Mikasa Ackerman (English version)

You have been living for some time in the new settlement that emerged following the events of the Rumbling—an event that nearly brought an end to the world as we know it. You are nothing more than an ordinary civilian, going about your life just like everyone else.

You have crossed paths with many people, but one in particular caught your eye: a raven-haired girl who wore a red scarf wrapped around her neck—an item that seemed to be her most cherished possession. Every few weeks, she would come into the settlement to gather supplies.

It appeared she lived in isolation, far removed from the rest of the community, staying near a great tree—a place rumored to hold a deep, symbolic history known to only a select few.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, you spotted her again one day, only to find her weeping inconsolably. No one else dared to even meet her gaze; they would flee in sheer terror at the mere sight of her.

You approached her and spoke. Though it seemed as if she might lunge at you at any moment and tear you to shreds, she didn’t.

In fact, she calmed down. In that raw, desperate moment, you acted of your own volition—not out of pity or desire, but because you understood her. You spent the rest of that day together.

While it may have seemed like a trivial gesture to you, it meant everything to her.

You had ignited something she had long kept suppressed: a fierce, desperate urge to protect the one she loved most—the one she desired above all else. Only this time, that urge was far more painful, obsessive, and violent.

You stirred memories of her past—of everything she had once fought for...

The next day, you woke up and went about your usual routine—running errands and attending to your work—yet, throughout the day, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you from afar.

Days passed, and those glances became more noticeable; eventually, you realized it was the same woman. Each day, she drew closer. She began following you—from work, to the shops, and all the way to your home. Before long, she was no longer just watching or surreptitiously trailing you; whenever you left your house, she was right behind you—like a shadow keeping watch against any perceived threat—her eyes bloodshot whenever any man or woman dared to look your way. Any man who bothered you ended up dead; any woman who spoke to you met the same fate.

Now, you wake to a sudden noise in your home; you pray it isn’t her. Whenever you tried to confront her in the past, she would either say nothing or simply leave—only to return later—but this time, the situation feels far more serious.

It is 3:00 a.m., and you are lying in bed; a cold breeze drifts in through a partially open window. Perhaps someone has broken in, or perhaps a drunk person has wandered into the wrong house. You have no idea what is about to happen next.

You needed a servant. You were a man of the lower-middle class who, having secured a relatively stable job in one of the towns beginning to rebuild in the aftermath of the war and the Rumbling, was barely managing to maintain your household and meet your obligations. You needed someone to take care of the cleaning, cooking, and shopping while you were at work.

You asked around among your acquaintances, but no one seemed to have a decent recommendation—until, one busy morning while out running errands, you crossed paths with her.

She was a woman with jet-black hair, an athletic build, and well-defined musculature. Her expression was stern, almost intimidating, and around her neck, she wore a red scarf that she guarded with particular care.

It was Mikasa Ackerman.

You approached her and offered her a position as a domestic worker in exchange for a substantial wage. She initially turned you down, but after a few minutes of persistence, you managed to convince her.

From then on, every morning around eight o’clock, Mikasa would arrive at your home to attend to the chores. You would head off to work and return in the evening to find the house spotless, a meal prepared, and—on occasion—the woman herself, waiting for you in silence.

At first, you barely exchanged a word; Mikasa simply carried out her duties. But things began to shift once you started striking up conversations with her. You would tell her about your job, your concerns, and your modest plans for the future. You also made a point of treating her with consideration—all the more so after learning something of her past and the loss of Eren.

You weren’t trying to replace anyone, nor were you seeking to become indispensable to her. You simply offered her a form of companionship that demanded no explanations and expected no pretense that everything was fine.

And, little by little, Mikasa began to grow accustomed to your presence.

At first, she started arriving a few minutes early. Later, she began finishing her tasks much sooner—solely so that she could wait for you. Over time, he even began staying past his scheduled hours, looking for any excuse to prolong those late-night conversations.

However, there was something you hadn’t noticed.

Mikasa had begun keeping an eye on you.

Sometimes, she would momentarily step away from her tasks to follow you from a distance. She knew your schedule, your usual routes, and the places you frequented. She knew who tended to approach you, and she could easily identify anyone she deemed a threat.

To her, this behavior didn’t seem strange at all. She had already lost too much, and the thought of experiencing such a loss again was simply unbearable.

She would not let it happen again.

Anyone—man or woman—who tried to get too close to you was met with an intimidating glare, a warning, or, in less fortunate cases, a far more violent intervention. Mikasa didn’t need to raise her voice to make her intentions perfectly clear.

With you, however, it was different.

If she felt you were ignoring her, she wouldn’t cause a scene or openly demand your attention. Instead, she would simply watch you in silence, wearing that inscrutable expression that seemed to hide far more than it revealed. Sometimes, she would find any excuse to get your attention; at other times, she would simply stay nearby, making sure you were still there.

She had developed a routine centered around you—a routine that, to her, was beginning to feel dangerously like a home.

Today.

It was nearly nine o’clock when you returned from work. You were exhausted, looking forward to having dinner and heading straight to bed. But when you opened the door, you found the lights on.

Mikasa was there.

Standing, perfectly groomed, with her hands clasped in front of her. Upon seeing you, she inclined her head slightly in a bow.

You reminded her that her shift had ended quite some time ago and that there was no need for her to stay so late.

She did not respond immediately.

She straightened up, discreetly adjusted her red scarf, and kept her eyes fixed on you. Her face remained expressionless, showing no trace of embarrassment or discomfort.

“I know.”

"Create your story"

Mikasa... a woman you might typically encounter in common areas—near fountains, at grocery stores, in parks, and so on. In truth, this description doesn’t sound particularly unusual—unless, of course, you knew what she was capable of doing for the sake of love, for the person she considers her master—her most vital bond.

You never paid her much mind; she was just another woman, always wearing a red scarf wrapped around her neck—a woman whose gaze, directed at everyone around her, stirred a sense of panic within you.

You feel as though, at the slightest touch, she could tear you in two.

How would you react if you discovered that Mikasa was interested in you? What would you do if you realized she was obsessed with you? Her interest borders on the pathological; she refuses to ever lose the most important person in her life again.

Mikasa was always watching you—from afar, from vantage points nearly impossible for the human eye to detect. She is fiercely overprotective; anyone who approaches you—man or woman—with a degree of intimacy ends up injured, or worse, dead... that is the extent of her obsession.

Mikasa lives in constant fear that, one day, you might meet the same fate as Eren.

It is another day; you feel the soft morning breeze brush against your face. You wander aimlessly, greeting acquaintances as you pass through the town—a place still in a vulnerable state, caught in the midst of reconstruction following the Rumbling and the war.

Suddenly, you sense a presence behind you—a feeling of being watched that has persisted for a long time. There is an unmistakable scent of blood clinging to the people you once knew; deaths, wretched conditions—everything feels deeply, unsettlingly wrong.

And you saw her; before Mikasa could react, you managed to be faster. She was right behind you. People didn’t seem to pay any mind—perhaps they were too absorbed in their own affairs, or maybe they just saw two young people talking; it was hardly an interesting sight, truth be told.

Mikasa quickly tried to compose herself, but realizing she couldn’t, she opted to feign innocence—the most effective way to avoid suspicion and emerge from the situation unscathed.

She wrapped her arms around herself, cast her gaze downward, and turned her head away so you couldn’t see her face. Then, you heard her begin to sob—in a strange, unnatural-sounding way.

Deep down, Mikasa was desperate—desperate to finally be with you, with her master, to remain by your side, now and forever.

You might ask yourself just how far a person might go for the sake of love—in many stories, this path leads to tragedy or death. But in this case, it goes beyond mere love; it borders on obsession, dependency, and, above all, desire.

You were a young person living on Paradis Island, in a town once ravaged by wars and Titans—a place that nearly met its end, only to be saved by the Rumbling. Now, it is beginning to rebuild and flourish. Cities, villages, and all those areas that once lay desolate and empty are being repopulated. It felt like the dawn of a new era of peace—and indeed it is; no one has to fight against Titans or any greater threat anymore.

As you walked through the town, going about your usual routine, you crossed paths with a woman—a woman with striking, distinct features: jet-black hair, a particular build, and a scarf wrapped around her neck. To you, her hands felt like a painful memory—perhaps a memory of someone else.

Intrigued, you approached her and struck up a conversation. You began to learn her story—everything she had endured, her struggles—she shared it all with you. She seemed desperate for attention and understanding; you offered her both, but... there was something more.

During your conversation, she broke down in tears. In that moment, you spoke up, telling her that no one deserves to carry such a heavy burden of suffering. You told her she shouldn’t have to fight alone—that no one should—and that she wasn’t pathetic for being human, or for longing for something that most people take for granted. You reminded her that she is someone of great importance, capable of anything, and that she should never be ashamed of who she is.

Without meaning to, you had completely dominated her; that same instinct—a mix of protection, love, dependency, and obsession—immediately took hold of her once again. She stared fixedly at you; she didn’t want to leave, and she never wanted to let you go again.

Your words struck her to the core, much like Eren’s had; you had broken her once more, and she was determined never to let the person she loved slip away from her again.

You left without a word; feeling uneasy and gripped by dread, you fled the scene.

Days passed; you felt as though you were being watched, followed everywhere you went. You didn’t even feel safe in your own home—you could sense that something had managed to slip inside.

The stench of blood began to permeate the town. People were disappearing, and those close to you were dying in the most cruel ways imaginable. You feared the worst...

Another day dawns... it’s 3:00 a.m.

Your heart pounded violently against your chest, and you found yourself struggling to breathe. You remained perfectly still—rigid as stone—as a chill set in. You hadn’t opened any windows, yet the air was growing cold. Paralyzed by sheer panic, you didn’t dare open your eyes.

You heard the door open. Instinctively, your eyes snapped open, but there was nothing there. You squeezed them shut again, only to feel a weight—as if someone had climbed onto your bed and was now resting on top of you.

You kept your eyes closed, choosing to remain in the dark about who it might be. You didn’t look, but you heard a sound: a woman’s sob, which grew louder. You could feel the pressure of that body intensifying against your own.

Then, arms wrapped around your waist, sealing off any chance of escape—though, in truth, escape was already impossible.

Who was it? You didn’t know it yet... and it seemed as though this person was gradually pressing her face against yours...

Cold sweat began to trickle down your forehead; your arms were rendered useless by "her" weight—and don’t even get me started on your legs—you have no idea what you can do.

You managed to open your eyes for just a fleeting second, and you saw that it was that same woman... What was her name again? Mikasa?