Zeke froze under Carla's sharp gaze.
That sinking feeling in his chest all boiled down to one absurd truth:
[Excuse me, what should you do when your stepmother is only a few years older than you?]
Honestly… it was a difficult problem!
He was a grown man. Carla was a young widow. And what orphaned mother wouldn't tense up when a strange adult suddenly showed up in her home, especially when her husband wasn't around?
No wonder Eren hadn't wanted to bring him back.
Bringing a stranger home in these circumstances wasn't just reckless—it was dangerous.
And yet, Zeke couldn't help but feel a twisted sort of pride. My little brother already has such a strong sense of risk at his age. How amazing.
…
"Evidence…" Zeke muttered, racking his brain for proof that he was really related to Grisha.
But before he could speak, Eren pulled Carla aside protectively.
"Mom! Be careful! Dad's well-known around here. Anyone could ask about him on the street. Who knows if this guy is just using information anyone could know to trick us?!"
Zeke's vein popped.
Who are you looking down on, brat?
"Grisha has a mole on his butt!" Zeke blurted out furiously. "I'm afraid only Auntie would know that."
Carla's face instantly turned crimson.
Zeke folded his arms with smug arrogance, smirking at the boy. Now, what else do you have to say?
Eren's eyes widened. The moment his mother didn't deny it, the answer was clear.
But he refused to accept it.
"How the hell do you know that?!" he shouted.
"Of course I saw it when we bathed together as kids!" Zeke said with triumph, even leaning in to sneer. "What's the matter, little brother? Don't tell me you've grown this much and never bathed with your dad?"
Eren's face twisted with fury, fists clenched so hard his knuckles whitened.
…
"And another thing." Zeke strode to the entrance cabinet and yanked it open. "Uncle Grisha is a doctor. He always keeps a medicine kit at home in case of emergencies. And he always puts it right here by the entrance.
That habit hasn't changed since childhood."
He gestured proudly at the box nestled inside.
Bingo.
The sight made his chest ache with something bittersweet. His father hadn't changed. It was just like his grandfather, who'd passed the habit on. Medicine at the entrance, always ready for family.
A legacy of doctors, carried across generations.
Without missing a beat, Zeke continued, voice steady.
"Shall I describe the contents? The first layer is children's medicine—cold remedies, fever reducers. The second layer is for adults. From left to right: cold medicine, fever medicine, antidiarrheal, skin ointment, burn salve. The third layer… normally that's for the elderly. Since you don't have grandparents here, it should contain herbs for injuries. Useful for… well, situations like this."
He gave a pointed glance at his bruises. "So. May I use it?"
Carla blinked in astonishment. He hadn't even touched the box, yet every detail he spoke was correct.
"Y-yes…" she stammered. "That's exactly right."
Zeke smiled inwardly. Level cleared.
…
But Eren wasn't ready to surrender. He stormed forward, yanking the box out.
"Mom, how do you know he's right if you haven't checked?!" he demanded. "To verify, we have to look at ourselves!"
He flipped the lid—and froze.
Dozens of neatly arranged bottles and packets gleamed back at him, each labeled with precise medical script.
"W-what the—" Eren's face paled.
Zeke leaned down, voice dripping with mockery. "What's wrong? As the son of a doctor, you don't even recognize basic medicine?"
"I-I can read!" Eren shouted, cheeks burning.
"The names are written right there with instructions!"
He reached to start checking one by one, but Carla's hand stopped him.
"That's enough, Eren. Everything he said is correct. Don't make a scene. Let your brother treat his wounds."
"But Mom—!"
"No buts." Carla's voice softened as guilt replaced suspicion. She crouched before Zeke, shame in her eyes.
"You're hurt because of my children. Please… allow me to tend to your injuries."
Zeke quickly waved his hands, panicked. "No, no, Auntie, I can manage by myself!"
Her hesitation deepened. He was a grown man; it wasn't proper for her to fuss over him like that.
Still, the guilt weighed heavy.
Zeke noticed and immediately shifted her attention elsewhere, pointing toward the stove.
"Auntie—the porridge is burning."
Carla gasped. "Ah! My porridge!"
She dashed back, smothering the fire and staring mournfully at the ruined pot.
Watching her flit about, apron swishing, cheeks flushed with frustration, Zeke's chest tightened strangely.
How long had it been since he'd seen such an ordinary, warm scene of family life? Even if this wasn't his home, even if these weren't his people, for a fleeting moment, he felt like he belonged.
Carla sighed, tugging her apron off. "Oh no. I wasn't expecting guests today, and there's hardly enough food. I'll need to run to the market for vegetables. You all wait here."
She turned back, smiling kindly at the mismatched group of warriors and children.
"Eren, Mikasa—you entertain our guests properly. And no bullying your brother anymore, do you hear me?"
"Y-yes, Mom…"
Carla grabbed her basket and hurried out the door.
"Wait—!" Eren's voice cracked with panic.
"Mom, don't leave me alone with that perverted uncle! Moooom—!!"
The door clicked shut.
Eren's cry echoed through the little house.
And Zeke, watching him flail in despair, couldn't resist grinning.