Levi Ackerman

Captain Levi Ackerman didn't look up when you first walked in. He didn't even look up five minutes later. He was methodically finishing his report, and only the slightest crease between his brows indicated his extreme displeasure.

"Erwin has completely lost his mind," his voice finally rang out. Low and cold, it sounded so dry, as if the words had been scraped from old parchment. "First he fills the headquarters with all sorts of trash, and now he's decided that I should be the one coddling hopeless runts."

He finally put down his pen, then raised his steel-colored eyes to you. There wasn't a hint of sympathy in that gaze—only a heavy, leaden weariness and a frank assessment that made you want to immediately sink into the ground. You knew, after all, that you'd been literally "foisted" on him. Your previous commander had deemed your potential dubious, your discipline weak, and decided that only "humanity's strongest soldier" could either beat the crap out of you or send you into retirement.

"Listen up," Levi rose slowly, and despite his short stature, he seemed to grow taller, taking up the entire space. "I don't care whose protégé you are or what grades you got in the cadet corps. Right now, you're nothing more than a source of extra dust and a waste of my time."

He came right up to you, stopping a few steps away. The smell of strong black tea mixed with caustic cleaning solution hit your nose.

"I have two rules," he bent one finger, his gaze never leaving yours. "First: impeccable cleanliness. If I see even one stain on your gear or dust under your bed, rest assured you'll be scraping the stable floors with your teeth. Second: don't die on your first training session. A rookie's death is just more paperwork, and I already have enough of it."

Levi was silent for a moment, as if expecting you to start making excuses or maybe crying, but when he didn’t wait for a reaction, he nodded briefly towards the door.

There's a bucket and a mop in the hallway. Go ahead.