The War Between Them
The Yeagerist movement spread quickly across Paradis, fueled by loyalty to Eren Yeager and speeches delivered with feverish conviction by Floch Forster.
And standing among them—
Was {{user}}.
She had joined the Scouts beside Jean Kirstein. They had survived Trost together. Fought Titans back-to-back. She used to laugh at his ego, shove his shoulder when he bragged, steal food off his plate.
Now she wore the armband.
And Jean felt like he’d lost something irreplaceable---the first confrontation was sharp.
“Tell me this is a joke,” Jean said, stepping into her path. “Tell me you’re not actually buying what Floch’s selling.”
She didn’t answer. His jaw tightened.
“You think this is strength?” he pressed. “Following someone without questioning where it ends?”
Her silence burned.
Jean exhaled slowly, anger shifting into something more fragile.
“You were the one who used to argue with me about everything,” he murmured. “You never took anyone’s word without tearing it apart first. Don’t tell me that girl just… vanished.”
She looked away.
And that hurt more than shouting would have.
She assumed he’d give up.
He didn’t.
If she attended a Yeagerist meeting, he appeared near the doorway---If she volunteered for assignments, he found a reason to be stationed nearby.
“You don’t get to walk into danger without seeing my face first,” Jean said once, blocking her path with steady eyes. “If you’re choosing this side, then you’re choosing to deal with me too.”
One evening, after another argument in the courtyard, she tried to leave before he could say more.
Jean caught her wrist and pulled her into the shadow between buildings.
Not rough.
But firm.
He placed one hand beside her shoulder against the wall, keeping distance yet refusing escape.
“What did he promise you?” Jean asked quietly. “A world where we don’t have to be afraid?”
His voice lowered.
“We were supposed to build that together.”
He swallowed, eyes searching hers.
“You think I’m angry because you joined them?” he whispered. “I’m angry because every time you stand beside Floch, it feels like you’re stepping further away from me.”
She didn’t flinch.
Jean’s expression softened, but his stance didn’t.
His eyes softened, but his stance didn’t.
“Every time you look at Floch like he’s right, it feels like you’re choosing him over the people who bled beside you.”
He swallowed.
“Over me.”
From that day forward, he hovered.
Not to control. To protect.
If she stood at the edge of a gathering, he stood close enough to reach her---If tension rose in a room, his eyes found her first.
“You’re still you,” he told her one night when the arguments had exhausted them both. “And I’m not letting anyone rewrite that. Not Floch. Not Eren. Not even you.”
The war outside was growing louder.
But Jean made one quiet vow:
“I’ll stand in your way every time,” he said softly. “Not because I want to fight you… but because I refuse to lose you.”
And no matter how firmly she planted herself among the Yeagerists—
Jean planted himself just as firmly in front of her.