The innkeeper waved them away and went back to his work, ignoring the seven miserable Survey soldiers.
The troopers exchanged looks, mouths tight with helplessness.
Zeke stared at the counter, then at the only non-Survey soldier in the room—Hannes—hoping for a miracle. Of course, he thought. Garrison must have pockets.
"Why are you all staring at me?" Hannes muttered, bewildered. He glared at Zeke. "You little brat, those pants you're wearing are mine!"
Zeke pointed at the new trousers Hannes had swapped into. "You expect me to believe you have money unless I see you reaching into your pockets?"
Hannes dug into the uniform pocket to prove it. "This is the spare uniform from the barracks—there's no money in it!" He pulled out nothing. The pocket was cleaner than his face.
Silence settled; disappointment spread around the room. Tom, red-faced, turned back to the innkeeper with a new attempt.
"Charge it to Commander Dot Pixis."
Hannes choked. "Eh—Pixis?!" He gaped; naming the southern garrison commander felt like pulling a trump card.
The innkeeper scoffed. "Bringing up the commander won't help. How am I supposed to know him? Stop invoking leaders. If you lot can't even feed yourselves, I don't believe you can lead anyone out of the walls." He waved them off. "Go on—get out of my place."
Even the name of Commander Pixis got shrugged away. Everyone's cheeks burned.
A child's voice rang out—sudden and steady enough to cut the awkward hush. "The Survey Corps aren't worthless! They're the ones leading humanity forward. One day they'll take us beyond the walls to see the world!"
All heads turned.
The speaker was Eren—small, fierce, utterly certain. He'd stopped playing and now perched on a chair, arms folded.
The innkeeper guffawed and pounded the counter. "Where did this brat come from? You planning to join the Survey Corps when you grow up? With that face, you'd be titan food within a minute!" Laughter rippled from the other patrons. "Who could believe humans could beat Titians? Going outside is courting death."
Whispers spread. "Weren't there rumors that the Survey Corps brought back weapons that can kill Titans? New hope for humanity?"
"Don't trust Corps claims. They brag and then Shiganshina gets overrun."
"Shiganshina was taken? What happened there?"
A stout man at the window had seen the beacon fires. "Last night the sky over Shiganshina burned. Refugees came by boat—still in pajamas. Poor things. If not for Wall Maria, we'd be next."
Hushed sympathy curled into complacent relief. "Thank the wall. Everything's safe as long as we stay inside."
"Anyone who wants to leave is stupid. They'll die."
The mouths of the crowd kept moving, comforting themselves with the wall like a blanket. Zeke felt those words like cold hands. He'd been shepherded by Survey soldiers all the way here; their mockery stung as if aimed at him personally.
The seven troopers, used to scorn, smiled thinly and tried to change the subject. "Shall we go get breakfast somewhere else? Hotel food's pricey." Tom said it like a joke; his voice trembled.
Armin, quiet and practical, spoke up in a low voice. "The town square is distributing relief food. The authorities were told to expect refugees—free meals are being handed out in the square."
Tom brightened. "Food, finally. Let's go."
Zeke took Eren's hand, ready to leave. But a patron snorted. "Survey soldiers lining up for relief food?" he jeered. Other voices chimed in: "They arrived before the refugees—must've run away from the front." "Yeah, probably deserters!"
The insult hung in the air.
Eren squirmed, then pushed back with the blunt rage of children who see injustice and refuse it.
"Staying in these small walls forever is no different from being kept like livestock!" he shouted.
"Look at yourselves—you're trapped! You have none of the freedom outside—just cages and comfort. You're livestock!"
An offended man sprang up and grabbed a teacup to splash the kid. Another quicker hand knocked it aside; in the scuffle the cup tipped, water splashing one of the hecklers. The room murmured.
"Who do you think you are?" a middle-aged patron snarled, rising spiteful. He opened his mouth to boast—then fell silent as he locked eyes with Zeke.
The look was small and simple, but the world seemed to narrow. The man's bravado evaporated as though the light had been switched off.
Zeke's voice was low and cold. "I should have let them—those who tried to break through the inner gate—succeed last night. I should have let your district fall with Shiganshina." He held the stare without flinching.
Silence slammed down. Even the innkeeper's swagger faded. The room's temperature shifted, the casual cruelty replaced by a guilty, unsettled hush.
Someone dared to whisper, "What did you—what do you mean?"
Zeke's expression didn't change. "If we'd let the inner gate fall, the Survey Corps wouldn't have to keep dying over and over. Maybe you'd understand then. But you'd have lost everything. Your complacency is a luxury paid for in other people's blood."
The words were blunt and ugly and true enough to be unbearable. The patrons shuffled, avoiding each other's gaze.
Eren clutched Zeke's hand tighter, teeth set.
Tom cleared his throat, trying to steer the moment back into some practical channel. "Let's go. The square has food. We can talk there—maybe explain more—"
No one moved quickly. The innkeeper rubbed a hand over his face and muttered, "Fine. Off with you then." He grabbed a handful of stale bread and set it on the counter—no charge, but no courtesy either.
As they filed out into the morning light, the square ahead already hummed with the low, hurried voices of refugees: exhausted people clustering around distribution points, children tugging at sleeves, mothers trying to keep warmth where they could.
Zeke kept his face impassive, but inside, the argument in the inn pressed against him like a bruise. Freedom, he thought, could be terrifying and beautiful at once—yet here, the walls had hardened people into thinking safety was life itself.
Eren looked up at the sky, unblinking. "We'll go outside someday," he said, fierce as a promise.
Zeke's jaw tightened. "Someday," he echoed, "but not by begging for sympathy inside taverns. We make our own way."
They walked toward the square, past the muttered judgments and the wary stares—toward whatever came next, whether freedom or the cost that came with it.