The Old Scout Headquarters was not a castle.
It was a highly concentrated, multi-story manifestation of tetanus.
I stood in the massive, vaulted entrance hall, my hands shoved deep into my pockets.
I looked up at the ceiling.
My unified mind immediately mapped the structural decay.
‘Load-bearing timber is compromised by exactly forty years of dry rot,’ my internal intellect calculated coldly.
‘The ambient air quality is toxic.
Dust particulate density is high enough to induce chronic respiratory failure within three weeks.’
‘Spiderweb structural integrity indicates a massive, unchecked arachnid population.’
I let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh.
Captain Levi stood at the front of the hall, his arms crossed, a white linen cravat tied perfectly around his neck.
He didn’t look like humanity’s strongest soldier right now.
He looked like a man who was deeply, personally offended by the existence of dust.
“This place is a pigsty,” Levi stated, his voice echoing off the grimy limestone walls.
“It has been abandoned for years.
The Garrison let it rot.”
“We are going to fix it.”
Levi turned his cold, grey eyes toward me and Eren.
“Eren.
You will take the upper dormitories.
Sweep, mop, and sanitize every single bedframe.”
“Yes, Sir!” Eren shouted, snapping a flawless salute, his green eyes burning with unnecessary motivation.
Eren was thrilled just to be here.
He didn’t care about the dust.
He just wanted to kill Titans.
Levi turned his gaze to me.
“Kai.
You will take the main dining hall, the kitchen, and the subterranean storage cellars.”
“You have until sundown.
If I find a single speck of dust, you are sleeping in the stables.”
I didn’t salute.
I just stared at him.
The dining hall was the size of a small gymnasium.
The kitchen was coated in decades of polymerized grease.
The cellars were a biological hazard.
“Captain,” I said, my voice dropping to its usual, deadpan flatline.
“Manual labor of this magnitude requires a highly inefficient expenditure of caloric energy.”
“With a standard bristle brush and a bucket of cold water, this task will take approximately seventy-two hours of continuous scrubbing.”
“I explicitly negotiated for an eight-hour sleep schedule.”
Levi’s eye twitched violently.
“I don’t care about your math, brat,” Levi muttered, taking a slow, menacing step toward me.
“You will scrub it until your fingers bleed, and then you will scrub it some more.”
“Now get to work.”
Levi turned on his heel and walked up the grand staircase, entirely dismissing me.
I stood in the dusty hall for a long moment.
“Don’t cause trouble, Kai,” Eren whispered, grabbing a wooden broom from a nearby closet.
“We’re on thin ice here.
Just do what he says.”
Eren sprinted up the stairs, leaving a trail of kicked-up dust in his wake.
I watched him go.
“I am absolutely not scrubbing anything with a brush,” I muttered to the empty room.
I walked directly toward the dining hall.
It was massive.
Long oak tables were covered in thick layers of grime.
The flagstone floor was entirely black with dirt.
I dropped my heavy canvas rucksack onto a relatively clean wooden bench.
I needed an extreme, highly pressurized logistical solution.
I closed my eyes and mentally summoned the Gacha Survival System interface.
I had earned exactly three Exchange Tickets from the courtroom ordeal.
Surviving a political assassination attempt apparently granted a decent amount of system experience.
‘System,’ I commanded silently.
‘Execute a multi-pull.
Prioritize sanitation and fluid dynamics.’
The digital slot machine materialized in the pitch-black void of my mind.
It spun with a quiet, melodic chime.
Three solid lights flashed in rapid succession.
White.
Silver.
Silver.
‘[Congratulations!
Host has pulled [Common] and [Uncommon] Tier Rewards!]’
‘[Item Acquired: Minor Caffeine Synthesis Patch (Transdermal).]’
‘[Item Acquired: 5-Gallon Drum of Industrial-Grade Enzymatic Degreaser.]’
‘[Item Acquired: Blueprint & Hardware – High-Pressure Fluid Dynamic Nozzle.]’
I opened my eyes, a massive, genuine smile spreading across my face.
The system had actually listened.
I materialized the transdermal caffeine patch first.
It was a small, clear square of medical-grade adhesive.
I slapped it directly onto the side of my neck, right over my carotid artery.
The effect was entirely instantaneous.
The fatigue from the tribunal completely evaporated, replaced by a smooth, mathematically precise hum of pure energy.
Next, I opened my rucksack and pulled out my bright red Master Mechanic’s toolbox.
I popped the heavy metal latches.
I materialized the 5-Gallon Drum of Enzymatic Degreaser.
It was a heavy, bright yellow plastic barrel.
‘This solvent is engineered to break down polymerized lipids and organic matter at a molecular level,’ my Parker intellect analyzed instantly.
‘It is highly toxic to ingest, but completely harmless to limestone and oak.’
Finally, I materialized the High-Pressure Nozzle.
It was a sleek, stainless-steel attachment with an adjustable brass aperture.
I didn’t have a modern air compressor.
But I didn’t need one.
I had something significantly more powerful.
I unclipped one of my spare, fully pressurized ODM gas canisters from my tactical harness.
“Time to violate several safety protocols,” I whispered, pulling a wrench from my toolbox.
My hands moved with blinding, mechanical precision.
I was entirely in my element.
I stripped the standard deployment valve off the ODM gas canister.
Using high-tension copper wiring and my heavy-duty Duck Tales tape, I spliced the canister’s output directly into the feed line of the enzymatic degreaser drum.
I attached the stainless-steel nozzle to a scavenged length of thick rubber hosing.
I rigged a crude, spring-loaded trigger mechanism using a dismantled flintlock pistol grip.
In exactly fourteen minutes, I had successfully built a weapon of mass sanitation.
It was a highly unstable, pneumatically driven pressure washer.
It operated on the exact same explosive gas pressure that launched humans through the sky at sixty miles per hour.
I hoisted the heavy yellow drum onto my back, securing it with spare leather harness straps.
I gripped the modified flintlock nozzle in both hands.
“Say hello to my little friend,” I quipped, my Leon persona aggressively bleeding into my speech.
I pointed the nozzle at the closest, filthiest oak dining table.
I squeezed the trigger.
The sound was absolutely deafening.
It didn’t hiss.
It roared.
A high-velocity, hyper-pressurized jet of foaming yellow degreaser exploded from the nozzle.
The recoil was massive.
It nearly knocked me off my feet, but my combat reflexes instantly dropped my center of gravity, planting my boots firmly against the flagstone.
The jet of foam slammed into the oak table.
The result was nothing short of miraculous.
Decades of thick, hardened grime, polymerized grease, and hardened dirt were instantly, violently blasted away.
The original, pristine grain of the oak wood was revealed in a fraction of a second.
I swept the nozzle across the length of the table.
It was entirely clean in less than four seconds.
“Oh, this is beautiful,” I laughed, the caffeine patch singing in my veins.
I turned the nozzle toward the flagstone floor.
I adjusted the brass aperture to a wider, fan-shaped spray.
I walked slowly down the center of the massive dining hall, sweeping the nozzle back and forth.
The 1500-PSI blast of enzymatic cleaner annihilated the dirt.
It pushed a massive wave of black sludge directly toward the floor drains.
The room smelled intensely of sharp citrus and sterile chemicals.
I cleared the entire dining hall in exactly twelve minutes.
I moved to the kitchen.
The kitchen was a nightmare of hardened animal fat and soot.
I didn’t even blink.
I blasted the walls.
I blasted the iron stoves.
I blasted the ceilings.
The pressurized foam stripped the soot away like wet tissue paper.
I was having the absolute time of my life.
I was utilizing lethal military hardware to aggressively avoid manual labor.
It was the ultimate manifestation of my core philosophy.
I was just finishing the subterranean cellars, blasting the last of the cobwebs into oblivion, when my threat-assessment radar pinged violently.
Multiple hostiles approaching.
I released the trigger, the roaring hiss of the pressure washer dying down to a quiet sputter.
I turned around, wiping a speck of yellow foam off my cheek.
Standing at the top of the cellar stairs was Captain Levi.
Behind him stood four soldiers wearing the green cloaks of the Survey Corps.
The Special Operations Squad.
Petra Ral.
Eld Jinn.
Gunther Schultz.
Oluo Bozado.
They were staring down at me, their eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated shock.
They weren’t looking at my pressure washer.
They were looking at the cellar.
It was spotless.
The limestone walls were gleaming.
The floors were entirely devoid of dirt.
The air smelled like aggressive, artificial lemons.
Levi slowly walked down the stone stairs.
He ran a white-gloved hand along the surface of a nearby wooden wine rack.
He held his hand up to the light.
There wasn’t a single microscopic speck of dust on the white fabric.
Levi’s grey eyes twitched.
He looked at the pristine floor.
He looked at the gleaming walls.
Then he looked at me, standing there with a yellow plastic drum strapped to my back and a modified flintlock pistol in my hands.
Levi was experiencing a severe, conflicting emotional crisis.
He violently hated me and my insubordinate attitude.
But his soul was deeply, profoundly aroused by the immaculate cleanliness of the room.
“What…
what is that?” Petra asked, stepping down the stairs, staring at my rig.
“It is a pneumatically driven, hyper-pressurized fluid dynamic sanitation system,” I replied smoothly.
“I built it from a spare gas canister and a drum of enzymatic solvent.”
“I cleared my assigned sectors in exactly thirty-four minutes.”
Oluo stepped forward, intentionally puffing out his chest.
He was trying to mimic Levi’s intimidating scowl, but he lacked the underlying lethality to pull it off.
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, rookie?” Oluo sneered, adjusting his cravat.
“Using military gas for chores.
You’re wasting precious resources.”
“Listen here, you little brat.
In this squad, we respect the chain of comm—”
Oluo bit his tongue.
He bit it hard.
A bright red stream of blood instantly poured down his chin.
He choked, stumbling backward, gripping his mouth in agony.
My medical and tactical intellect immediately analyzed the injury.
“You possess a severe anatomical overbite, Oluo,” I deadpanned, entirely unbothered by his bleeding.
“Combined with your highly inefficient, posturing speech pattern, you are mathematically guaranteed to lacerate your own lingual frenulum whenever you attempt to project authority.”
“I highly recommend you stop trying to intimidate people.
It is a severe biological hazard to your own mouth.”
Eld and Gunther stared at me.
Petra covered her mouth, desperately trying to suppress a laugh.
Oluo glared at me, spitting blood onto the pristine flagstone floor.
My eyes instantly narrowed.
My Leon instincts flared with sudden, irrational hostility.
“You just bled on my newly sanitized floor,” I stated coldly.
I raised the nozzle of my pressure washer, pointing it directly at Oluo’s chest.
“I am going to blast you through that brick wall.”
“Stand down, Kai,” Levi ordered, his voice cutting through the tension.
I slowly lowered the nozzle, keeping my dead eyes locked on Oluo.
Levi walked over to the spot of blood on the floor.
He looked at it.
He looked at my pressure washer.
“Clean it up,” Levi said flatly.
I squeezed the trigger for exactly half a second.
A localized blast of high-pressure foam annihilated the bloodstain, leaving the stone gleaming once again.
Levi stared at the clean stone.
He took a slow, deep breath.
“Your methods are highly unorthodox.
And you are a disrespectful, insubordinate brat.”
Levi turned to face me.
“But your results are acceptable.”
“The dining hall, the kitchen, and the cellars pass inspection.”
“Excellent,” I muttered, unbuckling the heavy yellow drum from my harness.
I let the rig drop heavily onto the floor.
“As per our negotiated agreement, I have completed my assigned logistical tasks.”
“I am now going to secure a horizontal surface in the barracks.”
“I will remain unconscious until tomorrow morning.”
“If anyone wakes me up before sunrise, I will re-pressurize this nozzle and use it to permanently alter their facial structure.”
I picked up my red Master Mechanic’s toolbox.
I walked right past the elite members of the Special Operations Squad.
They parted like the Red Sea, staring at me as if I were an unexploded bomb.
I walked past Levi.
He didn’t try to stop me.
He was entirely too distracted by the immaculate cleanliness of his new headquarters.
I walked up the stone stairs, the caffeine patch on my neck beginning to lose its potency.
The heavy, suffocating weight of my physical exhaustion returned.
But I had won.
I had successfully manipulated humanity’s strongest soldier into letting me take a nap.
I navigated the labyrinthine hallways of the upper floors until I found the designated male barracks.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open.
Eren was inside.
He was on his hands and knees, frantically scrubbing the wooden floorboards with a tiny, inadequate bristle brush.
He was covered in sweat and dust.
He looked up at me, his eyes wide with panic.
“Kai!
What are you doing up here?!
You have to finish your sectors before sundown!”
“My sectors are entirely sanitized, Eren,” I replied lazily, walking over to the nearest cot.
“Sanitized?
How?!”
“I utilized the fundamental laws of hydrodynamics to aggressively enforce hygiene,” I answered, dropping my toolbox onto the floor.
I collapsed backward onto the thin mattress.
I didn’t even bother to take my boots off.
“You can’t go to sleep!” Eren hissed, scrambling over to my bed.
“Captain Levi is going to inspect everything!
If he catches you sleeping, he’ll kill you!”
“Captain Levi is currently experiencing a euphoric breakdown in the cellar because I stripped fifty years of grease off the wine racks,” I mumbled, pulling my flat cap down over my eyes.
“I am legally untouchable for the next twelve hours.”
I mentally activated my [Nap Anywhere] passive skill.
“Wake me up if the castle is actively on fire, Eren.”
“Otherwise, you do not exist.”
The world instantly faded to black.
The chaotic, terrifying reality of the Survey Corps vanished.
For the first time since the Fall of Trost, I actually slept.
It was a deep, dreamless, mathematically perfect state of unconsciousness.
When I finally woke up, the sun was streaming brightly through the narrow gothic windows of the barracks.
I felt completely, entirely restored.
My micro-tears had healed.
My lactic acid was purged.
I sat up, stretching my arms over my head with a loud groan.
I looked across the room.
Eren was fast asleep on the floor, clutching his tiny wooden scrub brush.
He had passed out from sheer exhaustion.
I let out a slow sigh, standing up and grabbing a blanket off a nearby cot.
I tossed it over my idiot brother.
I walked out of the barracks, heading down toward the dining hall to secure my morning caffeine.
But as I reached the bottom of the grand staircase, I stopped.
The massive wooden doors of the castle were completely blown open.
Standing in the entrance hall, vibrating with absolute, terrifying manic energy, was Section Commander Hange Zoe.
She was surrounded by three massive wooden crates.
“KAI YEAGER!” Hange screamed, her voice echoing off the spotless limestone walls.
“I brought the titanium alloys you requested!”
“Now show me how you bypassed the gas restrictor plates!”
My threat-assessment radar pinged violently.
I slowly turned around, fully intending to walk right back up the stairs and go back to sleep.
But Captain Levi stepped out of the dining hall, entirely blocking my escape route.
He was holding a cup of tea.
He looked at me with cold, unamused grey eyes.
“You negotiated for a workshop, brat,” Levi stated flatly.
“The four-eyes is your new supplier.”
“Deal with it.”
I looked at Levi.
I looked at the manic, screaming scientist in the doorway.
I looked at the heavy wooden crates of raw materials.
‘The universe possesses a truly horrific sense of humor,’ I noted internally.
I pulled my flat cap down over my eyes, letting out a heavy, depressed sigh.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
“But I require exactly thirty minutes to brew my coffee.”
“If anyone speaks to me before I consume it, I will build an explosive device out of those titanium alloys.”
I walked toward the kitchen, entirely ignoring Hange’s excited squeals.
The apocalypse was officially in full swing.
And my logistical workload had just violently increased.