❝𝑶𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒅.❞
— 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐓𝐙𝐔
꧁꧂
THUD.
Valen grunted upon striking, her heel colliding against the dummy's clavicle. It rocked back and forth, but so weakly that it'd regained its equilibrium in only seconds.
Too soon for Valen's liking.
Unsatisfied, she repeated the motion, this time around achieving what she wanted—the dummy swayed like it'd been blasted by a gust of wind, coming close to falling over. Then everything started swaying—the ceiling, the sunlight, the dummy—and Valen found herself staggering, struggling to stay upright.
Withdrawal.
After what seemed like an eternity of stumbling and deep breaths, her surroundings stabilized, and she could stand sturdily again. It wasn't the first time it'd happened—in fact, it was the third time since she'd entered the gymnasium that she had to stop to pull herself together.
The withdrawal was kicking in now, and Valen was doing everything she could to conceal her symptoms, which meant hurling in the woods, showing up to roll-call on less than seven hours of sleep, and positioning her blanket in a certain way so her colleagues couldn't see the cloth tied around her mouth. Valen stared at her trembling hand, her fingers spasming as if they had their own will. Was she being too hard on herself, exercising herself to the bone when she needed to be resting?
Perhaps—regardless, she needed to keep working.
Though she'd already honed her kicking for the day, Valen decided a little more practice wouldn't hurt. As she eased back into the swing of things, someone else entered the gymnasium, and Valen sensed her irritation climb. One of the main reasons she trained on her own time was because of the seclusion: no mundane side conversations, crude jokes, or barking coming from the higher-ups—only the thudding of her kicks and punches, her lungs expanding and contracting, the burning in her muscles, the energy pulsing in her veins. It created a unique experience that beguiled her to the gymnasium day after day.
She tuned out the approaching footsteps as she pummelled her heel in the dummy's windpipe. Valen hoped that they—how many of them she'd yet to figure—had entered the building for the same reason as her, but judging by what she heard, only a single person had walked in. So, no raucous teenaged boys who'd toy with the dummies, nor the lovey-dovey couple looking to get some action in the equipment closet.
"Easy there. Are you trying to destroy it?"
Valen straightened, her hands dropping to her sides. She recognized that voice.
The one she wished she'd never hear again.
Hesitantly, Valen spun on her heel and met her uninvited guest in the eye, greeting him with a slight raise of the eyebrow. He responded in kind, arching an eyebrow, too.
The Captain. Valen's eyebrows furrowed. Wasn't he supposed to be training his squad in some castle deep in the woods? What was he doing on the grounds?
Bigger question was, what was he doing in the gymnasium?
They shared a look before Valen swiveled around to resume practicing. "It's going to be alright," she dismissed, adjusting the dummy.
"Mind your tone," Levi advised. Valen landed a punch on its right shoulder. "Also, it's etiquette to salute your superiors when you see them." She puffed through her lips as she rolled her wrists. "I'm speaking to you."
"I'm listening."
"It's hard to believe you're listening when you're punching a dummy."
"Well, I'm listening."
"Well, people usually face each other during conversation."
"What do you want?"
"For you to turn around so we can talk properly." Valen huffed and did as she was told, turning around to speak to him. "Trust me, I have things to do, too, and truth be told I couldn't care less about what you do in your spare time. But Erwin's suggested I come down here and have a word with you."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, and this conversation was long overdue." He crossed his arms. "Is this all a fucking joke to you?"
Valen's considered him strangely, confused by his sudden display of anger. "Pardon?" she questioned.
"Don't play stupid, you scored honors on your academic courses in training." Valen blinked—she'd graduated less than a month ago, yet she'd already forgotten about her exams. "Back in Trost, I was already getting a feeling that something was going on. And I was right. There was something going on."
Valen finally realized what he was going on about, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And what was that feeling?" she asked.
"That you're a selfish, egotistical woman who only does things to advance herself," Levi sneered, "even going as far as to join the branch with the highest mortality rate to fuel her pride."
"You say that as if I'm supposed to be ashamed," Valen said. "You have your values, and I have mine, and if you think a single conversation is going to change things, you're wrong." She diverted her focus to the dummy again. "If all you're going to do is admonish me, then I'm no longer interested in this conversation."
"Oh, I don't think so," Levi said, spinning her around. "My men did not sacrifice themselves and everything they had for you to be sauntering around, acting like the world's revolving around you. They sacrificed everything they had so we can one day eradicate the Titans and live beyond the Walls." Valen stayed tight-lipped. "You lived in Shiganshina when the Fall happened. You witnessed them firsthand—"
"I am not what happened to me," Valen interjected. "I survived the Fall and adapted to my circumstances. And it worked. I graduated top of my class and scored honors on all my academic exams. I am not a victim."
"You're right. No victim would join the Scout Regiment to cushion their ego. But I have something on my mind." He drifted closer. "Since you're such an accomplished woman, I have a proposal for you," Levi said.
"A proposal, you say?" Valen asked, leaning in too.
"Yes," he answered quietly, his breath ghosting over her ear. "You and I spar right now. You win, you secure a place on my squad. If you lose, though, you agree to transfer to the Garrison and never come back to the Scout Regiment." He pulled back, eyeing her intensely. "What do you say?"
Valen pensively chewed her lip. Her sounder judgment implored her to step down, refuse the proposal altogether for the sake of her healing body. What if her symptoms barged in, costing her the victory? There was so much at stake—too much. If she agreed, she was essentially bargaining three years of training—three years of scrutiny, three years of grueling training exercises, three years of enduring incompetence from her colleagues. It's why she joined the Scout Regiment—to become stronger. "I'd be more than willing to."
Amusement subtly flashed across his features. "Wonderful." He backed away and tossed his jacket aside. "Grab a mat and we can get started."
"Of course." Valen sauntered over to the closet, opening the doors to access the pile of sparring mats sitting in the corner. Pushing the dummy back in its corner, a weaker, but no less distressing bout of nausea battered her, and she wisely rested her shoulder on the stack of mats—was she doing the right thing, taking on Humanity's Strongest in her condition?
You survived diphtheria twice in a single year.
She'd be alright.
A small cloud of dust puffed out as Valen fully extended the mat. Before stepping on, she double-checked the bandages enveloping her hands—if she wanted to win, she needed to do everything in her power to boost her chances. "What's the holdup? I haven't all day," Levi griped.
Your skin's so fucking pale it makes my eyes sting. Bandaging checked, Valen tugged her bun as she joined him on the mat. "Shall we?" she said.
"We shall..." Levi grumbled. Abiding by Cadet Corps dogma, Valen shielded her head with her fists and adequately distributed her weight—Levi positioned himself in a similar manner. Unlike roughly everyone she'd sparred with, there was no substantial size discrepancy to be accounted for—of course, fighting someone of her stature didn't completely simplify the situation. If anything, it complicated it, as she'd adapted to taller opponents, but the odds better swung in her favor.
Perhaps this wouldn't be too hard.
They slowly circled the mat in tandem, preserving the space between them. Valen guardedly inched closer, but not so much that Levi would pick up on the lessening gap. By coincidence, her cutting brown hues aligned with his bluer ones, sparking a peculiar sentiment within her—what was it with this man and his eyes?
Valen observed Levi's change in posture in time to evade his swinging leg, skirting out of range before he could realize a proper kick to her side, lurching forward to thrust her fist below his diaphragm. Taking advantage of the limited distance, Levi attempted an uppercut, but Valen juked back. Still, the grazing of his knuckles against her jawbone hadn't gone unnoticed—her bottom teeth ached dully.
If she hadn't moved in time, she would have lost.
Keen on avoiding loss, Valen widened the space between them, and she raised her fists to swing her foot at his face. Levi deflected by crossing his wrists and fanning his fingers to push back. Valen retained her balance, adroitly planting her sole on the ground.
Right as she decided to perform a second kick, Levi unexpectedly backed to the edge of the mat. "I'm getting the feeling there's something you aren't showing me." He unfurled his fists. "Do you follow protocol because you're told so or because it's most convenient to you?"
Valen frowned. "Why are you asking me this?" She glossed over his relaxed posture. Was he luring her? An experienced soldier would never stand in such a vulnerable position, much less Humanity's Strongest.
But the opportunity dangling before her blinded her, overshadowing her apprehension. "I was only curious—" Valen lurched toward him, to which Levi reciprocated with a strong kick to her abdomen. She wrapped her hands around her torso crouched over, seething.
Bastard. Valen carefully straightened, mindful of the pulsing in her stomach. Levi contemplated her indifferently, mocking in a way, too. No instructor-approved maneuvers would help her win.
No more rules. She needed to play dirty.
Valen disregarded the hand-to-hand guidelines they'd instilled in her as a Cadet and opted for an unmethodical and less conventional style of fighting—the one that had gotten her through her days as a sickly teenager in Shiganshina, a struggling refugee in Trost, and a sour-mannered Cadet on the training grounds. When it came to asserting her strength, there was no line that couldn't be crossed, no boundary that couldn't be broken, and no limitations to what she could do. It was either sink or swim, win or lose...
And sometimes, live or die.
She dodged a punch, anchored a hand on his hair, and snapped his chin upwards. As a green-horned Cadet, her instructors had reprimanded her countless times for the maneuver, so after years of rigid protocol and procedures, employing the gimmick excited her, electrifying her soul.
She missed this.
Her unoccupied fist connected with his jaw, her knuckles colliding into bone. Levi brought an elbow down on her arm and drilled his heel in her midriff, propelling her backward. On the verge of stumbling to the floor, she used physics to her advantage, arching her back to plant her palms on the floorboards and jouncing onto her feet.
Apart once more, they allowed themselves an informal pause of sorts, all while circling the mat. Valen omitted the traditional fighting stance, her arms relaxed at her sides, her knees unbent. Levi, to a degree, overlooked sparring formalities as well, only curling his fists. At a distance, she could better analyze her work on him: he sported a swollen lip, and a faint, red smear under his nostrils. His tousled black hair protruded at comical angles.
Valen could have smiled to herself.
Bored by the inaction, she centered her mind on the fight again. Valen studied the cravat dangling from Levi's neck, bringing an idea to mind. The concept was extremely risky—it was below his chin, close to the chest—but then again, everything carried its risk. Either she could secure victory and jump up the ranks early...
...or a trip to the infirmary and a very bruised ego.
With a swift move of her arm, Valen took the cravat between her fingers and jerked him towards him, driving her knee upwards to strike him in the groin. Instead, she kneed him square in the abdomen.
Not where she'd intended.
Rather than correcting her gaffe and attempting a second strike, Valen crammed in a roundhouse kick to his side and bounced back. Levi lifted his gaze to hers, his right eye obscured by a bang—but that lone eye told her plenty.
He was pissed.
Valen quelled the bliss surging within her. As much as she wanted to shoot the man a sardonic grin, she knew there was more to come. Levi essentially oozed indignation, chagrin melting through his normally icy stare as his knuckles whitened whiter than snow. Whatever he had in store was going to be nothing compared to what he'd been dishing out for the last three minutes. She should have been terrified, knowing it was Humanity's Strongest she'd disgruntled. But no. There was no terror or apprehension within her.
Only delight.
Levi closed the stretch between them and jostled her off her feet, slamming against her as they plummeted off the mat. Valen landed with a wince, her shoulder blade smashing painfully against the floorboards, but she quickly recollected herself, kicking at his elbow before he could take any action. She clambered onto his back to wrestle his forearm behind him, taking things a step further by twisting it. Levi craned his neck to glare viciously at her, to which she replied with a coy tilt of her head. She could feel everything going on in his body— the rapid expansion of his lungs, his muscles flexing beneath her, the sweat soaking his shirt. It was oddly intimate, in a way, being intertwined with the enemy.
It was a strange feeling, but surely not unwelcome.
Preoccupied with her taunt, she failed to notice Levi's moving arm, and in the blink of an eye, she was flattened to the ground. When Levi moved to clamber on top of her, she preventively furled her knees to her chest to force him back, keeping the man at bay.
Valen swiftly returned to her feet and hurtled to the corner of the mat. In contrast to the previous times, there was no dancing around the corners, and Levi lunged at her with his fist. She ducked, latched onto his collar, and tugged it aside, creating a small tear in his shirt and disrupting his sense of balance. Based on the rumors on how meticulous the Captain was toward his appearance, she assumed the move would irk him, perhaps to the point it'd impair his judgment. Of course, the motion had its repercussions—it might have given Levi all the more motivation to win the fight.
Not that it'd be a problem.
For a fleeting moment, fury flashed in his eyes, shining like the end of a sword. The fight would only become harder from there on, she deduced—what Valen didn't foresee, though, was Levi mimicking the gesture himself, and before she could process anything, he'd grasped onto her collar and yanked it harshly. Her collar tore, and a majority of her sleeve ripped away, exposing something that for the past eight years, Valen had never bared to anyone.
The markings.
"What the hell...?" Levi whispered. Inked on her bicep was a combination of letters and numbers, some fading into light brown, others starkly defined. Surrounding it were hundreds, maybe thousands of small, thinly marked scars, white lines streaking her skin.
0109DCCCXLIFV
Valen futilely clamped a hand over her bicep. Never had she expected to be thrust in such a complicated predicament, not when she'd never planned for it, too confident in her secrecy to ever contemplate on the hypothetical situation.
She quivered, but not from withdrawal.
"What's on your skin...? Why is it all marked up like that?" Levi drawled. Valen prepared to sprint, gradually inching towards the doors. Predicting her move, she tightly clenched her arm and dragged her towards him. She resisted, but the man had a grip of iron. He swiped his thumb over her markings, like he was trying to wipe them off. "It's in your skin...?"
"Let go of me," Valen snarled, "now." Her composure was like an old building, standing precariously on its foundation, ready to collapse at any moment. Everything had unfolded suddenly, too suddenly, and she needed an escape. Her withdrawal amplified the magnitude of her emotions. "You have no business asking me these questions."
"I'm going to ask you again," Levi growled, tightening his hold. "What is this and how is it in your skin?"
"It's a cultural practice," Valen lied. "Coming of age."
"And what's so cultural about numbers?" Levi countered. "Something is going on, and you're not leaving until you speak up, so if I were you, I'd start talking."
"It's a cultural practice," Valen insisted. She freed herself from his grasp and pushed him. "Mind. Your. Business." Valen whirled around to stalk back to the bunkhouse but was reeled in by Levi. "I'm warning you, Captain."
"Warning me about what, Ferreira?"
"Unhand me. Now."
Levi cocked his head. "Or what?"
SLAP. The sound resounded through the gymnasium. Levi's head had jerked sideways, his bangs thrown out of place. Valen's chest heaved vigorously, and her fingers throbbed. She trembled as she processed what she had done. She'd slapped her superior. And not just any superior, either—it was Humanity's Strongest she'd slapped. Was she supposed to be scared? Absolutely. But was she anything of the sort?
Not in the slightest.
Valen's eyes settled on the angry, red mark handprint on his cheek, along with the small, barely noticeable scratch on his cheek. If she'd slapped him as hard as she thought, it would eventually darken into a bruise. It'd be a nasty one, too—it would take days, maybe weeks to disappear.
Evidence of her act of mutiny.
Levi slowly turned to her, his lips parted. To her surprise, he showed no sign of fury or ire, exhibiting no desire to retaliate. "I fucking warned you." He didn't utter anything in response, staring at her in mild astoundment. A million things swirled in his eyes—things Valen didn't care to decipher—but she'd challenged his expectations, shown him what she was made of. Yet the usual rush of victory she'd grown addicted to didn't come. She stood there, hoping it'd flood into her body, carry her to the constellations.
But it never came.
Valen wondered—had she really won? Perhaps she'd bested him physically. Mentally, on the other hand, she was shackled to the ground, weighed by exhaustion. And what would he do, now that he knew about her markings?
It was all too much for her. Far too much for her.
"Hope you got what you fucking wanted..." Valen cursed. She pivoted, her braids whipping around her neck, and stormed across the gymnasium, nearly unhinging the doors when she charged through them.
But not once during the confrontation had she noticed the stern, blue eyes peering in through the window.
꧁꧂
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆
Good evening, girlies! I'm hoping finals season is treating you all well!
I intended to upload this yesterday evening like I said, but this chapter needed loads of revision because the last time I touched this was back in November, and back then even the story was different, so I had to adjust so many things. But I like it now, so it was worth it. Still, I might come back and brush up on a couple of things. Again, please take good care of yourselves, and I hope to see you all next week for I.V!
Much love,
C.