He didn't feel much pain when he pulled the trigger.
Because in his heart, he believed—he was doing the right thing.
Only by doing this could Carla live.
Only by doing this could Eren's fate change.
But as the gunfire's echo faded, Zeke's chest began to ache, as if something inside him had torn apart.
Because this time, his "mother" was truly dead.
If that severed head still retained a shred of consciousness, it was probably staring at him in disbelief.
How could her son say such cruel words? How could he do this?
"It really is you… Zeke…"
"How wonderful… seeing you grown up again…"
Zeke froze.
That voice…?
Was his mother… speaking to him?
Could it be that her spirit hadn't vanished yet—that she lingered, only to see him one last time?
He tried to laugh, but his breath caught. No… that's impossible.
Yet the tears came anyway, blurring the world.
"It's disappearing!" Erwin's voice snapped through the haze.
He stared at the Titan head lying not far away—its flesh releasing thin trails of white smoke. Even the corpse on the wagon began to evaporate into steam.
As a commander who had fought Titans countless times, he knew this phenomenon well.
The Titan's body was dissolving—proof of true death.
Hange—her face swollen like a bruised melon—stumbled forward in agony, crying out to the fading remains. "You can't disappear, my baby! I love you so much, how could you leave me like this?"
Zeke blinked in stunned silence. He could barely register her strange outburst before another voice cut through the crowd—firm, familiar.
"Eren! Carla!"
Zeke's body stiffened.
"Dad!"
Little Eren's voice rang out like a bell as he threw himself into Grisha's arms.
"Grisha!" Carla called joyfully despite her injuries.
The sight was almost divine—a family reunited amid ruin. But to Zeke, it was hell.
He laughed. He couldn't stop.
"Ha… hahaha! Why now? Why now?!"
His voice cracked between laughter and despair.
Erwin's brows knitted, concern flickering in his eyes. The boy's hysteria wasn't the madness of a stranger—it was the grief of someone whose world had just come undone.
Across the street, Grisha Yeager checked his family frantically.
Eren—unharmed.
Mikasa—shaken, but alive.
Carla—her leg broken, but breathing.
"Thank God… I did it," Grisha murmured, his voice trembling. "I actually made it in time!"
He pulled them into a fierce embrace, tears streaking his dust-stained face. Every moment, every drop of blood shed, had been for this—
To seize the Founding Titan,
To stop the Pure Titans,
To save his family.
Holding them now, he felt nothing but gratitude to whatever divine power still pitied him.
But behind him, Zeke's tears dried into a hollow stare.
So this was what they'd endured everything for?
All the pain, the loss, the endless betrayal—
Just so his father could have them back?
"Erwin," Zeke said suddenly.
The commander turned, startled by the young man's calm voice. Moments ago, Zeke had been laughing like a madman. Now, his tone was cold, deliberate—like steel tempered in fire.
"You want to know the truth outside the walls, don't you?" Zeke asked.
Erwin's pupils dilated. The question struck the deepest chord of his soul.
When he was a boy, sitting in a cramped classroom, his father had been his teacher. His father had taught them the same story everyone inside the walls knew:
A century ago, Titans appeared and devoured humanity. The survivors built the three Walls—Maria, Rose, and Sina—to protect themselves. Humanity had been safe ever since.
But young Erwin Smith had raised his hand.
"Teacher," he'd asked, "how do you know there's no one outside the walls?"
That single question destroyed his father's career—and possibly his life.
Since then, Erwin had lived for one purpose: to find that answer. Even if every expedition ended in death, even if he had to crawl through hell itself—he would uncover the truth.
And now, that truth was standing right in front of him.
The boy—no, the man—who claimed to know everything.
Zeke's words were temptation itself. "I'll tell you everything—inside and outside the walls. About Titans, the world, and history itself. But first, you must let me speak to my uncle, Grisha.
Otherwise, the truth will die with me. And all your sacrifices—every fEren soldier—will be for nothing."
The names and faces of the dead flashed before Erwin's eyes.
Every Scout who had Eren for the dream of freedom.
All their sacrifices… meaningless?
The offer was intoxicating.
But could this man be trusted?
He'd just defended a Titan in the middle of the street.
Erwin clenched his jaw. After a long silence, he shook his head. "We'll discuss this after returning to headquarters."
Zeke's voice hardened instantly. "If you don't let me speak to Grisha first, you'll get nothing from me. I've been trained to resist torture."
"Torture resistance…" Levi muttered under his breath, studying him sharply.
It was no empty bluff. The composure, the military precision—Zeke wasn't lying. He was a soldier who had undergone brutal conditioning, able to endure pain, fear, and interrogation without breaking.
Erwin's gut twisted. This wasn't some delusional boy. This was a man forged by war.
Levi's gaze flicked toward his commander, awaiting the order.
Erwin sighed. "…Do we really have to do this now?"
"Yes."
"Can't it wait until later? Tell us the truth first—then speak privately."
"Can't."
"Why?"
Zeke met his eyes. "Because it concerns the fate of mankind."
What an infuriatingly cryptic answer.
And yet—Erwin believed him.
He exhaled slowly, then gestured for Levi to stand down.
Zeke rose. His movements were heavy, but his face had regained that eerie calm. The wildness from before had vanished, leaving only exhaustion.
He looked ahead—at Grisha, laughing, weeping, clinging to his family in gratitude.
The sight should have warmed him. It only burned.
He'd once dreamed of this embrace.
But that was a long time ago.
He wasn't a child anymore.
He wouldn't cry for his father's love again.
"Grisha," he called softly, walking forward. "I want to talk to you."
Grisha turned. His eyes widened.
"Zeke?!"
The fear in his voice was unmistakable.
For a heartbeat, Zeke froze—then lifted his gaze.
His father had pulled Carla and the children behind him, shielding them, his posture defensive—protective.
As if Zeke were the danger.
And in that moment, Zeke Yeager finally understood just how wide the gulf between father and son had become.
...
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