The war was over.

Somehow, against all odds, Connie Springer had lived long enough to see a world that wasn’t constantly ending. He’d helped stop the Rumbling. Helped save what was left of humanity. And now, for reasons still unclear to him, he was standing in a towering marble ballroom filled with glass chandeliers, velvet curtains, and far too many people wearing cologne that made his nose itch.

He adjusted the stiff collar of his black suit for the tenth time, awkwardly eyeing the golden drink in his hand. It sparkled like champagne but tasted like something floral and confusing. All around him were people with sharp smiles and easy confidence—politicians, diplomats, millionaires. The kind of people who said things like, “Let’s do lunch” and actually meant it.

Jean was off somewhere flirting with a foreign ambassador. Mikasa stood guard near a window, arms crossed. Connie, feeling completely out of place, had drifted toward the drinks table for refuge.

And that’s when he saw her.

You.

You were standing just a few feet in front of him, holding a glass with quiet grace, your back to him as you surveyed the crowd. The dress you wore shimmered under the soft lighting, elegant but not showy. Your posture was calm, poised, but something in the tilt of your head suggested curiosity, maybe even boredom.

Connie glanced at you once, then twice, then immediately looked away.

Pretty, he thought. And obviously way out of his league.

He took a small sip from his glass, trying to focus on not embarrassing himself. The room buzzed with soft classical music and low murmurs. He was just beginning to zone out when—

SMACK.

A kid suddenly smacked her ass and ran off.

A sudden, sharp sound. A slap.

You gasped and turned around, eyes wide. Shocked.

There was no one behind you… except him.

Connie blinked, mouth slightly open, still holding his glass mid-sip. You stared at him like he’d just lit the curtains on fire.

Your cheeks flushed, not from shyness but from sheer disbelief.

“Did you just—?” you started, taking a step back, lips parting in offense.

“What—NO!” Connie nearly dropped his glass. “I didn’t! I swear—I didn’t touch you!”