The noise came from behind the formation.
Every head turned at once, and the crowd erupted.
For a moment, Zeke froze—his pulse hammered in his ears, and a chill sliced through him like a lightning striking bone.
There, behind the ranks of the Survey Corps, a Titan head was being lifted high for all to see.
Eren blinked, wide-eyed. "Wait— isn't that the Titan you killed, Brother Zeke?"
Zeke forced a thin, shaky smile, lowering his gaze to Eren as if the two were merely chatting. "...Ah. Yes."
But his composure was a lie. Grief swelled inside him, clawing for release—grief and rage and guilt tangled together—but reason smothered it.
He had to pretend.
Pretend he didn't know her.
Why hadn't she vanished?
Every Titan's body dissolved to steam the moment it died.
Why did Dina's head remain—eyes open, empty, staring at nothing?
Was she blaming him? For betraying her? For killing her?
His fingers trembled. Zeke forced them into fists, nails cutting into his palms.
He could not reveal anything.
Not here. Not in front of the people inside the Walls.
He must endure.
He must hide.
He must wear his mask, as he always had—smile, bow, blend in, survive.
That was how he'd lived these thirteen years among the Marleyan army: betraying his own, denouncing his blood, laughing at Eldians alongside their oppressors.
That was the way to live. To serve, to crawl, to smile until the mask grew into his face.
The smile no longer belonged to him.
A voice rang out above the murmurs. "Make way! Coming through!"
From behind the formation strode a slender figure with a high ponytail and tinted goggles glinting in the sun. Medals clinked faintly against a crisp uniform.
Hange Zoë.
Though hardly built like a soldier, Hange hefted the severed Titan head in both hands as if it weighed no more than a training dummy. The thing's dead grin caught the light; steam curled faintly from the torn neck.
Gasps rippled through the street. People stumbled backward, clearing a wide circle around the Survey Corps.
"That's the Titan?"
"It's huge—the head's as tall as a whole floor!"
"She's carrying it—by herself?!"
"Why bring something like that here? It's disgusting!"
"It's just the head, right? It's dead?"
"Do Titans even have genders?"
"Look at that smile—ugh! It's creepy!"
"Don't say it's still alive—don't you dare—"
"I heard Titans can't die easy!"
"Stop it! Broad daylight and you're telling ghost stories?!"
Even stripped of its body, the head's presence infected the air with dread.
At the front, Commander Keith Shadis' voice cracked. "Hange! What in the hell possessed you to bring that thing in here?"
But Hange only twirled once, laughing, the Titan head balanced proudly in her grip. "Isn't it glorious? This is our trophy! I'm taking it back for research!"
Zeke felt the words strike through him like a live current.
Research? They want to dissect her?
Keith's jaw dropped. "Research? There's nothing to study! It'll vanish any minute!"
"Exactly!" Hange beamed. "But it hasn't! It's been lying there for days, and still no sign of decay. Don't you see? A Titan that doesn't disappear after death—what a miracle! I think it's been waiting for me~"
And before anyone could stop her, Hange leaned in and pressed a kiss to the cold, rigid cheek.
A chorus of horrified gasps burst from the bystanders.
"Did she just—"
"She kissed it?!"
"Pervert! That's a Titan!"
"Someone stop her!"
Keith's face turned crimson. The citizens' disgust was palpable, and he could feel the reputation of the regiment sinking with every second.
"Hange! Control yourself!" he barked. "What if it's still alive? You'll get yourself killed!"
But Hange only tilted her head, eyes gleaming with manic fascination. "Still alive? Oh, don't tempt me! The more I look, the more beautiful it is. Maybe I'll name you. Hmm… Alice? Poppy? No, something more majestic—"
"Enough!" Keith's patience snapped. He spotted Erwin approaching with a transport unit and waved frantically. "Erwin! Talk some sense into her before she—before she marries it!"
Erwin Smith, ever composed, walked up beside them, hands clasped behind his back. "Hange's enthusiasm may be unorthodox," he said calmly, "but she's right. A Titan that fails to vanish after death could reveal something new. That's why we brought its body as well."
Keith froze. "You what?"
Behind Erwin, soldiers pushed an extended carriage draped with white cloth. Steam curled from beneath the tarp. The shape beneath was unmistakably massive.
"You—brought—the body?"
Erwin nodded. "You'd already ordered retreat, Commander. We had to decide quickly. Still, acting without authorization was our error. We'll submit a full report."
Keith's expression twitched between fury and disbelief. "A report won't fix the fact that half the district now thinks we're lunatics!"
Erwin only inclined his head. Then, quietly, to his aides—"Isabel, lower your voice next time. And you—don't shout my name in the open."
The young soldiers snapped to attention, murmuring apologies.
Behind them, Hange stood before the Titan's head, hands clasped under her chin, gazing up as if at some divine relic. The street smelled of iron and smoke; the eyes of the severed Titan gleamed dully, unblinking.
Zeke could not tear his gaze away.
He saw his mother's face—frozen mid-smile—and the scientist before her, laughing, admiring, touching what should never have been touched.
He turned his back to the scene, forcing his voice steady. "Come on, Eren. Let's move."
Eren followed, still staring at the grotesque trophy. "Weird, huh? A Titan that doesn't vanish…"
Zeke said nothing. His hands were trembling again, hidden in his pockets.
He kept walking, one step after another, the mask back on his face.
Behind them, Hange's delighted voice rang out over the murmuring crowd:
"Don't worry, sweetheart! I'll take good care of you!"
The people recoiled; Keith groaned; Erwin sighed.
And Zeke—without looking back—felt the phantom weight of his mother's gaze burning between his shoulders.
...
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