The fortress looked like it had been left behind by time. Cracked stone. Moss-eaten pillars. Vines coiling through the upper floors. The windows were broken in more places than not, and the entire main hall smelled faintly of mildew and dust. Wind slipped through the shattered glass like it belonged there.
"We're living here?" Oluo muttered, kicking over a collapsed chair leg. "This place hasn't seen life since the first wall fell."
Levi didn't glance at him. Didn't slow his steps. "Then bring it back to life." His tone was flat, final. The kind that didn't invite debate. The squad straightened without a word.
No one argued.
It took minutes—just minutes—for Squad Levi to deploy like they were gearing up for a mission. Buckets slammed onto the stone floors. Brooms scraped through dust thick enough to choke. Eld and Gunther worked in sync—scrubbing the floorboards with tight, practiced motions. Petra was already shouting orders, hair tied back, face streaked with soot from her third trip into the upper floor chimney flues.
Oluo grumbled nonstop as he wiped a cobweb off his face. "This isn't what I signed up for—"
"Keep talking and I'll mop the floor with your face," Levi said without looking up.
He passed by with a cloth in one hand and a glint of vinegar in the other.
Oluo wisely shut up.
He paused in front of the room beside his own, staring at the door. The door stood half-open.
The one that would belong to Captain Beatrice Dalca.
He didn't hesitate. Just stepped inside.
Scene — The Room That Had to Be Perfect
No one touched it but him. Not Eld. Not Petra. Not the cadets, who had been told in very specific terms to keep their "grubby, untrained, plague-carrying hands" off the room marked for Captain Dalca.
Levi handled it himself. Silently. Efficiently. No one asked why. He scrubbed the windows until they gleamed. Polished the floors with exacting care. Dusted every corner—twice. He checked the curtain's alignment twice to let just the right amount of afternoon light in, the kind Beatrice liked best when she was reading. Adjusted the bed's centre point. Tested the desk chair, then moved it a single inch to the left.
Then again. And again. Until it matched his expectation. Until it was correct. Then he stood in the doorway.
Surveyed everything. Expression blank. Standard. But his eyes narrowed—just slightly. The pillow height was off.
He fixed it before silently threatening everyone, "If your hands touch that doorknob, I'll break every finger you've ever used to breathe near it.""
By the time the sun dropped toward the far ridge, the squad had slumped into various stages of exhaustion in the main hall. Dust streaked their sleeves. Petra had tied her hair up with a rag that used to be a curtain. Oluo was stretched on a bench like a man dying of dignity.
Levi walked in. Dropped a purse of coins onto the table with a sharp clink.
Everyone looked up.
He didn't blink. "Tomorrow," he said. "You're going to the markets."
"All of them."
Eld raised a brow. "All five districts?"
"Did I stutter?"
A pause. Petra leaned forward. "For supplies?"
"Berries."
Silence.
Gunther squinted. "Sir?"
Levi adjusted his cravat.
"Berries. Any kind. But especially—" A beat. "Boysenberries."
More silence. Eld coughed.
Petra pressed her lips together, eyes sparkling just a little.
Oluo stared. "You're serious?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
The room went quiet.
"Buy all of them," he continued. "If you find preserves, take those too. Fill a crate."
Petra tilted her head. "For… rationing?"
Levi turned on his heel. He didn't explain further. Didn't wait for follow-up questions. He was already walking toward the courtyard, coat snapping slightly in the late breeze.
Before leaving to retrieve the new additions to their squad—Eren Yeager and Captain Dalca—Levi paused once more outside her room. He opened the door. Stepped inside. Scanned everything again. The bed was perfect. The curtain glowed with late light. The desk chair hadn't shifted. Good. Clean. Correct. He pulled the door shut behind him. Then turned and walked away.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just exact.