
Theodore sat quietly, his wide green eyes fixed on Levi. The brat's messy brown hair fell in uneven strands across his forehead, no fear in his gaze this time. His expressions were strangely steady, his brows slightly furrowed as he stared cautiously from across the long table.
Levi stared back, mulling over the boy's question before offering a slow nod.
"Did she," Theodore swallowed visibly, "die peacefully at least?"
Levi's body stilled, his arms remaining crossed over his chest.
Simon's mouth snapped shut, his scowl faltering for the first time as he glanced at the boy beside him.
"Oi." he frowned, "what're ya even askin' him, Theo—"
"I was at the funeral," Theodore blurted. He straightened abruptly in his seat, the chair creaking loudly beneath him. His forearms landed on the table with a soft thud as he leaned forward, his green eyes wide. "Ya probably don't remember me bein' there, mister."
Levi paused, his brows scrunching together. He sifted through his memories, dragging himself back to that bleak day, only to come up empty. He didn't remember Theodore's face, didn't remember much of anything beyond the heavy fog of grief and the mechanical way his body had moved. The image of shrouded remains flickered briefly in his mind.
A dull ache stirred beneath his ribcage, the familiar heavy bitterness curling in his gut.
"I—I noticed somethin," Theodore pressed cautiously. He hesitated as his hands twitched where they rested on the table, his fingers curling slightly. "When they laid 'er body to rest."
Simon frowned, glancing at him with a look of faint concern.
"I mean," Theodore faltered, his lips pressing together tightly before he drew in a shaky breath. His green eyes darted upward, meeting Levi's grimace with an almost pleading looking. "There wasn't any… ya know…"
The boy's words trailed off into a heavy silence, the pause stretching unbearably long. Levi felt his chest gradually tighten as he watched Theodore grapple with whatever he was trying to say. His fingers dug into his crossed arms, the pressure grounding him against whatever question the boy was mustering the courage to ask.
"…'er body," the brat uttered finally, his breath slightly hitched. "It-it wasn't entirely there, was it?"
A heavy weight settled in the pit of Levi's stomach, but he kept his expressions completely impassive.
Theodore's bottom lip quivered as he offered a weak, almost apologetic smile.
"I thought I imagined it," he admitted, his words rushing out quickly past his mouth. "But that can't be it, right, mister? They didn't… They wouldn't have just buried somethin' wrapped up, like… like the size of a ball kids play with, right? That can't be it."
Levi quietly stared at the boy.
Theodore leaned further onto the table, his forearms trembling slightly as he searched Levi's face, his wide green eyes darting across every line of it. "Right?"
Heavy silence descended on them again.
Simon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his scowl wavering as he glanced between the both of them.
"Theo," Simon muttered, frowning. "Stop it, will ya—"
"Please!"
The desperate shout echoed through the room. Levi tensed instinctively, his sharp eyes snapping back to Theodore as the boy pressed his forearms hard against the table. His skinny frame trembled as he leaned out of his chair and over the table, his breaths fast and shallow.
"I need to know!" He pleaded, his voice cracking at the end. "I imagined it, right?!"
Simon blinked in surprise, staring at the other boy.
Levi leaned back in his chair, his arms remaining tightly crossed. His expressions thinned into a grimace and he frowned.
"It was her head," he answered calmly. The words snagged painfully on something buried deep in his chest, dragging bitterness up to his throat until it curdled there, thick and nauseating. "That's what was left of her."
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Theodore's eyes widened, the green of them shimmering with wetness. The pesky brat merely stared, blinking slowly, once, then twice, before sinking back into his chair.
Simon shot him a worried look. "Oi."
"So I guess I really didn't imagine it," Theodore mumbled softly. His empty gaze dropped to the table and his hands fell into his lap.
The chair creaked as Simon shot to his feet, his movements hurried and awkward. He reached out, his hand hovering over Theodore's shoulder.
"I know ya liked 'er or somethin'," he began unsurely, "but ya didn't have to ask this ass about it—"
A loud sniffle filled the air, and Simon halted.
Levi silently stared as Theodore clutched at his chest, his small fingers curling tightly into the dirty fabric of his vest. The boy's soft sniffles soon morphed into loud, sharp sobs. Fat tears gathered in the corners of his trembling eyes, spilling down his cheeks uncontrolled and unchecked. His lips quivered as he cracked a smile, sniffling back the snot dripping down his nose.
"They put me on barn duty when y'all were leavin'," he choked out between hiccuping sobs.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His hands scrubbed at his face as he sobbed loudly, hiccups rattling his small frame with each gasping breath. "I didn't even get to say goodbye to her."
Levi regarded him silently, unmoving. The boy was a mess of tears and snot, his entire form wracking with each sob.
His mind quietly shifted back to a memory from a few years ago.
Isabel's face flashed before him, her eyes puffy with tears as she cradled a dead cat she'd tried to save. Furlan had been the one to console her, murmuring gentle reassurances that had done little to soothe her. She'd sobbed the entire night, her small frame trembling as she clung to him until exhaustion finally lulled her to sleep.
The memory fueled the deep ache in his chest, dragging him back to that familiar, gnawing pain.
"Motherfucker!"
His gaze snapped to the side, and Simon stood snarling across the table, his jaw clenched in rage. "Why the fuck did ya tell 'em all that?!"
…why did I? He wasn't really sure why he did, not fully. Whether it was obligation, or guilt, or something else entirely— he wasn't certain of it. He merely offered a lazy shrug, a simple half-hearted lift of his shoulder.
Simon gritted his teeth, hands tightening into fists by his sides as Theordore continued weeping beside him. In a flash, Simon clambered atop the table and lunged forward with a furious snarl.
"Ya damn sewer rat!"
The table rattled under his weight and Levi felt his body move purely on instinct.
Callused fingers dug into the boy's dirty vest. Simon gasped audibly, wincing when his entire body was slammed down on the table. Levi kept his fingers curled firmly around the boy's measly neck, purposely restraining from snapping the windpipe as a reflex.
"Fucker!" Simon snarled again, thrashing wildly as he clawed at the strong arm holding him down. "I'll fuckin' kill ya!"
"Oi, oi." Levi clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes warningly. "Calm down, brat—"
"Underground shit!" Simon leered, glowering up at him as the corners of his lips curled back into a furious snarl. "Should've fuckin' died with the rest of those sewer rats!"
Levi stared at him flatly.
His muscles tensed on reflex as he leaned over the pinned boy and Simon choked as the hard fingers around his neck abruptly tightened.
"F-Fuck—!" He wheezed, tugging at the fist crushing his windpipe. His legs kicked wildly in the air as his face flushed a dangerous shade of crimson.
"Ca-Can't breathe—!"
His mouth fell open in a loud gasp and his eyes rolled back into his head as his body arched off the table.
Levi tipped his head forward, his hair casting shadows across his face as his grip tightened further. A presence fell beside him, small hands clasping onto his arm and tugging desperately.
"Stop it!" Theodore shrieked, pulling at his solid grip. "Yer' gonna kill 'em!"
Levi breathed heavily, his fingers curling tighter like they had done so many times before. He faintly remembered ripping a man's entire face off with his bare hands, the sound of necks snapping like twigs under his iron grip and the squelch of disgusting blood under his boots. His body was too used to this. He needed to exhale, he needed to breathe, he needed to— needed to—
The door of the room fell open.
Silver eyes swung upwards. Amelia stood startled in the doorway, staring at the scene unfolding before her. Levi slackened his grip immediately and he stood back on his feet, his arms falling to his sides as Theodore rushed closer to the gasping boy on the table.
Simon coughed and gagged, sucking in ragged breaths as he rolled onto his side. He clutched at his throat, sniffling loudly with tears in his eyes as Theodore rubbed his back and muttered reassurances.
"It's alright, Simon." The boy coaxed gently, despite his own wet face. "I'm here with you. It's alright."
A dull thump filled the air.
Amelia's arms stayed hanging at her sides, her wide eyes tearing away from him to the sniffling boys on the table in stunned silence, and Levi reluctantly glanced at the sheaves of parchments now scattered across the floor.