The little red-haired girl stared at Adrian with wide, tearful eyes. Her small body trembled, caught between terror and despair.
At last, she choked out a sob:
"W-Woo… don't kill me! I-I want to join you!"
"My name is Isabel… I can help… please…"
Her voice broke as the cold steel of the dagger pressed against her neck. The icy touch of death wrapped around her, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
Adrian's brows furrowed.
Red hair. Isabel?
His mind flashed to the stories he knew. Could this be the same Isabel from Levi's underground years? One of Levi's closest companions, the girl who would later follow him into the Survey Corps?
The thought settled quickly. Meeting Levi, Fran, and now Isabel—perhaps it wasn't coincidence after all.
He lowered the blade. "Then you live."
Adrian released her, stepping back. Though the girl was still small, raw and untrained, she carried potential. In the Underground, talent like hers was rare. If it had been anyone else spying on him, he wouldn't have hesitated to cut them down. His secret—the maltose—was too valuable. Even Akers hadn't been allowed to glimpse the truth.
But Isabel was different. She was worth the risk.
…
The Underground streets stretched endlessly dark and suffocating. Thin figures limped by, sickly and bent, many crippled from years without sunlight.
Isabel trailed behind Adrian, her steps stiff, her face pale. The weight of his killing intent still clung to her like chains.
When they arrived at his residence, Adrian gestured her inside.
"Eat. Quietly. I don't like noise."
He set a plate of steaming food and a bowl of thin broth in front of her. On the stool beside the table lay a set of clean, if worn, clothes.
Levi and Fran barely looked up at the newcomer. They ate silently, indifferent.
Today's meal was lavish by Underground standards: bread, sweet potatoes, broth, and even a cup of sugared water. In a world where most survived on scraps, this was a feast.
Isabel's throat tightened. The food smelled heavenly, her stomach twisting with hunger, but Adrian's presence pressed down on her. Sitting at the head of the table, he ate calmly, as though everything was in his control.
Her fear slowly eased. For the first time in days, warmth began to replace the icy grip of despair.
…
"Boss, is training the same today?" Levi asked once he had finished eating, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Adrian set down his spoon. For the past week, he had been putting the children through daily exercises—basic drills in the morning, runs at noon. Combined with steady meals, their once skeletal frames had begun to show color and strength.
"Not the same," Adrian replied calmly. "We'll run the full circuit of the Underground today."
His words carried no room for argument.
Levi's eyes lit with determination. Fran and the others nodded.
Then Adrian turned his gaze to Isabel. "You stay. Eat, bathe, and change. Fran will watch you."
Fran gave a small nod, understanding. Every newcomer went through an observation period—Adrian's rule from the very beginning. Even though he knew Isabel's nature from memory—pure, kind, loyal—he could not afford complacency.
No one could guarantee the world would unfold exactly as he remembered.
Isabel looked startled, then quickly set down her bowl. "Yes, boss! I'll clean up."
Adrian rose and motioned for the others. Soon, four children followed him out into the dim East District streets. Fran remained behind, eyes sharp, to watch Isabel.
…
To the passing civilians, the sight was baffling.
Five figures ran swiftly down the street, their steps steady, their faces calm.
In a place where hunger drained every ounce of strength, exercise was almost unheard of. For the poor, running meant wasting energy, and wasting energy meant courting death.
Most of the Underground chose instead to lie still, conserving what little they had until the next scrap of food appeared.
But Adrian Leonhart's group was different.
They ran not out of desperation, but with purpose.
Every step was a declaration: they would not remain weak.
They would grow.
-