Chapter Text
The classroom was empty, all the students long gone for evening physical training, with the exception of Armin. Armin, who had been kept after by Instructor Thalberg. The curtains had been drawn across the one window, the door was shut and locked. Supposedly there was an extra lesson going on, private guided research. There was nothing going on in that classroom that was sanctioned or approved by the military guidelines, but it sure was educational.
He could not tell Eren, or Mikasa. That was the first thought that ran through his head, as the man who had been his teacher for the last three years stripped him of all his clothing, with a relish that made his head hurt to think about.
No, he thought as his teacher, formerly so respected and looked up to, eagerly groped at his breasts, small and unnoticeable though they were, he cannot tell them. There cannot be another brutal murder around them. Their background would make them too suspect. While the murder of slavers and traffickers might go unpunished, the murder of a ranking military instructor would, and no excuse about him harassing or sleeping with a student would excuse it. Armin had no doubt that within an hour of his two best friends being informed, his instructor would be meeting the end of his life. And no one would believe he had raped a scrawny, low-ranked, and plain teenager like Armina Arlert—Armin to his friends, and even to Instructor Shadis, but not to the classroom instructor or the rest of military, or the rest of the world.
And he didn't fight back, didn't murmur a word of protest, just bit his lip in pain when Thalberg spread his slim legs and entered him, sending a knife-like pain through his abdomen and most sensitive parts. For him there was only pain, disgust, and loathing. Shocking, bitter disappointment that his teacher would do this to him. He had been what some would call a teacher's pet—only Eren, with his single-minded, all-consuming obsession with the Titans, rivaled him in knowing the answers and paying attention to the coursework. This is what ran through his head as sat on the desk, waiting for it to be over. Armin had always admired teachers and scholars, those who knew a great deal and respected knowledge. He had aimed to be like them. He certainly hadn't needed to cheat on the finals.
No, that particular distinction went instead, to Connie. Connie, who did fine under Shadis's physical and military training, but who couldn't seem to pay attention to the academic lectures, to do the assigned reading, to think critically about the history and science of Titans and military tactics. Connie, who would wash out of the military entirely if he didn't make an A on their last final test of the quarter. Connie, who had about as much chance of making an A on the test as Armin had at beating Reiner in an arm-wrestling match.
Armin did not hate Connie or blame him in any way for what was happening. It had been him, after all, who had decided to do something for Connie after seeing him struggle with the theories that seemed so basic and natural to him. After seeing him devote every hour of his free time for the past two weeks to studying for this final, and still not be able to ace any of the practice questions, not even the easiest ones.
No, it had been Armin's idea, Armin who had talked to him that morning in the dormitory, making a plan. Connie had agreed—he had nothing to lose—he would be out of the military if he didn't successfully cheat, and out of the military if he was caught. His only salvation lay in successfully using Armin's “help” without getting caught.
As it was, they had been caught. The instructor must have noticed something. Armin didn't know where he'd slipped up, and the instructor hadn't bothered to tell him. As it was, he'd offered him a little deal (some deal, Armin had thought ruefully) where neither Connie nor Armin would be reported or given any punishment, if Armin agreed to do one little thing.
That one little thing was seemingly over now, and Thalberg barely had a second glance to spare him after he'd used him. He'd simply gathered up his papers in his briefcase and left him, closing the door behind him.
Outside, the sun was beginning to drift downwards. The sad, warm light trickled through the curtain and over him as he did the best he could to clean himself up and look unremarkable, as if nothing had changed, as if no great sin or undertaking had occurred in the little schoolroom.