The battlefield was cleaned, the bodies wrapped, and the carts loaded. One by one, the Survey Corps began their march back toward the Wall.
Everything was proceeding as Erwin had promised. And yet the closer they came to that looming white barrier, the heavier the air grew around Zeke.
He could feel the eyes on him.
Three pairs, unblinking, cold as steel. The "recruits" sat in a row across from him, arms tight around their knees, gazes fixed as if he were a criminal awaiting execution.
Zeke's stomach sank.
What's going on?
He had bent rules, ordered harsh commands, even pressed them with lies before—but not once had their looks been this openly hostile.
The shift made his skin prickle.
Could it be… He swallowed, dread tightening. Is this how they're coping with their first kill? By turning me into their enemy? Their "traitor"?
The thought chilled him, because the more he considered it, the more it rang true. Their trembling hands had steadied the moment suspicion latched onto him. Hatred was easier than grief.
Anger numbed the guilt.
Which meant—if they carried that hostility all the way to the gates—would they snap? Would they bite their hands and transform, right there in front of the city guard? Would Shiganshina's tragedy repeat itself?
Zeke clenched his fists. No. He had to resolve this before they entered. He had to speak to them, cool the fire, and bury the doubt.
But Levi Ackerman rode directly alongside the cart, eyes half-lidded but sharp as blades. Under that gaze, Zeke had no chance for a private word.
The Wall grew nearer.
His pulse quickened.
At last, he couldn't endure it.
"Levi," Zeke said, forcing calm into his voice, "could you step away for a moment? I need to speak to my… brothers and sisters."
Levi didn't even blink. "No. Erwin told me to protect you. I don't leave your side without orders."
Zeke gritted his teeth. Always with Erwin…
"When he tells you to—" he stopped himself. The bitter thought almost spilled out: When he tells you to chop me to pieces, you'll do it without hesitation.
He swallowed the words. The closer they came to the Wall, the more his anger smoldered, but Levi's deadpan stare kept it locked behind his teeth. One wrong syllable and the blade would be at his neck.
"Didn't you see?" Zeke tried again, softer, almost pleading. "My brothers and sisters are suffering. Post-battle trauma. They haven't shaken the shadows yet. I need to comfort them."
Levi tilted his head. "Then comfort me."
Zeke froze.
That was no joke. Levi's tone was flat, utterly serious. The kind of seriousness that made a man want to leap from the cart rather than answer.
"…You won't leave, will you?" Zeke muttered under his breath, despair gnawing.
Still, he couldn't let go. He leaned forward, words harder now. "I need to talk to them. This isn't small. It concerns the future."
Levi's expression sharpened. "Future, huh? What are you really planning to talk about? How to draw in more Titans?"
Zeke blinked, startled. "What? You think we attracted those Titans?"
"Didn't you?" Levi's eyes narrowed.
"Of course not!"
"Then explain this: minutes after you arrived, a horde appeared out of nowhere. And you just happened to stumble in saying you were 'chased.' Convenient."
Zeke's lips twitched. Damn that story—his fake victim's tale now working against him.
"That's because…" He forced the explanation out quickly, desperate to pry Levi away. "Because your soldiers were too bunched up! Titans hunt humans by sight. To them, you're points of light. A few scattered, they barely notice. But gathered? You blaze like a bonfire.
A feast screaming for attention."
He jabbed a finger toward the column of carriages. "Marching together just draws them! If you don't want Titans swarming, you should move in pairs. That way your combat method works too—one cuts the ankle, the other finishes the neck. Safer, faster."
Levi's eyelids twitched. His dead eyes, for once, flickered.
Zeke pressed on, seizing the crack. "Groups should keep five hundred to a thousand meters apart. Far enough to scatter the 'light,' close enough to support.
That's how you survive without attracting Titans."
Steel hissed.
A blade was at his throat.
Levi's face was stone. "How do you know what humans look like in the eyes of Titans?"
Zeke's chest tightened. Images surged unbidden—three years ago, the injection, his body swelling into a Pure Titan. Seeing his teacher Kusava not as a man but as a glowing sphere of light. The unbearable instinct to consume that light. He remembered it vividly, too vividly, unlike any other Warrior.
But he couldn't say that. Couldn't admit the truth that screamed in his memory.
Levi's blade pressed closer.
And in that instant, Zeke finally understood.
Levi hadn't been assigned to protect him. No—Levi was his leash, his watchman, his executioner.
Because he had once let slip those fateful words: Titans are transformed from humans.
That suspicion had never left Erwin. Or Levi. From the start, they'd seen him as a potential monster wearing human skin.
Zeke drew a slow breath, forcing his voice steady. "I read it. In an old book.
That's all. Or do you really believe I was once a Titan myself?"
Levi's glare didn't soften. "…Maybe."
Zeke pinched the blade lightly between two fingers and pushed it aside, forcing a calm he didn't feel. "If I were truly a Titan, would I have helped you kill them? Would I risk myself to tell you how to keep your soldiers alive?"
He turned his head, showing the vulnerable nape that Levi coveted. "Captain Levi… when you fight, you look like death itself.
Terrifying. But you should know—" he gave a thin smile, "—the same trick doesn't work twice."