Good afternoon!
These are short chapters, focusing on self-contained episodes (the title is rather telling about the content), which are placed immediately after Levi and Mizuki return from Orvud. It is not necessary to read it for the purposes of the story's plot but, if you embark on reading it, I hope you will enjoy it; I had fun making it up and writing it! Above all, I felt it was appropriate to include a nice, light break, a little interlude that would lighten the gloom of the main story, at least a little (also because we are almost there... the attack on Trost by the Armored and the Colossal is coming, and then it will be death and pain for everyone).
Happy reading or happy skipping if you decide to not dive into reading!
See you soon!
.
.
.
Short story 1: Happy birthday, brat
.
After returning from Orvud and despite Amado's revelations, Levi's main problem soon ceased to be Rei's identity and his relationship with Mizuki, shifting to far more tangible concerns.
By now, among the veterans, all anyone could talk about was the birthday party Gelgar had organized for Mizuki. Wherever he went, Levi found himself unwillingly dragged into heated discussions on the subject, full of opinions expressed with authoritative voices and comically serious attitudes.
It was a real pain in the ass, inevitably leading to an even bigger drag.
The gift. The damn, fucking gift.
Like all the other guests, Levi had paid Nanaba, who was in charge of the collection, his share in the common gift; that, he reflected, should have been enough to quiet his conscience. Since the day he was born, he had never attributed much significance to birthdays; in fact, to be completely honest, the custom of gift-giving seemed like a prime example of stupidity to him, a noble's whim that poor people awkwardly tried to imitate. However, he certainly would not have been the only one to back down and thwart the collective effort to organize a surprise for the brat; he had paid his share, although he was ready to bet his ass that she would be happy even if she had received something simple, trivial, unpretentious, and celebrated in a randomly chosen and crowded tavern, as long as she was in the company of all the people she had grown to love.
And yet, his conscience had not been quieted at all by handing over the money to Nanaba. Quite the opposite. During breaks between jobs, he couldn't stop agonizing over the issue.
It was all the fault of Four-Eyes and her chatter. Both she and Erwin, despite contributing to the group gift, planned to show up at the party with individual presents as well: volumes from their private collections that Mizuki had adored or books she had expressed interest in reading. "It's normal," Hanje had added, bringing up the subject with him for the umpteenth time. "Superiors should spoil their subordinates. Especially ones in Mizuki's situation. Poor girl, far from home and her family, not knowing if she'll ever see them again! Showering her with gifts seems like the least we can do."
Levi, however, didn't share this opinion; or at least he tried to convince himself he didn't by constructing logical and indisputable arguments.
The reasoning was elementary in its simplicity. He had long decided to treat Mizuki like any other soldier in the Survey Corps. He still believed that the custom of giving birthday gifts was stupid and barbaric, and he would never prepare a present for anyone on his own initiative. From these premises, only one inevitable conclusion followed: he wouldn't buy her - nor should he feel the desire to buy her - any personal gift.
And yet.
There was a major flaw in that otherwise perfect reasoning.
An error that undermined the very premises, thus ruining all the logic that had been carefully woven into it.
The error lay in his inability to stop imagining what expression would appear on her face if he gave her a gift chosen specifically for her.
In other words, more simply put, that she, for Levi, wasn't like other people.
At first, he had tried to deny it. He put on a performance, for himself even more than for the rest of the world, in which Mizuki was nothing more to him than one of the many recruits filling Headquarters; livelier, more cheerful, more full of life than most of them, but still just one among an indistinguishable crowd. And that man, who cared for everyone, who fought even for the last and least deserving of human beings within the walls, that man who couldn't live without forming bonds with others, had ended up growing attached to her, just like he had with all of their other comrades.
That it was a lie, and a rather pathetic one at that, had become clear to him long before the incident at Tennison Mansion, through countless small and insignificant details of everyday life: how catching a whiff of her scent lifted his spirits and calmed him, the way the silences between them were never awkward or uncomfortable, the way his eyes couldn't help but follow her as she hopped around the rooms, and the fact that his day truly began only after he crossed paths with her in the corridors and heard her laughter.
That was the flaw in the reasoning's premise, then. The result: he would buy her a damn gift.
So, while sweeping the floor in the early morning or brewing tea in the evening, he found himself grinding his teeth, unwillingly pondering what options he had.
A book, for sure, was out of the question. It would seem like he was copying Hanje and Erwin's idea, and undoubtedly with far less success. Levi didn't mind reading during the rare days off he allowed himself, but he couldn't exactly be called a bookworm like Four-Eyes, the commander, or Mizuki herself; there was a not-so-remote chance he'd give her a boring volume or one she had already read.
But eliminating that option, what was left?
The brat didn't have any other "material" hobbies, ones that required the use of objects.
Maybe the promise to exempt her from punishments and cleaning duty? No, terrible idea to foreshadow to someone on their birthday that they'd soon be put to hard work; even someone like him could see that. Besides, he wouldn't give up the punishments for anything in the world, as they provided him with a solid, indisputable excuse to spend precious evenings alone with her.
One day, while he was lost in such thoughts, Lavinia knocked on his office door to deliver some documents from Erwin. After explaining their contents with her usual efficiency and precision, the girl asked: "May I go?"
Levi didn't answer immediately. Seated at his desk, documents in hand, he scrutinized her for a few moments. "Answer one question first, Williams."
"I'm listening."
"Does your chap happen to need anything?"
"If you're asking me what you could get Mizuki for her birthday, save your breath." Lavinia placed her hand on the door handle with an irritated grimace. "I've decided not to interfere between the two of you, but you can forget about me helping you earn points with her. You'll have to rack your brain on your own."
And with that, she left the room, without waiting to be dismissed.
What a bitch.
A bitch perhaps even more skilled than Erwin at understanding people and their needs.
Levi shrugged; convincing himself that this was a sign from the universe, meant to make him realize just how terrible and crazy the idea of the gift was, he immersed himself in work once more.
.
The following morning, however, he headed into town to meet a certain officer from the Garrison Corps. As he marched through the streets, crowded with hurried and distracted people, Levi kept an eye on the shop windows he passed by. One last check, he told himself. The party would be held that same evening, and he wanted to attend without regrets.
Suddenly, his attention was caught by a small shop with a wooden facade painted white, selling knick-knacks. He had seen Petra stop there more than once during supply runs to the city.
The inside of the shop was illuminated by several wall lamps, casting bands of light over the neatly arranged merchandise on the shelves and on two counters along the wall. Most of the items were useless in a practical sense, good only for satisfying a fleeting whim or perhaps serving as home decor. Annoyed that he had let himself get dragged in there, Levi was about to turn on his heels when something on the counter caught his eye.
He carefully examined the rectangular cards lined up on the surface, each a different pastel shade, covered on one side by a transparent wrap, under which, like hidden treasures, the colorful petals of various flowers sparkled; at the end of each card, a braided string hung, matching the color of the paper and blooms.
"Do you like them? They're bookmarks." The shopkeeper, a plump woman in her fifties, approached him with a smile. "The flowers are real. They've been dried under that plastic wrap so that they could be preserved."
"Not bad," Levi replied curtly, and gently picked up the one that had immediately caught his eye.
On a pale yellow card, adorned with a gold thread, rested a flower with a drooping corolla, pure white, shaped like a bell, opening to reveal pistils of a bright green.
"Oh! Do you like it? That's a snowdrop, also called the morning star," the woman explained, leaning over to study the bookmark in Levi's hands. "It's a flower with a beautiful meaning. Its name comes from its most remarkable trait: it's a plant that blooms in winter and can sprout even under piles of snow. Traditionally, it's seen as a symbol of life, hope, optimism, and consolation, precisely because of its ability to blossom and shine in all its beauty despite harsh weather conditions. It also signifies a new beginning after a time of pain and hardship, as it's the first flower of the year to bloom. The white of the petals, meanwhile, symbolizes purity."
Life. Hope. Optimism. Consolation. A new beginning. Purity.
Her smile, which radiated light in every situation. Her laughter, warm and contagious. Her amber eyes, studying the world without prejudice, finding beauty and love even in the most disreputable places.
It's perfect.
"I'll take it," Levi said.
"Excellent choice!" The woman carefully retrieved the bookmark, moving behind the counter to place it in a colored paper bag with care. "Your girlfriend will surely love it!"
"It's not for my girlfriend."
"Oh… well, then the girl it's meant for will love it. And even if she's not your girlfriend yet, she will be soon!"
To this comment, Levi didn't reply. The shopkeeper was convinced that the bookmark was intended for a woman for whom he had special, unique feelings and, as a matter of fact, she was not wrong.
Still, she was mistaken on one point.
Mizuki could never become his girlfriend, because Levi was a soldier, and his heart didn't belong to him.
.
The long-awaited party finally took place that evening.
The guests – quite a considerable number of people, including soldiers from all three divisions of the military and some civilians – gathered in one of the taverns of Trost, whose owner had kindly reserved most of the tables for them. To everyone's surprise, even the old man with the guitar, whom Mizuki had met who knows where, came and volunteered to entertain the evening held in honor of his friend.
Outside, the snow was falling thickly, but inside the tavern, the warmth generated by the people, the alcohol, and the fire blazing in the fireplace heated the atmosphere.
Mizuki was radiant, and she didn't stay in the same place for even a minute. She moved between the tables, chatting, bending down to whisper confidences to those seated on the benches, humming, and laughing loudly and joyfully.
Levi, standing off to the side, watched her from his corner against the wall. He knew perfectly well that the girl's enthusiasm was not related to her role as the guest of honor, but rather to the presence of the people she loved within the walls.
The time for gifts arrived; it was revealed that almost everyone, despite having contributed to the group gift, had brought a personal one as well: a pen, a notebook, a small painting, a stone with an unusual composition or shape; little objects accepted with joy because they represented memories of an adventure or a lazy afternoon spent together.
Mizuki received clothes, costume jewelry, and, above all, piles of books, accepting everything with smiles and cheerful exclamations.
The only gift that wasn't handed to her was a certain bookmark adorned with a dried snowdrop.
Levi, who was stroking it with the tip of his fingers inside the hidden pocket of his jacket, knew exactly why.
That tiny object held too deep a meaning, too personal, too close to the truth - that she embodied his hope, his consolation, a new beginning that he was forbidden to desire - for Levi to let it slip in front of her under everyone's eyes.
He had once heard Mizuki casually state that, as knowledgeable as she was about plants because of her mother's work, she was totally ignorant of the meaning attributed to the various qualities of flowers. She, therefore, would not have grasped the hidden message of giving her a snowdrop as a gift; but Levi could not rule out that others, unlike her, would have picked it up instead.
In the end, though, it was fine that way.
He still found the tradition of gift-giving stupid, and it would have been even more foolish to give in to the temptation to follow it.
.
Two days later, however, the universe, as if opposing Levi's resolve, threw him a rope once again.
It was the brat's day off. Despite it was late winter, it wasn't snowing that afternoon; the sun shone in a clear sky, pale and mild rays of light bathed the ice and snow-covered ground, the humans bustling about like ants, and the bare, withered branches of the trees.
As always on such occasions, Mizuki had settled on one of the benches in the garden, basking in the sunlight with one of the books she had received at the party resting on her lap, bundled up in layers of wool. There she sat, lazily reading, occasionally lifting her gaze from the pages to admire the snow-covered garden with a contented and dreamy sigh. She loved snow, just as she loved tomatoes, books, and music; everyone in the Survey Corps knew this by now, given how often she proclaimed her favorite things. Even Levi knew it, and this information often helped him to find her around the building: if the garden was covered with blinding white snow, all he had to do was look for a spot with a good view, and there she would be.
That day was no different. When he approached her, he noticed she had dozed off: her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and steady, her mouth slightly parted with a small droplet of drool slipping out, her head tilted against the stone wall, her hair slipping down from one shoulder, the book open on her lap.
The sight was beautiful, he thought; so beautiful in the banality of the context and the action, in the simplicity of the subject. Ordinary people, fortunate enough to witness such sights daily, often took them for granted and considered them boring; soldiers, especially Levi, however, lived these moments intensely, trying to imprint every shade, every scent, every sensation in their hearts, and treasured the memories of those peaceful moments, memories that became a shelter in the days of despair and defeat.
Without really thinking about anything else beyond how beautiful and comforting the scene was, Levi took the book abandoned on Mizuki's lap and rummaged in his pockets.
"Don't lose the page," Mizuki warned him; still with her eyes closed and groggy from sleep, she stretched with a yawn.
Levi snapped the book shut and lightly tapped on her the head with the cover. "It's starting to get cold out here. Go inside."
"Hey! I told you not to…"
"I didn't lose the page," he cut her off, turning his back and walking away. "Go inside."
To be fair, the captain wasn't wrong: evening was slowly but steadily falling, and a cold breeze had begun sweeping through the garden, slipping under her clothes and tickling her chilled skin. Grumbling, Mizuki got ready to stand up and go back inside.
As soon as she was enveloped by the warmth of the common room, she flipped through the book to find where she had left off and slip in the loose scrap of paper she used as a bookmark, but she froze halfway through the motion, struck by surprise.
Between the printed pages, a refined yellow bookmark had been placed, laminated on one side, with a gold-threaded tassel hanging from it; under the transparent wrap, a snowdrop flower seemed to timidly open its bell-shaped petals just for her, as if to welcome her after a long absence from home.
There was no note; not even a single word accompanying the sudden appearance of the object, but she understood at once.
Happy birthday, brat.
She couldn't hold it back. With trembling hands, she gently touched the bookmark, then buried her face in the book to hide her flushed cheeks and the silly laughter that escaped uncontrollably from her lips.
Andrea Reel and Wilma Porter, two recruits passing by her by chance, gave her a suspicious look. They had heard, indeed, that Soldier Onizuka was a bit odd and that many thought she had a screw loose, but they hadn't given much weight to such rumors. Now, however, they found her laughing uncontrollably with her head buried in a book, so she couldn't be entirely normal. Andrea and Wilma exchanged bewildered glances, shook their heads, and walked on.
But she didn't even notice them.
In that moment, for Mizuki, nothing else had any real substance besides that tiny piece of cardstock she held between her fingers.
.
.
Bonus: How Levi discovered that Mizuki didn't know a thing about the language of flowers
An evening like any other in the canteen hall of the Survey Corps, Mizuki, Petra, and Loki were playing cards while Levi silently sipped a cup of tea, when Porter, a fellow soldier who had joined the military the same year as Oluo, approached the table.
"Mizuki!" he whimpered, teary-eyed, as he slumped onto the bench in front of her. "It went terribly!"
The girl immediately dropped her cards to give the petitioner her full attention, as the situation demanded. "What?! What happened?! Did you do what we agreed on?"
"Yes… I gave her a bouquet of those pole-shaped flowers we saw together… and she threw them in my face!" Porter buried his anguished face in his hands.
Loki rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Again?"
"Unexpected…" Mizuki murmured, tapping her cheek with a finger. "And to think everything was going so well between you two."
"Wait a second," Petra interjected, playing with the edge of a card. "Did you say pole-shaped flowers? Did you, by any chance, give her a bouquet of snapdragons?"
Mizuki tilted her head, giving Petra a curious look. "Yes, those exactly."
"Oh no!" Petra vigorously shook her head. "Everyone knows that snapdragons are given when you want to politely reject someone!"
Porter slowly lowered his hands. "What?"
Petra gulped audibly. "Mizuki, how could you not know this?! Didn't your mother own a plant shop? And didn't you say you spent your afternoons with her as a kid?"
Mizuki stared at Petra with wide eyes, as if her friend had just told her that she was a giant. "Well, yes. I was always interested in her work, but only when it came to useful plants. The stories about the meaning of flowers always sounded like a load of nonsense to me, so I never paid attention to them."
Porter gasped, baffled and incredulous. "When we picked the flowers, you were so sure about them that I thought you knew what you were doing!"
"I was so sure because I thought those flowers were the prettiest in the shop!"
The heartbroken boy let out a moan of frustration and helplessness, collapsed, and began sobbing miserably. "Beatrice… What will I do? She hates me… because of you… because of the snapdragons…"
"Don't be pathetic. She doesn't hate you, you just need to explain what happened. If she really likes you, it'll all be fine," Loki hissed. Sensing that the game was doomed to fall into oblivion, he gathered the scattered cards on the table and carefully shuffled them into the deck. "And it's your fault, Porter, for trusting this idiot with a love matter. Everyone knows she's clueless about these things."
"Hey!"
"Oi". Levi had had enough of the nonsense. He pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly. The chatter of his subordinates instantly ceased, and everyone stared at him nervously. "Instead of sitting here causing a racket, move your asses and go fix the situation. Especially you, brat."
"Yessir!" Mizuki exclaimed, fist clenched against her chest, and leaped to her feet, while Loki muttered under his breath, "troublemaker."
So it was that Beatrice, upon opening the door of her house, found herself face to face with a handful of fervent soldiers, all of whom began talking at the same time and concisely, confusing her - especially, a certain girl with long curly hair, who bowed to her several times and claimed to be the sole culprit of the misunderstanding; and it was ever so thanks to the mindless chatter of those four soldiers - especially the strange girl with curly hair - that she and Porter cleared up the misunderstanding and got together.
.
.
.
.
Short Story 2: Happy birthday, sunshine
.
"What?! Are you really sure about this, Hange?! Absolutely, positively sure?!"
One cold January morning, Mizuki made a discovery that drastically ruined for her the first days of the new year.
"Of course I'm sure; I've known him for six years now. His birthday is on December twenty-fifth."
Mizuki let out a low, inarticulate groan and buried her face in her hands, devastated. "I had no idea! How could I have known if no one ever told me? There were no celebrations, nothing!"
Completely unaware of the storm brewing in her subordinate's chest, Hange kept diligently filling out the account logs. "Levi isn't a big fan of parties or birthdays, as you can easily guess from his personality. He barely tolerates Erwin and me spending the evening with him, drinking bad wine and eating a slice of cake; and he only goes along with it because Erwin is quite firm in forcing at least this small celebration on him. Don't blame yourself, Mizuki. I don't think even Mike knows when his birthday is."
"I'm not blaming myself,"** Mizuki muttered, and it was true.
The problem wasn't guilt at all; it was that the captain had given her a wonderful gift for her nineteenth birthday, one she was never tired of gazing at with satisfaction every time she opened the book in which the bookmark was tucked.
And yet, like a fool, she hadn't even known when his birthday was until just moments ago!
Mizuki knew plenty of people who didn't give any importance to their birthday and even saw celebrations as a nuisance, a useless social tradition, good for nothing but wasting money; people like Loki, for example. And to be completely honest, she wasn't at all surprised that the captain was among them. Usually, she accepted these personal tendencies and, though she didn't share them, respected them without much thought.
But the captain was a different story.
He wasn't like other people to her.
By now, she'd realized and accepted it for a while. In the early days of their relationship and life within the walls, she had tried to justify the immense interest she felt for the captain by blaming her naturally boundless curiosity, her spiritual openness toward others, and a certain tendency to stick her nose into other people's business, something she'd long since accepted as one of her many flaws. Levi was just one of the many people she cared about; she admitted that perhaps, with him, her soul resonated in a unique, more mysterious, more intense way compared to most people. Over time, however, it had become increasingly difficult and finally impossible for Mizuki to deny the obvious: that her feelings for him were something entirely new; that he was special; that he had settled into a corner of her heart that until then had been unoccupied and unknown even to herself.
As much as he might dislike birthdays, he had given her an invaluable gift, warming her heart and making her happier than she had been in a long time since arriving within the walls. And Mizuki wanted with all her heart to return the favor, and above all, to avoid the captain mistaking her behavior on December twenty-fifth for indifference.
She had promised herself to reciprocate the gesture the very night she had received the bookmark; but for some unknown reason, convinced that she had plenty of time, she hadn't immediately begun searching for a gift worthy of the goal, nor had she sought out information on the exact date of Levi's birthday - partly due to a winter flu that had confined her to the infirmary for countless hours.
Now, not only was she short on time, but she was already irreparably late.
To make matters worse, Mizuki had no idea what to buy for the captain.
Cleaning products? Absolutely not. Like any cleanliness fanatic worth their salt, Levi had developed a whole set of preferences for the products and tools he used, and he was always well-stocked. Tea was also out of the question: the high-quality varieties were far more expensive than she could afford on her meager soldier's salary. Moreover - though in all likelihood it was a stubborn brat's whim - she had become fixated on the idea of giving him something permanent, something that wouldn't be used up; something that would stay with him even after Mizuki - whether by death or the long-awaited return home - was gone.
Something that would make him think of her, that would keep Mizuki's memory alive within Levi, just as she was certain that Levi's memory would remain alive within her until the end.
A goal that sometimes seemed presumptuous - who did she think she was to expect that the captain would never forget her, despite the years and distance? At other times, she convinced herself that she had an unquestionable right to claim at least that small consolation. After all, she wasn't asking for much: just that, once in a while, when handling an object she had given him in a past shrouded in mist, he would spare her a thought; that he would remember her impudence and the tugs of her ears with indulgence; that he would close his eyes and dive into the memory of the evenings they had spent together in the office, him working at the table, never taking his eyes off her, and her serving her punishment cheerfully, shivering with pleasure under the weight of the captain's gaze.
It was a petty, selfish, and childish desire. All three traits that, generally speaking, did not belong to her - except perhaps the last, due to a childish streak that pulsed within her and, having remained intact for her entire nineteen years, she believed would never run dry. Nonetheless, that desire was there, throbbing insistently in her chest, and Mizuki would give in to it.
Shortly after Hanje's shocking revelation, as she walked nervously around trying to come up with a plan, Lavinia entered the room, returning from a meeting with Erwin and Commander Pixis.
"Lav, thank goodness!" exclaimed Mizuki, as soon as she heard the door close. "I need some urgent advice. You will certainly be of help!"
But as soon as she had explained her problem, a contrite and uncooperative grimace appeared on Lavinia's face. "Why should I know what an old fogey likes?"
Mizuki opened her mouth to protest. The captain could be criticized by hurling any kind of epithet at him - any, really: grumpy, ill-tempered, insufferable, troublesome, rough, unresponsive, riotous -except that of old fogey. Compared to other soldiers in the Corps who showed double or triple their years, like Oluo, Levi looked quite a bit younger than his actual age.
Before she could comment that the captain actually bore his years very well, however, Lavinia preceded her. "I mean, I know what the captain would like," she said, scrutinizing her from head to toe. "But he can forget about me helping him in any way to get it."
Mizuki did not fully understand the meaning of the last sentence of Lavinia, who soon after left the room to take a shower; however, it was unquestionably clear that her best friend had not the slightest intention of helping her. So, mad with haste, she decided to move on to plan b on the spot: she sat down at the desk and wrote a letter to Jacqueline Tennison asking her for advice.
The reply was not long in coming, but with a content quite different from what was expected: Jackie did not provide her with the requested advice, but rather informed her that in three days she would be going to Trost on some business; and she gave her an appointment for that day, because, as she wrote in a handwriting rich in squiggles and swirls, " I really don't want to miss you looking for a present for the captain."
.
Three days later, Mizuki went to the designated place; there, she was greeted by an excited Jacqueline, who hugged her tightly and immediately noticed with satisfaction that her friend was wearing the necklace she had given her for her birthday.
After the festive greetings, the two girls sat down in a tavern and ordered a cup of tea.
"I've thought about it for a long time," Jacqueline began, staring at her intensely. "Something came to mind, though it would be better if you chose the gift yourself."
"I know! Believe me, I've racked my brains, but I can't think of anything! Please, help me. Even a small hint would be enough, I ask no more."
"I understand." Jackie nodded, taking on a serious expression. "Come closer, then..."
Becoming serious herself, Mizuki leaned in toward her friend, swallowing loudly, certain she was about to receive a shocking revelation that would solve all her problems.
"Since, from how you freak out every time sex comes up, I believe you want to remain pure until marriage, I thought of a solution," Jacqueline whispered in her ear. "Why don't you give him your butthole?"
A second of stillness, except for Mizuki's mental gears grinding.
Then the girl jumped to her feet, slamming her open hands violently on the table. "But that's impossible!" she shouted, turning bright red, freaking out exactly as Jacqueline, already chuckling to herself, had predicted. "It's illegal!"
"No, it's not. Trust me."
"Then it's immoral!"
"And why would it be? If both parties consent, there's nothing wrong with it. What century do you live in?"
"But he wouldn't want that!"
"Who says?"
"I don't think… I don't think he'd enjoy it."
"Trust me, he'd enjoy it a lot. In fact, I'd bet that he's not-so-secretly waiting for it."
"But... but..." When all the stronger objections Mizuki's poor, abused mind had managed to conjure were so easily dismantled, she sat down again, seemingly drained of all willpower. "But… even if I wanted to... how... how does one do such a thing?"
Jacqueline waved her hand elegantly. "Oh, that's simple. You just need to make him find you naked on his desk, wrapped up with a nice bow. I can help with that if you think you can't tie yourself up."
Mizuki buried her face in her hands, shaking her head vigorously, like a dog trying to shake off water after a bath. "I can't..." she kept muttering, visibly shaken. "I'd die… I swear I'd die."
"Uh, now this is amusing," Jacqueline didn't try to hold back anymore and burst into a liberating laugh. "It was definitely worth coming all the way here to tell you in person."
By pure coincidence, Andrea Reel and Wilma Porter entered the tavern at that very moment. Both froze at the door, watching with growing discomfort as Private Soldier Mizuki Onizuka shook her head repeatedly, like a dog trying to shake off water after a bath. They exchanged a meaningful glance and turned on their heels; just outside, an animated debate broke out about whether or not they should inform the squad leader of their concerns about Private Soldier Onizuka's precarious mental health. The decision in favor prevailed. It was the second time in just a month that they had come across her engaging in rather questionable behavior, like giggling over a book or putting on a scene in a tavern, and they had no intention of keeping quiet.
Jacqueline let Mizuki regain some composure before continuing. "Alright, little puritan, I get it: it's still too soon for you. If you don't want to give yourself to him, then, come on: what do you want to give him?"
Timidly, Mizuki moved her hands away from her face, and two golden disks peeked out between her fingers fanned out. She didn't have the courage or audacity to answer that question honestly, to say she what wanted something that would always stay with the captain and remind him of her at every moment - or, at least, often enough, she would settle for that. So, she settled on a half-truth. "I'm not sure what exactly... but it needs to be something useful. The captain hates frivolities. And... and I'd like it to be something that's like him."
Jacqueline raised an eyebrow. "Like him? Are you thinking of getting him a garden gnome?"
Mizuki shook her head firmly. "No... I want it to reflect his personality."
"His personality? Ah, we should get him a hatchet, then!" Jackie downed the last sip of tea. "You sure are demanding! That man is lucky to have someone going to all this trouble for him. Come on," she added, stretching her arms. "Let's get to work! We've got dozens of shops to comb through."
As she rose to follow Jacqueline, Mizuki's heart swelled with gratitude and affection for the unwavering loyalty and patience her friend had shown.
Despite their enthusiasm, however, their search was an absolute failure. They rummaged through numerous shops along the commercial streets of Trost, but to no avail: Mizuki found lovely, refined, and useful items, but nothing that fully satisfied or convinced her.
When they were about to give up, Mizuki noticed they were passing by a shop with a wooden facade painted white. "Ah!" she exclaimed. "Petra loves this shop. Maybe I'll find something here..."
"I doubt it, in a shop your rival likes..."
"Petra is not my rival." "Right, there's no rivalry when one already has victory in hand..."
The shop was filled with objects of various sizes and craftsmanship, all beautiful, that immediately caught Jacqueline's attention and admiration; Mizuki, on the other hand, was drawn straight to a certain shelf that had piqued her interest. On it were neatly lined rectangular metal boxes, lacquered in dark, sober colors; the glossy surface was decorated with geometric or floral patterns, engraved with great precision and care using a pointed chisel. She checked the price and, despite the refinement of the items, found that it was quite low and affordable even with her meager income
"Do you like them?" asked the shop owner, a large, jovial woman. "They're beautiful, aren't they? My husband designed and engraved them by hand. They were made from old machine parts no one used anymore, about to be scrapped; that's why the price is so low. It would have been such a waste to throw away such excellent material! My husband went to the dump and collected the things about to be scrapped, disassembled them, asked a metallurgist friend to melt the metal in his workshop and pour it into molds for boxes. Once the liquid had cooled, my Stephan lacquered and decorated them one by one by hand."
Objects born from the remnants of other objects, which would have been discarded for being no longer useful; from them, from scraps abandoned by the world, something beautiful had emerged, thanks to the skill and imagination of people who never threw anything away. People who grasped a deep truth: that in everything, even in the most sterile, broken, or rotten thing, there is always something to be preserved and reused to breathe new life. She didn't know why, but the cycle the shopkeeper had described reminded her of the captain; and she was certain that he would appreciate the idea behind the creation of these boxes. In fact: wasn't that what he did every day? What he had done throughout his whole life? Searching for something worth not throwing away in this rotten world and using it as a foundation to build a future with less hatred and suffering. So she gathered her courage and, after clearing her throat, asked, "Can they be used to store tea?"
"Of course. They have a closing system that makes them ideal for preserving food and spices."
"T... then I'll take one. The one with the geometric patterns, in dark green. It's for a rather meticulous and serious person."
The woman, smiling kindly, retrieved the box Mizuki had indicated and, without needing her to say more, moved behind the counter to wrap it. "Excellent choice! Your boyfriend will love it for sure!"
Mizuki blushed. "It's not for my boyfriend."
"Well, you'll make a good impression anyway, and even if the man isn't your boyfriend yet, he soon will be!"
Mizuki didn't reply to the woman's encouraging comment. Behind her, instead, Jacqueline chuckled and agreed with the shopkeeper.
And yet, Mizuki knew they were both wrong.
Levi could never become her boyfriend because Mizuki always kept her promises, and she had made a vow to support Petra in her dream for love; not to mention that, one day, she would leave behind the towering walls that protected humanity from the Titans to finally return home.
She would be gone, and then Levi would be left with nothing but a box to store tea and her memory.
.
Mizuki had convinced herself that the hardest part of the whole matter was deciding what to buy; when she still had no clue, she often repeated to herself that after overcoming that seemingly insurmountable obstacle, everything else would go smoothly. She certainly didn't imagine that figuring out a way to give Levi the long-awaited gift would turn out to be a far more complicated task than the choice itself.
Planning an approach in advance proved problematic, especially for someone like her, used to voicing her thoughts as soon as they came to the tip of her tongue, and acting without premeditation, following her instincts and the mood of the moment.
Once again, though, the captain was not like anyone else.
He was the captain; this was about Levi and the gift for him, and that fact alone was enough to throw her into turmoil.
Every time she came up with a plausible and feasible strategy, a thousand doubts would immediately assail her, and caused her to desist and the gift to remain buried under her clothes in the closet.
She would have liked to slip the package in front of him spontaneously, waiting for a propitious occasion, juts as he had done; but due to the bulky size of the object, it was out of the question to wander around the Headquarters carrying it with her all the time. Plus, no matter how long she waited or schemed, she never managed to keep him long enough to run to her room and retrieve the gift.
And so, the days passed, and much to her frustration, Mizuki kept accumulating delay.
In the end, exasperated and nearly ready to send another plea for help to Jacqueline, she convinced herself that there was only one way out of this impasse: to face the situation head-on.
So, after dinner, she headed to Levi's office-bedroom and knocked firmly on the door. "Good evening, captain," she said seriously, closing the door behind her once he had invited her in.
Sensing a dissonance in the demeanor of the usually boisterous and carefree Mizuki, Levi quickly looked up from the documents he was working on at his desk. "What do you want?" he asked, distant and wary.
"Um, well… it's a lovely evening, isn't it?"
The feeling that something was off grew monstrously within Levi. "Don't you have anything to do?"
"Hmm, no… I mean yes, I do, but…"
Bad. The brat never stumbled over her words, nor did she hesitate. That behavior confirmed his suspicion that she had it in her head to bring up certain matters, which they had both tacitly agreed to never mention, and to pretend like they had never happened: matters like the trip to Orvud and the little nighttime incident in the bed; the exponential growth in the number of missed kisses: the attraction that inexorably drew them toward one another; the bookmark. "If you've got nothing useful to say, that's the door," he quickly added with a nod of his head, in a last-ditch effort to stop the disaster before it was too late.
That comment, which on a normal day would have made her laugh and settle on the couch just to do the opposite of what she had been ordered, truly annoyed her this time. She had been tearing her hair out trying to figure out the right way to give him the gift, and that was how he repaid her efforts? "Lav is right. You really are a grumpy, sourpuss, intractable old fogey!" she exclaimed, attributing far more criticism to Lavinia than she had actually made. "You… you don't understand a thing!" Mizuki huffed and took a few steps toward the desk. "Now I'm going to throw something at you. It's fragile, so be careful when you catch it, alright?"
"Ohi, wai…"
But Mizuki didn't wait: the hand that had remained hidden behind her back made a swift movement, and the package traced a perfect arc in the air before being caught by Levi.
"This is for you," the girl explained curtly, before turning on her heels and heading toward the door. After placing her hand on the handle, however, she turned her head slightly, casting a look halfway between irritation and guilt at the captain, blushing like a ripe strawberry. "I know I'm monstrously late, and I have no excuse for that, but… happy birthday, sunshine."
And she disappeared, leaving Levi rather stunned, with the package in his hand.
He unwrapped the package with methodical care, and from the waves of colorful, voluminous paper emerged a refined metal box with intricate engravings.
The captain didn't say a word, nor did his expression change; he simply remained motionless, staring at the object for long minutes, with a pensive and restless air, his chest stirred by a tumult of conflicting emotions in which, despite himself, a foolish happiness triumphed above all.
Levi still thought that giving birthday gifts was a stupid, superficial, and unreasonable custom.
And yet, he also knew that he would keep the new tea box for the rest of his life, and that every time he would lift its lid, he would think of his brat.
.
.
Bonus: How Andrea Reel and Wilma Porter's complaint about Private Soldier Mizuki Onizuka was received
Captain Humbert Davies stared at his subordinates through the thick lenses of the glasses he used for close reading. After urgently requesting a meeting, Andrea Reel and Wilma Porter, two freshly graduated recruits who had survived their first expedition just a month earlier, had presented their serious concerns about the mental state of Private Soldier Mizuki Onizuka.
"So," the man said, taking off his glasses and folding them carefully. "Your issue is that you've witnessed Onizuka behaving inappropriately, right?"
"To be precise, laughing alone with her head buried in a book and shaking herself like a dog in a tavern," Andrea added primly.
"…and this bothered you."
"This worried us!" Wilma burst out indignantly. "We thought it was important for our superiors to be informed about these incidents. I mean, during scoutings, we're constantly exposed to danger, and we can only rely on our comrades! But how can we trust a soldier like that?"
Humbert Davies sighed and studied his fervent subordinates with a patient gaze; then, in a calm but firm tone, he said, "Listen to me, both of you. You know that Onizuka always wears her cloak hood up when she trains, right? You've seen her. Well, I want you to know that I once asked her why she did that, barely a month after she had joined the Corps, in September 848. Her answer?" Davies cleared his throat and began speaking in a high-pitched voice, mimicking that of a young girl. "Because I'm full of dandruff, Captain Davies; I've got granules of dandruff in my hair so big it looks like it's just snowed on me, and I'm ashamed. That's what she told me. Can you believe it?"
Wilma Porter and Andrea Reel exchanged bewildered looks.
"Every time they serve tomatoes in the canteen hall, she stands up to praise their virtues, and the people sitting next to her end up giving her their portion just to shut her up so they can eat in peace. She's constantly singing, even though she's tone-deaf as a bell. She has improbable friends, like a fallen noblewoman and several gendarmes. A couple of months ago, she nearly wrecked that poor devil Porter's relationship by advising him to give his crush a bouquet of snapdragons, which in the language of flowers means you're rejecting you suitor. And don't even get me started on how she deliberately comes up with an ever-changing way to piss off Levi, every damn day that god sends on this earth." As he listed them, Humbert Davies counted on his fingers each of Mizuki Onizuka's oddities. "And you're making me waste my time just to make sure I know she's strange? Of course she's strange! She's strange even by the standards of the Survey Corps. And in our ranks, we've got people like Hange Zoe, who drools over Titans, or Mike Zacharias, who sniffs everything."
"But, then…" Wilma attempted timidly.
"I'm not done. Yes, she's strange. But I can assure you that if one day you find yourselves in real trouble outside the walls – and you will, you can bet your sweet asses on it – there's no one you'd want by your side more than Mizuki Onizuka. She's one of the best soldiers we have. I still can't believe she wasn't recruited for the Special Operations Squad." Humbert Davies put his glasses back on and returned to the report he had been reviewing before the two girls arrived. "I suggest you keep watching her closely, laugh with her when she screws up, and learn from her when she trains."
Later, in the canteen hall, Captain Davies sat down next to Levi. "You know, two girls came to complain to me about your female subordinate today," he remarked pragmatically, stabbing a piece of potato with his fork.
"Ral?" Levi frowned. Strange that Petra would cause any trouble. It had never happened before.
"Not that subordinate. The other one. Your special trainee."
Levi's ears perked up. That was how the other soldiers had started referring to Mizuki, who trained with him even though she wasn't part of his squad. "What did she do this time? Should I punish her?"
"Oh no. She didn't do anything. They were just complaining that she's weird."
Levi let out an amused huff. There was no doubt she was weird. And those two girls hadn't even witnessed her most bizarre tricks: the red eyes, the fire coming out of her mouth, her ability to walk along walls like a lizard, or the effect she had on him whenever they were in the same room.
"Besides," Humbert Davies observed, popping the potato into his mouth, "It's precisely because she's like that that everyone's grown to love her."
For a moment, Levi tensed, fearing that the captain was making insinuations about his relationship with the brat. Then he relaxed. Humbert Davies had made that observation in complete good faith, and he was absolutely right: everyone loved Mizuki.
Yet another proof that, in the Survey Corps, even the oddest of the odd were accepted without hesitation and could find a place to call "home."