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Rumors spread until it is common knowledge at training camp that Hange Zoe has been keeping a secret since enlistment. It is only a matter of time, Hange thinks grimly.
Outwardly, they only bark a hollow laugh when they are ganged up by half a dozen other trainees at the back of the shared male showers after lights out. To be simultaneously the top in class at ODM gear and a social pariah, especially when the team is in the middle of an overnight training camp, means that confrontation is unavoidable.
At fourteen years old, on the cusp of puberty, Hange is not exactly big. In between wide-toothed, blood-stained grins, they manage to get the ringleader’s dick broken during the assault before they get overwhelmed completely.
“I wasn’t aware that you could transfer between Northern and Southern Division,” says Moblit Berner, who bunks on the bed above Hange in their new dormitory. He is leaning over the railing with honest curiosity written on his pale face.
Their double decker bed is positioned furthest from the other bunks in an oddly shaped nook, and away from the windows, so Hange has taken advantage of the darkness to strip down to a shirt. The climate in the South is dry and hot during the summer.
Hange removes their spectacles and shoves it unceremoniously under their pillow. They wait for the barrage of insults and childish anger that ignoring boys their age usually inspires, and squeeze their eyes shut.
The silence, occasionally punctuated by distant snoring, stretches.
“Good night, Hange,” Moblit whispers, and Hange hears the sleepy smile. They are kept awake for most of the night, replaying over and over again the first sign of gentleness directed their way in a long time.
Compared to their previous training, the Southern Division has several large crops of deciduous trees in their obstacle training courses. Hange quickly gains a new reputation.
“Reckless fool!” screams the Commandant, his nose an inch away from Hange’s field goggles, but the rest of the cadets have instead the echo of Hange’s adrenaline-fueled laughter ringing in their ears when they had hurtled down towards the dummy titans hitting a new time record to make an all-kill on the course. “If you had released your grapple hooks a second later, you’d have been known as the cadet who became a pancake on his first day.”
Hange stares forward, standing at attention, during the entire tirade. They only hear not-his-their-their-their-not-her-not-his on loop and try not to see a sharp jawline and chapped lips and crazed eyes belonging to the last person that came too close to their face.
“It’s your turn to shower,” Moblit says, his brown hair still damp and getting into his eyes. He brushes it up so it sticks up the front like a rooster.
Moblit has very kind eyes that make his skin crinkle in the corners when he smiles.
He is still smiling when he repeats himself.
Hange jerks back to reality. “Later,” they say.
The biggest boy in the dormitory manages to corner Hange several days later when all the other boys are in the communal shower. Hange is sitting on the edge of their bed, not a care in the world, scribbling notes in the margins of a notebook when his shadow appears on the page.
Hange grips their writing materials so tightly that their knuckles turn white. Still, they look up with a forced grin. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. You stink. Go take a bath.” The boy is fidgety. His gaze keeps wandering everywhere except for Hange’s face. He keeps looking up at Moblit’s headboard as though it is the most interesting thing in the room.
Suddenly, Hange wants to know what is on Moblit’s bed. They have never climbed up since Moblit always leans down for a conversation at night. But first, “Rude. I don’t even know your name.”
The blatant lie makes Mike Zacharias roll his eyes. It is very difficult for anyone to forget the current no. 1 cadet in the training corps.
“I mean it,” Mike says, not budging from his spot. Sometimes, Hange thinks on a distracted tangent, boys do not realize how much space they take up by simply being. “You smell bad on a good day, but you should draw the line on old blood from red days, you know. I think it’s bad for your health?” He puts a hand awkwardly to cover the back of his neck. “At least, that’s what my older sister says.”
When there is no response, Mike looks down at Hange for the first time.
Hange is staring at Mike with eyes wide open, impossibly big behind their glasses. Their mouth is stretched and drawn back. No matter what death-defying trick Hange pulls off during training, they do not scream. Now, Mike does not have to imagine what fear looks like on Hange Zoe anymore.
Mike instinctively holds up his hands and steps back. He slowly crouches down until one knee touches the floor.
“Hange?” he says, uncertainly.
It takes a moment, but Hange shoots to their feet, trembling hands clenched into fists. The writing material clatters to the ground noisily.
“Who knows about me?” Hange asks, voice shaking.
“We all do,” Mike says slowly. His brows are pulled tight in confusion. “The Commandant told us on the first night.”
“Told you what?” Hange’s voice goes high at the end.
Mike swallows visibly. “Cadet Hange Zoe was transferred upon personal request and granted approval. Anyone caught harassing the new cadet based on their gender would be kicked out of the corps faster than a Titan shitting.”
Hange stares at Mike. “Nobody has seen a Titan shit before,” they say out of left field.
Mike makes a small noise at the back of his throat because that is really not the point. Still, he answers blandly, “Well maybe they just shit that fast.”
There and then, Hange thinks giddily that they have made another friend. When they go to the showers to take their first bath that night, the last of their worries disappear under the running water and soap bubbles.
Moblit accidentally gets shoved into Hange’s shoulder when the canteen bench fills up at breakfast. He does not move away.
“You’re upsetting the rankings,” says Erwin Smith, with aplomb and without introduction. He is arguably the handsomest boy in the entire regiment, which is why half a dozen girls are vying for a spot at the table. He ignores all of them as he looks expectantly across the table at Hange.
“I’m going to be the best at titans,” Hange says brightly, snatching up one of Moblit’s bread rations. Moblit nudges the shared plate of butter closer to their plate.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Mike points out, also reaching out to Moblit’s plate. Moblit smacks his hand away.
Erwin’s gaze flickers once between Hange and Moblit, but he puts the heavy weight of his full focus on Hange so quickly that it goes unnoticed.
Hange eats noisily with elbows on the table, brandishing the butter knife for emphasis. “I don’t know what classes are like here yet, but our lesson on titan anatomy lasted maybe one hour max in the Northern Division,” they complain. “How come humankind knows more about dissecting frogs than titans, huh? Which is the bigger threat? Anyway, now that we’re on the topic, we don’t see frogs for most months of the year in the winter, the same way titan sightings fall along the northern border during cold months. I have a theory—”
Erwin nods along, though he interrupts as soon as Hange takes a second to breathe between monstrous bites. “So you will also join the Survey Corps next year?”
Hange becomes aware that Moblit is listening for their answer by the way his body stills against theirs.
Meeting Erwin’s gaze, Hange scoffs. “My goals are bigger than that. I’m going to uncover all the mysteries of titans.”
“Bet,” Mike says immediately. Hange sticks their tongue out. Moblit just laughs.
“I believe you,” says Erwin, and Hange smiles.