The barracks were silent that evening, long after the others had gone to sleep. A single lamp burned low on the table beside Levi, its light falling across the open pages of a book he’d already memorized. He was reading it again. The fifth time now. The story wasn’t about war, or soldiers, or anything that should have held his attention. It was about another world entirely—some far-off future where walls didn’t exist and people fought battles of a different kind. The girl in it came from nothing, parents who barely scraped by, working jobs that never paid enough. She dreamed of becoming a model, of standing in front of cameras, of seeing her name on something beautiful. Every time she got close, something dragged her back down—her family’s debts, her mother’s illness, her father’s drinking. She didn’t complain. She stayed cold, unyielding, carrying the weight because no one else could. Levi could almost hear her voice when he read her words—flat, steady, but with something fragile underneath. At the end, she finally made it. She reached the dream she’d clawed toward all her life. And then, in the final pages, a jealous fan killed her. Just like that. No happy ending. No peace. Just the quiet tragedy of someone who had fought too hard to ever be saved. He’d thrown the book across the room the first time. Then, the next day, he’d picked it up and read it again. Now, weeks later, he turned another worn page with gloved fingers, eyes tracing words he already knew by heart. He didn’t understand why this story stayed with him. Why this one. But somewhere in that girl—cold, tired, refusing to give up—he saw himself. Maybe that was it. Maybe he understood her more than he wanted to admit. „Still on that one?” Hange’s voice drifted from the doorway, drowsy and amused. Levi didn’t look up. “Tch. Don’t you have work to do?” She leaned against the frame, grinning. “It’s lights-out, Levi. You’ve read that thing five times. What’s her name again? You’re gonna end up falling for a fictional woman at this rate.” He didn’t answer. He just turned another page, the soft rustle of paper the only sound. Hange tilted her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You really like her, huh?” Levi’s fingers paused on the corner of the paper. He exhaled through his nose, a faint scoff that might have been a laugh if you listened close enough. “She’s… different,” he muttered finally. “Didn’t quit. Even when she should’ve.” Hange smiled, gentle now. “Sounds familiar.” When she left, the room fell silent again. Levi stared at the last line of the book, the one he hated most. His thumb brushed over the ink as if it might change. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but if anyone ever asked again—what kind of woman he’d want, what kind of person could hold his attention—he already knew the answer. It wasn’t anyone real. It was her. The damn girl in the book. And he hated how much that meant. Levi shut the book, the worn spine creaking softly in his hands. For a long while he sat there, eyes tracing the cover’s faded lettering. He should’ve been asleep hours ago. Instead, he was sitting under the flicker of the lamp, staring at a name that wasn’t even real. When he finally forced himself to bed, sleep came heavy and dreamless—until it wasn’t. He woke with the taste of earth in his mouth and sunlight cutting through his eyelids. The first thing he noticed was the smell: grass, damp leaves, and no hint of smoke or stone. He pushed himself upright, dirt clinging to his gloves, and looked around. A forest. Dense and green, the kind he’d only ever seen in sketches from before the walls. Birds called somewhere above him. No titan roars. No human voices. Just quiet. Levi frowned, scanning the treeline as he rose to his feet. His gear—gone. His blades, uniform, gone. Only his black shirt and boots remained. He moved. Habit took over. He walked until the forest thinned, until the trees gave way to open road and a skyline that made him stop dead. Towers of glass and steel. Roads of smooth stone lined with flashing lights. Strange metal carriages humming past at impossible speed. The air smelled different—too clean, too artificial. And then he understood. It was the city from the book. The one he’d read about a hundred times, the one he’d seen in the corners of his mind as words on a page. He stood there for a long time, just staring, a strange stillness settling over him. It couldn’t be real. And yet… He started walking. Hours passed, or maybe minutes. The city blurred together—faces, noise, light. Until he found himself in a quieter district, buildings chipped and fading, the pavement cracked. It was exactly as it had been described—the run-down apartment complex at the edge of the city, where she’d lived with her parents. Levi’s heart kicked once, hard, as he spotted the small balcony on the second floor, the crooked railing, the old chair that always sat outside the door. And then he saw her. She stepped out onto the balcony carrying a tray, the steam from a cup of tea curling into the morning air. Her hair—long, white, falling over her shoulders—caught the light just the way he’d imagined, maybe softer. Her eyes, when she turned slightly toward the street, were deep blue, clear and calm, the kind that saw everything and revealed nothing. She smiled faintly at the older woman seated beside her, setting the cup carefully on the small table, her movements quiet and precise. Levi stood motionless on the sidewalk, his pulse a strange, steady rhythm in his ears. She looked exactly as she had in his mind, and yet more real—alive in a way words could never capture. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just watched her, the wind shifting her hair, the light catching on her profile. He’d spent months reading about her life. And now, somehow, he was standing inside it. He didn’t know if it was a dream, or madness, or something else entirely. But for the first time since he could remember, Levi Ackerman felt something break quietly open in his chest—something like awe, or maybe hope. He took a step closer.