Roger, of course, remembered Historia. But he hadn't expected her to show up at a time like this.
The conflict between the Survey Corps and the Scorpion Corps had existed from the very beginning—and by now it had almost reached a point where it couldn't be reconciled.
Roger understood that the very first and most fundamental contradiction between them was, in fact, Roger himself.
And that was precisely why the two sides could never truly come together and form a new, unified force.
In the past, the only reason they could stand so close to each other was because they were fighting Titans outside the Walls.
With a common enemy, even the most irreconcilable hostility would eventually soften.
When Roger first met Historia, it was right at the start of that conflict. And now the conflict still hadn't been resolved—if anything, it had grown even more intense, to the point where they had thrown him into prison.
In a period like this, no matter who it was, Historia shouldn't have come.
She had once been a "hostage" the Scorpion Corps held from the Survey Corps. Now she was suddenly standing before the Scorpion Corps' leader—exactly at the moment when that leader, Roger, had become a prisoner.
No matter how you looked at it, it was sensitive. And at its core, it wasn't a good thing.
Even though Historia diligently handed him bowls and chopsticks and kept urging him to eat more, Roger didn't accept her kindness. He set the bowl and chopsticks down on the floor and told her:
"Go back. This isn't where you should be."
But those few words couldn't persuade Historia.
Before coming, she had prepared herself mentally—thoroughly—and made a firm decision. Even if Roger himself tried to drive her away, she wouldn't leave.
"Eat all of this, and I promise I'll never come again," Historia said, smiling at Roger.
She looked a little shy.
Even though Roger had once taken meticulous care of her, she also understood that he had done it to ease the relationship between the Survey Corps and the Scorpion Corps.
But no matter what, she couldn't stand the thought that someone who had once been so good to her was now locked in prison, suffering every day—no one to talk to, no good food, living in a haze, maybe even developing suicidal thoughts.
That was why she came: to take more careful care of Roger, so he wouldn't easily spiral into despair.
But in truth, she was overthinking it.
Roger hadn't considered any of that. Even being locked in prison was part of his own plan—no one had forced him.
And even if someone tried, they had no way to make it stick.
Whenever he wanted to leave, he could leave. No one could stop him.
But Roger knew that even if he told Historia all of this, it wouldn't change her mind.
So he could only say:
"Don't worry about me. I'm fine."
Unable to withstand Historia's repeated insistence, Roger finally tasted her cooking. After finishing everything, he handed the bowl and chopsticks back to her.
Roger straightened his bedding and prepared to sleep.
"You don't need to come tomorrow," Roger said.
Historia gave a small "mm," then walked out quietly, as if afraid of disturbing his rest.
But Roger couldn't sleep at all.
The plan in his mind still hadn't completed even the first step.
Just like that, another day passed, and nothing progressed.
The people inside the Walls still celebrated their "independence," completely unaware of what was coming.
Roger stayed calmly in his prison cell—no thoughts, no actions.
Even when the government officials ordered the guards to watch him closely every day, they couldn't find a single sign of Roger trying to break out.
He seemed like he truly intended to stay in prison obediently.
Like a ferocious beast that had suddenly become tame—no longer showing any aggression at all.
To the people inside the Walls, it felt extremely abnormal, but they also had no real preventive measures.
If Roger truly went on a rampage, then dying a hundred times, a thousand times, ten thousand times wouldn't be enough.
Who could defeat someone whose body held all kinds of bizarre powers—including the ability to become an overwhelmingly powerful Titan?
The next day.
Historia came again.
Once more, she brought food she had made herself and urged Roger to eat well, to not give up on living so easily.
Roger, unaccustomed to being taken care of, found her incredibly, incredibly annoying—but there wasn't much to say.
Prison food really was terrible. If Historia could keep bringing him decent meals, then letting her come wasn't exactly unreasonable.
But it seemed Historia wasn't just delivering food.
While Roger ate, she kept chattering about her own life—how she'd fallen off a horse not long ago and almost died, how she trained with her companions, how they'd run into some huge wild boar, and so on.
Roger wasn't interested at all, but she kept talking nonstop, as if she wanted her cheerfulness to rub off on him—brighten him up little by little, make him feel less frightening.
Roger couldn't shut her up, so he simply let her talk and listened slowly.
Historia introduced her companions one by one.
Sasha.
Connie.
Jean.
And many more comrades from the same class.
Historia told him they were important people to her.
"If someday they're turned into Titans by you… I'll be heartbroken," Historia said, tears trembling in her eyes.
But Roger didn't react at all. He even sneered a few times.
"When your life is about to be gone, you're still worrying about that. Relax. When I turn everyone inside the Walls into Titans, you won't have the spare mind to think about those things anymore. Because what I'm doing is, in itself, meant to save you."
Roger finished eating, handed the bowl and chopsticks back to Historia, yawned, and went back to sleep.
Historia still didn't understand what Roger meant, but she wouldn't give up so easily.
And then another day passed—out in the sea not far from Paradis Island.
Warships arrived one after another, packed with cannons and troops.
"Form up—land!!"
Someone gave the order.
A perfectly synchronized stomp of boots rang out. Rifles were cocked and loaded.
Splash splash splash splash splash…
They made landfall.
Dense ranks of soldiers lined the coastline.
Behind them were new-model howitzers and assault tanks—products of the world's pooled wisdom and technology—as well as airships responsible for transporting supplies from across the world to the front line at Paradis Island.
"Bomb Paradis Island until it sinks below sea level."
—A famous quote from the World Allied Forces commander.
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