Reincarnated In Attack On Titan World As Nobody

Years had passed since Shin was reborn into this world—Years spent growing, learning, and surviving.

And now, the time of the conscription meeting was drawing near.

But Shin felt no urgency.

Unlike others his age who were scrambling to prove themselves or make their names known before the recruitment day, Shin had already been guaranteed a spot. Though his talent and training helped, it was another truth entirely that ensured his place among the chosen.

He had learned early in this life that power didn't just lie in strength—it also lay in connections.

Or, to put it in more colloquial terms: "It really helps to have friends in high places."

The details didn't matter much to him. Whether it was strings pulled or favors exchanged, Hannes, despite being just a garrison soldier, had found a way to get Shin's name onto the list. Shin didn't ask how—nor did he intend to. There were advantages to letting others handle the bureaucratic nonsense.

Instead, his attention was focused elsewhere.

Every day, Shin trained alone in the open clearing behind his home, sharpening his sword skills, honing his reflexes, and pushing his limits. His bamboo training poles had long since stopped resembling simple sticks. Each time he swung, the air cracked with a sharp, whistling whoosh, as if the wind itself recoiled from the force.

Passersby used to chuckle or whisper behind his back when they saw him "playing with sticks" in the open. Some thought he was wasting time. Others simply assumed he was odd. But those same people now walked wide arcs around the clearing, nervously eyeing the boy whose every swing could split the air and, very likely, their skulls.

He was stronger now. Much stronger.

Every day of training had strengthened his arms, his wrists, his grip—until even a bamboo pole felt like an extension of his own will. His physique, already bordering on superhuman thanks to this world's altered biology and his own effort, now resonated with compact power.

After nearly thirty minutes of intense, high-speed swings and footwork, he finally stopped.

"Alright, that's enough for today," Shin murmured, breathing evenly despite the workout. "Going further would just burn energy without payoff. Diminishing returns."

He wiped the sweat from his brow, then tossed the bamboo pole under the shade of a large tree. The pole hit the ground with a soft rustle. Without wasting another moment, Shin took off in a sprint toward the blacksmith district.

His feet struck the ground with precision and purpose, arms pumping in rhythm as he darted between corners and through alleys. His speed drew startled looks, especially from those who remembered the boy from years ago—the quiet one with sharp eyes and big dreams.

But Shin paid them no mind.

The rhythmic clang of hammer on steel soon reached his ears. That familiar cadence—metal kissing metal—always brought a calm to his mind.

He skidded to a halt in front of the forge.

"Already started working, huh?"

The instant he stepped inside, the thick wave of heat hit him square in the chest. His clothes clung to his skin as sweat beaded along his brow. Sparks burst into the air from the anvil like miniature suns, lighting up the workshop in brief flickers of orange and gold.

Harry, shirtless and glistening with sweat, was hunched over the glowing iron, hammering it into submission with practiced precision. His muscular frame flexed with each strike, the clang—clang—clang echoing like the beat of a war drum.

Compared to Shin's wild, swift hammering techniques, Harry's movements were slow but purposeful—steady as bedrock. It wasn't just raw strength; it was rhythm. A craftsman's patience.

Despite Shin's far greater strength, he still couldn't match Harry in sheer technique. That kind of experience came only with time—and hundreds of thousands of strikes.

As the final hammer fell and the iron was placed back into the furnace, Harry let out a long sigh. Turning toward the doorway, he finally noticed Shin standing there.

"Well, well. Look who snuck in without so much as a hello." He grinned, wiping sweat from his brow with a stained cloth. "The scissors at home broke, and your Aunt Martha's been chewing my ear off for a week. Figured I'd hammer out a new pair before breakfast. I'm done with the prep—rest's on you."

Before Shin could say a word, Harry clapped him on the back and marched past him, disappearing into the adjoining room.

Shin blinked, then let out a helpless chuckle. "Didn't even ask if I was free…"

Still, he stepped forward without complaint. As he approached the glowing iron blank resting on the anvil, he felt a strange sense of familiarity. This wasn't just routine now—it was muscle memory.

He stared at the half-formed scissors and sighed. "Old fox. He's sharp. This base is nearly flawless. I couldn't do this even if I tried."

Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

Then his thoughts drifted—to the system, and a task he had nearly forgotten.

Some time ago, he had accepted a system challenge: to forge a weapon using traditional blacksmithing methods. But even after dozens of attempts—axes, knives, hinges, tools—he had never once triggered a success notification.

Despite his talent, it wasn't enough. Not for a skill that demanded subtlety and precision over brute force.

And now, with the conscription date approaching fast, Shin knew he wouldn't have time to play blacksmith anymore. His priorities would soon shift to soldiering, strategy, and—inevitably—survival.

"…Might as well give it one last shot," he murmured. "If it doesn't work, I'll just forget about the task."

He moved into position, adjusted the apron over his torso, and began the work.

The forge roared behind him, heat licking at his back as he pulled the iron blank from the fire. The metal glowed a fierce orange, soft enough to shape, not yet brittle. With practiced ease, he began hammering.

One. Two. Three.

The clangs echoed in perfect rhythm. Unlike his previous, more aggressive forging attempts, today Shin held back. He focused on control, on angle, on the resonance of metal under pressure.

Time passed unnoticed.

Sweat poured down his face. His muscles screamed from the effort. The forge hissed and growled behind him, a living beast stoked by flame and ambition.

By the time he shaped the second blade and compared its size and symmetry to the first, he felt it—a strange, confident certainty.

"This is it," he said aloud.

He moved on to the grinding, the most tedious and physically demanding stage. Without tools like powered wheels or polishers, he relied on sharpening stones and sheer force. The blade edges, once rough, began to smooth, catch light, and finally—gleam.

After what felt like hours, Shin held the completed blades in his hands.

Two perfectly matched pieces of iron, sharp and durable, curved just enough at the tips. A faint cold glint danced across the edge.

He held them up to the sunlight. "Not bad," he muttered. "Maybe the best I've ever made."

Ding!

The system's voice rang crisply in his mind.

[Achievement Unlocked – "Enter the House"]

Strength +3

Coordination +3

Weapon Mastery +3

A surge of warmth and clarity rushed through him—his fatigue instantly dulled, replaced by a satisfying lightness. Every inch of his body felt aligned, tuned, as if years of practice had just crystallized in a single moment.

He grinned.

"I did it."

He ran a hand through his hair—and paused.

"…Still got it." His hair, damp but thick, remained lush and full.

"I'm getting stronger… and I'm not even bald!"

The triumph in his voice echoed through the workshop.

But across the street, in a quiet room with thin walls, Harry and Martha were deep in hushed conversation—voices low, eyes heavy with concern.

They had watched Shin grow over the years. They had seen the determination in his eyes, the fire in his heart, and the weight of something unspoken on his shoulders.

And now, as conscription loomed… they feared they might lose him.

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