"You heard what happened up north, right?"

"They cleared the entire corridor with no backup."

"Just the two of them."

"Not even a scratch."

The mess hall buzzed with low murmurs and sidelong glances. The stories weren't exaggerated—if anything, they were being toned down in retellings because no one wanted to believe the truth.

That a two-person unit—just Levi and Beatrice —had executed one of the highest-risk missions on record with such precision, such silence, and such absolute control that even Erwin had signed the report with only one note:

Let them keep going.

"You think it's real?" someone whispered. "They say she can see movement through fog like it's daylight."

"And Levi? That man fights like he's allergic to death."

"I heard they never speak on missions. Like, they just move."

"I heard they speak, but only to each other."

"They're calling them Humanity's Strongest Soldiers." a scout from the outer patrol said, half-awed, half-nervous. "You think it's true?"

Another scoffed. "I think if they show up to your mission, it's already over."

Levi and Beatrice returned in the early evening. Their cloaks, though streaked with dust and dried steam, showed no signs of real damage. Their gear gleamed. Their steps were even.

They didn't swagger. They didn't gloat. They walked.

And the camp parted around them.

Not in fear.

But in respect.

Beatrice glanced sideways at Levi. "Are they staring?"

"They're always staring."

"Should I take the goggles off?"

"No."

A pause.

"They look intimidating," he added, almost like a compliment.

Beatrice smiled faintly.

"Tch."

They didn't say more.

But they didn't stop walking together either.

"Let them lead smaller units," Keith Shadis grumbled, tossing a dispatch letter on Erwin's desk. "We're wasting potential by pairing them with rookies."

"We're building loyalty," Erwin replied, calm as ever. "And morale."

"Morale?"

"Every time they return," Erwin said, "they prove we're not outmatched. Not outnumbered. They make it look possible."

Shadis narrowed his eyes. "It's dangerous. Making soldiers believe in people instead of the system."

Erwin smirked. "They're not just people anymore."

Later that night, as Beatrice stripped off her harness and sat on the edge of her bunk, Isabel flopped into the space beside her with wide eyes and an even wider grin.

"Okay, but like," she whispered dramatically, "you two are famous now."

Beatrice blinked. "We are not."

"You got saluted in the hallway by a squad leader who outranks you."

Beatrice flushed. "He was probably just being polite."

"No, no, no," Isabel whispered, eyes sparkling. "They're calling you two Humanity's Strongest Soldiers. They say you can kill titans with eye contact."

"I wear goggles," Beatrice deadpanned.

Isabel gasped. "So it's true."

From across the room, Farlan added with a smirk, "There's already a nickname forming."

Beatrice groaned softly. "I hate this."

Levi entered then, removing his cloak one-handed, his expression unreadable as always.

Isabel threw herself onto the nearest bunk and pointed at him. "Your fault."

Levi blinked once. "Tch."

Beatrice buried her face in her blanket.

But beneath it all—beneath the jokes, the whispers, the new fear and awe blooming across the corps—was the quiet, undeniable truth:

Together, they moved like monsters born from the same shadow.

And the world had finally begun to notice.