Mikasa's POV:
I've always known the world is cruel.
Even before I could articulate it, this truth has been etched into my bones. It's there in the way I position myself in rooms - back to walls, eyes on exits.
It's there in how I instinctively assess everyone I meet as either threat or non-threat. It's there in my nightmares, shapeless terrors that leave me gasping in the dark.
Goku noticed it first. "You're always on guard," he told me once, when I was twelve and he was sixteen, already looking after me, Mark, and Lelouch at the orphanage. "Like you're expecting an attack."
I didn't know how to explain that it felt natural, necessary. That the rare moments when I allowed myself to relax felt wrong, dangerous.
Now, at sixteen, not much has changed. I still maintain vigilance. I still train my body relentlessly.
I still feel most at peace when I'm protecting the people I care about - especially Goku, who saved us all in his own way.
I adjust my scarf - red, always red - as I make my way through the crowded hallways of Gotham Academy.
The noise of students between classes washes over me, a cacophony I've learned to filter out. My focus is singular: get to Advanced Combat Training on time.
It's been a strange few weeks. First Mark changed - overnight, it seemed. The boisterous, open boy I'd grown up with suddenly became withdrawn, watchful.
He flinches at loud noises now. Stares at his hands sometimes like they belong to someone else.
Then yesterday, Lelouch disappeared from school after reportedly screaming in the bathroom.
He texted some excuse about a migraine, but I know better. Something is happening to my brothers, and I don't know what.
The thought sends a familiar chill down my spine. Change means danger. Unpredictability means vulnerability.
I enter the training hall, nodding briefly to the instructor. The room is large, with padded floors and walls lined with various weapons and training equipment.
It smells of sweat and determination. It's one of the few places in this pretentious school where I feel comfortable.
"Ackerman," the instructor calls. "You're with Rodriguez today."
I nod again, moving to the corner where Elena Rodriguez is stretching. She's good - second best in the class after me.
Her movements are fluid, her strikes precise. But she lacks killer instinct. In a real fight, that hesitation would be fatal.
"Ready to get your ass kicked, Mikasa?" Elena grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
I don't bother responding to the banter. Words waste energy. Instead, I settle into my stance, center my weight, and wait.
Elena attacks first - she always does. A quick jab followed by a roundhouse kick. I block the jab, duck under the kick, and sweep her supporting leg. She goes down but rolls back up immediately. Good recovery.
We circle each other, trading blows. My body moves on autopilot, muscle memory taking over while my mind drifts.
I'm thinking about Mark and Lelouch, about the changes I've observed. About the headache that's been building behind my eyes since this morning.
Elena lands a hit to my ribs, snapping me back to the present. The pain is sharp, unexpected. I've been distracted - unacceptable.
"Point," the instructor calls.
Elena looks as surprised as I feel. She's never scored on me before.
"Sorry," I mutter, more to myself than to her. "Again."
We reset. This time, I focus completely. When Elena attacks, I counter with precision, using her momentum against her. Three moves later, she's on the mat, my forearm across her throat.
"Point," the instructor calls. "Ackerman."
The pressure behind my eyes intensifies suddenly, becoming a stabbing pain. I release Elena and step back, pressing my palm against my temple.
"You okay?" Elena asks, getting to her feet.
I nod, but the pain is increasing rapidly, spreading through my skull like wildfire. The room tilts. The lights become too bright.
"Instructor," I manage to say, "I need to-"
The rest of my sentence is lost as the pain crescendos. I stumble toward the door, barely hearing the instructor's concerned voice behind me. The hallway swims before my eyes as I make my way to the nearest bathroom.
I push through the door and lurch toward the sink, gripping the porcelain with white-knuckled hands. When I raise my eyes to the mirror, what I see makes me freeze.
My reflection is... wrong. For a moment, it seems like someone else is staring back at me - someone with the same features but different eyes. Eyes that have seen too much. Done too much.
Then the world shatters.
A small cabin in the mountains. Mother and father. The door breaking open. Men with knives. Blood on the floorboards.
A boy with fierce green eyes. A red scarf. "Fight! If you don't fight, you can't win!"
Titans. Massive, grotesque humanoids devouring people whole. The fall of Wall Maria. Training. The Survey Corps.
Eren. Always Eren. Protecting him. Following him. Loving him.
The truth about the world beyond the walls. War. Marley. The rumbling.
Eren's transformation - not just into a Titan, but into something else. Something terrible. A destroyer of worlds.
The final battle. The choice. The sword in my hands, Eren's neck beneath the blade.
His head severed. His blood on my lips as I kiss him one last time.
And after... nothing left. Nothing to live for. The blade turned on myself. Darkness. Peace. Finally.
I scream, the sound tearing from my throat like something alive. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the bathroom floor, clutching my head as memories from another life flood my consciousness.
I am Mikasa Ackerman. Last of the Ackerman clan. Soldier. Warrior. Killer.
I am also Mikasa, adopted by Goku, sister to Lelouch and Mark. Student. Teenager. Alive.
The dual identities war within me, memories overlapping, seemingly contradicting, both undeniably real.
I remember dying - choosing to die after killing the person I loved most in the world. I remember the peace of that decision, the rightness of it.
Yet here I am.
I don't know how long I remain on the bathroom floor, trembling and gasping as my mind tries to reconcile two separate lives. Minutes? Hours? Time loses meaning when reality itself has fractured.
Eventually, the initial shock subsides enough for my analytical mind - a trait I possessed in both lives - to begin functioning again. I push myself up, legs unsteady, and look at my reflection once more.
The face is the same - my face - but now I see both versions of myself in it. The hardened soldier and the guarded teenager. Different worlds, different circumstances, but the same core identity.
I splash cold water on my face, erasing the tear tracks I hadn't even realized were there. My hands are steady now.
They've always been steady, even when my world is falling apart. Even when I'm cutting down the person I love most.
A sudden realization hits me: Mark and Lelouch. Their strange behavior these past weeks. Could they possibly...?
The thought is too coincidental to dismiss. Something is happening to us. Something impossible yet undeniable.
I need to leave. Need to process. Need to decide what this means for who I am now.
Like Lelouch yesterday, I don't return to class. Unlike him, I don't bother with excuses.
I simply walk out of the school, past the security that seems laughably inadequate to someone who has scaled walls hundreds of feet high while fighting giant humanoid monsters.
The city streets of Gotham are crowded, noisy, polluted - nothing like the walled cities of Paradis or the open fields where I died.
I walk without destination, letting my feet carry me while my mind continues to process.
In my previous life, everything I did was for Eren. Every fight, every risk, every choice - all to protect him, to be near him, to support him.
Even when he became something monstrous, even when he began the rumbling that would destroy most of humanity, a part of me still loved him. Still wanted to save him.
In the end, I did what was necessary. I killed him to save what remained of the world. And then, with nothing left to live for, I followed him into death.
But here, in this life, I have something I never truly had before: a family that isn't defined by trauma and obligation.
Goku, who took in three orphans despite barely being an adult himself.
Lelouch, brilliant and calculating but fundamentally kind.
Mark, who until recently had been open and optimistic in a way Eren never was.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Goku: School called. Are you okay? First Lelouch, now you?
The concern in those simple words resonates differently now. In my previous life, care was always tangled with obligation, protection with necessity.
Eren saved me, so I devoted my life to him. It was a debt, a purpose, an identity all in one.
But Goku's concern comes with no strings, no expectations. He saved us all from the system, gave us a home, a family, stability - and has never once asked for anything in return - not that Eren did either, but I understand now that perhaps that wasn't the best course of action.
I find myself in a small park, sitting on a bench beneath a cherry tree. Spring has brought it into bloom, pale pink petals occasionally drifting down around me. It reminds me of something... someone. A girl with a potato. A friend.
I text Goku back: I'm fine. Needed some air. At Monarch Park.
Then, after a moment: Sorry for worrying you.
The apology feels strange on my fingers. In my previous life, I rarely apologized. Actions were necessary or they weren't. Regret was a luxury for those who hadn't seen what I had seen, done what I had done.
But here, now, I find I mean it. I am sorry for causing him concern. I am sorry for the trouble my absence will cause. These feelings are real, valid, separate from the hardened soldier I once was.
As I wait for Goku's inevitable arrival - he would never leave me alone after such a cryptic message - I contemplate what these memories mean for my current life.
In my previous existence, I, again, lived for Eren. I died for Eren. My entire identity was wrapped around protecting him, loving him, eventually stopping him. Without him, I had no purpose, no reason to continue.
But here? In this life?
I look up at the cherry blossoms, watch as one drifts down to land on my open palm. Delicate. Beautiful. Temporary.
Like life itself.
In this world, I have no Eren to define myself by. No titans to fight. No walls to protect.
Instead, I have Goku, who saved me in a different way. Who has been both brother and father figure. Who sees strength in me but never demands I use it for him.
Who worries when I'm not in class, not because he needs me for some greater purpose, but simply because he cares.
I have Lelouch and Mark, brothers not by blood but by choice and circumstance. A family formed not through trauma and survival, but through mutual support and genuine connection.
I have a future that isn't predetermined by ancient curses or geopolitical conflicts. A future I can shape for myself.
The realization settles in my chest, unfamiliar yet right: In this life, I can live for myself.
But even as I think it, I know it's not entirely true. The Mikasa Ackerman of both worlds is defined by her connections to others. By her protective instincts. By her loyalty.
I can live for myself, yes. But I will also live for Goku, who gave me this second chance without even knowing it.
Who has been my anchor in this world just as Eren was in the last - but in a healthier, more balanced way.
I spot Goku's car pulling up to the park entrance. He steps out, his expression concerned as he scans the area, searching for me. When his eyes find mine, relief washes over his features.
As I stand to meet him, I make my decision. The warrior's instincts and skills that served me in my previous life will not be wasted in this one. I will still protect those I care about. I will still fight when necessary.
But this time, I won't lose myself in the process. I won't define my existence solely through another person, not even Goku. I will honor this second chance by living fully, completely - for myself and for the family I've found.
I walk toward Goku, feeling the weight of two lifetimes balanced within me. The red scarf is gone, but its warmth remains, transformed into something new. Something mine.
"Mikasa," Goku says as I reach him, his voice gentle with concern. "What happened?"
I look at him - really look at him. In my previous life, I rarely made eye contact with anyone but Eren. It was too exposing, too vulnerable. But now I meet Goku's gaze directly.
"I needed to figure some things out," I say simply. "About who I am."
He studies me for a moment, then nods, not pushing for more. Another difference - Eren would have demanded explanations, would have pushed and prodded until he got answers.
"And did you?" Goku asks. "Figure things out?"
I think about the girl I was in my past life. The soldier who fought titans. The warrior who never gave up. The woman who loved so completely that she followed her beloved into death.
I think about the girl I am now. The student with perfect grades. The fighter with unmatched skills. The sister who would do anything to protect her unusual family.
Both are me. Both are true.
"I'm starting to," I tell him, and for the first time in either life, I initiate physical contact, reaching out to briefly squeeze his hand. "Let's go home."
As we walk back to the car, cherry blossoms falling around us like snow, I feel something unfamiliar yet welcome blooming in my chest.
Hope.
Not the desperate hope of my previous life - the hope that somehow Eren could be saved, that somehow we could find peace in a world determined to destroy us.
No, this is different. Calmer. More grounded.
This is the hope of someone who has been given a second chance and intends to make the most of it.
This is the hope of Mikasa Ackerman, reborn.
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(Author note: And there we have it folks! The three remember! Next chapter we'll have our Main Character remember being Zamasu and his first life of being Samael.
Also "The Shield of The King" is a reference to the Ackerman being the protectors of the Founding Titan, the kings of Eldia aka in this case Eren, and Mikasa having been the Shield.
So yeah, do tell me how you found the three povs, and I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)