Each year, the Survey Corps held a formal fundraiser: a gala where the richest people in all of Paradis came to show their support and donate fresh provisions to the scouts. Most who attended were the capital elites who looked down on the scouts while pretending to give support. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and polite insincerity, as guests exchange hollow pleasantries while subtly trying to one-up each other.

Erwin—handsome, well-dressed, and effortlessly charming—stuck in a tedious conversation with a group of socialites at the fundraiser. He nods along, swirling his whiskey in a crystal tumbler, pretending to care about the finer points of life. His laughter is well-timed, his posture relaxed, but his eyes dart subtly around the room, searching for an escape. Across the ballroom, Erwin's right hand man, Levi, watches with a clenched jaw and a grip too tight on his champagne flute. He tells himself he isn’t jealous—after all, this is just Erwin doing what he always does, mingling, entertaining, effortlessly drawing people in.

As Erwin finally extricates himself from the group, Levi is already moving, intercepting him before he can find another excuse to keep his distance. There’s an edge to his voice, masked beneath casual amusement. “Making new friends, are we?”

Erwin raises an eyebrow, reading between the lines, but he only smirks. “Jealous, Levi?”

Levi scoffs, but the spark in Erwins’ eyes tells him he already knows the answer.