Chapter Text
"Levi Ackerman."
Time suddenly stands still. Only the echo of the microphone remains while everything else floats away. Even the people fade into the background, leaving only the beat of Levi's heart and the heat of his breath. Funny how a few letters on a little slip of paper can do that to someone. Take their breath away as they realize they've just been sentenced to death.
It's just a piece of paper with his name written on it. But it means so much more than that. That little piece of paper is the crusher of dreams. The cold shock of reality. The harbinger of death.
"Let's go, boy," the Peacekeeper grunts, gripping Levi by his upper arm in a punishing hold before yanking him through the crowd.
The sea of people parts, allowing them to make their way through the open space towards the stage. Levi keeps his eyes forward, not letting himself spare a second glance at his so-called friends and neighbors – the people that keep their eyes down as he passes by them. No. He won't waste a single ounce of energy looking their way.
When he finally reaches the stage, Levi blankly stares upon the crowd as the announcer makes their speech regarding the purpose of the games, the Capitol's undying devotion to the Districts, and their generosity in finding this mutual agreement of peace that constitutes an annual fight to the death amongst child tributes forced out of their homes with the sole motivation of a life of riches. Meanwhile, the girl next to him shakes with silent tears. Levi resists the urge to scoff.
There's no use in crying now. What's done is done. If he were meant to die, it seems that his time has come. Still, he can't help but feel sorry for her. Isabel, he thinks her name is, seems so young. She can't be more than fourteen. Still so much life ahead of her. Levi on the other hand, at a simple eighteen years old, was so close to getting away from this. From finally being free of the Reaping. Figures that he'd get picked in his last year of entry. Levi lets out a breath of laughter to himself.
"Yes, young man? Is there anything you'd like to say on behalf of your District?" The announcer asks, holding the microphone to Levi's mouth. He casts a glare at them, fixating on their long, pointy nose. He can barely tell whether they're male or female with their flat chest yet elegant skirts and thick, sparkly eyelashes. Guess that's the way of the Capitol, isn't it?
The announcer widens their eyes at him, prompting him to say something. Anything.
Levi clears his throat, and then, he begins, "Well, I don't have much to say. But I guess if there's one thing, it's that… you can all suck my fat cock."
A harsh grip on his shoulder spins him around before a splintering pain strikes across his cheek. The slap happens so fast, he barely has a chance to collect himself until he's being ushered out of the Underground, Isabel following closely behind, along with their armed escorts. His cheek burns but he resists the urge to rub it. He won't give them that satisfaction.
The Capitol is a lot of things, and smug is definitely one of them.
Levi's legs ache with exertion by the time they've finished climbing the stairs that lead out of the Underground, and the sun pierces his eyes like a thousand knives. He squints into the distance before his vision clears, and he locks his gaze on the massive silver train before them. Sleek and shiny like polished metal, unlike anything he's ever seen before. A shove in the center of his back keeps Levi from admiring the sight any further, and he's forced to step forward onto the train. It all feels like a dream.
Even now that they're left alone, surrounded by deliciously smelling foods and colorful drinks, and all the fresh water that one could dream of, Levi waits for the moment that he'll wake up.
"You gonna eat?" Isabel says to him, shoving a piece of bread into her mouth. Funny. The only tell that she had been crying not thirty minutes ago is the slightly red rim around her eyes. Otherwise, she seems in high spirits now.
Food has that power, though. It can make you forget anything when you're starving. Even your humanity.
Isabel offers Levi a piece of her roll with a silent outstretch of her hand. He eyes it for a breath before slowly taking it, placing the bread on his tongue and practically melting at the sensational taste. It's fresh. And full of flavor. Salt isn't easy to come by in the Underground District, leaving most foods bland and unable to be stored. But this. This is something else.
"Hmm?" Isabel prompts again. "Do you speak or what?"
Levi sends a glare at the girl. "I don't like to waste my breath."
"Try the jam. It's phenomenal," Isabel says, completely ignoring Levi's cold demeanor. She slathers another piece of bread in a thick, purple substance. Levi eyes her as she pops it in her mouth with a smile. Then, he follows suit, coating his own piece of bread with a small amount and tasting it.
She was right. The taste is like no other. If salt is hard to come by, sugar is practically gold. Levi's stomach turns with the unfamiliar sweetness. Even though he'd die for another piece, he opts for the savory foods like the ham and potatoes. Might as well start trying to build up some muscle while he can.
The door to the train car opens with a hiss, revealing two Peacekeepers standing side by side. Levi narrows his eyes at them while Isabel averts eye contact. He finds himself inching slightly closer to Isabel's side before he can think about it. However, the Peacekeepers pay no attention to the action.
"It's two hours into the Capitol from here. Eat as much as you want but don't try anything funny. Once we arrive, you'll be assigned your mentor for the Games."
"Mentor?" Isabel asks.
*
"Eren Jaeger."
"Present," Eren calls, his hand shooting into the air. The professor moves on to the next name, systematically counting off each member of the class.
"Now then," the Professor Zackly states firmly, "I know you're all eager to get on with today's classes seeing as the winner of the Plinth Prize was set to be announced today. However, I have some news for each of you."
Jean Kirschtein nudges Eren's arm with his elbow and whispers, "Wonder if he's gonna announce that you're out of the running."
"Shut up, horseface," Eren hisses. "You wish that would happen because it'd mean you'd actually have a chance at winning."
"Yeah, well, we can't all be the Chosen One, can we? Some of us actually had to work hard to get to where we are." Jean bites back.
"Am I interrupting something important?" the Professor calls, catching Eren and Jean's attention. "By all means, feel free to share it with the rest of the class."
"No, sir," Jean says.
"Sorry, sir," Eren follows.
"As I was saying, I will allow Head Gamemaker Zackly to take the stand now."
Zackly steps up to the podium, adjusting his tie and clearing his throat. "Good morning students, as we approach the end of another academic year at the Capitol's esteemed Academy, it's crucial to revisit the pinnacle of achievement in our educational system – the coveted Plinth Prize." Zackly pauses before continuing, "The Plinth Prize isn't just an accolade. It represents the culmination of your dedication, intelligence, and unwavering commitment to excellence. However, I'm here to tell you that there has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth. It seems that our beloved members of the Capitol have grown bored of the Games and simply aren't watching anymore. And if the Games are to continue at all, we need an audience. Therefore, aspiring candidates for the Plinth Prize must not only excel academically but also demonstrate exceptional mentorship skills by guiding and supporting the tributes from the districts. Only then will you be eligible to receive this esteemed scholarship."
Gasps and murmurs erupt throughout the class.
"Is he serious?" Jean asks. "He can't be serious."
"I think he is," Eren replies, his brow furrowed with concern.
"This is a brand new initiative. As the Reaping progresses live, I will allocate each District tribute to each of you, a Capitol mentor. Your role as mentors to the tributes isn't just a responsibility; it's an opportunity to showcase your brilliance and leadership potential. To persuade these tributes to perform," Zackly continues. "The Plinth Prize offers not only financial support but also ensures your place among the Capitol's elite. The recipient gains access to influential circles, prestigious careers, and a life of comfort and distinction. This isn't a mere competition. It's an opportunity to shape your destiny within our society while positively impacting the lives of others.
"As we approach the final stages of our academic year, remember, the pursuit of the Plinth Prize embodies the values we hold dear at our Academy – diligence, ambition, and the relentless pursuit of greatness, both academically and as mentors. So, let this prestigious honor remind you of the heights achievable through dedication, academic prowess, and the exceptional mentorship required to guide the tributes. May your pursuit bring you closer to this accolade and a future of boundless possibilities."
"But, sir!" One of the students exclaims. Historia's usually soft voice carries a certain level of anguish in it. Eren almost laughs. He's never heard the small girl sound so panicked before. "How will the tributes be assigned to us? Surely you can't assume that this is fair! It's a well-known fact that some Districts are better suited for the Games than others. How is someone expected to win with a tribute from one of the outlying Districts, or worse, the Underground!?"
"Silence," Zackly roars. "The Hunger Games have always been, and always will be, a testament to strength, power, and intelligence. With the right preparation, any tribute can be crowned the winner. Besides, you will not be graded merely on whether or not your tribute wins. It's so much more than that. It's how your tribute provides to the very nature of the Games themselves – a show for our dear Capitol. Your role is to turn these tributes into spectacles, Ms. Reiss. Not survivors. That being said, anyone that is caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage, well… they'll just have no future at all. Now, here are the tribute assignments."
"Who do you think you'll get? I heard it’s a crazy crop this year," Jean says to Eren with a nudge against his arm. Meanwhile, Zackly begins to read off the assignments, each name followed by a display of the tribute named at the Reaping on the large television behind him.
"Whoever it is, I just hope they're willing to listen to what we have to say," Eren mutters.
"So, you don't care at all? Man, what's it like being the Head Doctor's son and literally having your future handed to you on a silver platter?"
"Shut up. That's not fucking true," Eren growls.
"I guess I don't really care whether I have a guy or girl, as long as it's someone from Stohess or Ermich. Though, I guess Karanese wouldn't be bad either," Jean carries on.
"Jean Kirschtein," Zackly announces. "Boy from Stohess District."
The television displays a burly blond with an expression of rage that could match that of a starving lion.
"Guess you're not the only lucky one around here," Jean says to Eren with a smirk.
"Congratulations," Eren groans. Of course, Jean would get a tribute from one of the strongest districts. Life is just that cruel.
"Eren Jaeger."
Eren straightens his spine, listening intently.
"Boy from Underground District."
The television flickers to a dark stage lit by artificial lights. At the center stands a boy with raven black hair shaved into an undercut with a piercing scowl. He looks young. Short, too. And much too thin to pose any sort of threat to the stronger districts.
"Ha!" Jean bursts out. "Karma really is a bitch, huh?"
"Fuck you. I'm surprised they didn’t give you a horse to mentor," Eren grumbles, before turning his attention back to the boy. But that pale, stoic face is already gone by the time he looks at the screen again. On to the next tribute.
*
"God, Levi! Have you ever seen such open spaces! And the fresh air! It's like breathing in pure oxygen! I don't think I could ever go back to the Underground after this. Could you?" Isabel exclaims when they step off the train, heading towards the building where they'd be spending the next few weeks training before the Games begin.
Levi resists correcting her, thinking that he won't have to worry about going back to the Underground after this. Either he'll win, in which case he'll be given enough riches to buy his citizenship on the surface. Hell, he could even live in the Capitol if he wanted to. Or…
Levi shakes his head. He shouldn't think about the alternative. It can't even be an option. All that should be on his mind is training. Getting stronger. Building some muscle. Forming a strategy. Anything that will help him win.
Still, he can't bring himself to keep his eyes off the sparkling lights of the skyscrapers surrounding him. The polished marble streets reflect the sunlight bouncing off the gleaming glass of the towering buildings. Isabel was right, too. The air smells different here. Not the familiar scent of dust and grit of the Underground. No. It's more like something cleaner, tinged with a hint of luxury.
The Peacekeepers shove Levi forward by his shoulder, forcing him to navigate through the streets. Even though his mind and body want to gravitate towards the lavish displays of food and sheer excess that seems to define Capitol life. His rough-hewn clothes sharply contrasts the flamboyant Capitol fashion. Everywhere he turns, people flaunt extravagant outfits and jewelry, their laughter and carefree demeanor a stark contrast to that of the stoic, solemnity of the Underground.
The Capitol citizens leave an open path for the tributes to walk through, stuck behind a barrier of velvet ropes and Peacekeepers, watching over the tributes like they're zoo animals. Each pair from the twelve districts display the same mix of awe and wariness at the new environment and attention. Though some are better at hiding it than others. Until they finally reach the door to the training center, filing in by two's.
As they gather around in a crowd, waiting for the next instruction, Levi takes a moment to glance over each of the tributes. There's only a few younger children among them, for which he's relieved to see. He notes the determined looks etched on some faces, the fear flickering in the eyes of others, and the occasional glimmer of defiance in a select few. His gaze lingers on each tribute, silently acknowledging the weight of their impending fate. The diversity strikes him. Different backgrounds, skills, and temperaments all congregated in the room.
There's a girl with a clear air of fiery determination evident in her piercing gaze. Her toned physique speaks of rigorous training, as do the scars on her arms. Next to her stands a tall, muscular boy with sharp, black hair. Despite his bulky physique, he moves with a delicate grace. Behind them, a stoic young man whose steady gaze betrays years of hardship. His weathered appearance boasts a certain resilience that Levi is certain he'll have to be wary of. The girl next to him is an enigma. Her poised posture and deliberate movements hint at a hidden depth, a keen intellect, and a readiness to adapt. She is bound to be unpredictable. Levi vows to keep an eye on her whenever he can.
A nudge against his arm pulls Levi from his thoughts. Isabel whispers, "Where are we going now?"
Levi shrugs in a silent response. How is he supposed to know? He's just as lost as she is, even if he'd never show it.
They're quickly ushered into a pristine facility. The sharp scent of antiseptic carries an artificial floral undertone that makes Levi's nose itch. Instantly, a team of stylists and attendants swarm the tributes, leading them to individual stations where they're washed, scrubbed, waxed, and scrubbed again. Though the warm water is a pleasant surprise, Levi doesn't much care for the burning sensation of the wax against his legs, nor the sharp sting as it rips away the hair there. Then, his hair is groomed and styled, keeping his signature undercut but shaping it into a cleaner form. Wax and oils are expertly applied to enhance his features, erasing the signs of exhaustion and poverty, leaving him feeling strangely exposed yet polished. The dirt from under his nails is swiped away, his eyebrows are plucked, even his eyelashes are curled.
"It brings out the blue specks in your eyes," the Capitol stylist tells him.
Levi simply grunts in response.
Despite the external transformation, Levi remains impassive. The Capitol might change his appearance, but he won't let them mold him into one of their puppets. Not if he has any say against it. That'll happen quite literally over his dead body. Deep down, he knows that beneath the façade of glamor and grooming, his true strength lies in his resilience. Not the Capitol's superficial standards.
A moment of reprieve doesn't come until they're escorted to their quarters. Each tribute receives their own housing in which they'll stay during the course of their training. Levi and Isabel ride the elevator to the top of the building while the Peacekeepers explain that the Underground is the last district on the list, therefore, they get the Penthouses. How ironic.
Levi tentatively enters the doorway, barely flinching when the Peacekeeper slams the door behind him, locking him inside the apartment until further notice.
Well , he thinks, might as well take some time to explore.
The apartment is the epitome of luxury, making the rest of the Capitol pale in comparison with its brand new stainless-steel appliances, custom-made leather seating, digitized fireplace, and long dining table set with a lavish dinner. Isabel is giddy with excitement but Levi sees through the gesture. This is what the Capitol does. They butter up the tributes with extravagant gifts and treatment so that when the moment comes, the barbaric nature of the Games doesn't seem as terrible as it really is. It catches them by surprise. Like a harsh wind slapping them across the face after an easy summer breeze. Though Levi can't deny how he looks forward to seeing what else they'll be given. Perhaps a bed with new pillows, more of those showers that provide warm water, hot meals, the works.
His mouth starts to water at the thought of food before he abruptly halts in his tracks. For ahead of him, seated on what's supposed to be Levi's couch in Levi's living room of Levi's Penthouse, is a young boy with scraggly brown hair and striking green eyes.
"Who are you?" Levi asks the boy.
"I'm Eren. I'll be your mentor for the Games," the boy replies easily as he stands up.
"Right. You," Levi says in a clipped tone, glancing over the boy's appearance. He doesn't seem to be wearing any sort of extravagant clothes like the other Capitol citizens, but rather what looks like a uniform consisting of a red button-down shirt and black vest with matching red slacks. Levi notes the strange insignia in the corner of his vest, it's not of the Capitol but something else entirely. But the thing that really catches his attention is the maroon scarf hanging around his neck. It's not the same color red as the rest of the uniform so it clashes but it seems… soft. And with the way Eren's fingers twirl around the fabric, Levi would have to guess he wears it often.
Eren slowly nods, pressing his lips together. There's an air of concern about him that Levi can't help but notice. He scoffs. Probably terrified at being in the same room as an 'Underground thug.' Levi knows of all the stories told about his District. He knows how the Capitol sees them. He knows that even the other Districts view them as smelly, low-life thieves that don't deserve to live.
Why would Eren be any different?
"Why are you here? It's late," Levi continues.
"Well, I felt it was important to introduce myself. We are going to be working together after all."
"No, no, no," Levi immediately cuts in. "Don't misunderstand this. We won't be working together at all. I work alone. Always have. And that's not about to change."
Eren scrunches his brow in confusion. "But… don't you want my help to win the Games?"
"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time. I said I don't need any help from a shitty, Capitol brat."
*
After his confrontation with Eren, his supposed "mentor," he storms to his room, locking the door behind him despite Eren's insistent knocking. It doesn't take long for the boy to give up though, leaving the Penthouse with a sigh. Levi follows it with a sigh of his own, sinking to his knees with his back against the door. His stomach growls, and though he aches to dig into the feast laid out in the dining room, he opts to change into the night-clothes he was provided and slide under the covers of his bed.
Levi tosses and turns that night.
Despite the softness of the mattress, the lack of bedbugs, and the silence surrounding him, he just can't seem to find a restful sleep. Thoughts of horror, blood, and death plague his mind and dreams, turning them into his worst nightmares. Though, he supposes, he's living that now. With training starting tomorrow, he doesn't have time for these inconveniences. Not ones that disrupt his sleep. And certainly not ones that claim that they're here to "help" when they're part of the problem to begin with.
No. Levi refuses to accept help from anyone that grew up in the Capitol.
He'll figure this out on his own.
*
"Attention, tributes!" A booming voice captures the group's attention instantly. It echoes through the hallway, bouncing off the concrete walls and shaking their eardrums. At the center of the room, a thickset man with stark white hair looks down upon the tributes. He continues, "You have been gathered here to prepare for the upcoming Hunger Games. During this training period, you will have the opportunity to showcase your skills, hone your abilities, and garner the attention of sponsors. This year, we have the added bonus of providing each of you with a mentor. This individual will assist in your training to help you gain sponsors and learn the necessary skills you'll need to survive the Games. Today, you will meet your mentors for the first time."
Levi's eye twitches. So, Eren visiting him in his apartment yesterday wasn't customary?
"Throughout the training sessions, a wide array of stations and facilities have been prepared to aid you in refining your combat, survival, and strategic skills. Utilize this time wisely, as the knowledge and expertise you acquire here may be crucial for your survival in the arena. It is imperative to understand that the training sessions are monitored closely. Your performance, dedication, and adaptability will be observed and assessed by the Gamemakers and Capitol mentors. Your actions and capabilities here may influence your prospects of gaining sponsors and support during the Games."
Levi can't help but scoff. Everything really is just a show to them. It's all about who can get the most views. Who can provide the greatest entertainment.
"While cooperation and alliances among tributes are allowed during training, remember that the Hunger Games are ultimately a fight for survival. Trust sparingly, as alliances formed here may be put to the test within the arena. Failure to comply with the rules and regulations set forth during training may result in consequences. Any act of aggression or disruption that jeopardizes the safety of others will be addressed accordingly. Your time here is limited. Make the most of it. Show us your strengths, your cunning, and your determination. Impress us, and perhaps you will find favor amongst the sponsors. And of course, may the odds be ever in your favor."
The tributes are led to the main training room. A vast expanse of stations await their use, meticulously arranged with state-of-the-art equipment catering to various combat and survival scenarios. Targets for archery line one section, while weights and training dummies occupy the opposite side. Swords, knives, bows and arrows. Even computerized systems display real time data and statistics on the tributes. Their performance metrics, heights, weights, strengths, weaknesses.
Levi grits his teeth at the thought of the Capitol having all this access. Especially while his people are struggling with so little. Even a quarter of the equipment in this room could be sold to buy food for a lifetime in the Underground.
In addition to the equipment, waiting for them inside the room is a group of twenty-four young adults. They almost look like students, Levi thinks to himself, with their pristine red and black uniforms.
These must be the other mentors.
Among them is Eren. That same petrified expression plastered across his face, mixed with a certain sort of determination. It almost makes Levi laugh. It probably would've under different circumstances. The boy truly looks like he's about to shit himself.
When the groups disperse, the mentors seeking out their assigned tributes and the tributes seeking out their desired training session, Levi remains still. Locking eyes with Eren. Unmoving. Unwavering. Unwilling to break first.
Neither of them blink. Neither of them breathe. Not until Eren finally flinches, glancing away with a thick gulp. Levi scoffs in response, making his way past the boy and towards a rack holding a set of various sized knives.
Eren grabs his upper arm and quickly says, "Wait, I wouldn't go for those yet."
Levi glares daggers at the grip Eren holds around his bicep.
Immediately, Eren pulls away, muttering a soft, "Sorry."
"Keep your filthy hands off me, Capitol pig," Levi snarls back.
"Hey!" Eren shouts, attracting the eyes of a few bystanders. "I mean… hey. I might be a Capitol citizen. But I'm no pig. And I'm certainly not filthy. I bathed this morning."
"Oh, well lucky you," Levi says, rolling his eyes. "Little, rich kid gets to have his morning bath."
"Listen," Eren says, stepping closer to Levi. "I know you don't like me. You've made that abundantly clear. And honestly, I'm not too fond of you either. But I need you to win these Games, and I'm guessing you want to live. We both could use each other. I'll help you get sponsors and train. And you can help me win my competition."
Levi ponders over the prospect. Finally, he gives a curt nod, pressing his lips together in a thin line.
"Fine," he replies in a low voice. "Help me live through this fucking nightmare."
*
"So, why do I have to learn this shit?" Levi asks as he fusses with the twigs, attempting to gain enough friction from the wood to start a fire. He grumbles out curses whenever the sweat dripping down his forehead puts out what little smoke starts to form.
"Survival skills are just as important, if not more so, than strength training. Exposure kills just as easily as a knife. Keep that in mind. Here, rub the sticks together fast and hard, focusing the energy until you see a spark. Let me show you."
Eren's hands brush over Levi's as he takes over the action, mimicking the motion and demonstrating it with a sense of urgency. "Once you catch a spark, blow gently and nurture the flame. Gradually add the larger sticks, keeping the fire small at first to conserve resources. But be cautious; smoke can draw unwanted attention."
Soon enough, a flicker erupts underneath the tinder that grows into a steady flame. Levi raises an eyebrow, impressed with Eren's quick work.
Not bad for a Capitol pig. Sorry… Capitol kid .
He absorbs the instructions, instantly repeating it with a new set-up. "Got it," he replies quietly, committing the steps to memory.
"Alright, I want to use the knives now. I need to practice," Levi says, standing up.
"No, wait!" Eren calls after him. "Not yet. Let's do another survival skill first."
"No way. We've done enough already. I'll need to get some sort of weapon training while I'm here," Levi grumbles back.
"Trust me, you don't want to do that yet. Not until the Individual Assessments. Keep your valuable skills a secret until then."
"Fuck that," Levi snarls. "At this rate, I'll die from an arrow to the head before I even get the chance to gather wood for a fire. Why won't you let me practice what will help me win?!"
At this point, the other tributes start to look over at Levi and Eren. But Levi can't bring himself to care. This snotty brat is going to get him killed on principle alone.
"Why won't you just trust me?!" Eren yells back.
"Why do I have any reason to?!"
"Because," Eren says in a low voice. "I need you to win this just as much as you do. My whole future depends on it."
There's something about the genuineness in Eren's voice that sparks something in Levi. Suddenly, he finds himself relaxing, his brow unfurrowing. He blinks once, twice. Finally, he lets out a sigh, and he says, "Alright. What next?"
*
The week passes by like that. Eren teaches Levi various survival skills while the other tributes and mentors hack away at the strength training exercises. Eren explains how he's watched the previous Games several times over, analyzing the tributes’ every movement and mistake, finding the moment that they went wrong before their death. He and Levi sit cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the training room, Levi intently looking over the stacks of papers Eren filled with his notes.
He frowns.
"And this one, right. This guy was doing well until he ran out of water, and he had to– wait. Why aren't you reading along?" Eren asks.
"I… can't read very well," Levi explains quietly.
"O- oh. You never learned? Or–"
"I learned, dumbass! It's just… hard. The words… they scramble on the page. And sometimes, I just can't make sense of it," Levi says, narrowing his eyes at the papers before him.
"Oh! You mean you're dyslexic."
"What the fuck did you just call me?"
"No, no! It's not an insult. It's just… never mind. It's okay. I'll read them to you." Eren takes the papers back from Levi and begins going through the notes, one by one.
"Right," he continues, "So I was saying, water will be the most important thing for you to focus on. Stock up on it, if you can."
Levi nods all the while, soaking in the information like a sponge. Eren's voice filters through his mind like hot honey, smooth and careful. Levi glances over the boy's features while he talks. His perfectly long eyelashes, the curve of his jawline, his messy, brown hair pulled back into a bun, his striking, green eyes that seem to swirl like deep pools of water. He talks with such confidence that Levi can't help but fall into a trance while listening to him.
Where did this kid come from?
While the other mentors treat the tributes like dogs to be trained for fighting, or talk down to them like simple school children, Eren is… different. He guides Levi with a gentle but firm hand. He makes subtle suggestions and explains their benefits in the long-run. He makes careful observations and shares his insights. Almost as if he truly wants Levi to survive. Not just win.
Levi's focus wavers for a brief moment, his thoughts dancing on the edges of this newfound connection. There's an inexplicable comfort in Eren's presence, a sense of growing camaraderie that transcends the stark reality of their situation.
Yet, as Eren's voice continues to weave through the air, Levi resolutely tethers himself back to the present. He can't afford distractions, not in the Capitol, not in the looming shadow of the Games. With a subtle nod, he acknowledges Eren's guidance, committing every word, every detail, to memory.
"Are you okay?" Eren asks.
Levi meets his eye, catching sight of Eren's furrowed brow and concerned gaze.
"Just… hungry."
Good. That's good. Believable, too.
"Here, I can help with that," Eren says, pulling out what looks like a half-eaten protein bar from his pocket.
Levi immediately shoves the offer away, hissing, "That's illegal, idiot. I can't take your fucking food."
"Shut up, it's fine," Eren replies, extending his hand again. "I'm your mentor. If they have a problem with it, they can take it up with me."
Levi peers over Eren's shoulder. None of the Gamemakers or Peacekeepers seem to be watching them. And his stomach is rumbling. He only really has access to food when he's in his quarters. But with training taking up most of his day, that rare stretch of time in the mornings and evenings is hard to take advantage of. He often leaves early in the morning and returns sore and exhausted, unable to find the strength to even do so much as lift a fork to his mouth.
He welcomes the gesture with gratitude, taking the protein bar from Eren before carefully unwrapping it and savoring the first bite. He closes his eyes as the rare flavors of chocolate and peanuts dance across his tongue.
"Sorry," Eren says. "Next time I'll bring you a whole one."
"Don't be," Levi instantly replies after swallowing. "This is great."
Eren offers a soft smile. A simple, upward quirk of the lips. For a moment, Levi's eyes soften. For just a moment, there isn't anything standing between them. No class differences. No labels. No shortages of food. It's just… them.
"Right," Eren says, pulling Levi back to the present. "Let's continue."
*
"He's kinda short isn't he?"
"Fuck off, Jean. He's better than that brute they assigned to you."
"Hey," Jean retorts. "Reiner is strong, powerful, and smart."
"Smart isn't the word I'd use," Eren snorts.
"Whatever. I'm guaranteed to have this in the bag. Tell me what your kid can do that mine can't."
Eren keeps a careful eye on Levi, fiddling with the threads of the red scarf around his neck all the while. Watching him as he dangles and swings between the fake tree branches. Levi had asked to combine some strength training with survival skills today, so Eren suggested that he practice climbing trees. Even though Levi gave him a questioning glance at first, Eren could practically see the gears turning in his head, quickly realizing that Eren was giving him a silent yet vital piece of information.
The Games will take place in a forest this year.
So, they set up the virtual reality room with dozens of trees, towering over them in such a way that it almost seemed like nothing else mattered. For the past hour and a half, Levi found himself swinging between the branches, doing pull-ups, climbing the trunks, and jumping between the trees.
"Well, you gotta admit, it's impressive that he doesn't fall," Jean adds.
Eren can't help but smirk in response. "He might be small, but he's fast, he's strong, and he's cunning. He has a good chance. At least… I hope he does."
"Careful, Eren. Almost sounds like you're starting to care about him."
"And why shouldn't I? He's a person, isn't he?" Eren growls back.
"Don't be ridiculous. Districts aren't people. They're basically animals. I mean, look at them." Jean turns over his shoulder, gesturing towards the back of the room where Reiner is currently engaging in hand-to-hand combat with one of the other tributes. Though, with Reiner's sheer size and raw strength, it's barely a competition. He lands throw after throw, punch after punch across the tribute's face, his ribs, his stomach, until the boy is forced to tap out, pleading for mercy.
"Like I said," Jean says, "animals."
"No," Eren responds. "Levi's not like that. He–"
"He's from the Underground District!" Jean yells in a whisper. "He's the worst of them all. Probably has gotten away with murder before or something."
"Can you blame him? I mean, have you seen what it's like out there?" Eren argues.
"Have you?" Jean throws back at him.
"Well… I haven't, but my dad–"
"Just because your dad is the Medical Director in the Capitol, and he told you a couple of things about his time in the Districts doesn't mean you have any idea what you're talking about," Jean grumbles, crossing his arms.
"Shut the fuck up, Jean," Eren hisses, shaking his head. "Like you know what you're talking about? All the shit you just said is based on rumors. The Districts are people, too. And they don't deserve to be treated like this."
Jean hums in response. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're starting to sound like a rebel."
Eren shoots a pointed stare at his friend. They glare daggers at each other for a breath. Then, Jean breaks into a breathy laugh. Eren can't help but follow suit, letting out a sigh with a playful roll of his eyes.
"You know I'm only joking," Jean says. "But seriously, be careful what you say. People might get the wrong idea."
"Yeah. I know."
*
It's been three weeks.
Three whole weeks.
And Levi feels that he has nothing to show for it.
Despite the muscle he's built up, he doesn't feel any stronger. Despite all the time he spends on the treadmill, he doesn't feel any faster. Despite all his effort memorizing various poisonous plants and animals, he doesn't feel any smarter.
With all the alliances the other tributes are forming, he feels more and more alone every day.
Though… he supposes… he isn't entirely alone.
He has Eren.
Eren, who brings him protein bars every day. Eren, who guides his training with suggestions on what to work on. Eren, who gives him notes on the Games and subtle hints at things to watch out for. Eren, who seems to be doing everything in his power to ensure that Levi wins, even if it means cheating at his expense.
And for what? Some money? What is that good for anyway?
"Can I ask you something?" Levi says, interrupting Eren's description of Tracker-Jackers.
"Um, sure?" He replies.
"Why do you want to win this so bad?"
"I told you, it's for the Plinth Prize. Whichever Academy student shows the most promise as a mentor will–"
"No, I got that. I mean, what are you going to do with it? The money, I mean."
Eren blinks at him a few times before turning his head away, almost in shame.
"I guess, I'll go to University. Study to be a doctor… like my dad," Eren explains.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Levi scoffs.
"I did not!"
Levi raises one eyebrow. Several of the tributes and mentors turn their heads towards Eren's outburst. But he just shakes his head in response.
"It's not that. I just… I don't know if that's what I want," Eren says.
"Well, what do you want?" Levi asks. He briefly wonders why he wants to know. After all, this kid seems to have everything. Yet, he's complaining about nothing. So why should Levi care? Even still, he does care.
Eren pauses, staring at the floor as he contemplates his answer. Finally, he says in a low voice, "To tell you the truth, I want to become President. Just so I can put these barbaric Hunger Games to an end."
"Yeah, right," Levi responds. "You're just saying that to get on my good side."
"I'm serious," Eren practically growls back. "Rounding up innocent humans? Forcing them to fight to the death like dogs in a cage? Seriously? It's cruel. It's inhumane. It's… disgusting . I can't stand the thought of anyone trying to take away a person's freedom. Capitols try to act like they're better, more civilized. But please, we're the savages here. It sickens me."
Levi's eyes widen at the confession. Out of everything he thought Eren was going to say, this was the last thing he expected.
"Not bad," he replies softly.
Eren looks up, meeting Levi's eye. There's something rippling in those sea-green pools. Something Levi's never seen before. What it is… he can't quite put his finger on. But there's definitely something there.
"What about you?" Eren asks.
"Huh?"
"What would you do if you weren't here right now?"
Levi scoffs. "I'd probably be fighting it out with someone over some week old bread–"
"No, no," Eren interrupts. "I mean, what would you do if you could do anything in the world?"
Levi goes silent. He swallows thickly, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He's never really thought about it before. Never had the need nor the time to. Why would he? Why would he dwell over things that'll never happen? But now, he finds himself spitting out words he never thought he would say.
"I'd see the ocean."
"You've never seen the ocean?!" Eren immediately responds.
Levi's eyes narrow into a glare.
"Right, why would you… being from the Underground and all," Eren sheepishly adds. "Tell you what."
"What, Eren?"
"If you win, I'll take you to see the ocean. Everyone deserves to see that kind of beauty at least once in their life."
"Sure, Eren. We'll see the ocean."
"Don't give me that. You have to try to win. Or else it won't happen. Okay?"
"Okay, Eren. I'll try."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
*
Levi finds himself replaying that conversation over and over in his mind. Remembering how Eren's eyes swirled with the heat of a thousand suns when he talked about the barbaric nature of the Games. The raw emotion that spilled into his words when he pleaded with Levi to try to win. The gentle nature in which he urged Levi to utter a single yet deadly promise.
Levi tosses and turns in his bed that night, repeating those words in his head.
Promise?
I promise.
How stupid could he be to make such a promise like that? Of course he would try to win. Everyone is going to try to win. But that doesn't mean it will happen. He only has a one-in-twenty-four chance of making it out of the arena alive. And then what? He just… goes on? Like nothing happened? Like he wasn't responsible for the deaths of twenty three people?
Levi can't take it anymore. He throws the comforter off his body and slips out of bed, padding across the bedroom floor without a single sound. It's a little bit ridiculous considering how he's the only one residing in this apartment but he can't help but stay as silent as possible. Like he might disturb the dust collecting on the countertops. There's only one thing he can focus on right now that will help him get his mind straight. So, Levi heads to the kitchen sink, opening the cabinet underneath and reaching for the dishrags and a bottle of cleaning spray. Then, he gets to work.
He starts with the counters before making his way to the cabinets. The shelves. The lamps. The bathtub. The sink. The floors.
Those goddamn floors.
Levi is on his knees, scrubbing away when the door opens. Footsteps creep towards him until a shadow casts over Levi's body. He doesn't have to look up to know who it is.
"What are you doing?" Eren asks.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Levi grunts, focusing his attention on one particularly stubborn spot.
"You know there are attendants that are assigned to clean the tributes' quarters, right?"
"I barely trust the Capitol not to poison the very food they give us. You think I'm gonna trust them to clean my quarters? Please. I'll do that myself."
"You trust the food that I give you, though."
Levi simply peers up at Eren through his dark lashes for a breath before returning to his task.
"You really should be resting," Eren insists, crossing his arms.
"Is that why you're here bothering me in the middle of the night?"
Eren rolls his eyes and glances away with a scoff. Then, he reaches into the bucket of soapy water that rests next to Levi and pulls out a sponge before dropping to his knees, throwing the end of his maroon scarf that normally hangs at his front over his shoulder. He sets to work scrubbing at the floor in a similar fashion to Levi's movements.
Levi hums, eyeing Eren out of the corner of his eye, completely unaware that he had stopped scrubbing.
"What?" Eren snaps.
With a scoff, Levi replies, "Just wasn’t expecting to see a Capitol doing this kind of work. It's a once in a lifetime experience, is it not?"
"Shut up," Eren grumbles.
"Why are you here, Eren?" Levi asks, annoyance spilling into his tone.
"Is it so wrong that I want to visit my favorite tribute?"
"I'm your only tribute."
"Same difference. Besides, you seemed like you could use some help."
"Yeah, well, you're doing it wrong. Don't go back over where you already scrubbed or else you'll just spread the dirty water around on the clean areas. Do it like this," Levi explains while demonstrating his technique. To his surprise, Eren nods along without another word before repeating the action. Levi nods in satisfaction.
After a few minutes of silent scrubbing, Eren finally asks, "Where did you learn all this?"
Levi glances at him curiously.
"I just never thought this kind of stuff was harped on in the Undergr– I mean… I, uh…" Eren stutters over his words, rubbing the back of his neck while averting his eyes away from Levi's painful stare.
Levi glares daggers at Eren, replying, "What? Because everything in the Underground is shit and made of shit and smells like shit, right?"
Eren sheepishly looks down at the floor, pressing his lips together in a thin line.
"Whatever, I don't blame you for thinking that way. God only knows what they teach you about us here," Levi scoffs.
"What's it like there?" Eren softly asks.
Levi ponders over his response for a moment before saying, "Honestly? It's dark. Really dark. And smells, too. Smells like shit. All the time. You get used to it for the most part but sometimes, it's so strong that it makes your eyes water. And there's death everywhere. In the streets. In the buildings. It follows you wherever you go."
"Have you… you know…" Eren raises his eyebrows, trailing off with his question.
"What? Killed someone?"
Eren doesn't reply.
"Can't survive in the Underground without spilling a little blood, Eren."
Eren chokes on his breath. Then, he says, "Oh."
He resumes his scrubbing, albeit, much slower than before.
Levi glances over his face. Taking in his expression. Though, it's not one of fear like Levi would've thought. But more like… sorrow. Like he feels guilty for what Levi has been through. Though that's ridiculous. Why would Eren even care?
After a while, Levi adds, "I learned from my mother."
"Your mother?"
"Yes. She taught me everything I needed to know about surviving in the Underground. Including how to clean the house to keep out the fucking filth and disease."
"And how to swear like a sailor, too?"
"Nah," Levi says with a painful smile. "She died when I was ten. I learned that all on my own."
"Oh," Eren breathes. "I– I'm sorry, Levi."
Levi doesn't answer. He simply continues his work on the floors. Wondering if he scrubs hard enough, will his troubles be swept away in the suds?
"My mother died when I was thirteen," Eren adds.
Levi's gaze snaps up. Of all the things he was expecting Eren to say, that was last on the list.
"Although 'died' doesn't really do it justice. She was murdered. For being a rebel. They made it look like an accident. But everyone knows the truth. We just don't speak of it. We don't even speak her name anymore. Out of shame but mostly… fear," Eren explains quietly. "I was always a little bit scared of the Districts, you know? The stuff that they told us… it doesn't matter what the truth was. The stories we heard were the stuff of nightmares. And for a kid, you can't help but believe. But after my mother's death, I knew that was all wrong. The real monsters were the pigs in the Capitol. Even if that included… my own father."
Levi can't help but listen intently with a thick swallow around the lump in his throat. He stares down at his soapy hands, holding them palm-side up in his lap. Finally, he replies, "My mother sold herself to the Peacekeepers to get us food."
"Levi, you don't have to–"
"Shut up. You told your story, didn't you? It's my fucking turn now."
Eren's mouth snaps shut.
"Anyways," Levi continues, "we never had it easy. I mean, no one has it easy in our district. It's not like I was expecting to eat like a king every day. But being the bastard son of a whore didn't exactly spell anything less than trouble."
Levi sighs, watching the sudsy bubbles along his hands pop.
He goes on, "My mother worked herself to the bone. But it was never enough. Until she found a Peacekeeper that was willing to exchange a hot meal for her company. Then, she was worked in a different way. Until her body just couldn't take it anymore."
Eren doesn't respond. He simply places his hand over Levi's, the soapy water making his grip slippery and warm. Levi meets his eye, surprised to find in those teal green pools, not pity nor sadness, but something akin to anger. Eren is enraged .
Then, Eren says, "I promise you, I will do everything in my power to help you win this. Not just for you, but for your mother."
Breath hitching in his throat, Levi's eyes widen ever so slightly. Then, he relaxes under Eren's touch, and he looks away. There's something about the comfort in Eren's gentle contact that has Levi believing him. Believing that things could actually go his way. Despite the odds being against him, and all signs pointing to one of the other tributes winning, Levi lets his hopes get a little high. Because maybe this could be it. Maybe this is the year that the odds won't matter. Whether they're in his favor or not, he could come out on top.
With Eren on his side, anything could be possible.
*
"The Individual Assessments are designed to get the support you need right from the start," Eren explains. He leans over the silver tabletop on his elbows, hands clasped together. "They're your chance to stand out to the Gamemakers, to make an impression. Got it?"
Levi nods, swallowing thickly.
"Alright, so pick your poison. You get one chance to show off a skill that you excel at. It could be weaponry, camouflage, intelligence, anything that makes you stand out from the other tributes. Make it good, Levi. You want them to remember you when the Games begin."
Levi takes a look around the training room. He spots the other tributes practicing with their swords, their archery, their fire-making. His eyes lock onto a set of knives in the far corner, and he says, "Easy. Knife-throwing."
Eren's lips quirk up in a slight smile. He replies, "I was hoping you'd say that."
"What are we talking about over here?" One of the tributes, Reiner, calls out with a hint of derision in his tone, making his way towards Eren and Levi's table. "Strategy? Huh, Underground? Plotting your next move?"
"Reiner, let's get back to training," Jean tries to reign in the tension.
"Better keep a tighter leash on your dog," Levi growls.
"What did you call me?" Reiner shouts, twisting his fists in Levi's shirt to pull him up to his feet.
"You heard me, loud and clear," Levi replies calmly.
"Hey!" Eren shouts, immediately putting himself between Levi and Reiner. "No fighting in the training room. There's plenty of time for that in the arena."
He never truly realized just how tall Eren is until he sized himself up to Reiner. The two of them staring the other down, mere inches away from each other. Eren's chest rises and falls with heavy breaths while the vein in Reiner's forehead looks ready to burst.
"Just leave it alone, Reiner," one of the other tributes tries to calm him down, tugging on his arm. Levi thinks his name is Bertholdt. The tall, brunet with the sad eyes. Luckily his begging seems to work alongside Eren's tough stare as Reiner finally backs down. With a huff and a roll of his eyes, he turns away, following after Bertholdt and the quiet, blonde girl that trails after them everywhere – Annie , Levi thinks.
With nothing but a glance over his shoulder, Reiner returns to his training. He sets to work practicing his kickboxing skills on a punching bag, emitting powerful grunts and shouts with every throw. Levi can't help but roll his eyes as well before sitting back down. Meanwhile, Eren remains standing. His eyes locked on Reiner's group, still seething with energy. Levi gazes up at him, brow furrowing with concern and confusion. Finally, he tugs on the end of Eren's red scarf, and that seems to bring the boy back to the present. Eren shakes his head slightly before returning to his seat on the opposite side of the table, staring down at the metal tabletop with a livid glare.
Levi glances around the room, eyeing the other tributes. It almost seems like everyone has their eye on them as well.
Or actually, on him.
He notes each and every single one. Reiner's considerable strength and anger that he's currently taking out on a punching bag. Bertholdt's towering presence and quiet intensity that belies a potential for formidable strength. Annie's fluidity and precision in her movements, as if every step is calculated and every action deliberate, revealing a composed and skilled tribute. Ymir's confident yet rebellious aura exuding from her every moment, a sense of untamed determination simmering beneath the surface. He counts them all. Twenty-two in total. Only one left unaccounted for.
Isabel.
But he knows where she is. He just doesn't think it wise to look up and give away her position in the rafters of the training room. Clearly, she's practicing her hiding and climbing skills. Levi doesn't want to ruin that for her, appreciating the value of her discreet training endeavors.
He turns away.
"Where were we?" Levi asks.
"Right," Eren grunts.
He goes on to ask Levi several questions about his knife-throwing skills, getting a better sense of Levi's talents with the weapon and what he plans to do during the assessment that evening. They pass the time talking strategy and methods to obtain the highest score. Right until the very end of the afternoon, at which point Levi needed to return to his quarters to wash up.
He starts with a shower, scrubbing every last inch of his body until his skin turns red and raw, before getting dressed. They were instructed to wear the new training attire provided in their quarters. Levi finds the outfit laid out on his bed, a form-fitting, gray jumpsuit adorned with intricate patterns. He slips it on with ease, satisfied at how it hugs his skin. It's high-tech, light, breathable, allowing for ease of movement. Everything that a tribute would want during their skill demonstrations. Yet, it also carries an aura of holographic embellishment at the chest. Levi scoffs, twisting his body in the mirror to observe the way it shines back at him. Of course, the Capitol would add something extravagant like that to an outfit meant to be worn to kill.
Once he's dressed, he makes his way to the hall where a pair of Peacekeepers are ready to escort him downstairs. They bring him to the Capitol attendants that set to work completing his accessories, hairstyles, and makeup. Levi scoffs when they start adding eyeliner to his waterline, wondering why the hell makeup is even necessary for him to show his knife-throwing skills. But he knows better than to argue. It takes an hour before he's finally done, the Peacekeepers then leading him through the building and down a long hallway where all the tributes are seated with their mentors, awaiting their turn to showcase their skills.
Eren casts a gentle grin at Levi when he spots him, patting the seat on the bench next to him. Levi scoffs lightly. As if he would be allowed to sit anywhere else. Still, he welcomes the gesture with a light nod. He's surprised to see that Eren is no longer in his signature red uniform but now wears a stark black suit with red accents on the jacket and the seam of his pants. His normally messy hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. However, his outfit is completed by his signature red scarf, wrapped once around his neck with both ends hanging at his front.
"Ready?" Eren asks when Levi finally sits down.
"Is anyone ever ready for something like this?" Levi replies.
"Right."
It's like there's a wall between them. A large stone wall. And with every word that passes between them, every conversation, it lets them climb the wall, one stone at a time. Until they're able to see each other clearly. Like they're looking at each other as equals. Until Levi says something to remind them that the wall is still there. And then, they're knocked back down to where they started. Knowing that they're not equals. And they never will be. Sometimes, Levi feels guilty over it.
This is one of those times.
"Annie Leonhart." A voice on the loudspeaker booms through the hallway, echoing off the walls. Annie stands and swiftly enters the showroom. It takes exactly seventeen minutes. Levi's eyes never leave the clock on the wall for a second. Eren tries to tell him something at some point but he brushes the words off his shoulder. Finally, Annie exits the showroom, wordlessly making her way down the hall. Levi searches her expression for some kind of indication of how she did. But true to her colors, she doesn't give away a single hint.
One by one, the tributes are called in. They each take their own time, ranging from five minutes to twenty. Some exit looking ecstatic and pleased while others seem disappointed. Meanwhile, the remaining tributes wait their turn in silence. Only a few hushed whispers between their mentors can be heard.
Levi and Isabel, being from the Underground District, are the last to go.
"Isabel Magnolia," the announcer calls. Isabel stands, a determined expression painted across her features.
"Good luck," Levi says lowly.
"Thanks," she replies, her tone tinged with a little too much excitement to be genuine. Levi considers that might be her defense mechanism. Grin and bear it until you make it through. Never stopping for a second to consider the alternative. It's smart, Levi admits. Until it'll cause her downfall. He tries not to think about that though. Not now, anyways.
"You okay?" Eren asks.
"No."
Levi can't stop his leg from bouncing. Anxiety doesn't normally plague him but now, it's coursing through his veins like a deadly drug. Intoxicating him from head to toe until his vision darkens and his fingers tingle. But then, a brush against his thigh brings him back to the present. He looks down to find Eren's hand lightly gripping his leg in a comforting hold. Eren's thumb starts to brush back and forth over Levi's skin. Even through the thin fabric of his clothing, he can't help but shiver at the contact. Surprisingly to him though, he doesn't shake away the touch. Levi lets Eren leave his hand there, providing that wordless comfort, and chalking it up to the thought that this is a time when Levi truly needs it.
Isabel exits the showroom adorning a small smile. Levi's own lips quirk upward slightly at the sight, glad to know that at least her assessment seemed to have gone well. She leaves with her mentor, and suddenly, Levi finds himself alone with Eren.
"Levi Ackerman," the voice announces.
Levi swallows thickly, and he stands.
"Hey," Eren calls after him. Levi turns to meet his eye. Then, Eren says, "Just breathe."
Right. That's all that matters right now. Levi gives a singular nod in response, stiffening his spine and rolling out his shoulders before turning back towards the showroom and making his way inside.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
The Peacekeeper inside opens the door for him. Levi enters the showroom, the light immediately casting upon him to highlight his entrance, creating a focused glow on the path ahead. It's not unlike the main training room. It's just surprisingly… empty. The vast expanse of the room is entirely void of embellishments and accessories save for the small rack of throwing knives resting at the center of the space along with a set of targets. It almost feels like a stage.
Before the stage on the front wall of the room is an observation deck holding the Gamemakers, seated in their luxurious chairs and dressed in their lavish outfits and eating their expensive foods and drinking their fancy drinks. They peer at him for a moment before returning to their conversations, laughing loudly over roasted pig and cocktails like this is some sort of dinner party. It makes Levi sick.
He shakes the thought of them away though, only thinking of Eren's words.
Just breathe.
His boots echo against the polished floor as he makes his way towards the center of the room. Examining each knife on the rack, Levi opts for a sleek, small one with a black handle. It's the one he feels the most confident with while training. It only makes sense that he'd use it for this as well.
Then, taking his stance, his feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly in front of the other, the knife held in his right hand, Levi prepares to make his throw. It's all riding on this. And he's a near perfect shot. Everyone in the Underground knows it. And now, everyone in the Capitol will know it too. Including these fucking Gamemakers.
Raising his hand slowly, Levi sucks in a deep breath, slowly blinking as he steadies himself. He focuses on the target before him and narrows his gaze on the bulls-eye. Then, he makes his throw. The knife whips through the air with a near perfect spin.
Near perfect.
It lands just to the left of the target. Levi's breath hitches in his throat, glaring at the Gamemakers when a cacophony of laughter fills the room.
Just breathe.
Right. Levi will just have to try again. He has three chances, doesn't he? So, he picks up another knife, takes his stance again, sucks in a deep breath again, steadies himself again, and makes his throw, again .
The knife lands dead center on the target, hitting the bulls-eye exactly in the middle. He looks to the Gamemakers with a pleased smirk that quickly falls off his face when he realizes that none of them saw it happen. None of them.
They'd been too busy joking and laughing and eating and drinking to notice that he'd made another throw. Suddenly, all Levi can see is red.
His face burns hot with rage, and his body moves of its own accord. He grabs a third knife, takes his stance, and sends the knife whipping through the air towards the gallery. It skims past Head Gamemaker Zackly's face, shaving a few white hairs from his beard before lodging itself in the wall behind him.
All at once, silence overtakes the room. The Gamemakers turn to stare at Levi in shock.
However, he simply takes a bow, and he says, "I hope I didn't get hair on your dinner."
Then, he whirls on his heel and makes his way out of the room, ignoring Eren's concerned expression as he throws open the door. Unable to think of anything other than the fact that he just threw any chances he had of winning the Games.