Chapter Text
mission title: how to have a genius child in less than a week
“Belladonna, congratulations. Your mission is a success. The reward will be deposited in your account in a short while. We, the Wings of Freedom, thank you for your service yet again.”
An explosion erupts behind you as you slam the door of your car.
You sigh, rolling your shoulders and letting out a satisfied hum once some of the joints popped. With all the running around and fighting you did for the day, your entire body is screaming for you to book a hotel and let yourself sink in the plush mattress of one king-sized bed, disguising make-up gone from your face and shoulder free of secret missions. You take off the wig that’s expertly done around your head, alongside the cap hiding your real identity, tossing it on the backseat without a second glance. Your hair tumbles on your shoulders, its familiarity giving you a momentary period of peace, which was broken when the burning warehouse opened to a flurry of flaming, angered suited men. Already anticipating their arrival, you rev the car’s engine, disappearing into the twilight, and leaving behind curses of a devil stopping all corrupt wrongdoings in this territory.
While driving, you push a button on your earpiece. “Belladonna here. There was an attempted pursuit. I’m sorry for not answering right away.”
There’s a crackle in your earpiece. You can faintly hear a “Hange, no!”
You side-eye the device in your earlobe, patiently waiting for those in the Headquarters to finally talk their piece. You blend in with the traffic as you do so.
“Belle!” A loud, exuberant voice greets your hearing.
Already used to it, you only chuckle at the enthusiasm laced in between the syllables of your preferred alias. “Hello, Hange.”
“Heard the mission is a success!” Hange, the head of your organization’s technological department is one vibrant character. Having joined a few months before you, you gradually developed this sense of camaraderie with them first. It has been years since then and never did you two feel any distance wedge in your relationship, not even the literal distance separating you two because of missions that might take months to finish. Having their voice after this excruciating one makes you feel like you can easily breathe now. Your musings are cut off when you hear their next words, “Head to the train station for the next instructions, Belle. This call might be short-lived but know that you can always contact me with the phone I gave you.” They sigh. “Man, Erwin never lets you take a break, huh?”
You snicker, stopping the car at an alleyway entrance. You stretch to the backseat and take out a bag of your necessities. Thank God for the tinted windows because without any delayed second, you take off the disguise you don and hastily put on an ankle-length dress, white-heeled sandals, and a wide-brimmed hat. The car door behind you makes a loud bang, your heels leading you to the train station. You once again place an inconspicuous hand on your ear, your hair perfectly hiding the earpiece from view. “Tell me about it.”
“Well, then. See you in about a few months, Belle!”
You lightly laugh. You wordlessly thank the employee giving you your ticket. “See you when I see you.” Nothing follows. You discreetly take off the earpiece from your right ear and slide it inside one of the pockets of your bag.
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
A teenage boy with light brown hair passes newspapers to a couple of hurrying passengers running after their trains. Even with the mild cursing, the boy continues to give the people folded newspapers without asking for anything in return. You walk towards him and hand him a couple of coins. In a flash, the boy’s eyes light up at the sight of you. He expertly takes one of the newspapers resting idly at the side of the pile and hands it to you. “Thank you for your purchase, miss!” With that, he scurries off and proceeds to market his newspapers to some passengers.
One of the recruits in your organization is a promising spy already. He’s one of the interns running around trying to keep up with Hange’s jittering nature. You keep a smile on your face as you board your train. Despite the heaviness of your job, there are still moments that you wish are longer than necessary. You only want to see Erwin slouching inside his office after losing a bet to one of the veterans, Hange hissing at everyone when they’re being told to take a bath, or Mike spritzing himself with his new perfume by spraying it in the air and walking through the mist. It might be a difficult job being a spy but you can’t deny that it has brought you an immense amount of experience to last a thousand lifetimes.
The downside to everything is your loss of identity.
You’ve long since abandoned your past the moment you were suggested to join the Wings of Freedom by Erwin. It didn’t even matter because you never remembered the family who brought you into the world. All you know are so many faces standing in the position of a mother and father. Which is why you chose the moniker, Belladonna. You don’t want to associate with the many houses that forced you to call them home, even the people who gave you your name. It’s sad because Hange constantly reminds you that your name is beautiful. Too bad it only gives you fever dreams of a woman caressing your head or a man lifting you in the air in glee.
Having enough of the idle musings, you cross your legs and open the newspaper the teenage boy gave you earlier.
“A pleasant day to you, Belladonna. You saved another plot from arising. We can’t afford a coup d’etat happening when we have another looming threat around the horizon. As much as we want you to enjoy a peaceful vacation on a private island, this next threat needs to be taken care of immediately.” You furrow your eyebrows at that. A picture of a long-haired man in the newspaper catches your attention. “Your next target is Willy Tybur, the true ruling force of Marley and the mastermind behind the new era of war between their nation and the entirety of Eldia. It is advised that you shall get close to him and probe into any seditious activities he may commit.” You figure that you might have to seduce another married man into submission and ruin. It’s what you do most of the time, given the fact that you’re a woman with the necessary skills to bring a man down to his knees.
“But to do that, you have to marry someone and have a child.”
You bristle, “What the fuck?!” You cough behind a dainty hand when multiple eyes flicker in your direction. “I’m sorry.” Hardening your internal resolve, you continue reading.
“There have been no reported public appearances surrounding Willy Tybur and his family. However, according to our intel, he has been attending meetings at an elite private academy ever since his first child. These meetings are for the most influential political leaders, nobles, and conglomerate owners from around the continent. Provided with that information, you are again expected to enroll your child in this school. Do keep in mind that it is a prestigious academy for gifted students. I regret to inform you that the deadline for admissions for this academy is next week.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You can’t help but exclaim. By now, you don’t care if you garner more curious eyes from around the train. You prevent a groan of exasperation from coming out of your mouth. You can seduce married men any day but to find a child in less than a week and be convincing enough to be their mother? You have limits.
“We call this mission operation Walls. This is the key to putting a stop to the century war we have suffered from Marley. Not only do we get peace, but we will also be free from their belittlement. You and your fellow agents have become the pillar of this continent — heroes behind the curtains. You may not receive any medals nor get your name published in any newspaper like the one you’re reading right now, but always remember that every mission that has led to this point is for the betterment and hope of humanity.”
Another role to play that you never know how. The mothers you have in passing weren’t exactly ideal in any sense. You have a feeling that this mission is going to be something challenging, one that will test everything you’ve learned from being a spy.
For the first time in your career, you start thinking if you can do it — break multiple hearts.
The thought of it doesn’t sit right in your stomach and chest.
Cheers from children on the train resonate as the urban view comes in the windows. You follow their bright eyes to the sparkling city of Marley, her towering buildings gleaming against the sight of a brand-new dawn. You don’t share the excitement. Entering this city makes your stomach churn. In just a few minutes, your new mission will start and it may be the best or worst one yet. And you’re not ready for it.
It’s the first time you ever used your birth name for a mission. It’s a suggestion brought up by Erwin. At first, you expressed your distaste but seeing as this is a new world, he lays out the benefits of using your real name, one that you never disclosed even to the foster families taking you in. All they knew was to call you terms of endearment that never reached your heart. Besides, the only people who truly know your identity are the higher-ups in the Wings of Freedom. Nobody would ever expect that the heartless Belladonna has a name like the one given to you. Even Hange told you it doesn’t match you at all.
[Name]. A woman who moved to the city looking for new beginnings. An applicant for the position of librarian in the main center of knowledge known around Marley, possibly even the entire continent. This is your new life now. The mask that you will wear for the next few months. However, this mask requires a false surname. Jaeger. Hunter. Fitting for a person like you.
The apartment that you’re looking for needs to fit a family of three. It is presented in front of you in one complex in the middle of the city. Its windows, covering half of the wall, are overlooking the bustling cityscape of Marley that never rests even as the clock strikes twelve. There are five rooms in total, not including the main bathroom. The living room is spacious and sleek enough for the perfect balance of comfort and aesthetics. There are even potted plants sprinkled here and there for a bit of greenery. It is already furnished, something that you appreciated from the realtor you struck up a conversation with when you first stepped foot inside the city. After all, you paid more than necessary to have this offer.
“Then, you will need to sign here, ma’am,” the realtor touring you politely hands you a clipboard of important documents. You read through them with a quick eye. Deeming it unsuspicious, you sign your name in an elegant scrawl. You exchange smiles with the realtor as a sign of gratitude. He claps in glee, “This is a wonderful start for your family. Do you have a son or daughter, perchance?”
With your eyes crinkling at the corner, you bestow him a smile that renders him gawking. “Yes, actually. I’m picking up my child from a babysitting company around here since I finally have a place to call home now. I’m sure my sweet angel will love it here.”
The realtor beams. “Glad to be doing business with you, ma’am! May you and your family enjoy your new beginnings here in Marley!”
“Thank you for the warm welcome,” you reply with a hand over your heart.
The first item in the agenda, check.
The next one will be picking a child to foster from an orphanage.
The one Hange suggested to you over the phone is a dilapidated, poor excuse of an orphanage. One of the gates is hanging by its hinges while you enter the premises. Not a single patch of grass is seen around the building. The location is hidden from the main square of the city, which roughly took you nearly an hour to reach via a taxi. It explains why the orphanage looks like it’s begging to be shut down by the authorities.
You ring the doorbell, the shrill sound making you cringe. The door opens to an angry-looking old woman hunching over with her cane as her support. You try smiling to alleviate the tense atmosphere but it only makes the old woman even angrier if that's possible. “Good morning, I’d like to adopt a child from here.” Your face gains a sheen of sympathy. “I read somewhere that this specific orphanage is low on making adoptions. It pains me to think that the children here don't have a home for so long. You see, my husband and I have been trying and—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” the old woman spits.
“Pardon?”
She sneers at you, “Enough with that talk. You wanna adopt here? Just take whichever brat you can find and take them away, for all I care.”
You blink, “What?”
Before you can even add to it, the old woman turns around and hobbles into the main hallway, never bothering to check if you’re following her. You narrow your eyes and let yourself in the orphanage, brimmed hat now tucked in your arm.
The sight of the interior pinches your heart in the slightest way possible. You remind yourself that this is a mission but you can’t help but take pity on the children still sitting here and waiting to get adopted. They’re asking their friends who you are, pointing at your dress and heels like they’re a relic from a near-distant future.
But despite the unkempt situation, this is the perfect opportunity for you to start a faux family from scratch. This orphanage is one of those in the city that’s neglected by the public. Adopting a child without much background is the only way to go if you want to fully pass the image of a mother. Not even the best spies in the Wings of Freedom can impersonate such a role. The Wings of Freedom doesn’t accept recruits below the age of fifteen after all. It’s one of the feats of your organization that you deeply respect. Children need all the imagination and wonder they need before going into the real world. If they grow up too fast, it will ruin them in the long run. You, yourself, are a witness to it by looking in every piece of looking glass.
You perk up to get the old woman’s attention, “Excuse me. I’d like to have a child that’s adept in reading and writing.”
The old woman indignantly scoffs. “If that’s the case, I know the perfect brat for you.” She pounds her cane on the hardwood floor. “Eren, get over here!”
A boy with puffy cheeks and vibrant viridian eyes looked up from building a skyscraper with the building blocks surrounding him. You raise your eyebrows at the number of bandages plastered on his body. They’re everywhere on his knees and hands and some on his face. He’s dressed in an ensemble of a gray loose shirt messily tucked in a pair of dark brown shorts. His hair flops over his forehead, moving even when he tilts his head to stare at you and making him look—
Adorable, you think unconsciously.
Eren’s little shoulders jump, his ears and cheeks blooming with a shade of vermillion. You bite your lip to prevent a chuckle from coming out. His wide eyes become half-lidded and his bottom lip juts out in a pout at the sight of you hiding your smile with your hand. Then, the little boy’s eyes flicker to the old lady and his almost shy demeanor morphs into something angry. You choose to keep that observation to yourself for now. Once this boy is within the comforts of your new apartment will you slowly coax him to open up. At such a young age, he looks like he hates the world right now.
“Greet the woman, Eren!” The old woman snaps.
Eren looks to the side, the pout still present on his lips. “Hello.” His voice is so tiny that you have to slightly lean forward to hear it.
You smile at him. “How old are you, Eren?” You have to ask him. He looks like he’s younger than the cut-off age of the private academy you need to infiltrate. If he’s younger, then you have to find another child—
“Six!”
You blink. “Yes?”
“I’m six years old!” Eren shouts with bright eyes staring intently at you.
“You’re six?” The old woman voices out. “Since when?”
But he’s shorter than the others here, you muse in your head.
Eren’s fluffy face scrunches in determination, standing on his tip-toes.
You breathe out a light laugh. You lose the smile and glance at the old caretaker. “Can he read and write?”
Hearing your question, Eren runs back to where he’s playing with his building blocks and takes out a folded newspaper from a random table. To get it, he jumps; a sight that proves to be amusing to you. Still holding that fiery expression on his face, he runs back to you and points at the crossword puzzle at the back. You raise your eyebrows. This kid really does pull all the surprises for today. He beckons you to follow him with a small yet firm hand around yours.
For a moment, he stiffens, his eyes becoming wider as he stares at you. If possible, his eyes glow a brighter shade of green. His face holds a mixture of awe, admiration, bewilderment, and gratitude. It confuses you. Tears start brimming his bottom eyelids the more seconds tick down the hourglass. It’s almost like he’s seeing you in a completely different light from when he first saw you earlier.
“Hey, little one, are you alright?” you ask him.
Eren vehemently shakes his head. He lowers his face, his hair hiding his eyes.
Without answering your question, he pulls you to the table. He plops on one of the chairs before gesturing to you and the chair beside him. He’s telling you to sit by him and watch what he’s capable of doing. The pencil in his grip stays stationary, his head facing the paper. You can tell he’s waiting for you to plant your bottom on the chair. The moment you do so, he slightly flinches. This kid is jumpy, you surmise. Whatever is happening inside the orphanage must have made him scared at every little sound. You lean over the newspaper in front of you two.
It’s a simple crossword puzzle. You list down the answers in your head, courtesy of being homeschooled in one of your foster homes back in the day and the intense education you had to endure in the Wings of Freedom in place of a regular high school and university. As you mentally answer, you notice that Eren got everything correct, almost like he’s following what you’re thinking.
You hit the million-dollar prize.
Eren is a genius.
You turn to the caretaker after he finishes the crossword puzzle with the word onomatopoeia. “Is there any paperwork I have to sign—”
“You can take the brat.”
What an unpleasant treatment. It doesn’t faze you that Eren perks up at the words. It seems like he’s waiting his entire life to get out of this desolate place. You can’t guarantee a life of rainbows and sunshine for this little kid but at least he can get a taste of the outside world after being cooped up in here. With the way his eyes light up at the prospect of being adopted, he’s almost like a songbird in a cage. Then again, he’s only a part of your mission. With his help, humanity can prosper without discrimination, injustice, and prejudice.
You can even call him Humanity’s Hope.
You place a gentle hand on his shaggy hair. “Is this okay with you?”
Eren peeks from the tips of his hair and grins. “Yeah!”
Humanity’s Hope.
Eren can’t believe what he heard from the pretty woman’s mind. He’s Humanity’s Hope? It’s enough to make him jump for joy. This is exactly what he read in the storybooks lying around the orphanage, ones that depict heroes of great gallantry and chivalry that not even the mightiest of beasts can defeat. He wants to be strong like them, to break free from the chains wrapping around his neck from all the years of being an experiment and being a wandering soul jumping from family to family.
At the age of four, he managed to escape the clutches of an organization experimenting on children for an ultimate weapon to be used against a nation of great threat. These children would then be disguised as their age and infiltrate the nation. Children were never that dangerous after all. Eren was one of the best experiments there was in that organization. A boy was born within the facility; his birth became the opportunity the scientists wanted. He was a product of a night of debauchery between a scientist and a staff member — a mistake to anyone inside the organization. As punishment to the woman who was responsible for his birth, he was taken from her and given doses of drugs in a span of two years until he could read minds and see the future of only Eldian people. He was going to be the one to bring down Marley to her knees. Until he escaped.
Even to this day, he has dreams of a bespectacled man holding a large syringe over his veins while he struggles against the binds around his limbs. These nightmares were the reasons for the lashes on his back, with the caretaker telling him to stop disrupting the peace around the orphanage.
Now, his freedom comes within this pretty woman beckoning him to walk beside her with an outstretched hand.
“Okay, little one.”
“Eren,” he supplies, still looking up at the pretty woman.
“Okay, Eren.”
Eren puffs his little chest in pride.
“You’ll be my child from now on, alright?” You, the pretty woman, tell him, looking him straight in the eye. “As far as anyone else is concerned, you have always been my son. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” the little boy nods.
You smile at him, a genuine display of expression on your face. You inch his chubby cheek. “You are going to address me as your mother. Is that alright with you?”
Eren never had a mother. Or he doesn’t remember one, that is. There’s a blurry image of a brown-haired woman in his head whenever that word is thrown here and there but other than that, he’s always alone. This can be his chance at having one. He takes a step forward and reaches his hand to cling onto your little finger. He tilts his head, saying, “Mama.”
You chuckle. “I guess Mama’s fine. From now on, you’re going to be Eren Jaeger.”
“Jaeger,” Eren mumbles. He doesn’t have a last name either.
“Do you like it? That’s my surname, you see.”
It takes him a couple of seconds to answer, his face glowing with happiness. “Yeah, I like it!”
“That’s great!” You hold his hand properly this time. “Are you ready to see your new home, Eren?”
“Home?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The word is foreign. The entire journey back to your apartment complex, Eren keeps on mulling over the term. Home. The orphanage isn’t one, that he’s sure of. It’s filled with nasty old women and boisterous kids around his age. It’s not filled with the urge to smile the moment one wakes up because breakfast is wafting from the kitchen nor is it filled with the need to tell someone what went on in one’s day. The houses he’s adopted into were never homes as well. They’re only a reminder that Eren isn’t needed even though he was picked to stand the role of a son. Because ever since he was born, he was branded an outsider, an anomaly in the eyes of many. Sometimes, he was told that he was too intense when playing or too angry with the adults who acted as if they cared for him.
The stairs that lead to your apartment feel like a second to little Eren. Once you open the door to your flat, Eren swears he sees a glimpse of heaven.
“Welcome home, Eren,” you cheer.
Gawking with wide eyes and an open mouth, Eren slowly trails inside the apartment on his little feet. It’s not even that warm but it is marvelous in his eyes. He turns around to face you.
“I’m home, Mama!”
I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?
Eren stops short at the thought coming from your mind. You’re going to regret adopting him? But you’re smiling at him right now. That’s it! Eren makes a determined face. He’s going to make you not regret adopting him. He’s going to be a good boy and make you happy because you’re his mother now. Eren runs towards you, who are still standing by the doorway. You look at him in surprise but you let yourself be pulled by him.
Once you’re inside the apartment as well, Eren beams, “You’re home now, too, Mama!”
It's going to be a comedy from here on out.