Another Ackerman - Ayanokoji x Snk

!!!!!

"AAAAAAAHHH!!!"

Jean screamed as I threw him to the ground without moving in the slightest. One of the first things I discovered in this world is that the development of martial arts and basic combat techniques is mediocre. Even an expert in one-on-one combat within the walls would lose to any professional from my world.

Martial arts like Jiu-Jitsu or Judo would easily make someone invincible. The best example of this is Annie. Her combat tactics could barely be considered adequate, yet during this training, she appears almost superhuman.

"BASTARD!!!" Jean shouted after getting back to his feet, pointing his wooden knife at my throat.

Clumsy. With a simple grip on his attacking hand, I lifted him over my back, taking advantage of his own momentum, and slammed him back to the ground.

"Sorry..." I said with a slight tone of regret.

Jean was panting, his face contorted in frustration. His heavy breathing betrayed his exhaustion from the blows he had received. Even so, he stood firm as he handed me the wooden knife.

"Your turn to attack!" he growled through gritted teeth, assuming a defensive position.

I observed his stance: rigid, overly focused on his upper body, with poorly aligned feet. One mistake after another. It was evident that Jean was used to relying on brute strength, not technique.

I held the knife in my right hand, adopting a relaxed stance, barely leaning forward. My movements were fluid, as if I were playing rather than fighting.

Jean didn't wait. He charged at me with a shout, trying to anticipate my attack. Predictable. Desperate to regain his pride after being thrown to the ground.

A simple sidestep was enough to avoid his rush. As his arm passed by, I slid the wooden knife just above his wrist without making actual contact, simulating a clean cut.

"First wound," I murmured coldly.

Jean growled, stepping back and adjusting his position. This time he was more cautious, keeping some distance and searching for an opening.

I decided not to give him time to think. I advanced quickly, aiming the knife at his side. Jean reacted too late, attempting to block with his forearm. It wasn't enough. I deflected my trajectory at the last second, causing him to lose balance as his own strength dragged him forward.

I seized the moment. My free hand rested lightly on his shoulder, and with a simple hip twist, I pushed him to the ground with almost artistic fluidity.

"Second wound," I whispered as I simulated stabbing the knife into his side while he was still falling.

Jean hit the ground hard but immediately stood up, pride keeping him upright. His face was red with rage.

"BASTARD!" he yelled, launching himself at me again, this time with a series of clumsy but fast movements.

I sighed.

Taking advantage of his momentum, I pivoted on my axis to position myself behind him. With a precise movement, I gently placed the knife against his neck, stopping just before actual contact.

"Dead," I declared without emotion.

Jean froze, breathing heavily. The fury in his eyes mixed with humiliation he couldn't hide.

I released the knife and stepped back, letting him process his defeat.

"Sorry..." I said in a neutral but polite tone. "I tried to be as gentle as possible."

Jean clenched his fists, trembling with frustration, but said nothing. He knew he had lost decisively.

In the distance, some recruits who had witnessed the fight whispered among themselves in surprise.

As I maintained my indifferent gaze, I felt an object slicing through the air, heading directly for my head. With a simple movement, I caught it. A practice knife? My eyes shifted to the direction it came from.

There was Annie, standing beside the defeated bodies of Reiner and Eren.

"OH!!! IT'S KIYOTAKA VERSUS ANNIE!!!"

Damn it. Why do I always have such bad luck?

"Do you think Annie can beat him with her techniques...?"

She sighed, avoiding my gaze. "No, there's no way I can win. Fighting would just be a waste of time."

I gave a quick nod, and she extended her hand for me to hand over the knife.

Annie wasted no time. The moment the wooden knife touched her palm, her calm expression vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of a warrior accustomed to winning.

Without warning, she launched the first attack: a direct slash at my face, fast and precise. My body moved instinctively. I tilted my head slightly to the side, feeling the air shift near my cheek as the wooden blade grazed past.

Without pause, Annie spun on her axis, seeking to use the momentum of her movement to deliver a second horizontal slash to my ribs. I took a simple step back, making her knife cut nothing but air.

Too predictable.

I saw her eyes narrow as she realized my assessment. She was proud; she hated being underestimated.

Changing tactics, Annie launched into a flurry of chained movements: a diagonal downward slash followed by a thrust to the abdomen and a low sweep with her right leg.

The sweep was a mistake.

I jumped slightly, avoiding her leg, and before she could recover her stance, I took advantage of her imbalance. My left hand moved swiftly, pushing her wrist to the side. The wooden knife almost slipped from her fingers, but Annie reacted with admirable tenacity, twisting her body to protect it.

Not bad.

"Is that all?" I asked calmly, maintaining an indifferent expression as I took a step back to give her space.

Her lips twisted into a tense grimace. Annie knew she was being dominated, but she had no intention of giving up. She charged again, this time with greater speed. Her knife aimed for my neck in an upward slash, but I blocked the attack with my forearm, diverting its trajectory upward. Before she could retreat, my free hand caught her wrist, immobilizing it momentarily.

"You lost," I declared in a low voice.

Annie frowned, suddenly letting go of the knife and launching a high kick aimed at my temple. I released her wrist just in time, leaning backward to avoid the impact. The edge of her boot passed mere centimeters from my face.

I took advantage of her open stance and swept my right leg behind hers, hooking it. With a smooth but firm push of my shoulder, I made her lose balance. Annie fell backward, raising a small cloud of dust.

Before she could get up, I was already on top of her, my knee barely grazing her abdomen and my hand simulating an invisible knife at her throat.

"Dead," I said with absolute calm.

Silence fell over the training field. The whispers died as the recruits watched the scene in disbelief.

Annie, still on the ground, glared at me, her expression a mix of anger and resignation.

"You're annoying," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"I know," I replied, stepping back and offering her a hand to help her up.

She ignored it, getting up on her own.

"Want to try again?" I asked disinterestedly.

Annie looked at me, brushing the dust off her uniform.

"It would be a waste of time," she said, repeating her previous words before walking away without another word.

The whispers among the recruits returned with force.

"Kiyotaka won!"

"How can someone be so cold against Annie? Neither Reiner nor Eren could stand up to her!"

Mikasa, watching from a distance, let out an amused sigh.

"For once, it seems you're the center of attention," she commented quietly as I approached.

"I'd rather not be," I replied apathetically, returning to my place without looking back.

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Running with approximately 14 kg on my back under a torrential downpour isn't something that makes me sweat. To be honest, I enjoy it.

The humidity clings to my skin, and the constant sound of raindrops hitting the ground muffles the noise of the platoon's footsteps. With every step, the mud grips my boots, making the terrain treacherous for those who don't know how to distribute their weight properly. But for me, it's irrelevant.

The mist-covered landscape is hypnotic: trees swaying gently under the storm, the scent of damp earth filling my senses. The raw beauty of nature here is stripped of the oppression of the walls. It's a kind of freedom I never thought I'd experience so freely, neither in this world nor the previous one.

Mikasa runs a few meters ahead of me, her figure barely visible through the curtain of rain. Her breathing remains steady, each movement fluid and efficient. As always, she demonstrates impeccable discipline. There's no need for words between us; we understand each other's rhythm without speaking.

Behind us, the group of recruits keeps falling further behind. I can hear the muffled cries of those struggling to keep up. Some slip, others gasp, clearly exhausted by the combination of extra weight and the muddy terrain.

One of them, Connie, loses his balance and falls face-first into the mud. Despite her own evident exhaustion, Sasha stops to help him up.

"Are you okay?" she asks between gasps of air.

"This is insane..." Connie replies, shaking the mud from his face.

From my position, I quickly assess the group. Armin, though on the verge of collapse, continues moving with determination. Jean, on the other hand, looks like he's about to give up, his expression tense as he curses under his breath.

"Don't stop!" the instructor yells from behind, his voice cutting through the rain like a whip. "If you want to live, keep moving or stay here as Titan food!"

His threats don't affect me. Nor do they affect Mikasa. For us, this is nothing more than a trivial test, an exercise without real danger.

The rain intensifies, but my steps don't falter. The weight on my back could double, and it still wouldn't be enough to make me stop.

"You're going to enjoy this to the end, aren't you?" Mikasa asks without even turning around, as if she'd read my thoughts.

"Maybe," I respond indifferently, allowing a small smirk to form on my lips. "I just hope they let us enjoy the scenery a bit longer."

She doesn't say anything more, but I know she understands.

While the others struggle to stay upright, we press on, leaving behind the sound of their gasps and the mud trying to hold us back.

Freedom isn't always something grand or sublime. Sometimes, it's just running in the rain, feeling the weight on your shoulders, and knowing that, for once, the world has no control over you.

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They divided us into teams—a simple, yet decisive and terrifying test for most. But at this point, these kinds of tests are irrelevant.

Who stays and who goes are things that have already been decided.

I got lucky with my team: Jean, Marco, and me—a team that's easy to work with.

Jean has a strong personality, but he seems to tone it down around me. Marco is shy, calm, and kind. He works well in a team but takes little initiative and doesn't seem very opportunistic or perceptive.

Even so, I have no complaints.

"Jean! 100 meters to the right, there are two. I'll handle the one farther away. Marco, cover us in case the cut isn't deep enough," I quickly give instructions as we move from tree to tree.

"I GOT THIS! TAKE THAT!!!" Jean shouts as he slashes the padding on the nape of the wooden Titan.

I pass behind him and launch myself from below, maintaining a reverse grip on the sword and executing a violent spin, cutting deeply into the padding before stopping on a tree. A few seconds later, both of them are with me again.

"That should be more than enough..." I say as Marco nods.

"It's almost time; we should head back," Marco suggests with a smile.

"DAMN IT! If it weren't for Sasha and Connie, we'd have two more!!!" Jean grits his teeth in frustration.

"No, it's fine..." I interrupt. "What matters is locating and eliminating the targets. We probably scored points anyway."

"Eh... really?" Jean blinks in confusion.

"It's just what I think... let's head back already."

"YOU CHEATERS!!!" Upon arrival, Jean yells at Connie and Sasha, completely losing his composure. "I FOUND THE TARGET FIRST!"

Sasha grins mischievously, as if enjoying the spectacle. "Cheaters? You say unexpected and half-true things, Jean. Do you need manners to hunt?"

Before Jean can reply, Sasha casually wraps an arm around my shoulders and hands me the canteen she was drinking from. The gesture is casual but brazen enough to make Jean roll his eyes in pure annoyance.

"Thanks..." I simply say, accepting the canteen indifferently. She responds by giving me two light pats on the head, as if I were a puppy.

I'm 30 years old...

"RIGHT! YOU'RE THE BAD GUY FOR LETTING THEM TAKE IT!" Connie shouts, pointing at Jean, adding salt to the wound.

"SHIT! I don't understand people who eat what they hunt...!" Jean practically spits the words in frustration.

"Anyway, isn't it good that the exam ended without injuries?" Marco says, trying to defuse the situation with a conciliatory smile.

"Hey, Marco..." Eren approaches curiously, tilting his head slightly. "I saw that you always let your team handle the targets, even when you were first. Didnt you want to join the Military Police? Aren't you interested in points?"

Marco looks at him seriously, an unusual expression for him. "I stand out for being the slowest. Although I don't see much sense in why others obsess over attacking Titans from the back. This exam is supposed to measure our ability to deliver fatal wounds... But still, my dream has always been to join the Military Police."

"I see..." Eren nods slowly, processing his words. "In other words, you're a natural leader."

"Huh?" Marco blinks, visibly confused.

"I think it fits," Eren continues with a genuine smile. "You have that mindset that's effective for thinking about details. If it were up to me, I'd like to join the group you command."

"I'D BE HAPPY IN MARCO'S GROUP TOO!" Sasha shouts enthusiastically, raising a hand. "I think we'd end up surviving!"

"Huh... really?" Marco asks, his voice timid but filled with a strange mix of surprise and pride.

"Are you talking about the training group in the event of a Trost attack? If so, I'd want to be with you too," Jean says in his characteristically sarcastic tone, though less cutting this time. "Even if I were wrong, it'd be better than being with a crazy guy in a rush to die."

Jean throws an unsubtle glance at Eren, who blinks, clearly confused.

"Wait a minute... who are you talking about?" Eren asks naively.

"If someone comes to mind, that's who I'm talking about," Jean responds dryly, crossing his arms.

"Again..." I say, letting out a long sigh.

"The long romantic battles between Jean and Eren have started again," Sasha adds, barely holding back laughter.

"Who needs theater when you have this...?" I murmur sarcastically, though I can't help but sound a bit amused.

"SHUT UP, POTATO GUYS !" Jean yells in a pained tone, making Sasha and me fall to our knees from sheer contained laughter.

"I thought everyone had already forgotten that..." Sasha says, pretending to be in pain as she holds her stomach.

"Hey, Jean, I don't think anyone's named 'Crazy guy in a rush to die'..." Connie says loudly, with a mocking smile.

"Shut up, Connie, please..." Jean responds exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

After a while, only Jean, Marco, and I remain.

"Ah... I'm tired..." Jean says, letting out a long sigh.

"I agree. I could use a long rest," I mutter almost under my breath.

"I think you two would be much better leaders..." Marco says with a calm smile in his usual gentle tone.

"No way. I'm not interested," I respond without hesitation, maintaining my indifference.

"You must be kidding. I'm not brave or have any leadership qualities or anything like that," Jean scoffs, crossing his arms. "Anyway, why do you think that?"

"Hmmm..." Marco averts his gaze, his expression becoming strangely serious. "I want you to listen without getting mad... It's because you..."

...

...

850 - After the Battle in Trost

The air was thick with the stench of death, a nauseating blend of blood, gunpowder, and burnt flesh. The rain, which had begun as a light drizzle, now poured heavily, washing the dust from the blood-soaked ground but failing to erase the traces of disaster.

Jean and I moved slowly among the bodies scattered across the shattered streets. Most of the corpses were unrecognizable, crushed or mutilated by the Titans. Some still bore fragments of their uniforms, the banners of their Regiments once worn with pride now drenched and torn.

Jean walked silently beside me, his jaw clenched and fists tightly balled. I could see how he struggled to keep his hands from trembling every time he wrote down a name on the list he held. It was hard to tell whether he shook out of anger, fear, or the sheer despair gnawing at him. Probably a mix of all three.

I stopped in front of the body of a young soldier. He couldn't have been older than sixteen. His face was intact, eyes open and staring at the sky, as if he'd never had time to grasp what had happened to him. I closed his eyelids with two fingers before jotting down his identification number in the notebook I carried.

"I can't take this anymore..." Jean muttered suddenly, his voice hoarse from the effort to maintain his composure.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was hunched over another body, breathing heavily.

"If you need a break, take one," I said without emotion, though my tone wasn't harsh.

"No. I have to do this," he replied through clenched teeth. "They were our comrades. I can't just leave them lying here like trash."

I nodded silently, understanding his stubbornness perfectly. There was something about this task that, unbearable as it was, grounded us in reality. Identifying the dead was a way to show them the respect they deserved, even if their lives had been brutally cut short.

We kept moving forward. Each step grew heavier than the last.

"Do you think this will ever end?" Jean asked without looking at me, his voice heavy with bitterness.

"No," I answered without hesitation. "As long as we keep fighting, there will always be more names to write down."

Jean let out a bitter laugh. "What a motivator you are, Kiyotaka..."

"I'm not here to motivate you."

Silence settled between us once more, broken only by the occasional scurry of rats and the voices of medics moving bodies.

Suddenly, Jean stopped in front of a particular body. His expression shifted, and for the first time during our entire grim task, I saw something inside him fracture.

"Hey..."

...

...

...

"Is that...?"

...

Marco...?

...

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