Mikasa's blow had sent Ming flying nearly three meters before he hit the ground. She was very strong, and Ming himself weighed very little.
Eren, Armin, and the others nearby hurried over. Mikasa, too, looked a little anxious as she tried to help Ming up.
Ming stood up, somewhat dazed. The gravel on the ground had scraped his hand raw.
"Ming, are you all right?"
Ming shook his head firmly.
"I'm fine. I'll just rest over there for a bit."
Seeing that something seemed off about him, Mikasa spoke with concern.
"Ming, are you... feeling unwell?"
Ming paused, then nodded slightly.
"I haven't been feeling my best lately."
His gaze lowered slightly as he spoke. Mikasa wanted to say more, but Ming gently shook his head, turned around, and walked toward a nearby rock.
"I'll be fine after a little rest. Keep practicing."
"Oh."
Hearing that, the others exchanged glances, but still nodded.
Ming sat off to the side and watched Mikasa and Eren begin their combat training. Armin sat beside him and spoke.
"Ming, you..."
Ming gently shook his head.
"It's an old problem. I've had it for a long time."
Armin had wanted to say something more, but seeing Ming quietly drinking, clearly unwilling to talk, he finally gave up.
Before long, Ming stood up.
"I'm heading back."
With that, he turned and left, leaving Mikasa and the others standing there at a loss.
Once Ming had walked far enough away, he glanced behind him, then leaned weakly against a tree trunk. Sand and gravel were embedded in the wound on his right hand, and he slowly poured the liquor in his hand over it.
The clear liquor washed the sand and gravel from the wound onto the ground. Ming pressed his lips tightly together, the hand holding