Zeke Yeager was placed in solitary confinement beneath the Survey Corps headquarters.
Ever since that explosive revelation — "The Titan ate his father!" — everything about him had changed. In Trost District, he had been calm, composed, even cooperative. He had answered questions clearly, volunteered details without resistance. But once brought to headquarters, he went silent. The light in his eyes dimmed, and he withdrew into himself.
Erwin had initially respected that silence. He told the others that the young man needed time — that forcing words from a grieving son would yield nothing of value.
But the rest of the Survey Corps didn't share that patience.
"Captain Erwin's gone soft," one soldier muttered in the mess hall.
"He's coddling that monster."
"Yeah, the same monster who ate his own father! What's he waiting for? For it to happen again?"
"Team One should drag that thing back into interrogation until he talks."
"If he breaks loose, we're finished. If he transforms in the dungeon—"
"Don't even joke about that!"
Every man in uniform still carried the memory of the fall of Shiganshina. The fire, the screams, the sight of friends being devoured alive. Even a whisper of "Titan" made their hearts seize.
"Midnight's coming again…" the rooftop sentry said, glancing up at the full moon.
And indeed, the defenses were heavier than ever — triple patrols inside and out, the gates barred, and guards stationed even within the underground corridors. The headquarters had become a fortress.
But in the deepest chamber below, there was no sense of safety — only tension.
The Interrogation Room.
Erwin sat across from Zeke, his elbows resting on the cold metal table. The only light came from a lantern between them, its flickering flame casting sharp shadows over Zeke's face.
"Zeke," Erwin began evenly, "you were cooperative in Trost District. You told us about the Titans, about your father's research, about the injections. Why are you silent now? I understand you've suffered a great loss, but…"
He paused, searching for a trace of response.
Zeke sat motionless, eyes half-lidded, like someone already half-dead. His once sharp gaze was now hollow, unfocused.
"Don't you still have family left in this world?" Erwin pressed quietly. "If not for yourself, you could at least speak for them."
No reply.
Erwin checked his pocket watch — half past three.
"At this very hour last night," he said, "a Colossal Titan breached the gate of Shiganshina. That district burned to ash. I've been awake since then — and yet here I sit, talking to you, without fear of being eaten. Do you know why?"
Silence.
"Because I still believe you can be trusted, Zeke. I believe there's humanity left in you."
Zeke's eyes shifted, just once. Not from emotion — but from contempt.
Of course Erwin wasn't afraid. He'd already placed Eren — his little brother — in the rooms above the dungeon. If Zeke transformed here, the blast would tear upward first. Eren would die instantly.
Calculated. Cold. Typical of the Commander.
Erwin exhaled through his nose, adjusting his tone. "Very well. If you won't talk for your father, perhaps you'll talk for your brother. He's in our custody too."
Still no reaction.
"Are you abandoning him as well?" Erwin asked, his voice sharpening. "You let him be taken, and now you won't even speak for him?"
Zeke remained still.
Erwin leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Right now, the story spreading through headquarters is that you ate your own father. Are you truly not going to defend yourself?"
Zeke didn't lift his head.
"Or perhaps," Erwin continued, "the Titan who devoured your father wasn't you… but your brother?"
The words hung heavy between them.
For the first time, Zeke's eyes flicked upward — dull, but faintly burning.
Erwin noticed. He pressed on. "You didn't directly admit to killing your father. It's possible that another Titan — your brother — was the one. And to protect him, you've kept silent. Haven't you?"
He placed a small transparent pouch on the table. Inside it glinted a single, empty syringe.
"This was found in the forest by the Garrison troops, four hours after your capture. No bodies. No signs of a fight. Just this, lying in the grass."
He slid it closer. "Tell me, Zeke — is this the Titan injection you mentioned before? If so, then whoever used it has already transformed. Your brother, perhaps?"
For a long while, there was nothing — only the faint hum of the lantern.
Then Zeke finally spoke. His voice was hoarse but steady.
"It was my father," he said. "He planned to inject my brother — to use him as an experiment. To turn him into a Titan and make him fight me."
Erwin's eyes narrowed.
"I stopped him," Zeke continued, tone flat. "When he saw me rescue Eren, he panicked. He feared I'd kill him, so he injected himself instead. Once I saw him do that, I knew it was irreversible. He was going to transform — and destroy everything around us. So… before he could change, I killed him. I ate him."
The room went silent.
Erwin studied his face for any trace of deceit. "Zeke," he said quietly, "do you ever feel embarrassed when you lie?"
Zeke's lip curled in disdain. "Are you thinking with your ass, Commander? If it was my brother who ate my father, how could he have seen the Titan eat him? A man-eater doesn't watch himself devour another."
The blunt logic struck Erwin speechless. He had no immediate counter.
After a moment, he said, "There's something I still don't understand. By blood, your father was your closest kin. Eren is merely your half-brother — another woman's child. Why would you turn against your father for him?"
Zeke hesitated. Then, for the first time, emotion touched his voice.
"Because he's my brother."
His throat tightened as he continued. "He and I were both pawns. Both deceived by the same man. We share the same fate. I couldn't save myself… but I could save him. Don't you understand that?"
The words trembled with sincerity — perhaps too much sincerity.
Erwin sat back, studying him quietly. Is he lying? Or does he truly believe this?
Zeke's mind, meanwhile, was far away — echoing with the bitter laughter of memory.
In my last life, I said the same words, he thought. "Brother, we were both deceived by Father."
And later, when truth came crashing down:
"Father, we were both deceived by my brother."
How ironic. How pathetic.
He clenched his fists under the table. I'm just a monkey dancing in circles. Fooled again and again.
Erwin's voice broke his thoughts. "Zeke, I'll reserve judgment for now. You've given a consistent story, even under pressure. But I'll verify it. For everyone's safety, you'll remain confined."
He rose, preparing to leave.
"Before I go," he said, turning back, "tell me the name of the compound again."
Zeke's answer came without hesitation. "Titan Spinal Fluid."
The same name. The same certainty.
Erwin's eyes narrowed. Not a single word changed. A good liar always slips — tells a story slightly differently the second time. But this young man didn't.
He sighed softly. "Zeke, whatever your reasons… killing your father robbed us of a chance to understand that serum."
Zeke's gaze dropped. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "But to me… my brother is worth far more than my father ever was."
The lantern flickered once — then went out.
And in that brief darkness, Erwin realized that whether Zeke was lying or not… both possibilities were equally terrifying.