The hostel was noisy as usual, full of gossip and the smell of stale ale.
"Hey! Isn't that the guy hanging around with the Survey Corps deserters?" someone jeered the moment Zeke walked in. "Did he just go to get relief food? I heard the Survey Corps came crawling back too. You see them? Looked like a bunch of lost dogs, didn't they?"
Snickers rippled through the crowd.
Normally, Zeke would've ignored them. But not this time. Without a word, he changed course and strode straight toward the loudest mocker.
The man blinked, surprised. "What? You got somethin' to say?"
Zeke didn't answer. In one motion, he grabbed the metal tray off the table and smashed it against the man's head.
BANG!
The impact was so brutal that the man staggered sideways, blood instantly streaming down his temple. He slumped, dazed and half-conscious.
Gasps erupted. Chairs scraped. No one had expected that the quiet, soft-spoken newcomer would suddenly turn violent.
Zeke stood over the man, his face calm and cold. "The medical expenses," he said evenly, "will be covered by Dr. Grisha Yeager."
Then he tossed the dented tray aside and walked off, ignoring the horrified looks around him.
When he returned to the hall, Grisha stood frozen, shock written all over his face.
Zeke sneered. "Relax. I know you hate violence, so I didn't kill him. Just a mild concussion at worst. But don't you dare judge me. You're the one who sent me there—to learn power."
Grisha's eyes softened, grief flickering beneath them. Seeing the boy who'd once lagged behind in every training exercise now standing tall and unyielding, he felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest.
He smiled faintly. "They said you went for relief food. Haven't eaten yet?"
Zeke hesitated. The sudden normalcy of the question caught him off guard. "No. We haven't had breakfast since escaping from Shiganshina."
Grisha turned toward the counter. "Then wait here."
A few coins clinked on the counter, and soon the innkeeper handed him a baguette.
But before Grisha could leave, the injured man's companions called out, "Doctor Grisha! That guy said you'd cover the medical bills! Aren't you going to treat him?"
Grisha turned, his eyes strangely calm. "Are you sure you want me to treat him now?"
For a moment, the air went cold. His voice was gentle, but it carried an edge that made everyone's skin prickle. Even the man clutching his bleeding forehead suddenly sat upright and shook his head violently. "N-No need! I'm fine! Totally fine!"
No one said another word.
Without looking back, Grisha walked into the back hallway, baguette in hand, following Zeke.
A few moments later, the door creaked open again—this time revealing Erwin Smith and several members of the Survey Corps.
"Oh great," someone muttered. "More deserters."
Erwin raised an eyebrow. "Deserters?"
The bleeding man snorted. "Yeah! Those guys who think they're heroes!"
The next second, the Survey Corps soldiers fanned out, surrounding the entire lobby.
The room erupted in confusion.
"Sorry," Erwin said politely, his tone belying the steel behind it. "The Survey Corps is temporarily requisitioning this building. Please clear the premises."
His soldiers were far less courteous—grabbing protesting tenants by the arms and tossing them out the door.
"I paid for my room!" one shouted.
"Refund's on the government," a soldier grunted, shoving him out.
In less than a minute, the entire hotel was cleared.
Erwin exhaled, looking at the now-empty hall. "I hope my worries are unnecessary…" he murmured, then nodded to his men. "Keep watch. No one enters."
Inside one of the rooms upstairs, Grisha froze the moment he stepped in.
A young man lay on the bed, his arm broken and wrapped hastily in bandages.
"Who is this child?" Grisha asked.
"Stay away from him," Zeke warned sharply, moving between them. "That's Reiner Braun—the Armored Titan. If you get too close, you might get eaten."
Grisha's breath caught. "So it was you last night…"
"The wall's holding," Zeke cut in before Grisha could continue. "In the memories the Attack Titan passed to you, both gates of Wall Maria were destroyed, right?"
Grisha blinked, startled. How did Zeke know that?
He stared at his son—no, at the man before him—and realization dawned.
The Attack Titan… It was different from the others. Among the Nine, it alone was untethered by royal influence. It carried the memories of both past and future inheritors, transcending time itself.
That was why the royal family feared it. Why it could never be controlled.
And Zeke… knew all of this.
Grisha's voice trembled. "You—how do you know about the future memories?"
Zeke didn't answer. His eyes were sharp, impatient. "Don't act surprised. The Survey Corps only gave us ten minutes to talk—if that. They've probably surrounded the place by now."
He leaned in, voice low. "We need to reach an agreement. Fast."
Grisha frowned. "Are you exposed?"
Zeke's jaw tightened. "They were mocking my mother's corpse in the street. I lost control."
Grisha went still. He didn't speak. He didn't even scold him. What right did he have?
Finally, he sighed, pressing the baguette into Zeke's hand. "Eat something. You'll need your strength."
Zeke stared at it, incredulous. "Eat? Now? Really?"
Grisha's tone softened. "Please."
But Zeke just set the bread beside Reiner's bed and shook his head. "You haven't changed."
The warmth in the room faded.
"Fine," Grisha said quietly. "Then let's talk." He folded his hands. "Why did you come here, Zeke? What's your purpose? And what did you do last night?"
For a heartbeat, Zeke said nothing. Then a faint, bitter smile curved his lips.
"If I told you I came to save you and Eren, would you believe me?"
The silence that followed was heavier than stone.
Grisha looked at his son, searching for any trace of the boy he'd once held. But all he saw was a man shaped by pain, pride, and impossible choices.
Zeke's eyes glimmered—not with tears, but with something far colder.
"Believe me or don't," he said finally. "But after tonight… none of this world will stay the same."
The ticking of a wall clock filled the space between them, each second dragging the tension tighter. Outside, the wind howled through the deserted streets.
And somewhere beyond the inn's thin walls, the Survey Corps waited—unaware that the future of humanity was being decided by a father and son who no longer understood each other.
...
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