[Late Evening - Levi POV]
The second I saw him, my body went tight.
I'd prepared myself for critics, for collectors, for whispers of my work.
But not this. Not him.
My father.
The man who'd buried himself in ledgers and boardrooms while my mother's grave grew cold. The man who never once asked me how I was when I was six and suddenly alone.
The man who only ever looked at me as heir, never as son.
I felt the anger first. Sharp, instinctive, rushing back like blood to an old wound.
"What are you doing here?" My voice came out harder than I intended, but I didn't care.
Kenny leaned against the wall, arms folded, smug as always. "Relax. He isn't here to drag you back to the boardroom.
I didn't believe it. Not for a second.
But then my father stepped forward. And his face… wasn't the same as I remembered.
Older, yes. But not just in age. In weight.
"Levi." He spoke.
"I didn't come here to fight you," he said. His voice was low, rough around the edges, but steady. "Or to tell you to return to the company."
I narrowed my eyes. "Then why? You never gave a damn before. Not when she died. Not when I…" I stopped myself, breath catching, the words too raw.
He looked straight at me. And for the first time in my life, I didn't see business in his eyes. I saw regret.
"I came… to apologise."
The words landed like glass shattering against stone.
I froze. My grip clenched, ready for the blow that never came.
He took a step closer, his voice lower now. "Not just for today. For… everything. For years I looked at you and only saw her. For treating you like someone else's child because you reminded me of the woman I couldn't love."
My chest went tight.
He didn't stop.
"You have her eyes," his mouth twisted, not in anger, but in something rawer. "Every time you looked at me, I saw the choices I didn't make. The life I never wanted. So I shut you out. And in doing that… I abandoned you. I let you grow up without a father when you needed one most."
The words hit harder than a blade. I'd always known it, in some way.
Right. My father never loved my mother. Their marriage was nothing more than an arrangement by my grandfather. And me… the first son, carrying her face, her personality, and her talents. I was nothing but a reminder of the woman he resented. Louis, who bore his likeness, his charm, and his strength, was the son to be cherished. I, on the other hand, was never seen as a child to be loved. I was a vessel. An heir. The future of Ackerman Group. Nothing more.
At least, that's what I believed. But now… after all these years, he stands before me with an apology on his lips. And I, Levi Ackerman, don't even know what to think anymore.
I wanted to move. To speak. To do anything but stand here like a goddamn child again. But I couldn't.
He looked toward the canvas then, the scar of red splitting it down the middle. His shoulders sagged. "And now I stand here, seeing this, and realising I was wrong. You weren't trying to escape the family. You were trying to survive."
The words cut deeper than expected.
I swallowed hard. "Why now?" My voice was rougher than I wanted it to be. "Why the hell are you saying all this now?"
He met my eyes. Those same eyes he claimed to hate. And for once, he didn't look away.
"Because you're not just my son," he said quietly. "You're your mother's son. And… I should have seen that as a gift, not a curse."
My breath hitched before I could stop it.
I'd imagined this moment a hundred different ways. None of them ever sounded like this.
Then he turned slightly, his gaze shifting past me, and then he looked at Haruka.
"And you, Mr. Auclair," he said, voice steady but softer than I'd ever heard it. "I owe you an apology too."
I stiffened instantly.
"I used you," my father admitted. "For the company's own benefit. Your intelligence, your loyalty, your talent. I treated you like a weapon I could hold against Levi whenever he refused me. For threatening the one bond that mattered most to my son just to keep him chained to a company he didn't want. You deserved better. Levi deserved better."
Haruka's eyes widened, his lips parting in quiet shock.
My father bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry."
The silence stretched. Heavy. Almost unbearable.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. My fists stayed clenched at my sides, the old instinct to fight coiled tight in my chest. But what was there to fight against now? Apologies? Regret?
I felt Haruka shift beside me.
He stepped forward, his voice calm but steady, like the stillness before a brushstroke.
"You don't need to apologise to me, chairman," he said softly. "What's done is done. I chose to stand beside Levi then, and I choose it now."
His words landed in the quiet, smoothing the sharp edges that were cutting into me.
My father's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he gave the smallest nod, like the weight of it pressed down harder than anything else he'd said.
Haruka turned his head toward me next. Our eyes met, and in that brief moment, he didn't need to say anything else. I knew what he meant. 'Breathe. Don't carry it alone.'
I exhaled slowly, the tension in my chest loosening by a fraction.
Kenny leaned back against the wall, watching all this with that damn smirk of his, but he didn't interrupt. For once, he seemed to know this wasn't his stage.
My father's eyes came back to me. He was waiting. Not pushing, not commanding. Just waiting.
And I hated it.
Because for the first time, I didn't know if I wanted to walk away… or finally let myself listen.
But then, the words clawed their way up before I could stop them.
"You don't get to walk in here after all these years and act like an apology fixes everything."
My voice was low and rough, but it cut the gallery like a blade.
My father didn't flinch. He just stood there, hands clasped loosely in front of him, like he was bracing himself for each word.
I took a step forward.
"Do you know what it's like to lose your mother and realise your father doesn't give a damn if you're having a hard time or not? Do you know what it's like to grow up thinking you're a burden just because of the face you were born with?"
His jaw tightened, but he didn't answer.
I pushed harder.
"You weren't a father. You weren't anything. You let me drown, and when I learnt to breathe on my own, you tried to drag me back under. All for the company I never wanted."
The weight in my chest burnt, my fists curling so tight my knuckles ached.
"And now you're here. Now, after I've bled and fought for a life that has nothing to do with you. Now, when I finally show the world who I am. Not as your son, not as an Ackerman, but as me."
I stopped, breath sharp, the anger trembling at the edge of something weaker.
"What the hell do you expect me to say? Thank you? I forgive you?"
The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time. It was brittle. One wrong move, and it would shatter.
For a moment, I almost wish he'd shout back. Order me. Insult me. Anything but this quiet acknowledgement that left me with nothing to hit.
Instead, he simply said, "I expect nothing. Only to be heard."
And somehow, that was worse.
The words 'only to be heard' hung between us, and I felt the heat rise again in my chest.
Part of me wanted to tear it all down, to make him feel even a fraction of what I'd carried. To make him understand that it wasn't just pain, it was years stolen. Years I couldn't get back.
But before I could open my mouth again, I felt it.
A light touch at my wrist.
Haruka.
He didn't grip, didn't hold me back. Just enough for me to know he was there.
When I looked at him, he wasn't pleading, wasn't afraid. Just steady. Grounding me the way he always did without a single wasted word.
"Levi," he said softly, his voice even, almost like he was speaking only for me. "You've said what you needed to. Don't let the rest eat at you."
The tension in my shoulders cracked, but the anger still twisted beneath my ribs. I wanted to argue, to tell him he didn't understand…
But he did.
He always did.
I drew in a sharp breath, forcing it out slowly through my teeth. My father didn't move, didn't speak, and just waited. Kenny stayed leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching like this was the best show he'd seen in years.
Haruka's hand slipped away, but the weight of it stayed. Enough to keep me standing. Enough to keep me from breaking.
I turned my face away from my father, jaw tight. "...I've heard you."
The words came out flat, but they seemed to settle something in the air. Not peace, just a shift. A crack in the stone.
My father's shoulders eased, just slightly. As if that was all he had come for. Not forgiveness. Not reconciliation. Just to know I'd heard him.
He nodded once. "That's enough."
The simplicity of it stung more than anything else. Because it was final. No strings, no chains. No hidden expectations about the Ackerman Group or heirship. For the first time in my life, he wasn't demanding anything of me.
Haruka stayed beside me, silent but solid, like a wall at my back.
Kenny finally pushed himself off the wall, his smirk faint but not mocking this time. "Well, that's more words than I've ever heard him string together about family. Guess that's history made."
I shot him a glare, but he only lifted his hands, unbothered.
My father's eyes lingered on the painting once more, then on me. There was something there I couldn't place. Regret, maybe, or acceptance. Either way, he didn't press it.
"I'll leave you with that," he said, his voice quiet. "You don't owe me anything, Levi. Not anymore. And I wish you all the best in the future."
He turned, walking towards the door, with Kenny following after him with lazy steps.
The echo of their departure filled the gallery until it was just me and Haruka again, the silence settling heavy but no longer unbearable.
I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding and finally allowed myself to sit on the bench facing the canvas.
Haruka sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
For the first time that night, I felt the weight in my chest shift. Not gone, but no longer crushing.
And for now… that was enough.
After a while, I let out a short, humourless laugh.
"Didn't think I'd live long enough to hear him say sorry."
Haruka glanced at me, his eyes calm. "You did. And you heard him. That's more than anyone thought possible."
I leaned back against the bench, letting my head tip slightly toward him. "...Still feels like I'm waiting for the catch."
"There isn't one," his voice was steady, with no hesitation. "He meant it."
I didn't answer right away. My throat was too tight for words.
We sat there longer, the weight of the day finally settling into my bones. My body ached, but it wasn't just exhaustion. It was the kind of ache that comes after carrying something too heavy for too long and finally setting it down.
Then, Haruka broke the silence.
"There's someone who wants to meet you."
I turned my head, frowning. "Who?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just held my gaze. Steady, unreadable.
"You'll see," he said softly. "But… it matters. For you."
The way he said it made my chest tighten again. Not with anger this time, but with something else. A quiet pull I couldn't name.
"Tch. You're too damn cryptic," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
Haruka only gave me that small, knowing smile of his. "Because if I told you outright, you'd walk away before giving it a chance."
I narrowed my eyes on him. "And who exactly is this supposed to be?"
Before he could answer, I heard the sound of footsteps outside the gallery doors. Slow, steady, deliberate.
Haruka stood, smoothing his jacket. "You'll understand."
The doors opened, and a man stepped inside.
Black hair, sharp features, eyes that carried the weight of entire worlds. He wasn't tall, but his presence filled the room instantly.
My breath stalled. I'd seen his face before. Interviews, photos online, special features in art magazines. But seeing him here, in person, was something else entirely.
Hajime Isayama.
The creator of Attack on Titan.
The man who had turned my name into something the world knew, without ever knowing me.
For a moment, I couldn't move. Couldn't even decide whether to laugh or walk out.
Isayama gave a small bow, respectful but not exaggerated. His eyes lingered on me, studying, measuring.
"Mr. Levi Ackerman," he said quietly. "The real one."
Haruka glanced at me, then back at him. "This is the one who wanted to meet you."
I felt my jaw tighten, a dozen questions fighting to get out, but none of them made it past my throat.
Isayama stepped closer, his voice calm but certain. "I've been wanting to speak with you for a long time."
The weight of it pressed down heavily, but not like my father's earlier. This was different. It wasn't business. It wasn't blood.
It was art.
"I know this must be strange," Isayama began, his voice respectful but firm. "To meet me like this. To hear your own name echo in a story that became larger than either of us."
My eyes narrowed. "Strange isn't the word I'd use."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Fair. Then let me explain."
He glanced at the canvas behind me. His expression shifted, as if he understood something unspoken, and then he turned back.
"When I first began shaping the world of Attack on Titan, I wasn't searching for names. I was searching for symbols. Something sharp, something that would carry weight no matter what language or culture it touched."
His gaze fixed on me.
"And then… I learnt about the Ackermans."
The sound of it in his voice made my chest tighten.
"I read about your family," he continued. "Your story, your reputation, and yes, your parents also. But it wasn't just bloodline and power that caught me. It was a name that felt inevitable. Like it already belonged to myth."
My fist tightened unconsciously.
"And when I found yours," Isayama said, softer now. "I couldn't ignore it. Levi Ackerman. The sharpness of it. The weight of it. It was more than a name. It was a force."
I know what he's trying to say. I heard it a little from Haruka before. But maybe I should test him a little.
I scoffed, shaking my head. "So you just, what? Took it? Throw it into your story like I was some… some character on the page?"
Isayama didn't flinch. "Not like. Exactly that. Because even from a distance, without ever meeting you, I knew the name would carry something real. And it did."
The silence after was heavier than before.
He took a small step closer, lowering his voice.
"I never imagined I'd meet you. The real man behind the name. But now that I have… I need to tell you this, face to face. Without you, Attack on Titan wouldn't exist as it does. The strength, the weight, the tragedy… they wouldn't be mine alone. I borrowed them. From you. From your legacy. From the Ackermans."
His words hit harder than I expected. My throat tightened.
For years, I'd hate the name Ackerman. Hated everything that came with it. All because everything I need to shoulder by having that last name. And here was this man, telling me he had turned it into something people across the world whispered about, admired, and feared.
And now he was standing here, telling me it was because of me.
For a long moment, I just stared at him.
Waiting for the anger to rise, for the bitterness to claw its way up the way it always did when it came to the Ackerman name.
But it didn't.
Instead… I felt something else. Something I couldn't remember feeling when it came to my family or the past that chained me to them.
Gratitude.
I let out a slow breath, leaning back slightly, letting the weight settle in my chest. "You know… I thought I'd hate you for this." My voice was low, even. "For using my name. For turning it into something I never asked for."
Isayama didn't move, just waited, his eyes locked on mine.
"But hearing it from you now… it's different." I let out a short, quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. "Hell, I never thought I'd say this, but… it's an honour."
His brows lifted slightly.
I held his gaze, steady. "To be part of something that meant so much to so many people. To know that my name, the legacy, even if I hated it, gave you the spark to create something like Attack on Titan… that's not something I'll ever take lightly."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore. It felt clean, stripped of the weight that had been pressing me down all night.
Isayama's expression softened, a flicker of relief crossing his face. He bowed, low and deliberate. "Then I'm the one honoured, Mr. Ackerman. To stand here and hear those words from you."
For the first time since this whole damn day started, I felt a small, genuine smile tug at the corner of my mouth.
And for once, the name Ackerman didn't feel like a chain.
It felt like… something I could live with.
TO BE CONTINUED!!!