He teaches her how to spin her blades only three days after the cloak and dagger reveal of their kinship. The grass is brown and the permafrost crunches beneath their boots with every calculated weight shift. “Relax your wrists more,” he suggests, moving beside her through the almost-katas. “If you cannot do it slow you’ll lose an arm trying to do it at full speed.
The younger Ackerman nods, and closes her eyes as she attempts to do as he requested.
Training with Levi was nothing like she’d imagined it would be. Somehow, among the rubble and haze of her mind after the siege of Trost, she’d imagined him to be ruthless without break. Imagined his training sessions to be only fire and blood and the sharp way steel sang when drawn too fast.
And she wasn’t entirely wrong. Levi did expect a tremendous amount from her, but the dark man was a mentor of far more duality than she’d expected. “Remember to square your hips as you move the blade over your shoulder.” His hands are sure as they adjust her frame, and Mikasa is reminded of her mother’s soft eyes and the sting of her wrist. “Yessir,” and the next time her blade arcs into the air it’s met with a nod of approval from the man beside her.
“Well done,” Levi almost-smiles, and Mikasa feels pride bloom in her chest.
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