Cold

The air in the hallway of Trost Academy was thick with the scent of floor wax and the low-frequency hum of hundreds of teenagers. For Erwin Smith, the new environment was a puzzle he had already begun to solve. He walked with a natural, measured stride, his shoulders broad and his posture impeccable. Beside him, Hange Zoë was gesturing wildly, their voice reaching a pitch that made several passing students wince.

"And the best part, Erwin, is that the biology lab is open until six! Six! Can you imagine the cultures we could cultivate in that extra time?" Hange’s glasses caught the fluorescent light, gleaming with a frantic sort of joy.

On Erwin’s other side, Miche Zacharius gave a sharp sniff of the air, his nose wrinkling. "New brand of detergent," Miche muttered, his voice a low rumble. "Strong. Too much lavender."

Erwin smiled, his icy blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "It’s good to be back with you both. I was worried grade eleven would be a solitary affair after my father’s relocation."

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't a loud noise or a sudden alarm; rather, it was a collective intake of breath. The sea of students, usually a chaotic mess of shoving and shouting, began to part like the Red Sea.

Hange’s hands froze mid-air. Their mouth, previously moving at a mile a minute, snapped shut. Miche stepped closer to Erwin, his expression turning uncharacteristically grim.

"Lower your voice," Hange whispered, the frantic energy replaced by a cold, sharp caution.

Erwin blinked, his thick eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "What is it?"

Down the center of the hallway, a lone figure approached. He was remarkably short, standing a full head and a half shorter than Erwin, but he possessed a presence that seemed to warp the very dimensions of the corridor. He wore the school uniform with a clinical, almost aggressive neatness. His black hair was styled in a sharp undercut curtain, framing a face that was deceptively youthful yet etched with a profound, weary coldness.

The boy’s eyes were the color of dull slate, underlined by dark circles that suggested he hadn't slept since the turn of the century. He didn't look at anyone. He didn't have to. The way he moved—a silent, predatory glide—was enough to send people scurrying against the lockers.

As he passed Erwin’s group, the boy’s gaze flickered sideways for a fraction of a second. It wasn't a look of curiosity; it was a glare so sharp and dismissive that Erwin felt a physical chill settle in his marrow. The boy’s lip curled almost imperceptibly in a sneer of pure, unadulterated disgust before he continued on his way.

The silence held for several seconds after he disappeared around the corner. Only then did the hallway resume its frantic pulse.

Erwin turned to Hange, his curiosity piqued. "Who was that?"

Hange let out a breath they seemed to have been holding for a lifetime. They adjusted their glasses with a trembling hand. "That's Levi. Levi Ackerman."

"He’s the school’s biggest bully," Miche added, his voice even lower than usual. "But 'bully' isn't really the right word. He’s more like a natural disaster."

"Don't even try approaching him," Hange warned, gripping Erwin’s sleeve. "Seriously, Erwin. I know you have this habit of wanting to understand everyone, but Levi isn't a puzzle. He’s a landmine. Unless you want to get beat up or worse, you stay out of his orbit."

Erwin looked back toward the corner where the boy had vanished. "He looked... lonely," he murmured.

Hange let out a hysterical little bark of a laugh. "Lonely? Erwin, the last person who tried to 'befriend' him ended up with their head in a toilet and a broken nose. He doesn't want friends. He wants everyone to stay out of his sight and keep the school clean. God help you if you drop a candy wrapper near him."

The warning stayed with Erwin throughout the day, but it didn't have the intended effect. Instead of fear, Erwin felt a burgeoning sense of intrigue. He had spent his life observing people, categorizing their motivations and fears. Levi Ackerman was an anomaly—a boy who commanded a school through silence and a terrifying, focused stillness.

The opportunity for a second encounter came sooner than expected.

After the final bell, Erwin stayed behind to help a teacher organize some history textbooks. By the time he headed toward the exit, the school was mostly empty. The long shadows of the afternoon sun stretched across the linoleum floors, turning the bright hallways into a labyrinth of gold and grey.

As he passed the boy’s locker room, he heard a rhythmic *thud, thud, thud*.

Curiosity won out over Hange’s warnings. Erwin pushed the door open a crack.

The room smelled of bleach and sweat. In the center of the floor, Levi Ackerman was not "bullying" anyone. He was alone. He had a heavy punching bag set up on a portable frame, and he was methodically striking it.

His movements were a blur of efficiency. Every punch was precise, every kick delivered with a level of power that seemed impossible for someone of his stature. He wasn't wearing his school blazer; his white shirt was damp, clinging to a physique that was lean and corded with muscle.

Erwin watched, fascinated, until his foot shifted and the door creaked.

In an instant, the bag was forgotten. Levi spun around, his hand reaching for a nearby cleaning mop as if it were a spear. His dull gray eyes locked onto Erwin’s icy blue ones.

"Who the hell are you?" Levi’s voice was low, raspy, and dangerously sharp.

Erwin stepped into the room, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "My name is Erwin Smith. I’m new here."

Levi’s eyes narrowed, scanning Erwin from head to toe. He didn't lower the mop. "I don't care if you're the King of Trost. You're trespassing. Get out before I make you."

"I was just leaving," Erwin said calmly, his voice steady despite the intensity of Levi’s glare. "I was struck by your form. You’ve had formal training."

Levi scoffed, a bitter sound that didn't reach his eyes. "I don't play games, eyebrows. And I don't do small talk. You’re one of those loud-mouthed idiots who hangs out with the Four-Eyes and the Sniffer, aren't you?"

Erwin couldn't help but let a small smile tug at his lips. "Hange and Miche, yes. They told me I should stay away from you."

"They're smarter than they look," Levi said, finally leaning the mop against a locker. He picked up a white towel and began wiping the sweat from his neck. "So why are you still standing there? Do you have a hearing problem or just a death wish?"

"Neither," Erwin replied. He took a step closer, noticing how Levi’s body tensed, like a coiled spring. "I just find it interesting that the school’s 'biggest bully' spends his free time practicing disciplined martial arts in a room that smells like he scrubbed it himself."

Levi’s expression shifted from irritation to something more guarded. He threw the towel onto a bench. "The school is a pigsty. People are disgusting. They leave their filth everywhere and expect someone else to deal with it."

"And you take it upon yourself to be the one who deals with it?"

Levi walked toward him, stopping only when he was inches away. Because of the height difference, he had to look up, but the intensity of his gaze made it feel as though he were looking down from a great height.

"Listen to me, Smith," Levi hissed. "I don't like people. I don't like noise. And I especially don't like tall, golden-haired brats who think they can psychoanalyze me because they read a book once. Stay out of my way, and I won't have to break your jaw."

Erwin didn't flinch. He looked down at Levi, seeing the dark circles under his eyes and the tight set of his jaw. There was a world of pain behind that cold exterior—a history of survival that Erwin couldn't yet fathom.

"I’ll keep that in mind," Erwin said softly. "But for what it’s worth, I think the hallway looks much better since you’ve been 'patrolling' it."

Levi’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flash of genuine surprise breaking through the mask. Then, it was gone, replaced by a scowl.

"Tch. Get out of here. You're polluting the air."

Erwin nodded, turning to leave. As he reached the door, he paused. "We’re having lunch on the roof tomorrow. Miche always brings extra bread. You’re welcome to join us, if the noise isn't too much of a deterrent."

Levi didn't answer. He had already turned back to the punching bag, the sound of a heavy blow echoing through the room before Erwin had even closed the door.

Outside, the cool evening air hit Erwin’s face. He began the walk home, his mind racing. Hange had called Levi a landmine. Miche had called him a natural disaster. But Erwin had seen something else—a boy who used a reputation for violence as a shield, and cleanliness as a way to control a world that had likely been very chaotic for him.

The next day at lunch, the sun was bright and the wind was brisk on the roof of the school. Hange was currently trying to explain the chemical composition of different energy drinks while Miche chewed slowly on a piece of sourdough.

"He actually talked to you?" Hange shrieked, nearly dropping their juice box. "And you still have all your teeth? Erwin, you’re a miracle worker."

"He’s dangerous, Erwin," Miche warned, sniffing the air. "He smells like old copper and ozone. Like a storm that hasn't broken yet."

"He’s just a person, Miche," Erwin said, looking toward the heavy metal door that led to the stairs. "A person who is very tired of being misunderstood."

"He’s tired of people being messy!" Hange countered. "There’s a difference!"

Just as Erwin was about to respond, the door creaked open.

The rooftop went silent. Even the wind seemed to die down.

Levi Ackerman stepped onto the roof. He looked as miserable as ever, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl. He scanned the roof until his eyes landed on their group.

Hange looked like they wanted to bolt. Miche tensed his muscles, ready for a fight.

Levi walked over, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. He stopped three feet away from their picnic blanket. He looked down at the spread of food, then at Erwin.

"The bread," Levi said, his voice flat. "Is it the cheap kind with the artificial preservatives, or the good stuff?"

Erwin smiled, a wide, genuine expression that seemed to catch the light. He gestured to the spot beside him. "Miche’s family owns a bakery. It’s the good stuff. Freshly baked this morning."

Levi stared at the spot on the ground for a long time. He looked like he was calculating the risks of a tactical retreat versus the benefits of high-quality carbohydrates. Finally, with a heavy sigh that sounded like the weight of the world leaving his lungs, he sat down.

He sat cross-legged, his back perfectly straight, and pointed a finger at Hange.

"If you spill that juice on my shoes, Four-Eyes, I will throw you off this roof."

Hange gulped, nodding frantically. "Crystal clear, Levi! No spills! Not a drop!"

Levi turned his gaze back to Erwin. "I’m only here because the cafeteria was too loud. Don't think this means we’re friends."

"Of course not," Erwin said, handing him a thick slice of bread. "We’re just four people having lunch. Nothing more."

Levi took the bread, inspecting it for a moment before taking a small, neat bite. His expression didn't change, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to drop by a fraction of a millimeter.

As Hange began a much quieter story about a frog they had found in the gutter, Erwin watched Levi out of the corner of his eye. The "bully" of Trost Academy was eating bread with the same intensity he used to punch a bag—focused, quiet, and strangely graceful.

Erwin looked out over the school grounds, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. The puzzle of Levi Ackerman was far from solved, but for the first time, the shadow in the hallway didn't seem quite so dark.

"Pass the water, Smith," Levi muttered, not looking up. "And don't look so smug. It’s annoying."

"My apologies," Erwin said, his blue eyes dancing with hidden mirth.

The storm hadn't broken, as Miche had feared. Instead, it had found a place to rest, if only for the length of a lunch break. And for Erwin Smith, that was a start.