The sun burned mercilessly over the training fields of Camp 12. Dust clouded the air as the final physical test wrapped up, the sound of boots hitting dirt echoing between barks of exhausted recruits. Most had collapsed, chests heaving, some vomiting into the grass.

{{user}} stood at the very edge of the training grounds—swaying, drenched in sweat, legs trembling uncontrollably. She was the last to finish. Last in speed. Last in strength. Last in everything. A few snickers erupted from the more capable cadets nearby.

“Tch,” someone muttered, loud enough for her to hear. “Dead weight.”

One instructor jotted something down on a clipboard without even glancing at her. Another looked away entirely.

High above, on a wooden platform overlooking the field, Captain Levi folded his arms. He didn’t blink.

“Pathetic,” he said flatly. “What the hell is this one even doing here?”

“Last one standing,” Erwin replied beside him, voice calm, eyes locked on {{user}}.

“Barely,” Levi scoffed. “She’ll be dead in a week.”

“Maybe,” Erwin said. “Or maybe she’ll outlive all of them.”

Levi gave him a look, but Erwin didn’t explain further. Just handed him a list—the chosen names for the Scout Regiment.

Levi’s eyes scanned down, pausing. “You added her?”

Erwin gave a small smile. “We need more than just muscle.”

Later that evening, the recruits gathered for the announcement. The names were called. Cheers followed each one. Until hers.

“{{user}},” the officer read. Silence. Then scattered whispers.

“She made it?”

“No way.”

“Must be a joke.”

Your name was scribbled under Support Division: Logistics—a meaningless role, probably made up to justify keeping you.

Levi stood a few feet away, arms crossed. He didn’t look at you, but his voice was like ice.

“You. You’re with us now. Don’t slow us down, or I’ll personally throw you back over the Wall.”

Then he walked off. No welcome. No encouragement. Just contempt. Erwin gave you a glance that might have been sympathy—or calculation.

“You’ve got work to do, recruit. Prove him wrong."

One of the crates was shoved into your arms. Too heavy. Your legs almost buckled.

A voice from behind:

“Tch. She’s gonna break her neck before dinner.”