"So you're just going to keep living like a coward in front of those bastards? Doesn't that make you feel ashamed?!"
"There's… there's nothing we can do right now!"
"'Nothing we can do' is just an excuse! Then go on—live like livestock forever, you coward!"
That final word crossed the line. No matter the frustration behind it, it stung too deeply.
Without another word, Mikasa stepped forward and landed a punch squarely on Eren's face, knocking him flat to the ground.
"If Armin's a coward, then so are you. So am I. So is Sandra," Mikasa said coldly, her voice low as she stood over Eren.
"We ran from the Titans. We ran from our city. Not a single thing we have today came from our own strength. Even the food we're eating—someone else gave it to us." Her truth pierced deeper than Eren's insult ever could.
"Pathetic humans like us… we can't even take down a single Titan."
Eren gritted his teeth. He didn't have a comeback. He knew she was right.
"Yeager… no, your mother—she wanted us to survive."
Finally, I spoke, looking directly into Eren's eyes. Slowly, I took the bread he had thrown away from Armin's hands.
Kneeling in front of him, I saw the surprise flicker in his eyes when I called Carla "Mother." But he didn't protest.
"She wanted us to live. Are you going to ignore even her final wish?"
My gaze didn't waver. I knew I looked older than before—stronger—but my sadness still showed. And Eren saw it.
"All the humiliation. All the pain and the loss. Use it. Let it sharpen your resolve. One day…"
The words weren't new. They'd long been etched into my heart.
"One day, with your own strength, you'll drive out the Titans that destroyed everything. But until then, we live. Even if we must live like vermin, we survive."
I handed the bread back to him.
Eren's lips trembled. He didn't speak, didn't cry—but he took the bread and bit into it silently. Slowly. Bitterly.
He understood now: survival wasn't shameful. It was necessary.
I rose and began to eat my own share. Every bite felt like kindling—fuel to forge a blade sharp enough to strike back.
———————————————
Days passed.
To ensure there was enough food to go around, many refugees—including children like us—were forced to work, clearing land and farming.
But fate always finds its way. In the second year after the fall of Wall Maria—year 846—famine struck.
The central government, desperate and cruel, launched a mission to "reclaim Wall Maria." The truth was uglier: they sent thousands of refugees to die.
Even Armin's grandfather was among those sent. Elderly. Weak. Helpless. He was sent to the frontlines to be Titan fodder.
Everyone knew what this really was—a massacre to reduce the number of mouths to feed.
Twenty-five thousand people were sent. One-fifth of humanity's remaining population.
Barely a few hundred returned alive.
Their sacrifice brought only a slight easing of the food shortage.
In a dim alley, Armin clutched his grandfather's straw hat tightly against his chest. He knew. His grandfather had died beyond Wall Maria.
"This is all the Titans' fault. If we could just wipe them out… we could finally go home," Eren murmured beside him, crouching low, eyes distant.
"Armin, next year… I'm joining the Cadet Corps." Eren's voice was clear. Resolute. "I want the power to fight the Titans."
His gaze drifted toward the dim lights in the distance—flickering. Fragile. Like peace, waiting to be broken again.
"I… I will too," Armin whispered. His tears had finally stopped.
"Armin…"
"I'm going," Armin repeated, voice steady now, his eyes focused forward.
"I'll go too," Mikasa said.
"Mikasa, you don't need to—" Eren turned to her.
"I'm going so I can make sure you don't die," she replied bluntly, crossing her arms. With Eren's recklessness, someone needed to keep him alive.
Then their eyes all landed on me.
"I guess you'll stay behind, Sandra…" Mikasa began, assuming I would back down.
"Yeah, Sandra," Eren chimed in. "Besides, you still need your medicine. Once we retake Wall Maria, we can go back to my dad's clinic and get more—"
"There's something none of you know," I interrupted, my tone shifting.
"Not even Mr. Yeager."
They paused.
"You have no idea. I'm from the filthiest corner of the underground. I had nothing. No family. No hope. You three—Eren, Mikasa, Armin—you gave me a reason to live. You gave me the name Sandra Gant. Right now, you're all I have."
I had never told anyone where I came from. Partly out of fear that they'd drag me back underground. But mostly… because I didn't want to leave the surface.
They stood frozen. For kids who had only heard rumors of the underground, the reality was probably unimaginable.
"As for that medicine Mr. Yeager gave me… I've been taking it for years. Turns out, it was just nutritional supplements." I pulled out the bottle from my coat and gave it a bitter shake, laughing softly.
"If that's all it takes for you to think I'm weak… I'll be disappointed." My eyes locked with Mikasa's.
I saw it—her worry hadn't left, but she was easing up, just a little.
Eren, who'd grown up alongside me, understood. Once I made a decision, there was no changing it. In that way, we were very much alike.
"…Alright then. The four of us. Together."
———————————————
The application forms were submitted. In just a few weeks, we'd officially become cadets.
I stared at the empty bottle of pills in my hand. They were gone now—those "vitamins" Mr. Yeager had given me.
"Sandra…" Mikasa had never stopped trying to change my mind. She still pleaded with me, now that she had the excuse of my pills running out.
"It's still too dangerous…" she whispered.
She'd grown a little taller over the years. She was always beautiful, but lately, she was starting to look truly stunning.
Mikasa wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "Please… just wait for me to come back…" Her voice was soft, almost pleading as she leaned on me.
"Mikasa…" I gently patted her back, and she stepped back, gazing at me with hope.
"Let me go," I said with a small, pained smile. "Let me chase away the monsters that destroyed my home."
Let me return to the place where my mother died.
Let me gain the strength to carve her a grave… with my own hands.
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