When Zeke woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was someone sitting across from him.
Levi: "…"
Zeke: "…"
Neither moved. The silence felt heavier than iron bars.
Finally, Levi spoke flatly. "Erwin asked me to interrogate you. He thinks you're holding something back."
Zeke didn't even bother to respond. He simply rolled himself back into the blanket and lay down again.
"Hey," Levi warned, his voice cold, "don't make me hit you."
Zeke didn't flinch. He'd endured worse things in his last life—threats like that barely registered.
"Damn it," Levi muttered under his breath. "How the hell am I supposed to interrogate someone I can't hit?"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. The Survey Corps' rules forbade torture, which left only conversation—and Zeke, it seemed, was immune to that.
"Normally," Levi grumbled, "an interrogation has two parts: psychological pressure and violence. But you—"
He sighed. The truth was, the Survey Corps hadn't treated Zeke cruelly since his capture. He had been cooperative at first. The real problem was that Erwin had decided to send him—Levi—to handle the interrogation.
Zeke's least favorite person in the entire Corps.
Without warning, Levi sat down right on top of him, pinning the blanket with his weight.
"Talk," he said. "Whatever you've got left to say, spit it out so I can report back."
"I've already told you everything," Zeke replied curtly. "If you still don't understand, go to the basement in Shiganshina."
Levi narrowed his eyes. "Anything else? Like why you hate me so much?"
Zeke didn't answer.
Erwin, he thought bitterly, must have gone blind to send this man here.
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to drift back to sleep. He couldn't win against Levi, but he could ignore him. Sleep was his best escape.
"Oi."
No response.
"Hey!"
Still nothing.
Levi stared in disbelief. "…You've got to be kidding me."
But soon after, the smell hit the air — sharp, spicy, unmistakable.
Zeke twitched. His nose wrinkled.
The rich, fiery aroma of hot pot.
His stomach growled in protest.
When he sat up, rubbing his temples, he saw the impossible — Levi and his squad sitting around a steaming pot, eating hot pot right there in the cell.
"…You're eating that in a dungeon?"
"Hey, Zeke's awake!" a cheerful red-haired girl waved. "Zeke, wanna eat with us? The guards said you haven't eaten since you moved in!"
"No," he said firmly.
Ten minutes later, he was sitting cross-legged at the low table, chopsticks in hand.
The redhead grinned triumphantly.
Her name was Isabel — he remembered her vaguely from the expedition outside the Walls. The other girl, blonde with a mischievous look, he didn't recognize — and didn't care to.
Levi chewed on a strip of tripe and gave Zeke a sharp glance. "You're like a dead pig. You lie down, and boom — asleep. Can't even wake you up."
Zeke ignored him and picked at the vegetables in the pot.
Isabel leaned forward eagerly. "Hey, Zeke, how did you become a Titan?"
Zeke said nothing.
"How does it feel?"
Still nothing.
"Do you really get a hundred times the strength of a human? A thousand times?"
No answer.
"What's it take to become one? Can I become a Titan like you?"
That did it. Zeke set down his chopsticks with a sigh. "Thanks for the meal," he said quietly, "I'm done."
"Huh? You barely ate two pieces of meat!" Levi frowned.
"I'm not hungry."
"Or maybe," Levi said, smirking, "you just don't like our cooking? Here." He slid a plate toward him — a thick, bloody steak, still raw in the middle.
Zeke recoiled. "I don't eat raw food."
"Don't be shy," Levi said, deadpan. "Even if you eat ugly, we won't laugh."
Zeke stared at him. Where does this man get his confidence?
Too tired to argue, he got up and went back to bed.
A few moments later, a horrified shout echoed through the cell.
"He fell asleep again?!" Farlan exclaimed.
Levi slammed his chopsticks down. "What kind of skill is that? Falling asleep instantly? I want that skill!"
"Let's add more chili next time," Isabel suggested mischievously.
"Are you insane?" Farlan coughed violently. "You'll kill him — and us!"
Zeke buried his face under the blanket. So noisy…
The spicy aroma was torture. It invaded his nose, burned his throat, and refused to leave. He half-considered hardening himself into crystal just to block the smell — but he'd already told the Corps he couldn't use Titan powers without the serum, so that idea was out.
He endured it until, somehow, exhaustion won.
…
"Brother, he's asleep again," Isabel whispered later, crouched beside Zeke's bed. She'd even dabbed pepper under his nose — he didn't stir. His breathing was slow, steady, peaceful.
"Is this guy even human?" Levi muttered, half annoyed, half amazed. "He can fall asleep through anything."
"I was worried after the captain said he didn't have much time left," Farlan admitted. "Thought he'd just… die in his sleep."
"He's fine," Levi said, leaning back. "If he's breathing, he's not dead. Now quit staring at him and eat before it gets cold."
Fran hesitated. "Uh, brother… Isabel added way too much chili—"
"It's fine." Levi took a bite. Instantly, his face twisted. "So spicy—ah—can't waste it—it's expensive—ha—"
"That's the captain's money, right?" Farlan said dryly.
"Doesn't matter whose it is—" Levi wheezed between bites, "—we're eating it!"
Fran sighed and joined in.
Meanwhile, Isabel wandered off, drawn by something in the corner. She bent down and picked up a small, torn object — the remnants of a stuffed doll.
She gently pieced it together, brushing off the dust.
When she saw the full shape, her eyes widened.
"It looks just like Zeke," she said softly.
The monkey doll's frayed face smiled up at her — threadbare, but hauntingly familiar.
For a moment, Isabel glanced toward Zeke's sleeping form. His expression was calm, almost innocent — the faintest trace of a frown smoothed away by dreams.
She set the doll beside his bed, careful not to wake him.
The pot still simmered, the air thick with spice. Outside, the night deepened, and the smell of hot broth and burnt chili clung to the walls long after the laughter faded.