Time moved swiftly. In the blink of an eye, several months had passed.
The first batch of potatoes had ripened, and the fields now glimmered gold under the late-summer sun. Laughter and excitement filled the air as the refugees worked the harvest—hands and hearts busy with hope.
Watching the scene before him, Lock felt a rare, quiet satisfaction. The reclamation effort he had spearheaded from nothing had flourished beyond expectation. The barren wasteland outside Trost now stretched with life and color—evidence of what unity and resolve could achieve.
Among the refugees, his reputation had grown naturally. He had been the one who had stood beside them, worked beside them, and turned the impossible into reality. To many, Lock was no longer just a soldier of the Survey Corps—he had become their leader, their symbol of hope.
Still, the results were limited to the Trost District. Even a successful harvest here could only feed those within this zone. Other regions would have to find their own footing.
There was no avoiding that truth. Lock's influence—and the manpower the Survey Corps could spare—only extended so far.
Meanwhile, the upper walls, where the king and nobles resided, remained firmly under the jurisdiction of the Military Police Brigade. Those inner elites, ever protective of their comfort, resisted the Survey Corps at every turn.
It was precisely for that reason that Erwin had relocated the Survey Corps' headquarters from the interior to Trost District. The move gave them more autonomy, free from constant oversight by the capital's bureaucrats. But it also distanced them from the heart of power. As with all things, there were gains and there were losses.
For Lock, though, the project was complete. The reclamation plan was functioning smoothly, the food cycle was stable, and capable hands were in place to oversee operations. It was time for him to move on.
"Hange, I'll leave things to you from here," Lock said, standing beside her on the ridge overlooking the golden fields.
Hange gave an exaggerated sigh. "You really enjoy giving orders, don't you? Last I checked, my rank outranks yours."
Lock smiled faintly. "You know what they say—the more capable, the heavier the workload."
Hange folded her arms, trying not to smile.
"Besides," Lock added, "you're more suited for this than anyone else. You prefer experiments to patrols. Here, you can study soil nutrients, crop resistance, or whatever scientific curiosity hits you next—without Titans breathing down your neck."
Hange tilted her head, half-suspicious, half-touched. "You make it sound like you're doing me a favor."
"Maybe I am," he said simply.
It was true. The past few months had offered rare peace for Hange—time to experiment, test, and observe rather than constantly risk her life beyond the walls. Still, her curiosity soon shifted to something else entirely.
"Lock," she began, lowering her voice, "why do you care so much about Mikasa?"
Lock froze. "You noticed?"
"So I was right," she said, eyes narrowing mischievously. "Don't worry, no one else picked up on it. But I'm very observant. I wasn't sure at first—but your face just confirmed it."
Lock sighed, half-amused, half-annoyed. "You're as sharp as ever."
He grew quiet for a moment before adding, "I can't tell you the reason, not yet. But after I leave, keep an eye on her for me. It's important."
Hange straightened, her tone softening with rare seriousness. "You can count on me."
Lock exhaled, though the thought of Hange shadowing Mikasa made him pity the girl. Being watched by a science-obsessed researcher was far from ideal.
After a few more words—and Lock's reluctant promise that if he ever encountered a small Titan under four meters, he'd try to capture it alive for Hange's study—the two exchanged a brief, understanding smile.
Not long after, Eld Jinn and Gunther Schulz arrived with Erwin's orders in hand. Levi, occupied elsewhere, had delegated command to them.
"Lock," Eld said, handing him a sealed envelope, "Commander Erwin's recommendation was approved. You're being promoted to squad leader."
Lock blinked. "That was fast."
"Apparently, the approval came straight through the chain of command," Gunther added. "Even Commander Darius Zackly signed off himself."
That raised eyebrows all around. The Military Police's Commander rarely involved himself in Survey Corps promotions. Whether it was bureaucratic maneuvering or some unseen political motive, no one could say.
Erwin, ever pragmatic, chose not to question it too deeply. Whatever the reason, as long as it advanced humanity's cause, he would accept it.
"Your promotion rate is terrifying," Hange remarked, half in jest. "At this pace, you'll catch up to me before I can blink. The next step up is Levi's spot."
Lock chuckled. "I'll take that as encouragement."
Hange smiled but didn't deny it. She'd seen Lock's potential from the start.
The others congratulated him warmly. Eren, in particular, could hardly contain his excitement, cheering loud enough to draw amused looks from everyone present.
Mikasa, on the other hand, muttered under her breath, "Show-off," and turned away to help Petra. The two had grown unexpectedly close in recent months—Petra's patience and warmth balancing Mikasa's quiet intensity.
Even Petra had begun to find Mikasa's constant presence exhausting, but she couldn't bring herself to push her away.
Lock, meanwhile, allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He was only fourteen, yet already stood among the Corps' squad leaders—a position most soldiers needed years, if not decades, to reach.
But he hadn't relied on luck. Every success, every mission, every calculated move had been earned.
Beyond the titles and ranks, he saw something larger at play. Grisha Yeager's ongoing work in the interior was proceeding smoothly, thanks in part to the growing awareness of Lock's own name. The higher-ups now knew of him. Even Commander Zackly had taken notice.
In times like these, power gravitated naturally toward those who proved their worth.
And Lock intended to make sure that every step forward brought humanity closer to true freedom.
---
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