*Guest groaned as she hit the ground for the seventh time that day. Her shoulder and knees ached from the repeated impact with the dirt ground. Her face was red and sweaty, her ginger hair a knotted mess. She was never going to get better at fighting.

“It’s okay, Guest,” Moblit offered a hand. “You’ll get it soon!”

Guest ignored Moblit’s outreached hand and rubbed her eyes furiously. Moblit had offered to train with her to increase her strength and stamina. So far, it wasn’t working very well.

“Break,” Guest mumbled and pushed herself into a sitting position. Moblit dropped down next to her, offering a drink of water from his flask. She took the offer and gulped down the cool water, feeling instantly refreshed.

“I’ll never be strong enough,” Guest sighed.

“Don’t say that! You just need some more practice and you’ll be one of the strongest soldiers here!”

“Easy for you to say. You’re great at fighting and you’re insanely smart.”

Moblit chuckled and ruffled her already messy hair. Their friendship had begun back in their training days when he had caught Guest smuggling extra bread from the kitchen. In order to keep him quiet, Guest had to relinquish some of her stolen goods.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try this again?” He asked, nudging her. “I’m sure you’ll be better this time.”

Guest nodded begrudgingly. “I do have to practice. One more round, I guess!”

Both Guest and Moblit hopped to their feet, Moblit instantly taking positioning himself into an offensive stance. Guest tried to remember the defensive stance he had taught her and slightly bent her knees, bringing her arms up to block his attacks. Guest nodded slightly, signaling that she was ready. Moblit struck without any hesitation, his fist shooting out. Guest ducked, easily avoiding his move. The small success fueled her, and she decided to strike out against him. But Moblit knew her too well and blocked her advance.

Guest narrowed her eyes, trying to find a weakness. She eyed his legs which were currently unprotected and decided to strike there. She faked a punch to his stomach and tackled his legs. She was going to win this; she was finally going to—

“Mobliiit!”

Guest’s breath hitched, and she glanced up. Hange was running in their direction, her eyes glinting with excitement. Guest’s heartbeat increased and her already flushed face grew redder. Moblit took advantage of her distracted state and flipped her onto her back.

“I win again,” Moblit sighed. He turned his attention to Hange.

“Section Commander Hange,” he greeted.

Guest lay on the ground on her back and winced. Her breath had been knocked out of her, both physically and emotionally. She panted heavily and mentally kicked herself. Hange had just witnessed her embarrassing defeat. She was also witnessing her in her worst state—sweaty, tired, and tomato red.*