The week that followed became a forge of discipline and brutality—exactly the kind of crucible that separated the truly capable from the merely hopeful. Under Lock's direct supervision, the recruits underwent relentless, daily combat drills against captured Titans. Each day brought casualties—inevitable for anyone who dared face the monsters outside the Walls—but the number dwindled as training progressed.
On the last morning, after the recruits eliminated more than thirty Titans in coordinated formation, not a single soldier died. Only two suffered minor injuries due to misjudged movements and ODM errors, but nothing grave enough to remove them from service.
As the final group of soldiers ascended the lift platform back to the top of the training wall, Lock watched the rising silhouettes with a sharp, assessing gaze. Nearby, three captured Pure Titans—restrained, gagged, and bound—were prepared for transport to Hange's temporary research station.
"It's almost time to go back," Lock murmured, his voice quiet beneath the wind.
Petra Rall, standing beside him, straightened slightly. He turned toward her.
"Give the order later," Lock said. "We should arrive at headquarters by noon tomorrow."
"Understood," Petra replied.
She took a breath, then added with the practical thoroughness Lock relied on:
"After this week's training, 268 recruits remain active. Thirty-seven sustained varying injuries, but none are serious. With a few weeks of rest and basic treatment, they'll return to full capacity."
Lock gave a small nod. "Good. They adapted faster than expected."
His gaze drifted toward the horizon—toward the distant lines where sky met land, a boundary symbolic of everything still unknown.
"Be ready," he said quietly. "A lot will happen when we return."
Petra's posture tightened. Her brown eyes, resolute as tempered steel, met his.
"Since the day I chose to believe in you and follow you, I've been ready."
She meant every word.
With the memories she carried—echoes from Hoover, fragments of a past she never lived but somehow knew—Petra understood the danger pressing on Paradis better than almost anyone else in the Corps.
The island was weak. Surrounded by enemies. Cornered.
Diplomacy would not save them.
Only strength—real, decisive strength—would.
And Lock, for all his youth, was carrying the weight of that future on his shoulders. Petra watched him with silent determination.
He's under so much pressure... I'll support him with everything I have.
The regiment assembled shortly after, packing equipment and loading the restrained Titans for transport. The elevator creaked as it lifted another group, and soldiers rushed back and forth, securing gear and preparing to move.
Hange Zoë, however, had almost no interest in the usual influx of new Titans for study. Her attention was chained to the far corner of Lock's encampment—the tent containing Dina Fritz.
Her obsession was palpable.
Lock had moved Dina—crippled, bound, and still bearing that unsettling smile—to a reinforced holding structure draped in cloth. Hange had tried multiple times to request access, only to face immediate rejection from Lock and Petra both.
At last, unable to hold back her curiosity, she approached Lock while he was reviewing the final logistics reports.
"Lock," Hange said, stepping directly into his path, "when can I go back to headquarters?"
Lock paused. For a brief moment, he considered his reply.
"It won't be long," he answered. "Two to three months at most. Once the situation stabilizes, you won't have to deploy for field missions so frequently."
Hange's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"So you're planning to revoke my authority?" she asked, voice low but sharp.
There was something predatory in her expression—like a scientist analyzing a strange insect.
Lock shook his head. "No. But as a researcher, your talent is wasted on constant combat missions. I'll speak with Commander Erwin. Your time will be better spent in a laboratory, not risking your life in the field."
Hange blinked once. Twice.
"Really?"
"Really."
Her entire demeanor flipped instantly.
"That's—oh, that's amazing—do you know how long I've wanted this?" Hange grabbed him without warning, pulling him into a tight embrace that was more forceful than her lanky frame suggested. "Finally! Finally, someone understands!"
Lock endured the hug with mild resignation.
Behind them, Petra stiffened, her jaw tensing in a way she tried to hide. She said nothing—but the air around her grew noticeably colder.
From a short distance away, Ymir raised an eyebrow.
"Oi! What exactly are you two doing?" she shouted.
Historia—Christa to those who still clung to old habits—covered her eyes with her hands, peeking through her fingers.
"This is… this is inappropriate…" she whispered.
Hange instantly jumped back from Lock as if she'd been burned.
"No misunderstandings!" she declared, waving her arms frantically. "That was purely a friendly hug. Right, Lock?"
Lock shrugged. "My side was purely friendly. I can't speak for yours."
"You—absolute—idiot!" Hange swung a hand to smack him upside the head.
But before it could land, Lock's instincts took over. He grabbed her wrist, pivoted sharply, and, using her own momentum, flipped her clean over his shoulder. Hange hit the ground with a thud that echoed across the camp.
"Ow…" she groaned. "Why does this keep happening to me?"
"I reacted on instinct," Lock said. "Sorry."
Ymir laughed. "Well, I believe her now. That hug was definitely friendly."
Christa knelt beside Hange, concern softening her expression. "Are you okay, Captain?"
"I'm fine…" Hange muttered. "Christa's the only sane one left around here."
Christa smiled politely—and then promptly dodged Hange's attempt to pat her head.
"Only Lock gets to do that," she said sweetly.
Hange stared at her in disbelief.
Why is everyone around me like this…?
After confirming Hange wasn't injured, everyone drifted back to their preparations. But several soldiers kept glancing at Lock as if waiting for him to apologize or offer reassurance.
Lock folded his arms. "Don't look at me. That was me holding back. If I hadn't, she'd be in worse shape."
Hange struggled upright. "Should I thank you, then?" Her tone made it absolutely clear that there was only one correct answer.
Lock gave a thin smile. "No need to thank me. Just stop randomly hitting me. I can't promise I'll be able to stop myself every time."
"You—!"
Hange sputtered, hands trembling in frustration.
But as she drew in a breath to continue, something in her expression shifted. A quiet heaviness replaced the irritation. Her shoulders dropped.
"You're leaving tomorrow," she said softly. "I'll be stuck out here again."
For a moment, Lock saw past the manic energy and scientific obsession—saw the loneliness, the strain of isolation and relentless work.
Petra stepped forward gently. "Captain Hange, once Lock transfers you back to headquarters, you'll be free to research properly again. No more running around, no more chaos."
Hange brightened instantly. "Can I study that female Titan?"
"No." Lock's answer was immediate.
Hange deflated dramatically. "I… I really should've expected that."
The next day arrived faster than expected. After a final inspection and quick midday meal, Lock led the regiment as they prepared to transport Dina Fritz back to headquarters.
The recruits—no longer green, no longer shaken by the sight of their first kills—stood in tight formation. Their expressions were stronger, their eyes clearer. The fear that once clung to them had hardened into resolve.
Those who survived this training had earned the title of soldier.
They were worthy of being called elites.
As the caravan began its departure, Hange shouted from atop the wall, waving her arms wildly:
"Hurry up and transfer me back, too!"
Lock didn't turn around, but a faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
The road home would be dangerous. Complicated. And full of consequences, he was already preparing to face.
But for now, they moved forward.
---
A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
Support: patreon.com/Narrator_San