Lock had never developed the habit of wasting food.
He finished all five plates, assuming he had simply been hungry after an exhausting day.
A large appetite was normal for someone used to intense training.
What he did not consider was that his current body was only thirteen years old—and had never trained a day in its life.
After finishing his meal, Lock washed his own plates, ignoring the servants' attempts to stop him.
Then he jogged a full lap around the estate and practiced several fist routines as post-meal exercise.
Old habits from his previous life were not easily discarded.
And he had no intention of discarding them.
When he returned to his room, Elise was standing at the bathroom door, holding his change of clothes.
Damned feudal privilege.
Taking the clothes from her, Lock asked casually, "Where's Tristan? Isn't it usually him?"
He noticed Elise glance at him briefly before replying in her usual calm tone, "The Lord dismissed him. I am to assume his duties for the time being."
"Will you be staying in Tristan's room from now on?"
"Yes."
Lock felt a headache forming.
"Then go back to your own room and rest. I'll wash up and sleep on my own."
Elise looked at him once more—then silently stepped into the servant's room beside his bedroom.
That girl…
After bathing, Lock did not immediately go to bed.
Instead, he sat at his desk, took out paper and pen, and began outlining the sequence of major events he remembered.
To be safe, he wrote in Chinese.
Three years later—Trost District attack. Eren transforms for the first time. Battle of Trost. Gate sealed with a boulder.
Marco dies around that time.
Eren joins the Survey Corps after the trial.
Annie enters the Military Police.
Erwin attempts to capture Annie using Eren as bait—fails. Annie crystallizes.
Then the Beast Titan appears.
Ymir, Reiner, and Bertholdt are exposed.
Hannes dies to the Smiling Titan. Eren activates the Coordinate—can command Pure Titans.
The Royal Government attempts to seize Eren and Historia.
Kenny and the Interior Anti-Personnel Control Squad.
Military coup. The false king overthrown. Darius Zackly takes control. Historia becomes queen.
The nobles… purged.
At that thought, Lock shook his head.
He had no intention of ending up strapped into that infamous Artistic Torture Device.
Unless…
Unless the Leon family declares their stance early. Support the military during the uprising. Make loyalty unmistakable from the start.
He would need to discuss that with his father.
Then came the operation to retake Wall Maria.
He did not know the detailed sequence. Only that the Survey Corps was nearly wiped out, Erwin died, and the truth in the basement revealed Marley.
Later…
The Rumbling.
Eren destroyed most of the outside world.
The survivors stopped him.
Eren died.
The Power of the Titans disappeared.
Eighty percent of humanity beyond the island perished.
Lock exhaled slowly.
If he wanted to survive, the key was simple—stay close to the main current of events. Align with the military during the coup.
Joining the Cadet Corps was the correct first step.
After organizing his thoughts, he rubbed his brow.
Then he lay down and fell asleep.
…
In the endless darkness of his dream, a cold mechanical voice suddenly echoed.
[System initialization complete.]
[Select one discipline to learn.]
Lock found himself facing a translucent interface listing various categories.
Unarmed combat.
Weapons.
Even medical knowledge.
Some were familiar. Some he had heard of. Others meant nothing to him.
[Energy reserves are insufficient. One selection available.]
Half-conscious, Lock chose a style he recognized—
Form-Intention Fist.
It was the discipline used by the champion who had defeated him.
[Selection confirmed. Knowledge transfer in progress.]
A torrent of information flooded his mind.
Stances.
Breathing rhythms.
Body alignment.
Explosive force generation.
He felt as though he had returned to that tournament arena once more.
But this time, he did not use the Eight Extremes.
He used Form-Intention.
And he won.
"Young Master. Young Master."
Lock opened his eyes.
Elise's smooth, pale face came into view.
Seeing that he was awake, she said evenly, "Please rise. The Lord has instructed that you attend Office Hours today."
"Office Hours?"
What was that?
What kind of work required him so early?
Searching his memories yielded no clear explanation.
Still, under Elise's steady gaze, he reluctantly got out of bed.
With her assistance, he dressed and washed.
When she began applying powder, he frowned.
"No powder. It looks too delicate."
"And don't let me see this outfit again. Do nobles truly dress like this? It's awful. Something simpler."
After dressing, Lock examined his reflection.
A blond boy stared back at him.
He hardly looked thirteen.
Perhaps that was simply the effect of noble upbringing.
…
From Elise's brief explanation, Lock finally understood what "Office Hours" meant.
After resigning from his position as a Mitras councilor due to illness, Ash Leon had shifted his focus to estate management and commercial partnerships.
He collaborated with merchant guilds, oversaw vineyard production, and evaluated investment proposals.
Each month, representatives from various guilds and independent entrepreneurs presented their plans in hopes of securing Leon's backing.
Office Hours meant sitting in the drawing room and listening to them promote their ideas.
When Lock entered the first-floor reception room, an elderly man in a formal tuxedo and white gloves stood waiting.
"Uncle?"
Buffon.
Sixty-five years old.
Head butler of the Leon family.
He had served Lock's grandfather and was Ash's most trusted aide.
In his youth, he had served in the Central Military Police.
Buffon gestured for Lock to sit.
Once seated, he handed him a booklet.
"Today's visitors are listed here. Those marked have already received the Lord's approval for investment."
Lock flipped through it casually.
"So he's already made the decisions. Why call me here?"
Buffon smiled faintly. "For you to meet them. And for them to meet you."
Lock said nothing.
Then his eyes paused on a name.
Moblit Berner—Vice Captain, Fourth Squad, Survey Corps.
Lock looked up.
"Why is someone from the Survey Corps here? We don't manufacture military equipment."
Buffon did not answer directly.
He merely offered a knowing smile.
Two hours of polite conversation and forced smiles later, the Survey Corps representative finally entered.
He wore a simple white shirt. His appearance was ordinary. His posture was slightly restrained.
Buffon asked routinely, "Wine or black tea?"
"Black tea, please. Thank you."
Moblit glanced toward the main seat and appeared surprised.
Instead of the aging Ash Leon, a child sat there.
He had not visited in over a year.
"May I inquire about Councilor Ash?"
Lock studied him for a moment. No immediate personal memory surfaced.
"My father's health prevents him from receiving guests," Lock said with a polite smile. "Mr. Moblit, how may we assist you today?"
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