"Lock, are you going to join the Survey Corps too?"
Eren, who had been silent most of the way, finally broke the quiet.
Lock gave a calm smile. "Yeah. I'll be at the conscription meeting at the start of next year. Once I graduate, I'm joining the Survey Corps."
"Damn it… Why am I only nine? If I were thirteen, I could join you right now!" Eren scowled, frustration flashing in his eyes.
Lock patted his shoulder. "Appreciate the peaceful days you have now. I'll be waiting for you out there."
With that, he turned toward the direction of his home.
Eren's voice rang out behind him, loud and certain. "Lock! Wait for me—I'll join the Survey Corps no matter what!"
Lock didn't look back. He just raised a hand in a casual wave and kept walking, thoughts already shifting to the training he needed before the Cadet Corps.
Right now, the walls still stood unbroken. Titans were nothing but a distant threat to most. Few felt the urgency to enlist, which meant the Corps accepted only a small number of recruits each year. Inside these walls, with fixed land and a growing population, being a soldier was considered steady work.
For many, the safest path was joining the Garrison—days of cards, drinking, lazy patrols, and easy pay. The job was comfortable, even tempting. But competition was fierce.
It was already October. The conscription meeting was in early February—barely three months away. Not much time to improve.
When Lock reached home, he decided to test his golden finger.
"One… two… three… twenty-one… twenty-two… thirty-one… thirty-two!"
By the thirty-second push-up, his arms burned, and his strength gave out. He collapsed to the floor, muscles twitching from exertion. Then, the familiar chime echoed in his ears:
Ding. The host has done push-ups to the limit. Upper limb strength +1.
A cool rush spread through his arms. The soreness faded, replaced with a lightness that made him think he could push out twenty more. He dropped back down and kept going.
Seventeen push-ups later, he was spent again, lying flat on the floor. This time, though, no chime.
"Huh? Nothing? I hit my limit again… Don't tell me I can only improve once a day? But no, running earlier boosted my endurance. So maybe it's one boost per type of exercise?"
Testing the theory, Lock staggered into the main room, crouched low, and started doing frog jumps around the dining table.
Five minutes later, he collapsed again, gasping like a fish on land. His legs felt like they were filled with lead. But after three long seconds—
Ding. The host has done the frog jump to the limit. Lower body strength +1.
The monotone system voice had never sounded so sweet.
"Alright… so, one boost per method," he muttered, sitting up. "Guess I'll see if it resets tomorrow."
It was already cold in October, and the chill of the floor seeped into his skin. Still, his legs felt sturdier now, and he couldn't help but grin. Then hunger struck.
In the kitchen, he gathered what little food remained—plain bread and cheap potatoes. The property his parents had left wasn't much, and the relief money barely covered necessities. His meals were never fancy, but they filled the gap.
By the end of dinner, the plates were clean, and the house was completely out of food. He let out a quiet burp, rubbing his stomach.
"…Great. What am I supposed to do if I keep eating like this?"
He opened his wallet. The sight of a few lonely coins drew a sigh.
"One coin short and even a hero trips," he muttered. "Looks like I'll need a job. Preferably one with food… as long as I can eat my fill, I'll manage."
Running through options in his head, Lock weighed his system's abilities against the current state of Shiganshina. After a moment, he settled on the first job he'd take in this world…