"This file," Erwin began, holding the document between two immaculate fingers, "is your father's record—the one he made when he was brought back inside the walls." He flipped a page with deliberate calm.
"To be honest, I was surprised we even had such a record. Apparently, there were still laws prohibiting humans from entering restricted zones outside the wall. When you look at it all together, there are… quite a few inconsistencies."
He spoke lightly, but the words landed like hammer strikes.
Zeke didn't react. For a brief moment, he'd felt a flicker of unease—but then he thought, What does this have to do with me? He yawned lazily and slouched against the wall, a picture of indifference.
Erwin's blue eyes didn't waver. "Your father wasn't as articulate as you. His testimony was riddled with holes. Fortunately, back then, we hadn't yet conceived of the idea that humans could turn into Titans. Otherwise, those inconsistencies might have raised alarms."
He paused, studying the young man behind the bars.
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Was Zeke's mental fortitude truly that strong—or did he genuinely not care?
Erwin sighed. "Should I show you?"
He tossed the file through the bars. The papers slid across the floor, stopping at Zeke's feet.
Zeke hesitated, then picked it up. So, he wants me to take the bait. But curiosity was an instinct he couldn't quite suppress. He flipped it open and read.
Erwin watched quietly. The fact that Zeke chose to read at all revealed something important: arrogance wasn't his weakness. He was cautious—too cautious.
The report itself contained little of value. The "loopholes" Erwin mentioned were mostly contradictions: Zeke said "south," Grisha said "north." Zeke said they lived in Liberio; Grisha claimed he'd forgotten.
Grisha Yeager's record had been dismissed at the time as a drunkard's rambling. During the trial, he'd only managed to state his name. Everything else—his origins, his purpose—had been incoherent. The man had been labeled a harmless eccentric who wandered too close to forbidden territory.
In truth, it had been the perfect disguise.
When Zeke finished reading, he placed the file beside the broken monkey doll and asked flatly, "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Erwin straightened, his tone suddenly heavy. "You're from outside the walls… aren't you?"
The air in the cell thickened.
That question—simple, impossible—hung between them.
For Erwin, it was the question that had haunted him since childhood. His father's whispered theories, his own burning doubts—Are there still humans beyond the walls?
He had devoted his life to finding that answer. Now, it stood before him in human form.
"Your father was discovered outside the wall," Erwin said, voice trembling with both awe and fear. "You appeared from the same direction. There is no trace of your existence within our records. The weapons you carried, the candy, even the language patterns—they don't belong inside the walls. None of it does."
Zeke looked up slowly. "So what?" he asked flatly. "So what if we came from outside your walls? Even if you know—can you change anything?"
Erwin froze.
His pulse hammered in his throat. The confirmation he'd sought all his life had come from the mouth of his prisoner.
They exist.
There are humans beyond the walls.
For a heartbeat, the composed commander vanished. Erwin surged to his feet and gripped the iron bars. "Then it's true… There are humans still alive out there!"
Zeke blinked, unimpressed.
Erwin's voice rose, trembling with conviction. "Those hundreds of children you spoke of—are they human test subjects? Failed transformations? Are the Titans outside the walls the result of your people's experiments?"
The questions came like gunfire.
Zeke stared at him blankly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Erwin forced himself to breathe, restraining his excitement. "So your father's research was small-scale? Limited scope?"
"…" Zeke could only stare, dumbfounded by the leaps of logic.
"Good," Erwin said with visible relief. "If the Titan phenomenon isn't widespread… that's reassuring. If all those monsters were created by your father alone, it would be far too horrifying. Titans, man-made—"
Zeke resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. He's not entirely wrong.
But before he could respond, Erwin leaned in again, eyes shining. "Tell me this—are your people in Liberio also suffering persecution? Like we are, trapped within these walls?"
Zeke hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "…Yeah."
That, at least, was true—though it wasn't Titans they feared. It was humans.
Erwin's expression softened with righteous determination. "Then I swear, once I've learned everything about Mount Liberio, I'll send troops to rescue your people. Humanity won't turn its back on its own!"
Zeke blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. He's serious.
Then, without another glance, Erwin turned and strode out of the dungeon, his boots echoing against the stone floor.
The cell fell silent.
"Finally," Zeke muttered, slumping against the bedframe, "the nagging ghost is gone."
He exhaled in relief and turned to lie down—only to see the monkey doll staring back at him with its crooked grin.
He flicked it off the bed with a grimace. "Disgusting."
A voice roared from outside the cell. "HEY!"
Zeke jumped.
Levi was at the door, eyes blazing, his hands gripping the iron bars. "Pick. It. Up."
"Huh? You're still here?" Zeke drawled. "Oh, right. Erwin's big frame must've blocked you on the way out. I almost forgot you existed."
Levi's glare could've melted steel. "Isabel spent hours sewing that damn thing back together. Pick it up!"
"Ohhh… your red-haired subordinate?" Zeke snapped his fingers as if remembering. "The one who eats like she's got a black hole for a stomach? You're telling me she made this?"
"Pick. It. Up," Levi repeated, voice sharp as a blade, "or I'll go in there, chop your head off, and shove it up your ass."
Zeke blinked, then grinned. "I'm shocked. Didn't think someone as emotionally stunted as you could care about sentimental junk. Don't tell me—does she like you? A girl actually likes you?"
Two steel bars cracked under Levi's grip.
"Oh." Zeke's grin vanished. "You can actually break those, huh?"
Levi took a step back, preparing to rip the entire door off its hinges.
"W-wait!" Zeke blurted, raising his hands. "Shouldn't you be chasing after Erwin right now?"
Levi froze. "What are you talking about?"
Zeke's gaze flicked to the corridor. "He's heading straight toward his own death. Don't worry—it's not my fault. So don't come back here to chop me up later, alright?"
Levi's brows furrowed. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
Zeke didn't answer. His golden eyes dimmed as he turned away.
The silence stretched. Eventually, Levi clicked his tongue and stormed off after Erwin.
Alone again, Zeke lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The monkey doll lay on the floor, staring up with its lopsided grin.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "Looks like he's finally found his master…" he murmured.
The cell light flickered once, then went dark.