Chapter 4
Three whole months had passed since that fateful night...
Three months since the farewell to Fij Ackerman—the brave soldier, the brilliant leader, and the loving father who was cruelly taken away by battle.
Since then, everything had changed in the Shiganshina district.
The suffocating silence that enveloped the alleys, the glances of people avoiding any talk of the past, and the tears that quietly slipped from the corners of their eyes... the entire neighborhood lived in silent mourning.
More than just the loss of a Scout Regiment commander, Fij's departure was a harsh blow to everyone who knew him.
At the heart of this sorrow was Aria Stans, the wife who bore her love quietly in her chest, weeping every night in silence.
As for Rio, he grew up before his time.
He was no longer the impulsive boy who ran through the fields excited to hear his father's adventures.
Now, he carried the gaze of a man silently suffering, but inside, a fire that never ceased to burn.
His friends did not leave him alone in his grief.
Eren came to him every morning, asking him to go out for a short walk.
Mikasa sat silently beside him, offering her quiet presence that comforted without words.
And Armin? He read to him from books, trying to open doors of imagination and provide him a window to escape the pain.
At first, Rio did not utter a word.
His eyes watched the images on the pages, but he didn't see them.
All he saw was his father's lifeless body, his cold hands, and his features forever gone.
But little by little, his heart began to heal—not from the pain, for pain has no cure—but from the shock.
He was learning how to place it safely inside his heart without letting it break him.
While the neighborhood slowly lived in the shadows of sorrow, Rio was carving out a different path for himself.
He swore to himself, again and again, that he would not let his father's death be in vain.
He would not be just a name mentioned in the Scout Regiment's obituary.
He would be the one—his son—to make the Titans pay.
He thought long and hard about how to start, where to begin.
He had not yet entered the academy, but he was secretly training with the Three-Dimensional Maneuver Gear his father left him.
It wasn't easy—it was painful. Every time he touched the gear, he remembered his father's promise: "When you grow up, I'll teach you how to use it, but first promise me you'll be first in your class…"
A sad smile always accompanied him whenever those words echoed in his mind.
Now, without waiting to grow up as his father planned, he carried the gear himself, learning to use it, falling, rising, and trying again.
But luckily for the small Ackerman family, Fij had not left them entirely alone.
In his room, behind wooden panels, there was a small safe containing a large sum of money he had saved to buy a new home far from danger.
A house outside Shiganshina, in one of the safe zones inside Rose Wall.
Aria couldn't believe when she found the money. She felt as if her husband's spirit was still protecting them.
With money came security, at least from need.
They could live comfortably without worrying about food or debts, which gave Rio a greater chance to dedicate himself to his sole goal:
"Eliminating the Titans."
Every night, sitting near the window, he stared at the distant wall, imagining what lay beyond it, what secrets it might hold.
The monsters who had taken his father were no longer just a threat—they had become personal enemies, each with a name, a face... and a date.
"I will train... and become a soldier before I'm even enlisted."
He knew time waits for no one, and the Titans do not distinguish between child and man, and the future would not be written for him unless he wrote it himself—with his sword and his burning heart seeking vengeance.
Rio sat alone in his room, in that corner where his father used to sit and repair his gear.
The air was heavy, and the scent still carried traces of machine oil and leather.
Before him on the table lay the Three-Dimensional Maneuver Gear, silent like a mechanical beast waiting to be awakened.
Rio had never worn the gear before, but he remembered clearly, every detail, the night his father told him how to put it on:
"Listen, son, this gear is not just a tool, it's an extension of your body. If you don't respect it, it will kill you before you kill with it. First, fasten the lower belt, then the shoulders, then install the gas tanks, and finally make sure the blades are secure... everything starts with balance."
His father's voice still echoed in Rio's ears.
Rio left the house, recalling those memories slowly while starting to apply what he had learned.
It took time, and he fell many times, even hitting his forehead on a nearby tree and bleeding. But he never stopped.
Every bruise was a step closer to his dream, and every wound healed quickly in an unnatural way, white smoke rising as if his forehead was burning over fire.
Days and weeks passed, and Rio went out at night toward the orchards nearby, training in the dark, among thick branches that hid him from sight.
The gear was heavy—heavier than he imagined. Every move exhausted him; every jump sent shocks through his small bones.
Worse were the blades—half his body length and heavy enough to make his balance fragile.
He fell often, hitting trunks, crashing to the ground, rolling, but never stopping. Every fall was a path to strength.
Over time, his body adapted. He learned how to distribute weight and use gravity to his advantage.
He began to fly between the trees for brief moments... but he was flying.
Despite progress, he faced a problem that nearly killed his dream early: the gas.
He consumed it at a frightening rate. The gear could not last more than half an hour of intense training before becoming useless—like an empty box.
Fortunately, Takashi came to Fij's house every time to check on the family, feeling guilty because he blamed himself for Fij's death. He wanted to make sure the family lacked nothing.
Every time he came, he brought a cart loaded with gas tanks, and Rio could take two bottles each time.
But Rio realized sooner or later Takashi would discover the secret, and he didn't want anyone to know he was using his father's maneuver gear.
Here, Rio faced a harsh truth: he could not buy gas. It was expensive, sold only to authorized soldiers, and requesting it directly would raise suspicions.
Worse, owning the gear itself was illegal. According to island law, anyone carrying the maneuver gear without being officially enlisted in the Scout Regiment is considered a rebel and traitor, punishable by imprisonment or exile.
If his secret was revealed, he could lose his freedom before achieving his dream.
That night, Rio sat for hours in the family library, flipping through his father's notebooks.
He read every note Fij had written about missions, combat, and modifications he made to the gear.
Until—he found what he was searching for.
"A method for manufacturing alternative gas for the Three-Dimensional Maneuver Gear."
It was a yellowed sheet, hidden inside a chemistry book, on which his father wrote:
"If you lose access to gas supplies, this alternative method will at least give you a chance to survive. It's not as strong as the main one, but it works."
Those words ignited a spark in Rio's heart.
He started gathering equipment, sneaking into blacksmiths' and carpenters' markets, asking smart questions, buying discreetly, and hiding everything in a secret storage behind the house.
Then, the work began.
Amid piles of papers, bottles, and unfamiliar tools, Rio Ackerman breathed slowly, his eyes fixed on the open page before him.
The page held his father's notes from years ago, like a secret message from a man ahead of his time who left a lifeline for his only son.
The days were heavy, but this night was different... the night of reckoning.
Rio, exhausted from training and experiments, was about to test the most important thing he had worked on over the past months: producing alternative gas for the maneuver gear.
Before him, the tools were arranged meticulously:
Sodium carbonate, extracted from refined wood ash in a simple furnace.
Acetic acid (concentrated vinegar), self-made by fermenting fruit and then distilling its vapor in a primitive apparatus.
Distilled water, collected by heating regular water and condensing its steam.
Small steel tanks, scavenged from old scrap behind the neighborhood workshop, cleaned and repainted to withstand high pressure.
His hands trembled slightly—not from fear but from focus.
"Everything must be precise... one mistake could blow the place up."
At the start of the process, he placed sodium carbonate in a glass bottle with a sealable top. Then, he slowly added the acid through a tilted tube. Immediately, the reaction began:
Bubbles rose, faint sounds echoed, and white steam condensed in the metal pipe.
Rio had prepared a tube connected directly to the tank, reinforced with a special valve that allowed gas to enter but prevented its escape.
Carbon dioxide (CO₂) generated from the reaction began to accumulate rapidly.
He used a small hand pump he had designed from old bike parts to gradually compress the gas into the tank.
Sweat poured down silently as his eyes never left the pressure gauge.
"I need at least 140 bars... anything less won't be enough for propulsion."
After two hours of continuous effort and gradually closing the valve, finally—the gauge hit the target mark.
Rio exhaled deeply.
He put out the flame, cleaned the area quickly, and hid all tools in the secret cabinet beneath the floor.
The moon hung high in the sky, casting silver rays through wooden windows.
Aria opened her bedroom door, glanced briefly at Rio lying on his bed… asleep.
She closed the door and went to sleep.
She knew she was tired, and when she slept, she wouldn't wake until sunrise.
But Rio... was fully awake.
He waited until he heard her deep, steady breathing, then quietly sat up, opened his small window, and lightly jumped out.
"I have only nine hours... that's enough."
He ran through the dark alleys, carrying a heavy bag containing the new tank and his father's maneuver gear.
The path was long, but he was used to it—how many times had he taken it to the secret training area deep within the dense trees?
When he arrived, he stood in the dirt clearing where he had left footprints before, but this time he was not coming to train only...
He was coming to fly.
He opened the bag, took out the metal tank, gazed at it long as if it held a beating soul.
He connected it to the gear. He heard the small metallic "click" that announced a secure link.
Then... he pulled the first gas pipe and adjusted the propulsion valves.
He stood upright, looked at the surrounding trees where he had fallen many times.
The wind was calm, and the moon illuminated the shadows, as if the entire universe awaited this moment.
He placed his hand on the trigger...
And smiled.
He pressed it.
"Fwoosh!"—the sound of gas emission pierced the silence. Rio shot forward at great speed, moved right, launched the second cable, and hooked it to a tree trunk, then jumped!
A moment in the air... his weight felt light, his movement fluid. No obstacles.
"It worked... the gas worked!"
He spun around a tall tree, then landed, then took off again.
He fell once but got right up. He hit a branch but regained his balance.
The gear worked. The tank held. And... Rio was flying.
For the first time, he felt like he was touching his dream.
He continued training for hours... jumping, launching, flipping in the air, learning how to twist his body instead of falling.
He progressed at an astonishing pace.
And when the sky began to turn a dull gray, he knew his time was up.
He removed the gear, hid everything, and washed the sweat and dirt from his face.
Then he ran back home before the clock struck seven, jumped through the win
dow, and lay on his bed, his breath still heavy from exhaustion.
Mom entered moments later, looked at him, and smiled.
"He's still asleep... good."
As for Rio, under the covers, his lips trembled with a victorious smile.
To be continued...