Mikasa
She arrived late to the drill yard that morning — not because she was careless, but because she didn't need to prove herself anymore. She was already feared.
The recruits lined up like trembling branches. Most wouldn't last. She didn't care to remember their names.
Until her eyes landed on Leonhart.
Blond. Slouched. Hands in her pockets like she had nothing to defend.
Mikasa didn't need a second glance to know exactly who she was. She'd read the file the night before. Combat prodigy. Isolated. Transferred under suspicion.
Mikasa wasn't interested in files.
She watched Annie's posture. Her pacing. The way her eyes flicked from one officer to the next, not with curiosity — with calculation.
Mikasa said nothing. Didn't call her out.
But she remembered her.
Annie
The moment she saw Mikasa, she understood the problem.
That woman didn't just lead — she commanded. Not through words, not through fear. Through presence. Every breath Mikasa took reminded people she could kill them before they blinked.
Annie had met killers.
But Mikasa carried hers like silence — quiet, inevitable, patient.
She kept her gaze low, like a proper soldier. But every time Mikasa passed, Annie's neck tensed. She could feel the weight of that attention, even if Mikasa never looked directly at her.
And that was the worst part.
She wasn't used to being ignored. She preferred it.
But with Mikasa, it felt... deliberate. Like she was waiting. Like she'd seen her — and was letting her stew in it.
Later that week — sparring drills
Annie stepped onto the mat before they even called her name.
Mikasa was already standing there, arms folded, watching the trainees fold and flail.
Their eyes finally met.
Mikasa didn't blink. "Leonhart."
"Commander."
A pause.
"You asked to spar?"
Annie shrugged. "Better than babysitting."
Mikasa nodded. No smirk. No reaction.
But Annie could feel it. That subtle shift in the air.
They faced each other. No words.
Mikasa struck first.
Fast. Clean. Controlled.
Annie blocked — barely. The speed was unreal.
For three minutes, the yard disappeared. No soldiers. No officers. Just two weapons testing each other, blow for blow. Not for victory — for understanding.
Mikasa wasn't toying with her.
Annie wasn't holding back.
They weren't fighting. They were reading.
When the drill was called off, Mikasa stepped back, offered no hand, no comment.
Just a look.
Cold. Precise.
And beneath it — a quiet hum of interest.
Not lust.
Not yet.
But Annie felt it.
And she hated that she wanted to feel it again.