On the last day of equipment maintenance, Lock finally completed his task. Satisfaction came first, but it was tinged with a quiet sense of loss.
He had planned to focus entirely on preparing for the conscription meeting, but the system had other ideas.
[Enter the Hall]
Mission Objective: Forge a high-quality tool using only your skill.
Reward: Strength +3, Coordination +3, Weapon Mastery +3
Penalty: None
Deadline: Three months
Lock stared at the task prompt.
"How did I end up competing with blacksmiths? Is this system trying to turn me into a master forger?"
The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.
If there had been plenty of time, it might have been a challenge worth savoring. But with only a month left until the conscription meeting, his current forging skill wouldn't be enough to create anything that could pass for high-quality, at least not without gambling precious days he needed for other preparations.
Still, there was one advantage: the system hadn't specified the type of tool. That gave him options. Forging a simple iron rod was far less complex than crafting a blade.
He debated whether it was worth the risk. Every moment now mattered. Surviving and growing stronger were his priorities. And no matter how much his physical stats had improved, taking down a Titan bare-handed was still a fantasy.
Decision made, Lock set the forging task aside for now.
Uncle Harry, already aware of his plans to join the Survey Corps, adjusted his schedule. After finishing inspections for the Garrison Corps, Harry told him he'd only need to be at the shop for half the day, spending the rest of his time on training for recruitment.
Lock didn't argue. His raw strength was already impressive, but lifting weights alone wouldn't sharpen his speed or reflexes. His endurance, explosive power, and coordination were equally well-developed—enough that he suspected even three or five grown men together might struggle to lay a hand on him. If it came to a real fight without weapons, he figured ten might still not be enough.
At the conscription meeting, this system-enhanced physique would stand out like a flare. And Lock had no interest in hiding it. A strong showing would draw the right attention—and with it, better resources.
The foundation was solid. Now came the fine-tuning.
Titans were fought with maneuver gear and blades, so swordsmanship would be vital. While he never managed to keep the black gold bamboo sword, bamboo poles made fine training substitutes.
And so, in an empty stretch of riverbank in the northwest corner of Shiganshina, a lone figure could be seen in the mornings, moving with deliberate, practiced rhythm—two slender bamboo poles in his hands, cutting through the air.
Passersby often gave him a wide berth. To them, he must have looked like some strange young man waving sticks at nothing.
Lock ignored them. He didn't need their approval—only skill.
As a fan of Zoro, he had tried the three-sword style at first. It… had been ridiculous. Even after improving his bite strength, the sheer absurdity finally won out over his enthusiasm. Pride demanded he stick to two blades. Besides, in the Survey Corps, that was the standard.
After several days, he hadn't unlocked any hidden sword techniques, but his left and right-hand coordination had improved noticeably. His movements were quicker, more fluid. A win was a win.
The January air bit with winter's teeth, but Lock's shirt was plastered to his back with sweat. The cold couldn't touch him; constant movement kept his body running hot, steam curling from his shoulders in the frigid air.
"The downside to great stamina," he muttered to himself. Even now, despite the fatigue, he hadn't truly hit his limit. Only stubborn willpower kept his form sharp.
Finally, after a grueling round, the system chimed.
Ding — Extreme training completed. Grip Strength +1, Left-Right Coordination +1.
Breathing hard, Lock knelt to his thermos, taking several gulps of hot water before glancing toward the two figures who had been waiting for him—Eren and Mikasa.
"What's up?" he asked.
"You forgot again," Eren said, sounding exasperated. "Ever since you started working, you hardly hang out with us anymore."
"We were together for New Year's," Lock reminded him, thinking back to the celebration at Harry's. That night, Eren had once again declared he'd join the Survey Corps one day—earning himself another round of merciless teasing from the adults. Lock had nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Who would believe that this same boy would one day unleash the Rumbling and call for the world's destruction?
Eren waved him forward. "Forget that—come on. Today's your birthday. Everyone's waiting at my house. Mom, Dad, Uncle Harry—they're all there. You're the only one missing."
Mikasa, silent as ever until now, added, "They've been waiting a long time."
Lock smiled faintly. "Alright. Let's go."
Pulling on their coats, the three headed back together. Somewhere in the quiet between their footsteps, Lock found himself thinking—
Same birthday. Maybe that's fate.