Phase 0001a: False Peace (Part 1)

Heliopolis Park Gazebo

Park District

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

11:00 UTC, January 25th, Cosmic Era 71

"Y'know, Kira, I'm suddenly glad that we don't have to worry about war hitting us so far," Kamito said.

Kira glanced up from her advanced laptop screen, amethyst eyes reflecting the morning light filtering through the gazebo's decorative latticework. Her F-cup chest rose beneath her black tank top as she shifted position on the wooden bench, green cargo pants rustling against the seat. At fifteen, she'd grown taller than when they'd first met—now standing at one hundred seventy centimeters—but her expression remained as thoughtful as ever.

"What do you mean?" she asked, fingers pausing over her keyboard. The news feed on her screen showed another somber report from the Earth sphere, statistics scrolling past in clinical white text.

Kamito adjusted his position across from her, his blue T-shirt with the Muay Thai design stretched across his broader shoulders. The past year had been kind to him—he now stood at one hundred eighty centimeters and had filled out his frame nicely. His brown socks peeked above his white sneakers as he crossed his ankles beneath the table.

"Look at everything that's happened since the Tragedy of Copernicus," he said, gesturing toward her laptop screen where another casualty report dominated the headlines. "February 5th, Cosmic Era 70 changed everything. One terrorist attack wipes out the UN leadership and most of the sponsor nation representatives on the moon, and suddenly we're living in a completely different world."

Kira's brow furrowed as she minimized her homework assignment—some complex programming exercise that would have made most students' heads spin. "The Alaska Declaration followed pretty quickly after that."

"Two days," Kamito confirmed, pulling up his own news feed on his laptop. The blue glow of the screen cast shadows across his face. "February 7th. The Atlantic Federation basically declared war on every Coordinator in existence. Blamed us for Copernicus, called it an act of war against all Naturals."

The gazebo fell quiet except for the distant hum of Heliopolis's atmospheric processors. Morning joggers passed by on the nearby paths, their conversations a low murmur that didn't quite reach the secluded study spot the two had claimed.

"OMNI's been getting more aggressive ever since," Kira said, scrolling through another article. Her tank top shifted as she leaned forward, the blue sports bra beneath visible at the neckline. "The Earth Alliance formation wasn't exactly subtle about their intentions."

"Four major power blocs deciding that Coordinators are the enemy," Kamito muttered, his hazel eyes darkening. "Atlantic Federation, Eurasian Federation, Republic of East Asia, South Africa Union. That's most of Earth's military might pointed directly at the PLANTs."

A pain flickered through his left frontal lobe—his past life memories stirring. He knew how this story was supposed to go, but living through it felt different than watching it unfold on a screen. The weight of real consequences pressed down on every news report, every casualty figure.

"The Bloody Valentine Tragedy was the worst part," Kira said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kamito's jaw tightened. "February 14th. Valentine's Day. Someone thought it would be poetic to nuke a civilian agricultural colony." His fingers gripped his laptop edge hard enough to leave marks. "Two hundred forty-three thousand, seven hundred twenty-one people. Gone."

"The official reports still claim the PLANTs self-destructed Junius Seven," Kira said, her tone carrying the bitter edge of someone who'd read too many propaganda pieces. "Anyone with half a brain knows that's garbage. You don't accidentally launch a nuclear strike from a Moebius Mobile Armor."

"The Roosevelt," Kamito added. "Agamemnon-class vessel. They have the ship records, the launch data, everything. But somehow it's still the PLANTs' fault according to Earth Alliance media."

Kira pulled up another news feed, this one showing grainy footage of debris fields floating in space. "My programming instructor mentioned that his cousin lived on Junius Seven. Worked in the hydroponic labs. Had two kids."

The morning breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of nearby trees and carrying the scent of the colony's carefully maintained gardens. Kamito watched Kira's expression shift from analytical to something more personal, more hurt.

"And now we've got the Jovian Lizards to worry about on top of everything else," he said, trying to shift the conversation to something less immediately painful.

"Those are still just rumors, right?" Kira asked, though her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "I mean, aliens from the Jupiter sphere launching fleets through these... what do they call them? Chulips?"

"Chulips," Kamito confirmed, the word feeling strange on his tongue. His right frontal lobe twinged—current life memories insisting this was new information, while his left side whispered warnings about technologies that made conventional beam weapons useless. "The reports are scattered, but consistent. Some kind of dimensional gateway that opens and releases swarms of autonomous attack drones."

"Autonomous," Kira repeated, her programmer's mind latching onto the technical implications. "That suggests an AI system sophisticated enough to operate independently across interplanetary distances."

"Supposedly, our beam weapons can't even touch them," Kamito said, scrolling through a classified report that had leaked onto certain forums. "Whatever defensive technology they're using makes them practically untouchable."

Kira sighed as she watched the news while typing another report. "So we've got a war between Earth and the PLANTs, plus potential alien invaders, and here we are sitting in a park doing homework on Heliopolis like none of it matters."

"Orb's neutrality has its advantages," Kamito admitted, though the words felt hollow. His past life memories carried knowledge of just how fragile that neutrality would prove to be. "For now, anyway."

The refugee camp footage flickered across Kira's laptop screen, showing rows of makeshift tents stretching toward a dusty horizon. Children with hollow eyes stared at the camera while aid workers distributed what meager supplies remained. The male anchor's voice carried that practiced neutrality journalists adopted when delivering devastating statistics.

"The refugee camp in South Africa has been suffering from a chronic shortage of food and relief supplies, endangering the lives of 1.2 million people."

Kamito watched Kira's fingers dance across her keyboard, somehow maintaining perfect typing accuracy while her amethyst eyes tracked the news feed. Her ability to multitask bordered on supernatural—though given she was the Ultimate Coordinator, perhaps that wasn't surprising. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling his shoulders pop after hunching over his laptop for the past hour.

"Kira, I hope you can focus on the school work as well as possible while still paying attention to the news," he said, though his tone carried more admiration than concern.

"Don't worry, Kamito-kun." Her response came without missing a keystroke. "I've got it."

The news feed transitioned with a soft chime, and a female reporter's voice filled the gazebo's quiet space. Her professional demeanor barely masked the tension underlying her words.

"We'll now bring you images from the Kaohsiung front where heavy fighting is in progress." The screen shifted to show smoke rising from distant buildings, Mobile Suits visible as dark specks against the hazy sky. "According to information just received, ZAFT forces have advanced to areas within six kilometers of Kaohsiung."

The Republic of East Asia's defensive lines were crumbling. Kamito recognized the tactical situation from his past life memories—urban warfare where ZAFT's superior Mobile Suit technology gave them decisive advantages over Earth Alliance's conventional forces. Tanks and fighter jets meant little against GINNs that could leap between buildings and shrug off most conventional weaponry.

A soft whirring interrupted his analysis as something small and mechanical descended from the trees above. The robot bird—about the size of a sparrow but clearly artificial with its metallic green plumage and glowing blue eyes—landed delicately atop Kira's laptop monitor. Its head tilted at that characteristic angle real birds used when examining something curious.

"Birdy?" The robot's synthesized voice carried an interrogative tone, as if asking permission to stay.

Kamito perked up, grateful for the distraction from increasingly grim war coverage. The little robot represented something pure—technology used for companionship rather than destruction. "Oh, hey, it's Birdy." He leaned forward to get a better look at the intricate mechanical work. "Didn't you say a friend of yours made it for you?"

The typing stopped.

Kira's head turned slowly, her gaze shifting to catch him from the right corner of her vision. The morning light caught her eyes in a way that made them seem to glow with an inner fire. "I don't recall telling anyone about Birdy's origins." Her voice carried a note of suspicion that made Kamito's stomach drop. "How did you know that a friend of mine made it for me?"

Oops. The thought crashed through Kamito's mind like a runaway Mobile Armor. I need to watch my mouth at times like this.

His past life memories had betrayed him again. In the original timeline—the anime he'd watched—Athrun Zala had built Birdy as a gift for Kira. But they'd been childhood friends in that version, and Kira had been male. Here, in this reality, he had no legitimate reason to know about Birdy's creator. The robot wasn't mass-produced; it was a unique, hand-crafted piece of engineering.

It's going to be a tough pill for her to swallow, knowing what I do about her, at least according to the original material.

His mind raced through potential explanations. He could claim he'd overheard her mention it to someone else, but Kira's memory was too good for that lie to hold. He could pretend it was a lucky guess based on the robot's obvious custom construction, but that felt weak. The truth—that he possessed memories from another life where he'd watched her story unfold as entertainment—would sound insane.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by Birdy's mechanical chirping and the distant news report still playing. Kira's expression had shifted from suspicious to analytical, those brilliant eyes dissecting his reaction like she would a complex programming problem.

"Kira! Kamito!"

The call echoed across the park, and Kamito nearly collapsed with relief. Someone approached from the walking path, their voice carrying the kind of urgency that demanded immediate attention. Whatever explanation he'd have to craft for his slip could wait.

For now.

As Kira and Kamito looked in the direction of the one who called out to them, Kamito saw it was Tolle Koenig and Miriallia Haw, two of their classmates from Professor Kato's classroom.

Tolle jogged toward them with his characteristic easy gait, coffee-brown hair catching the morning sunlight as it bounced with each step. His pale green button-up shirt hung open over a blue t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that casual way that somehow looked effortless on him. Black pants and blue tennis shoes completed his relaxed ensemble. At fifteen, he carried himself with the kind of laid-back confidence that made him popular with their classmates—the type of guy who could defuse tension with a joke or rally people together when needed.

Miriallia followed close behind, her light brown hair with its distinctive orange shade swaying as she moved. The color caught the light beautifully, parted down the middle of her bangs and curling up in the back in a style that framed her face perfectly. Her ocean blue eyes sparkled with their usual mixture of curiosity and gentle concern. At one hundred fifty-nine centimeters and fifty-two kilograms, she moved with a dancer's grace despite wearing practical brown loafers. Her orange and white dress with detached orange sleeves looked cheerful against the park's greenery, white knee-high socks completing the ensemble that somehow managed to be both cute and sophisticated.

Tolle... I promise I'll ensure your survival so you can be with Miriallia as your wife. The thought struck Kamito with painful intensity as his left frontal lobe twinged—past life memories reminding him of what was supposed to happen to the coffee-haired young man. In the original timeline, Tolle wouldn't survive what was coming. The knowledge sat in his stomach like a lead weight.

"So this is where you're hangin' out," Tolle said as he reached the gazebo, his green eyes taking in their study setup with amusement. He gestured broadly at their laptops and scattered notes. "Professor Kato has been trying to get ahold of you two."

"What, again?" Kira asked, her fingers automatically moving to close her news feed. The irritation in her voice was unmistakable—Professor Kato had a habit of piling additional work on his most capable students.

Miriallia stepped up beside Tolle, her expression apologetic but determined. "He asked us to bring you two to him right away." She tucked a strand of her orange-tinted hair behind her ear, ocean blue eyes moving between Kira and Kamito. "Well? Are you assisting him on something else?"

"Too much," Kira said, gesturing at her laptop screen where multiple assignment windows remained minimized. "We still haven't even finished going through the stuff he dumped on us yesterday."

The news report continued playing in the background, and suddenly someone in the crowd on screen yelled out, "It's begun! Hurry! Hurry! Run away! That way's just as dangerous!"

The urgency in the distant voice made all four students pause. Tolle's laid-back demeanor shifted slightly as he walked closer to get a better view of Kira's computer screen. "Huh. Some development in the news?"

"Yep," Kamito said, watching his friend's expression grow more serious. "It's specifically in Kaohsiung, Taiwan."

"Here, let me pull it up for you," Kira said, her fingers dancing across the trackpad to bring the news feed back to full screen.

As the footage magnified, a male news reporter appeared, his right hand pressed to his earpiece as he spoke into a microphone. Smoke and distant explosions formed the backdrop behind him. "I'm within seven kilometers of Kaohsiung, where the sounds of fierce combat continue to echo."

Tolle's eyes widened in shock, his casual expression evaporating completely. The reality of the war—something that had felt distant and abstract despite the constant news coverage—suddenly became tangible. "If this is footage from last week, they may have already taken over Kaohsiung."

"Yeah," Kira said quietly, closing her laptop with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Miriallia's face paled slightly, her orange and white dress suddenly seeming too bright against the somber mood that had settled over the group. "Kaohsiung isn't very far from us, is it?" Her voice carried the tremor of someone trying to maintain composure. "Will the homeland be all right?"

"Birdy!" the robotic bird announced, its mechanical wings flapping as it took to the air above Heliopolis. The little robot seemed oblivious to the tension below, its programmed responses carrying an almost childlike innocence.

Tolle straightened up, forcing his characteristic grin back into place. "Sure," he said, though the confidence in his voice sounded deliberately manufactured. "There's nothing to worry about. Oh, they're close by, but our nation's neutral. Can't see Orb turning into a war zone."

Kamito felt his left frontal lobe pulse with sharp pain as past life memories flooded through him. Images of Heliopolis under attack, of ZAFT forces infiltrating the colony, of the chaos that would consume their peaceful world in a few hours. The knowledge felt like swallowing broken glass.

"Or so it seems right now," he said carefully, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "Remember, just because we're neutral now, it doesn't mean we won't be neutral later."

Miriallia's ocean blue eyes widened with shock, her hand moving instinctively to grip Tolle's arm. "Kamito-kun, what do you mean by that?" The tremor in her voice had grown more pronounced, and her knuckles showed white where she held onto her boyfriend.

Tolle's green eyes flashed with something between confusion and mild outrage. "Hey, come on, man." His voice carried an edge that Kamito had rarely heard from his laid-back friend. "That's pretty pessimistic, don't you think? Orb's been neutral since the country was founded. We're not about to throw that away just because there's fighting somewhere else."

The tension in the gazebo ratcheted up several notches. Kamito could see the hurt in Tolle's expression—not anger, exactly, but the kind of wounded confusion that came from hearing a friend voice the fears you'd been trying not to think about.

"Look," Kamito said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He needed to defuse this without revealing how much he actually knew. "I'm just saying that neutrality works great until someone decides it doesn't. The war's getting bigger every day, and Heliopolis has... strategic value."

"Strategic value?" Miriallia asked, her grip on Tolle's arm tightening.

"We're positioned right between Earth and the PLANTs," Kamito explained, choosing his words with surgical precision. "Plus, we've got Morgenroete's industrial facilities. In a war, those kinds of resources become tempting targets."

Tolle's expression softened slightly, though the concern remained. "Okay, but that's like saying a battle could break out in Heliopolis today, somewhere in the next five hours. Technically possible, but not exactly likely."

The irony of those words hit Kamito like a physical blow. His friend had unknowingly chosen the exact timeframe when everything would fall apart. Within the next five hours—when ZAFT would infiltrate Heliopolis and steal the new Gundam prototypes, when their peaceful world would shatter into chaos and violence.

"You're probably right," Kamito said, hating himself for the lie. "Just... keep your eyes open, okay? Both of you. The world's changing faster than we think."

Kira's amethyst eyes had gone unfocused, staring at something beyond the physical space of the gazebo. Her laptop remained closed on the table, forgotten, while Birdy circled overhead with mechanical precision. The distant look on her face suggested her brilliant mind was processing something far removed from their current conversation—perhaps running through combat scenarios, probability calculations, or simply trying to reconcile Kamito's ominous warnings with Heliopolis's peaceful reality.

Tolle noticed her thousand-yard stare and moved closer, leaning down until his face entered her field of vision. "Hey, Earth to Kira—"

"Wha—!" Kira jerked backward on the bench, her body reacting instinctively to the sudden invasion of personal space. Her hands gripped the wooden seat for balance as she blinked rapidly, amethyst eyes refocusing on Tolle's concerned face mere inches from her own.

"What's up with you, anyway?" Tolle asked, straightening back up with his hands on his hips. His green eyes carried genuine worry beneath the casual tone. The morning light caught his coffee-brown hair as he shook his head slightly.

Kira's cheeks flushed slightly as she regained her composure, adjusting her black tank top where it had shifted during her startled movement. "Nothing. Just thinking about the programming assignment."

Tolle clearly didn't buy the explanation, but he let it slide with a shrug. "Let's go." He turned and started walking toward the path leading back to campus, his blue tennis shoes crunching on the gravel. "Professor Kato's probably timing us with a stopwatch at this point."

Miriallia fell into step beside him, her orange and white dress swaying as she moved. She glanced back over her shoulder, ocean blue eyes checking that Kira and Kamito were following. The concern in her expression hadn't fully faded—Kamito's words about neutrality had clearly struck a nerve.

Kira stood and gathered her laptop, sliding it into her bag with practiced efficiency. Birdy descended to perch on her shoulder, mechanical talons gripping gently through the fabric of her tank top. The little robot's red eyes swiveled to track Kamito as he packed up his own equipment.

They followed several paces behind their friends, maintaining a comfortable distance that allowed for private conversation if needed. Kamito noticed how Kira kept shooting him sidelong glances, clearly still puzzling over his knowledge about Birdy's origins. That particular conversation had been postponed, not forgotten.

The path wound through Heliopolis's carefully maintained park district, artificial sunlight warming their faces as they walked toward the colony carport in the distance.

---

Bridge

Marseilles III*-class* EAS Honorable

Docking Bay

Central Shaft

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

11:10 UTC, January 25th, Cosmic Era 71

The bridge's recycled air carried the faint metallic tang that every spacer knew—that particular mix of ozone and cleaning solvent that meant civilization, safety, and the end of a long haul through the black. Mu La Flaga pushed off from the viewport, his tall frame rotating smoothly in the zero-g environment as he caught a handhold near Captain Riley's command chair.

"There you have it," Captain John Riley said, unhooking his white Atlantic Federation cap and letting it drift beside his head like a lazy satellite. The captain's graying blonde hair stuck up at odd angles in the absence of gravity, making him look younger than his years despite the crow's feet etched around his purple eyes. "This old ship has just completed its final mission. You've served admirably as an escort, Lieutenant La Flaga. I am in your debt."

"Sir," Mu said, his own tousled blond hair barely disturbed by the lack of gravity—a veteran spacer's cut, short enough to avoid the worst of zero-g's effects. He wore the same nondescript gray uniform as Riley, though his moved with the easy confidence of someone who'd spent more time in a cockpit than a wardroom. "I'm just glad we've arrived without incident. Any ZAFT vessels within the vicinity?"

"We've spotted two," Captain Riley said, stroking his mustache with one hand, "but it's no cause for alarm. They know they can't initiate any hostile action once we're docked."

Mu gave a single chuckle, the sound dry as recycled air. "Because it's neutral territory? What a joke that is."

John barked out a few laughs of his own, the sound bouncing off the bridge's close walls. "Well, it's thanks to them that our plans have progressed this far. We're fortunate that Earth has recognized Orb as a nation."

"Excuse us, Captain," a pilot said from John's right—one of eleven men floating in loose formation near the bridge's exit. Each wore the crisp uniforms of Atlantic Federation mobile suit pilots, their faces a mix of determination and barely contained excitement.

John looked to his right. "Hmm?"

The pilot and his ten fellows all saluted the captain, who returned it with practiced precision. The eleven pilots pushed off toward the exit, their movements coordinated enough to avoid collisions as they filed through the opening hatch.

Mu watched them go, his jaw tightening. Eleven grown men to pilot eleven machines. And somewhere on this colony, a fourteen-year-old girl waited to climb into the twelfth.

Some joke indeed.

Mu looked back at Captain Riley. "Y'know, something's bothering me."

"What would that be?"

The lieutenant's blue eyes tracked the last of the departing pilots as they disappeared through the hatch. He pushed himself closer to Riley's position, lowering his voice even though the bridge had mostly cleared out. The captain's purple gaze followed Mu's movement, waiting.

"I know we've ferried the grown men who are supposed to be pilots, but what do we need to do about the twelfth, and youngest, pilot?" Mu's fingers found the edge of a control panel, anchoring himself in place. "I'm personally against the idea of letting her go into battle, especially with the higher-ups as they are, but I hope that someone keeps her from going out there alone. For that matter…"

Riley's expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening. He'd been dreading this conversation for weeks, ever since the sealed orders had arrived detailing their human cargo. The captain ran a hand through his graying hair, the motion sending him into a slow drift that he corrected with practiced ease.

"Yes?"

"Think they can handle themselves alone on the ground?" Mu gestured toward the now-empty hatch. "Eleven pilots, sure, but they're still green. And with ZAFT sniffing around..."

The older man's shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of command settling on him like Heliopolis's artificial gravity. He reached for his cap, which had drifted near a sensor display, and turned it over in his hands rather than putting it back on.

John turned his attention back to Mu, a somber smile on his lips. "To answer your questions in order, I wish I could do something for her, but my hands are tied behind my back and to my feet, as it were." His voice carried the bitter edge of a career officer who'd learned when to fight the brass and when to swallow orders whole. "I'd rather avoid her going out into battle as much as you would, but there's nothing we can do about it, I'm afraid."

Mu's jaw worked silently. He'd seen the girl during transit—Stella Loussier, according to her file. Fourteen years old and already carrying herself with the hollow-eyed precision of someone who'd been broken down and rebuilt for a single purpose. The sight had made his stomach turn.

"As for the young men who went out just now," Riley continued, "I know they're young, but they're all top guns selected to be G-pilots." He shrugged, the gesture more resigned than confident. "They'll be just fine. However, someone like you would stick out like a sore thumb."

The captain wasn't wrong. Mu's reputation preceded him—the Hawk of Endymion, ace of the 7th Orbital Fleet, the man who'd turned the tide at Grimaldi Front. His presence on Heliopolis would raise questions from both ZAFT intelligence and the colony's own security forces. Questions that could compromise the entire G-Project before it got off the ground.

"Heh," Mu said almost immediately. The sound came out flat, humorless. "Still…"

Still, eleven kids with state-of-the-art machines and no real combat experience. Still, a fourteen-year-old weapon being handed over to scientists who see her as data points on a spreadsheet. Still, the whole damn war machine grinding forward with children as its fuel.

Riley caught the unfinished thought. His purple eyes reflected something that looked like shared guilt, the burden of men who'd spent their careers following orders that made tactical sense but left moral wreckage in their wake.

"Ah yes, the young pilot who shouldn't even be here," John said. He sighed, the sound carrying twenty years of compromises and necessary evils. "Unfortunately, her handlers from the Lodonia Labs are rather insistent that she provide 'practical' combat data for the program she's a part of."

The words hit Mu like debris from a hull breach. Lodonia Labs—he'd heard whispers about their work, rumors of Enhanced Humans and biological computers masquerading as people. The kind of research that made even hardened military officers uncomfortable when they thought no one was listening.

Practical combat data. As if Stella Loussier was a prototype mobile suit instead of a child who should be worried about schoolwork and friends, not target acquisition and kill ratios.

Mu grimaced. "Yeah, I was afraid of that…"

John looked at both of the helmsmen of his ship momentarily, his purple eyes tracking their positions at the navigation console. The two officers maintained their posts with professional discipline, but Mu caught the subtle tension in their shoulders—the kind that came from overhearing conversations about classified operations and children turned into weapons.

"As it stands, the higher-ups want the Lodonia Labs still around, for who knows what reason." John's voice carried the bitter resignation of a man who'd learned to navigate the political currents of military command. "They've invested quite a lot in the place."

The captain's fingers drummed against his thigh in a slow, frustrated rhythm. Mu had seen that gesture before—usually when Riley was forced to relay orders that made his skin crawl. The Lodonia Labs represented everything wrong with the Earth Alliance's approach to the war: the willingness to sacrifice individuals for abstract strategic advantages, the reduction of human beings to mere components in a larger machine.

Great… a headache because of Blue Cosmos, Mu thought, his jaw tightening as he processed the implications. And we can't do anything about it yet.

Blue Cosmos—the terrorist organization that had somehow wormed its way into the highest levels of Earth Alliance command. They preached genetic purity while simultaneously bankrolling programs that turned children into living weapons. The hypocrisy would have been laughable if it weren't so deadly. Mu had seen their handiwork firsthand: Enhanced Humans who fought with inhuman precision but carried themselves like broken dolls when the shooting stopped.

The worst part was how untouchable they'd become. Blue Cosmos had money, political connections, and enough true believers scattered throughout the military hierarchy to make any direct action against them career suicide. They hid behind rhetoric about Earth's survival while conducting experiments that would have made the old Mendel researchers blanch.

"Lieutenant La Flaga?"

Mu blinked, realizing he'd been staring at the viewport without seeing Heliopolis's rotating bulk beyond the reinforced transparent aluminum. Captain Riley was watching him with the careful attention of a commanding officer who'd learned to read his subordinates' moods.

"Captain Riley, I promise you this." The words came out steady, carrying the weight of conviction that had made Mu a legend in the pilot corps. "I will put a stop to the Lodonia Labs, all in the name of giving their experimental soldiers a place to call home without needing to return to that facility."

John's expression shifted, surprise giving way to something that looked like relief. The captain had been carrying the burden of his complicity in delivering Stella Loussier to her handlers, and Mu's promise offered something he hadn't expected—absolution, or at least the possibility of it.

The lieutenant knew he was making a commitment that could destroy his career. Going after Lodonia Labs meant going after Blue Cosmos, which meant stepping into a political minefield where one wrong move could see him court-martialed or worse. But some lines couldn't be crossed, and using children as weapons was one of them.

Besides, he thought with grim humor, what's the point of being the Hawk of Endymion if you can't ruffle some feathers when it counts?

The helmsmen at their stations had gone very still, their attention focused on their instruments with the kind of studied concentration that meant they were listening to every word. Mu didn't blame them—conversations like this had a way of defining careers, for better or worse.

"Enhanced Humans," Mu continued, his voice dropping to a more conversational tone that wouldn't carry beyond the bridge. "That's what they call them, right? Like giving it a clinical name makes it acceptable."

Riley nodded, his mustache twitching with distaste. "The reports are... unsettling. Biological computers, they say. Human minds optimized for combat performance."

"Optimized." Mu tasted the word like something bitter. "That's one way to describe breaking down a child's personality and rebuilding it from scratch."

The captain's hands clenched into fists, then slowly relaxed. John Riley had spent his career following orders, maintaining discipline, and keeping his personal feelings separate from his professional duties. But there were limits to what any decent human being could stomach, and they'd found his.

"The worst part," Riley said quietly, "is that it works. The combat data from their field tests shows performance metrics that regular pilots can't match."

Mu had seen those reports too—sanitized summaries that reduced human suffering to statistical analyses. Enhanced Humans demonstrated superior reaction times, improved spatial awareness, and an almost supernatural ability to predict enemy movements. What the reports didn't mention was the hollow look in their eyes, the way they spoke in clipped, precise sentences that sounded more like data readouts than conversation.

"Performance metrics," Mu echoed. "Right. Because that's what matters."

The lieutenant pushed off from the control panel, drifting closer to the viewport where L3 dominated the viewport. What he could see of Heliopolis's slow spin created an impression of tranquil routine—farming districts verdant with flourishing vegetation, housing sectors where families conducted their ordinary routines, academic institutions where youngsters studied literature and mathematics rather than elimination statistics and strategic positioning.

Somewhere in that rotating cylinder, Stella Loussier was probably being briefed on her upcoming assignment. Fourteen years old and already conditioned to see herself as a weapon rather than a person. The thought made Mu's chest tight with anger he couldn't afford to show.

John nodded. "That is an admirable and most honorable promise, Lieutenant. I pray that you succeed, with or without me."

"Right," Mu said, before looking back out the viewport.

---

Bridge

Nazca-class ZMSS Vesalius

Behind an asteroid

Fifteen kilometers away from the Orb Union Space Colony of Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

11:13 UTC, January 25th, Cosmic Era 71

"Try not to look so frustrated, Ades," Commander Rau Le Creuset said as he floated over to the tactical table behind his subordinate's seat.

The bridge of the Vesalius hummed with the controlled chaos of pre-operation tension. Officers monitored their stations with practiced efficiency, their green ZAFT uniforms a uniform sea of professional competence. The main viewport showed nothing but the pockmarked surface of their concealing asteroid, but every sensor array was focused on the rotating cylinder of Heliopolis fifteen kilometers distant.

Rau moved through the zero gravity with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent more time in space than on solid ground. His white commander's uniform, trimmed with black panels and gold accents, set him apart from the rest of the bridge crew. The distinctive half-mask covering the upper portion of his face caught the artificial lighting, its white surface as pristine as the day he'd first put it on.

Captain Fredrik Ades turned his chair to face Rau. "Well, I don't imagine it would be too late if we waited to hear back from the council, at least."

The captain's black uniform marked him as ship's command staff, its crisp lines maintained even in zero gravity. At twenty-eight, Ades carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who'd earned his position through competence rather than connections. His brown hair was regulation short, his black eyes steady as they met what he could see of Rau's gaze behind the mask.

Rau picked up a photo from the tactical table's magnetic clip. "It will be too late. I have a sixth sense about these things."

He tossed the photo toward Ades, who let it float past him in the zero gravity. The image showed the head of a Mobile Suit, its twin eyes and V-crest at the top of the face a stark departure from ZAFT's standard mono-eye design with its attached fin.

"If we don't seize the moment now, later we'll pay with our lives for our reluctance to take action."

The commander's voice carried absolute certainty, the kind that came from years of reading patterns others missed. Behind the mask, his blue eyes tracked the drifting photograph as it tumbled slowly through the bridge's atmosphere.

"And how sure are we about the authenticity of the information, Commander?" Ades asked.

The question came without challenge or doubt, just professional thoroughness. Fredrik Ades had served under Rau long enough to trust his instincts, but he also understood his role as the voice of caution when his commander's certainty might lead them into unnecessary risk.

"What are you referring to?"

"I mean the number of Mobile Suits that are supposed to be rolling out of Heliopolis."

The intelligence reports had been vague on exact numbers. Their source inside Morgenroete had provided schematics and confirmation of the project's existence, but operational security had prevented them from learning how many units were actually combat-ready. It could be five. It could be fifteen. That kind of uncertainty made tactical planning a nightmare.

Rau put a hand to his chin, considering. "Honestly, there's a 5% margin on either side of my certainty, namely 90% certain. I know there's between 5 and 15% probability that I will be wrong, but there's more probability of my being right."

The admission of potential error was characteristic of Rau's command style. He never claimed infallibility, just superior probability assessment. It was one of the reasons his subordinates trusted him—he acknowledged risk without letting it paralyze decision-making.

"Let's hope so, Commander." Ades's expression softened slightly, the professional mask slipping to reveal the man beneath. "I know my family wants me to return home ASAP, and I'm certain that Toby wants to know more about my time out in the front lines."

The mention of family shifted the conversation's tone. These weren't just officers discussing an operation; they were fathers, husbands, men with lives beyond their uniforms. The bridge crew continued their work, but the nearest operators adjusted their positions slightly, giving the two commanders a bubble of privacy.

"Ah, yes, your son. How old is he now?"

"He'll be turning eight on February first."

Eight years old. Young enough to still see his father as a hero, old enough to understand that daddy's job meant long absences and worried looks from mommy when the news mentioned ZAFT operations. Rau knew Fredrik video-called home whenever operational security permitted, reading bedtime stories across the light-seconds when duty kept him away.

"What do you think his grades will be like in the next ten years?"

The question might have seemed odd from another commander, but Rau had always taken genuine interest in his subordinates' families. It wasn't manipulation or calculated leadership—he simply understood that knowing what his people were fighting for made him better at keeping them alive to return to it.

"Hard to say, but I hope he gets in the top 10% of his school of choice, for his sake."

Top 10% meant options in the PLANTs. It meant choosing a career rather than taking what was available. It meant the possibility of a life that didn't involve floating behind asteroids, preparing to strike at neutral colonies because intelligence suggested they'd violated their neutrality.

"I wish the best for you and your family, Ades."

The words carried weight beyond courtesy. Rau had helped Fredrik navigate ZAFT's political minefield more than once, steering him away from assignments that would have put him in the crosshairs of the CLA's more aggressive supporters. The Coordinator Liberation Army might be a cancer within ZAFT, but it was a cancer with patrons in high places, and opposing them too openly invited retaliation.

In the meantime, I need to keep the Earth Alliance on its toes, because they don't need to have Mobile Suits at all in order to be a menace to the PLANTs and ZAFT.

Rau's thoughts turned to the larger strategic picture. The Earth Alliance's numerical superiority had always been their primary advantage. Adding Mobile Suit technology to that equation would tip the balance dangerously. But there were other factors at play now, complications that made every tactical decision a potential strategic catastrophe.

Yes, I really know what I'm talking about, given the attacks by the Jovian Lizards since the year before the war started.

The Jovian Lizards had changed everything. Their Tulips—or Chulips, depending on who was doing the translating—could appear anywhere, disgorging fleets of unmanned fighters and warships that shrugged off conventional weapons. Three colonies had already been evacuated after Jovian attacks, and the death toll from the initial encounters had been catastrophic.

Why else would I need to think this through more? There isn't any other reason.

But rushing into this operation without considering all angles would be foolish. Heliopolis was technically neutral, under Orb Union jurisdiction. Attacking it would have diplomatic repercussions that could drive Orb into the Earth Alliance's arms. On the other hand, allowing the Alliance to complete whatever they were building there could prove equally disastrous.

Now, while I can hardly trust the Jovians to play fair, I can't say that Nergal, the tech conglomerate, is on the up and up. I feel they might have something to do with this.

Nergal Heavy Industries had emerged very early in the Cosmic Era calendar, roughly Cosmic Era 8 or 9, with very little known about them by those outside the conglomerate. Their Distortion Field generators could theoretically counter the Jovian weapons that had proven so devastating; however, the company's origins remained murky. Rau had tried tracking their funding sources and hit walls that suggested intelligence agency involvement—but which intelligence agency?

The bridge's ambient noise continued around them—quiet conversations between stations, the hum of electronics, the occasional beep of a sensor alert. This was the calm before battle, the moment when decisions made would cascade into consequences that would echo for years.

"Commander? What are you thinking of?" Ades asked.

Rau's gaze remained fixed on the tactical display, watching the slow rotation of Heliopolis against the star field. The colony's agricultural blocks caught starlight as they turned, a reminder that thirty thousand civilians lived their daily lives within that spinning cylinder, unaware that armed ships waited in the shadows.

"Just a few things at once," Rau said. "Now, we need to be on the lookout for any warships that might seem like they're ZAFT vessels, but really aren't."

The words carried weight beyond their surface meaning. Fredrik straightened in his chair, understanding immediately what his commander was implying. The bridge crew continued their work, but Rau noticed several of them adjusting their positions slightly, ears turned toward the conversation.

"Do you mean the Coordinator Liberation Army?"

"Precisely, Ades."

The confirmation settled over the bridge like a cold weight. Everyone here had heard the rumors, the whispered reports of ZAFT ships appearing in battle zones only to commit atrocities that violated every rule of engagement Rau had drilled into his people. Ships that looked like theirs, bore ZAFT designations, but served a different master entirely.

Ades was about to speak again, but one of the bridge crew asked, "Commander, Captain, what identifying markers do we need to look out for regarding the Coordinator Liberation Army?"

Rau turned toward the voice. Marcus Parker, a Greencoat with brown hair and blue eyes, sat at the sensor station, his green uniform marking him as an enlisted crew rather than command staff. The young man's hands never stopped their work on the sensor controls, but his attention was fully focused on the conversation.

"Good question, Parker," Rau said. "Coordinator Liberation Army ships have 72 painted beads around the bridge of each ship they call their own."

The detail was specific enough to be useful, obscure enough that it might be missed by inexperienced observers. Rau had learned it from intelligence reports filed by survivors of CLA attacks—witness accounts that described the bizarre decoration adorning ships that had slaughtered civilians while flying ZAFT colors.

"Painted beads, Commander?" Parker asked.

His confusion was understandable. The detail seemed almost trivial compared to the gravity of what they were discussing. Why would a terrorist organization waste time with decorative elements that served no tactical purpose?

"Yes, because they're mocking Catholicism," Ades said. "I only know about this because my wife was born into a family of Catholic Christians, and her knowledge is essential in keeping things straight."

Fredrik's voice carried a slight edge of protective anger. His wife Elena had grown up in a devoutly Catholic household before the family emigrated to the PLANTs. Her faith remained important to her, and by extension to Fredrik, even if he didn't share her religious convictions. Seeing that faith twisted into a weapon by extremists struck him as particularly vile.

"What makes the beads they put on the bridges of their ships a mockery of Catholicism?"

"They're mocking the concept of the Catholic Rosary with that depiction."

The explanation prompted Parker to lean back in his chair, brow furrowed in thought. Like many Coordinators, his religious education had been minimal—the PLANTs' focus on scientific advancement often came at the expense of spiritual instruction.

"Rosary… a prayer necklace? Don't they have 108 beads on them?" Parker asked.

"You're thinking of Buddhist rosaries," Rau said. "While I don't know the specifics of the Buddhist ones, the Catholic rosaries have 72 beads to represent the number of high-ranking demons of the Lesser Key of Solomon."

The correction came from years of studying his enemies. Understanding the CLA required understanding their motivations, their symbolism, their twisted interpretation of religious doctrine. Rau had spent countless hours poring over intelligence reports, trying to comprehend how faith could be perverted into such malice.

"He's right, Parker," Ades said. "Also, when looking out for Mobile Suit launches, the Coordinator Liberation Army, or CLA for short, Mobile Suits have a mark on the right side of their torso, mainly to mock the death of Jesus Christ."

The religious education Fredrik had received through Elena proved valuable here. She'd explained the significance of various Christian symbols, the stories behind them, the reverence they held for believers. Seeing those same symbols used as marks of hatred made the CLA's perversion of faith even more apparent.

"Where on the torso?" Parker asked.

"Above his waist, if I remember right. It even pierced his right lung," Ades said.

The anatomical detail mattered. Intelligence analysts had noted the specific placement of the marking on CLA mobile suits, correlating it with religious iconography to understand the symbolism. It wasn't random—every element of their appearance had been chosen to convey their contempt for Christian faith.

"I recall that the mark came about after he perished, leading to the creation of blood oranges," Rau said.

The legend was obscure enough that few people knew it, which made it useful as an identification detail. Rau had learned it during his research into CLA symbolism, cross-referencing religious texts with intelligence reports to understand their methods.

"Huh? How did blood oranges come into this?" Parker asked.

The confusion in the young sensor operator's voice was understandable. The connection between religious history and agricultural development seemed tenuous at best, but legends often survived precisely because they linked seemingly unrelated concepts.

"Because when he died, his lungs filled up with water," Rau said. "According to legend, and I'm not saying this is true or false, a Roman centurion noticed that he was already dead and pierced him with his spear. The water came out of his body, splashing an orange tree, resulting in blood oranges."

The story served multiple purposes. It explained the CLA's choice of marking placement, provided context for their religious mockery, and gave the bridge crew a memorable detail to watch for in combat situations. Intelligence was often about connecting disparate pieces of information into coherent patterns.

"That's an interesting legend, Commander," Parker said. "The more you know, and all that, right?"

"Correct," Rau said. "Now, Ades, we want no more neutral colonies to be destroyed because of what's going on. If the CLA were to come by and 'assist' us in taking out our enemies…"

The unfinished sentence hung in the air like a threat. Everyone on the bridge understood what CLA "assistance" meant—wholesale slaughter, deliberate targeting of civilians, atrocities committed under ZAFT colors that would stain their organization's reputation for generations. The kind of war crimes that gave Blue Cosmos propaganda material and justified their calls for Coordinator extermination.

"I understand, Commander," Ades said. "I understand all too well."

Fredrik's voice carried the weight of a man who'd seen intelligence reports describing CLA operations. Entire settlements burned. Prisoners executed. Children used as human shields. All done while wearing uniforms identical to the ones they wore, piloting machines bearing ZAFT designations.

The CLA's true allegiances remained murky, but their methods were clear. They sought to radicalize the conflict, to eliminate any possibility of peaceful coexistence between Coordinators and Naturals. Whether they served some hidden agenda or simply thrived on chaos hardly mattered—their presence on this battlefield would turn a precision operation into a massacre.

Rau's mask caught the bridge lighting as he turned back toward the viewport. Somewhere in the darkness beyond, Heliopolis continued its slow rotation, its inhabitants unaware of the forces gathering around them. The operation ahead was dangerous enough without the added complication of extremist allies who might prove more threatening than the enemy they'd come to face.

---

Okay, as I've said, this is part 1 of the chapter. I'm expecting there to be 8 parts in total for this chapter. Any further updates about this will now officially wait until I have more ready to share... which is likely to be way later. Then again, I'll be holding back on the public releases of this story until after I get some people to read this story in some way here, first and foremost. Until next time.

Prologue

School Hallway

Sector D

Heliopolis Technical College, which is attached to a Morgenroete factory

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

18:00 UTC, December 31st, Cosmic Era 69

"Report. Is the target in your line of sight?"

Kamito Shounin slowed his pace. The woman's voice crackled through someone's radio nearby—too close for comfort. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as he adjusted his stride.

Whoever they're talking about, I hope it's not me. I have too much on my plate, especially for people who want to sign me up for fights. There's no way anyone will get me to a battle in the arena outside my sanctioned time.

The hallway stretched empty in both directions. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting stark shadows against the institutional white walls. Not a soul in sight, which made the radio chatter all the more concerning.

Wait, what if they are talking about me? There's no one else here, barring whoever that woman was talking to… wherever they are. I'd best be careful.

A vending machine caught his eye as he approached a T-junction. The glass front displayed rows of snacks, each marked with neat ¥100 price tags. Why the Orb Union clung to Japanese currency when the rest of the colonies had moved on—that was a mystery for historians to puzzle over. Kamito stopped in front of the machine. The glass offered a decent reflection of the corridor behind him.

"Affirmative, mission control. The target is approaching a vending machine. Looks like he's hungry."

Target? Shit…

His muscles coiled tight. Someone wanted him dead, and he wasn't planning to make it easy. If anything, he'd return the favor.

Kamito reached for his wallet with deliberate slowness. His fingers found the coin pouch, brushing past his fighter's ID card—the one that proclaimed him "King Darwin" in the underground arenas. The name made religious types foam at the mouth. Good. He had zero patience for organized religion or its fairy tales.

Then again, what is it with my parents, anyway? They ain't Blue Cosmos agents, that's for sure, but they want me to attend religious events with them? Why?

The ¥100 coin clinked into the slot. In the glass reflection, a figure emerged from the adjacent corridor. Male. Caucasian. Black trench coat that screamed "trying too hard." Slicked-back hair. And—Kamito almost laughed—sunglasses. Indoor sunglasses in a school hallway.

Not exactly blending in right now. What, is this guy an idiot?

The man muttered into his collar, pretending to examine a bulletin board.

Kamito's hand moved to his pocket, pulling out his flip phone. The other students mocked him for carrying the ancient thing, but Kamito avoided AI-dependent tech on principle. The flip phone took pictures, made calls, and sent texts. That was enough. His thumb navigated to the campus emergency line with practiced efficiency.

A suspicious man is following me near Sector D by the T-Junction vending machine. Possibly armed. I'm sending a photo.

He angled the phone's camera using the vending machine glass as a guide. Click. The photo captured Trench Coat Man in all his conspicuous glory. Send.

The woman's voice returned, clearer now through the man's earpiece.

"He's making his last purchase possible. Monitor him closely. Do not let him escape."

Last purchase? Oh, hell no. This isn't my final purchase.

The vending machine dispensed a bag of chips with a mechanical whir. Kamito's fingers closed around it, knuckles white. Running was an option. Fighting was another. But first, he needed to know who these people were. The trench coat, the dramatic language, the barely concealed hostility—it all pointed to one group.

The man shifted closer, his lips moving.

"For the preservation of our—"

Kamito didn't wait for the rest. He pivoted right and launched himself down the corridor. His sneakers slapped against linoleum as he accelerated, phone clutched in one hand, chips crushed in the other.

"Stop, Patchworker! Prepare to be eliminated!"

The words hit Kamito's ears like acid. He twisted his head back without breaking stride.

"Patchworker?" The word tasted bitter on his tongue. "I'm a Coordinator, dumbass!"

Blue Cosmos. The realization crashed through his thoughts with absolute certainty. The Natural supremacist organization had found him here, in a neutral colony that was supposed to be safe. His legs pumped harder, carrying him deeper into the maze of hallways.

Behind him, heavy footsteps echoed off the walls. The man wasn't trying to be subtle anymore. Good. Let security cameras catch every second of this chase.

Kamito's mind raced through his options. The school layout offered multiple escape routes, but Blue Cosmos agents rarely worked alone. They moved in cells, coordinated strikes. If one was here, others waited nearby.

And they called me Patchworker. They think I'm some lab experiment gone wrong.

The insult burned worse than the threat. First-generation Coordinators faced enough prejudice without extremists inventing new slurs. His genetics were enhanced before birth, yes, but that made him evolved, not patched together like some science project.

A junction approached. Left led to the main campus. Right curved toward the Morgenroete factory entrance. Straight ahead, a stairwell.

The pursuing footsteps grew louder.

---

School Hallway

Sector B

Heliopolis Technical College, which is attached to a Morgenroete factory

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

18:10 UTC, December 31st, Cosmic Era 69

Kamito's sneakers squealed against polished floor as he took the corner at full speed. His legs pumped like pistons, carrying him through Sector B's maze of corridors. The fluorescent lights overhead blurred into white streaks.

Shit! I need to get to Campus Security pronto!

Another corner approached. Kamito leaned into the turn, his shoulder nearly brushing the wall. The hallway stretched ahead—empty, windowless, and ending in a solid barrier.

His momentum carried him forward five more steps before physics caught up. Both palms slammed into the dead end with a meaty thwack. The impact rattled up his arms.

GAH!! Mother—

"Nowhere to run now, Patchworker."

Kamito whipped around. The Blue Cosmos agent stood at the hallway entrance, blocking his only exit. The man's hand drifted to his right thigh. Kamito's eyes tracked the movement and locked onto black polymer.

A Glock. In a hip holster.

What the—how did this guy get his gun past campus security?!

The terrorist's fingers wrapped around the grip.

"This is the end of the road for you, boy. Prepare to meet the Maker for your sin of existing!"

Heat flushed through Kamito's chest. His hands curled into fists.

"The hell are you talking about?! Being alive is not a sin, dumbass!"

The terrorist's laugh echoed off the walls—sharp and humorless.

"What would you know, Patchworker?"

More than you'd care for me to know, that's for sure.

Kamito locked eyes with the man, keeping his expression hard while his peripheral vision catalogued details. Black trench coat. Slicked hair. Indoor sunglasses. And that Glock...

His pupils dilated slightly. The pistol's magazine well gaped empty. No clip protruded from the grip.

Wait, why is it that his Glock doesn't have a loaded magazine? Is it arrogance that allows him to get away without one?

The terrorist's eyebrow arched above his sunglasses.

"Finally realizing how doomed you are? Good, because you're about to die."

Focus, dammit! Now, this idiot thinks I'll get myself killed just like that!

Kamito's feet shifted to shoulder width. His fists rose to guard position—left hand forward, right pulled back near his jaw. The stance came as naturally as breathing after years in underground rings.

"Bring it on, jackass! I'm not afraid of you!"

The overhead lights died.

Darkness swallowed the hallway. A muzzle flashed orange. Glass shattered somewhere to Kamito's left. Chemical foam hissed as the fire extinguisher's contents sprayed across linoleum.

But Kamito had already moved. His body dropped low, knees bent, ducking beneath where the terrorist aimed. Three quick steps closed the distance. His shoulder drove into the man's solar plexus with the force of a battering ram.

The terrorist hit the floor hard. His sunglasses skittered across tiles.

Before Kamito could press his advantage, two boots pistoned into his gut. Air exploded from his lungs. He stumbled backward, arms wrapped around his midsection.

Shit! I got careless…

The terrorist climbed to his feet, one hand pressed against his chest where Kamito's shoulder had connected.

"Damn brat. You're not going to have a swift death, let me tell you."

Oh, sure, blab away like the idiot you are.

"Then again, I've been given explicit orders to eliminate you as thoroughly as possible, to keep you and your ilk from causing any trouble for us. Don't take it too personally."

Kamito's eyelids fluttered in rapid succession. His brain tried to process the words but kept hitting walls.

"What are you talking about? That doesn't make any sense at—"

"Sorry, not allowed to talk about that any further."

The terrorist's hand snaked behind his back. Metal glinted as he drew a blade from a concealed sheath—the same hand that had held the Glock moments before.

"Just be a good boy and die already."

Kamito's jaw clenched. His features twisted into something between disgust and disbelief.

"Look, just listen to yourself, you moron! Do you have any idea how little sense you're making to anyone else?! I'm sure your bosses in Blue Cosmos would love to retrain you on your stupidity."

The terrorist paused to retrieve his sunglasses, sliding them back into place with deliberate precision.

"Nice try, boy, but you've fallen for a trap, hook, line, and sinker. Did it never even occur to you that I have a reason for wearing shades indoors?"

Kamito's weight shifted forward onto the balls of his feet.

"Apart from making you look extremely suspicious?"

Every light in Sector B blazed to life simultaneously. The sudden brilliance hit Kamito's dilated pupils like needles. White pain lanced through his skull. His hands flew to his face.

Shit!

"No, that's not the reason. You just got introduced to the real reason."

A growl rumbled from Kamito's throat.

"Bastard!"

"Well, now it's time to eliminate you from the gene pool."

Footsteps approached—measured, confident. Kamito stood motionless, eyes squeezed shut against the afterimages dancing behind his lids.

No, you won't, you idiot. I've trained in the art of fighting blind like this.

The footsteps drew closer. Kamito's leg whipped around in a perfect arc. His heel connected with something solid. The terrorist crashed to the floor, and the dagger went flying—

Pain erupted in Kamito's left shoulder. Warm wetness spread across his shirt. His fingers found the blade's handle protruding from deltoid muscle.

Then reality glitched.

A translucent blue rectangle materialized in his vision, complete with text that belonged on a computer monitor, not floating in midair.

[Welcome to The Game! Please hold while we configure your Character Sheet.]

What am I supposed to do with this information? Anything?

The room tilted. No—not tilted. Spun. His knees turned to water. Every nerve ending sparked with wrong signals.

"Freeze! Campus Security!"

Oh, finally, Campus Security shows up.

Fire raced through his circulatory system. Each heartbeat pushed molten agony deeper into his tissues. Kamito yanked the dagger free, fighting to keep his legs under him.

"Thanks for coming, officers. The terrorist was going to wound me with this dagger…"

His knees buckled. The floor rushed up to meet him.

"What in the…"

The terrorist's cackle cut through the growing fog in Kamito's head.

"That dagger had the world's deadliest venom coating it, all down to a molecular level. You're finished now, boy!"

Am I… am I going to die? No… I don't want to die! I still haven't gotten to make history as the world's best prizefighter… nor have I gotten my love life sorted out yet. Damn you, Blue… Cosmos…a… gent…

Strong arms lifted him. A security officer's voice filtered through cotton. Everything felt distant, disconnected. His eyelids weighed tons.

Another blue box flickered into existence.

[Character Sheet configured. Now loading level data for this run at life. Please hold on a bit longer.]

This… makes… no… sense…

Darkness claimed him.

---

Hospital Wing

Heliopolis Technical College, which is attached to a Morgenroete factory

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

12:59 UTC, January 1st, Cosmic Era 70

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Kamito stirred awake in a bed that felt just about right for proper recovery. Fresh oxygen flowed into his nose and mouth through a tube.

Where am I? What happened to me?

He opened his eyes. A pure white ceiling stared back at him, one he couldn't quite place.

An unfamiliar ceiling…

He attempted to sit up, but wires and restraints held him fast to the bed. Someone had nullified his ability to get out on his own.

Well, talk about this being awkward. Why am I in such a position? I don't recall doing anything in the Puget Sound area back home that would have required this.

Pain flashed through his right frontal lobe.

Puget Sound? But I'm from the Orb Union. Why did a location from the Atlantic Federation come to mind?

Another flash of pain struck his left frontal lobe.

Wait… Atlantic Federation? That's a fictional power bloc from the Gundam franchise. What did I do last night to wake up to this level of stupidity?

Voices drifted through the closed doorway.

"I'm afraid there's no easy way to say this, but your son is currently in a coma."

Hold your horses! Is that the doctor?

"What happened to Kamito, Doctor Thomson?" a middle-aged woman asked. "Why is he even in a coma?"

Mom? Wait, how is that possible?

"Let the doctor tell us, please, Anne," a middle-aged man said. "It isn't right to force an answer out of him when he hasn't given us the details we need."

Dad, too? But how come they're both here in the Cosmic Era? Wait, what's with the name Anne? That's not Mom's name…

Pain hit his right frontal lobe again.

Oh, wait… not the same people as back in Puget Sound, but a different couple. They just sound like my parents back in the Puget Sound, instead of sounding way different from them.

"Okay, Brant," Anne Shounin said. "I'll be patient."

Brant? I thought that was his middle name? Oh, wait, wrong version of Dad.

"Thank you. Now, what happened to your son was, honestly, a fluke by Campus Security. A Blue Cosmos agent had bypassed all security features that were in place to keep people like him out," Doctor Thomson said. "The terrorist assaulted your son, who had alerted Campus Security to their blunder some minutes before, with a venom-coated dagger that hit him in the left shoulder with enough force to get the venom in his system. We're lucky that Campus Security got there at all."

Er… no, that's not how it happened. If only I could speak for myself on this one.

Kamito struggled against his restraints. His knuckles knocked against the bed's right side.

"What's that noise in there?" Brant Shounin asked.

"That… is a good question," Doctor Thomson said. "I'll have to find out."

The door opened. The doctor—a middle-aged man in a white lab coat with thinning gray hair and a full beard—stopped mid-step.

"Doctor, I'm awake," Kamito said from his place in the bed. "Could you let… me… out…?"

Strange text floated above the doctor's head.

«Chief Doctor of Heliopolis Technical College/Spy for enemies of the Cosmic Era»

LVL 15 Dr. Masato Thomson

Wait, wait, wait… I'm The Gamer?! But how does that make sense? Or is this a case of the apocalypse being televised? Hold on, did I seriously just reference Dungeon Crawler Carl?

Pain flashed through his right frontal lobe.

Oh, wait, I saw the declaration of my being The Gamer earlier. It was before I fainted… or did I faint? I don't really know.

"Shounin-sama?! Wait, why are you bound like that?" Doctor Thomson rushed forward, working at the bindings on Kamito's arms and legs. "In all my years as a doctor, I have yet to see someone require being bound like you were."

"I can imagine, Doc," Kamito said. "Am I good to go home?"

Before Doctor Thomson could answer, Kamito's parents rushed in. His mother—a tall woman with short dark brown hair and hazel eyes behind stylish triangular glasses, dressed in a white ankle-length skirt and a blue cardigan—reached him first and embraced him while he was still in bed.

"Kamito, you're okay! Your father and I were worried about you since you didn't return home last night."

«Biological Mother of the Protagonist»

LVL 7 Anne Shounin

Kamito lay stock-still for a few seconds before returning the embrace gently. "I'll stay okay, Mom. No need to worry about me, alright?"

His father—a tall man with medium-brown hair and hazel eyes, dressed in a brown business suit over a white shirt—placed a hand on his shoulder from the other side of the bed.

"We'll be keeping an eye on you for the duration of your academic career, if only for your protection. We don't want you to be hurt without a chance to protect yourself."

«Biological Father of the Protagonist»

LVL 9 Brant Shounin

"Actually, Dad, I did fight back," Kamito said, shaking his head. "I ran to get to campus security, but I took a wrong turn by accident, resulting in the terrorist drawing his Glock out of his holster first."

Doctor Thomson's eyebrows rose slightly. "Wait, did you just say he had a Glock? Then where did the dagger come from?"

"He pulled that out after he fired his chambered bullet from his Glock," Kamito said. "He didn't have a magazine loaded into the grip."

"And how did you dodge the bullet?"

"The power went out in that hallway of the school. I ducked when the power went out, he fired his gun into a fire extinguisher, and I charged forward to fight him."

Doctor Thomson stroked his beard, his expression carefully neutral. "Can you verify that in a court of law as the truth?"

"Sure, but why are you asking that?"

"Because there's a claim that you begged for your life before the terrorist struck you, about to give a list of people who were Coordinators in Heliopolis."

"What the… is that for real?"

"I'm afraid that's what's going around as a claim about the encounter you had with the terrorist. What's your plan?"

"I plan to find the liar and expose them, of course. I don't deal with attacks on my character as if they never happened."

His parents gasped.

"What? What'd I say?" Kamito asked.

His father shook his head slowly. "Kamito, I hate to say this, but you need to learn to forgive those who wrong you."

"Are you serious right now, Dad?!"

"Very much so, son, very much so."

"But, Dad, I—"

"Kamito, there are words you need to hear," his mother interrupted. "When told that he needed to forgive his debtors, Peter asked how many times he needed to forgive the same person. Can you guess the answer his Master gave him?"

Kamito put a finger to his cheek. "My guess is once, right?"

Another throbbing headache hit his left frontal lobe. He massaged his forehead.

"No, wait, I think I remember the real answer. It was eleven times the amount that Peter had said, whatever that was."

His mother nodded. "That's correct. Back then, the commonly accepted number of times to forgive someone was three, but Peter suggested seven instead."

Doctor Thomson coughed into his fist. "Is there a point in having this conversation? It's clear to me that your son needs to take out the threat to his character."

Interesting. The doctor doesn't want them preaching forgiveness. Wonder why that matters to him.

Kamito pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right, okay, I'll get a move on it. I just need to figure out how to find the one responsible."

His parents performed a synchronized facepalm.

"Did I say something stupid to you again?"

Doctor Thomson cleared his throat. "Okay, I believe this is the time to declare you fit to leave the hospital wing. Is there anything you feel needs to be said that might contradict that?"

Kamito was about to swing his legs out of bed when he processed the question. "Actually, there's something I think might be a problem, Doc Thomson."

"Yes? What's the matter, Shounin-sama?"

"Is it possible I'm seeing things? I see the following words right above your head: Level 15 Dr. Masato Thomson. Right above that, though, it says—"

"You're imagining things, it seems," Doctor Thomson cut him off smoothly. His hand moved to his name tag with practiced ease. "My name's Jack Thomson, not Masato Thomson. See?"

Kamito looked at the name tag. Bold letters spelled out "Doctor Jack Thomson."

That's odd. Is he lying to me? I mean, what reason would he have to… lie… to… me?

The earlier text floated back into his mind.

The doctor's a spy?!

"Shounin-sama? Are you okay?"

Kamito shook his head, keeping his expression neutral. "I should be okay, maybe after getting some rest in my bed at home, Doc."

Doctor Thomson's fingers drummed against his clipboard. "No, not yet. I need to check to see what else the poison could have done to you, especially if you're seeing things."

"Will this take long?" Brant asked. "I mean, we have to ensure his safety at home, if nothing else."

"It will only take a couple of hours, if even that." The doctor's pen clicked repeatedly. "I just need to make sure nothing's going to make a mess of his normal life from here on out. After all, he's a special case, given how he was subjected to the world's worst sort of poison."

He's stalling. But why? What does he need time for?

"Don't I get a say in this?" Kamito asked.

Everyone else in the room turned to face him. "No!"

The synchronized response made Kamito's eye twitch.

Great. Democracy at its finest.

Doctor Thomson moved to a cabinet, pulling out various medical instruments. "Now then, let's start with some basic neurological tests. Follow my finger with your eyes, please."

As the doctor waved his finger back and forth, Kamito tracked it dutifully. But his mind raced.

A spy for enemies of the Cosmic Era. What does that even mean? And why is he pretending to be someone else?

"Good, good. Now, tell me if you feel this."

The doctor tapped various points on Kamito's arms and legs with a small rubber hammer. Each tap sent normal sensations through his nerves.

"I feel everything normally, Doc."

"Excellent. Now, about those hallucinations you mentioned…"

"Maybe hallucination is too strong a word," Kamito backpedaled. "More like… afterimages from the poison?"

Doctor Thomson made notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching across paper with deliberate strokes. "Interesting. The venom used was particularly nasty. Black market stuff, from what Campus Security told me. You're lucky to be alive."

Lucky. Right. Or maybe something else kept me alive. Something to do with being The Gamer now.

"Kamito," his mother said, moving closer to the bed. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? You seem… distracted."

"Just processing everything, Mom. It's not every day you get stabbed by a terrorist."

His father's jaw tightened. "Which brings up another point. Why would Blue Cosmos target you specifically? You're just a student."

Doctor Thomson's pen stopped moving for a fraction of a second before resuming. "Perhaps a case of mistaken identity? Or maybe they were making a statement against Coordinators in general."

Nice deflection, Doc. But that pause tells me you know more than you're saying.

"Could be," Kamito agreed, watching the doctor's face. "Though the guy seemed pretty specific about wanting me dead."

"Trauma can distort memories," Doctor Thomson said smoothly. "You might be reading more into it than was actually there."

Gaslighting me already? Bold move.

The doctor pulled out a penlight. "Look straight ahead, please."

Light flashed in Kamito's eyes. He didn't flinch, but another notification popped up in his vision.

[Status Effect Resisted: Mild Hypnosis]

What the hell?

"Pupil response is normal," Doctor Thomson murmured, pocketing the penlight. "Though I'd like to keep you for observation. Just to be safe."

"Is that really necessary?" Anne asked. "We can watch him at home."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Shounin, you're not trained to spot the subtle signs of venom-induced complications. This particular toxin has been known to cause delayed reactions."

Known by who, exactly? Your mysterious organization?

Kamito's fingers gripped the bed sheets. "Doc, I appreciate the concern, but I feel fine. Better than fine, actually."

"That could be the adrenaline talking. Or worse, the venom affecting your judgment."

"My judgment feels pretty clear to me."

Doctor Thomson's smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's exactly what someone with impaired judgment would say."

Circular logic. Classic.

"Two hours," Brant said firmly. "That's what you said. After that, we're taking our son home."

The doctor nodded slowly. "Of course. Two hours should be sufficient for the tests I need to run."

Tests. Right. More like time to report to whoever you're really working for.

As his parents settled into chairs beside the bed, Doctor Thomson busied himself with preparing various medical equipment. Kamito watched him through half-closed eyes, cataloging every movement.

Level 15. That's pretty high for a doctor, isn't it? Unless being a spy requires a different skill set entirely.

"Kamito," his mother said softly. "What really happened in that hallway?"

He turned to her, seeing genuine concern in her eyes. "Pretty much what I said. The guy ambushed me, we fought, he stabbed me with a poisoned knife. Campus Security showed up just in time."

"But why you?" she pressed. "There are other Coordinators at the school."

Good question, Mom. Wish I knew the answer.

"Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Doctor Thomson approached with a syringe. "I need to draw some blood for testing. Standard procedure for poisoning cases."

Kamito extended his arm. The needle slid in smoothly, and dark red blood filled the vial.

Wonder what he's really testing for. Can't be just poison if he already knows what it was.

"There we go," the doctor said, labeling the vial carefully. "I'll run this through the lab myself."

"Yourself?" Brant asked. "Don't you have lab technicians for that?"

"For a case this sensitive, I prefer to handle it personally. Can't be too careful with Blue Cosmos potentially having sympathizers anywhere."

Including in this very room, apparently.

The doctor excused himself, leaving Kamito alone with his parents. The moment the door closed, his mother leaned forward.

"Kamito, I need you to be honest with us. Is there anything else going on? Anything you're not telling us?"

He met her gaze steadily. "Nothing I can explain right now, Mom. But I promise, I'll be careful."

His father's hand squeezed his shoulder. "That's all we ask, son. Just… don't try to handle everything alone. We're here for you."

If only you knew what I was really dealing with. Flying text, game mechanics, and a spy doctor who's pretending to help me.

"I know, Dad. Thanks."

The door opened again, and Doctor Thomson returned, his expression unreadable.

"The preliminary results are interesting," he announced. "Your blood shows traces of the venom, but also something else. Something I've never seen before."

Here we go.

"What kind of something else?" Anne asked, worry creeping into her voice.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. It could be your son's body producing antibodies at an unprecedented rate. Or…"

"Or?"

"Or it could be something else entirely. Something that requires further investigation."

Kamito's eyes narrowed. "Define 'further investigation.'"

"Additional tests. Maybe an overnight observation. I want to be thorough."

"No," Brant said firmly. "Two hours. That was the agreement."

Doctor Thomson's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Mr. Shounin, your son's life could be at stake."

"Then explain exactly what you found. Show us the test results."

"I'm afraid the technical details would be—"

"Try us," Kamito interrupted. "I'm studying at the Technical College, remember? I can handle technical details."

The doctor's smile turned brittle. "Of course. How silly of me to forget."

Got you there, didn't I?

"The thing is," Doctor Thomson continued, recovering smoothly, "the equipment here isn't sophisticated enough for the level of analysis required. I'd need to transfer him to a specialized facility."

"Absolutely not," Anne said. "If he needs specialized care, we'll arrange it through our own channels."

Go Mom. Don't let him isolate me.

The doctor's fingers drummed against his clipboard again. "I really must insist—"

"And I must insist you respect our wishes," Brant cut him off. "You have ninety minutes left. Use them wisely."

---

School Parking Lot

Heliopolis Technical College, which is attached to a Morgenroete factory

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

15:30 UTC, January 1st, Cosmic Era 70

The automatic doors of Heliopolis Technical College slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and Kamito stepped into the afternoon sunlight. His shoulder throbbed where the knife had pierced it yesterday, but the wound had healed faster than it had any right to.

Another mystery for the pile.

The parking lot stretched before him, half-empty due to the New Year's holiday. Most students were home celebrating with their families, but Kamito had needed to retrieve his belongings from his locker—the ones campus security had collected after yesterday's incident.

A tinny voice caught his attention, drifting from a boombox sitting on the hood of a parked car. The owner was nowhere in sight.

"—breaking news from the PLANT Supreme Council. We're receiving reports of an incident during today's scheduled meeting—"

Kamito froze. His memories—the ones that weren't originally his—stirred with recognition.

The Unheld Meeting. It's happening right now.

He moved closer to the abandoned radio, careful not to look too interested. Just a student passing by, nothing more.

"—sources confirm that Councilor Siegel Clyne was unable to attend due to illness, but another councilor, whose name has not been released pending family notification, was found dead in the council chambers. Initial reports suggest Blue Cosmos involvement—"

They're not naming the victim. In the show, they never did either. Just another casualty to justify the war.

The newsreader's voice crackled through the cheap speakers. "Security footage allegedly shows evidence of a coordinated attack, though PLANT officials have yet to release any visual confirmation. The Atlantic Federation has issued a statement condemning the violence, calling it 'a tragic reminder of the extremist threat posed by terrorist organizations.'"

Kamito snorted. Rich, coming from them.

"Wait, we're getting an update," the newsreader continued, tension creeping into her professional tone. "Anonymous sources within PLANT intelligence are now claiming they have evidence linking the assassination not to Blue Cosmos, but to operatives connected with Earth Alliance sponsor nations. This is... this is an extraordinary claim—"

And there it is. The truth starting to leak already.

The broadcast cut to another voice, older and more authoritative. "If these allegations prove true, this would constitute an act of war by the Earth nations against the PLANTs. We must remember that the sponsor nations—the Atlantic Federation, Eurasian Federation, and Republic of East Asia—have consistently opposed PLANT autonomy—"

"What are you doing?"

Kamito spun around. A security guard stood behind him, hand resting on his belt. Not on a weapon, but the implication was clear.

«Security Guard»

Level 8 Matsuda Tanaka

"Just listening to the news," Kamito said, keeping his voice level. "Crazy stuff happening up there."

The guard's eyes narrowed. "You're the kid from yesterday. The one who got stabbed."

"That's me. Just picking up my stuff."

"And hanging around unattended property?"

Great. Just what I need.

"The radio was already on when I walked by. I was just—"

The broadcast interrupted him. "—confirmed: Earth Alliance forces have begun mobilizing their fleets. PLANT defense committees are convening emergency sessions. We may be witnessing the opening moves of what could become the first true Earth-PLANT conflict—"

The guard's attention shifted to the radio, his face paling. "Holy hell. They're really going to do it, aren't they? They're going to start a war."

No, buddy. The war started yesterday with a poisoned knife. This is just when everyone else notices.

"I should go," Kamito said, backing away slowly.

The guard waved him off, still fixated on the broadcast. Kamito didn't need to be told twice. He walked toward the campus exit and to his family's car, the radio's voice fading behind him but the implications echoing in his mind.

The Bloody Valentine is only weeks away now.

Kamito settled into the backseat of his family's convertible, the artificial breeze from the colony's atmosphere circulation system ruffling his hair. The top was down, giving him an unobstructed view of Heliopolis's curved inner surface stretching overhead. The familiar sight of distant buildings and parkland hanging upside-down in the "sky" should have been comforting, but today it just reminded him how small and contained his world really was.

And getting smaller by the hour, if that news report was any indication.

"So," his father said, glancing at him through the rearview mirror as they pulled out of the parking lot, "want to tell us what really happened back there? The doctor seemed awfully interested in keeping you around."

Anne twisted in the passenger seat to face him. "And those things you mentioned seeing? The words floating above people's heads?"

Kamito ran his hand through his hair, buying time. How did you explain to your parents that you'd somehow become the protagonist of a video game? That you could see their levels and titles floating above their heads like RPG characters?

"It's complicated, Mom."

"Try us," Brant said. "We might be more understanding than you think."

If only.

"Okay, here's the thing," Kamito began, choosing his words carefully. "When that terrorist stabbed me, something changed. Not just physically, but... mentally. I started remembering things that aren't my memories. And I can see information about people that I shouldn't be able to see."

His parents exchanged glances.

"What kind of information?" Anne asked gently.

"Names, for starters. And numbers that seem to represent how experienced or powerful someone is. Like... like levels in a video game."

Brant's eyebrows rose. "Levels?"

"I know how it sounds. Trust me, I'm living it and I think it sounds crazy."

They passed through a residential district, the neat rows of houses and apartment complexes a stark contrast to the chaos in Kamito's mind. Children played in a park, their laughter carrying on the artificial breeze.

Normal people living normal lives. They have no idea what's coming.

"And these memories that aren't yours?" his mother pressed. "What are they about?"

Kamito hesitated. "Stories. About a war between Earth and the PLANTs. About mobile suits and... about what happens when people like me—Coordinators—get caught in the middle."

"Stories you've never heard before?"

"Stories from a perspective I've never experienced before. Like I'm seeing it from the inside instead of just watching it on television."

His father navigated around a slower-moving vehicle. "And you think this is connected to the terrorist attack?"

"I think the attack triggered something. Changed something in me. Made me... different."

Anne reached back and touched his knee. "Different how, sweetheart? You're still our son."

Am I, though? How much of who I am now is Kamito Shounin, and how much is someone else's memories filtering through my head?

"I know I'm still your son. But I can do things now. See things. And I'm afraid you won't believe me if I try to explain."

"Kamito," his father said firmly, "we've seen you survive something that should have killed you. We're prepared to believe quite a bit right now."

"You say that, but—"

"Show us," Anne interrupted. "Whatever it is you think you can do, show us. We need to understand what we're dealing with."

Kamito stared at his hands. "It's not that simple. The things I can see, the information—only I can see it. How do I prove something exists when I'm the only one who can perceive it?"

Wait. Actually, there might be a way.

A memory surfaced—not his original memories, but the new ones that had flooded his mind after the attack. In those memories, there were systems, interfaces, ways to share information...

"Actually," he said slowly, "there might be something I can try. But you have to promise not to panic if it works."

"Define 'it,'" Brant said.

"The ability to... invite you to see what I see. Temporarily."

His parents exchanged another look.

"Is it safe?" Anne asked.

"I think so. The worst that happens is nothing changes and you still think I'm having hallucinations."

They pulled into their driveway, a modest two-story house with a small garden that Anne tended religiously. Brant killed the engine but didn't get out immediately.

"Alright," he said. "Show us."

Kamito took a deep breath and focused on the sensation he'd felt earlier, the awareness of something larger lurking behind his perceptions. A menu system, waiting to be accessed.

Combat Party invitation. That's what I need. A way to temporarily share my interface with trusted allies.

He concentrated, imagining extending an invitation to his parents. Not for combat—truly, he hoped they'd never need that—but for proof. For understanding.

[Gamer System Interface Accessed]

[Combat Party Invitation Available]

[Send invitation to: Brant Shounin, Anne Shounin?]

[Purpose: Demonstration/Proof Only]

[Duration: Limited to 5 minutes]

[Accept?]

Yes.

[Invitations Sent]

His parents gasped simultaneously. Anne's hand flew to her chest.

"Kamito," she whispered, "there are words floating in front of my eyes."

"I can see them too," Brant said, his voice tight with shock. "Combat Party invitation from... Kamito Shounin. Accept or decline."

"Accept it," Kamito said. "Both of you. It's safe, I promise."

Two soft chimes echoed in the car.

[Party Formed]

«Biological Father of the Protagonist»

Civilian/Engineer LVL 9 Brant Shounin

«Biological Mother of the Protagonist» 

Civilian/Teacher LVL 7 Anne Shounin

«The Hero» 

? LVL 1 Kamito Shounin

Suddenly, his parents could see everything he saw. The levels floating above each other's heads. The strange question mark next to his own classification. The interface elements that had become part of his reality.

"Oh my word," Anne breathed. "This is real."

"Level 9?" Brant stared at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. "What does that even mean?"

"Experience, I think," Kamito said. "How much you've learned, how much you've grown. Dad, you're an engineer with decades of experience. Mom, you've been teaching for years. Your levels reflect that."

"And you're level 1," Anne observed. "But with a question mark instead of a profession."

"Because whatever I'm becoming, it hasn't been defined yet."

His father leaned back in his seat, processing the information. "This is why the doctor wanted to keep you. He knew something had changed."

"More than that. I could see information about him too. His real level, his real... allegiances."

"Allegiances?"

"The text above his head said he was a spy. For enemies of the Cosmic Era."

Anne's face paled. "Kamito, if that's true—"

"Then letting him run tests on me would have been a very bad idea."

The five-minute timer he'd set expired, and the interface faded from his parents' vision. They sat in stunned silence for a long moment.

"I believe you," Brant said finally. "I don't understand it, but I believe you."

"What do we do now?" Anne asked.

Kamito looked up at the colony's artificial sky, where the news of war was probably already spreading through the information networks.

"Now? We figure out how to survive what's coming."

[System Notification]

[Trust Established: Parental Units]

[New Ability Unlocked: Ally Coordination (Level 1)]

[Party System Permanently Available for Trusted Allies]

---

Dining Room

Shounin Residence

Tannenbaum District

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

17:00 UTC, January 1st, Cosmic Era 70

The aroma of Aki's cooking filled the dining room—some kind of fusion dish she'd discovered in an old Earth cookbook, mixing Asian and Mediterranean flavors in ways that shouldn't work but somehow did. Kamito sat at the familiar wooden table, watching his younger sister practically dance between the kitchen and dining room as she brought out plate after plate.

"You overdid it again," Keiko said, though she was already reaching for the grilled vegetables.

«Biological Younger Sister of the Protagonist»

Martial Artist LVL 4 Keiko Shounin

Aki beamed, her chef's hat slightly askew. "It's New Year's! And besides, when else am I going to get to cook for everyone at once?"

«Biological Younger Sister of the Protagonist»

Civilian/Chef LVL 4 Aki Shounin

Tamara's automated wheelchair hummed softly as she positioned herself at the table. "It smells wonderful, Aki. Though I still say you should have let me help with the prep work."

«Biological Older Sister of the Protagonist»

Civilian/Student LVL 3 Tamara Shounin

"Your job is to relax," Aki said firmly, setting down a basket of fresh bread. "That's what little sisters are for."

They have no idea what's happening out there. The PLANTs, the assassination, the fleets mobilizing...

Kamito pushed the thoughts aside. His family deserved this moment of normalcy, this last dinner before—

A knock echoed through the house. Not loud or urgent, but somehow it carried weight.

"I'll get it," Brant said, already halfway out of his chair.

"Actually, Dad, let me." Kamito stood, that new awareness prickling at the edge of his consciousness. "Might be one of my classmates checking on me after yesterday."

His father nodded slowly. They'd had their conversation about trust, about believing the impossible. This was part of that.

Kamito walked to the front door, each step measured. Through the frosted glass panel, he could make out a silhouette—shorter than him, feminine build, standing with the kind of balanced posture that suggested martial arts training.

He opened the door.

"Kamito-kun! Thank goodness you're okay!"

The girl on his doorstep had tan skin and chocolate brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. Her amethyst eyes held genuine concern, and she wore a casual jacket over what looked like athletic wear. The text floating above her head made Kamito's breath catch.

«Ultimate Coordinator»

Martial Artist/? LVL 1 Kira Yamato

That's not right. That's not right at all.

His other memories screamed contradictions. Kira Yamato was supposed to be male. Brown hair, yes. Purple eyes, yes. But definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent male. The protagonist of Gundam SEED, the pilot who would—

"Kamito-kun?" Kira's voice cut through his spiral. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Sorry, just... the painkillers make me a bit spacey." The lie came automatically. "What are you doing here, Yamato?"

She shifted her weight, and he could see the martial artist in her movements—the same style as Keiko, he realized. Shōrin-ji Kempō.

"I heard about what happened. The whole class did. A Blue Cosmos terrorist, here on Heliopolis?" Her hands clenched. "I wanted to make sure you were really okay. The rumors were... pretty bad."

"I'm fine. Shoulder's healing up nicely."

"That's good." She paused, then added, "Also, my parents wanted me to check if your family needed anything. Mom made extra mochi for New Year's, and she insists on sharing."

From behind him, Anne's voice called out. "Kamito? Who is it?"

"It's Kira Yamato from school," he called back, still processing the impossibility standing on his doorstep.

"Well, don't leave her standing outside! We're about to eat dinner!"

Kira's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't want to intrude—"

"You're not," Kamito said, stepping aside. Because if his memories were even partially right about what was coming, having Kira Yamato as an ally—regardless of gender—might be the difference between survival and catastrophe.

She stepped inside, and he caught a faint scent of strawberry shampoo mixed with the clean smell of someone who'd been training recently. His other memories supplied fragments—Kira was supposed to be gentle, reluctant to fight, brilliant with computers. But those memories came with a male face, and the contradiction sent another spike of pain through his left frontal lobe.

"Your family's very kind," Kira said as they walked toward the dining room. "I hope I'm not imposing."

"Trust me, with Aki cooking, there's enough food for half the colony."

They entered the dining room, where his family had already started passing dishes around. The warm light from the overhead fixture cast everything in a golden glow, making the moment feel almost surreal after the sterile hospital environment.

"Everyone, this is Kira Yamato," Kamito announced. "She's in my programming class at the HTC."

Tamara smiled from her wheelchair. "Welcome! I'm Tamara, Kamito's older sister."

"And I'm Keiko," his twin sister added, setting down her chopsticks. "You practice Shōrin-ji Kempō, don't you? I recognize the way you move."

Kira's eyes lit up. "You do too! I thought I sensed something familiar. Are you at Master Hibiki's dojo?"

"Every Tuesday and Thursday. You're there on Mondays and Wednesdays, right?"

"That's right. No wonder I hadn't seen you before."

Aki bustled over with an extra place setting. "Sit, sit! I made way too much food, and Mom always says the best way to start the new year is with a full table."

As Kira settled into the chair next to Kamito, Anne leaned forward with genuine interest. "So you're studying programming as well? It's wonderful to see more young women in technical fields."

"Thank you, Mrs. Shounin. Though I have to admit, sometimes it feels like I'm the only girl in most of my classes."

"That'll change," Brant said confidently. "The Orb Union's been pushing for more diversity in STEM programs. Give it another few years."

The conversation flowed naturally around the table, but Kamito found himself studying Kira's expressions. She laughed at Aki's stories about culinary disasters. She asked thoughtful questions about Tamara's library science studies. She even managed to keep up with Keiko's enthusiastic description of martial arts techniques.

She's exactly like the Kira from my memories, just... different. Same personality, same mannerisms, but...

"Kamito mentioned there were some nasty rumors going around about yesterday," Kira said during a lull in conversation. "Something about you supposedly trying to sell out other Coordinators? Doctor Thomson mentioned it when he was asking if anyone had heard anything."

The room went quiet. Kamito's chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth.

"Wait, Doctor Thomson told you about that rumor?"

"He pulled me aside after programming class ended. Said he was concerned about the social environment at the school, especially for Coordinators." Kira's brow furrowed. "But honestly, I haven't heard anyone talking about anything like that. Just people worried about Blue Cosmos getting past security."

The doctor's spreading the rumor himself. He's trying to isolate me socially.

"That's... strange," Kamito said carefully. "What exactly did he say?"

"Just that there were concerns about reliability among Coordinator students. That some people might crack under pressure." She shook her head. "It seemed like a weird thing to bring up. I mean, you fought a terrorist. If anything, you proved the opposite."

Pain lanced through Kamito's frontal lobe—both sides this time. The room around him seemed to flicker, and suddenly time... stopped.

Keiko's hand froze mid-reach for the rice bowl. Aki's mouth hung open in the middle of a laugh. Steam from the hot dishes hung motionless in the air like sculptural wisps. Even the soft hum of Tamara's wheelchair had cut to silence.

A translucent blue window materialized in front of him, containing two text options:

[Visual Novel Route Selection Activated]

Option A: "Kira, I'm glad you don't believe those rumors. Having someone I can trust at school... it means more to me than you know. Especially someone as remarkable as you."

Option B: "Thanks for not buying into that garbage, Yamato. It's good to know I've got allies at school who can think for themselves."

Kamito stared at the options, his mind racing. The first choice felt... warmer somehow. More personal. But why would the system present it that way? They barely knew each other.

Wait. Visual novel mechanics. These aren't just dialogue choices—they're relationship flags. The first option is clearly meant to build romantic tension.

He looked at Kira's frozen face, noting the gentle curve of her smile, the way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when she laughed. In another timeline, another reality, she might have been a boy, might have been the protagonist instead of him. But in this world, this moment, she was here at his family's table, defending him against rumors he hadn't even heard.

The Kira from my memories was always loyal to friends. Always put others before himself. If she's anything like that...

His finger hovered over Option B. It was safer, more neutral. Just expressing gratitude without any deeper implications.

But something made him pause. If his memories were right about what was coming—the war, the battles, the impossible choices—having strong bonds with allies might be the difference between survival and catastrophe. And if the system was offering relationship mechanics...

Besides, she came to check on me. Brought food from her family. She's already going above and beyond what most classmates would do.

He selected Option A.

Time resumed with an almost audible click.

"Kira, I'm glad you don't believe those rumors," he heard himself say, his voice carrying a warmth he hadn't intended. "Having someone I can trust at school... it means more to me than you know. Especially someone as remarkable as you."

Kira blinked, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I... well, of course. We should stick together, right? Coordinators need to look out for each other."

Anne and Brant exchanged a meaningful glance across the table. Tamara's smile turned knowing. Keiko grinned like she'd just witnessed something entertaining.

Aki, oblivious to the undercurrents, clapped her hands together. "Aww, that's so sweet! Kira, you absolutely have to stay for dessert. I made this amazing fusion thing with traditional mochi and European pastry techniques."

"I wouldn't want to impose—"

"You're not imposing," Kamito said quickly. "Really. I'd like you to stay."

Another faint blush crossed Kira's features. "Then... yes. Thank you. I'd love to try your cooking, Aki."

[Relationship Flag Activated: Kira Yamato - Trust Level Increased]

[New Dialogue Options Unlocked]

The notification appeared briefly in the corner of his vision before fading. Kamito kept his expression neutral, but internally he was processing the implications.

So the system really is treating this like a visual novel. Relationship mechanics, dialogue trees, probably affection points or something similar.

"So, Kira," Tamara said, expertly steering the conversation back to safer ground, "what kind of programming projects are you working on? Kamito's always been interested in that field, but he's usually too modest to talk about his work."

As Kira launched into a description of her latest coding project—something involving mobile suit sensor arrays, which made Kamito's other memories sit up and take notice—he found himself studying her animated expression.

If she really is the Ultimate Coordinator, then her being here, now, isn't coincidence. Something's drawing us together. The question is whether that's fate, the system, or just the natural course of events.

But looking at his family's welcoming faces, seeing how easily Kira fit into their dinner conversation, he decided that maybe, for tonight at least, it didn't matter.

As the conversation continued around the table, Kamito felt another familiar sensation—a gentle pressure behind his eyes, followed by a cascade of information flowing into his consciousness. The translucent interface materialized again, this time displaying something entirely different.

[Dating Sim Module Fully Activated]

[Your Dating Sim attributes are:

Charm

Ambition

Loyalty

Empathy

Bravery

For the record, each attribute is at Level 0, out of a maximum level of 17. To increase the stats, you'll need an ever-increasing number of points per level to upgrade them. They'll upgrade with each action you perform per attribute.

Don't worry. You'll be able to advance your stats to max level by the time the Game is over, especially if you keep yourself from being friend-zoned by any of the girls.]

Dating sim. Of course it's a dating sim.

Kamito kept his expression carefully neutral as Kira described her programming work, but internally he was reeling. The implications hit him like a freight train.

The choice earlier wasn't random. The system is literally treating my interactions with girls as romance mechanics. And if it's warning me about getting friend-zoned...

He glanced around the table. Kira, obviously. His sisters were family, so they wouldn't count. But the system had mentioned "girls" plural, which meant there were others he hadn't met yet.

This world isn't just Gundam SEED with game mechanics. It's apparently Gundam SEED crossed with a dating simulation. Which means...

The memories from his other life stirred, supplying fragments of dating sim logic. Multiple love interests. Relationship management. Balancing affection points across different routes. And most importantly, the concept of achieving the "true ending" by maintaining relationships with multiple characters simultaneously.

A harem route.

The thought should have been absurd. In his previous life, he'd played maybe three dating sims total, and they'd all been terrible. But sitting here, watching Kira's animated expression as she talked about sensor array optimization, seeing the way his family had already accepted her...

If this really is following dating sim logic, then getting the best ending—whatever that means in terms of surviving this war—might require building relationships with multiple love interests.

"—don't you think, Kamito?"

He blinked, realizing Kira had asked him something. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I was saying that mobile suit sensor arrays could probably benefit from better integration with existing colony defense networks. You've worked with the HTC's computer systems, right?"

Mobile suits. She's already thinking about mobile suits.

"Some. Though most of my experience is with standard network architecture, not military applications."

"Well, it's all theoretical anyway," Kira said with a slight shrug. "The Orb Union doesn't even have mobile suits. Just those old-generation mobile workers for construction projects."

Pain lanced through his left frontal lobe. His other memories knew better. Orb absolutely had mobile suits—they were developing them in secret right here on Heliopolis. The Strike, Aegis, Buster, Duel, and Blitz. Five prototype units that would soon change everything.

And if Kira is the Ultimate Coordinator, she's probably going to end up piloting one of them.

"Actually," he said carefully, "I've heard rumors that Morgenroete might be working on some classified projects. Nothing confirmed, but you know how these defense contractors operate."

Kira's eyes sharpened with interest. "Really? What kind of projects?"

Careful. Don't reveal too much too fast.

"Just speculation. But with the tension between the PLANTs and the Sponsor Nations heating up, it would make sense for neutral territories to develop better defensive capabilities."

"That's a concerning thought," Anne said, her teacher instincts picking up on the serious turn in conversation. "I hope it doesn't come to actual fighting."

It will. Soon.

"Let's hope not," Brant agreed. "But prudent preparation never hurt anyone."

As the conversation shifted to safer topics, Kamito found himself studying Kira more carefully. If the dating sim mechanics were real, if building relationships was actually crucial to achieving the best possible outcome...

She's not just Kira Yamato, Ultimate Coordinator and probable mobile suit pilot. She's also Love Interest Number One.

The thought felt clinical, almost manipulative. But then he caught her laughing at one of Aki's stories, saw the genuine warmth in her expression when she talked to Tamara, noticed how naturally she fit into his family's dynamic.

Maybe it doesn't have to be manipulation. Maybe building these relationships can be genuine, even if there's an ulterior strategic purpose.

After all, if his memories were correct about what was coming—the war, the battles, the impossible choices—having strong allies would be essential. And if those allies happened to be people he cared about, people who cared about him...

The best endings in dating sims aren't usually about conquest. They're about connection. About finding people worth protecting and who'll fight to protect you in return.

He looked around the table again. His family, who'd already proven they'd believe the impossible if he needed them to. Kira, who'd shown up at his door with genuine concern and her family's hospitality.

If I'm going to survive what's coming, if I'm going to protect the people I care about, then I need to start thinking strategically about relationships. Not as targets to be conquered, but as bonds to be strengthened.

The system wanted him to avoid being friend-zoned. Fine. He could work with that. But he was going to do it his way—by being someone worth caring about, not by gaming affection points.

Besides, he thought as Kira caught his eye and smiled, if this really is following dating sim logic, then the harem route is probably the one where everyone survives.

---

Mysterious Place

Unknown Time

The chamber existed in perpetual twilight, its walls carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Seventeen figures sat around a circular table, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods that cast shadows darker than the room itself. At the head of the table, a larger chair remained occupied by a man whose features disappeared entirely into the gloom.

"The boy grows stronger." The voice came from the left side of the circle, thin and reedy like wind through dead leaves. "Our scouts confirm he's awakened to his power."

"Sooner than anticipated," another council member added, drumming gloved fingers against the obsidian surface. "The timeline accelerates."

Horatio Gato leaned forward slightly, the motion causing shadows to shift across his obscured face. "Twenty-five years. That's all we have left if we fail to act."

"The Blue Cosmos operative failed spectacularly." A woman's voice cut through the murmur of agreement, sharp with disdain. "Perhaps we should manipulate another agent. Their hatred of Coordinators makes them useful tools."

Several heads nodded around the table. One of the hooded figures raised a pale hand. "I can arrange contact with their cell leaders. Plant the right suggestions, provide intelligence on the boy's movements."

"No."

The single word from Horatio silenced the chamber instantly. He didn't raise his voice, but authority radiated from his position like heat from a forge.

"Sir?" The woman who had suggested the Blue Cosmos plan tilted her head. "They've proven effective in the past."

"They've proven sloppy." Horatio's fingers steepled before him, barely visible in the dim light. "The attack on Heliopolis drew attention. Campus security, medical personnel, his parents—too many witnesses. Too many complications."

"Then what do you propose?" The reedy voice spoke again. "We cannot allow Kamito Shounin to live. Every day he draws breath brings us closer to universal collapse."

"The boy doesn't even understand what he is yet," another council member interjected. "Perhaps we're moving too hastily."

"Hastily?" The sharp crack of Horatio's palm hitting the table echoed through the chamber. "Our universe dies in twenty-five years because of him. Because of what he represents. There is no such thing as haste when extinction looms."

Murmurs rippled around the circle as council members exchanged glances. The woman who had suggested Blue Cosmos leaned forward. "The Orb Union maintains strict neutrality. Getting operatives into their territory presents challenges."

"Challenges we've overcome before." A gravelly voice from the far side spoke up. "Though I agree direct assault seems unwise after the campus incident."

"What about manipulation from within?" Another figure suggested. "The boy has family, friends. Leverage points."

"Crude." Horatio's tone carried dismissal. "We're not common terrorists."

"Then enlighten us, Great Leader." The woman's voice carried the barest hint of challenge. "How do we eliminate the threat without drawing unwanted attention?"

Silence stretched through the chamber like a held breath. Horatio remained motionless for long moments, apparently considering options the others couldn't see.

"The boy's power comes from something beyond normal Coordinator enhancement," he said finally. "Something that shouldn't exist in our reality. We need to understand it before we can destroy it effectively."

"Surveillance?"

"Intelligence gathering." Horatio corrected. "Learn his capabilities. Map his connections. Discover the source of his anomalous abilities."

"And then?"

"Then we strike with precision instead of the blunt force that failed on Heliopolis."

The council members shifted in their seats, some nodding approval while others seemed less convinced. The reedy voice spoke up again. "How long do we observe before acting?"

"As long as necessary." Horatio rose from his chair, his form seeming to blend with the shadows behind him. "But remember—every moment we delay brings universal death closer. This boy will destroy everything we've worked to preserve."

"Meeting adjourned."

---

So... this was long overdue. I am going to be putting this here for now, though if anyone wants to see more of this before I put it up on other platforms, let me know. After the next post in this story gets uploaded, I'll be gating how many people see the story posts, at least until the story is ready for external publication. Even then, when the story is ready for external publication, I'll be uploading it one chapter at a time. It's as simple as that. Until next time.

Credit for this story idea goes primarily to Leekz01 on Questionable Questing.