A Young Girl's Guerilla War

Alright, so I commissioned more art, and it didn't turn out great. Or, at least, not great for the purposes of this story. I wanted to get the scene where Kallen and Milly have their little social duel drawn, and I gave instructions for Milly to look smug and assertive and Kallen to look angry and upset but trying to be flirtatious. The artist nailed the flirtatious part, to their credit, but lost the point of the scene, so here we are. I'm not sure that SB would like it, but I want to post this thing since I paid for it.

Spoiler: Kallen & Milly

 

(Thank you to my editors, Sunny, Restestsest, Mitch H. and MetalDragon. Thank you to Siatru for beta reading this chapter. And a big thank you to everybody on the AYGGW and the Tanya Writer's Discords for their help and support.)


APRIL 25, 2016 ATB
SHINJUKU GHETTO, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
0655


"Good work leads to more work."


After three lives of hard work, that truth had become self-evident. Efficiency was always rewarded with more work, which was frankly understandable since people tended to bet on proven winners. My reward for surviving my watch on the Rhine had been command over a battalion destined for deployment to troubled zones until death or peace came; my reward for claiming Shinjuku was, for better and worse, becoming the authority in Shinjuku.


"You break it, you buy it," I thought gloomily, nodding my gratitude to Tanaka Chika as she refilled my cup with hot tea. Unlike her elder sister, the young Chika was a fairly happy-go-lucky person, always eager to find new ways to help out around the Rising Sun's Meeting Hall. It's a pity Inoue scooped her up first; I could use an aide or two.


Thankfully, I didn't have to handle my newly expanded workload all on my lonesome. Besides Chika, Inoue's backroom office was packed with people eagerly waiting for new assignments, courtesy of myself, Naoto, and Inoue. Below the murmur of side conversations between the assembled men and women, the rumble of feet and the clink of spoons on bowls drifted from the Hall's main room; breakfast was well underway, and as soon as I distributed assignments to the elected foremen, eager bodies with full bellies would set to work.


Eager or not, there's just not enough of them. The thought made me grimace, but it was the truth. Shinjuku Ghetto was home to somewhere around two hundred thousand men, women, and children, as near as anybody could guess without an official census. By contrast, the Kozuki Organization had just over a hundred full members, including the students undergoing training at The School.


Of course, that number didn't include the Sun Guard, the militia Naoto had assembled from the would-be recruits we couldn't immediately train, nor did it include noncombatants like Chika or Kasumi, Inoue's other assistant, who was currently occupied with overseeing the breakfast line. The Sun Guard numbered somewhere around a thousand five hundred but were under-equipped for the most part and entirely untrained.


Fortunately, I didn't need an army at the moment. What I needed was a workforce, and the Sun Guard had already been put to good use before during Naoto's Shinjuku Improvement project.


"Alright people," Naoto slammed a hand down on Inoue's desk, refocusing the room's attention on him. "Today's going to be just as busy as yesterday and the day before were, and I'm sure you're all eager to get to work. Before we start handing out assignments, I'd like to thank you and your crews once again; you're doing good work, hard work, and you're doing it quickly and efficiently. We're all pulling together, and I'm honored to have your help."


Smiles and nods filled the crowded room, and a few wags in the crowd responded with the typical lame jokes, which received the requisite laughter and a few witty replies from Naoto.


It's amazing, I reflected, how easily he wins them over. It's the first thing in the morning, but everybody is lined up happily waiting for their assignments. He'd have made a splendid manager, back in my first life. Back in a sane world.


Pulling myself back to the present, I picked up the list of assignments from the table beside me before climbing up on top of the stained wooden surface. I'd long since come to terms with my height and I usually had no problem handing out orders to people several heads taller, but the room was full of enough adult-sized people that I wanted at least a little room to breathe.


"Line up over here!" I instructed, pointing at the space I'd just occupied. "When I hand you your mission, don't just stand around; hurry up and get out of the way of the next person!"


"Heya there, Miss Hajime." The first man to step forwards had an easy grin, seemingly unaffected by the angry red scar that slashed up from his chin to his temple. From my experience on the rubble hauling work crews, I recognized it as the mark left behind when an overstrained cable snaps and lashes out. This man had been extremely lucky to have only been grazed. "What've you got for me 'n the boys today?"


"Mister Iwane, right?" I asked out of habit, already scanning the crowded list for the notation in Inoue's tidy hand indicating where the former masonry worker and his team should go. "You'll be over in Kawadacho today. I want you to take your usual crew and twenty others over to the old Wakamatsu station. Get the new hands working on clearing the platforms while your experienced men start checking the stability of the service tunnels."


Kawadacho, located just east of the central Shinjuku Ghetto and stretching south to the encircling wall, had belonged to the Eleven Lords up until very recently. They'd controlled the access leading to the Kawadacho Checkpoint with an iron fist, which was probably why they had so brazenly operated a slave brothel catering to deviants who wouldn't be welcome in more respectable quarters.


Sadly, liberating the territory from the gang's abuses would only be the first step on the path to recovery for the sector and its long-suffering inhabitants. Utterly untouched by the Shinjuku Improvement project, the area's infrastructure was crumbling and many of its buildings were husks barely capable of providing worthwhile shelter.


Even worse, directly to the west of southern Kawadacho was the dumping area, where the hauler crews left Shinjuku's garbage and its dead in the vast dumpsters the Britannians had provided for that purpose. Those dumpsters were only replaced on a two or three-month basis, which meant that the area swarmed with vermin feasting on the waste, consequently severely impacting public health in south Shinjuku.


Taken together, Kawadacho was only a few short steps over a total wasteland, but abandoning the district wasn't a viable option. Living space in Shinjuku came at a premium, after all, and most of the buildings that weren't already crammed with families were just as dubious in terms of shelter as the skeletal remains of the Tokyo Women's Medical University Hospital that stood like a tombstone at the northern end of Kawadacho.


"Going down into the tunnels, eh?" Mister Iwane scratched at his head, before pulling a sweat-stained rag from his back pocket and tying it around his forehead. "Alright, sounds good. Let's see if we can get the whole of the old station cleared out by sunset!"


"No need to strain yourself; the rubble's not going anywhere." While the man's passion for his task was a credit to his diligence, medical supplies were in frightfully short supply. The last thing I needed were working hands laid low by easily preventable workplace injuries. "Also, keep an eye open for rats. I imagine there's quite a few waiting down in the station."


"Good," the masonry worker, an experienced old hand in his late twenties, grinned up at me. "Me and the boys could use some extra protein!"


I waved him out with exasperated exhaustion that might have been partially faked and turned to the next job seeker. I blinked, searching for some memory of the squat, surprisingly broad woman who looked to be in her late forties, comparatively ancient by Shinjuku standards.


"I don't think I've met you before," I said after a moment when I failed to put a name to the face, "have you worked with us before?"


"Uh-huh." The woman grunted through yellowed lips, rheumy eyes watering with exhaustion looking up at me momentarily, before closing as she yawned. "Too damned early for all this line crap, but yeah."


Clearly not a morning person, I thought sympathetically. While I'd rarely had a problem waking up early, I certainly wouldn't want to face the day without some of the coffee Naoto had been kind enough to stock up our apartment with. I'll try to give her an easy task.


Before I could get her name, Naoto broke into the conversation. "Ah, Tanya, you don't need to worry about her. She's going to be with my team." Naoto grimaced for a moment, before turning and smiling at the woman. "Good morning, Missus Matsukawa. Got your boning knives today?"


The woman grunted something indecipherable before moving off with Naoto towards the doorway of the office. I shrugged and beckoned the next person forwards. Naoto had volunteered yesterday to handle the disposal of the two hundred and eighty-one bodies left in the wake of our operation and had put out the call for people with experience as butchers or slaughterhouse workers. Presumably, the woman had been one of those.


That particular task was a priority, especially since eighty-nine of those bodies were Britannian. At first, I had planned to leave them where they lay to convince the Britannians that some outside faction had engaged in hit-and-run attacks on the gang locations independent of the local people of Shinjuku. Of course, that idea had been part of a larger plan that had succumbed to resistance from an unanticipated source, Diethard Reid.


To my surprise, Diethard had flatly declined to run the story about Britannians running shady criminal operations in the Ghetto.


"It's not enough," he'd explained via Kallen's phone the afternoon after the raids. "I warned you that you'd need a smoking gun if you really wanted to accomplish anything, and this isn't it. I joined to see history being made, but I can guarantee this whole thing would blow over in a week, two tops. Clovis would get to demand some extra gifts, a few offices would change hands, and I'd probably be helped out a window or down a flight of stairs.


"Until you can get something more substantive," the irritating producer had concluded, "something that names big names, not just names next to big names, I'm not running it. Face it, the Britannian audience isn't going to care about tax dodges and weeping Elevens. Come back when you've got something that adds up to more than a slap on the wrist."


The prospect of overruling him had been extremely tempting, but I'd forced my initial frustration down after curtly telling Diethard that I'd call him back. Kallen had been gratifyingly indignant on my behalf, freely vocalizing my anger at the impudent man for me.


"I agree completely," I'd said, smiling at Kallen, who'd truly been a sight for sore eyes even with the sweat rolling down her face from our hand-to-hand training session. "Mister Reid is unquestionably an ass, and it would be incredibly satisfying to decorate a wall with the contents of his skull. Unfortunately, forcing him into submission would be a losing game; besides, he might actually have a point."


"A point?" Kallen's reply had been openly incredulous. "The whole point of the operation was getting all that dirty laundry, right? The goal was to make the Brits rip themselves to pieces! If that bastard's not gonna do it, what was the point?"


"Well, for one thing, we successfully rescued two hundred and fifty-six women and children from the gangs." Despite my mild tone, Kallen had winced. I hadn't meant it as a rebuke, but she'd clearly taken it as such. "But he does have a point. One way or another, almost a hundred Britannians died in Shinjuku. If that becomes public knowledge, even if we aren't implicated, the possibility of another unanticipated outburst like the Christmas Incident remains."


Kallen had paled at the reminder and nodded her understanding. "Yeah… Well, I guess we did get something. No need to be greedy, even if it does leave a bad taste in my mouth, letting that piece of shit tell us what to do."


"It's all about the give and take," I'd continued as we went back into the circle chalked on the training mats, "While we could destroy each other, him being broken as a traitor benefits us as little as our mass execution benefits him. Twisting his arm won't do anything to benefit Japan. On the other hand, letting him run the stories he wants could benefit us both in the long run, advancing the Cause. Now, let's work on your grapple again."


And so for now, the secrets we had purchased with blood and bullets would remain secret. Perhaps they would enter the public sphere in the future, or perhaps they would eventually benefit the Cause by way of blackmail.


Another person stepped up into the small patch of empty space at the foot of my table with a chirpy "Good morning, Commander!"


I narrowed my eyes at the insufferably energetic boy – and a boy he was, even if he was at least three years my senior. The last one was almost sleepwalking, and this guy is practically exploding out of his shoes. A pity the energy levels aren't distributed more equally.


"Good morning, Takahiro," I replied, resisting the urge to bark at the youth to wipe the stupid grin off his face. "You seem quite energetic this morning. I expect you to channel that vigor toward your work today, understand? More shoveling, less flexing in front of Rin and Miyu today."


"No worries, Commander!" Takahiro said, eyes bright and utterly devoid of shame, grin widening as the room broke into rueful and sympathetic laughter. "I'm gonna shovel up so much garbage that my biceps will get huge in no time! That way, I won't need to flex in front of the girls – I'll have one on each arm, enjoying the gun show up close!"


The room exploded into laughter, only some of it lecherous, at the lame joke. One of the men clustered around the table clapped Takahiro on the shoulder. In a more regimented setting, in a different life, I'd have had Takahiro down on the floor giving me pushups until his vaunted biceps quivered with exhaustion; here in a volunteer organization that relied on high morale to maintain group cohesion, I rewarded the attempt at humor with a raised brow.


As far as stimulants go, at least bad jokes are cheaper than coffee. Even the crap sold as store-brand instant, which… is admittedly still pricey, if you factor in the risks inherent in smuggling bulk goods into Shinjuku.


I allowed things to quiet down before responding. "Congratulations, Takahiro," I started with a smile even I'd categorize as threatening, "for volunteering your and your crew's services as haulers for the day. There's no shortage of garbage in need of urgent disposal, including lots of nice heavy building rubble. Go see Nagata for the keys to the dump truck."


I hesitated, and then relented and opted to show the boy some mercy. It would have felt like kicking a puppy otherwise. "Feel free to drag your friends into it as well. After all, a job shared is a job halved, and I'm sure they'll appreciate the experience of carrying your burdens."


"You bet! Thanks, Tanya!" The little shit's grin somehow got even wider as he gave me a sloppy salute. "You'll never see streets as clean as they're gonna be by dinner time tonight!"


"...I'm sure" I pointed at the door with an unimpressed look. "But if you have enough free time to keep dawdling around here, I might have you put it to work cleaning the sewers too."


That finally got a reaction out of the kid as he hurried out the door just as a grizzled man stepped up to take his place.


"Alright," I turned back to my list, "I've got you on loading duty, Mister Yanagawa. I need you to take ten people and go find Nagata, and he'll tell you which boxes he needs you to load for the various lunch lines. Once the lunch prep is over, head to Kuyakusho Road and assist the road crew. There's plenty of potholes to be filled, and someone needs to shovel the gravel."


The process continued for another twenty minutes until the last of the crew leaders closed the office door behind them as they left to find available hands, cutting off the dwindling sounds of breakfast. I hopped down from the table and dropped the assignment list, ticking off the first of many items from my internal list for the day with a sigh.


From behind her desk, Inoue looked up and shot me a sympathetic look. "Another day of fun and games, huh?"


"Don't I know it," I groused, stretching until I felt my back pop. "And not swatting Takahiro was probably the easiest item on my list today. Not swatting the old bastards in Kyoto is going to be far more taxing, even if they're technically too far away to hit."


"I'm sure you'd manage to find a way if they'd really earned it," Inoue reassured me, before turning back to her paperwork. "You are the reigning queen of ambushes, after all."


"Don't let Major Onoda hear you say that," I replied, ignoring the warmth in my cheeks at the compliment from a highly respected comrade, "he's bad enough without such a grievous personal slight lighting a fire under him."


"Go make your phone call," Inoue snorted, "and quit hovering. You're distracting me from my paperwork."


Resisting the urge to make a scathing parting remark – I was not hovering, no matter what Inoue said – I bid the Organization's quartermaster goodbye and made my way back to the apartment. Despite the short trip, every step I took was shadowed by Morihisa and Shuzo, sometimes known as Boar and Mallet, my assigned guards for the day.


Naoto had pushed for round-the-clock guard assignments after my speech, pointing out that my profile was now high enough that surviving gang members might specifically target me for retaliatory attacks. I hadn't protested – if a fight broke out, I'd want backup on hand, and since I'd helped train the pair I had no doubts about their competence.


As expected, no gangers lay in wait in the building's lobby nor on the staircase, and Morihasa and Shuzo took up their usual positions bracketing the door as I stepped into the apartment that had somehow become home to me over the last seven months.


The burner phone, delivered to me via a figurative railroad of hands that terminated with Nagata, who had passed it to me this morning along with the note specifying the time of the call, had only a single number saved in its list of contacts. I took a moment to spin up my enhancement suite, more as a calming mechanism than out of a serious belief that I was in imminent physical danger, and dialed the lone contact.


The phone on the other end of the line rang once, and then I heard an unfortunately familiar voice, just as dispassionate as I'd remembered, greet me. "Hello, Miss Hawthorne. You've had quite the eventful week, haven't you?"


"Hello," I greeted the man from Kyoto, "I would like to say that it's a pleasure to hear from you again. I will thank you for your advice, the last time we spoke; Major Onoda has been quite the boon to this Organization. Your facilitation is thoroughly appreciated. And yes, I have been very busy of late. Spring is the time for new beginnings, isn't it?"


"Quite," the droll voice replied, "although you could argue that every beginning entails the ending of what came before. In particular, it seems like the recent collapse of the organized underworld in Shinjuku has effectively brought an end to several potentially lucrative opportunities."


"Quite the tragic development for many, I'm sure," I said, affecting a disinterested air; the preliminaries were seemingly over, which meant it was time for negotiations to begin in earnest. "That said, I personally have little sympathy for drug peddlers and less for human traffickers. It's quite amusing, in a way: I'm sitting on a literal ton of amphetamines and other goodies, and I have no use for any of it. Frankly, I'd be tempted to tip it all into Tokyo Bay if I wasn't so worried about the environmental impact."


"How unfortunate," the man from Kyoto said, voice as dry as a desert, "but based on my understanding, it's not only the ready-to-ship product taking up your storage space, is it?"


"You have good sources," I smiled joylessly, baring my teeth at the wall, "you are quite well informed. Yes, Mister Kozuki was able to handle the guards and the floor manager before they could attempt any sabotage. As a consequence, we have come into possession of a large amount of chemicals that could presumably be processed into Ice with the help of some industrial lab equipment. Which we also have, and would love to see gone."


"I see, I see…" I could hear a pen scratching against paper as the representative of the SIx Houses muttered. "Hmm… Well, I suppose that could be of some minor interest to my managers. It would cut down on the cost of setting up a new laboratory from scratch, although transportation would be an issue, I suppose…"


"As you remarked during our first meeting, the maglev is a highly convenient method of transport, particularly now that direct services run between the greater Kanto area and Kyoto." My smirk was definitely coming through my voice, but I didn't try to hide it. I had the leverage here, and two-bit bargaining stratagems wouldn't work on me. "I'm sure your masters will have little trouble finding eager hands to help you ship your goods, especially if you pay in specie."


"Trade is the lifeblood of our enterprise; I am sure my employers would be happy to properly compensate any individuals or groups in Shinjuku willing to prove themselves helpful." The mild statement was a poor veil for the threat to sponsor potential rivals for control over Shinjuku. While that had been a concern during past negotiations, things had changed despite the wealth and influence the Six Houses could still bring to bear.


After all, it's hard to have much moral authority when you refuse to get your hands dirty.


"I'd be happy to provide a list of hard workers, free of charge. Think of it as a gesture of friendship." They would all be quite loyal workers as well – loyal to me. Hopefully, that would reduce the number of new spies whoever Kyoto sent managed to recruit. "In fact, as a further friendly gesture, I'll let you know that we recovered more than just a ton of meth from the lab. It turns out that production did not take up the whole warehouse, leaving the remainder to serve its original role as storage space."


"Oh? Well, good for you, I suppose." The man from Kyoto's bland voice slipped into a disinterest so profound it had to be feigned. "I don't suppose they were just storing extra tires, were they?"


"Nothing so useful," I scoffed, "in fact, nothing remotely useful at all. At least amphetamines have some medical use. Refrain, on the other hand, is just entirely useless to any but the most depraved or the most degraded."


"Refrain?" The waver in the man's voice was barely there, just the smallest of hitches in his voice. I likely would have never noticed had my enhancement suite not overclocked my brain. "How… Peculiar. And potentially valuable. That said, we aren't interested in any petty exchanges. How much product did you recover?"


"One of my associates estimates roughly four hundred thousand doses, already packaged in vials for distribution," I casually passed on Tamaki's estimate with all of the interest of a waiter reciting the daily specials. The enthusiasm that sold my message to the people wouldn't work here; instead, I needed to be as relentlessly and obviously bored as possible to really make my products seem worthwhile. "I think there's a few injector guns included too."


For a moment, the line was silent except for the slow, heavy breathing of the man from Kyoto, barely audible even with my hearing boosted to superhuman levels. Then, with an admirable attempt at a bored affectation, "Four hundred thousand doses, already packaged for sale, you say?"


"At least for distribution," I replied with a shrug. "And all of them completely useless, at least for me. You wouldn't happen to have any interest in almost half a million vials of Refrain, would you? I know that pharmaceuticals are outside of the two primary industries your group dabbles in, but…"


"I'm sure we could find a use for such an asset," the cultivated disinterest had returned to the man from Kyoto's voice, bland as beige. It was almost convincing. "Not that we particularly need to expand at present; business is good, after all. But in such uncertain times, it's good to diversify."


"Of course," I readily agreed, "and times are hard indeed. I wouldn't want to overly impact your organization or the good work you do. In the spirit of mutual cooperation that has marked our relationship so far, I will keep my requests modest. Four hundred thousand kilograms of lentils or beans, four hundred thousand kilograms of rice or other cereals, one hundred thousand kilograms of soy, fifty thousand kilograms of salt, and fifty thousand liters of vegetable oil. Also, four pallets of vitamin supplements. Preferably the five-hundred count bottles."


"Impossible." The man from Kyoto snapped, mildly irritated. "It can't be done. What do you even need a thousand tons of dry goods for anyway?"


"You might not realize," I began, choosing my words with care, "that outside of Kyoto, virtually every Number in Japan balances on the ragged edge of starvation, and that chronic malnutrition is the order of the day. I understand that your organization prioritizes armed confrontation, as is your prerogative as weapon manufacturers and industrialists, but please understand that a man weakened by hunger is an ineffective fighter at best, and a rotting corpse at worst."


"The general food insecurity of the Eleven population isn't exactly a great secret," the representative replied snippily, "but you're asking for too much. Several trainloads of food arriving in Shinjuku is far more difficult to hide than a few truckloads of our finest merchandise."


"Then don't make it a secret," I felt a familiar smile, a professional smile, spread across my face. I had him on the ropes if he was making such weak excuses. "Flaunt it instead. Make it an open donation. The Rising Sun Benevolent Association is an officially registered charity, complete with a noble charter. I'm sure they would love a donation from the Numbers Advisory Council, and I'm sure your masters would love some good PR for once. We'll even send a thank you card."


"...Audacious as always," remarked the gray man, "but audacity sometimes triumphs. I will pass your proposal on to the board – I'm reasonably certain that at least one of them would be eager to champion your terms. Now, unless there's anything else…?"


"There is, in fact," I broke in, "I'd like to place an order from your more standard catalog."


"Oh? Interested in some bullets to accompany the beans?" The dry voice spoke of mild amusement at an old and familiar joke, almost a private ritual.


"Indeed, and bandages too." I pulled the scribbled list of figures from my pocket. For all that Naoto had noble education under his belt, his handwriting was still nearly illegible. "First, let me point out that the estimated value, as best as I could figure, for one point two tons of unadulterated meth is one point eight million pounds. You owe me, and that's not even counting the additional value of the Refrain, about four hundred and eighty thousand pounds."


"Careful now, Miss Hawthorne," the dry voice was like a fingernail lightly rasping across the skin of my ear. "Be very careful. Wholesale deals are quite tricky, after all. Come now, be honest – you don't have any other options besides us, do you? No need to ruin a deal that could keep every mouth in Shinjuku fed for at least a few weeks, depending on how strictly you ration it."


"You are definitely my preferred purchaser, but you are far from the only interested party." I'd come prepared for this sticking point in particular. I'd known that the old bastards in Kyoto would do their best to inflict an unequal deal if I didn't push for every inch, and their representative had acted exactly as I'd expected.


"For one," I briskly continued, "I could sell the material back to the Britannians. I'd need an intermediary, but I already have one lined up. The Chinese would be more tricky, mostly due to the transportation issues, but I'd be willing to give them a discount on account of the oceanic shipping; I'm not unreasonable, and neither are my expectations."


This was half a bluff on my part. I had little doubt that Diethard could find a whole series of buyers interested in retailing amphetamines, but it was unlikely he'd be willing to act as the Britannian face for a wholesale distribution operation. The Chinese were an even longer reach, although I had little doubt that the superpower across the Sea of Japan had seeded agents in every Eleven ghetto near a port. It would take longer to find a broker, but it was still plausible.


Half a bluff or not though, I was still confident in my abilities to sell this deal to Kyoto House. And… Even if I didn't manage to close the deal, my willingness to bow and scrape for the collaborators in the ancient capital was practically spent. Their testing mission had led to a bloodbath, they had deliberately tried to put a stumbling block in my path via Onoda, and they had forced me to sell my organization's services to the JLF in exchange for basic supplies.


There will be, I swore to myself, a reckoning. Japan will be independent with or without these Honorary parasites, and fairweather friends will not be spared the rope if examples prove necessary. If they can't or won't help us now, then they are Britannians in all but blood.


A minute passed in silence, and then another. Digging for every scrap of information I could find, I tuned my enhancement suite to boost my hearing yet further still. Over the line, I could still hear the rhythmic breathing of the man from Kyoto, accompanied by the ever-so-faint periodic scratching of pen on paper.


There must be someone else in the room with him, I realized. He's the mouthpiece, but they're passing notes and giving him his instructions.


"My schedule is quite cramped today," I said, breaking the silence, "and I know you're not alone. I also know that you were sufficiently expendable to be sent to a low-level meeting in the Tokyo Settlement. If you cannot make a decision, kindly pass the phone over to someone who can."


The regular breaths stilled, and for a moment I wondered if I'd gone too far. Then, a moment later, another voice came onto the line.


"Hajime Tanya… I've heard surprisingly much about you…" The new voice was robust, but a quaver betrayed this second stranger's advanced age. "Some have started calling you the Savior of Shinjuku… Others whisper that you have the blessing of the kami and that the dust and wind disguise your appearance and conceal your footfalls… Quite remarkable rumors for a hafu who can't even claim to be a teenager…"


"I've never claimed to be a savior," I replied, keeping the anger at that old familiar slur from my voice as I balled my free hand into a fist, "nor do I claim divine blessing. I will, however, claim my identity as Japanese, no matter what color my eyes are or who my father was. Indeed, I've never been anything but Japanese, something that I doubt you can say no matter how black your hair is."


"They say you're quite the passionate one…" The elderly voice chuckled into the line, "and that rumor at the very least is true… Perhaps the other ones are too… After all, a thousand tons of foodstuffs would feed every mouth in Shinjuku…"


"But only for a few days, perhaps two weeks if everybody got a single meal a day," I cut in, "and as far as I can tell, the approximate value of the food would only come to a hundred and eighty thousand pounds, plus shipping. The pharmaceuticals I've got are easily worth twelve times that amount. I fully anticipate that you will come out ahead in our dealings, but I won't be fobbed off with a pittance while the city around me starves."


"Passionate indeed… Perhaps too much… Don't push me, girl. I've buried better than you." The musing tone and geriatric cadence abruptly switched to a rough, almost ursine growl. "You're good, but you're not special. You have a talent for organization, but you are arrogant as well, arrogant and easily baited. Young blood might run hot, but a loose tongue will see you broken on a wheel if left uncontrolled."


The familiar grandstanding of the old, powerful, and complacent. I snarled internally. As if I didn't already know that my entire life is spent dancing on the edge of a knife?


"Threats are meaningless unless backed by action," I riposted, entirely unimpressed with the old codger's threats, "and I have yet to see anything from you or your House that indicates the necessary testicular fortitude to follow through. You are powerful, I admit, powerful and rich, but the sharpest sword is useless in hands too weak to lift it."


I stopped myself before I could truly let my rage take me. Collaborators or not, they are still useful. No need to burn bridges before I've crossed them.


"But," I injected a conciliatory note into my voice, "we truly are on the same side, aren't we? The ultimate aim of the Six Houses is the liberation of Japan, for what else would justify the willful endangerment of your cushy positions in the Britannian Administration? I have the same goal. And, while I respect how you and yours have kept the hearth-fire of Japanese freedom banked through these bitter years, the times are changing. Can't you feel it in the wind? The status quo has been dead for almost four months now."


"Liberation doesn't mean the same thing to everybody," the quavering voice remarked, "and there are many different possible Japans that could rise from the embers if that happy day ever truly comes. The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, no matter how similar our goals may be."


"True enough," I acknowledged, "but no matter what Japan the future might hold, a land empty of its people is a hollow victory at best. At this moment, my primary concern is keeping as many of our people alive as possible. Whoever pushes the Britannians off our sacred shores will need strong backs and full bellies to rebuild a nation once again. Surely we can find common ground over that shared goal?"


"Indeed," the man on the other end of the line grumbled, cadence slowing down once more. "But people will remember who brought them food… Gratitude is fleeting as far as coins go… But it buys power… At least as long as the bellies are full…"


"You can take the credit." The answer was obvious; it was absurd that this was even an issue. "I already told your man that the Rising Sun would happily send a thank you card for your 'donation' of food. I meant that sincerely; if you are willing to sell and ship food to Shinjuku, you are free to take the credit as publicly as you wish. I would be willing to praise your name in the Meeting Hall if that would help ease your worries."


"Hmph…" The voice wavered indecisively, the aged quaver strengthening as the thoughtful hum dragged on. "Well… What else were you going to ask for…? Out with it. Let's hear what you have to say…"


"Two more shipments of the same composition and value, to be shipped at your cost," I replied promptly, "which would come to about five hundred and forty thousand pounds in total.


"Further, I have two lists of further inventory items, one of construction materials and some tools, the other of your usual stock in trade, namely munitions." I loosened my tightly clenched fist, flexing my fingers to try to get the pins and needles of impacted circulation out. "I wouldn't want to bore you by reading them out in full, so I will deliver them via your agent, Asahara, instead. There's nothing overly exotic on either."


"And the total…?" The old man's voice had relaxed a bit too, just slightly. The firm tone typical to hardball negotiators the world over was still present, but the fire had banked. "Come on, girl, I know you have it. You've had every other number on hand…"


"Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds for the construction equipment and tools, four hundred thousand pounds for the weapons," I smoothly replied, quickly consulting Naoto's notes. "Together with the food shipments, that's a total of one million, three hundred and ninety thousand pounds. Deducted from the estimated value of the drugs, Kyoto House stands to profit by eight hundred and ninety thousand pounds, complete with favorable PR."


"Done," the old man barked, some of the vigor returning to his voice, "contingent on the reception of your lists and the verification of the estimated prices, and contingent on an analysis of the product's purity conducted by our personnel."


"I accept," I said, the words sweet on my tongue. If I were back in the Japan of my first life, I would have been raked over the coals for agreeing to such a lopsided deal. Here, at the head of a comparatively powerless insurrectionary body, I was just happy that negotiations had been civilized for once.


I didn't even need to kill anybody this time! Perhaps even the old bastards can learn!


"Good… Good…" The vigor faded, leaving a tired old man behind once more. "We'll be in touch soon… Hajime Tanya… I will be watching your career with interest… Take care…"


"And you as well, Mister Kyoto," the typical pleasantry sliding effortlessly off my tongue as I relaxed at the familiar ritual marking the end of a business call. "And long live Japan."


A minute hesitation, and then a murmured voice replied. "Long live Japan, and long live the Imperial Family. Revere the Emperor, expel the barbarians."


And with that, the phone went dead in my hand. I dropped it on the battered old table and collapsed down onto Oghi's bunk, suddenly exhausted.


I had done it.


I had secured possibly the most important deal of my life. There would be food for a while, long enough for arms to grow strong and for minds to focus beyond aching bellies. And in those minds, at least for a while, Japan would live on for just a little while longer.



---------



APRIL 26, 2016 ATB
SHINJUKU GHETTO, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1235


"-and I met with the technician Kyoto House dispatched to evaluate the purity and quantity of the samples this morning." I stopped to take a bite of my bean soup, helping the spoonful of lentils down with a quick sip of water. "Happily, he had no complaints about either."


"So, that's it then, right?" asked Naoto from the end of the table. "The deal's done?"


"That's right," I confirmed, "and judging by how surprised Kyoto's man was, the quality of the product was quite high. Which," I continued contemplatively, "probably means that the Six Houses got an even better deal out of this than they'd anticipated."


"Well, hopefully, they'll put at least some of that money back into helping Japan," Inoue said, although she didn't sound particularly optimistic. "But even if they don't, a windfall like that might make negotiations easier the next time around."


"Assuming this doesn't all blow up in our faces somehow," I replied, trying not to sound too dour. "For all we know, a major 'donation' from a third party will give Clovis, or somebody close to him, an excuse to end the food dole. After all, Elevens don't need to eat that much, right? And ClovisLand North isn't going to pay for itself."


Early on in his reign as Area Eleven's Viceregal-Governor, Prince Clovis had proclaimed that nobody would starve under his benevolent leadership. While the Britannian press had lauded the prince's "fair but firm paternalistic heart" to the skies, it had been blatantly obvious to everybody that some form of food aid was necessary if the Area wanted a workforce after the mass starvation during the first year after the Conquest.


To accomplish the lofty goal of ending starvation in Area Eleven, Clovis had instituted a food distribution program in the urban ghettos across the Area. Like most things Britannian, the program had been poorly thought-out and rife with corruption. The food deliveries came irregularly, and the food that ended up in Shinjuku was far too little and often already rotten by the time it arrived. Much of it also fell into the hands of local gangs and petty warlords.


In spite of the mismanagement and cut corners, the program had worked as intended. Crews of hollow-cheeked workers overseen by better-fed Honorary Britannians had built the Britannian Concession and the ever-expanding Tokyo Settlement. Hungry workers with just enough calories to survive a day's hard labor had stepped up for the chance to work in poorly managed and incredibly unsafe manufacturies, at the constantly busy docks, and on innumerable job sites.


Of course, the work crews had never been acknowledged for their hard labor. The Britannians credited the speedy rise of their abomination of a city to their civilianized construction KMFs, the great machines strengthening the foundations of the empire on and off the battlefield. While the construction Knightmares had proven invaluable, without the efforts of tens of thousands of Elevens, the Concession that loomed over Tokyo on massive stilt-like supports would still be decades in the future.


But, the food had kept the Ghetto alive too, even as the Concession rose and the Settlement spread. Indeed, the ingredients in the soup I had purchased with my labor during the years between the Conquest and the death of my mother had come from that dole. The fact that I had been practically a walking skeleton when I met Ohgi and Naoto spoke volumes about the food program's efficacy, but the same could be said for the fact that I was alive to meet them at all.


"If the Prince is going to halt the distribution over something so petty, then it was always going to happen some time or another," Souichiro said, speaking up for the first time since our working lunch had begun. "That being said, I don't know how I feel about turning to… Honoraries… to keep us alive. I understand that we don't have a choice, but…"


"Food is food," Naoto opined with a shrug, "and these particular Honoraries are the same ones funding the JLF. They really are the best option, for now at least."


"For now," Souichiro reluctantly agreed. "I still don't like it, though."


"I like starving to death less." I gestured with my spoon. Predictably, the grumbling ceased at the reminder of the most likely alternative. Pride and ideological purity couldn't fill empty stomachs, after all.


"Moving on to the next topic," I pushed the empty bowl away from me, "Inoue, how is the reunion plan going?"


"Mixed results, I'd say," the logistics officer replied, "we've managed to find a few of the girls' families, but, well… Most of them don't really have families. Not anymore. Some of them might still have relatives in Saitama, but unless we load them on a truck and have Nagata drive them over for a visit…"


"I understand," I said, closing my eyes as I thought for a moment. I had put Inoue in charge of the slaves we had liberated during the raids, and she had delegated the task to Kasumi, her assistant and a former slave liberated from a gang herself. Kasumi had spent the last three days working herself to the bone to find surviving relatives to place the women and girls with, but it sounded like efforts had stalled out.


"I suppose we could hand them over to Chihiro," Naoto said, voice slow and full of reservation. The unspoken "but…" hung heavily over the table. "I mean, she has taken care of most of the rest…"


"Chihiro is already unstable," I replied firmly, "and I am increasingly dubious of her value to the Organization. She was intoxicated when I last met with her in the middle of the day and was both insubordinate and insulting. I would rather relieve her of command than entrust two hundred vulnerable people into her care."


"I agree with Tanya. Chihiro's recent behavior has been deplorable." Inoue's voice was hard and heated. "I understand that she's grieving, but we've all lost people and Makoto died weeks ago. If she can't handle loss without going to pieces, we can't let her stay a leader, especially not if she's becoming a drunk."


"Well, if we're not dumping them into Chihiro's lap, what are we going to do with them?" Naoto's tone was carefully neutral, although I doubted he had any more love for Chihiro than I did; she had never bothered to hide her antipathy for his mixed heritage any more than she had her feelings about mine. "Things are hard enough as is in Shinjuku without our own miniature refugee crisis."


"Break them up into groups of ten, with each group consisting of women of roughly the same age?" I suggested, turning to look at Naoto. "The adult groups can be distributed throughout the Rising Sun's area of control – ask the Council for volunteers to host them, and let them know that they'll get bonus rations for hosting. The children," I hesitated, "the children can stay in vacant apartments in our building. There are at least a few units empty, I think."


"Delegation, huh?" Naoto smiled knowingly. "Can't say I'm surprised. I'll raise the matter at the meeting at sixteen hundred."


"Fine. I think that's all of our outstanding business handled, yes?" I drummed my fingers quickly, scanning the other three faces around the table. "Alright. Let's get to why I called you here today."


"Besides the food?" Inoue grinned as she licked her spoon clean. "I thought you just wanted to share a meal with us, Tanya! I am hurt to hear that you had something else in mind!"


"You'll survive," I dryly replied in the face of snickers from Naoto and Inoue and a single muffled cough from Souichiro. "More to the point, we need to start thinking on a bigger scale. The deal with Kyoto is part of that, but even in that case we're still thinking too small."


"Half a million pounds worth of food is too small, huh?" Naoto asked as he leaned back in his chair, the question clearly rhetorical. "No, I get what you mean. Three million kilograms of food isn't very big, not when you're talking about a city."


"That's right," I agreed. "Let's talk about scale. At the moment, the Kozuki Organization itself has, in total, just over a hundred members, most of whom are still undergoing training at The School. The Rising Sun Benevolent Association has maybe twenty dedicated members who aren't also part of the Organization. Naoto, how many members would you say the Sun Guard has? I'm estimating somewhere between one thousand seven hundred and two thousand."


"Umm…" Naoto looked up at the ceiling for a moment, presumably distracted with internal calculations. "I'd say a bit more than that, but definitely no more than two thousand five hundred. And that's pushing it."


"Let's call it two thousand," I settled, "which gives us just over twenty-one hundred bodies across all three organizations. In other words, including noncombatants and untrained fighters armed only with sticks and knives, we have one percent of Shinjuku affiliated with us. That's not enough to control the Ghetto, much less conduct offensive operations."


"So, you're saying we need to recruit?" Souichiro asked, leaning forwards over his bowl. "I don't know how much use we'd get out of more recruits at the moment. Not until we can put guns in their hands, at least."


"True, we can't do much to expand our combat power at the moment," I nodded at the former police officer, "and I'm hoping the new arms we're purchasing from the Six Houses help with that particular problem. However, an army, even a guerrilla one, needs more than just frontline fighters. We also need to recruit engineers and medics, teamsters and administrators, mechanics, and even cooks.


"And then," I said, pausing slightly for effect, "there's intelligence. We have Diethard and Kallen, but two agents aren't enough. We need to find the people in the Ghetto who have work tickets and regular engagements in the Settlement, the ones who work as cleaners, janitors, and laborers in the Concession itself. Britannian arrogance likely keeps most of the occupiers from noticing servants, but they all have eyes and ears."


I stood up and began to pace back and forth as I continued. "Up until now, we've operated as a small, independent, armed band. We controlled limited amounts of territory, but virtually everybody in our organization was expected to be a frontline fighter, ready to pick up a gun at a moment's notice. We can no longer afford to think on such a limited level.


"When we took over Shinjuku," I continued, "we also took on the organizational requirements that come from running Shinjuku. A gang, or a militia, can't run a city. We know that for a fact. They simply lack organizational depth. Now, unless we want to lose control of the Ghetto in a few months, we need to stop thinking like a militia and start thinking like an army."


"Can you explain what you mean, Tanya?" Naoto inquired. "I mean, we've already implemented a training system or the start of one, and we've got something like a social services division with the Rising Sun and all that. That's beyond what gangs tend to do already, correct?"


"True," I agreed, "we've made a good start, but there's still a great deal to accomplish. For one, we need to start focusing on establishing institutions. Right now, everything is run on a more or less ad hoc basis, with personal loyalty to local leadership binding the Organization together. That will have to change. Personal loyalty only lasts as long as leaders can consistently deliver victory, and victory is never consistent over the long haul.


"We also need to start cultivating specialist units, particularly when we're talking about non-combat services. Inoue's an excellent quartermaster, and Nagata is a good driver, but what happens if they die? The institutional knowledge and skills die with them, without any clear idea about who takes over. No individual, not even you or I, Naoto, should be irreplaceable in an organization dedicated to fighting an empire that spans multiple continents."


I let that sit for a moment, giving my audience time to absorb my points. Change was difficult, but in our case, very necessary. The only reward for good work was, always, more work. Still, I was optimistic; my comrades had always risen to the challenge before, and I fully expected they would again.


"On another topic," I said a minute or so later, "we need to start thinking outside of Shinjuku. The outside world doesn't stop at the Ghetto's wall, and we need to stay on top of things. The situation in Niigata is turning into a quagmire for the Britannians, and while I'm sure the JLF are ecstatic about it, the rising food prices aren't helping matters here. Worse, the Britannians are also increasingly aware of the threat represented by Japanese uprisings; their complacency is waning in favor of paranoia. Sooner or later, they will act on that fear.


"At the moment, the Rising Sun has a presence only in Shinjuku, and the Kozuki Organization only has a single small outpost outside these walls. This is an issue for many reasons, the worst of which is that Shinjuku is entirely indefensible."


I turned on my heel to face my fellow insurgents. "Which brings me to my next point; we need to increase the scale of our operations, both in terms of expanding our organization and in terms of ensuring that we cannot be destroyed by a single catastrophe."


"We have put all of our eggs in a single basket, haven't we?" Naoto remarked, "but expanding beyond Shinjuku is a pretty broad umbrella. I mean, for one thing, if we're already overstretched trying to keep the Ghetto under control, how are we going to find the manpower to establish branches elsewhere? And how do we make sure they stay loyal? That's a resource investment all on its own, especially if we intend to expand Rising Sun's operations too."


"I think we should start relatively small," I said, nodding to acknowledge our leader's point. "I left half of the graduated trainees behind at The School to act as a training cadre. I think that, combined with Ohgi and Major Onoda, they can handle another training cohort or two ahead of schedule. The sooner we can turn militia into soldiers, the better.


"As for further expansion, we need more on-the-ground information, first-hand observations, to get a feeling for the available options. I recommend deploying the two squads of trained fighters I brought with me as scouts. Major Onoda has trained them all in infiltration, long-range scouting, and information collection. They will also be useful in training anyone we recruit with the potential to play a dedicated undercover role, amongst the enemy."


Or, I thought, amongst our alleged allies. Kusakabe's surely up to something, considering his recent promotion, and I need to know what he's planning before he blindsides us as well as the Britannians.


"Can I add something?" Souichiro asked, and continued after I nodded and sat back down, leaving the proverbial and literal floor to him as he rose from his chair. "The School… It's in Gunma. My family's ancestral homeland. I've got a few cousins there, and if they're still alive, they're farmers. Even before the Conquest, people were leaving Gunma, heading to the cities… That means there are plenty of empty villages and fields. They just need to be cleared out, rebuilt…"


"So…" Inoue frowned, "you're thinking about sending civilians to Gunma too, not just trainees? That… That would actually solve a fair number of issues, but that would also be a huge resource sink."


"But it would be an investment too," Souichiro countered, "after all, every bushel of rice we can grow is one less we need to buy from the running dogs sitting in Kyoto. Beyond that, what happens if another Christmas Incident happens, only this time directed at Shinjuku? Every civilian we can get away from the mobs, the better." The older man glared at the rest of us. "We're here to protect them, aren't we? That's our job. That's why we're talking about food instead of bombs. To protect the people."


That was… Unusually spirited for Souichiro.


I remembered when I had first met him, back when Tamaki had brought him to the old basement headquarters. The former police officer had been a broken man, still mourning the loss of both of his sons, one to a Britannian bomb and the other to an honorary Britannian citizenship. Now, months later, he was vigorous, and years had fallen away from his graying head.


"You make a compelling point," I replied after a moment, "and I agree that we need to invest in our people's future. That said, I can't agree with this concept unless we have more tangible information to work with. For starters, we need to see if your cousins are still alive and if they're willing to help teach people how to farm. Also, if they have any seed grain available for sale."


"Also," Inoue chimed in, "we need to find one or two of those abandoned villages to use as models. At the very least, we'll need to figure out if we need to send one of our generators out there for power, not to mention portable stoves, water purifiers… The list goes on."


"And we need to figure out how the JLF will respond," Naoto added. "From what you reported, Tanya, the Britannian presence in northwestern Gunma is pretty light, but the JLF maintains a presence. The last thing we need is a fight over territory with them, or to get in the way of some sort of operation they're planning. Or even worse, stumble into some extra secret Brit operation or base. They do have a habit of showing up where you least want 'em."


"Quite," I agreed and turned back to Souichiro. "How do you feel about taking the lead on this one, Souichiro? You're the one with the personal connections to the locals, as well as some familiarity with the area. Ohgi can introduce you to Major Onoda to cover the JLF angle. I suspect," I continued, a note of annoyance creeping into my voice, "that the Major will have absolutely no problem collaborating with you."


"I'd be honored," Souichiro responded, bowing slightly at the waist. "It's been far too long since I last went home."


"Good," I said, continuing briskly along. "I'm planning on sending Tamaki, his squad of pet goons, and about forty Sun Guards to The School. Find two or three people to help you out in Gunma, and you can travel with them. Get a list of what you'll need together, including whatever 'gifts' might be necessary. You'll be heading out in two days."


"Very well." Souichiro pushed his chair back under the table and retrieved his hat. "I'll begin my preparations immediately. Thank you for entrusting this mission to me."


"Thank you for your idea," I replied, waving a quick goodbye as he left before turning back to my two comrades. We waited in silence as the sound of footsteps receded down the hallway, and then continued to sit quietly until Shuzo, Mallet, poked his head in through the door.


"He left the building without talking to anybody, Ma'am," he reported, "and it looks like he's heading back towards the Meeting Hall."


"Thank you, Shuzo," I said, acknowledging his report with a nod, not looking away from my comrades as the soldier withdrew from the room. "Your thoughts?"


"I don't think he's the mole," Naoto said thoughtfully. "I didn't think he was before the meeting, and I don't think he is now. Definitely not for the Six Houses, at least. No way he'd work with them – that disgust in his voice was too real. I don't think that his son working for one of their companies means anything important; it's pretty clear that 'Keith' is dead to him."


"It could be a long con," Inoue countered unenthusiastically, "I mean… It could be. I just don't see Souichiro being able to pull it off. He's, well…"


"Painfully straight-laced?" Naoto supplied with a slash of a grin, "yes, during the time we've worked together, he's always struck me as a 'by the books' man, very uncomfortable with duplicity or misdirection."


"He's also hierarchy-focused," I mused, thinking about how Souichiro still lapsed into a more formal cadence whenever he replied to questions or orders. "I'm inclined to agree. If he's a spy, he certainly isn't Kyoto's."


"Which," Naoto began with a heavy sigh, "leaves Chihiro. Unless anybody thinks Nagata or Tamaki is telling tales out of school?"


"Not Tamaki, but I have considered Nagata as a real possibility," I admitted. "He was around to hear about the Lacy Garter plan, and considering how much he cares about them, his wife and child represent a solid hook. On the other hand, he was also the one who volunteered to introduce me to Mister Asahara, and he's the one Kyoto House used to pass the burner to me. The fact that he's openly associated with a Kyoto agent makes it hard to believe that he's a spy."


"I mean, unless he doesn't know he's a spy? For all he knows," Naoto pointed out, "he's just talking with a friend or whoever about what he's doing, and that friend is passing information on. I'm not saying it's likely, but maybe our problem isn't a mole, but just loose lips?"


"That's possible," I allowed, "and I really hope that you are correct about that. The idea that any of our comrades have been informing on us to anybody, even nominal allies, is… distressing."


That was putting it mildly. It had become increasingly clear that Kyoto House had a source close to the Kozuki Organization if not inside it, a source that had kept them annoyingly well informed about our group and our operations and internal dynamics. I had not wanted to acknowledge the possibility, but my conversation with Kyoto the other day had forced my hand. If I had to negotiate with Kyoto House, I couldn't allow information leakage, accidental or deliberate.


"Do you really think Chihiro could be spying on us?" Inoue asked, her tone full of a curiosity that I would call idle if I didn't know how proactive she could be. "I know that she dislikes both of you for stupid reasons, but that doesn't make her a spy. She's also not the only one who feels like that in Shinjuku, I'm sorry to say."


"I think Tanya and I are both fully aware of that," Naoto dryly replied, "but no, I don't think she's a spy. She wears her heart on her sleeve and is completely unable to control herself when she gets angry. I'm pretty sure she'd have outed herself by now if she was a traitor."


"No, it probably isn't her directly." I agreed with a shake of my head. "Given how much she hates Britannia, and myself and Naoto by association, I don't see her doing a bunch of powerful, shadowy, collaborators any favors on purpose."


"Alternatively… She could think that she's talking to a spy for the JLF or some other resistance group and have no idea who she's really feeding info to," Naoto mused. "It's not like a spy would be above lying about their loyalties."


Slowly, I nodded as I turned the idea over in my head. While he usually blended in quite well with the rest of us these days, a far cry from his occasionally ignorant or overly sensitive reactions back when I had first met him, sometimes it was still obvious that Naoto was from a Britanian noble family, at least as a bastard. After all, when it comes to duplicity, who can rival the Britannian nobility in their mastery of the art?


"Perhaps," I allowed, "or maybe she simply lacks any grasp of operational security; like with Nagata, rather than being a mole specifically, she might just be overly talkative. Alcohol in abundance will do that to a person, after all. Her hotel headquarters seemed pretty chaotic as well – it'd be hard to keep tabs on everybody there. It might not even be a person, her place could be bugged to listen to her drunken rants."


"Hmm…" Naoto rubbed his chin. "That's a good point. On the other hand, we have plenty of reasons to shitcan Chihiro, even if she isn't a spy…"


"Or," Inoue interrupted, "we could simply remove her from that environment and send her elsewhere. She's very passionate, and she clearly understands how to appeal to people; all of her girls follow her first, us second. Expelling her from the group could lead to a fracture – on the other hand, sending her on a scouting or a recruiting mission elsewhere could turn her back into an asset?"


"And separating her from her power base would give us a chance to bring them back into the fold," I said, nodding along to Inoue's point, "preserving resources and maintaining institutional homogeneity. Saitama might be a bit too close for that, but Yokohama's almost thirty kilometers away."


"And the largest Britannian naval base in the Area is less than ten kilometers from the Yokohama Ghetto, down at Yokosuka," Inoue pointed out. "I know that she's not exactly trained as a scout or an infiltrator, but surely even an untrained observer could dig up something of use down there."


"At the very least, she could warn us if all of the marines start heading north towards Tokyo," I agreed. "Hopefully, though, having her work in an environment rich with acceptable targets will prove a useful outlet for her issues. Especially if she doesn't think she has to worry about us hovering over her."


"And that dovetails neatly with our pre-existing plan to scout for potential expansion opportunities outside of Shinjuku."


"Yes, about that," Naoto leaned back in again, "where were you thinking of sending your teams, Tanya?"


"One team's going to Maebashi," I replied immediately. "If our fallback location from Shinjuku is going to be Gunma, which Souichiro's suggestion would probably lead to, we need eyes and ears in the prefectural capital. It's also the largest city in the prefecture, and probably the best place for local recruits. The proximity to The School will help us shuffle training cohorts in and out, along with supplies.


"As for the second location, I was thinking either Mito, in Ibaraki Prefecture, or Utsunomiya in Tochigi. I haven't made up my mind about which would be better, though. Each has strong arguments for and against – more of Tochigi Prefecture is rural, and it borders Gunma, meaning it has many of the same advantages. A foothold in Ibaraki, on the other hand, might allow us to form connections with the seaborne smuggling community."


"Go for Ibaraki," Naoto replied firmly. "The Oarai Isosaki and Oiwa Shrines are both located in the province, and can personally attest that Oiwa, at least, was still intact if abandoned as of three years ago. Lord Daikoku, the god of nation-building, is enshrined on the Oarai Coast; his blessing will surely help us prevail."


"...Well, I suppose such sentiments could prove helpful for recruitment," I conceded. Naoto, religious foibles or not, was the leader of the group for a reason. Perhaps he had seen something I'd overlooked. "I'm sure Yoshi will enjoy some seaside air as well."



---------



APRIL 26, 2016 ATB
SHINJUKU GHETTO, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1507


"Missus Tsuchiya, right?" I exchanged bows with the woman, noting the vaguely harried look in her eyes. "Please, come in. Have a seat."


"Thank you very much, Miss Hajime." Despite her weathered features and the deep stress lines carved across her cheeks, Tsuchiya Hitomi still moved gracefully, carefully pulling out her chair before perching on the very edge, legs primly crossed. The years had not been kind to the former assistant principal; though I knew she was thirty-eight, she looked like she was already in her mid-fifties.


"I want to thank you for responding so quickly to my message," I began, smiling politely from across Inoue's desk. "As soon as I proposed this initiative, Kaname Ohgi all but insisted that you be involved. He was quite effusive in his praise of your skills as an educator and an administrator."


"I'm… very happy to hear that," the one-time assistant principal of Toyama Junior & Senior High School replied. "I was also very happy to hear that Mister Kaname was still alive… I haven't heard from him in years."


"I'm sure he'd be happy to catch up with you whenever he's next back in Shinjuku," I said smoothly, falling into the familiar cadence of office conversations across time and worlds, "although he is unfortunately away on assignment at present."


"Oh, that's…" Missus Tsuchiya struggled for a reply for a moment, "good, I suppose? I will look forward to the occasion."


"Indeed," I smiled, "now, onto business. I don't want to waste any more of your valuable time, Missus Tsuchiya, so I will be brief. Education is practically nonexistent in the Ghetto, except in the special case of the Shinjuku School for Elevens, where anything useful is so buried in propaganda that the whole structure is a net loss. It is long past time to tackle this issue."


"I'm definitely not against the idea…" Missus Tsuchiya said, her voice slow and heavy with some emotion I couldn't quite pinpoint. "But… How? I know of the Rising Sun, and I respect your work; you've fed me and my husband for a month now. But, and meaning no disrespect, you barely hold Shinjuku. Is this… Well, is this really something you can afford to focus on?"


"We can't afford not to focus on it." In that, I was certain. "The greatest wars are fought in the heart and the mind; what happens on the battlefield is just the byproduct. Make no mistake, the Britannians have sought to occupy our minds just as much as they have sought to break our bodies."


I paused, casting my mind back over the nearly six long years that had passed since the Conquest, searching for tangible examples of what I meant. There were too many painful memories to count, but two in particular would serve me well here. "...I saw the ashes of Naruko Tenjin Shrine myself. I have also sat through classes in the School for Elevens. I know of what I speak. If we do not teach the next generation, then we will be the last generation. Education for the Japanese and by the Japanese is the heart and soul of our struggle."


"I see, I think…" The former educator muttered, clearly mulling my words over. After a moment, she appeared to come to a decision. "Alright, Miss Hajime, you make a… compelling case. And, it's been far too long since I've heard anyone speak so passionately in favor of education, so… What are you looking for from me? How can I help?"


I can't quite tell if she's on board and asking for assignments, or if she's still non-committal and asking what her responsibilities would be. Why is she dragging her feet? I wondered, slightly frustrated by the ambiguity of the situation. Does she think this is a job interview? Ohgi said she was the best chance we have for reforming anything like a functional educational system!


For a moment, I tried to put myself in Missus Tsuchiya's shoes. She was a well-educated woman who had been a key member in an important pillar of pre-Conquest society, a high school attended by children of the upper-middle class. After years of desperation and struggle, it must be shocking to so suddenly be called back to duty.


"I have the utmost faith in your skills," I reassured the older woman, "and I am sure the children under the Rising Sun's care are eager to learn, if only so they have some structure to rely upon. I'm sure you understand how hard it is to feel secure when your daily schedule is unpredictable."


"That's very true," Missus Tsuchiya replied fervently, "and structure is definitely important when it comes to education and childcare. But, what exactly is it that you need from me?"


"First and foremost," I said, "I need names. Ohgi said that I should ask you for the names of other teachers, tutors, or other educators who might still live in Shinjuku. I'm not expecting you to teach the next generation by yourself, after all!"


I smiled politely, waiting for the obligatory chuckle in response to the ludicrous concept I'd just floated, but Missus Tsuchiya just looked relieved for some reason. Did she think I was expecting her to handle all eighty thousand children in Shinjuku on her own? Nonplussed, I continued.


"You will be given a budget to recruit any of your fellow teachers. We have a reserve of Britannian currency, but we can also pay in increased rations or by providing small luxury items on request," I explained. "Once you manage to recruit some staff, start working on a curriculum, and start working on a book list. I will put a bounty out on books that you recommend, so hopefully we won't need Britannian textbooks.


"Oh, and also," I continued as inspiration struck, "if you or the people you find happen to know any technical or vocational instructors, that would be useful too. We'll need to teach adults how to be electricians, welders, mechanics, and the like.


"And once you've got a curriculum and a materials list sorted out, well…" I shrugged. "I'm not going to dictate your job to you. Let me know what you will need to educate the children. I can set aside some of the rooms in the more intact office buildings for classrooms if those would be adequate; otherwise, I'm sure I can find some families willing to host sessions in their apartments. I might be busy in the near future, but Inoue Naomi will be on hand to help you out."


"Ah, good! That's… good to hear." Miss Tsuchiya smiled, bobbing her head in a nod of acknowledgment. "And…" She continued, somewhat hesitantly, "are you going to be joining the classes, Miss Hajime?"


"Ah," I replied eloquently, blinking in surprise. "Sorry, what? I don't know anything about education, so I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to help you conduct the classes. Inoue knows at least as much about the local supply situation as I do, so I don't think I can help you much there either."


"But…" And now Missus Tsuchiya was the one blinking in confusion. "But didn't you say you wanted the children under the Rising Sun's care to be educated? Weren't… Weren't you going to include yourself? There's no way you're over twelve – you must have been in first or second grade during the Conquest!"


I stared blankly at the former teacher, who I noticed had suddenly turned pale. That's right… Biologically, I just celebrated my twelfth birthday a month ago. I had almost forgotten that I'm still a child… Suddenly, Missus Tsuchiya's hesitant dithering made a great deal more sense. It must be strange as a teacher to take orders from a pre-teen… To rely on a child to keep you fed. She must have known before she had come, but seeing is believing, as the old line went.


"I-I'm sorry," Missus Tsuchiya said, her words jumbled, rushing over one another. "I didn't mean any disrespect. I know that you're quite important, and as a leader, you must be very busy. I'm sure you don't have any time, and you're clearly doing well for yourself…"


"No disrespect taken," I replied, holding up a hand to forestall the torrent of words. As soon as I raised my hand, the woman, old enough to be my mother, nearly bit her tongue as she slammed her jaws closed. "I didn't mean to alarm you. It's just… It's just been a while since I remembered that I am technically a child."


For some reason, Missus Tsuchiya looked incredibly sad for a moment, before her face firmed back up again. "Well, Miss Hajime, that's… Not entirely uncommon here in Shinjuku, I suppose. Lots of children have been forced to grow up far too quickly."


"I made it to the fourth grade, you know," I commented idly. "I was lucky enough to start kindergarten courseearly, and I managed to skip the third grade." It was meaningless trivia, but something inside me thrummed unpleasantly at the reminder of those long-gone days, when I still thought I had a chance to find a peaceful life. "My mother was very invested in my education."


She was always very invested in me, wasn't she? Even if she didn't need to be. I felt a lump in my throat. And where did it get her? Working hard for nothing, because she ended up in a dumpster all the same.


"I… see." Missus Tsuchiya said, her voice a bit hoarse. "I guess it isn't a surprise that you were a quick study, considering where you're sitting now. Thank you for this opportunity, Miss Hajime. I'd be honored if you chose to attend my class, but of course, I wouldn't want to impose. I will start reaching out to my old colleagues immediately; I'm sure they will be overjoyed to have the opportunity to teach again."


"Thank you for your time," I replied politely, if distractedly. The itchy heat in my eyes made it hard to focus, and a woman almost a year dead kept derailing my train of thought. "I appreciate your willingness to work with me. I am looking forward to hearing back from you soon."


The now no-longer former teacher said a polite goodbye that I could barely hear before all but fleeing from the office. I remained behind Inoue's desk for a few seconds, waiting until the sound of her footsteps disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the main hall before I got up, walked to the office door, and engaged the lock.


Ohgi was in Gunma, Kallen was in Ashford, and Naoto and Inoue were very busy, too busy to bother; aside from those four, I didn't want anybody else to see me cry.

 

(Well, I got a bit overly ambitious this time around. With the advise of my beta readers and editors, I broke the 23k chapter that resulted into two halves. The upside of this is that the wait for the next chapter should be much shorter than usual. Thank you to, in no particular order, Siatru, Sunny, Restestsest, Mitch H., Rakkis157 and MetalDragon. I appreciate your help and advise.)


MAY 2, 2016 ATB
OUTPOST #2, CHUO WARD, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1707


The gate of the Chuo outpost slammed shut on Corporal Kururgi and his fire team's heels. For the first time in months, they were out of uniform and outside of the confining walls of Britannian encampments. It was Monday night, and 2nd Company had, as a unit, been granted twenty-four-hour liberty, starting seven minutes ago.


There was, Corporal Kururugi reflected, something darkly amusing about Britannian officers giving their men any liberty. It wasn't as if they particularly cared about their men, nor the regulations stipulating the leave troops were supposed to receive in the wake of a combat assignment.


No, Corporal Kururugi was certain that the sudden decision to give the regiment a day of liberty, staggered out so only a company at a time would be free, had come as a consequence of the suddenly plummeting state of the 1st Regiment's morale after the return from Toyama. Even the Britannians, his superiors in rank and race, couldn't miss the men's sudden dourness, and even the Britannians weren't foolish enough to brush the suddenly sour mood off completely.


I think they were surprised at how hard everybody took losing the guns, Kururugi thought, bouncing idly on his heels as he stood in the street. It was a habit from his childhood he'd never quite lost; Lelouch had once remarked that his thoughts, unencumbered by obstructions in his empty head, must be striking the sides of his skull hard enough to lift him off his feet.


Suzaku had whacked his friend over the head for that, carefully pulling his strength so he didn't hit too hard. And then Nunnally had chided her brother, and as always that had brought Lelouch to the point of an immediate apology.


As soon as the regiment had stepped off their buses in Tokyo three days ago, they had formed up on the parade ground. The humidity had been sweltering, even in the early evening, and the heavy uniforms and the helmets complete with full face masks hadn't helped in the slightest. In that thick, sweaty heat, company by company, the regiment had been disarmed.


Each Honorary Britannian had stepped up in turn to one of the tables manned by officers from the Military Police, all under the watchful eye of their Britannian platoon and company leaders. Each soldier had surrendered the pistol and ammunition he had been issued, along with his bulletproof vest, and had made his mark in the record book next to his name and ID number, all the while trying to ignore the ominous presence of the two Knight Police Glasgows looming over the growing heap of military material.


Corporal Kururugi wondered if the other men in the ranks, silent and faceless behind their masks, had noticed how schooled their officers' expressions had been, how white their fingers were, clenched together behind their backs in otherwise perfect parade rest. How the military policemen sitting at the tables had tensed up slightly every time an Honorary reached for his pistol.


Even if the others hadn't noticed the Britannians' fear, the implicit message of the whole hours-long process hadn't been lost on them. During their time in Toyama, the men of the 1st Regiment had been given their moment in the sun. They had been issued weapons, real weapons, and sent into the field to conduct crucial missions at the request of the Prefect of Toyama himself. Now, they were being humbled.


After the shameful assembly, the men were herded back into their barracks and reintroduced to the panoply of petty slights that came with garrison life. The quality of their food plummeted, just like Corporal Kururugi had predicted, and the men had to reacclimate to old bread and beans after weeks of fresh seafood. The daily routine of endless busywork returned as well, and while mopping already clean floors had been a boring if tolerable task before Toyama, even the most stolid in the ranks were having a hard time adjusting now.


Privately, Corporal Kururugi sympathized, even as he pushed the four privates of his fire team relentlessly in every petty task that came their way. It had been easier to handle the exact nature of their assignment in Toyama while he'd still been out in the field. The action, the need to stay present and engaged, the stakes… all of that had made it easier to push the nature of his work to the back of his mind. His mantra, "all for the Plan", had been more than enough to assuage any lingering qualms.


But back in the barracks with nothing but the internal politics of the regiment to distract him, it was far more difficult to push all of those faces away, all of the pale faces staring at him from the back of a truck as he slammed the tailgate up, all the pale faces uttering imploring words he hadn't bothered to hear as he'd stuck his gun under their noses… He had hated to do it, hated himself for helping with the oppression of his people, but he'd had no choice. Not really.


It was all for the Plan, Kururugi told himself with a final bounce, before reaching up to adjust his shades. He could feel the eyes of his four subordinates; on liberty or not, he was still in charge. He couldn't forget that. Time's ticking. All for the Plan. Only through the Plan can a truly ordered society emerge. And only by giving my people the security they deserve, the peace and the quiet provided by that ordered society, will my hands ever be anything close to clean again.


"Follow," Corporal Kururugi said, and strode away from the outpost, carefully listening as first one, then two, then four sets of footsteps fell in behind him. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. His men were still obeying his orders. That was good.


It's unfortunate, he reflected, that they only obey out of fear. Instructor Tohdoh always said that fear could only carry respect's burden for so long. Even if my father disagreed…


"Fear is power," Kururugi Genbuu had once told him in one of their rare father-son conversations. "Love is transitory, gratitude short-lived, and greed is always unmanned by fear in the kind of men who chose politics over the battlefield. They all make for useful tools, but the only way to truly lead is through fear. A leader nobody fears is no leader at all."


Maybe that's why the men were so eager to give up? Suzaku's quiet, treacherous voice asked from inside Kururugi's mind. After… After it happened, after Father died… Nobody really seemed sad to see him go… Nobody who knew him, at least…


It was, Corporal Kururugi decided as he pushed Suzaku back into his box, his men's fault that he had been forced to terrorize them into compliance. He hadn't wanted it to be this way. He had tried to teach them to respect lawful authority, doing his best to pound the regulations into their skulls. Ultimately, his men had taken away a slightly different lesson than Kururugi had intended. They'd learned that the law was important, but only so long as the law was enforced by might.


It was a very Britannian lesson and one that his four-man section had learned very well. To Kururugi's grudging pride, his men had all become adept barracks room lawyers under his tutelage as well as fearsome brawlers, equally good at leveraging obscure regulations to carry out his orders as they were with their fists and their feet. They had eagerly learned every one of Tohdoh's hand-to-hand lessons that Kururugi could recall. He would put his fire team up against any other in the entire regiment, even the brigade.


That didn't change the fact that his four privates only followed Corporal Kururugi out of fear. He had physically dominated them almost from the day of his promotion in early spring, and that physical dominance had been reinforced by his actions in Toyama. For now, that fear was enough, but it meant that Kururugi could never show weakness or vulnerability; obedience rooted in fear would only remain for as long as his men feared him.


To his frustration, Kururugi Suzaku couldn't see a way out of his situation besides doubling down. The parallels of the situation weren't lost on him; he knew that tyranny would only engender eventual resistance. But he just didn't know what else he could do. Loyalty was built on trust, and he couldn't trust his men; any one of them could be an informer, after all. He also couldn't trust them to take the long view and understand the sacrifices necessary for long-term security.


Once again, he was trapped in a situation that he hated, doing things that he hated, and turning those whom he should be protecting into his enemies.


I don't beat them because I want to, I beat them because I have to, Corporal Kururugi thought, internally glum as he tried to rationalize his behavior to himself. I just wish I could trust them to understand. It would make everything so much easier if I didn't have to drive them forwards.


But every army, he supposed, needed foot soldiers as well as leaders. His soldiers didn't really need to understand, at least not yet, as long as they obeyed for now. Corporal Kururugi was thinking in the long term, and that was all that was really necessary. He could recruit fellow travelers as he found them, men who understood as he did that if their people were ever to have anything close to safety and security, they couldn't afford to be rash or in any way lenient.


It was fine if his subordinates thought of themselves as a tiny gang, he told himself, with himself as their feared leader. He didn't care what they thought, and it was a useful fiction for now. Corporal Kururugi had big plans, and his men would help him achieve his goals one way or another.


In Toyama, Kururugi had realized that he couldn't afford to sit on his thumbs and wait patiently for the Britannians to accept him into their good graces. Corporal Kururugi could in time become Sergeant Kururugi, and perhaps eventually Sergeant Major Kururugi, but he would never rise beyond that point. Regulations or not, time in grade didn't matter so long as the men doling out the promotions refused to recognize his service and contributions.


It was just another of the many ways in which Britannia fell short of the dream it had sold to a young Kururugi Suzaku. The Plan would set it right.


The Plan was not a necessarily fixed set of steps; it was more of a set of generalized goals and realizations, which had coalesced and evolved over time. First, the Christmas Bonfires had burned away his illusions about the current leadership; the soil of Toyama had fertilized his imagination of what sort of home Britannia could provide for his people. Independence was a fool's dream, but so was the hope that his people would be safe under the current leadership.


The Honorary Britannians were the key. Hated by both the unassimilated Elevens and the Britannian lower class, they were nonetheless the only bridge between the Britannian state and Elevens, and so they would have to be the vanguard.


The Britannians, Kururugi could see, had lost their way. For all their talk of Social Darwinism and the success of the best at the expense of the rest, social mobility was stymied by class and by blood. The Britannian philosophy, as far as Kururugi saw it, made sense, but its implementation was flawed, leading to weak leaders such as Major Humphry and Prince Clovis, weak leaders who couldn't protect his people.


Which meant that his people needed to protect themselves inside Britannia. They started from a handicap, as did all Number populations, but unlike all the other subjected populations, Suzaku knew that his people still had a deep reserve of strength, and Kururugi concurred; how else would his people still be able to fight six years after the Conquest? But strength of character wasn't enough, not on its own. Left to their own devices, his people would destroy themselves.


In Toyama, Kururugi had finally managed to square the circle. His people would be safe, and the strongest and smartest would rise through strict meritocracy, rigorously following the tenets of Social Darwinism made manifest. They would overcome the barriers imposed by race and by class by becoming more Britannian than the Britannians. Kururugi would be the Emperor's most loyal servant, and an Area Eleven would become a land of security, if not of freedom, instead of a wasteland of systemic abuse and rebellion.


But to achieve that new dream, Corporal Kururugi would have to play the game by its current rules. In truth, he had already begun to play. He had earned his second chevron by giving his Britannian officer what he wanted, exchanging personal favors for promotion. He had, in effect, found his way into the game of patronage, if on a very low level.


Unfortunately, Lieutenant Rockwell and his guilty conscience couldn't elevate him any further. Indeed, the Lieutenant had seemed increasingly wary of Corporal Kururugi over the last month and had ceased confiding in him at all in Toyama. This meant that Kururugi would need to find a new patron, someone with greater reach and vision.


But how? The question had bedeviled Kururugi for the last few days.


His thoughts on the matter often turned to Lelouch. Sometimes, Kururugi wished for his childhood friend's silver tongue. For all of his devotion to the rule of law, Kururugi had ultimately been forced to resort to his fists to earn the obedience of his men and his attempts to insinuate himself into Rockwell's life had only worked as well as they had because of the Lieutenant's disgust with the Christmas Incident. Lelouch, he was sure, would have had them all pledging undying allegiance with a single conversation.


But I don't have Lelouch's guile, nor his charm, Kururugi thought, relentlessly smashing past his own thoughts of what could have been. So I'm going to have to do things my own way. And if I can't find a patron for now, I'll handle the other matter. I can't let myself stagnate.


He'd scoured his mind for memories of Britannia, trying to remember what he'd seen in the Britannian commoners who had risen through the ranks unsupported by noble connections or wealthy families. He recalled anecdotes his own father had shared with him, as well as the things he'd said to Tohdoh and the others when he was in his cups. How to exhibit leadership potential, how to project authority and strength irrespective of the truth.


A true leader takes the initiative, Kururugi thought. He doesn't just wait for an opportunity to knock, he seizes his own fortune with both hands.


I need to make my own luck. He thought back to the murmurs he'd heard of Honoraries taking handouts, of his own people heaping shame upon the rest of them just to fill their own bellies. He remembered the sneers on the faces of the Britannians as they joked about how "a beggar once is a beggar always," and how they'd pointedly looked at him. And I know just how to do it.


It would hurt, and they would hate him for it, but it needed to be done. Not only for the Plan, but for their own good. Sometimes doing the right thing was hard. That didn't make it any less right.


After all, it's like my father always said. "Spare the rod, spoil the child."


"Alright, listen up," Kururugi said, voice cold and steady as he slowed, allowing his men to group up as they continued down the road. "It's time to get to work. We are soldiers of Britannia and the enforcers of her will. We are Honorary Britannians, not filthy Numbers. Unfortunately, not everybody remembers the oath they swore. We're going to help remind them of their pride, and their duty, as sworn citizens of Britannia."


"Sure thing, Corp," one of his men, John, or as he was once known, Senku, replied. "We're always down to provide some legal education."


The other three men snickered, and Kururugi feigned a smile. He knew exactly what they meant – they'd cornered a particularly weedy private from 3rd Company a few nights back when he'd foolishly chosen to use 2nd Company's showers. They'd provided enough education on the proper assignment of facilities per His Imperial Majesty's Military Code that the man had trouble walking the next day.


Without warning, Corporal Kururugi turned on his heel and buried his fist into John's stomach, sending the man doubling over, gasping for breath. "It's Corporal, John," Kururugi reprimanded, "not Corp. You must always address a superior with the rank and respect they are due."


Camaraderie is already impossible, Kururugi thought, and I do not need sycophants. These men are tools until proven otherwise, and I will not hesitate to remind them of their purpose.


"Y-you got it, Corporal," John wheezed, walking on as best as he could as he fought to catch his breath. Kururugi slowed just a bit – he didn't want to have to repeat himself for John once the man caught back up.


"Anyway," Kururugi continued, forcing himself to play the part his Plan demanded, "it's come to my attention that many of our people have started taking food handouts, lowering themselves back into the same category as the Numbers who rely on Prince Clovis's generosity to remain alive. This is unacceptable. As Honorary Britannians, we can never let the Britannians think of us as Numbers. The moment they do, we lose everything we've fought for."


"So… What are we going to do?" One of the other men asked, flinching slightly as Kururugi smiled back at him.


"Provide legal education," Kururugi quipped with a tight smile. "After all, I don't think that a charity handing out food is likely to bother with all of that paperwork, do you? I bet they haven't filed an assembly permit or bought a distribution license! Even if they did, whoever's driving the truck probably won't have them on hand to show a group of concerned citizens, now will they?"


"Probably not," John agreed, still rubbing at his abdomen, "But… Not to disagree with your plan, Corporal, but there are only five of us, and none of us have guns. We could definitely take any five random hungry civilians, or even any ten, but are we really going to take on a whole mob by ourselves?"


"Yes," Corporal Kururugi immediately replied. "Yes, we are. They are undisciplined and weak, otherwise they wouldn't be taking charity and risking their status. But we'll be stopping to pick up some… Oh, let's just call them some educational implements first. Legal ones, of course."


The purchase was legal. Corporal Kururugi had even insisted on a receipt at the sporting goods store. The pimply clerk behind the counter had been a bit nervous about the five Honorary Britannians buying baseball bats and fixed-blade camping knives, but he had been reassured by Kururugi's military ID and the implication that the small group was on a quietly deniable mission. He'd even wished Kururugi a nice night as he'd handed over the receipt.


It hadn't taken long to find the offensive soup kitchen once they'd left the sporting goods store, bats in hand. Some helpful soul had stapled flyers to utility poles throughout the Honorary Britannian neighborhoods surrounding the walled Shinjuku Ghetto. To Kururugi's surprise, at least one of the arcologies housing the poorer Britannians in the Settlement had likewise been carpeted by the flyers; at least one hung on every street, all with the same address and time.


When his little band arrived at the small pocket park, Kururugi was surprised and disappointed to see that the small greenspace was absolutely thronged with people, some still in line but most sitting on the grass or a curb, eating a spicy-scented soup from cheap ceramic bowls. To his mild consternation, at least a few Britannians were sitting in the dirt with his fellow Honoraries. True, these Britannians looked even more ragged than some of the Honoraries, but it was still astonishing.


"Times really must be getting hard," Kururugi heard John muttering to one of the other soldiers as they pushed their way through the densely crowded park. A few people turned to protest the sudden shoves, but most cringed back when they saw the five out-of-uniform soldiers. A few glared, but glaring impotently at their betters was all they could do.


Just like with the Britannians, over these six long years, Kururugi thought. I know what that's like, swallowing your pride to survive. I will have to teach them to stand up and fight for their rights. If you don't fight, nobody will ever respect you; if the Honoraries don't fight, my project is doomed to failure.


I know they can fight, Suzaku thought, loud inside his mind. My people are still strong. We're still strong! The problem isn't that they can't fight, it's that they don't have the weapons, the leadership, or the organization!


All of which I can provide, given time, Kururugi thought, shoving his way past a family. It just takes discipline, patience, resilience, and a refusal to give in and give up. These people should know better! They made the sacrifice to become Honorary Britannians, and now they're just licking up free food? It's just another drug, another weakness. I've beaten the weakness out of my fire team, and I'll beat it out of the rest of the Honorary Britannians if I must!


I wonder if Father would be proud of us? Suzaku thought, his tone mournful and bitter. We're turning out just like him, aren't we?


Kururugi Genbuu was a fool, just like how these people are fools, replied Kururugi, forcing Suzaku out of the way. I will not make his mistakes. I am Kururugi Suzaku, not Kururugi Genbuu, and I will save my people even if they curse me for the next thousand years!


With that thought still ringing in his mind, Corporal Kururugi finally broke through the packed crowd in front of the serving line itself, flanked by his fire team. He found himself in an open space centered on a line of portable tables creaking under the weight of portable stoves and heavy tureens and pots full of piping hot soup, a truck parked off to one side.


Kururugi looked over the line of servers behind the pots with cold eyes as they took notice of his arrival; judging by their tattered clothes, they were Elevens, all of them. His people, but those who hadn't seen the wisdom of embracing Britannian strength. Surprisingly, none of the servers looked down or away, and each met his gaze without flinching.


Idiots, the lot of them, Kururugi thought, internally shaking his head in dismay. It's this same stupid pride that led to all the violence in Niigata. If they just… just knew their place and were patient, none of this would happen! I wouldn't have needed to go to Toyama, and I wouldn't need to be here tonight. They keep forcing me to do horrible things, and I hate it!


"Who are you," a strident female voice demanded in heavily accented Britannian from somewhere to Kururugi's right, "and why are you trying to skip the line?"


Thankful for the distraction from his turbulent thoughts, Kururugi turned and sized up the talkative Eleven. She was tall for a woman, almost his height, and her face and clothes were clean and well-maintained. Indeed, if it wasn't for the hachimaki holding her long, indigo hair out of her face, he would have mistaken her for an Honorary Britannian.


"Corporal Kururugi, of His Majesty's 32nd Honorary Legion, 1st Brigade, 1st Regiment, 2nd Company," he said, identifying himself in the same language as his men spread out behind him. "And who are you?"


"Naomi," came the curt reply, "of the Rising Sun Benevolent Association. You're free to join us for supper Corporal…" Naomi's voice faltered for a moment, and Kururugi grimaced. She'd clearly just recognized his name. "...But you need to get in line with the rest."


"Ah, so you're the one in charge here?" She clearly was, as the only one speaking up, but Kururugi was only really asking as a formality anyway. "I'm surprised to see an Eleven outside of the Ghetto, handing out food to Honorary Britannians. Surely looking after your own people should be your priority?"


"My own people?" Naomi raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Corporal. All who want help are welcome under the rays of the Rising Sun, and unfortunately, many of your people are still recovering from the Incident at the beginning of the year."


"You know exactly what I mean," Kururugi ground out, already tired of this game. This damned stubborn pride, just like in Toyama. Just like Father. "Your people are the ones who rely on Prince Clovis's generosity for your food. If you somehow scraped together enough to buy extra, you should enjoy it in the Ghetto, where you belong. We who have taken the oath don't need your handouts; we're not stuck in the past, choking on our pride like you."


"Choking on our pride?" the woman replied incredulously, "We're the ones choking on our pride? Corporal, you get fed by the Army – do you have any idea how much the price of food has gone up over the last year? Do you think that all of these people are queuing up for soup for fun?"


"Life is hard. Life has always been hard." Kururugi began to stalk across the tarmac toward the Eleven. "And if good Honoraries continue to take the easy way out that you're providing them, it will never be anything but hard. The only way the lot of Honorary Britannians will improve is by demonstrating our strength; squatting in parks with free soup is what your kind do, and as long as we accept handouts from you, the Britannians will never see us as equals."


"See you as equals?" The woman had the gall to laugh. "They will never see you as their equal, Corporal. You could be a general and they'll still only see your Eleven face and your Eleven name. You will never be anything but a dog to them, and the moment you bark too loud, they'll put you down."


"Enough," Kururugi growled, bat in hand. I wish I still had my pistol. Sports equipment just isn't threatening enough to scare people into listening to me. If the officers trusted us more, we'd be able to do a far better job carrying out these missions, and things would be better for everybody, Britannian, Honorary, and Eleven alike.


"As a citizen of Area Eleven and a soldier in His Majesty's Armed Forces, I demand to see your food distribution permit, your assembly permit, proof of rental for the park, your access permit to the Settlement, and all other relevant paperwork." As he continued down his list, Kururugi began walking towards the Eleven leader.


"Did you think you had the right to be here, Number?" He felt angry eyes on his back and a snarl twisting its way across his face. Do they think I want to be here? Do they think I want to do this? "You should've stayed home in Shinjuku! Just take the damned oath if you want to get out of the gutter and back on your feet!"


Around him, the crowd muttered with discontent, but nobody, not the Eleven servers nor the mass of onlooking Honorary Britannians, stepped forward to intervene. Naomi hadn't budged, and stood, back straight and hands by her sides, staring directly at him. She showed no signs of movement.


"Well," Kururugi prompted, stopping a few feet away from the bitch with the familiar red circle sun on her brow, the same one that had once graced the flag that had hung behind his father's chair, back in his sumptuous office. The same flag Father had stood in front of when he'd issued that order to resist to the last, as well as that other order. "Where are your papers, Number?"


"You're looking for our papers?" A new voice broke in on the encounter from somewhere off to Corporal Kururugi's left. Carefully, not taking his eyes off Naomi, he took a half step back and to the side, trying to turn his head just far enough to see where the voice was coming from without taking his eyes off the troublemaker. "I have them here. I think you'll find everything is in order, Sergeant."


"It's Corporal," Kururugi replied in a growl, eyes scanning for where the voice was coming from. "If you've got something to show me, come here and give it to me."


From his side, John let out a muffled gasp, followed immediately by an equally quiet "Oh, fuck." With a curse of his own between his teeth, Kururugi took another step away from the potential troublemaker, putting distance between them in case she tried to rush him when his back was turned, and followed John's gaze out into the crowd.


Stepping out from behind the parked truck was a Britannian woman, a girl about Kururugi's own age. That would have been bad enough – a Number-loving Britannian would have required careful handling, after all – but as soon as Kururugi laid eyes upon her, it was hard to resist following in John's steps and cursing their luck.


The Britannian was obviously a noble. Kururugi could practically smell the stink of aristocracy rolling off of her from across the park's parking lot turned handout station. While she was wearing an unremarkable outfit of slacks, a man's button-up shirt, and a vest, even Kururugi could tell the garments were high quality and likely obscenely expensive. Even more tellingly, Kururugi couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone move with such implicit arrogance.


He hadn't seen anybody act like that since Lelouch first arrived in Japan, eight long years ago.


Worst yet, the woman… No, the lady was absolutely, stunningly beautiful. Kururugi couldn't believe how quickly his luck had curdled. A Number-loving stunner of a noble was perhaps the greatest complicating factor for this entirely unsanctioned and self-assigned mission, second only to Lelouch suddenly putting in an appearance. He had no possible leverage over the lady, nor could he possibly intimidate her. Even attempting to do so would be extremely dangerous.


"Ma'am," Kururugi said in his most respectful tones, slowly lowering the baseball bat as she approached, "begging your pardon. Are you the one responsible for this… Charitable operation?"


"No," the lady replied, "that would be Rivalz. Rivalz Cardemonde, of the Gold Coast Cardemondes?" She gestured, and Kururugi suddenly realized that there were, in fact, two nobles in attendance, the male… the young lord dressed in a very high-class school uniform. "He is, in fact, the chairman of the board for the Benevolent Association. It operates under his charter."


"I see…" Kururugi slowly replied, trying to establish his options. Suddenly, they were all various shades of distasteful and counter-productive.


Dammit! If I don't play my cards right, I could endanger the whole Plan! I shouldn't have been so cocky, but how could I have predicted this? Britannian nobles setting up some kind of charity to help honoraries? Impossible!


Kururugi forced himself to take a breath and focus. That's all irrelevant. Right now, I need to find a way out. Fortunately, all of my actions up until now have been within the law.


"Well," Kururugi turned to the noble in the uniform, "in that case, my lord, would you mind if I checked the permitting for this distribution? I'm sure you filed all the correct documents, sir, but it would help set my mind at ease if I knew that everything here was in accordance with the law."


"Well," the lord, Rivalz, glanced over at his companion for a moment, "I guess-"


"It's the most curious thing, Corporal," the young lady interjected, seemingly ignoring Cardemonde entirely. Her gawky companion's half-open mouth snapped shut as he turned to her in surprised deference.


Behind his shades, Kururugi's eyes narrowed. And she says he's in charge?


"I notice you're not in uniform. And you said you're a soldier in His Majesty's Armed Forces? The 32nd Legion, I believe?" the lady continued, the predatory gleam in her eye growing brighter with every word. "Now, I'm just a student at Ashford Academy, so correct me if I'm wrong, but unless the Viceregal-Governor has declared martial law again, you don't have any law enforcement duties over civilians, now do you?."


"That's…" Kururugi gritted his teeth. "That's true… But, begging your pardon, my lady, my men and I have just returned from counter-insurgency operations in Toyama. Seeing Numbers set up in a Settlement is making me a bit jumpy; after all, who knows if they're rebels or sympathizers? I'm sure nobody employed by you would be, but I'd just like to make sure."


"Oh?" the lady arched an imperious brow. "And is there any reason I should indulge this…whim of yours?"


Kururugi bit his cheek so hard he could taste blood. "...No… my lady. There is not."


For a moment, they stood there in tableau, the lady looming over him for all that she was half a head shorter and Kururugi trying to ignore the sweat trickling down his back. He was a soldier, hardened by combat, and a proud Honorary Britannian who'd carried out the Empire's will with dedication and energy, but that had all been for the Plan. A Plan that was rapidly unraveling at the first hurdle. He could feel the situation sliding away from him, away from control.


It was all for the Plan! Kururugi thought, mind frantic. I can't have it all mean nothing! Not now!


But there was nothing he could do. Not with the lady standing before him, radiating purebred noble power and a supremely arrogant confidence as her stunning sapphire eyes roamed him up and down. He felt like an irritant, an insect, helpless before that cool gaze.


Finally, the spell broke as the lady rolled her beautiful cerulean eyes. "...I suppose I've wasted enough time with this foolishness." She said, stepping forward and pulling a folder from the satchel hanging at her side. "Here you go, Corporal. I can save you a look if you'd like. Naomi over here filed all the paperwork herself, and she's an expert at it."


To Kururugi's astonished rage, the redheaded noble casually slung a friendly arm over the Number's shoulders.


Why am I so angry about this? Suzaku thought, his internal voice cool and considering while surrounded by a maelstrom of emotion. I should be happy that some Britannian other than Lelouch actually sees us as people. They… They look like they're friends.


Why am I so angry about this? Kururugi wondered. It's what I want. Recognition of our skills and our worth, to work hand in hand with the Britannians for the betterment of both our peoples.


What am I even doing here?


Desperate for distraction from his treacherous thoughts, Kururugi accepted the folder and flipped it open. Just as promised, a thick sheaf of very official paperwork greeted his eyes. Gloomily, Kururugi pawed through the first several layers. He didn't really know what he was looking for; he hadn't anticipated the damned Numbers to actually have a signed and stamped assembly permit on hand. After a brief show of paging through the folder, he returned it to the lady.


"Everything seems to be in order, my lady," Kururugi replied through a grimacing smile. "Thank you very much for your help setting my mind at ease. I greatly appreciate it."


"Oh, don't thank me," the lady demurred. "Thank Naomi instead; after all, she's the one who handled the paperwork." A beat passed, and the lady's eyes narrowed just a touch. "Do it, Corporal. Thank her for helping you protect us."


I could kill her, Kururugi mused. In less than a second, I could drive my bat into her sternum, right between her breasts. She'd bend forwards, and I'd drive the butt down into her head. The knife at my belt would slash the Eleven's throat open. It would be easy.


…But…


He could see the look in her eye, even as she smiled. The way her body tensed just so, the way her lips twitched up as she met his furious gaze… It all seemed to taunt him. He could almost hear her arrogant voice in his ear, saying "Just give me a reason."


…That's exactly what she wants, isn't it?


Besides, It was, he knew, a fantasy, a way of coping with the apex predator whose shadow had just passed over him. Perhaps if the world was different, if life was different… But it was not different. In this world, Kururugi had no recourse, no way to fight back against a Britannian noble without effectively cutting his own throat. At least, not yet…


Someday, Kururugi promised himself, someday. Discipline, patience, and sacrifice. All for the Plan.


He carefully did not think about the thrill of fear deep inside at the prospect of defying the Britannians. Of what happened to those who defied the Britannians. He certainly didn't think about the way his heart leapt at the thought of that fate.


Of finally being punished, broken on the wheel. Justice at last, not for this act of defiance, but another…


"Thank you, Miss Naomi," the words were like sand mixed with ashes in his mouth, gritty and abrasive and choking, "I commend your bureaucratic skills. Crossing every T and dotting every I. You are a credit to your mistress."


"You're most welcome, Corporal Kururugi," the Eleven purred. Kururugi's eyes widened – she'd said that in Japanese! A language that Honorary Britannians were forbidden by law to use! She'd spoken in Japanese in front of a noble! "It's so good to see that Japan's sons continue to watch over her people."


Teeth clenched, Kururugi turned on his heel and strode away, back the way he had come. After a moment, four sets of footsteps fell in dutifully behind him. To Kururugi's finely tuned senses, that moment rang loudly in the quiet air of the park. His team's confidence in his strength had been shaken by this miniature fiasco. They'd seen him weak and helpless, caught in a cerulean ocean and barely able to swim. There would be consequences if he didn't move quickly.


"Back to the barracks," he commanded after they'd put a block between themselves and the park, "and when we get there, get changed into your training gear. Liberty or not, we have plenty to do before we get sent back out into the field. Clear?"


Kururugi paused. When nobody responded immediately, he turned and snarled at his four fellow Honoraries. "Did I fucking stutter? Are we clear?"


That got a round of "Yes, Corporal!" from all present, but Kururugi wasn't fooled. Obedience rooted in fear only lasted as long as strength persisted; it was clear that his fire team needed a reminder of just how much strength Tohdoh Kyoshiro's prize student could still bring to bear.


---------


As the small knot of out-of-uniform Britannian soldiers wandered away, Kallen slowly let out a tense breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yoshi pick up a ladle with his left hand, which moments before had been creeping behind his back to the pistol she knew was hidden underneath his dirty white shirt. Next to her, Inoue sagged slightly, wavering slightly on her feet as the last of the bat-toting thugs left the park.


"Has… Has that happened before?" Rivalz piped up, speaking quickly and nervously from behind her.


Kallen straightened back up and stepped away from Inoue, patting the other woman on the shoulder as she turned to Rivalz. She was proud to see that, although her classmate was obviously nervous, his hands were steady, not shaking in the slightest.


He's come a long way since Christmas, Kallen thought, remembering a much younger Rivalz, vomit streaked down the front of his uniform and his hands full of glass. He's grown.


"I mean," Rivalz continued, eyes still wary as he darted a look back at the entrance to the park, "I think this is the fifth or sixth time I've come out to help, but… Is this new, or have I just been lucky?"


"This is new," the Stadtfeld heiress reassured her friend, and when had that happened? "Sometimes someone from the Knight Police loiters nearby, and sometimes we get the odd drunk yelling at us from the street, but I think this is the first time we've been hassled by a gang." She forced a laugh. '"Not really much to steal here, is there? Just soup."


"Eh?" Rivalz turned away from the entrance to shoot her an incredulous glance. "You think they were actually a gang? The tall one claimed to be a soldier, right? Corporal Kururu or whatever?" You think that was just a lie or something?"


"I didn't see any uniforms or ID," Kallen shrugged, "so yeah, I'd say a gang. Doesn't really matter if they have day jobs when they're wandering around looking for trouble. I don't think that the Army's quite at the point of issuing baseball bats to its men."


"You've got a point," Rivalz said with a brief chuckle before rapidly sobering back up. "Do you think that they were, uhh…" He looked side to side at the milling crowd that had once again begun to line up for free soup before leaning in and whispering "do you think they were some of the guys who were smashing stuff up and, umm… hurting people around Christmas?"


"No," Kallen replied, shaking her head. "No, if anything, I think that they might've come from the same unit as the soldier we… found. The 32nd Honorary Legion. I think those were probably some of his comrades."


"Oh." Rivalz looked mildly ill at the reminder, his lips pressed together and practically white from the pressure. "Then… I'm not getting something. Why were they here messing with us when we're trying to help people? Why was that Kururu guy so deferential to a pair of Brits like us, if we… You know…"


"I don't know," Kallen said, half truthfully. "I'm sure it makes some kind of sense to them. Look," she said, casting about for something else to talk about, "can you run this folder back to the truck? And let Nagata know that it's probably time to start packing up."


Rivalz nodded and turned to head off.


"Oh, and Rivalz?" The student paused and turned back to Kallen. "Thanks for the backup there. You really helped keep things from getting nasty. You did good."


"Anytime, Kallen!" Rivalz flashed his increasingly rare puppy-dog smile at her. She smiled back, her expression just a bit brittle. "It feels good to be able to help out the Cause, just a bit!"


As her fellow student jogged away, Kallen let herself feel guilty about her newest deceptions for a moment, before shoving the useless emotion away. Rivalz was a friend, but he was an agent as well, even if he didn't know it. And agents were tools, to be used and sacrificed to achieve objectives. Rivalz had played his role as a living smokescreen to perfection, defusing a potentially sticky situation without blood or fuss in the process.


Truthfully, "a sticky situation" didn't even begin to cover how complicated things could have been, had matters come to blows. For one thing, while Rivalz hadn't understood the importance of the Kururugi name, Kallen had recognized the name of the Republic's last prime minister. She couldn't even begin to fathom how the son of one of Japan's leading families, one that descended from a cadet branch of the Imperial House, no less, had ended up in uniform.


Exchanging a significant look with Inoue, a silent promise that we'll talk about this later, Kallen set to work with a will, slinging soup, scrubbing endless bowls, and hauling heavy sacks of garbage for the next half hour as the stream of hungry mouths gradually slowed to a stop.


A productive night, Kallen thought with satisfaction. I bet we managed to feed at least eight hundred people, maybe even nine! Pity it'll be the last one for a while…


That particular decision had come down from the leadership earlier that day. Her brother had announced their decision that morning, that, in order to guarantee food supplies inside Shinjuku, the food relief program for the Honorary Britannians would effectively be brought to an end. Tonight's distribution had already been scheduled and had supplies set aside for it, so was allowed to proceed, but it would be the last for the foreseeable future.


Kallen didn't know how she'd break the news to Rivalz. He really enjoyed participating, and while he didn't spend much time scrubbing pots and pans, everybody who came seemed to relish the chance to talk to a real Britannian noble, especially one who truly was friendly to the core.


Interestingly, from what Kallen had picked up from Tanya's call earlier that day passing on Naoto's decision, the end to the Honorary distributions hadn't been part of the leadership's plan. If Tanya was to be believed, for the first time in its short history the Council of Local Notables, as the political body Naoto had cobbled together had named themselves, had prevailed upon the leadership.


The collection of local headmen and power brokers had claimed to be the representatives of the people of Shinjuku, and as a sort of miniature Diet, had all but demanded the end to food donations for those outside the walls. The leadership had opted to concede the point.


"It will give us a chance to stockpile foodstuffs," Tanya had said over the phone, clearly trying to rationalize the loss into some kind of victory, "and it will display our commitment to the needs of the people. We can't rule by force and terror alone, Kallen. We'd just become another gang, and gangs are inherently unstable. Only through the consent of the governed and popular support can we hope to maintain control over Shinjuku."


Kallen had made all the appropriate noises, playing her role as confidant to the hilt. Privately, she had her doubts. While Tanya sounded like she knew what she was talking about, Kallen thought she was overemphasizing the say this "Council" should have. After all, Rising Sun had all the guns, food, and money. What did they need from the Council?


Then again, maybe that's just the Britannian in me, Kallen thought with a shiver of disgust. It had been far, far too easy to get into her character as a Britannian heiress, a role she only played infrequently, even at Ashford. The last time she'd played it was… probably when she'd stood with Rivalz under a hanged man. It's weird how just playing that role kinda has a hangover… It's easy to think like a Britannian. It's hard to think in Japanese.


As Kallen made her way back from the dumpsters, another load of trash deposited in the hulking steel beast, her thoughts lingered on the Honorary Britannian soldiers who had come by earlier. She had told Rivalz that she didn't understand why they had come, or what they'd hoped to gain, but that had been half a lie. Every time after sinking too deeply into Lady Kallen Stadtfeld, she felt an almost overwhelming need to prove that she truly was Kozuki Kallen.


She imagined that Corporal Kururugi Suzaku, saddled with a cursed name, would be willing to do a great deal if it meant becoming someone else. After all, she'd been willing to follow her Big Brother into danger over and over before Tanya had interceded – what would she have done if she was trying to gain acceptance from someone who actively hated her?


A quiet cough startled Kallen out of her uncomfortable self-reflection. "Oh, excuse me," she blurted out instinctively. Too late she realized she'd spoken in Japanese, and that the young man she'd almost run into was Britannian.


"Don't worry about it," the young man replied in the same language, although spoken with a slight Homeland accent, "you just looked a bit lost in your thoughts, and I wanted to know if you were alright."


"Ah, well, I'm fine," Kallen smiled uneasily at the Britannian. He looked vaguely familiar… It was something about the jawline, but the blond hair and green eyes didn't quite ring any bells. "Thanks for asking, though."


"It's my pleasure," the blond smiled, a simple heartwarming expression that somehow radiated a sincere joy in her company. "That was quite the alarming situation earlier, wasn't it? I swear, the whole Area's going to the dogs, when random gangs can just terrorize anybody they want."


"Interesting times, huh?" Kallen smiled back at the man. He was, she guessed, about her age. Maybe a year older. Judging by his clothes, he was definitely at least middle class, and maybe on the lower end of the rich. Perhaps he came from a wealthy commoner family, or maybe from a cadet house a bit down on their luck.


"You can say that again," the man chortled to himself. "Interesting times indeed. An event that nobody is allowed to talk about, a housing crisis, an uprising in the mountains, and now a food crunch, all in less than five months. And now, our esteemed Viceregal-Governor is just dumping a ton of free money out in an attempt to convince us that everything is fine and well in hand." The smile turned roguish. "Makes you wonder what'll happen in a month's time, eh, Lady Stadtfeld?"


"You're… Quite well informed," Kallen replied, suddenly feeling very much on the back foot. How does he know my name? I've never met him before. Maybe Rivalz brought another student along? He did bring that friend of his back in March… "And yeah, I'm umm… Not too certain about how well the 'give everyone five hundred pounds' plan is going to work out."


As the man nodded thoughtfully, Kallen frantically groped for more details from the news article she'd skimmed a few days back before throwing the copy of the Messenger into the trash where it belonged. "I'm looking forward to the new holiday on the 4th, though! 'Vi Britannia Day', huh?"


"Ah yes," for some reason, the man's smile tightened across his face, almost to the point where Kallen would call it a rictus. "It's… a wonderful idea. I'm not really sure how well it will catch on. Not like many people know about a dead pair of royals, nor care. Neither exactly stood to inherit anything."


"I'll be honest, I'd forgotten they even existed," Kallen agreed with a nod, "but if they get me a day off from school, well… I'll happily pour one out for little Lelouch and, umm… I don't remember the Princess's name."


"Nunnally…" The man said, helping her out. "Her name… her name was Nunnally."


"Ah, that's right, Nunnally vi Britannia!" Kallen said cheerfully, keeping her curiosity carefully concealed. Something about the way the man had said that name was odd; the first time he'd said the long-dead girl's name, it had practically throbbed with emotion. The repetition had still carried a strange inflection. "Well, I'll pour out some juice to her memory as well."


"What do you think of the Viceregal-Governor, Lady Stadtfeld?" The question was as abrupt as it was overt, but somehow all Kallen could read from the man's tone was genuine curiosity, as if they were sitting in some salon, discussing political minutia over fresh coffee. "Do you have much of an opinion about the man?"


The question itself was alarming, but somehow the utter artlessness of the delivery made the young man seem earnest instead of pushy. Kallen hesitantly put him into the mental box of "budding student radicals and freethinkers." Generally harmless, but probably useless.


There were some students at Ashford who prided themselves on being "freethinkers", and who made a big display of "asking questions" about the official line. Their "questions" particularly focused on the propaganda masquerading as history class. While it was interesting to listen to them interrupt class to point out the poorly concealed contradictions in the textbook, Kallen had no time for them.


For all that the limited number of milquetoast student radicals were "only asking questions", doing so out in the open could draw official attention to themselves, and to her via proximity. Attention she desperately wanted to avoid. Even more importantly, she sincerely doubted their teenage rebelliousness would ever push them over the brink from "asking questions" into actual activity against the imperial apparatus, making them weak allies at best and more likely active hindrances to her own activities.


Still… This one actually showed up. We're not exactly at Ashford right now, are we?


"Prince Clovis?" Kallen asked aloud with a friendly smile, "Well… he's quite the artist. I mean, I'm not really one for the arts and stuff, but I saw a piece of his on a class trip to the Museum of Art, and it looked pretty decent. How about you, Mister…?"


"Spicer," the man stuck out his hand, and Kallen gave it a brisk shake. "Alan Spicer. I've seen you at lunch a few times. You usually eat in the main courtyard, right?"


"Oh, that explains it!" Kallen exclaimed a tad theatrically as she let out an internal sigh of relief. "I thought I knew you from somewhere, but I couldn't quite put a name to your face. Yes, I do like the courtyard; the garden is lovely, and it's nice to get some fresh air between classes. Did Rivalz invite you along?"


"In a manner of speaking," Alan replied, releasing her hand. "He was wandering around telling everybody about what a fun extracurricular he'd found. I was curious and didn't have anything to do tonight, so I decided to give it a try."


"Well, thank you for coming out to help," Kallen said with a smile. "There's always room for more hands, or…" The smile slipped. "Well, I'd normally say that, but unfortunately it looks like this will be the last soup dinner the Benevolent Association will be serving for a while. I guess it's a good thing you didn't wait until next week to come."


"Really? But, why?" Alan's face artfully crumpled into a frown, lines of consternation and worry radiating across his face. The expression reminded Kallen of a barrister from one of the legal dramas her stepmother loved to watch in the Stadtfeld Manor's home theater. It was, she realized, an obviously practiced expression of concern.


"You served so many people tonight alone," Alan continued, tilting his head in a gesture that somehow conveyed a profound lack of understanding coupled with a sincere desire to learn, "and as your friend mentioned earlier, the price of food is only going up. Surely there's more need now than ever before?"


"Well, yeah," Kallen acknowledged, "but that's the problem. The Rising Sun Benevolent Association relies solely on donations from local businesses and philanthropic nobles, and if you hadn't noticed, the first aren't doing well at the moment and the other is in short supply. Since we help take care of the people who were affected by the event that, as you said, we can't mention, we can't exactly go to the Area Administration for help."


"That certainly is quite the pickle," Spicer nodded, "and yet, are you really okay with just leaving people to fend for themselves?"


"No, I'm not, but…" Kallen trailed off, trying to figure out how to convey her feelings without slipping out of the mask of Britannian nobility.


"I'm not happy about it in the slightest," she said, quickly throwing together a plausible lie, "especially not as a noble. Someone close to me once told me that loyalty is a two-way street; all of these people swore themselves to Britannia, shaking off their old lives in the hope of something better. How can we expect them to remain loyal without helping them? But I simply don't have the resources to make an impact by myself."


For a moment, Kallen thought she saw something flicker in the young man's eyes, something that said it understood her.


"I get it," Alan commiserated, "I really do. If you don't mind me saying it, it sounds like everything you're doing should be managed by the Administration. I think you're doing them an enormous favor by picking up their slack." The radiant smile returned. "I really respect what you're trying to do here, Lady Stadtfeld. It's very impressive. It's not exactly common to hear a noble talk about loyalty to those below us."


Dammit, Kallen! You did it again! You opened your mouth and let your brain fall out! Talking to a Britannian about obligations to the Honoraries? Tanya would be appalled. This kind of thing is why Diethard paid attention to you to begin with!


"It's just common sense," Kallen replied hotly, trying to defend herself. "Have you ever felt like working hard and doing your best for someone who just hits you all the time? I sure haven't! The people that really make me give my best are the ones who make me feel valued and important! And the Honoraries aren't stupid, and it's not like they don't remember what happened earlier!"


"Hey, no need to worry," Alan broke in, hands raised in a pacifying gesture, "I told you, I get it. Not going too deep into my own baggage, but the Honoraries are far from the only people to suffer at the hands of abusive and neglectful leaders, men who should care for those who depend upon them."


"Oh…" Kallen suddenly felt foolish. She'd completely misread Alan's smile. It hadn't been mocking in the slightest. She had been so wrapped up in herself she'd missed something personal. She felt embarrassed and foolish and, once again, very Britannian. "Well, good," she continued lamely, "I'm glad we agree."


"You know," Alan said, his tone considering, "I'd actually kind of wondered if you were some sort of employee of Prince Clovis when I came here tonight." He paused and hurriedly continued. "I mean, I had wondered if the Viceroy was trying to get around any sort of official pushback from the Purists by supporting your charity. It would have been a clever way to mitigate Honorary grievances without being seen to oppose a powerful political faction!"


Realizing that her fists were clenched and her teeth gritted with anger, Kallen forced herself to relax. "That would have been a very clever idea on the Prince's part," she agreed with a laugh, "but I'm afraid that's not the case. We'd welcome some official backup, but, as far as I know, nobody in the Rising Sun is drawing an official salary."


And if they are, Kallen thought, I'm sure Naoto will deal with them just as soon as that little fact comes to light.


"That's a real shame," Alan commiserated, shaking his head. "Honestly, I really hope the Prince somehow sees what you and your people are doing. You've helped him out of a hole that, if I'm being honest, he dug for himself. Hopefully someone in the Administration will see the worth of your organization and throw some of the budget from the Clovisland 2 project your way!"


"Hopefully," Kallen agreed, "but I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, I need to get back to help Inoue sort out the rest of the clean-up. Thank you again for coming by and helping us. I guess I'll look forward to seeing you at Ashford?"


"I'll certainly be looking forward to our next meeting, Lady Stadtfeld," Alan smiled, "perhaps we should do lunch sometime? Anyway, until next time."


"Until next time," Kallen said, smiling half in farewell and half in relief that the strange conversation had come to an end. It had been, she decided, a productive exchange, and she'd definitely never spoken to a Britannian in Japanese for half this long before.


To her surprise, instead of a parting wave, Alan bowed to her from the waist, hands folded in front of him in a formal farewell. Instinctively, she bobbed forwards, catching herself halfway down and converting the motion into an abbreviated curtsey. Alan didn't smirk or laugh at her slip-up, instead only tilting his head before turning on his heel and vanishing into the darkened park.


Alan Spicer, huh? Kallen shook her head and resumed her trek back to the waiting Rising Sun truck. Britannian nobles with actual brains inside their heads are pretty rare. He seemed a bit too happy with the Administration, but he was also sympathetic… Maybe he could be another Rivalz? Man, with three people on board, we'd practically have a cell of our own at Ashford!


The thought startled a giggle out of Kallen, who promptly slapped a hand to her mouth and looked around to see if anybody had noticed the slip-up. No way. That'd just be crazy. Who the hell would think of trying to set up a radical cell in the middle of a school for the upper crust? If I floated the idea with Tanya, she'd definitely think I was joking!


---------


Two miles and thirty minutes away from the park, Alan Spicer ceased to exist once again.


At least this time I'm not running from the police, Lelouch thought as he scrubbed the wig adhesive out of his hair. It's far easier to put myself back together with the aid of a mirror and sink. Less trash as well.


The cheap hotel room was comfortingly anonymous. Gray-green walls, beige carpeting, and furniture that had unquestionably been purchased in bulk. Just one anonymous room in a practically endless sea of identical copies. It was absolutely common in a way that Lelouch had only rarely experienced in his life.


In his youth, the ostentatious splendor of the Imperial Palace in the heart of Pendragon had seemed unremarkable; familiarity with the endless masterpieces and architectural wonders had bred contempt. The spartan Kururugi Temple, at first startlingly foreign, had likewise grown mundane over time. Ashford Academy was, for all of Milly and Reuban's pretensions, just a little slice of the land that would never again be Home, and it carried the shadow of all the vainglorious trappings of his childhood.


His life had all been a sea of luxury, a succession of palaces and estates and stately manors. All of his life, that is, except for the single two-month period of the Conquest and its immediate aftermath, before the Ashfords had arrived with the first wave of Britannian settlers. Lelouch had been far too focused on Nunnally's dwindling weight and his own shaking limbs to care about the burnt-out hovels Suzaku found for them back then..


In their own way, the surroundings of those two months had been just as extraordinary as the palace at 5 Saint Darwin Street.


The door clicked behind Lelouch as he left the hotel lobby, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder and his key dropped into the night deposit box. He doubted that Stadtfeld, Kallen, was going to report "Alan Spicer" to any kind of authority. Then again, he hadn't expected he'd have to flee from the imminent arrival of the police last time he'd stuck a toe into these waters. Better an abundance of caution than too little.


Well, the "she's a spy" theory seems dead in the water. I was right the first time; no spy who'd work for Clovis would stoop to serving soup to Honoraries. So, either she's somebody else's spy, or she just happened to try to break into my apartment right before she started hanging out with Rivalz.


It went against Lelouch's Pendragon-honed instincts, but coincidence seemed like the more likely option of the two. While there was certainly plenty of scheming going on in the Tokyo Settlement, he couldn't for the life of him think of any other faction that would be interested in him or Nunnally, except maybe the Purists.


Well, maybe some minor faction would want him to be the master of ceremonies for their private celebration of the new holiday Clovis had ordained in his memory.


And if the thought of one of Clovis's agents feeding Honorary Britannians is unlikely, the thought of a Purist agent doing the same thing is just laughable.


Purists aside, nobody else would have any interest in a prince and a princess supposedly six years dead, especially since the prince had been disowned and the princess was a cripple. The Japanese would probably kill him, but they surely had better things to do and probably wouldn't be able to recruit a noble spy. The Levelers, if they existed, wouldn't care about those the Emperor had already thrown away.


Maybe the Chinese or the Europeans? Both love to play the puppet "government in exile" game, although I think the Chinese would probably kill us just as readily as the Britannians. Royalty or not, they're not going to install a commoner's offspring on a throne. That would produce a bad precedent, at least in their eyes.


No, Lelouch decided firmly, that way lies paranoia. She's a nosy woman, far too intelligent for her own good, and she's probably up to something foolish. She's definitely connected to the Japanese somehow – she speaks the language like a native, and she's publicly associating with outright Elevens, not even just Honorary Britannians.


Either way, that's her problem, not mine. She's not after Nunnally and me.


For a moment, Lelouch felt accomplished. A minor mystery had been solved, a variable quantified. Then, his mood collapsed back down into the gutter. It was his first success in two weeks.


Two weeks wasted, two weeks without a single idea of how to move forwards… Lelouch kicked an empty beer can, sending the aluminum can skittering down the sidewalk. I need an idea, an edge… The Honoraries are a possibility; they seem pretty beaten down. On the other hand, they already knelt before my father once; they might do so again. And Suzaku…


Something inside Lelouch spasmed in pain at the memory of the current state of his best, and perhaps only, friend. His sudden appearance at the Rising Sun soup line had been a nasty surprise. Lelouch had been forced to blend into the crowd, head held low to obscure his features. It was unlikely that Suzaku would have recognized him, but Lelouch declined to take the risk.


Suzaku… I've been wondering if you were dead or alive for six years… Ever since we parted in that burnt-out town. I wish you had been there when Reuban found us… But I never expected you to turn out like this, Suzaku. What happened to you over these last six years?


His old friend had always gravitated towards authority and order. He had always seen things very clearly as right or wrong, with little patience for shades of gray. He had never shrunk from using violence to enforce and support what he saw as right. Lelouch could see all of those traits in the Suzaku who had threatened that Japanese woman with a baseball bat.


What he couldn't see were the less obvious traits of the Suzaku he had known. The honest kindness that had seen Suzaku tenderly doting on Nunnally, joining in Lelouch's endless descriptions of their surroundings so his blinded sister could feel included. The endless cheer that had followed Suzaku unflaggingly when they were younger. The sense of honor, the need to protect the weak and to care for those under his authority, instilled by Instructor Tohdoh. He had seen none of those traits in Corporal Kururugi.


Most of all, Lelouch hadn't seen the unflagging nationalism, the honest pride in his people and their culture, that the Suzaku he had known had carried as a standard.


Suzaku had been the one to teach him the culture and traditions of his people, the one to explain how to wear a kimono and how to open a bottle of ramune. Suzaku had been the one to sneak Lelouch into the ceremonies conducted at the heart of Kururugi Temple, the one who had bragged endlessly about anything Japanese. All of that was missing from the cold-eyed thug who wore his friend's skin and carried his name.


Still, at the very least, he's alive, Lelouch told himself. Nunnally will be overjoyed to hear it.


Unfortunately, Suzaku's reappearance hadn't sparked any inspiration. It had provided an example of how not to lead, but Lelouch hadn't needed any further examples when his father's shadow loomed so large over the entire world.


Perhaps the real lesson in that experience hadn't been Suzaku's actions, but the reaction they had provoked? Lelouch had seen the way the Honorary Britannians in the crowd and the Elevens at the serving line had looked at his old friend, and how they had looked at Stadfeld; he was certain that any attempt by the soldiers to harm her would have led to Suzaku and his men being torn limb from limb.


That's loyalty, the exiled prince thought as he continued down his solitary way. The streets were empty this late on a Monday night. A loyalty purchased by shared experience and mutual commitment. How had Stadtfeld bought it? Were some soup and commiseration truly enough? The King must lead, or else the pawns won't follow, but… how does one find the pawns to lead?


Even Suzaku found some pawns, at least four of them, an analytical corner of his brain pointed out, apparently by suborning the bonds created by an existing organization. Combined with his personal authority and the formal power granted by his rank, that was enough to create a cell willing to follow him into danger despite his lack of leadership skills.


Surely I could do better.


But what organization could I join to follow that pattern? The Army would require far too much documentation, not to mention a full-time commitment, which would effectively end my life at Ashford and separate me from Nunnally. Lelouch shook his head. The Army was a closed door to him for a multitude of reasons. But surely there are alternatives…


Mile upon mile of street and sidewalk disappeared under Lelouch's wandering feet. The hour was late and only getting later and he was no longer entirely sure where in the Tokyo Settlement he was. Somewhere northwest of the Concession, which lurked as a dark mound suspended on its vast supports over the nighttime horizon. He was in a Britannian working-class neighborhood, one much like the neighborhood south of the Ginza MagLev Station, the one where his first attempt at rabble-rousing had fizzled.


I wonder how the old men at the deli and Missus Fisk are doing? Lelouch thought, idling at a street corner. They were already treading water weeks ago, and prices, as always, had gone up since then. "Pedestrian concerns." Damn, what a fool I was to just dismiss all of their worries like that. I was so busy scanning for talking points that I forgot to listen to what they were saying.


A glint of silver reflecting from the grimy bricks of the alley across the street caught Lelouch's attention. For lack of anything better to do, Lelouch crossed the street to see what had caught some errant beam of light. He would have to turn his feet back towards Ashford Academy soon, or at least towards the nearest MagLev station, but something of the spirit of the night had taken hold of him, leaving him in a fey mood.


At first glance, the graffiti emblazoned across the stained bricks looked very similar to similar amateur paint jobs Lelouch had seen pretty much any time he ventured outside of Ashford Academy or the boundaries of the Concession. A broad silver line slashed across the wall was bisected by another similar line, and both were surrounded by a vaguely triangular shape. Something about it twigged Lelouch's attention and he leaned in closer, peering through the dark into the stinking alley.


If you squint at it, the triangle's sides bow out towards the middle before tapering down into the point… Almost like a shield, or a coat of arms. Suddenly interested, Lelouch pulled out his phone and thumbed on the light. In the white glare, he could see that the symbol had a smaller symbol in the upper left quarter of the pseudo-shield, daubed on the wall in black paint. The paint had smeared and dribbled, but he could just barely make out what looked like a P over an X.


P and X? He frowned, trying to puzzle out the hidden meaning. Perhaps the initials of the graffiti artist, or those of his sweetheart? Or, maybe… Maybe not a P and an X, but maybe the older Greek characters they came from… Rho and Chi. Lelouch's eyes widened slightly as a long-ago lesson in state dogma flashed through his mind. No, the other way around! Chi and Rho!


The squint deepened into a frown. The Britannic Church isn't popular, and I don't think I've met any Britannian who I'd call devout in my life. Almost nobody is anymore. In the Age of Darwin, it's passe. So, why would someone in a working-class neighborhood feel the need to paint an ancient and obscure Christain symbol on a wall, in a coat of arms…


As he mulled this fresh puzzle over, Lelouch scanned the rest of the wall with his phone light. Near the base of the wall, half hidden behind a dumpster, he saw a powder blue line pointing further down the alley. Walking around to the other side of the dumpster, he saw a vague looping pattern, followed by another X, or maybe a Chi and an eight.


The looping pattern looks like something in motion, Lelouch thought, bludgeoning his brain as he tried to remember the theology classes he'd been subject to so long ago. At the time, he'd considered them easily the most useless of his entire education, even less applicable than formal rhetoric or table etiquette. Maybe… Maybe a fish? That's important, I think. And an X and an eight would be… Eighteen?


What the hell am I doing, Lelouch suddenly wondered, wandering through alleys in the middle of the night? Nunnally's probably worried sick!


The thought of his sister broke through the peculiar fever that had infected Lelouch's mind. That's right, Nunnally expected me home hours ago. Sayoko probably put her to bed already, but she has trouble getting to sleep if I'm not there to say goodnight… And besides, I'm not going to figure out this mystery tonight; even if I did, what would I do with the solution? This will keep, and if it won't, there's no real loss.


Content with his evening's explorations, Lelouch turned his weary feet towards the MagLev station at long last. As he slumped down onto his seat aboard the train, he couldn't help but smile with anticipation. After days of intellectual starvation, he had finally found something to take his mind off his past failure and current listlessness.


I just hope that the news about Suzaku is enough to defer the scolding Nunnally's probably got simmering…

 

Chapter 26: A Britannian Flower


(Thank you to Aminta Defender, Sunny, Restestsest, KoreanWriter, Mitch H., Rakkis157, MetalDragon, ScarletFox, and WrandmWaffles for beta-reading and editing this chapter. Thank you in particular to MetalDragon for his substantial input on the simulation sequence. Thank you to Aminta Defender for helping me thin out some of the scenes. I appreciate your help and advise.)


MAY 3, 2016 ATB
SHINJUKU GHETTO, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
2023


“-And according to Miss Fujiko, the Terminal #3 office will be completely empty, as the fumigation process isn’t expected to wrap up until next Monday afternoon,” Tanya said, pausing to turn to the next page in her notebook. “Which means that we have almost a week-long window to take action. After that, the weekly password will cycle, and infiltrating the Harbormaster’s Office will have to be postponed, and of course, a delay in acquiring the information Kyoto requested would be…”


“Be unfortunate, yes, as it would probably reduce the value,” Naoto sighed, eyes half closed as he tried to remember where exactly Tokai was concerning Shinjuku. Somewhere to the south… east, I think? “I suppose that’s all doable. It’s a bit of a trip from Shinjuku, though; way too far to walk, at least without the day pass lapsing. So, that leaves either stealing a car or taking the train, right?”


“That’s right,” Tanya confirmed, “and of the two, I think the train is the best option. Stealing a car introduces an unnecessary level of risk into the operation, as well as an uncontrolled factor. After all, what if the car’s owner happens to notice four or five Numbers driving off in his sedan? Police attention for any reason is undesirable, especially since information known to be compromised loses a good deal of its value. Which would give Kyoto House an excuse to haggle us down.”


“Alright, train it is,” Naoto nodded along, fully aware that the younger halfbreed had likely already come to that decision and was probably just humoring him by explaining her reasoning. “That’s going to require work passes, though. Plus some Britannian currency for the fare, not to mention getting the exterminator getups together.”


“Already handled,” Tanya’s cool voice came on the heels of his own, “I spoke with Inoue before I headed over here. Work passes, train fare, bribe money, and a few extra pounds will be waiting at the station by the Kawadacho checkpoint, along with packs containing the jumpsuits, gas masks, and goggles, not to mention dummy canisters and aerosol dispensers. All we’ll need to do is fill out our names on the passes and stroll on through.”


Naoto nodded along, again more as a formality than anything else. The so-called “station” was, in truth, just a reinforced basement similar to the old Kozuki Cell headquarters, one of the many Tanya had commanded to be established throughout Shinjuku. The pocket strongholds were each garrisoned by a five-man squad at all times, with fresh units rotating every eight hours or so. Naoto didn’t know how effective they’d be if push came to shove, but…


His brow creased; Naoto replayed the last few lines of the planning session back through his mind. Something was bothering him, something Tanya had said…


“Now,” the diminutive resistance leader was saying, “I’m going to need every man chosen to have at least a decent grasp of Bri-”


“Wait a second,” Naoto interrupted, palms pressed against the table as he halfway rose out of his chair. “Stop. Back up a step. What was the last thing you said?”


“All of the necessary materials will be waiting by the Kawadacho Checkpoint,” Tanya replied, head tilted inquisitively, “Inoue told me she’d take care of it. All we’d need to do is write our names down on the work passes.”


“Right, that’s what I was afraid of.” Naoto relaxed back into his seat and gave the girl a smile he didn’t feel. That is what Hajime Tanya was, after all; a girl, a child. It was easy to forget that she was only slightly older now than Kallen had been when their father came for them. For all of her maturity, she still thought like a child in some surprising ways.


“Tell me, Tanya,” he continued, speaking carefully and calmly, trying to sound as reasonable as possible without being patronizing, “why did you use the term ‘we’ regarding this strike team?”


A pair of big blue eyes blinked questioningly at him from across the table. “Because I would be leading the unit, of course,” Tanya replied matter of factly as if that was a given. “I am probably the most experienced small unit leader we have present in Shinjuku, with Ohgi currently in Gunma. After all, I have led multiple small unit actions in just the last month. I can also speak Britannian without an Eleven accent”


“You are mostly correct,” Naoto said, before explaining. “You are absolutely correct about your qualifications, even if I suspect that you’re underselling yourself. However, you will not be leading the unit tomorrow. In fact, Tanya, you should consider yourself removed from the list of personnel available for this kind of mission.” He paused. “Besides, aren’t you a bit short to be an exterminator?”


“I’m… I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re saying, Naoto.” Tanya’s tone was as cool and conversational as ever, but Naoto had grown wise to her game over the months. He heard the note of uncertainty under the smooth armor of the persona she had cultivated. Even if he’d missed that clear tell, the way her eyes had widened ever so slightly at his pronouncement would have served as an announcement of her sudden confusion.


So immature in strange ways, Naoto thought fondly. It almost feels like I caught her sneaking cookies or something. Didn’t she raid Ohgi’s snack stash that one time? I wonder if she ever realized that he’d bought those chocolate cookies specifically for her.


“Tanya,” Naoto began again, “I know that you believe that leading the Rising Sun is your duty. Yes,” he waved down the incipient interruption he knew was coming, “Yes, I know that you recognize my paramount leadership and so on. Just, please listen, alright?”


After a moment, the blonde slowly nodded, and Naoto continued. “Now, I know you feel like the Rising Sun is your duty. I don’t know if I agree with that, but I will say you do a wonderful job at it. The people, in case you didn’t know, love you. Personally, I think you have the blessing of the Gods, and that you are the leader we need. But, that doesn’t mean you need to lead everything.”


“And again,” he waved placatingly at the brewing objection he could already hear, “I know that you delegate quite often. I am aware of your attempts to identify and raise more leaders to handle your duties. That’s not what I’m talking about. Maybe I’m doing a bad job at explaining myself, but, to be completely blunt Tanya? You’ve become important. Too important. You are now too important to risk as the leader of a small unit.”


He paused long enough to shoot her a dry smirk, “Congratulations, Tanya, you’ve become a general.”


Naoto barely had time to lean back into his chair with his piece said before Tanya was jumping to rebuke it.


“I am not that important!” She immediately replied, words heated and passionate for all that she tried to hold onto her typical mask of chilly dispassion. “I am skilled, yes, and I am intelligent, but I am nothing special. You can give better speeches. Ohgi is a better teacher. Kallen will soon be the better fighter if she isn’t already. Inoue is a far better logistician than I’ll ever hope to be. I am good, but I’m not irreplaceable.


This…might just be the most genuine emotion I’ve seen out of her in quite a while. Naoto raised an eyebrow. Did I manage to touch a nerve somehow?


“I spent four months training twenty men and I got two of them killed. My greatest accomplishment was touching off a mass slaughter that has in turn spiraled out into a cycle of all-consuming violence!” With every word Tanya’s volume and temper ratcheted higher and higher, dragging Naoto’s worry over her mental state along with them. “And while I was busy leading good people to their deaths, you built a civic government and began a massive urban renewal project!”


“And, of course, I didn’t stop there! I managed to negotiate not one but three disastrous bargains with Kyoto House,” Tanya continued, “The first of which swapped handling dirty work for the Six Houses for an abandoned high school and the second of which involved indebting myself to a sociopath in exchange for basic supplies! The third deal handed the Six Houses a profit conservatively measured in the hundreds of thousands of pounds, if not the millions!”


I wonder how long she’s been sitting on all of this, Naoto wondered, frown deepening with every word from her lips. Since Christmas, it sounds like.


“And then I spent weeks of my free time trying to figure out how to put my magic to use, and for all of that I got a half-assed joke I’ve only been able to use once!” The rant washed over Naoto as Tanya decided to take advantage of his invitation and the privacy to vent and get some things off her chest.


“So no, Naoto,” Tanya said, her voice flattening back out, her pent-up emotions seemingly spent, “I am not irreplaceable. My magic is a non-factor, we have people capable of doing anything else I can do, and any public support I have is based on our Organization’s material assets, not a particular regard for me personally.


“Were I to die tomorrow, the struggle would continue.”


For a moment, both sat in uncomfortable silence. In the wake of her rant, Tanya seemed almost smaller somehow, almost lighter, as if she had been drained and exhausted by unburdening herself of her troubles. Naoto, on the other hand, was frantically scrambling for something to say in response to the matter-of-fact fatalism hanging in the air.


How do I inspire the girl who’s inspired me to reach heights I’d never dared to dream of?


“...Perhaps,” Naoto finally replied. “But… I’d miss you. So would Kallen. I know Ohgi would miss you too, as would Inoue, Nagata, Tamaki… Probably not Chihiro, but I doubt you’d miss her if she caught a bullet tomorrow either, so that’s fair all the way around.”


Naoto’s small gallows-side joke was rewarded by an almost invisible smile, the corners of Tanya’s mouth quirking up in cynical amusement for just a moment before she straightened her face back out again.


“That doesn’t make me special, though,” she stubbornly rebutted. “Most people have someone who would miss them if they die. I’m not special in that regard, nor irreplaceable. Everybody’s lost something, yet the struggle will go on.”


Naoto rubbed at his eyes. It’s like dealing with Kallen, he thought with exasperation, but even worse. She’s way too damned cynical for her age and she still hasn’t figured out how to stop suppressing her emotions, at least when Oghi’s not around.


“Look, Tanya,” he tried again, “you’re just wrong. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is. You've made yourself the face and the spirit of this fight. The fact is, for us rebels here? For the Rising Sun? You’re more than a person, Tanya, you’re a symbol now. You have to realize that, right?”


Predictably, Tanya fervently shook her head in denial.


I don’t know whether to be depressed or annoyed, Naoto sighed. How about I settle for sarcastically amused?


“Oh, Tanya,” Naoto groaned as he rubbed his tired eyes. “You’re fucking killing me here, kid. Alright, let me spell it out for you.”


He didn’t need to look to know there was a frown on her adorably pinched face.


“You know why you’re their symbol, Tanya?” Naoto started rhetorically, leaning in across the table for emphasis, “It’s because you’re a Shinjuku street rat, just like them. You’ve clawed your way to survive in this hell for years, just like them, all until you had enough power to do something.”


“Most people? Hah-” Naoto let out a bitter laugh, “The moment they have an inch of power they use it to abuse everyone beneath them, always desperate for more. Selfish survival at all costs, even if it means you have to drag everyone else down to do it.”


“But you, on the other hand?” Naoto shook his head with a proud grin. “When you found us, you didn’t want us to just be another petty gang of power-hungry thugs. You inspired us to fight back against not just the Britannians, but against the gangs, the small evils that the JLF and Kyoto House tolerated and in fact made use of. As soon as you got money and supplies, you started distributing them to the community, sharing the wealth instead of hoarding it.”


“Face it, Tanya,” Naoto grinned at the girl, amused by how wobbly her stoic mask suddenly looked, “You are the prodigal daughter who’s made it good and brought back food, medicine, and hope to the scrapings of the Ghetto. To them? I’m still an outsider. I still smack of Britannia and of nobility. I wasn’t there. But you? You were. You were there with them. You haven’t forgotten them. And they love you for it.”


“Let’s agree to disagree,” Tanya proposed, her voice just slightly thicker than normal, hardly noticeable unless the listener was familiar with her usual metronome precision. “Whe-”


“Nope,” Naoto cut her off, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.



Sorry Tanya, but if you’re gonna be this stubborn I’m just going to have to pound this through your thick skull, Naoto thought, bracing himself for still more unpleasant conversation in an evening already full of the stuff. He could already see the shock at his interruption transmuting to outrage in Tanya’s eyes. It’s just like dealing with Kallen. Well, I guess it’s time to put on my big brother pants again, eh?


“But, I-” Tanya started.


“Nope.” Naoto shut her down again. He leaned down, making sure to meet her sapphire gaze, and spoke slowly and clearly, doing everything he could to broadcast his sincere intent. “You are irreplaceable, Tanya. That is a fact. The people love you, everyone in the organization loves you, I love you. And we wouldn’t be anywhere near where we are today without your drive.”


“I’m not!” Tanya protested futilely, the cracks in her mask growing, “I’m just-”


“The person who’s inspired us to go farther than we ever dared dream?” Naoto smirked. “The girl who’s led all of the most successful raids in our history? The kid who managed to take the fight straight to Britannia, and brought eight of her soldiers back alive? The only person I’ve heard of to pit infantry against Knightmares and win since Tohdoh left Itsukushima?”


She folded under the weight of her accomplishments, so Naoto ruthlessly pushed his advantage further.


“How about the girl who managed to negotiate with both the Six Houses and the JLF, people who were so far out of our league not even a year ago that I would have never even considered making contact?” Naoto leaned forward again, letting his voice soften. “I can’t even begin to count the number of people who are alive today because of you, and you’re only twelve. How many more lives will you impact as you grow older? How many more people will you inspire?”


Naoto sat back up, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “The fact is, Tanya, you’re the heart of this operation. Without you, we might all fall apart.”


“Then why are you trying to demote me?” Tanya asked angrily, lashing out in response to his emotional appeal. “Why are you taking me away from the front, Naoto? Surely I am the best combat leader we have – why aren’t you using me to my full potential? When we divided up responsibilities, you said I’d be in charge of combat operations! Have you changed your mind? Did I lose your confidence along the way?”


“What?” Naoto blinked, nonplussed. “No, don’t be silly. Why would you even think that? Actually, no, don’t bother. No, Tanya, you haven’t lost my confidence or whatever. You’re just too important. If anything, you’re getting a promotion. I mean-”


He stopped himself and sighed, “ Look, it’s like… It’s like chess. Do you know chess?”


When Tanya tentatively nodded, Naoto continued. “It’s like chess. The king can’t lead from the front, because if the king gets captured, that’s it, game over. The king has to stay in the back and direct the movement of the other pieces. If a pawn or a bishop gets it, that’s a loss. If the king gets it, well…that’s that, game over.”


“And so I can’t lead from the front… I’ve got to stay in the rear…” A complicated expression crossed Tanya’s face, and even after months of experience with the enigmatic girl with ancient eyes, Naoto couldn’t begin to unravel what it meant. “A cushy position in the rear… because I’m too valuable to risk in combat…” Suddenly, she was glaring at him. “Is this some kind of joke?” she hissed, “are you trying to protect me like you did with Kallen?”


“Nope,” Naoto easily replied. “I learned my lesson. Strange as this might be to say, considering that you are technically still too young to take your high school admissions exams, but your ability as a planner, a propagandist, and a living symbol now outweigh your admittedly impressive skills as a soldier, junior officer, and assassin.”


Frustratingly, she still looked somewhat unconvinced. Gods, what do I need to say to her? Naoto half-thought, half-prayed. How do you convince someone who goes to war like she’s meeting her beloved that she can do far more damage from behind a desk?


Suddenly, inspiration struck.


“I’m not trying to protect you, Tanya,” Naoto continued, “I’m trying to take maximum advantage of a scarce resource; namely, your mental capabilities. There are over two hundred thousand people in Shinjuku, good killers and squad leaders are ultimately replaceable. Those who aren’t replaceable are people like you. People who can command power with the wisdom and compassion needed to actually save our people.”


“Wisdom and compassion? Pheh!” Tanya’s scorn was obviously played up, a cheap emotional display to conceal the more sincere emotions Naoto could practically feel radiating off her from across the table. “Well, you are the leader and the Kozuki of the Kozuki Organization. If you’re really sure about this…”


“I am,” Naoto said firmly. “If I am your leader, I will put you where I think you will do the most good for the Cause. In this case, I firmly believe your mind is more valuable than your trigger finger.”


“Well, in that case…” Tanya rubbed briefly at her eyes before lifting her notebook to her face and flipping through some pages. “Hang on, I have a list of promising squad leaders from amongst the Sun Guard somewhere…”


For the remainder of the meeting, Naoto stayed on edge, waiting for the seemingly inevitable moment when Tanya would just “happen” to task herself with some sort of role in tomorrow’s mission, or in one of the multitudes of other, smaller tasks that involved significant personal risk. The moment never came, and the remainder of the meeting was quite productive.


As he got ready for bed and slipped between the sheets of his cot, all Naoto could think about was how, strangely, he had finally made good on the request Ohgi had made during that drinking session up on the roof of this very building almost a year ago now. He had finally found a role for Tanya in the Organization that kept her far from the frontline.


Somehow, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, I doubt this is quite what Ohgi had in mind.


MAY 4, 2016 ATB
ASHFORD ACADEMY, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1400


“Attention all students,” Milly’s voice came in, chipper and bright over the intercom as she interrupted sixth period, “please report to the gymnasium for a mandatory assembly. Teachers, please make sure your students arrive at the gym in the next fifteen minutes. See you there!”


At the front of the classroom, Missus Selwyn, the literature teacher, sighed as she dropped her chalk and wiped the dust off her fingers. “I suppose John Donne can wait for another day since I doubt this assembly will be over by the time the bell rings. He has waited four centuries, so it shouldn’t be that much of an imposition.”


Kallen forced herself to return the teacher’s smile as she hastily packed her materials away and buried the familiar anger. Of course I couldn’t enjoy one of the few things I like about this school in peace. No, of fucking course not! Milly just has to shove her arrogant head into things.


Missus Selwyn, at only thirty-three years old, was one of Ashford’s younger teachers, and definitely one of the most popular. That was most likely due to her lax approach to homework, as well as the way she filled out her dress. Kallen had heard more than enough whispers swapped between the boys, and the girls, sitting around her regarding that particular topic, enough to make her gag.


I wonder if their disgusting depravity comes from being Britannians, nobles, or teenagers? Kallen grumbled internally. She very carefully didn’t think about the fact that she was all three of those as well.


Still, what Kallen appreciated about Missus Selwyn was her actual skill as a teacher, not as a source of easy A’s or eye candy. Unlike many of Ashford’s other teachers, Missus Selwyn brought a genuine enthusiasm for her topic into the room. Her class never felt like she was just checking boxes off a list of mandatory topics while filling her students’ heads with Britannian indoctrination; it felt like she took them on a real journey through history and culture every period. Though even for a literature teacher there were subjects and interpretations even Missus Selwyn avoided.


She was enthusiastic about teaching, not suicidal.


In the endless swamp of irritations great and small best known as Ashford Academy, Missus Selwyn’s class was an enriching experience for Kallen, something that always made her soul sing with relief.


And that's a hell of a lot more than I can say about anything else in this gaudy shithole, Kallen thought as she sucked in a harsh breath, trying to force her anger back under control. And of course, Milly had to ruin it for her own amusement just like always. Can’t wait to see what absurd farce she has waiting for us this time.


Kallen sighed and flipped her Academy-issued valise closed. She joined the queue at the classroom’s door, wincing slightly whenever another student jostled her. Tanya had been particularly aggressive during yesterday's training session, not that Kallen minded.


Far from it! Kallen grinned to herself. I pinned her three out of five times last night! Her damned midget arms can’t hold me down anymore! The grin faded. Now if only I could beat her on the range, she’d have to send me to The School…


The tiny tributary of teenagers fleeing from the works of John Donne fed into the slowly swelling river of the student body as more students poured out of classrooms and laboratories. Most took the opportunity presented by the sudden break from routine to chat with their friends as they made their way down to the Academy’s massive gymnasium.


How many could I kill if I planted just a single bomb here, in this hall? Kallen wondered idly as she picked her way through the crowd. I wonder how many of these pampered nobles would survive to get the wake-up call they so richly deserve?


Kallen let the pleasant image of the aftermath, drawn from her memories of the subway station, linger. It was a temporary refuge from reality. The thoughts of stuffy Britannians screaming and crying as the real world crashed down on them in all of its horrors lifted her mood from her thoughts of Milly’s frivolous interference. But, after a moment, Kallen regretfully let the fantasy drift away.


After all, I don’t need Tanya giving me another lecture. She shivered at the thought. Her friend had made it abundantly clear to Kallen how unhelpful such an act would ultimately be, the one time she’d proposed it …But it’s still fun to think about.


Heh! Just the thought of Milly’s horrified face as her whole palace burns around her… This time, the smile that slipped onto Kallen’s face was entirely genuine.


Keeping that thought in mind, Kallen kept the smile on her face as she rejoined the chattering flow. She was a professional, as she had so often told herself, and so she played her part as the well-adjusted and socially engaged young lady to the hilt as she made her way to the gymnasium. She nodded happily to anybody who made eye contact, fueling her smile with secret thoughts of murder.


I wonder how many of the smiles surrounding me are equally deceptive? It was a troubling thought. I mean, I’m betting none of these idiots have any idea who I really am or what I do at night, but that can cut both ways. How many of these smiling students are secretly police informers, eager to pass my name on to their handlers?


I can’t stand out. I can’t slip up. I can’t trust any of them, not one bit.


Suddenly inspired by the paranoia-inducing thought, Kallen allowed herself to be dragged into a conversation with Steven and Cara, from the Student Newspaper. The nattering and shallow exchange was a waste of time in her opinion, even if it did make for effective social camouflage, and she happily moved on even before Cara started glowering at her. Cara tended to be protective of her boyfriend, and Kallen might have even called her clingy if it wasn’t for Steve’s wandering eyes, or hands.


As it was, she could only hope that he was found out in a suitably public fashion to maximize both of their embarrassment.


Is there a more revolting cesspool of disgusting masks and depraved intent than this excuse for a school? Maybe it’s on purpose, to give kids practice at the circus called noble politics? Kallen almost sneered.


And don’t think I didn’t notice you two coming out of the ladies’ room together, Kallen thought, adding the tiny detail to her internal notes as she swapped speculations about the surprise assembly with Cara. I wonder if Ashford has a maternity uniform ready to be issued? Considering who designed this absurd uniform, I wouldn’t be surprised.


As she left her slow-moving club members behind, the pair seemingly more focused on each other than on the assembly they were supposed to be heading towards, Kallen noticed another quiet figure skulking along the wall.


That’s the nerd from my chemistry class, right? Umm… Kallen frowned, trying to remember the name. Something European, right? Einstan? Eizenstein? No… Einstein! Nina Einstein, that’s right. She’s on the Student Council with Rivalz and Milly, and judging by how the teacher talks to her, something of a science prodigy.


For a moment, Kallen weighed her options. On the one hand, she’d love nothing more than to ignore the girl whose unsubtle gaze had lingered on Kallen uncomfortably often over the last few months. On the other hand, she had to at least appear to be a sociable young Britannian lady, and speaking with the quiet nerd with eyes for her would probably be less infuriating than dealing with any of her louder “peers”.


Plus, if she really is that much of a science prodigy, perhaps I’ll find some use for her.


“Hey there, Nina!” Kallen chirped in her best Milly Ashford-inspired voice; the immediate wave of self-loathing she experienced probably meant she had struck the proper balance of vapidity and smug self-satisfaction. God, I hate this place.


Still, Kallen forced her revulsion down and focused on the task at hand with all the false cheer she could manufacture. “Looking forward to the assembly?”


“Oh… Hi, Kallen…” The bespectacled girl’s greeting was almost drowned out by the ambient clatter of the hallway. Kallen resisted the urge to demand that she speak up. “How… how are you…?”


Let’s see, I’ve interacted with Nina a grand total of once before, and that was when I just asked if we’d had homework for chem the night before. So… no information about her likes or dislikes. Other than that wandering eye of hers. Damn. Sincerity it is, I guess.


“Curious to hear what interrupted literature class,” Kallen replied with a grimace. “I stayed up late to finish last night’s homework, and Selwyn didn’t even collect the assignments before the announcement came in. I could have gotten a whole hour of sleep and pushed the essay on iambic pentameter off for a whole ‘nother day!”


“You… Uhh… You shouldn’t wait on your homework…” Nina retorted, flushing slightly under Kallen’s incredulous gaze. “Well… It would only get worse… And this way, you won’t have to do it tonight, right?”


“Well… You might have a point there,” Kallen grudgingly admitted, “I guess that will give me time to catch back up on chemistry, freakin’ molarity…”


“D-do you want any help…?” Nina timidly asked, clearly forcing herself to look at Kallen as she spoke. “I… I’d probably be able to help explain stuff to you…”


Real subtle, Nina. Kallen nearly sighed aloud with her irritation. It’s totally not like you’ve been struggling to not stare at my tits the whole time we’ve been talking, right? Still, I could probably use a few pointers, and it wouldn’t be too much trouble to break her if she got too handsy. And, unlike Milly, she doesn’t have any special social status to protect her.


“I might take you up on that offer some other day,” Kallen said aloud, “but I’ve got plans already. I really would appreciate some help, though – you seem to truly have a knack for all this science stuff!”


“T-thanks…” Nina blushed, “I genuinely like it… hard numbers, hard facts… it’s way easier to understand t-than people are…”


“Aren’t you on the Student Council?” Kallen asked as they approached the gym’s entrance, feigning ignorance. “I think I remember Rivalz mentioning you at some meeting?”


“I’m the Treasurer…” Nina mumbled, “I’m good with math too… Math and science… and computers… that’s all I’m really good for…”


“Hey now, no need to be down on yourself,” Kallen replied, suddenly uncomfortable. Dammit, Tanya’s the reassuring one! I’m the one who asks the hard questions! Well, me and Naoto… And Diethard… Maybe I need to branch out? “There’s nothing wrong with liking computers! Heck, I wish I liked math too. That would make things so much easier.”


“Thanks, Kallen…” Nina replied with a shy smile. “H-hey… Are you, uhh… Are you busy after the assembly?”


“Depends on how long it goes; if Milly doesn’t take too long, we’ve still got seventh and eighth periods,” Kallen pointed out. “And yeah, I have plans after school today, remember? Sorry, Nina. Maybe some other day?”


“Y-yeah…” Nina sighed, not before shooting Kallen what the Stadtfeld heiress could only describe as a glance pregnant with longing. “Someday… Bye, Kallen.”


“Bye Nina,” Kallen replied awkwardly as the shorter girl disappeared into the milling crowd of students. “See you around…”


What a creep, Kallen thought with a shiver of disgust as she waited for the crush of students around the gym’s entrance to dissolve. A pair of teachers were bellowing something about standing in alphabetical order by last name, so Kallen moved towards the back of the crowd, reasoning that the “S’s” would probably be at the back of the assembly anyway. Well, maybe not a creep. Just an awkward and weird girl. But… Man, even Rivalz isn’t that obvious. Learn some control, Nina. Ugh.


Then Kallen remembered who she attended school with. Not just the Britannian noble children, with their arrogance and games and careless hedonism, who made up the student body, but the self-proclaimed Queen of Ashford Academy and sitting President of the Student Council. …Admittedly, all things considered, it’s a miracle you’re as reasonable as you are, Nina. After all, you could be another Milly.


Then, as if even thinking the name had somehow summoned her presence, a miniaturized yet energetic pocket catastrophe fell on Kallen’s shoulders.


“Heya Kallen,” a smirking Milly Ashford said by way of greeting, slipping out from the crowd and into Kallen’s personal space, “Long time no see! It’s almost like you’ve been avoiding me!”


“Not at all, Madam President,” Kallen replied to the blonde, suppressing her rage at the other girl’s faux-pout in favor of a sweetness just a hint too saccharine to be sincere. “I’ve just been very busy lately, you know how it is. Finals are less than a month away, so I’ve been pretty busy reviewing.”


If pressed, Kallen would be forced to admit that she no longer hated Milly the same way she had last year, before their little detente in January when Milly had let her mask of aloof whimsy momentarily slip. The revelation that the teasing blonde actually gave a shit about Rivalz and even seemed to sincerely care about Kallen had been eye-opening. No longer did Milly seem like some sort of cold-hearted spider, constantly attempting to enmesh her in her shadowy web.


That slight improvement in her opinion of the other girl hadn’t diluted the rest of Kallen’s resentment, however. Whether or not she had a heart didn’t change the fact that Milly swanned about the place as if it was her personal palace, tweaking and teasing everyone around her in elaborate manipulations for no purpose but her own sense of whimsy and perverse pleasure.



Oh yes, I still hate that frivolous bitch. I’d hack that oh-so-carefully shampooed hair from her scalp with a dull knife if I could get away with it. Kallen scowled internally. But, I can’t say she’s completely worthless as a human being. She’s just a juvenile, nosy, arrogant, horny brat of a Britannian lady who’s in dire need of a reality check outside the walls of her little empire, where she holds all the cards.


An image flitted through her brain, of taking Milly down to Shinjuku to see that pile of butchered meat they’d turned those other Britannian pervs into. Of showing the Ashford heiress her brother’s special basement, where they’d ground the remains of other arrogant Britannians down into so much ash and slurry. Of introducing her to Tanya. Kallen knew it would never happen, but the daydream tasted as sweet as sin.


“Boooring!” Milly rolled her eyes dramatically, her expression suddenly drooping with feigned weariness. “You’re going to grow old and gray before your time if you keep it up, and then how will you get a boyfriend?! Live a little, Kallen!”


Live a little? Kallen almost sneered. Do you call indulging in classroom debauchery living?


“I live plenty already, thank you very much,” Kallen replied cooly. “I’ve got my classes, all of my holidays are booked solid with all the stupid social events my mother keeps forcing me to attend, and I’ve got my extracurricular! I’m busy enough, and that’s not even getting into my study time!”


“Your extracurricular?” The damnable smirk returned to Milly’s face, the exhausted mask vanished without a trace. “Which one? Do you mean the Ashford Gazette? Or do you mean the charity you’re running out in the Settlement? From what I hear, you put on quite the performance there on Monday! I guess there’s hope for you after all, Stadtfeld! I knew you had to have some of that deliciously hot redheaded passion somewhere deep inside!”


Fuck! In that instant, Kallen had to resist the urge to whirl around and pin Milly by her throat until her poisoned tongue protruded, bloated and swollen, from between her lips. Remember why you’re here, Kozuki!


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kallen replied, trying to stall. “There isn’t much about Monday that I’d call passionate. The soup was kind of spicy, I guess.”


What does she know? Kallen scrambled through the memories of the night in her head. Whatever she knows, she got it from Rivalz. That boy is obsessed with her and would tell her anything she wanted to hear. So… She knows about the encounter with the soldiers, but not my talk with Alan. Why does she care about any of that?


“Ah, ah, ah!” Milly waggled a reproving finger under Kallen’s nose. Kallen resisted the temptation to bite it off. “None of that sass! I know exactly what you did, even second-hand! Kallen, you might as well have handed that poor man a sword and told him to go slit open his belly! I mean, it probably would have been kinder than eviscerating him with words like you did!”


Milly smiled. “I’m proud of you, Stadtfeld. You’re growing into a splendid young Britannian flower.”


A splendid Britannian flower?! Kallen’s teeth ground together so hard her gums ached, and it took all she had not to slug the bitch in the face. Fuck. You.


The tinkling of bells filled the air and Milly’s eyes flew open. Her hand darted into her pocket, and as Kallen very carefully didn’t react to the sudden movement she pulled out her phone and turned off an alarm. “Looks like I gotta go! Sorry Kallen, I’d love to chat, but today’s a special day and I’m a little busy! Things to see, people to do, you know how it is!”


“Sure, whatever,” Kallen said, still trying to push down her boiling fury. “Don’t let me keep you, Madam President.”


“Make sure you don’t slip out of the assembly early, Kallen!” Milly said, turning on her heel and starting to dart away into the crowd. “It’s in the memory of our dear departed royals, after all! Plus, there’s a surprise at the end, and I’m betting you’re gonna love it~!”


Kallen’s eyes narrowed. “A surprise…?” She started through gritted teeth, but Milly was already gone, lost in a sea of uniforms.


Fuck. What does that bitch have planned next? Kallen forced her jaw to unclench with an angry breath. Dammit, I can’t let this get to me. Deep breaths, Kallen. Focus on the mission.


Minutes later, Kallen finally found her way into the gymnasium and to her allotted spot in the neatly ordered lines. Finally, after much shuffling around, the assembly began with the opening bars of the Academy’s anthem blaring through the public address system. Then Milly took the stage, leaping up onto the platform where commentators and referees sat during volleyball games, and where a podium with a microphone dutifully awaited her arrival.


“Goooooooooooood afternoon to all the handsome boys and pretty girls out there! And also to the rest of the Ashford student body. How are you doing this fine spring day?” The blonde basked in the dutiful applause and the adoring cries of “Milly, be my girlfriend!” from the audience. Kallen resisted the urge to scowl at the theatrics. “Glad to see you’re all awake out there!”


“Now, while I’m sure you all would love nothing more than to watch me rock the stage for the next half hour or so…” Milly paused invitingly, and a chorus of wolf whistles obliging rose from the crowd, “I’m going to hand you all over to Major Pitt, of His Majesty’s Armed Forces Reserve Officer Training Corps! I do so love a dashing man in uniform, so please be kind to him!”


The man Milly handed the microphone over to was, in Kallen’s opinion, far from dashing. A finely pointed waxed mustache thirty years out of style failed to liven up the face of a born bureaucrat, and while his uniform was well tailored and fit him well, it still failed to be particularly flattering. But none of that changed the fact that he was still Britannian military, a threat and an enemy to any who opposed his cruel Empire.



I have a bad feeling about this.


“Good afternoon, my lords and ladies,” Major Pitt began, his tone almost depressingly mundane after Milly’s enthusiasm. “Thank you all for attending this assembly, and thank you to Ashford Academy for giving me some time to speak with you.”


At some invisible signal, a light wave of applause washed through the gymnasium. Kallen reluctantly joined in, clapping presumably at the mention of the Academy’s name. At least the bastard in gray shut up for a moment, so I guess that’s something.


After a moment, Major Pitt waved for quiet and continued as the desultory applause faded away. “I’m sure that you are all aware that our beloved Viceregal-Governor, Prince Clovis, has declared May the Fourth as Vi Britannia Day, a holiday dedicated to his much lamented… royal… siblings.”


What the hell? Kallen frowned, slightly confused. What was with that pause just now? And… it’s a bit hard to tell from all the way back here, but did Pitt just sneer at the mention of the dead kids? That’s… weird.


“I have a prepared statement to read on His Highness’s behalf,” Pitt said as he opened an envelope on stage, no trace of his peculiar expression remaining as he unfolded the contents. “Indeed, all of you fine young lords and ladies should be honored; this speech came straight to my hands from His Highness’s desk itself, written expressly for you on this very first Vi Britannia Day.


“To all of my dear subjects,” the Major began, making no attempt to add any rhetorical flair as he read the speech straight from the page. He apparently hadn’t been chosen for his assignment on the basis of charisma. Or showmanship. “And in particular to all of the sweet students of Ashford Academy, I bid you greetings. Sadly, I cannot bid you the joyous greetings that the flower of the youth of Britannia deserves, as my heart is burdened with the tragedy of six years ago.


“Indeed, it was six years ago that my dear little half-brother, Lelouch vi Britannia, as well as his sister Nunnally, were callously murdered by the Japanese. It was the second great insult that petulant race offered up against our glorious Empire and the one that cuts me deeply to this day. Their first offense was a gauntlet thrown down at the feet of our Emperor as the head of state, but the murders were a cowardly attempt to knife the heart of our Imperial Father.”


Just a pity we couldn’t force a real knife between his ribs somehow… Kallen thought, enjoying the mental image as she tried to ignore the slights against her subjugated nation.


Up on stage, Pitt continued on, his delivery growing flatter with each passing sentence. “If my siblings were alive today, oh Ashford Students, they would walk amongst you. Lelouch would be sixteen this year, and Nunnally thirteen. Perhaps they would have been your classmates. And so, I now charge you to go forth to remake the world in their memory. To make a world more beautiful, more artistic, and more Britannian than the cruel world that took them.


“This I, Clovis la Britannia, Third Prince of the Britannian Empire, command you! All Hail Britannia!”


“ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!”


Even as Kallen joined her voice with the crowd’s in acclaiming the empire she hated, she could only smile with pride at the last actions of the long-dead Prime Minister Kururugi, so different from his degraded son. For all of his foolishness in life, at least the Prime Minister had struck one last blow against Britannia by killing the hostage royals before he further denied Britannia the spectacle of his ritual execution.


For all of his failures as a leader, Kallen reflected, Kururugi Genbuu died with honor. At least Charles, the Man of Blood, learned the pain of losing his children thanks to the Conquest. Not that he probably cared, the monster.


“Now…” Major Pitt asked, absently returning the envelope containing the prince’s speech to his jacket pocket as if it was a mundane document, nothing more important than a utility bill. “How many of you are familiar with the ROTC?”


A forest of hands rose. Kallen raised her hand as well so she wouldn’t stand out in the crowd.


“Good to hear,” Pitt said with a perfunctory smile. “For those unaware, the ROTC is a training cadre for young people from good families, such as yourselves. We provide a first introduction to the basics of military life and strive to educate Britannia’s generals, admirals, and commanders of tomorrow, today. For those who show particular aptitude or dedication, the ROTC provides a special track to institutes of higher learning, including the Imperial College at Colchester.”


Excited murmurs ran through the assembled student body. Kallen remained quiet, but she could understand the enthusiasm. The Imperial College was the premier center for higher learning in the Empire, and virtually all of the major military, industrial, and technological figures of note in the last century and a half had passed through its halls, including Reuban Ashford, the Academy’s headmaster and the father of the modern Knightmare Frame.


The Imperial College at Colchester was also, Kallen knew, her own father’s alma mater. She had seen the famous seal on a framed diploma hanging in his office at the family’s ancestral estate, back in the Homeland, at New Leicester.


“But of course, the ROTC also has a mission to find and recruit promising candidates for roles as junior officers, specialists, or even in admittedly limited cases, Knightmare Devicers!” At the mere mention of the prized position, the major had the entire student body hanging onto his every word. Kallen was tempted to roll her eyes, but even she couldn’t fully deny the flicker of interest deep inside.



Yet, neither could she deny her own churning instincts, all of which screamed that she was under threat, that this unassuming man was an enemy of hers in particular. What’s your angle here, Major? Come to find more second sons eager to lay down their lives for a taste of pride?


“Yes, if you have ambitions to one day receive a knighthood and serve in His Majesty’s Armed Forces as a devicer, your best option is to join ROTC, where you will have access to simulators and instructors,” Major Pitt said, continuing his sales pitch. “Yes, not everybody can become a devicer – only the best! But, if you do manage it, you’ll become the armored fist, the bared sword of the Empire!”


Of course. Kallen wanted to sneer. The “best of the best”. Her lip twitched as she remembered the story Tanya had recounted, of how the so-called “bared sword of the Empire” met their ignoble end at the hands of a decent ambush conducted by infantry armed with simple rockets. But sure, keep padding their ego. After all, how else are you going to fill your purse with blood money if you can’t scrape enough fodder together for the meat grinder? Gotta meet that quota!


“Why,” the Major’s waxed mustache flicked upwards in a smile, “it was less than a decade ago that those devicers, the Empire’s later-day knights, seized this land from its unworthy inhabitants, conquering this barbaric country in three days of victory! When those pathetic Numbers caught sight of our glorious knights, they fled from the field in awe and terror! And all their excuse of a leader could do was kill a couple of children out of petty spite.”


Lies! Kallen’s soul screeched with indignant fury, ignoring the sour grapes of the Major’s last sentence. Lies lies lies!


Yet for all of her anger, she couldn’t immediately refute his claims. The Conquest had officially taken a month to complete active operations, but all of the major fighting had taken place during the first three days, including the famous Miracle at Itsukushima. The mop-up, of course, had continued through to the present.


Yeah! We didn’t just flee! We’re still fighting, you bastard!


“Why, I remember those days fondly. I was there myself, you know! Cutting down the cowardly Eleven ‘army’ like wheat before the scythe, showing them that their primitive military was no match for a truly honorable foe.” The Britannian allowed himself a hearty chuckle. “Really, that’s all the Elevens were good for, left to their own devices: running, hiding, and dying like the worthless dogs. They should thank us for taking them in hand!”


It was all Kallen could do to keep herself from growling aloud. Her hands ached from how tightly she clenched her fists, rage boiling in her veins. Her teeth ground together as she fought for self-control. She could hardly even think, so consumed was she with the effort of reigning in her hatred for the mediocre little man who bragged of slaughter.


And bragged to children about it! Kallen suspected the bland Major Pitt had been far from the cutting edge; otherwise, his words wouldn’t reek quite so strongly of insecurity. A pig like him probably hasn’t ever spilled blood. He’s just gloating about the sacrifices of better men. Typical of Britannia.


“That is what the ROTC can offer you – a chance to become a knight, to go abroad seeking monsters to slay! And,” Pitt grinned, “perhaps rescue a fair prince or princess as your very own reward along the way!”


A wave of lecherous laughter and whoops, both masculine and feminine, swept through the Academy gymnasium, accompanied by a susurration of fervent whispers as seemingly every student present exchanged dreams of glory and conquest. Britannian to the core, all of them.


The smile Kallen forced onto her lips hurt, but she fed it with dreams of her own glorious war. One day, I’ll be the one peeling the skin off your cowardly backs.


“But,” Major Pitt continued after the raucous laughter died down, “even if you aren’t looking for a career in the military or planning on attempting higher education, ROTC can open many doors for you. The inclusion of ROTC on your resume will tell potential employers that…”


The sales pitch continued, peppered with smarmy thanks to the Ashford Administration for finally allowing ROTC to set up shop on campus, a “development that is far overdue, unfortunately, delayed by the circumstances of the Area.”


For her part, Kallen did her best to endure the interminably long speech, trying to hold onto her anger as it was slowly drowned in a rising tide of boredom. She idly noted that office space had already been set aside for the on-campus recruiting mission and that part of the Equestrian Club’s riding grounds would be converted into a rifle range.


Focusing on the details helped her control her temper.


Twenty minutes later, Major Pitt finally started winding down his speech. “Thank you very much for your close and patient attention. Remember, my door is always open. Now, without further ado, I’ll hand you back to the gorgeous Miss Ashford.”


“Thanks, Major!” Kallen stifled a groan as Milly bounced back onto the stage. “And thank you, all you Ashfordians! Let’s give the Major a hearty round of applause to thank him for his time!”


Like a marionette dancing on a string, Kallen dully brought her hands together three times before abandoning the pretense. How much longer is this damned assembly going to take? She groaned inside her head, shifting her weight from foot to foot to try and channel some of her antsy energy. Even by Britannian standards, it’s a waste of everybody’s time. And we’re paying tuition to be here!


“You’ve all been very patient,” Milly said from on stage as if she’d heard Kallen’s unspoken complaint, “and my grandfather and I really appreciate it. I’m sure Major Pitt does too! In fact, the Major actually set up a little activity to thank you all and to celebrate Vi Britannia Day!”


An ominous feeling washed over Kallen as uniformed men started wheeling boxy structures that looked suspiciously familiar into the gymnasium, one by one until a full two dozen of the things stood between the audience and the stage.


“So, all you fine-strapping young men and fine stripping-young ladies,” Milly winked, “haven’t you ever wanted to see what it’s like to pilot a Knightmare?”


The crowd roared in agreement, a horde of screaming children crying out for a taste of martial honor without the faintest concept of what it meant to fight for your life. In that roar, Kallen thought she heard the true anthem of Britannia, stripped of all of its civilized pretensions.


Animals, all of them, she thought with disgust even as she raised her own enthusiastic voice. And they have the nerve to call us barbarians!


The teachers once again had to provide crowd control as the student body stampeded towards the line of what Kallen had belatedly recognized were KMF simulators. The iron-lunged PE instructor, backed by the Assistant Headmaster, managed to impose order, chivvying eager students into a long queue, which fed into the waiting simulators.


Not wanting to stand out in the enthusiastic horde, Kallen allowed herself to be herded into line and prepared to wait. The feeling of ominous tension in her gut only increased as the crowd’s enthusiasm continued to mount. Something was going to happen very soon, Kallen could tell, something big, something awful. Every nerve in her body already felt like it had been scraped with a dull knife.


At least the boredom of standing in line was mildly alleviated once one of the tech’s set up a screen displaying a digital scoreboard.


“We score your results based on the number of targets destroyed and the length of your time in the simulation,” Major Pitt explained as the first students mounted the steps to the simulators. “The number of targets destroyed helps us quantify your reaction time and coordination, while the time helps us estimate your endurance.”


Only a minute later, the first score appeared on the board as a simulator door popped open and a rather chubby boy staggered down the steps. The three columns of the screen populated with the boy’s initials, the number of targets he had eliminated (zero), and how long he had lasted in the simulation, all of eight seconds.


“What kind of test are you running?” Kallen could clearly hear the petulance over the noise of the crowd. “There’s no way that’s fair! How the hell was I supposed to react to that?! I could barely dodge the first strike!”


“Ha!” Pitt barked, “I said we were here to recruit the best of the best, did I not? Seizing the glory of being a devicer is an honor reserved for only the most elite.” The Major smirked. “We certainly couldn’t let any common rabble carry the honor of the Imperial Knightmare corps, now could we?”


The boy balked at the man’s choice of words and Kallen could feel the overall mood of the crowd dim slightly at his public humiliation. The whispers started quietly, but grew rapidly; the sotto voce sentiments were clearly shared by the bulk of the crowd.


“I don’t want to just embarrass myself…”


“Do I really have a chance?”


“It sounds hopeless!”


Kallen almost scoffed, twisting her face into a mask of concern to fit in with the cowards around her. Just one hint of adversity, and you’re already willing to call it quits? Typical Britannian nobility; no stomach for real work. No stomach for fake real work, even!


Up at the front of the line, just below the stage, Major Pitt frowned heavily at the sudden storm of disconsolate muttering. After a moment, he sneered at the balking line of students and pulled a notepad from his uniform jacket. To Kallen’s sudden interest, Milly's polite smile stretched into a mockery of itself at the sight of the tiny black book. Immediately, she stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulders.


"Not to worry, Major – of course they’re a little shy! We so rarely enjoy the company of visiting notables such as yourself, after all! Even my heart flutters at the thought of making a fool of myself in front of you!" Milly's eyes darted back and forth over the crowd, undeniably frantic until alighting upon a target, an earnest if vulpine grin suddenly springing across her face. "Well, Mr. Vice-President, come on up here! Your constituents need encouragement!"


The packed gymnasium burst into excited tittering and the throng ahead of Kallen parted to allow a clear path up to the stage. At the end of the path, previously concealed by the cover of the crowd, a dark figure crossed his arms and glared.


"Please, Lelouch?" Milly begged, and while her smile remained plastered across her face, Kallen thought she heard a note of surprising sincerity underneath the lighthearted needling. "Come on up here and help us all show the dear Major the depth of our loyalty!"


With obvious reluctance, Lelouch Lamperouge climbed the steps up the bleachers and joined Milly on the referee platform turned temporary stage. Kallen had to admit they made an impressive pair; almost exactly equal in height, Lelouch’s raven hair was a perfect contrast to Milly’s cornsilk blonde. Like her, he smiled as he stared out over the crowd, but Kallen noticed how his hands balled into fists before he nonchalantly tucked them behind his back.


"Well, there you have it, ladies!" Milly shouted, "the top scorer will be wined and dined in our darling Lelouch's illustrious company." As the cheers crescendoed, the blonde leered. "If you are lucky, maybe you’ll even luck your way into a passionate night – only the finest for the heroes and heroines of Britannia!"


Are people really this shallow? Kallen wondered, feeling suddenly very alone in the jubilant atmosphere. She knew the Vice-President was popular for some inestimable reason, but an obligatory date seemed entirely meaningless to her, barring Milly’s mention of a passionate night. There’s just no way she’d make him go through with that, would she? There’s no way, but… No. Not even Britannians would sell themselves so cheaply… Would they?


"As for the gentlemen..." Milly's eyes swept over the room, on the hunt once more. "We need a noble lady of refined grace and skill for such a special occasion, which means I unfortunately don't qualify." Her laugh was slightly too shrill. Kallen wondered what she was so scared of. Displeasing her Britannian masters, presumably. "Hmm? What do you say, Shirley? Maybe your dear Lulu will rescue you, eh? Your very own knight in shining armor!"


"Madame President!" a red-haired girl wailed from up in front of Kallen. To Kallen’s vague disgust, she didn’t sound very offended by the suggestion. To her ears, the other girl’s objections bore an unmistakably eager edge. Just when I finally thought I’d found another sane person in this asylum… Seriously, is everyone here but Rivalz and I a complete degenerate?


"Or..." Milly's gaze swept past the redhead and bore into Kallen.


I have a bad feeling about this, Kallen thought as her stomach knotted in sudden anxiety. Dammit, shut up Milly! Just stay quiet… Please just keep your damned trap shut…


"The favor of a proper lady would be perfect for the gallant winner of our knight-mare-ley competition, eh?" To Kallen’s horror, Milly’s finger lanced out from her perch like a thrown spear, all but dripping with evil energy. "Kallen, my dear, would you lend me and the Vice President a hand in stoking a fire in the heart of all of Ashford in the Major’s honor?"


From all around Kallen lecherous gazes swept over her as her fellow students openly appraised Milly’s choice. For her part, Kallen bristled defiantly, glaring back at the blonde gorgon. No, she growled silently, I won’t be a pawn in your idiotic game. I refuse to contaminate myself with more Britannian filth just to soothe whatever is making you so scared. Fight your own battles, you bitch!


The crowd disagreed. Even as she raged internally, Kallen felt the invisible pressure mounting all around her. It started out quietly, a soft chant from somewhere off to her left. It quickly rose in volume as the crowd around her took up the cry. Kallen tried to drown it out, tried to force her jaw to unclench so she could curse them all into silence, tell Milly to fuck off and be the prize if she was so enamored with the idea… But the swelling chant stifled any protest she might’ve made.


"Of course," Milly added from the stage, Lelouch stoically silent next to her, "I would make voluntary participation worthwhile. Don't ever let it be said that an Ashford isn't good to their friends. Someone who assists in such a manner deserves a spot on the student council–"


And the guarantee to be used as a prize at all events to come? To join the President’s collection of pet chew toys? Pass.


"–and a day in my family's library would not be amiss. Knowledge is power, after all!"


"Kal-len! Kal-len! Kal-len!" the room shouted eagerly, driven to a fever pitch by the promise of a second prize. Jealous and longing gazes swept over her, pinning her in place. To her horror, Kallen couldn’t get her mouth to cooperate, couldn’t scream out her objections. She was pinned against a wall again, and they were circling around her.


Please… No… Not… Not again…


"No," Kallen whispered, her jaw finally coming unstuck, but it was far too little, far too late.


The crowd pushed her forward and Kallen found herself staggering up the concrete steps of the massive bleachers, up onto the stage. She turned and saw the crowd ranged out in the gymnasium below her, like a multitude mobbing around an altar or a ravenstone, eager to see the chosen victim sacrificed in their ritual.


Milly, the high priestess of the rite, grabbed her and Lelouch's hands, lifting them into the air. Kallen couldn’t muster any resistance, paralyzed by the sea of hungry eyes and gaping mouths spread out before her.


If she pushes me off, down into the crowd… The nonsensical thought blazed through Kallen’s panicked mind, they’ll tear me to pieces… They know I don’t belong… They know!


"Whoever manages to earn the top spot in the simulators wins their choice of date between the most eligible boy and girl currently enrolled at the Academy, based on my network of informers!” Milly turned to her, cornflower-blue eyes dancing with sickening mirth over her smile, surprisingly ghoulish at less than a foot away. “Either Lelouch Lamperouge, or Kallen Stadtfeld, pick your poison!”


It took everything Kallen had, every scrap of self-control and every bit of discipline Tanya had hammered into her to not lash out, to not hook her hands into claws and rip the arrogant smirk off Milly’s face, inch by bloody inch. It took even more of her strength to not look at the smiling students who surrounded her and see four equally amorous eyes leering out of long-dead faces.


Remember the mission. Anything for the Cause, Kallen told herself, her internal monologue unconsciously adapting her best friend’s mannerisms as it held the rising strain at bay. You’re not that same girl, scared and angry, trapped up against a wall. You’re not just lashing out. You are a professional on a mission. Control yourself.


Remembering Tanya’s long-ago advice, Kallen forced herself to focus on her breathing, ignoring everything else. She’d lasted among all the countless insults and indignancies of her position before, she wouldn’t let this farce break her now.


I’m stronger than this, Kallen thought, pulling her resolve around herself like armor. I’m stronger than her.


So resolved, Kallen turned her attention away from the queued up students below her and turned her attention to her fellow victim in Milly’s schemes. For his part, Lelouch seemed engrossed in a conversation with the President. Even though they were less than a meter away, Kallen couldn’t hear their murmuring voices over the crowd’s dull roar.


Well, at least he isn’t looking at me like a piece of meat, Kallen noticed. In fact, he doesn’t look at all happy, and I can guess why. Some idiot might call him a Prince Lelouch imposter in front of Pitt, and then we’ll all have to attend another assembly where they’ll wheel him to death for lese majeste.


Not that he was the only Lelouch attending Ashford. The three boys she knew by that name were discreetly trying to escape out the gymnasium’s backdoor. Kallen noticed one of the boys exiting a simulator with an L as his first initial reflexively cringe away from Major Pitt before steeling himself to shake the officer’s hand; another Lelouch, then.


Suddenly, the Lelouch up on the stage with her looked up from his conversation with Milly and caught her eye. It was all she could do to not flinch away from him just like the boy down below recoiling from Major Pitt. Thankfully, he quickly returned to his conversation with Milly, leaving Kallen now irritated with herself as well as with everybody else in the room.


It was strange, she thought as he descended from the stage to join the line, now much the enigmatic Vice-President still disturbed her. Kallen had no trouble remembering the unguarded look into his eyes last Christmas, when his mask had slipped, just for a moment. That he was some kind of crazy she had no doubt; what made his brand of crazy so frightening was how good he was at concealing it. Without that look, she’d have been like everyone else; convinced he was a lazy genius wasting his time and talent.


But it seemed like Lelouch had evaded everybody else’s notice for another day. He descended from his simulator and, after trading a few amiable words and a handshake with Major Pitt, made his escape, disappearing into the crowd of spectators. Kallen checked the scoreboard; Lelouch Lamperouge had somehow achieved a perfectly average score, his time and number of kills the exact mean of the student body so far.


“Oh, look,” Milly chirped beside her, finally relinquishing her hand. Kallen discreetly tried to wipe the memory of the other girl’s hand off on her skirt, but the memory of the pressure remained. “Looks like it’s your turn now, Kallen!” This time, the blonde’s encouraging smile looked a bit less forced. Kallen didn’t return it. “Make sure you put a good show on for me, okay? Perhaps you can even have a date with Lulu~”


By the time she had made her way down the stairs, Kallen had worked out her plan. Judging by the scoreboard, her fellow students were lasting just under five minutes on average and generally managed to destroy only one or two targets in the simulation. So, she’d do likewise. As soon as she destroyed her second target, she’d feign exhaustion and bailout, turning in an entirely unremarkable score.


I just need to think of this as another infiltration mission, Kallen told herself. All I need to do is hold it together, and I’ll have a juicy report to hand in to Tanya and Big Bro. And then I can tape a picture of Milly to the punching bag back at the Manor and work some of my stress out on it!


“Alright, my lady,” said the sergeant manning the small desk in front of the simulators, his rough, lower-class voice rumbling as he copied the information from her ID card into some form on his computer, “you’re up next. Go ahead and get in number eleven. As soon as you sit down and grab the sticks, the simulation will start.”


“Got it,” Kallen replied, nodding to the soldier before making her way over to the vacant simulator pod.


Of course it would be number eleven! Kallen sneered and forced her apprehension at the bad omen down. Stick with the plan, Kozuki. Keep your hands steady and your mind focused. Just pretend you’re Tanya; you’ll get through this just fine.


Just remember the plan, Kallen, she told herself again as the seat began to roll forwards, retracting into the Simulator. I don’t need to do much; it’s not like the top scorer was that impressive.


Five kills is the best Ashford Academy can offer up? Kallen scoffed, trying to imagine Tanya’s reaction to such a poor showing, So much for noble supremacy.


I’ll just kill a Knightmare or two, run around for a few minutes, let myself die, and then pretend to be disappointed when I step out of the simulator. She nodded to herself, firming her resolve. I probably won’t even need to take a dive or whatever – I’ve never been in a Knightmare before!


Kallen took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself as the box began to close behind her. Her breath came uncomfortably rough, catching in her throat as the lock clicked shut. The din of students faded, overtaken by the electric humming of the machine.



Remember what’s at stake, Kallen. Anything for the Cause.


Then, Kallen was alone in the darkness of the simulator, with only the thought of the Cause to sustain her in the box she found herself trapped inside. Her breath hitched as the darkness pulsed, pressing on her unbearably.


The large screen in front of her suddenly flickered to life, the darkness fleeing as the seal of the Imperial Britannian Army Knightmare Corps seared into her retinas. As she blinked her suddenly tearing eyes, the loathsome seal disappeared, replaced by a message in dull blue flashing across a light gray background.


[Loading Simulation…]


Anything for the Cause.


Almost without thinking, her hands slid into the primary control interfaces as they rose to her from the sides of the pod. Various buttons and levers dotted the rest of the cockpit, their purpose lost on Kallen.


Blinding light filled her simulator, and her eyes squeezed shut on reflex. A moment later and a view spanning a hundred and eighty degrees of coverage sprang up before her, banishing the darkness under the harsh glare of its artificial light. She lowered her arms back to the controls, feeling vaguely ridiculous and even more on edge.


Looking around with her screens, Kallen found herself in a bare-bones urban environment, empty but for “her”. Looking down, she saw a large rifle waiting, cradled in “her” four fingered purple hands.


Disturbingly, Kallen felt entirely at ease in the simulated Knightmare. It should've been a waking nightmare, sitting high above a city’s streets in one of the machines that had gutted the Japanese defenses. Instead, Kallen found herself marveling at how quickly the simulated Frame responded to her motions, one hand flexing up at the mere twitch of her fingers.


With every action, every minute movement, the barrier between Kallen and the Knightmare seemed to fade further away. It was as if she was steadily becoming the Sutherland, and with it, finally being the instrument of Britannian dominion and imperialism her father had always intended her to be, despite all his circumlocutions and claims to the contrary.


You should be at ease sitting atop your knightly steed, a corner of Kallen’s mind said. This was what you were born and bred for. This, just as much as the Barony of New Leicester, is your birthright. When you were a child, you could believe in fairy tales, like your Japanese identity. It’s time to grow up, to put aside childish things, time to embrace your blood.


What a fine young Britannian flower you’re becoming.


“No,” Kallen growled under her breath as she took her first smooth step in the simulation, willing the treacherous little voice in her head to shut up. Walking in the simulation felt so natural and easy; quieting the voice that sounded so much like her stepmother was all but impossible.


No, this isn’t me! Kallen yelled back in response to the intruding voice worming its way through her mind, I’m not Britannian, not where it counts! Kallen Stadtfeld doesn’t exist! Only Kozuki Kallen is real!


She breathed out, forcing her jaw to unclench


That’s right… That’s right, I’m Kozuki Kallen. I’m Japanese. I’m just playing a role right now, she reassured herself. I just need to remember to stick to the plan and it’ll all be fine.


[Adequate movement and coordination confirmed] A cool mechanical voice spoke in time with the words that suddenly flashed in the center of her screen.


Kallen yelped in surprise, before realizing she’d continued moving forwards in the simulation. Presumably her waffling around had satisfied some programmed threshold, confirming that she knew the basics of Knightmare operation.


[Skipping Introductory Tutorial]


[Advancing To Combat Scenario #4]


[Good Luck, Devicer]


Kallen blinked, and then–


–Crumbling highrise buildings boxed her in as the setting sun illuminated the narrow alleyway she found herself in. The ground was covered in filth – broken beer bottles, faded bloodstains – just another alleyway in another ghetto. A Knightmare rounded the corner ahead of her, an ugly froglike thing that Kallen recognized as a Gun-ru, the standard Chinese model. With a start, Kallen realized that it was charging right at her and–


–Up against a wall, a tiny knife is all that stands between her and the four men surrounding her. “I’m no damned Britannian!” Kallen cries, trying for anger and displaying naked desperation instead. “I’m Japanese! Kozuki Naoto’s my big bro, so don’t you mess with me!”


The rifle snapped up, simulated thunder barking a staccato beat as 30mm gauss rounds lashed out, the gigantic rifle kicking back against her shoulder.


The boxy mech, clumsy on its fragile third leg, reeled under the impacts, her shots drilling deep into its cheap, substandard simulated armor and tearing the Gun-ru’s central hull apart in a withering barrage.


And then it was over. The echoing reports of her gunfire rang out across the empty imitation cityscape. The shredded hulk of her first kill teetered over and crashed to the ground, a surprisingly lifelike simulation of a lifeless hulk.



A moment of staring at the smoking Knightmare later, Kallen’s mind finally caught up with her.


“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kallen cursed as she tried to get her breathing back under control. Her knuckles were white with pressure as they squeezed down on her gauntlet-like controls, heart hammering in her chest as her adrenaline surged.


“Just calm down… Calm down, and stick to the fucking plan,” she said, barely remembering to use Britannian in the likely recorded simulator, even as her mind fumbled for what that plan had been. “I just… I just need to-”


The building in front of her exploded.


She ducked, feeling something roar past her overhead, hurling herself behind the skimpy cover of a parked truck as-


The sound of the bombs thunder up from below her, making the pavement under her feet shake with the impact. The two men at the station’s mouth are knocked halfway off their feet and they turn away from her, towards the staircase behind them. From the corner of her eyes she sees Tanya give the signal and suddenly she’s running and-


She surged forward, scrambling from the truck and scanning for a better hiding spot or for her enemies as she tried to get a handle on her surroundings.


A distant part of her mind remembered her Knightmare’s controls, which had seemed so complex yet intuitive at the time. She remembered one option in particular, and her fingers danced across the buttons she needed, effortlessly directing her steed even as she scrambled forwards.


Two smoke canisters nestled on the Sutherland’s left pauldron popped, shrouding her form in a dense cloud of black smoke formulated to block infrared as well as visual detection. Now hidden from her unseen enemy, Kallen took a moment to pop her faceplate open to expose the factsphere and scanned the area with her sensory suite.


More shots slammed into the walls of the buildings around her, but with her smoke cloud reducing visibility, none got within two meters of her. The radar of the factsphere cut through the smoke, its report giving her a rough map of her surroundings. As expected, most of those surroundings were static and immobile, the simulated urban jungle and digitized vehicle window dressing reassuringly harmless.


The hazy silhouettes staggering through the gloom, on the other hand, were the furthest thing from safe. Even “seen” through a crude rendering on her instrument panel, they were obviously sweeping the area looking for her, looking for the enemy who had killed their squadmate.


She’s back in the alley, the figures of the men looming over her. Lecherous grins shine on their faces as they grab her, pulling her knife away and pulling her down to the ground-


Kallen burst out of the smoke, her rifle up and spitting hate as she strafed hard around their flank, her landspinners kicking up a wave of sparks as she skidded across the cracked pavement.


The clunky Chinese mechs were too slow to respond, their scattered fire lagging far behind as her own rounds punched through their paltry armor.


She saw one of her shells rip through the central armor of an unlucky “frog”, eviscerating the machine as it tore a hole between its “eyes”, right through where the cockpit should have been-


-Where Tanya’s bullet is supposed to hit the man but Tanya isn’t there and Kallen is fighting alone. A shrill scream rips its way from the man’s throat as her tiny three-inch blade finds his kidney, and gritting her teeth Kallen rips the blade sideways towards his spinal column, cursing as his lumbar muscles catch the dull blade and-


Kallen threw herself to the side as a burst of 20mm shells slashed overhead, quickly turning her headlong plunge into a mad dash by pivoting on the fingers of one hand, redirecting her momentum towards her assailants.


The Gun-Rus, lacking any melee weapons, frantically backpedaled but in the narrow road there was nowhere for them to go as Kallen stooped upon them.


The man screams as she runs at him, backpedaling frantically as he slashes the air with his knife, trying to keep her at bay. With a burst of speed, she is inside his guard, and with her free hand she first blocks his swing then forces his arm away. Before he can continue his retreat, she punches him in the nose with her knife-hand and feels the cartilage crumple under her knuckle. With a burbled scream the man falls to the ground, and she is upon him.


The nearest enemy tried to hold her at bay, both of its built-in machine guns and auto-cannons attempting to catch up with her speedy approach. The explosive shells lanced overhead and behind her, closer and closer as she neared but still far too slow to even threaten her.


Contemptuously, Kallen raised her rifle with one hand, a burst from the Knightmare-scaled coilgun silencing one of the Gun-ru’s pauldron-mounted guns as her other hand, her real one, thumbed a switch on her console.


[Slash Harken Armed]


A solid Thump reverberated through the cockpit as a diamond-tipped blade slashed through the air at the end of a wire, burrowing deep into the hapless Gun-ru’s leg.


Grinning, Kallen charged the trapped Knightmare, generations of conqueror ancestors howling for blood in her soul as her fingers clenched tightly inside her gauntlets, bearing down on the sticks that controlled her arms.


Steel shrieked as she met the crippled Chinese trash fist first, her iron hand ripping through layers of cheap armor and plunging into the beating heart of the dying Frame.


The man’s open eyes stare up at Kallen from his ruined face, the tongue forced out from his crushed throat. They are close, close enough to be lovers, and Kallen can smell the stench of his rotting teeth as she looks into those eyes fixed on eternity and screams and screams and-


The remaining pair of Gun-rus rushed to aid their disemboweled friend, guns blazing as they desperately tried and failed to force her back. With her handhold on the guts of the other machine, Kallen heaved her hostage up from the pavement and threw her landspinners into gear, distantly hearing the sporadic thump of impact against her impromptu shield as she maneuvered backwards.


She returned fire from behind the relative safety of her improvised cover, rifle whining as she spat hypervelocity slugs at the last of the pathetic machines that dared to attack her, punching ugly holes in its fragile hide with impunity.


[Increasing Difficulty]


But there were more.


There were always more.


No matter how many of the endless waves of Gun-rus Kallen killed, more were always somehow waiting just around the corner. Autocannons and machine-guns pounded the streets all around her, the simulated city ripped asunder as a neverending tide of enemies harried her through the burning streets.


So she killed and killed and killed until-


[Ammunition Zero]


Click


Kallen’s eyes flew wide at the flashing red symbol suddenly flaring to life in the corner of her screen, and she spat a mangled curse as she realized her assault rifle had run dry.


The last of her smoke popped from her shoulders, shrouding her in just enough darkness and haze to give her the cover she needed to fling her Sutherland into a hasty retreat down an alley.


Kallen paused there in the mouth of the alley, taking a moment to gasp for breath and to get her thoughts together, but her head was swimming in so much fear and adrenaline that it was difficult to stay still, even for a second. Her blood thundered in her ears, her heart pounded so hard it felt like it wanted to rip its way out of her chest, and her whole body was drenched in sweat.


“Fuck,” she huffed, chest heaving with harsh breaths. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… I… I was supposed to…”


Scrambling through her memories, Kallen desperately tried to recall what her objective was, tried to claw together the scraps of the plan she’d started from into something workable, something beyond the next few seconds, but all she could find were twisted reminders of how she’d ended up here, in this alley.


The men smile at her and Kallen feels her skin crawl. “And I’ll take one of your eyes, just for the taste,” says the man with the knife as he saunters closer, his comrades pinning her arms behind her shoulders, “but I’ll let you keep the other so you can see just what we’re gonna do to your pretty little body…”


“Dammit!” She roared, punching the console and suddenly remembering that this was all a simulation, a game. She’d forgotten that; she’d forgotten that she wasn’t back in the alley, not really…



I should stop, she thought, but it was hard to hear her own voice over her jangling nerves. I was supposed to stop. I can still… stop…


Blinking the sweat from her eyes, Kallen gazed critically down at her rifle and her shield. The Gun-ru was mangled scrap barely held together by ragged mechanical sinew and her rifle was totally spent. She discarded the now-useless tools with a sudden spike of disappointed anger, feeling ever more frustrated by her lack of options. She couldn’t just fight with her hands! She wasn’t Tanya!


But I was supposed to stop, she reminded herself. I… I can’t remember the plan, but… but I was supposed to give up… Right?


Distant gunfire echoed in the ghostly city. All around her, gray and abandoned buildings bloomed to sudden life as explosions shredded them from within, inching nearer to her temporary sanctuary with each passing second. Every breath she wasted in deliberation saw the walls of flame and dust advance ever closer.


I’ve done enough, Kallen swallowed, her dry throat working to swallow the syrupy, choking saliva. I should just let myself die, right?


Really, that’s all the Elevens are good for, left to their own devices: they run, they hide, and they die like the worthless dogs they are. They should thank us for taking them in hand!


Kallen’s teeth clenched down, her jaw aching from the grinding pressure as her hands throttled the plastic sticks, her pride stoked to a boiling, bloody-minded froth. Dogs, were they? She’d show him… She’d show them all…


A tenement building next to her exploded, the roof slumping in with palpable exhaustion.



Her radar swarmed with signals, all clustered around her.


There are at least ten of them, and Naoto is standing alone between them and eleven year old Kallen. Her brother is always in fights, but this is different. Instead of the lone hoodlum or two or three hooligans picking a fight with the halfbreed or his helpless little sister, a whole gang of them are there, standing in a line across the road. Kallen chances a look behind her; a cul-de-sac. There is no escape that way. The only way out, is through.


Something in her snapped.


[Chaos Mine Armed]


Kallen flew out of the alley, dancing on her landspinners as she quickly fired and withdrew her slash harkens, spinning her in a twisting, erratic pattern through the throng of clumsy, malformed troglodytes waiting for her out in the street.


The army of Gun-rus surged around her, aiming their guns and grabbing for her with their manipulators and-


The sky exploded.


White hot fragments of near-molten shrapnel ripped through the compacted horde, scything through the first ranks in a scream of shearing metal as the always-volatile Sakuradite drives cooked off in a series of sympathetic detonations.


Her hands dipped down to the holsters at her hips as she hurled herself into the panicking throng of shit-eating cowards who thought they’d cornered her and-


[Strike Mace Armed]


Kallen lashed out, a club of super heavy, durable, metal slamming down on the neckless head of the first Gun-ru in her path, smashing the steel cranium that might as well have been eggshell with ease and pulping the pilot within-


The pipe, heavy and rusted, jolts against her hands as she brings it down again and again and again, sending shocks of impact into her arms until her fingers grow too numb and the pipe flies from them, disappearing into the gloom.


She laughed with the childlike joy of murder, smashing through the horde absent of any hint of finesse or grace, reveling in the brutality of the slaughter. She killed, and she killed, and she killed, and nothing satisfied her; every stick of fuel was only further kindling, sending the fires of heaven scorching through her soul as she killed again and again.


When her clubs snapped, the ultra-durable composite finding its limits, Kallen resorted to her fists. When her fists broke, useless dented steel joints hanging from cables like ripped tendons, she lashed out with her slash harkens. When her landspinners broke, she charged at the pitiful bastards who tried to retreat, hounding them down and dragging them to asphalt with her, where their awkward tripod legs and weak clawed manipulators had no hope of holding her at bay.



Kallen howled, she screamed, she even sung in a moment of lunacy, and through it all her soul rose in exultation.

Snarling, Kallen uses her teeth instead, biting and gouging and clawing and wondering where Naoto is, where her Big Brother is, and why he isn’t here to help her when she is alone and there are so, so many…


And then, the darkness returned. For a moment, Kallen continued to jerk and pull at the control sticks, trying to find more enemies, trying to find fresh blood. Slowly, awareness flooded back in, and she let go of the sweat-slick controls, flinching away as if they had burnt her.


The whole cockpit stunk of sweat and copper, she realized, and her mouth tasted like blood. Her clothes stuck uncomfortably to her skin. Suddenly, Kallen felt exhausted, every muscle taxed and worn down to quivering jelly. She sucked down greedy breaths, trying to calm herself as tiny shuddering tremors racked her body. Something had gone wrong, but she couldn’t remember what; all she could focus on was the need to inflict further violence coming from deep within.


As the door to Simulator Pod #11 opened, the lights of the gymnasium flooded into the tiny space, wrenching Kallen back into the present. Dimly, through the blood hammering in her ears, Kallen could hear the sounds of cheering and applause. To her faint horror, she could hear the same chant that had driven her up the steps of the stage mixed into those cheers.


“Kal-len! Kal-len! Kal-len!”


She frowned; before, the chant had been strident and demanding, a hungry flail of public opinion and pressure forcing her onwards. Now, as she unlatched the harness holding her in the simulator’s throne, the tone was undeniably celebratory.


As Kallen staggered to her feet and down the stairs, the chant swelled in volume before collapsing into an incoherent shriek of celebration, so loud it almost battered her down to her feet. She blinked mutely at the horde of blurry faces through eyes teary from sweat.


Are… Are they all cheering for me? Kallen’s thoughts came slowly and somehow felt distant as if she’d snuck into her big bro’s secret stash of moonshine again. Why…? What’d I do?


Numbly, she looked up at the screen standing in front of the line of simulators as Major Pitt thumped her shoulder in congratulation. There on the screen were her initials, and next to them were…


Oh… So that’s why they’re cheering.


A wave of nausea struck Kallen like a fist and she swayed on her feet, her eyes glued to the screen. The average Ashford student had ‘killed’ between two to three enemies and had lasted five minutes. To her shock, Kallen found that somehow fifty minutes had passed while she was in that tiny sweat-stinking box and that she’d killed no fewer than thirty-seven enemies in that simulated hell.


Oh… Fuck. Fuck, fuck… Fuck. I… I fucked up. I fucked up bad.


She had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. She had failed in every way that mattered.


Because every disaster, no matter how dire, can always take a turn for the worse, that was when Milly suddenly bloomed into existence, springing into Kallen’s peripheral vision next to the unremarkable features of Major Pitt. Slowly, Kallen turned from the screen towards her mismatched tormentors.


Kallen frowned; Milly’s lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear what the harridan was saying. “Sagh-” she stopped, realizing that her mouth was full of blood seeping from her cut lip. Instinctively, she turned and spat the mouthful of blood onto the smooth polished boards of the Ashford Academy Gymnasium, idly wiping at her mouth with her arm as she turned back towards Milly.


Shit, Kallen thought vaguely, I smeared blood all over my blazer. That’s gonna be a bitch to get out.


She blinked, realizing she’d said her last sentence out loud, before shrugging and continuing on. She was having a very difficult time caring about anything at all at the moment. “Sorry Milly, I didn’t hear you. What was that you just said?”


“Oh! Umm,” Milly tore herself away from the bloody smear on the floor, her eyes strangely wide to Kallen and her cheer even more obviously forced than before. Kallen idly wondered if the Academy’s president had ever seen blood before. “Well, I just wanted to congratulate you on winning your date with Lulu! Aren’t you happy? You’ve got a guaranteed dinner date locked in with the Academy’s most eligible bachelor.”


Kallen goggled at the other woman, trying to figure out what planet she’d dropped down from. She blinked, and the space behind her eyes was full of men and machines, all the same, and all trying to pull her down. She blinked again and Milly was still there, clearly waiting for an answer. Major Pitt lurked behind her, a man who was somehow just as gray as the uniform he wore in Kallen’s eyes.


“Fuck the date,” Kallen growled without thinking, “and fuck you too, Ashford. I’m fucking sick of you treating me like a goddamn puppet for your petty fucking games. I did this for me, so everyone else can fuck right off!”


For a timeless moment, all Kallen could feel was a twisting satisfaction as Milly stumbled back, one hand half raised as if she was trying to protect herself or perhaps to reach out to Kallen. Under her makeup, her face had gone bloodlessly white and her eyes were wide and hurt.


Then, someone muttered a surprised curse, and Kallen abruptly realized that the gymnasium had fallen completely silent and that every eye in attendance was fixed on her. Even the blind girl in the wheelchair she’d noticed earlier was oriented her way. Worst of all was the speculative gleam in Major Pitt’s unremarkable brown eyes; he wasn’t looking at anybody, least of all the Ashford heiress standing next to him. Instead, he was looking at her with undisguised interest.


Suddenly, it was all too much. Kallen turned on her heel and half stumbled, half ran out of the hauntingly silent gymnasium, away from the stricken Milly Ashford and away from the horribly intrigued eyes of the Britannian Major. She ran into the first bathroom she could find, slamming the stall door shut behind her and pulling her legs up into her chest as the stress of the afternoon finally overwhelmed her completely.


When Kallen’s tremors finally released her and when she’d cleaned her face and fixed her makeup and hair, Major Pitt was leaning against the wall outside the door to the Ladies’ Room, clearly waiting for her.


“I think,” the recruiting officer began, “that it’s time we had a talk about your future career in the Knightmare Corps, Lady Stadtfeld.”


---------


MAY 4, 2016 ATB
ASHFORD ACADEMY, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1810


Come on… Pick up… Pick up, dammit!


Anxiously, Kallen checked her watch; it would be… four in the morning in New Leicester, or three in the morning in the imperial capital of Pendragon.


Come on… Wake up… Please wake up…


Finally, after a seemingly endless series of rings, the line picked up. Kallen’s heart leapt into her throat, but she forced herself to continue breathing slowly and steadily.


I need to stay calm, she told herself. If I sound calm and deliberate, he’ll take me seriously. He’ll have to!


“Kallen…?” A groggy voice asked, and Kallen could almost imagine the man at the other end checking his bedside clock. “Are you alright…? It’s… a bit early for a social call… Did you forget your time zones?”


“No!” Kallen snapped, before forcing herself to calm down and lower her voice, very aware that Major Pitt was, in all likelihood, still on the other side of the closed door at the end of the room. He’d been all but attached to her for the last two hours, badgering her about the many benefits of the ROTC program and how far she could go in the Knightmare Corps. He’d only grudgingly allowed her out of his sight to make her phone call.


I wonder if he thinks I’ll try to escape out the window? I can’t deny that the thought’s crossed my mind…


“No,” she repeated, “I… I know it’s pretty early for a call… But…”


“But it couldn’t wait,” the voice sighed, its owner clearly resigned to the fact that further sleep wasn’t in the cards. “Alright Kallen, I’ll be right with you. Let this old man get some coffee on board, and then we can talk about the situation.”


“Thanks,” Kallen sighed into the phone, annoyed by how she already felt more at ease with the situation after talking with the man on the other end of the line. “Sorry to wake you up so early, Dad.”


Ten minutes later, Alvin Stadtfeld, Baron of New Leicester and Head of House Stadtfeld, came back on the line.


“Alright, I’m feeling marginally awake now.” The tired drawl hadn’t quite left his voice, but Kallen could hear her father’s typically amiable tones slowly reasserting themselves as the caffeine began to kick in. “So, Kallen, my beloved daughter: What’s gone so wrong that you couldn’t let these old bones sleep for another four hours, especially after months without a single text?”


“Umm… Yeah,” Kallen shifted uneasily, put on the spot from across the Pacific Ocean by her father’s easily envisioned gimlet eye. A moment later, she scowled as she realized what she was doing. I don’t owe him a thing after he abandoned Naoto and me for years! “Well, about that… It’s kind of a long story…”


“And yet, you, of all people, felt it necessary to wake me up at three in the morning. Normally, getting you to talk to me is like pulling teeth,” her father rejoined, and Kallen could just hear the wry smile on his lips, “which means this is important, and you know it’s important. So, come on, tell me. How can your father help you, Kallen?”


It would almost be easier if he was just open about being an asshole, she reflected. It’s when he actually sounds like he cares, actually seems like he cares, that it’s harder to deal with him.


In a moment of reflection, Kallen remembered how her best friend had never met her own father, and in fact didn’t even know who her own father was because he had been a random Britannian bastard just looking for a quick fuck with a broken condom. Her gut twisted, and suddenly Kallen felt ashamed.


Tanya actually has an asshole father, Kallen reminded herself. I don’t have any room to complain. At least Dad tried, kinda. I mean, Naoto likes him, so… Fine, fine. Dammit.


“Alright,” Kallen began, cramming her baggage to the back of her mind; it could wait until after she no longer had to worry about Major Pitt forcing her into the Army. “So, for some reason, an Army recruiter came to my school today and kinda forced everyone to try out the Knightmare Simulator. And, umm… I apparently did good. Really good. And now he’s trying to force me to join the ROTC program that he just started today here on campus.”


“...So, let me get this straight,” Alvin Stadtfeld sighed, taking a long sip of coffee before continuing. “Your school, a private school that does not take any imperial subsidies and offers no ROTC program, which I know because I checked before enrolling you there, has suddenly been arm-twisted into starting up an ROTC program and now you’re being badgered by some puffed up Major who won’t leave you alone?”


“Y-yeah,” Kallen confirmed, blinking with surprise at how hard her father’s voice had grown as he recontextualized her problem. “I mean, there’s a bit more to it. I think this might’ve been the Viceroy’s idea? The recruiter, Major Pitt, read a speech he claimed came straight from the Prince that mentioned Ashford by name. Also, Milly – that’s the president’s granddaughter – looked really scared when people started refusing to get in the simulator.”


“Hmm…” Over the line, her father hummed thoughtfully to himself. “Alright, now… What are your thoughts on the matter, Kallen?”


“About what?” She asked, before wincing slightly at how loud she’d been, casting an anxious glance at the sealed door. “About what,” she repeated more quietly, “the stupid assembly? Or joining the Army?”


“Both, I suppose,” her father said idly, his mild tone not giving her any clues about his own thoughts. “But… you wouldn’t have called me if the situation wasn’t urgent, would you now? So, let me rephrase myself. Do you want to join ROTC and presumably the Army, Kallen? And do you want my thoughts on the matter?”


Kallen quickly mulled the matter over. Do I even care about his opinion? He’s just another Britannian aristocrat, only out to protect and boost his own personal status; he sure as shit doesn’t care about us. Otherwise… Otherwise, he would have stayed.


But as soon as the thought passed through Kallen’s head, she remembered all of the times Naoto, her big bro, had stepped up for their father. “Dad cares. It’s why he came back, Kallen. It’s… it’s also why he had to leave. To keep us safe.”


She clenched her free hand into a fist. Why can’t I just hate him? It would make things so much easier…


“Yeah, sure, I guess,” she said out loud, trying not to sound too interested. “What do you think about all of this?”


“Well,” Alvin replied dryly, “I seem to remember hearing that Area Eleven is still experiencing some rather unfortunate domestic troubles, correct? Troubles bad enough to wipe out entire units of Knightmares, which are typically in short supply in occupation garrisons. I also know that Prince Clovis has many rivals amongst his royal siblings who would love to assume the Viceregal-Governorship in his wake.”


“Yes, yes, court politics are always going on,” Kallen interrupted impatiently, “but how does that lead to some pig in a uniform showing up at my school?”


“Well, why does a farmer eat his seed corn?” her father asked rhetorically. “It sounds to me like someone in the Area Administration, maybe His Highness himself, is getting anxious about his supply of devicers on hand and is trying to increase that supply via aggressive recruitment. If this is true, it also indicates that His Highness or his advisors aren’t expecting many new devicers from the Homeland. This priority is seemingly high enough to justify some level of coercion to force even high-caliber schools that aren’t financially beholden to accept on-campus recruiters.”


“...Huh. That’s…” Really interesting, something Tanya needs to know, “fascinating, I guess. If the powers that be are really desperate for devicers, then it’s a good time to join up, right?”


“Well, there are some undeniable benefits,” Alvin mused, sipping at his coffee again. “I can’t fully endorse you joining the service as my sole heir, especially since you don’t have a child – or if you do, I’m going to have words with Nathan – but there are benefits. If you serve as a devicer, you would accrue a knighthood in your own right, as well as a barony once I’m gone. Serving in the Army is an excellent path to power, military as well as social and political. Even economic.


“It would,” he continued, “also help burnish up your own loyal image, Kallen. If one day someone examines your documentation and finds a discrepancy, and if someone questions our claim that Alicia is your mother, an honorable service record will help ameliorate any stain on your reputation.”


“That’s… probably true,” Kallen admitted. “And if I’m in the service, I don’t need to worry about marriage offers, huh? Since I can just say I’m married to my Knightmare or some other garbage.”


“You could certainly say that,” her father chuckled, before yawning, “but honestly, that’s something you don’t need to worry about, Kallen. I’ll be able to keep all of the old bats in the attic for the next decade at least, and even if I didn’t, Nathan would run interference for you. Besides,” he chuckled again, “I know you’d probably knife me if I ever tried to force you into a wedding dress, Kallie.”


“S-shut up!” Kallen growled into the phone, trying to ignore the deep pang of emotions she didn’t want to think about at the mention of her childhood nickname, of the name her father had called her by before he’d abandoned her and Naoto and their mother in a neighborhood full of bullies and bastards. “Don’t fucking call me that, Dad!”


“Alright, as you wish,” he sighed tiredly, “anyway, those are my thoughts about the Army. It could benefit you in a number of ways, great and small.”


“And it would benefit our house too, wouldn’t it?” Kallen asked, unable to resist the small dig. “After all, that’s what’s important, right? Anything to make sure that the Stadtfeld name is free from any blemish.”


“If the heir had a reputation strengthened by honorable military service, that would benefit House Stadtfeld,” Alvin acknowledged, not bothering to deny it. “But, that’s neither here nor there. I’m only slightly less interested in trying to force you into a marriage than I am in trying to force you into a uniform. What do you think, Kallen? Do you want to join the Army after you finish school?”


“I don’t know,” Kallen replied half-truthfully. “I haven’t really thought about what I want to do after I graduate. That’s still two years away and all. I haven’t thought about the Army at all.”


It could have some advantages, she acknowledged. Knightmare training could come in handy, along with learning how the Britannians communicate and think… And I guess I could learn to shoot just as well in the Army as I could at The School… but fighting for the Empire, in their uniform? Ugh!


“But either way,” Kallen rallied, summoning her anger back with ease, “I’m not interested in being harassed into signing up! It’s going to be my choice!”


“...Alright,” her father replied after a moment, “so, what do you want me to do about this recruiter, this…?”


“Major Pitt,” she supplied.


“Thank you,” he said. “Now, what would you like me to do about this Major Pitt, Kallen? If you want, I can… lean on him, so to speak. Pull some strings back home and take pressure off you..”


“I… I guess that would help,” Kallen admitted, suddenly unsure of what exactly she did want. What the hell was I expecting when I called him? That he’d just wave a magic wand or something and this would all go away? “I don’t really know what I should do…”


“Do what you think is best for yourself, Kallen,” Alvin said, a sort of tiredness entering his voice that sounded much heavier than his previous sleepiness. “Just make sure you can still live in your own skin afterward. And come back home safe, for your mother’s sake if not for mine.”


“I’ll…” Kallen swallowed; the mention of her mother even from her father’s mouth bringing a painful lump into her throat, “I’ll try.”


Both Naoto and I are in a war against the most powerful empire on the planet, she thought. What happens to Mom if we both die? The Bitch will just throw her out, at the very least. Tanya would probably take her in… She stuck up for her that one time… But that’s if Tanya’s still alive…


“I suppose that’s all I can ask,” Alvin sighed. “Well, you’ve heard my thoughts, Kallen. Whatever your choice, I’ll support you.” After a pause, he continued. “I love you, Kallen. You know that, right?”


“T-thanks for the advice, Dad,” Kallen replied, gulping slightly as she realized she meant it sincerely. “I’ll… I’ll let you know what I choose to do.”


“Don’t be a stranger.”


With a tap, Kallen ended the call and collapsed into one of the luxurious couches scattered around this parlor.


I hope Milly hasn’t done anything weird on this one, she thought idly, letting herself go boneless as she breathed out the emotional turbulence speaking with her father always stirred up. I’m so definitely not in the mood for any of that shit. Not now, probably not ever.


With a weary sigh, Kallen brought her phone up and dialed another contact, this one listed under a false name with the initials TH.


The recipient picked up the phone immediately.


“Kallen. What’s the situation?”


Kallen almost gasped as Tanya’s cold, clear voice cut through the haze of confusion filling her head.


“Tanya,” she began, speaking in Britannian just in case Major Pitt truly was at the door, ear pressed to the wood, “there was a recruitment event at Ashford today, and I couldn’t get out of it. They put me in a KMF simulator and I, uhh, kinda freaked out but I still did really good. Too good. They want me to join ROTC and the Army. What do I do?”


“Someone’s close enough to hear you, I take it, but you think that your line is clear enough to reach out for advice,” Tanya said, immediately grasping the situation. “I understand. Are there any signs that they know anything about your other background?”


“No, they haven’t been making any threats or anything, not yet at least.” Kallen took a calming breath, trying to slow her nervous tongue. “That said, the recruiter’s been giving me the soft sell for the last two hours, and back during the event, Milly looked really nervous when he started to frown. I get the feeling that if I don’t say yes, they’re going to try to make me.”


“I understand,” Tanya repeated. “In that case… Go for it.”


“Wait, what?” Kallen blurted, shocked by the conversation’s sudden turn. “You… You want me to agree?”


“I do,” Tanya said smoothly, her tone clipped and precise. “Listen to me carefully, Kallen. I know you are more of a warrior than a spy by inclination. Despite this, you have performed admirably so far. Good work always earns more work, though; so, I am tasking you with a new mission. You will become a soldier; moreover, you will be the best soldier you can be. You will learn all that you can from the Britannians. You will be as Britannian as possible. You will be Cadet Kallen Stadtfeld.


“And then one day, when the time comes, you will come home to us, to your brother and I. You will become Kozuki Kallen once again. And you will come back with the expertise of a Britannian devicer, brimming with knowledge about our enemy. This will be a difficult mission; I’m asking much from you. But your credo is Anything for the Cause, and I am certain, Kallen, that you’ll live up to it. You’ve never failed anything I’ve asked you to do before now. Do you accept this mission, Kallen?”


She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. She couldn’t see the bottom. She desperately wanted to step back, to say that she wouldn’t, couldn’t do it, couldn’t take the plunge.


But you know that you can, a treacherous, cruel voice said from inside her. Perhaps it was just her emotional strength failing her after a long, trying day, but Kallen couldn’t help but listen to it. You know you can do it and nobody else can. Anything for the Cause. Duty is a mountain. There is nobody else who can pick up this mountain. This is your sacrifice. If you step back now, you have betrayed everything you’ve ever said about your duty, your dedication.


Your mistress has given you an order; a good soldier obeys her orders.


“Yes,” Kallen said, her tongue like lead, “yes, I’ll do it.”


“Good.” The clear voice was sharp-edged in its purity, free of any touch of regret or any second guesses. “Then you must cut off all contact with us. Give the Britannians no reason to suspect your loyalty. Delete my contact, and Ohgi’s and Naoto’s. If you must pass us a message, hand it to Rivalz and tell him to pass it on to Inoue.


“And…” Tanya’s voice softened, “don’t worry about your mother or your brother. I’ll go to the Stadtfeld Mansion this very night with Naoto, and we’ll bring her back with us. She won’t be staying in Shinjuku; she’ll be going someplace that’s safe, far from the Britannians, far from your stepmother. I’ll be sending Naoto out into the countryside too. You won’t need to worry about them, Kallen, I promise.”


“Will I need to worry about you?” The words were out of her mouth before she could think about them, but Kallen couldn’t find it in herself to recall them. Was this really the last conversation she would have with her friend? Surely not.


“Anything for the Cause,” Tanya replied. “If Naoto is going out of Shinjuku to assist Ohgi with our program outside of the Ghetto, someone needs to stay behind to maintain the chain of command. Just as you have your duty, so too do I have mine.”


Of course that’s what she would say. I don’t know what else I expected.


“But,” Tanya added, “I’ll likely be busy with my leadership duties. I doubt I’ll have much time for frontline work in the foreseeable future.” For some reason, she sounded oddly wistful. “You don’t need to worry about me, Kallen. Do your duty and I’ll do mine; we will meet again.”


“If you say so,” Kallen replied. She chanced another look at the closed door; there were no signs of any eavesdroppers. Nevertheless, she dropped her voice down to a whisper and turned away from the door, tucking the phone up close to her mouth as she lowered her face into the pillows. Then, in Japanese, she bid her leader a farewell in the language of duty.


“Long live Japan.”

---------


MAY 6, 2016 ATB
ASHFORD ACADEMY, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
0900


For the second time in a week, Kallen found herself standing up on a stage in front of the Ashford student body. This time, instead of joining Milly and Lelouch on the commentator’s perch overlooking the gymnasium, she stood front and center on the school theater’s stage, a line of six of her fellow students behind her. And, instead of facing the student body directly as she had before, this time Kallen was only facing Major Pitt.


Look on the bright side, Kallen thought sarcastically, at least they aren’t looking at you with the same disgusting eyes as before. That’s probably just the uniform, though; hell, that’s a silver lining right there – I don’t have to wear something designed by Milly Ashford any longer.


In place of the Ashford Academy creme blazer and navy blue miniskirt, Kallen and the other six members of the inaugural cohort of the Ashford ROTC program wore their newly issued formal uniforms. The five boys had uniform slacks while Kallen and the one other girl wore knee-length skirts, all in the same uniform gray of their uniform jackets, unadorned save for their shiny leather belts and the yellow stripes proclaiming their status as trainees.


The change in uniform was a vanishingly thin silver lining, though. Considering what Kallen was about to do, what she was about to swear… She’d almost be happy to wear anything Milly so chose if it meant that the last three days could somehow be undone, that her leader’s final order could be recalled.


Almost.


At a subtle nod from Major Pitt, Kallen’s right arm snapped up to a right angle, hand over her heart and elbow straight up. Her left arm was at her side, her garrison cap cradled at hip height. Just as she’d rehearsed for the last hour.


Her last hour as a civilian, free from the confines of His Majesty’s Armed Forces. While she’d still be attending classes at Ashford Academy and sleeping in her bedroom on weeknights, her weekends and holidays belonged to the Army now. As did the next ten years of her life.


Until I take them back, Kallen reminded herself. This is all a ruse, all a deception. Don’t forget that, Kallen. You aren’t Britannian. You will never be Britannian, not where it matters. All for the Cause, anything for the Cause. Even this.


“Do you,” Major Pitt began, “Lady Kallen Stadtfeld, swear your allegiance to His Imperial Majesty and to his Empire?”


“I, Kallen Stadtfeld, swear by almighty God that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Imperial Majesty Emperor Charles zi Britannia, and to his heirs, and to the Empire he rules.” The words rolled off Kallen’s tongue with a solemn gravitas heated by passionate ardor. They tasted like ashes.


“Do you,” Major Pitt continued, “swear to defend his crown, his dignity, and his mandate against all his enemies?”


“I, Kallen Stadtfeld, swear by almighty God that I will, as in duty bound, zealously and faithfully defend His Imperial Majesty, his heirs, his crown and his dignity, and his mandate, against all his enemies.” Kallen stared straight into Pitt’s eyes, unable to blink or look away, trying her best to convey a fidelity with feet of clay to her new commanding officer, her new superior.


Never my leader. Never my lord. Never my master.


“Do you,” Major Pitt asked, “swear to obey all orders of His Imperial Majesty, his heirs, and his generals and officers set over you?”


“I, Kallen Stadtfeld, swear by almighty God that I will obey any and all orders of His Imperial Majesty, his heirs, and his appointed generals and officers set over me, without objection or dissent. I pledge my life, my land, and my sacred honor to His Imperial Majesty, until such time as he sees fit to free me from this solemn bond.”


As she publicly announced her loyalty with every intention of breaking her vows, Kallen extended her right arm up and out, until it was straight out in front of her, pointing above Pitt’s head. Even though Britannian history claimed that they had driven Caesar and his legions from their shores, the Britannian Empire had still made the Roman Salute their own at some point.


“Then it is with pride that I, Major Phineas Pitt, accept your oath of loyalty on His Imperial Majesty’s behalf,” the officer intoned, raising his arm to mirror hers. “We shall exchange loyalty for fidelity, honor for honor, and blood for treachery. We name you Cadet Kallen Stadtfeld, and in recognition of your achievement and noble descent elevate you to Cadet Sergeant Kallen Stadtfeld. Long may you serve our Empire.”


With that, and with the storm of applause from the audience, it was done. Kallen stepped back into line as the next cadet stepped forth to take the oath. There was no going back now. She had pledged herself to the service of the enemy.


She was a soldier of Britannia.

 

Sidestory: A Day in the Life of Alicia Stadtfeld


MAY 4, 2016 ATB
ASHFORD ACADEMY, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1730



Lady Alicia Stadtfeld, née Maplethorpe, narrowed her eyes as she watched the vermin scuttle across the foyer below. The vermin, the Number, wore the same long black dress and white apron as the other female domestics, but to Lady Alicia’s trained eye that single surface level commonality was as far as the civilizing touch of Britannia extended.


Though you know that the touch of one Britannian in particular went quite a bit deeper than a mere superficial touch…


With a sneer, Alicia pushed that errant thought to the back of her mind. She had a great deal of practice in that; she’d shoved many similar thoughts back into the darkness over the course of her four year long joke of a marriage.


When her brothers had informed Alicia that they had somehow found a second husband for her, she had been torn by overwhelming relief and gnawing suspicion. Relief that someone, anyone, finally wanted her, and suspicion over why, exactly, he wanted an empty, broken, useless vessel like herself.


Her condition was sadly no secret; her first husband, Justin, had made its existence all but public knowledge when he’d divorced her on the grounds that “their union was not blessed by God, as evident by its unfruitfulness.” As a result, she had endured five long years of humiliation as a prematurely dried up old hag at the age of twenty three. Her life was functionally over before it had even begun.


Alicia had spent those years in utter misery. She was useless to her family, because how could they form a marriage alliance using her if she couldn’t produce heirs to seal it? Nobody would take her. Nobody wanted her. Not even the commoner magnates her older brother Franklin had approached were interested in taking her, noble blood not outweighing an empty womb. The only thing that had made that long half-decade bearable had been the bottle she’d crawled into.


But then, Franklin had somehow found Baron Alvin of New Leicester, head of House Stadtfeld.


At forty-four when they’d met, Baron Alvin was sixteen years her senior. An unmarried man at that age holding title raised all sorts of questions, but Franklin and Alicia had both been desperate, and so neither asked anything remotely uncomfortable. If Baron Alvin had undignified tastes, they had reasoned, he had done a good enough job concealing them for there to be no whisper of scandal dogging his name.


Yes, you didn’t ask a thing, you just praised God for his blessings, the snide voice murmured, returning from its exile. You didn’t even bother to ask yourself why a baron without a recognized heir would marry a barren woman from a middling family. You didn’t want to risk it all being a dream, did you?


She had not, Alicia could admit to herself. Looking back on it, she probably still would have committed to the marriage even if she had known what role her husband to be had in mind for her. She just would have appreciated some sort of warning. She wished he had bothered to ask. Instead, he’d whisked her off to Area Eleven, to the newly built Stadtfeld Manor.


It had been like her girlhood dreams. Marriage to an older lord, being swept away to a palatial estate in an exotic land, a whole team of servants bowing in unison to greet the new mistress of the house…


Yes, that had been the moment when things had started to go awry, when the servants had been introduced to her. Well, started to go awry in a way she couldn’t ignore – Alicia hadn’t pushed her new husband when he declined to consummate their marriage, after all, reasoning that it would have been unladylike, even if it had been a very long, very lonely five years.


I could have handled it! She thought furiously as she turned away from the insect dusting the windowsills and retreated to her suite and her liquor cabinet. I could have handled a loveless, sexless marriage! I wouldn’t have cared if I had to beard for a sodomite! If he had the discretion to keep it out of my sight, I would have smiled and played the role I was born to! The role I was meant to play!


But no, Baron Alvin hadn’t been kind or considerate enough to keep his disgraces out of her sight. Indeed, immediately after she’d been introduced to the servants as the mistress of the house, she’d been introduced to a snot-nosed little brat as her new mother. A brat that Alicia had never so much as heard of, a brat Baron Alvin had never mentioned to Franklin when negotiating the union.


From their first meeting, young Kallen had obviously hated Alicia and had displayed no hesitation in letting her feelings be known. The little bitch had shouted and screamed in both honest Britannian and in her heathen tongue, and to Alicia’s astonishment Baron Alvin had replied likewise in both tongues, patiently doting on his rotten brat and allowing her to beat her fists against his shoulders as he wrapped her in an embrace.

And that was when he had offhandedly informed Alicia that she would be listed on Kallen’s official documents as her birth mother. The Baron hadn’t even looked at her when he’d said this; all of his attention had been focused on his sobbing daughter. He hadn’t asked if she was willing to pretend to be the mangy little halfbreed’s mother, he’d just informed her that her name had already been appended to the documents.


Never mind that the only way she could have had the girl was if she had cheated on Justin! Never mind that Baron Alvin hadn’t even bothered to apologize for springing a bastard he’d whelped with a Number on her! No, she was expected to just stand there and take it and, presumably, to be thankful that the Baron had found a use for something as useless and unwanted as her.


And I could have handled that too! Alicia told herself as she poured four fingers of the tawny brown liquor into her glass without bothering with any ice. I never really wanted children, but I could have been a mother if… if that had been possible! But, no, even that wasn’t enough for the great Baron Alvin!


The freshly married Alicia had, it turned out, already had the displeasure of meeting Baron Alvin’s whore by that point, not that she’d known. Oh, she’d noticed the lone Asian face in the row of bowing maids, but she’d assumed that the woman, whose graceful bow had been significantly deeper and better practiced than the rest, had been of some Britannian commoner stock, some sailor’s child perhaps. Instead, she’d been horrified when Alvin had introduced her to Hitomi.


Just the thought of the wretched woman’s name made Alicia’s hand spasm around her glass, and she tossed the remaining scotch back in her throat before she could spill the spirit. The burn it left behind helped take her mind off the memory of that first meeting somewhat. Just a bit.


They were obviously in love, Baron Alvin and Hitomi. It had been Alicia’s honeymoon, technically, but he and that Elven bitch were all but cooing over each other. The most galling part was that it was the Eleven, Hitomi, who showed a hint of contrition. Only the Eleven, the servant, had apologized for the imposition to Alicia. Baron Alvin hadn’t even bothered.


“I paid her for the service,” the Baron had explained to his paramore, “or at least I paid her family. They have an alliance with House Stadtfeld and will be a preferred supplier for the family’s business interests in Charleston, and I took an unweddable daughter off their hands. For the role she’ll be playing, I paid quite handsomely.”


The worst part was that Baron Alvin had been absolutely correct in his statement, which had been delivered matter-of-factly. He hadn’t tried to be cruel, nor was the arrangement particularly strange, if Alicia was being honest. Many noble families had daughters or sons just appear out of thin air, their birth certificates suspiciously shiny and new, free of any stain of bastardry.


It just hadn’t been what Alicia had anticipated, hoped for.


Days later, Baron Alvin had returned to the Homeland, leaving his wife, his secret Number mistress, and his daughter and newly announced heir in Area Eleven. Four years later, he hadn’t returned, nor had he summoned her to his side. Hers was a comfortable exile, but an exile it was nonetheless.


Somehow, Alicia had found that she’d exchanged the loneliness of sitting in her brother’s house, once her father’s house, for the loneliness of sitting in her husband’s house. Her bed was just as cold, her life just as empty. All through childhood, she’d been told that her purpose was to give her husband heirs and to raise them while he tended to his family’s, or the empire’s, affairs. Baron Alvin might very well be doing just that, but she had nothing, would never have anything.


The vermin had fulfilled Alicia’s purpose better than the lady of the house ever could. Alicia had very carefully not noticed the Eleven with red hair and her husband’s jaw visiting once every few months; her lord husband’s instructions on that matter had been very clear on the matter. Alicia was only thankful that he hadn’t forced her to pretend that his other bastard, almost as old as she was, had also been hers.


Lonely and abandoned, Alicia had taken her first lover within her first year at Stadtfeld Manor. It had been an act of rebellion, a cry of defiance that she’d perversely hoped that Baron Alvin, her only wedded lord, would hear and heed. She’d hoped he’d fly over the Pacific, come to call her out or divorce her or to make her his own in truth, his passion heated by the flames of jealousy.


He hadn’t even asked her about it during their weekly call.


At first, Alicia had wondered if the man was blind, so blind he hadn’t noticed her flagrant affair. She knew that he had eyes in the house, at least one pair, because she’d slept with Vernon, the majordomo, in the second year. One night when he was still asleep, she’d checked his archive of reports, and found her indiscretions in black and white. Baron Alvin had known; he just hadn’t cared.


And so, she continued her affair with the head butler. The man was happy to serve a Britannian mistress, both in bed and out, and was quite happy with the tacit encouragement she provided in regards to the other servants’ treatment of the vermin. After five years of solitude and months of indifference from Alvin, Vernon’s devotion to his lady, to her, was intoxicating, almost as intoxicating as the fine scotch and brandy her generous allowance afforded her.


The next two years had continued along the same general trajectory. Alicia had charmed, used, and thrown away more men than she could easily remember, only keeping a few as long-term conquests. The pain of rejection had never fully faded, but the open arms and endless bottles of strong spirits had helped the wound scar over. In a strange, sometimes empty way, Alicia had finally found a measure of happiness, the queen over her little domain.


Now, the only flies in the ointment were “her” daughter and the bitch who had truly whelped the girl. Kallen had only grown worse with age, proving the old adage that blood will always out. She’d grown from a petulant child into a petulant teenager, privately disrespectful and defiant though thankfully subdued in public. What little time she spent at home these days, she spent locked in her room with… with that vermin.


The vermin herself, Kozuki Hitomi, was even more infuriating to Lady Alicia. While Kallen had the utter gall to remark on Alicia’s diversions to her face, the quiet smile Hitomi wore as she went about her duties never failed to inspire fury. Up until recently, Alicia had been pleased to see that the whore of a maid’s smile grew increasingly strained with each passing month, but even that simple pleasure had been denied her of late.


The scotch bottle tipped over the table and Alicia slurred a curse as it fell to the floor. Thankfully, it was already empty, leaving her fluffy white carpets unstained. A moment later, one of the servants – a good Britannian servant – slid in through her door, smoothly closing it behind him.


“My lady,” the underbutler said, smoothly scooping up the fallen bottle as he bowed low, “I heard your cry. Can I assist you with anything?”


“Yes, go to the kitchen and fetch me another bottle,” Lady Alicia ordered. “Oh!” She continued when he was halfway out the door, “has the mail arrived yet today? I’m expecting a letter from the Daughtrys this afternoon.”


“I will ask the concierge, my lady,” the servant assured her, bowing his way out, “and I will return immediately with another bottle of the Halifax ‘07.”

“See that you do,” she said dismissively with only the slightest of slurs, and reclined back in her chair. The door swung shut behind the man and Alicia was once again alone in her private lap of luxury.


After a moment, Alicia got to her feet and made her swaying way over to her secretary. It was an antique, just as exquisite as every other stick of furniture in her suite, but unlike most of the chaise lounges and loveseats scattered about, her desk bore the signs of actual use. The built-in shelves were home to a tidy row of ledgers, the household accounts for the last four years.


Those ledgers were just as much another insult in a list of insults from her lord husband as they were a private refuge.


It was, of course, a lady’s place to handle the family accounts; everybody knew that while men were better at fighting, their overly emotional brains generally lacked the capacity to understand the more cerebral parts of life, such as math and physics. True, their emotional volatility inspired them to great works of art as well as war, as demonstrated by the Viceregal-Governor Prince Clovis, but science, logic, and mathematics were all inherently feminine pursuits.


And yet, when Alicia had arrived at Stadtfeld Manor, only the ledgers detailing the household accounts waited for her. Over the next four years, not a single page detailing the productivity of the Stadtfeld holdings nor the incomes of the Barony of New Leicester had arrived at the Manor. It was a clear sign that her lord husband didn’t trust her to fulfill her wifely duties.


So, Alicia had buried herself in the household books. She wasn’t a professional accountant by any measure, but she felt she could congratulate herself on a job well done for managing the house’s expenses over the last few years.


Not that he’d ever appreciated it, she thought venomously. At least Vernon is quite appreciative of my abilities. Although, her lip curled contemptuously, he’d be willing to say anything for a few pounds. How very like the help; always willing to sell themselves for a few coins.


Then how much did Alvin spend to buy Hitomi’s loyalty? The treacherous thought was like a murky bubble bursting in her consciousness. What coin did he use, and how much of it did he expend to secure her loyalty for years without meeting? Clearly whatever coin he used, he spent it all on her, and didn’t save any for you.


A rap came from the door to the hallway.


“My lady?” Alicia blinked; that wasn’t the voice of the underbutler she’d sent off for further refreshment. In fact, that was Vernon’s voice, the majordomo himself and her lover of the last two and a half years. Unbidden, a smile spread across her pleasantly tingling face. “My lady, are you decent? There’s a soldier here to see you. He has a letter for you, my lady.”


All thoughts of afternoon fun shattered like spun glass at the announcement. Alicia blinked again, realizing that Vernon’s tone had been quite sober – his public tone, with none of the… panache he deployed when they were alone and she had that outfit on.


Wait, she thought as the words finally registered, did he say a soldier is here? What would a soldier be doing here? Maybe… hope rose in her heart, maybe he’s here to arrest that bitch Hitomi!


“Send him in, Vernon,” Alicia replied as she sauntered back to the table and draped herself back over her chair. “Don’t worry, I’m quite decent, I assure you.”


Seconds later, a fine young man of obviously solid Britannian stock was saluting her with one hand, proffering a letter with the other. “Message for you, Lady Stadtfeld,” the youngster announced, “courtesy of Major Pitt, of the Recruitment Command!”


“Major Pitt?” She repeated, turning the name over in her mouth. Her lips felt unaccountably dry, so she licked them, and then, noticing the effect on the young soldier, licked them again. “I don’t believe I know of any Major Pitt, certainly not any recruiters… Vernon, dear? Do I know of any Pitts?”


“No, my lady,” Vernon replied from his post by the door. “As far as your registry goes, you haven’t exchanged any correspondence with anybody named Pitt, certainly not a major.”


“Well then… Sergeant,” Alicia hazarded, regarding the fine young man through heavily lidded eyes, “what does this Major Pitt have to say to me?”


“It’s, ahh, it’s private, my lady,” the young man gulped nervously, and Alicia couldn’t help but notice how lovely his chestnut hair looked under the soft light of her lamps.


“The message is, Sergeant?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “What, you didn’t want to take a look at my… private matters?”


“Ah, no, my lady,” the soldier said with a delightful blush, “I mean, my rank is private. Private Jenkins. And, no, my lady, I did not look at your letter.”


“How dutiful of you,” she murmured, finally accepting the letter from the boy’s hand, laughing internally at the slight tremor she felt as she accidentally ghosted her fingers over his. “Well, let’s see what this Major Pitt has to say…”


The adhesive paper seal, a nod to the old fashioned wax seals now used only for formal or royal correspondence, tore easily beneath her nail. The letter itself was hand-written in a fine copperplate, the handwriting inked across a fine plush paper of the highest quality. Alicia again raised an eyebrow; whoever this Major Pitt was, he was truly pushing out all the stops, doing everything in his power to make an excellent first impression.


How long has it been since someone was quite this desperate to get on my good side? Alicia wondered to herself.


The buzz of pleasure from the gesture lasted almost until the end of the first line. The first minute wrinkles spread across Alicia’s forehead as she read the rest of the opening paragraph and realized the letter was about Baron Alvin’s hoyden of a daughter. By the time she was through the second paragraph, the roses left on her cheeks by the scotch had blossomed as angry red spread across her face.


By the time Alicia had finished the letter, she was furious, and the drink wasn’t helping. She glared balefully at the young soldier, at Private Jenkins. To his credit, the boy didn’t flee immediately; in a different time and mood, she would have found that delightful. Now, it only made her angrier.


“Get out,” she demanded, barely holding her composure together, “get out and tell your Major,” her lip curled like it was a pejorative, “to never contact me or send postage to this house again!”


“M-my lady,” Private Jenkins tried to fit a word in edgeways even as Vernon tried to usher him out of the room, “I was instructed to wait for a reply…”


“Get out!” Alicia shrieked, her temper’s fragile leash snapping at last as the drink brought out what her little brother had once jokingly named Dark Alicia after a night spent in her cups. “Get out, and don’t you ever dare come back, you odious little man! And Vernon, if I don’t see a bottle of Halifax in front of me in the next two minutes, I will peel the hide away from your fat backside! Go!”


Half an hour and two mellowing glasses of scotch later, Alicia smoothed the crumpled letter back out on the table and reread the second and final paragraphs. Their contents were just as inadvertently cruel as they had been on the initial read.


“That damned brat,” Alicia muttered to herself, sipping at her third glass of ten year old scotch. “Kallen, Kallen, Kallen! Everything is *always* about Kallen! At least when it isn’t about that woman!”


It was… so infuriating, to the point that Alicia was having trouble putting it to words even inside of her mind. Although that might be the scotch. But it was only in these moments, when she’d already put a bottle of Nova Scotia’s finest behind her, that she could ever find those words in the first place. Those heretical words that went against everything she’d been taught she should want.


Alicia had been raised to be a wife and a mother. She had been educated enough to fulfill her wifely duties and to entertain guests for her husband. She had been steeped in the values of post-Emblem of Blood Britannia. She had done everything right, but all of that work had been slapped aside by an accident of birth that left her dead inside, in the one place it really counted for a woman of her rank and birth.


But she’d never had the chance to go beyond that set of expectations, even when motherhood had forever been barred to her, even when Justin had sent her back to her father’s house in disgrace. She’d never had a chance to decide if she wanted to be a wife or, indeed, a mother; it had simply been put on her shoulders, just like how Baron Alvin had never asked her if she would be Kallen’s stepmother and the aristocratic cover for his halfbreed heir.


Alicia had never been asked for anything, because Alicia’s opinion had never mattered. Not once in her thirty two years had she ever truly had a grain of independence. Even her flings with soldiers, with gardeners, with deliverymen, with Vernon had a taste of the expected, of the typical behavior of a neglected noble wife. Her minor rebellions had been just as pre-planned as every other part of her life, it seemed.


She hated Hitomi Kozuki, and she hated Kallen Stadtfeld. Partially, it was because they represented the life that she should have had, could have had if God hadn’t blighted her body for some strange reason. Partially, it was because he so obviously cared about them, showering them with love in the letters she’d intercepted, a love that he’d never offered to her. Mostly, it was because both Hitomi and Kallen had tasted, at one point or another, independence.


The letters had made references to a different Hitomi, one from before the Conquest. A professional businesswoman and executive who had met Baron Alvin when he’d still been Alvin Stadtfeld, the unwed second son unlikely to inherit from his elder married brother. They had met when Alvin had come to negotiate some deal for the Imperial Fruit Company, his employer at the time, and the two had apparently met as equals.


All of that had come to a well-deserved end in the fires of the Conquest, thankfully, but for a time Hitomi had been free to make her own decisions, to live her own life, and Alicia would never forgive her for it.


Now, her dirty tomboy of a daughter was walking down a similar path. Keeping Kallen in the Manor and paying attention to her etiquette and mathematics tutors had never been easy; she’d always tried to run away, to escape from the Manor. Alicia knew she’d always tried to run away to the ghettos where her kind truly belonged. Alicia would have encouraged it if she didn’t know that her comfortable life depended, in part, on Kallen Stadtfeld.


“Let her,” Alicia said, finally breaking her silence even if there wasn’t anybody else present to hear. “If she wants to spread her wings? Risk her neck? Let her. Not like I can stop her anyway… Not if her father already gave her permission…”


It was only seven and dusk had yet to even touch the spring sky, but Alicia already felt done with the day. She just wanted to sleep, to just put an end to the day and all thoughts of young girls going off to become heroes of the empire.


At least I’m not going to have any dreams tonight, she thought as she pulled on her nightgown. Not after a bottle and a half of scotch. Small mercies…


“M-my lady,” Vernon’s diffident voice came from the door, accompanied by a light rap. “My lady, are… Are you decent?”


“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Alicia replied, just as done with formalities as she was with the rest of the day. Besides, it was only the truth, at least as long as Vernon was alone. “Come in, Vernon. What’s the matter?”


“Well, my lady,” Alicia grimaced in response to Vernon’s pained expression as he came through the door, closing it behind him, “I’ve got some news that I’m not quite sure whether to call good or bad.”


“Out with it, Vernon,” Alicia waved impatiently. “I’m too… too tired to be patient. What’s wrong?”


“My lady,” the majordomo began, smoothing his mustache, “it’s Hitomi. She’s… She’s left.”


“What?” Alicia frowned at her servant, trying to make sense of his words. “My husband’s whore ran away? Why? Err… Why now?”


“I haven’t the haziest, my lady,” Vernon said apologetically. “Marcus, the inside dogsbody, noticed her carrying a heavy bag out the door and ran to tell me. I followed her out to the street, but just as I approached her an unmarked truck of the sort used for grocery deliveries pulled up and she climbed inside. It pulled away and the driver ignored my signs to stop completely!”


“Oh…” Alicia tried to turn the thought over in her head, trying to figure out how this fit into the puzzle of the day. She found that she couldn’t, and that she didn’t care to try. “Well, she left of her own will, clearly. So, she’s not my problem anymore. I didn’t beat her away nor fire her, so my husband will have nothing to complain about, I suppose.”


She smiled. “If she ran away to die in a gutter with the rest of her kind, who am I to stand in the way of Baron Alvin’s chosen woman?”


“Quite so, my lady,” Vernon replied with a chuckle. “Should I go ahead and order her room be cleaned out? I doubt we’ll be seeing her back again, and if she does return…”


“If she does return, she won’t find a job,” Alicia snapped peevishly, and smiled again at Vernon. “Yes, clean the room out. Have it fumigated as well; no telling what vermin the vermin might have left behind, after all.”


“As you wish, my lady,” Vernon bowed and left the room. As the door closed behind him, Alicia could hear him yelling orders at some servant or another.


And then, Alicia was once again left alone. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel any happier, now that her least favorite servant had exited Stadtfeld Manor. Hitomi would never darken her door again, and for that Alicia was thankful, but…


But Alvin still won’t love you, Kallen still won’t be the daughter you never had, especially with her running off to be a Knight, and Vernon will do anything for a few pounds, her treacherous distillate-soaked mind supplied. You are alone, just as alone as ever, and just as alone as you will ever be. Now you’ve even lost your whipping girl. Can’t even keep a reliable victim around.


Her bed looked so inviting, so comfortable, but when Alicia crawled between the sheets they were just as cold and lonely as the rest of her luxurious suite. Just as empty as her womb. Just as abandoned as Alicia was, stuck here in a savage land far from her only wedded lord, who wanted nothing to do with her.


Just another day in the life of Lady Alicia Stadtfeld.

 

Chapter 27: A Second Attempt


(Thank you to Aminta Defender, Sunny, Restestsest, KoreanWriter, Mitch H., Rakkis157, and MetalDragon for beta-reading and editing this chapter. Thank you in particular to MetalDragon for his substantial input. They were all a huge help with this chapter, and with helping me revamp Lelouch's first appearence in this fic in Chapter 22.)


(This chapter contains some mention of religion. Please do not take this as commentary on any real world faiths, please and thank you.)


MAY 4, 2016 ATB
ASHFORD ACADEMY, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1625


That, Lelouch thought as the gymnasium's door swung shut behind Kallen Stadtfeld, sounds like it was a long time coming.


It was all he could do to force his typical mask of serenity into place in the aftermath of Kallen's riveting performance. The newly discovered natural Knightmare talent had been magnificent in her anger, ripping into Milly with all the rage of a wolf brought to bay. Watching Milly be taken to account for hauling them both up on stage had been immensely cathartic.


And frankly, she's lucky that Kallen just settled for a spot of public humiliation. After all, he mused, the spotlight has an unfortunate habit of illuminating secrets best left in the dark.


It took Milly less than a minute to regain her composure and laugh the whole incident off, declaring it a byproduct of adrenaline overdose, effectively wiping away Kallen's social transgression from the student body's guppy-like collective memory.


"After all," Milly goaded, "if the delicate Lady Stadtfeld can manage such an upset, then surely all you big strong boys can as well!"


Predictably and perhaps naturally, the collective male ego of half of his so-called peers rankled at being upstaged in their domain of war. The usual chest-beating had ensued as boys who had already had a try with the simulators lined up anew for a second chance at glory, all under the paternal gaze of Major Pitt.


Spoiled children, the lot of them, and idiots too, Lelouch thought disgustedly. All so eager to die for the sake of That Man, who wouldn't even blink as he sacrificed ten times their number on a whim. I doubt any of them have so much as smelled the aftermath of a minor skirmish, much less a battlefield.


Certainly, none of them had walked through killing fields days after the front had moved on. Nobody who had seen the rats scrambling to their feasts would ever be so eager to find "glory" ever again.


Finally, even that fresh wave of ardor dissipated, bringing the long assembly to a conclusion. Freed from the prying eyes of his classmates, Lelouch finally gave himself license to glare at Milly from across the gymnasium, letting the weight of his displeasure be known. There were some advantages to an education in royal etiquette – abbreviated as it had been.


His outrage wasn't lost on the target of his ire, who blushed shamefacedly and all but scampered out of the gymnasium, escaping out onto the Academy's verdant quad. Lelouch was not particularly worried; he knew where she would go, and what room he would find her in.


"Lelouch," Nunnally whispered, grabbing his hand before he could pursue the fleeing Milly. Lelouch started; he hadn't even heard her wheelchair roll up beside him. "Let it go. She must have had her reasons."


"She went too far," he said, not bothering to conceal his wrath with only his sister in earshot. "I can't let it go. Not this time."


Nunnally sighed in disappointment, and his anger recoiled. "Give her a chance to explain herself then, at the very least. She is our hostess. You must not forget that."


More than her disappointment, Nunnally's admonishment stung him to the quick. The last time he had forgotten his place, they had both been sent to die in a warzone for his impertinence. What had happened once could happen again; it would only take one misstep with the Ashfords for them to decide the risk of harboring them was too great and to cast the vi Britannias back out into the cold and unforgiving outside world.


"I will come with you," Nunnally declared.


Lelouch scowled. "I don't–"


"You are reckless and relentless, Big Brother," Nunnally easily rolled over his half-spoken protest. "Your mind latches onto ideas and refuses to let them go. You do not know when to stop and you have never learned that you do not need to achieve victory to avoid losing."


"Draws are irritating," Lelouch grumbled, but the anger was already withdrawing, allowing him to breathe easily once more. Somehow, whenever they squabbled, Nunnally always won.


He could never deny her anything she wanted. Except, of course, the one thing that she truly wants.


He sighed and began walking towards the gymnasium's exit, Nunnally easily keeping by his side in her chair. This was, he had to admit, her fight as well. There was no point trying to keep her out of it now. Besides, she had been just as threatened by Milly's foolhardy antics as he had; she had every right to claim her pound of flesh, should she so choose. "Very well."


"I happen to like draws," his darling sister said cheerfully as they left the gym, still lined with the simulator pods, behind them.


"Of course you do," he said indulgently, shaking his head.


She has always lacked the killer instinct. It's for the best.


"I think it's quite balanced," Nunnally insisted, somehow just as aware of his thoughts as always. "Both sides survive and work together to reach a mutually agreeable solution."


He bit down on his sarcastic rebuke. She could afford to be happy in her innocence. They were not at court, where such idealism brought only ruin and was harshly punished at every turn.


What would they do to you, Nunnally? I can never let it happen. Never. He felt his anger returning and forced himself to focus on his sister's chatter instead.


"It's like two birds building a nest!" She said by way of explanation, "they both need to help out or it doesn't work for either of them!"


"It is fortunate," he jibed, entirely unable to stop himself, "that birds don't go to war."


"Lelouch!" The swat on his wrist was practically avian in its insubstantiality, in its frailty.


She is so weak, and so horribly, horribly fragile…


"Sorry, sorry," he begged her forgiveness with a laugh, "but were a bird to betray its mate, then--"


"Lelouch!" Nunnally huffed and accelerated her motorized wheelchair. "You are far too young to be a grouchy old man. They're birds! They're cute. And have beautiful songs. And they do this most wonderful mating dance…"


Just like Milly, flamboyantly vibrant and dancing just out of the reach of her many suitors and admirers. Maybe if she wasn't so distracted with her petty displays and distractions, he could be enjoying the day like the students sprawled out across the luxurious campus, enjoying the bright sun of a late spring afternoon. Maybe he could focus on his sister and her recitation of all that she knew about birds instead of wondering what sounds Milly would make upon a rack.


My mother was gentle and kind, for all that her enemies hated her. His thoughts were cold and distant, but far from clinically detached. And yet, for all that they hated her, they feared the Flash both for her battlefield skills and for her inventive punishments. Perhaps some of her old tricks would help Milly learn? After all, even apt students require correction. Perhaps her scheming would be aided by a taste of the courtly fear so endemic amongst the true nobility…


Lost in his dark thoughts, Lelouch was almost surprised to find himself in front of the pink-painted door of the Student Council's favorite conference room, on the first floor of the Clubhouse.


"Lelouch," Nunnally spoke up from beside him, tugging insistently at his jacket sleeve. "Hey Lelouch! She's inside already. Remember–"


The burnished handle of the conference room door beckoned. The bronze was warm under his hand. "I know. We owe the Ashfords a great deal."


A great deal indeed. Reuben had been good to them for years; his loyalty to their deceased mother stretching far beyond anything Lelouch found explicable. The only rationale Lelouch could assign to the old man's protection was his political aspirations. It was so easy to go from being in someone's debt to being under their thumb, and if Lelouch or Nunnally ascended the throne under the Ashford patriarch's supervision, all that his house had lost and more would be theirs once again.


But that was far off in the distance, a long shot at best. Here in the present, Milly was the anointed heir to the Ashford holdings, what remained of them, her disappointing parents passed over. Lelouch and Nunnally, on the other hand, were worse than useless to the Ashfords; they were active liabilities unless that long shot paid off.


And so it behooves me to remember my place. Not that such wisdom has ever truly held me back, oh no, perish the thought. Just like how Nunnally and I nearly perished because of my foolish pride.


"Good afternoon, Madame President."


"Lelouch..." From the head of the table, Milly smiled at them, a strained, bleached thing. "And Nunnally."


Nunnally's smile was a potent weapon indeed, Lelouch knew from long experience. It could be as sweet and treacherous as an angel's lie and just as barbed as any fishhook when her occasional fey moods took her. Now, that guileless expression was cutting as it smoothly transitioned from polite greeting to disappointed pity.


"Would you perhaps elucidate your thought process this afternoon?" Lelouch asked, his tone as polished as any of That Man's lickspittle courtiers. "I had not been informed that I would be called upon to fulfill my duties as the Vice President, nor that such duties included being paraded before one of His Majesty's glorious and honorable men."


"Does any man ever really know when duty will call?" Milly replied, aiming for breezy but shooting into tempestuous.


The tension in the room undermined her attempt to inject levity. Lelouch simply remained patiently silent, aware of his sister's presence at his arm.


After a moment, Milly tried again. "Look, it's been a stressful day for all of us. I'm not feeling particularly splendid at the moment myself. I don't suppose there's any chance we can pick this up later?"


That, Lelouch decided, was the wrong answer.


"Millicent Ashford," he ground out, manners held only by a thread and the light touch of fingers on his hand, "there is no time quite like the present to discuss just how little I care about how splendid or otherwise you are feeling. You damn near served Nunnally and me up to the Army today, on the inaugural Vi Britannia Day of all possible days! Do you understand what you put at risk with your ingenious plan?"


"Do you understand what I had at stake?" Milly shot back, her voice high and thrumming with tension. "Do you think Grandpa and I just let the Army show up on a whim? Absolutely not! They applied pressure, and we were given the choice of participation or investigation!"


Milly's voice had begun to creep upwards towards a high, almost hysterical note.


"That joyless prig of a major showed up just this morning in my grandfather's office," she continued, "with an entire truckload of simulators parked outside and a letter with the Viceregal-Governor's seal requesting we consider partnering with the Army to open a ROTC branch on campus! When Grandpa declined, Pitt threatened to investigate our lack of patriotism and determine whether Ashford Academy required new leadership!"


She's terrified, Lelouch realized, noticing how Milly's perfectly manicured hands had curled into tight white-knuckled balls as she had ranted. Pitt must have made quite the impression.


Fear is a disease, and Lelouch had to resist succumbing to Milly's anxiety as he imagined what sort of pressure Major Pitt must have brought to bear to convince Ruben Ashford. "And what," he quietly replied, "did he demand in exchange for withholding the investigation, Milly? I assume consideration was not the half of it."


"A branch of the ROTC opened on campus with dedicated grounds, which means the Equestrian Club can kiss their back pasture goodbye," Milly replied, ticking items off her fingers, "a seat for the leader of the ROTC in student government to incentivize participation and ensure that a properly patriotic voice is present, the enthusiastic participation of the student body in any recruitment events, and rubber-stamp approval for any would-be recruits who wish to leave school to join the Army directly.


"Oh, and of course, a small remuneratory gift for Major Pitt himself," Milly concluded with a bitter smile, "just to reward him for his excellent work, you understand."


"Quite," Lelouch replied mirthlessly, "the price of doing business. And in exchange for all of that? What did you secure from that masterfully negotiated transaction?"


"Don't be difficult, Lulu," Milly sighed, leaning back in her chair. The tension had almost disappeared from her voice, concealed by her usual honeyed tones. "Ashford Academy is still Ashford Academy, and will remain free of prying eyes."


"Splendid," Lelouch replied only half sarcastically, "our secret remains our own for another day. Assuming, of course, that Pitt did not recognize me when you hauled me up on stage, an action that seemingly completely undermines your goal to avoid the attention of the authorities."


He would have continued, had the fingers that rested lightly on his wrist not tightened and pulled, dragging Lelouch's attention away from the Ashford heiress.


"Peace, Big Brother." Nunnally's firm command was unsoftened by the sweet tones of the delivery. "Milly is our hostess and our friend, and I am sure she is doing her best in a stressful situation."


"As you say, Nunnally," the delicate fingers loosened on his wrist, and Lelouch turned back to Milly. "I apologize for my disrespect. My point stands, however; what possessed you to haul me up on stage, Milly? What were you thinking? Elevating my profile amongst the school body is one thing, but bringing me to the attention of an Army officer?"


Milly sagged in her chair. "That was not my intention, Lelouch, but… I saw the lack of enthusiasm, and I saw Pitt pulling out his notebook… I had promised him the enthusiastic participation of the students, and they were all shying away, all afraid of the possible humiliation… I had to find something to goad them on with." She gave him a strained smile. "You were the first thing I thought of, and I saw a way to get everybody's blood back up."


As Milly had recounted the pressure Major Pitt had applied, Lelouch had been temporarily distracted from his anger by the implications of the apparent new recruiting push by the forces garrisoning Area 11. The fact that, according to Milly, Pitt had shown up with a letter bearing the official seal of the Viceregal-Governor's Office all but guaranteed that this project, whatever it was, had the personal blessing of Clovis la Britannia.


The Student Council President's admission that she had pulled him out from the cover of the crowd onto the stage immediately brought that anger back to the surface.


"I repeat," Lelouch asked, voice heated, "what were you thinking, Milly?"


"I was thinking about all of the other students, Lelouch!" As always, Milly rose to the challenge. "You two might be the biggest secret I'm keeping, but you're far from the only! If Pitt brings his so-called 'suspicions' to the attention of the military police, they would be crawling all over the Academy in hours! How many of our students do you think are holding, Lulu? I can tell you if you'd like! And it's not just drugs! How many do you think have 'questionable literature' in their lockers?"


"Probably quite a few," Lelouch grudgingly conceded. "Nothing quite like flirting with danger to give a sheltered life meaning, I suppose."


"Indeed!" Milly nodded. "You should know, Mister Illicit Gambler! And once just one of those lockers is found, we will no longer have to worry about the military police because the IDSS will be on hand to investigate potential subversion! And I am sure that you know that, as soon as the witch-hunt begins, there will somehow be plenty of witches to find! Tell me, Lelouch, how long do you think the Academy you live at would remain open if half of the faculty were arrested for subversion and perverting the minds of the youth with unapproved doctrine?"


"If you had just told me before the assembly, we could have worked something out!" Lelouch retorted, temper barely restrained by the gentle fingers on his wrist. "If you had told me a display of enthusiasm was required, I would have primed Rivalz and Shirley and made sure they were at the head of the line. Even if they botched their own simulations, they would have had the sense not to publicly complain about it. And they don't have secrets in need of concealment."


"That would have worked," Milly admitted with a moderately ashamed smile. "But I was panicking, you know? I mean, how was I to know that one of the most incompetent pilots in the whole school would be the first up? And how was I to know that the students would be so fickle? They had the opportunity to pilot Knightmares! Why would I expect them to just wimp out like that?"


"Why would you go into any high-stakes engagement without a fallback plan?" Lelouch riposted. "Why would you stake your family's security and our lives on the reactions of a group of children?"


"Brother!" This time, Nunnally didn't bother veiling the iron with velvet. "You will remember your manners; this is a discussion between equals and friends, and I will not hear either of you raise your voices. Am I clear?"


Reluctantly, Lelouch nodded, noting Milly follow suit from the corner of his eye.


"Thank you. Now," Nunnally turned her smiling face, distinctly chillier than normal, back towards Milly. "Millicent Ashford, I am disappointed in you. I expected better. A lady does not panic. A lady always has a plan. Title or not, you are a lady, and I expected you to conduct yourself as such."


And most of the idiots at this school think Nunnally is the nice Lamperouge sibling, Lelouch thought sympathetically as Milly all but crumbled at the calm dismissal. Nunnally's only nice as long as you don't make her angry.


"I… I know," Milly said with a wince, "I just… panicked. I thought about soldiers ransacking the Academy, and all the students who I know would get arrested… and Grandpa losing everything he managed to save after Her Highness died…"


"And you thought about what you would be losing yourself, should Ashford Academy close," Nunnally continued, remorseless despite her dulcet tones. "After all, the Academy is just as much a refuge for you as it is from us. Why, it was only last week that your parents called about another potential suitor they had found, was it not? Surely you cannot put them off for much longer, Milly."


"Yes!" Milly half said, half screamed. "Yes! I don't want to be married off by my stupid parents, and the Academy's the only place where I have anything close to freedom! I don't want to see that get ruined because of some stupid political game the stupid prince is playing! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I didn't warn you two, and I'm sorry that I pulled you up on stage, Lelouch!"


"Apology accepted," Lelouch cut in before his sister could speak, "by us both. Just please, Milly, do better next time."


I can't deny her anything, he thought wryly, but I can't deny that Nunnally definitely got some of That Man's cruelty as well as Mother's sweetness. His hypocrisy as well; she called me out for my anger at Milly, but she would hurt her far worse than I ever could.


"Regardless," he continued, striving for something like detachment, "what is done is done, and now we must adjust to recent developments. The most important one being the ticking time bomb in our midst."


"Bomb?" Milly stared at him, outwardly incredulous but with fear flickering in her eyes. "Lelouch, after the day I've had, I am far too drained for any more overly dramatic theatrics-"


"I fear that, unless we handle the matter carefully, that bomb will become all too literal," Lelouch said, cutting her off. "And frankly, Milly, I am surprised that you are so readily willing to dismiss this threat when you are the one who set her up to explode in all of our faces."


"Set her…?" Milly asked, frowning in confusion.


Then it hit her.


"Kallen?!" The Student Council President reeled back with a gasp. "I-I mean, I know what she did on stage was a bit…" a flicker of hurt tugged at the corner of her mask. "...harsh, but what on earth does that have to do with bombs, Lulu?"


"You truly do not know?" Lelouch raised a challenging brow. "She seems to have quite the clear opinion of your machinations. Given that we just discussed how many dangerous secrets of the student body you are privy to, I am amazed that you somehow failed to notice exactly what your newest toy was hiding when you decided to play with her. Quite the oversight, Milly."


"Machinations?!" Milly all but squawked in protest. "Lelouch, I'm not some kind of scheming puppet master who treats people like toys! Besides, she liked it!"


"...You feel that you do not treat people as if they were toys?" Asked Lelouch, leveling a deeply unimpressed glare at Ashford's Queen.


Something about the way he'd said that made Milly hesitate. "...N-no?"


"Then," Lelouch pressed inexorably on, "what do you believe prompted today's performance?"


"I told you," Milly exclaimed, "they forced my hand and I panicked! I already apologized for that!"


"Yes, for dragging me on stage, but what about Kallen? Not to mention," Lelouch pointed out, "that while this time you were pressured into acting, you have pulled the entire Academy into some impromptu game purely for your own amusement time and again. An outburst like that is not the product of a single squandered afternoon."


"I'm just trying to inject a little fun into people's lives, that's all!" Milly said, defending herself. "School life is so dreary and all the formals that young nobles have to attend are ridiculously stuffy! There's gotta be more to that to make young life worth living! The students need more! They need a little adventure!"


"...Adventure?" Lelouch quietly asked, a cold prickling sensation seeming to dribble over his skin. For a moment, he was almost eleven again, filthy and hungry and bone-weary. "You believe they need adventure to give their lives form?"


"Yes," Milly nodded definitively. "Adventure, Lelouch. Life, fun, parties, excitement. Teens who aren't sticks in the mud like you happen to love the shows I put on for them."


"Indeed…" Lelouch replied, "Kallen seems to have really enjoyed your approach to morale-boosting activities for the student body. I believe she made that quite clear today."


"I don't get it!" Milly groaned, flushing red at the memory of Kallen's adamant rejection. "She always enjoyed everything else I did! Why did she just suddenly flip out this time? And in front of everybody! Geez!"


Lelouch felt dread shiver down his spine in icy tendrils. "...Milly, what exactly do you mean by 'everything else'?"


"Oh, you know," Milly said offhandedly, "I saw Kallen was trying to break into the more popular circles, so I gave her a hand." A salacious grin slipped onto her lips. "Well… maybe a few. Even a prude like you has to admit she's filled out quite nicely!"


An almost spiritual exhaustion washed over Lelouch as he slowly blinked at Milly.


"....So," he finally replied once Milly's words had sunk in, "you have been giving Kallen the Shirley treatment for the past… what… Seven months now? Eight?" Lelouch rubbed at his forehead. "How are you still alive, Milly? No, do not bother answering. I am shocked it took this long for Stadtfeld to finally snap. Frankly, it is a miracle that no one has died yet."


"How was I supposed to know she wasn't having fun?" Milly plaintively asked, almost wailing. "I thought she was having fun! People have fun around me! I'm a fun person!"


"Clearly not according to Kallen," Lelouch replied acidly, "otherwise, I doubt she would have registered her opinion of you quite so publicly or vehemently."


"If she didn't like how I treated her, why didn't she just tell me? I thought I was doing exactly what she wanted! She was just trying to be popular and wanted my help, so I helped!" Milly sounded genuinely baffled. "I mean, I'm super approachable! I try to be super approachable!"


"And who," Lelouch asked, "would dare to tell the Academy's Queen that she had stepped out of line?"


Hurt flashed across Milly's face, gone as fast as it had appeared, but Lelouch had still caught the crack in her affable mask. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she rebutted.


"Really, Milly?" Lelouch sighed. "You are the Student Council President, as well as the granddaughter of the Principal, who is also the Chairman of the Board of Regents for the school," he shook his head as he carefully explained the obvious. "The teachers never put up so much as a peep when you make an announcement – if every authority figure here bends the knee to you, why would any of the students assume you would listen or care about any objections they might voice?"


She may not be a bad person, Lelouch mused, but Milly is absolutely a spoiled brat. Perhaps this will give her a reason to grow, now that she understands that she can truly hurt people in her enthusiasm.


For a moment, he thought he'd gotten through.


The hurt blossomed into indignation.


"Wait a second! That's not something you just came up with!" Milly leaned forwards over the table, an accusing finger jabbing aggressively at Lelouch. "You knew! You knew people weren't talking to me because they were scared I'd tattle to Grandpa! Why didn't you tell me people weren't having fun?"


"Because I did not want to interrupt your game?" Lelouch raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Are you implying that I should have stepped in and advised you that most boys do not like being forced into mandatory cross-dressing and most girls do not, in fact, like having their breasts 'honked' from behind by way of greeting?"


"Yes!" A tinge of heat touched Milly's cheekbones, unshed tears pooling in her eyes. "Yes, Lulu, that would have been good to know! I thought that they were having fun! Why did you think I was doing it?"


"...Well, given the way you smile when you grab at people? It seemed obvious that you enjoyed flaunting your dominance over the student body via pseudo-sexual displays as well as demonstrations of authority. I mean, why else would you molest everyone like you owned them? Or constantly interrupt classes for impromptu events dominated by your vivacious personality?" Lelouch scanned the frowning Ashford's face, and then looked down into the very unimpressed glare Nunnally was shooting his way. "I take it that this was not, in fact, the case?"


"Why did you…" Milly shook her head, a frustrated growl slipping out. "Right! Right, right. Raised at the Imperial Court, and then thrown to the wolves. Of course you would see it all as dominance games."


What on Earth would all that have been, if not elaborate dominance games? Lelouch wondered, momentarily baffled.


"No, Lelouch, that was not what I was trying to do. In fact, that was the opposite of what I was trying to accomplish!" Milly huffed and looked away, but she couldn't hide the tremor in her voice. "I just… I just wanted people to have fun! Is that so wrong?"


Lelouch didn't know what to say to that. And now I feel like the bastard here. How did she manage that?


"Did you ever ask what they want?" Nunnally's calm voice sliced through the awkward silence.


"A-ask?" Milly turned back to give the younger girl a confused look. Lelouch carefully didn't notice the unshed tears at the corners of her eyes. "What are you talking about? I ask them all the time!"


"With all due respect, Milly, you do not," Nunnally carefully rebutted, her closed eyes somehow fixed unerringly on Milly's own. "You ask them with all the sincerity of a velvet-wrapped fist. When Milicent Ashford asks her subjects if they would like a party, everyone knows what the Queen of the Academy wants as her answer. Who would risk denying her?"


Milly opened her mouth to argue, but Nunnally continued relentlessly on, an unstoppable force in a frail body. "When you play your games, do you ever pause to consider what others truly want? Or do you only think about what you desire? If you do not ask people what they want and give them the latitude to answer honestly, you cannot truly claim to have given them a voice."


That comment, uttered in soft soprano, brought Milly up short. For a moment, neither Lelouch nor Milly could say anything, each silent for their own reasons.


She has truly grown, hasn't she? Lelouch mused, gazing at his sister with fresh eyes. Even if she speaks with the conviction of naivety, her eloquence befits the royal rank stolen from her. Nunnally… When did you begin to grow so fierce?


He sighed. I suppose even a bird with broken wings can develop sharp spurs… But please, save your spurs for a more deserving target. Even our best intentions can put us on the path to hell if we do not mind our step. Milly has not quite learned that as of yet.


Unfortunately ignorant of his silent plea, Nunnally was far from done.


"Now, Big Brother," Nunnally's sightless gaze turned back to him, "what was this about Kallen being a 'ticking time bomb'?"


Milly stiffened at the reminder. Lelouch felt dread pool in his gut.


Pointing this out felt like a win before, Lelouch thought as he silently apologized to Milly. Now, it just feels cruel.


But the last thing Milly needs right now is more coddling… And the potential threat is far from insignificant.


"Right… well…" Lelouch rolled the words around in his head, trying to figure out a way to phrase what had to be said in a manner that would let Milly down gently.


He failed.


"I have reason to believe that Kallen may be, perhaps, a Japanese insurgent."


Despite her closed lids, Lelouch imagined he could almost see the violet eyes he remembered from their youth, a perfect match to his own. In that imagined image, his darling little sister's gaze bore down upon him with the same fell intensity that his mother could bring to bear, easily winkling the truth out of him no matter how he tried to prevaricate his way to safety.


"Oh?" Nunnally cocked her head, furthering her almost owl-like impression as if she were able to pick him apart by sound alone. "And pray tell, Big Brother, why on Earth would you think that?"


"Detecting her nature was far from easy, and I was forced to draw upon many sources to reach that conclusion," Lelouch admitted. "She first came to my attention when I thought she was a spy for Clovis. By the way, she most definitely is not, but in clearing her of that charge, I incidentally discovered several factors that lead me to believe that she is probably half-Japanese and, if not an outright insurgent, then a sympathizer to their cause."


"Big Brother, did you spy on Lady Stadtfeld due to another fit of paranoia?" Nunnally shook her head, clearly disappointed. "I had rather thought you had learned your lesson, after the unfortunate incident with the plumber."


"That plumber had it coming! He was-!" Lelouch caught the look on Milly's face and stopped himself before he got sidetracked even further. "Regardless," he continued with a cough, "while I admit that my initial assumption was incorrect, I do not regret investigating her, not after what I found."


"Oh? And what did you find, Big Brother?" Nunnally was still clearly signaling disappointment, but Lelouch could detect an edge of interest in her familiar voice. "I certainly hope that all of your snooping yielded at least something of substance."


"I began by searching the database of the Administration's Ministry of Justice," Lelouch said, skipping over the tedious process of socially engineering his entrance into said database. "I wanted to see if she had come to anybody else's notice. Indeed, she has come to the attention of the Knightpolice, who have a log of her comings and goings through the checkpoints into Shinjuku." He allowed himself a smile. "She makes very frequent visits, it would seem."


"That… That's kinda troubling," Milly replied, a hint of a quaver in her voice. "Not that she's visiting the Ghetto for whatever reason, but that the police are already tracking her movements. Does… Does that mean she's already…"


"Already as good as dead?" Lelouch chuckled. "No, not quite. For some inexplicable reason, her file has been marked as a classified object, as well as a case not to be investigated. All of the additions and recent edits were made by automated systems monitoring traffic through the checkpoints. Her records are, for all intents and purposes, clean."


"Her records…" Milly interrupted in a haunted voice. Lelouch, taken off-guard by her hollow tone, blinked. "Her school records… They're doctored, aren't they? Kallen's really a bastard?"


"You knew?" Lelouch asked.


"I… suspected?" Milly offered him a mirthless smile. "It's not exactly that rare these days. Children born out of wedlock or to the 'wrong' parents get quietly legitimized fairly often. There are more than a few students at the Academy who share her burden. For some, it's something of an open secret, for others, a buried shame. For Kallen, I just figured…"


Milly trailed off, at a clear loss for words, before eventually shrugging helplessly. "I guess I just thought it wasn't a big deal. She doesn't act like someone who hates her parents, you know?"


"But…" she sighed, "I suppose her being Japanese would explain her fixation on Eleven and Honorary Britannian issues as a journalist. Not to mention her work with the Rising Sun Association."


"So you know about that as well?" Lelouch asked, surprised.


"Rivalz told me." Milly gave him a sad smile. "He talks to me a lot, you know. He's very proud of that charity, and he told me all about how he may have set it up, but it was Kallen's idea. About how much she runs it. About how passionate she is about helping the Elevens… all because I asked him."


Milly's smile turned brittle and for a moment it looked like she was about to say something, but at the last moment, she bit her lip and looked away.


"I see…" Lelouch organized his thoughts. "Well, did he mention that Kallen also speaks fluent Japanese in a Shitamachi dialect? The native Tokyo dialect," he quickly explained, seeing Milly's baffled expression, "the one especially used by the middle and lower classes pre-Conquest."


Milly made a noncommittal sound. "Not quite… I mean, he said that he heard her speaking in Japanese once and that she sounded pretty smooth, but Rivalz obviously doesn't speak it himself… If she is a half-breed… I suppose it makes sense she'd speak her mother tongue."


"By any chance," Lelouch asked, "did he mention that the Rising Sun Benevolent Association is almost certainly a front for insurrectionists?"


Milly's head snapped up, fear blazing in her eyes. "What?!"


"By any chance, did Rivalz mention that Kallen had a little confrontation with a group of thugs at one of their outdoor soup kitchens the other day?" Lelouch mused aloud. At Milly's confirming nod, he continued, "I was watching when that happened. Those were no mere thugs; I have absolutely no doubt that they were Honorary Britannian soldiers out of uniform and that the members of Rising Sun were entirely prepared to shoot them."


Lelouch's fist clenched at the memory of that thing wearing his dear friend's face. Oh Suzaku, what has happened to you?


"Even if they were garden variety criminals," Lelouch continued, "the fact that Japanese, Elevens to be precise, had access to guns and the capacity to smuggle them through the Ghetto's checkpoints indicates that they are either a highly organized criminal group or affiliated with one of the myriad factions of the Japanese Resistance. Considering their charitable actions outside their native territory of Shinjuku, I am inclined towards the latter."


Although, somebody had to have put that hold on Kallen's official file, somebody with sufficient access to tamper with its classification. That does not sound like something the Japanese rebels up in the mountains would be capable of, and if they were, I doubt that they would use their skills to cover for a half-breed. Which might indicate that somebody's on the take inside the Administration, hinting at potential criminal activity…


"Given that Rivalz neglected to mention your presence as well, I am willing to venture that you had been following Lady Stadtfeld in disguise," Nunnally stated, shooting him a disappointed look. "My Big Brother, stalking young maidens through the streets like some sad, desperate beast…"


Nunnally let out a long, hopeless sigh that actually managed to tug at Lelouch's heart, to his great irritation.


…Maybe I should do less creeping about? Lelouch wondered, then tried to shake the thought from his head. No, no! I'm not going to let my sister chide me into being less thorough! …Even if it would make her happier… No! This manipulation is as blatant as it is cheap! You will have to do better than that, my darling little sister!


"Regardless," Lelouch continued out loud, "what Rivalz likely further failed to notice is that, while Kallen was standing up to the soldiers, all of her Japanese companions were preparing to kill at her command." He locked eyes with Milly, trying to impress upon her the implications of that moment. "They weren't just subtly reaching below their aprons for guns, others were taking quiet steps to flank the soldiers. All of them hanging on Kallen's every word, ready to react immediately.


"I have no doubt that if Kallen had so wished, or if those soldiers had attempted to harm her, none of them would have left that park alive."


Lelouch leaned back and let the words sit.


For her part, Milly looked shaken. It hurt Lelouch to see his normally vivacious friend in such a state, no doubt suddenly worried and acutely aware of her own mortality. Nunnally, however, merely seemed thoughtful.


"Enlightening as this is, none of it means that Lady Stadtfeld is partially Japanese by birth. After all, much of your evidence could describe us equally well, as far as our 'official records' and our familiarities with the local tongue go," Nunnally pointed out, "and just because she has earned the loyalty of the locals does not make her a native."


"True," Lelouch conceded, "and I will admit that she certainly doesn't look Japanese, not even a jot. At this point, however, I would argue that the distinction is irrelevant. Whatever the case, Kallen is tightly bound to a group willing to open fire on a group of obvious soldiers if they posed a threat to her. That's not the kind of loyalty or dedication that just comes from an ordinary charity, and certainly not the kind of loyalty a teenage noble can earn in a few months."


"Hmm… If she is the one truly responsible for creating this organization, one that just so happened to employ dedicated Japanese, instead of Honorary Britannians who could easily become indebted to her…" Nunnally hummed thoughtfully as she trailed off, tapping her chair with her free hand as she considered the possibilities. "I still say Kallen has a good heart, but I do understand the reasons for your concern, Big Brother."


"So, to conclude," Lelouch said, "Kallen has somehow acquired the loyalty of a group of Japanese insurgents, a loyalty that is reciprocated, probably due to her mixed blood. Despite her obviously shaky loyalty to the Empire, the Peelers have been convinced through some unknown method to look the other way on her… indiscretions. This already made her a very dangerous person before our very own Major Pitt revealed her to be a natural ace Knightmare pilot. She is also very clearly a deeply angry person.


"I trust," Lelouch said, looking around the room, "that you understand my concerns."


"Well… maybe she can be talked around?" Milly's tone betrayed her desperation. "I mean, if she's got people she's close with, maybe… Maybe she isn't out for revenge? I mean, surely she's got better targets then… then…"


"...Then a school crammed with the children of the moneyed elite profiting off her people's suffering?" Lelouch finished for her. "No, Milly… I… I remember that day, that month… I remember…"


The smoke filled the sky, entire cities turned into mass funeral pyres, carrying the souls of murdered millions up to their impotent goddess. The feral dogs yelping and burrowing into the rubble, slat-sided with hunger. The stench of decay wafted up from those holes into the unquiet tombs of the dead, homes smashed down by distant cruel hands onto entire families, wiping out lineages in moments.


"She will want her revenge," Lelouch continued, speaking just as much to explain the danger to Milly as to keep his throat open, his tongue moving, his mind distracted from memories now six years old. "However kind her heart may be, the ruin Britannia has likely brought to her has certainly given her ample cause to hate the Empire with all her soul. Considering the damage the Empire has inflicted, can you blame her for such anger?"


"Big Brother…" Nunnally said, an unbearably sad look on her face as she took his hand in both of hers. "You don't know that. You are merely speculating. Not everyone is out for revenge, some people just want to help a noble cause."


"In this instance, dear sister, I worry that the difference between those two is not so clear cut," Lelouch replied with a heavy heart. "Even if Kallen were a saint, it is not as if Britannia has not provided her with a bounty of sinners against which she can direct her righteous anger."


"Including me," Milly muttered in a hollow voice. "This whole time, I've just been convincing her to hate me, haven't I?"


"I…would not put it quite like that, but…" Lelouch grimaced. It was difficult to deny the obvious.


"But what else can I say?" Milly snarled. "If Kallen is Japanese, then everything I've been doing to be 'nice' has done nothing but make me the face of everything she probably hates about us!"


"We don't know that!" Lelouch hastily pointed out, briefly wondering how he had become the one arguing against pessimistic paranoia. "All my evidence is circumstantial at best! I'll admit, it could be a problem, but-"


"But she said it herself!" Milly cried. "She hates me for being a puppet master! Because I-" Milly cut herself off with a choked sob. "Nunnally was right, I never asked what she wanted. I never really thought about who Kallen was or what her heart was like. I just… forced myself on her, like Britannia forced itself on her life."


"When she was about to go up onto that stage today, I…I said she was growing into a splendid young Britannian flower, Lelouch," Milly looked up, eyes haunted by the realization. "If she's the ticking time bomb you think she is, I'm the one who's been winding her up."


Lelouch found his victory over Milly utterly cold, the taste sickening in his mouth.


"Well… I must say that Kallen seems to have a commendable reservoir of self-control," Nunnally commented half a minute later, making a valiant attempt to break the silence and force the conversation back on track. "Kallen, excuse me, Lady Stadtfeld, that is. Truly impressive. It will take a meaningful apology to make this right."


"Well… I suppose that is the next topic, regardless of what Kallen is actually up to outside of school grounds," Lelouch replied, pulling out a chair and taking a seat next to his sister at the table. "I do not believe that a simple sorry is going to be enough here; we need to offer Kallen something of value to both make things right, and to avoid any… lapse in control."


"It's probably best if I'm not the one to deliver that apology," Milly said gloomily, "I… I don't think she'd take it well. Lelouch?"


"I would be happy to help you out, Madam President," he replied, earning a pleased smile from Nunnally. "I can deliver that apology when I welcome her onto the Student Council. It would probably be best if that welcome were a one-on-one affair; Lady Stadtfeld does not strike me as a party person. Certainly not a fan of surprise parties, above all else."


"...Yes, probably for the best," Milly agreed, an admission that must have hurt coming from the party queen herself. "So, what do you get for a noble lady who hates her country?"


For a moment, Lelouch entertained the idea of giving an honest answer. Between the Ashford's assets, their own checkered history with the throne, and their ex-noble status, he supposed something could be arranged. After all, the Ashford Patriarch had already committed sedition when he had kept the vi Britannias hidden, instead of handing them back over to That Man.


Of course, that's a rather simplistic way of evaluating the matter; aiding a pair of disinherited royals is a far cry from providing material support to a Number rebellion.


"If I might make a suggestion," Nunnally chimed in, "she would almost certainly appreciate some help with her records, as well as a copy of our current file for her own perusal. Especially since Big Brother was easily able to find some discrepancies. It would demonstrate a willingness to help her secrets stay just that – secret."


"That would be easy to accomplish," Lelouch added, with Milly nodding in agreement. "Honestly, I could probably go even further with the same idea; if the Knightpolice have already been told not to investigate the contents of her folder, I doubt anybody would pay much attention to some subtle editing of the contents. After all, there is really no reason for our earnest protectors to know when a young lady chooses to visit her family, is there?"


"None at all, Big Brother," Nunnally agreed with an angelic smile. "Indeed, I feel like those gentlemen were quite crass in their observation of Lady Stadtfeld. Do you think you could help them make amends for their indiscretions?"


"That could be a bit more difficult," Lelouch admitted, rubbing his chin, "but on the other hand, the Peelers have never been the best at information security. I happened to hear that Kallen's pet "benevolent association" was experiencing some money problems… Do you think a donation would be adequate amends, dear sister?"


"Oh? Just happened to hear that, did you?" Milly smirked from her end of the table. "You certainly were very thorough in your investigations, weren't you, Lulu? You really probed Kallen's background very deeply…"


Lelouch ignored Milly's harmless provocations and stood up from the table. "And on that note, I believe we have a plan. Milly, you owe me for this."


"Sure, sure." The languid mask of the Queen Bee of Ashford was well and truly back in place. "You know I'm always happy to do anything that might make you happy, Lelouch."


"Except, of course, for your own share of the Council's paperwork," Nunally interjected helpfully. "Really, Milly, it is quite rude how much of Big Brother's time you take up. I need some Lelouch time as well! And Sayoko is ever so sad when he stays out late, slaving over the budget!"


"Hey, that's not because of me!" Milly protested with faux indignation. "You should check some smokey den of gamblers and thieves if you really want to make Sayoko happy by having him back by curfew!"


Being the master of strategy that he was, Lelouch knew instantly that there was no way to fend off the combined teasing efforts of his sister and his hostess. "I will get started on our conciliatory gift to Kallen," he said, retreating from the conference room, "plenty of work to be done, after all. A good day to you both, Madam President, Madam Junior President."


Nunnally's peals of delighted laughter followed him out into the hallway as the door swung shut, and Lelouch smiled at the sound as he began trudging his way back up to the apartment. He sincerely hoped that Kallen would enjoy the gift and take it in the spirit intended, burying the hatchet. He quite liked Milly and enjoyed how Nunnally came alive around her.


It would be a shame if it became necessary to prevent Kallen from disturbing that happiness.


MAY 6, 2016 ATB
ASHFORD ACADEMY, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1240


The view from the roof of Ashford Academy was, as always, distinctly lacking, in Lelouch's opinion. The trendier neighborhoods of the Tokyo Settlement, home to the upper crust of the commons and the lower orders of the nobility, stretched out to the east towards the looming edifice of the Britannian Concession squatting atop its gargantuan platform. Looking out from the roof of the Science Wing, a casual viewer could believe themselves back in the Homeland.


Britannia, as far as the eye can see! So much progress yet so little taste. So much construction, yet utterly devoid of anything that could be called architecture.


It would almost be farcical if it were not for all the bones beneath the foundations of those shining halls, not to mention the jagged spires of broken Tokyo, still rusting in place, six years after the old city's murder.


To the north, the prosperous neighborhoods extended a bit further before gradually tapering off into the more working-class neighborhoods and finally out into the Honorary Britannian districts. Barely visible over the hodgepodge of two to four-story structures, residential and industrial and commercial all jumbled up, the walls of the Shinjuku Ghetto cowered against the horizon, peeping out towards the Concession like a dog afraid of being beaten.


How ironic that the walls of the ghetto were raised by those caged within? The same hands that laid down the piling for the stilts also poured the concrete slabs that were raised around their refugee camp turned open-air prison.


Lelouch often came up to the roof to think. He had always had an affinity for high places, even back in childhood, when he had scrambled onto the widow's walk atop the Aries Palace to survey the grounds. He had watched the chain gangs of newly christened Elevens raise the walls around Shinjuku five years ago, standing on the roof of the expropriated home purchased by Ruben Ashford as his temporary residence. He had wondered then if one of the tiny figures toiling away was Suzaku, beaten and forced into submission.


I had half-hoped that would be the case, for it would have meant that he was still alive. I suppose in a way that hope has been fulfilled. I suppose there is a lesson in that, if I squint hard enough to see it.


Four days ago, Lelouch had seen his best friend again for the first time in years. It had not been the reunion he had dreamt of; although Suzaku was Nunnally's friend as well, Lelouch had yet to tell her that he had seen the other boy alive and… well, he supposed.


At the very least, Lelouch thought, leaning on the railing guarding the roof's edge, I saw that he was alive. I am not sure if I can describe the man I saw menace supposedly unarmed civilians mentally well. Suzaku… What happened to you?


That was the question indeed. What had happened to Suzaku, after Lelouch had bid him return to his father? Three weeks after Suzaku had promised eternal friendship and left, the Britannians had broadcast the news of Prime Minister Kururugi's suicide, helicopters flying overhead dropping leaflets as radios boomed the announcement out on all frequencies.


For his part, Lelouch had doubted that the Kururugi patriarch had ordered a general surrender before taking his life. That did not mesh with the man who had been his reluctant host for a year. Lelouch had found it far more likely That Man had ordered the assassination of Kururugi Genbuu and had falsely claimed the surrender, destroying Japanese leadership and morale in a single fell swoop. At the time, he could only assume that Suzaku had joined his father in the grave.


But that was clearly not the case, because Corporal Kururugi was unquestionably Suzaku. But, while the Suzaku Lelouch had known was a pigheaded, violent pain in the ass, obsessed with honor and rules, he was also a kind boy who had endless patience for Nunnally, who always strove to be the best, and who had eagerly joined a young exiled prince in petty childhood mischiefs, such as filling Todoh's gi with itching powder.


I can still see the edges of that boy in the soldier he has become if I squint hard enough.


Behind Lelouch, the door to the rooftop opened and the reason why he was up on the roof thinking about Suzaku stepped out, eyes wary and stiff in her new uniform.


"So," Kallen Stadtfeld said, her level tone conveying a calm professionalism that almost successfully hid her simmering anger from Lelouch's educated ears. "If Milly put you up to this, please just tell me right now. You can consider your job completed and message delivered, and I'll have enough time to enjoy my sandwich in peace."


"Congratulations on your ceremony, Cadet Sergeant Stadtfeld," Lelouch replied in lieu of an answer, turning from the railing to face his classmate. "I do not believe that it is precisely common for cadets to be promoted two grades before their first day of training, not even for noble cadets. That is quite the accomplishment indeed."


"Thanks," she replied curtly, "I'm honored. Was that all?"


"Not quite," Lelouch said as Kallen half-turned back towards the door. "As the highest-ranking cadet enrolled at Ashford, you are also the first leader of the newly founded Ashford ROTC. Has Major Pitt already gone over your responsibilities?"


"Not… yet," Kallen admitted, her lips twisting with momentary distaste. "I have a meeting scheduled with him after school, though, so maybe that's when he'll tell me what exactly being a 'cadet sergeant' entails. I would have appreciated the warning and maybe an explanation…"


You and me both, Stadtfeld. Although at least Milly doesn't demand that I salute when she gives orders. Not usually, anyway.


"Sprung it on you, did he?" Lelouch asked sympathetically. "Well, I cannot claim much insight into the ROTC, not exactly being a military man myself," he smirked at his own self-depreciation, "but I did want to let you know that, as the leader of the ROTC, you have a seat on the Student Council."


Momentary surprise flashed to annoyance. "Wha-? Fuck, of course I do," she muttered, clearly irritated, "Dammit… Seriously, is there anything at this damned school that Milly doesn't somehow control?"


"Funny you should mention that, Cadet Sergeant," Lelouch couldn't help but smirk at the irony of her comment. "The ROTC is at the Academy by decree of Prince Clovis, and such it is well outside the purview of what the Ashfords can command."


Lelouch's smile turned apologetic as he continued. "Much as you may believe otherwise, your addition to the Council as the voice of the ROTC is not one of her machinations. In fact, you can thank your new commanding officer for this particular obligation. He was quite insistent that the ROTC should have the opportunity to speak for the most patriotic students enrolled at Ashford Academy. Which, I suppose, means you."


Kallen drew herself up, and for a moment Lelouch worried that she was about to do something unwise, but instead, she released her mounting frustration in a controlled huff halfway between a sigh and a growl.


"I… see," Kallen carefully enunciated through grit teeth. She forced a smile at him, boiling rage locked tight behind a brittlely thin mask of gratitude. "Thank you for the… information, Lelouch. It seems we shall be colleagues soon enough."


How did Milly fail to notice her anger? Lelouch marveled. To him, Kallen's attempts to conceal her feelings behind smiles and small talk were decidedly wooden and transparent to the point of obviousness. Perhaps she is still shaken from the ceremony? It would be understandable if my deductions about her political loyalties are anything close to accurate.


"Indeed… So, welcome to the Student Committee, Cadet Sergeant Stadtfeld," Lelouch said with a smile full of sympathy. "Actually, do you mind if I call you Kallen? The title is frankly a bit much."


Kallen's brow furrowed, her mask strained yet further by the naked suspicion dancing in her eyes. Lelouch could practically feel the brush of her scalpel-like glare against his skin as she scanned him up and down, searching for hidden motives and potential threats.


Oh, Milly, Lelouch chided internally, you had no idea of just how dangerous the beast you were prodding this whole time was, did you?


"...Sure," Kallen eventually allowed, sliding back into the mask of the casual noble cadet with effort. "It's just a stuffy rank, anyways, don't worry about it." She shrugged. "Besides, we're gonna be working together soon enough anyways, aren't we? Standing on ceremony sounds like it'd just get in the way."


"True enough, Kallen," said Lelouch, "and that brings me to another matter. While I was getting your council membership paperwork organized – you get a small, discretionary salary as a sitting member, by the way – I happened to come across a few small irregularities in your Academy records."


Kallen's breath stilled, the potent energy that had swirled around her since she had stepped through the door abruptly focused entirely on Lelouch. The sudden air of menace was almost palpable.


And without even lifting a finger! Quite impressive, really.


"And what," Kallen asked, her voice very careful, very contained, "irregularities did you find, Mister Vice President?"


"Lelouch, please," he replied with a casual smile.


It would be best, I think, to humanize myself in her eyes as quickly as possible. And to let her know that people know where I am.


"Do not worry overly much, Kallen," Lelouch continued. "I even asked my little sister if she thought there would be any issues from the minor clerical errors I spotted before I took her to her classes this morning. She assured me that all would be well."


"How… reassuring."


The noble cadet and secret dissident looked anything but reassured. Her face had all the mobility and warmth of porcelain, and Lelouch noticed that her fists were tightly balled at the sides of her uniform's gray skirt. The vibrant red hair under her garrison cap practically screamed warnings to his animal brain to stay away and not to touch under any circumstances.


She looks just like Cornelia, only slightly less headstrong.


"Well, I am sure you will be happy to hear that all of those clerical errors have been addressed," Lelouch blithely continued, pretending that he hadn't noticed how her eyes had fixated on his throat. "None other than yours truly corrected your record at the Academy. I took the liberty of running off a complete copy of your new, accurate school record for you to peruse."


Taking a very small gamble – they were still on school grounds, after all, and he doubted she would murder him in the middle of the lunch hour – Lelouch turned his back on the simmering girl and stepped over to the valise he had left leaning against the rail. As he reached down, he slowed and carefully twisted just enough so Kallen could watch him reach into the satchel and withdraw a folder.


"Here we go!" Lelouch said cheerfully as he returned, deliberately not noticing how one of her hands was slowly creeping back into sight from behind her back, "One copy of the Academy records of Kallen Stadtfeld. Now with corrected information regarding your middle school attendance, your mother's marriage date to your father, and also with updated medical records to reflect your problems earlier this year."


Kallen's eyes narrowed as she accepted the folder from him, and she barely looked down as she flipped the folder open.


So, now she knows that I know that her records are fabricated. She also knows that I have gone out of my way to cover for her. I think her reaction will be… suspicion.


"That was very kind of you, Lelouch," Kallen replied, her voice notably less than gracious. "Although, I can't help but think that there could be some problems in the future when someone contrasts my Academy file with the Ministry of Education's files. Also, while I'm not questioning your word, if the Academy's files are so easy to mess with, how can I be sure that someone with enough access like, say, the Council President wouldn't be able to screw with them again?"


"By wondrous design," Lelouch said breezily, "the Ministry's records were recently updated to reflect data corrections submitted by some of Japan's, I'm sorry, Area 11's educational facilities. As for future interference, well…" He grimaced slightly. "Look, to be forthright about this, Milly unquestionably acted dishonorably towards you. Multiple times. But, she wants to make this right. Whose access code do you think I used when I edited your files?"


When she forgets to pretend to be a noble, Lelouch mused as Kallen's eyes flew wide at his "accidental" slip of the tongue, before narrowing in anger at her tormentor's name, she has an amazingly expressive face. She would have been devoured alive by the Court in an afternoon. Figuratively speaking, of course. Probably.


"If I don't accept this apology…" Kallen ground out, "what then? Will Madam President somehow arrange for me to fail a test? Contrive to force me into some humiliating and revealing costume? Put me up for grabs again?"


Oh, Milly… Lelouch almost sighed, you really did a number on this girl. All in the name of "fun".


I hope you've learned your lesson.


"If you do not accept her apology, it will simply create an awkward work environment," Lelouch replied calmly, carefully pitching his voice towards honest openness. "I understand that Milly is difficult at the best of times – truly, I do. But, and I say this as the other person she put up for grabs recently, she truly is not a bad person. Spoiled? Yes. Thoughtless? Often? Over-sexed and bored? Always. But you will be on the Student Council with her, Kallen, unless you can convince Major Pitt otherwise."


"...I wonder if the Army would just let me transfer schools?" Kallen thought aloud. "I know most of the other schools here in Area 11 suck, but…"


"I think Major Pitt would allow a great deal," Lelouch carefully answered, "but… Tell me, Kallen, do you think a man like that would do you any favor for free?"


"Do I have any reason to believe this 'apology' from Milly is anything other than a noose around my neck and a pat on the head?" Kallen shot back. "My father sent me to this Academy in part to avoid the military meddling with his house. But that plan's dead and gone, thanks to Milly's kind assistance, so…"


Kallen's smile was anything but nice. "So, what do I have to lose?"


"That…" Lelouch began, carefully recalculating, "...is a fair point, and I can see why you might see things that way, but I do not think sitting on the Student Council will be quite as bad as you expect. Rivalz will be there, for one, as will I. Milly did not understand before quite how she was affecting you, but she has been made to see the error in her ways. Before you consider transferring, kindly give us a shot. You might even enjoy yourself."


"...Why are you giving me the hard sell here?" Kallen asked as the pendulum swung back to suspicion. "What's in it for you, Lelouch? Why are you so eager for me to join your Council?"


I doubt she would respond well to my reasoning, namely "Knights of the Round grade pilots don't just fall from the sky, and I plan on making you my tool."


"Because I think that you and I combined can effectively check most of Milly's more outrageous ideas," Lelouch responded instead. "Rivalz is quite impressed by you, impressed enough that he might resist Milly's charms if you ask him for your support. Between my role as Vice President and his role as Treasurer of the Student Council, the three of us should be able to put the kibosh on most of her inane impulses. Just imagine it, an Ashford Academy without weekly parties!"


Lelouch had hoped that the remark would help open a chink in her armor. Humor was, after all, an invaluable diplomatic weapon, when wielded correctly.


Instead, Kallen gave him a long, slow, blink.


…Well, it might be time for plan C. Lelouch thought, sure she was about to refuse.


But then she surprised him.


"...Alright, fine, whatever," Kallen sighed. "I'll attend a few meetings. But! If that bitch tries to grab my chest even once, I am going to smash her perfect fucking teeth out of her stupid fucking face, understand?"


Clearly, Kallen wasn't entirely sold by his pitch, but that she was still willing to play ball at all meant Lelouch wasn't out of the game quite yet. And if I have an inch, I'll take a mile.


"Like crystal," Lelouch replied with a smile of his own, stretching out a hand. "Welcome to the Student Council, Kallen. Together, we shall do great things."


And if I can truly bring you into my confidence, perhaps a noble Britannian junior officer with sympathies for the Japanese can do what I cannot. I would not have survived without Suzaku's help, I am sure of that. I cannot repay the favor to save him from his own bad decisions now, but to a rising young ace, many doors are open.


I have not forgotten the fields of the dead, and I remember who brought food and water for Nunnally. Hold on, Suzaku – I was strong enough to carry Nunnally then, and soon I will be strong enough to carry you.


MAY 6, 2016 ATB
ALLEYWAY, KITA WARD, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1758


Long ago and far away, Alexander lo Britannia, the Eighth Prince and one of Lelouch's ten elder half-brothers, had scoffed at a then-seven-year-old Lelouch's claims of possessing a genius to rival their elder half-brother, Prince Schniezel's. Alexander, a thin bespectacled boy, had been very bookish, and just as Schneizel favored Chess as his intellectual battleground, Alexander had favored the memorization and recitation of long books.


"If you're so smart," Alexander had challenged, "memorize the entirety of the Holy Bible. Schneizel did as much when he was ten, and if you really are smarter than him, you should be able to do the same at seven!"


For the next three days, Lelouch had spent every free minute committing the old tome to his memory, preparing to defend his clearly obvious genius against his petulant elder half-brother. As it turned out, he need not have bothered; Alexander was found dead in his bedroom four days later, the skin around his mouth red and blistered. The very next day, nine servants and a guard had been proclaimed guilty of regicide and flayed for poisoning the Eighth Prince.


Emperor Charles, of course, hadn't attended either the mass flaying or Alexander's funeral.


But, Lelouch still had that book pressed into his memory. He'd had little reason to summon up his knowledge of the King James's text in the last nine years, but it was still there, squatting toadlike in the back of his head.


Alright, something about fish and the number eighteen… Mark one seventeen is the bit about "fishers of men", and Mark one eighteen is… "And straightaway they forsook their nets, and followed him." Which tells me nothing, but… Maybe the arrow was pointing past the puzzle?


Lelouch, back in the same working-class neighborhood he'd wandered into on Monday night, ventured deeper into the alley, walking past the cross half-hidden behind the dumpster as he looked for further paint in either the silver or the blue shades left near the entrance.


At an intersection with a larger alley, a smudge of powder blue in a vaguely arrow-like shape pointed Lelouch northwards. Two intersections down, a vague blob on a sewer grate gestured to the east. Lelouch, already tired of the game, pushed on regardless; he'd devoted enough time to this nonsense that the pressure of the sunk cost fallacy overmatched his mounting irritation.


Finally, after what felt like an endless series of hints that presumably would have been barely noticeable to someone without his observational skills and genius, Lelouch reached the end of his impromptu hash run in front of a set of stairs descending to the basement access. Checking his phone, Lelouch found that it was almost nineteen hundred already, and the streets were thronged with pedestrians.


I will have to come back again later, perhaps after nightfall, he decided. There are simply too many people around. But… That puzzle must be some sort of password or code, something to get in. When would they most likely meet, though? Sunday? That would be the most obvious day for a secret group of heretics or schismatics to meet…


Lelouch stepped back from the stairs and looked at the building the basement was under. Albert's Taphouse, eh? So a bar. It sounds like it's pretty busy in there… Makes sense for a Friday night. He walked up to the bar's entrance and peered at the paper menu taped to the inside of the windowed door. Next to the daily specials was a list of weekly events.


Lady's Night every Saturday from sixteen hundred until twenty-one hundred? No, that doesn't feel right… But bar trivia at twenty hundred, every Tuesday night, huh? Sounds like a bunch of traffic coming in and out… Good cover for any individual or group of any age… Perfect for an illicit basement meeting.


Well, Lelouch smiled to himself, I do enjoy a round of trivia now and again. I would just have to make sure that I avoid winning by too much… Actually, he frowned, I probably should not win; that would make me memorable. That's the last thing I want, and assuming that the group meeting in the basement has any organization, there will be someone watching the crowd, looking for police plants.


Which, he mused as he turned and started making his way back down the street, means that I should not come by myself either, as a single outsider could strike paranoid heretics as suspicious. Rivalz is probably out as well, as two strange young men are probably just as suspicious as one alone. But Milly, maybe? A young couple using a casual social event to facilitate a date? Now that has legs.


Besides, she does owe me for cleaning up her mess with Kallen. I'm sure she'll be happy to wipe the slate clean so quickly!


Milly picked up on the second ring.


"Hey there, Lulu," the Ashford heiress said by way of greeting, her voice sultry even over the phone's tinny speakers, "making a night-time call to little ol' me? How intriguing! I hope you aren't calling me with honorable intentions?"


"I am afraid that I will have to disappoint you," Lelouch chuckled, walking as he talked into the phone. "After all, when are my intentions ever anything less than honorable?"


"That's the disappointing part…" Milly sighed. "You know, you really could stand to be a bit more adventurous, Lulu. Just a bit."


Lelouch ignored the flare of annoyance with practiced ease, a swift rebuttal already on his lips. "I need to be more adventurous, hmm? Remind me, Milly, which one of us actually dares venture outside the campus to find their fun?"


He could practically hear her pout from the other end of the line. Lelouch didn't even bother to try and hide the smile it brought to his lips. "In fact, it was just the other day you were chiding me for braving the Black King's gambling halls while you sat around a boudoir, was it not?"


"Fiiiine!" Milly whined into his ear, "You made your point, Lulu! Forgive a delicate maiden such as myself for wanting to have a little fun with the Academy's very own tall, dark and charming bachelor! If I'd known you'd be so black-hearted as to spurn such a beautiful flower's advances as well as Shirley's, maybe I shouldn't have bothered?"


"Well," Lelouch said aloud, "ask and you shall receive, Milly. I have a sojourn to the Kita Ward planned for next Tuesday; an adventure, if you will. Would you care to be my plus one?"


"Oh my, so forward!" Milly all but purred in his ear. "You'd take an almost-noble girl like me out to such a rough and tumble place? What villainy do you have in mind? Something that would scandalize Shirley, I hope! Did you find a new dive to play cards in? Or perhaps it's a cockfighting ring this time?"


"Neither! Milly Ashford…" Lelouch grinned into the phone, injecting as much unwarranted seriousness into the invitation as he could, "would you do me the honor of joining me for a night of bar trivia?"


"...You cannot be serious," the disappointment in her sigh was bottomless, and Lelouch's grin grew an inch wider. "Bar trivia? Seriously, Lulu? Why the hell are you going to bar trivia?"


"We can discuss it further in person if you wish," he said, allowing the smile and silliness to slip away in favor of a more somber tone. "But just to keep things short, I want a good look at the inside of the basement of the bar in question. A young couple out for some school night fun seems less obviously suspicious than a lone man skulking around."


"Oh?" Predictably, the flirtatiousness returned to Milly's voice. "We'd be posing as a couple? Well, just so long as you know what you're getting into, Lulu; the great Milly Ashford is a method actress, you know~"


"I never kiss on a first date," Lelouch replied blandly.


"Who said it had to be our first~?" Milly purred in his ear. "I certainly don't intend for it to be our last~."


Lelouch sighed tiredly. "...Thanks Milly, I appreciate it."


"It's always a pleasure," she said warmly, "even if you are a tease. My, Shirley's going to be jealous~"


"Somehow, I doubt I will lose much sleep over it," Lelouch replied. The comment, intended as a casual dismissal, reminded him of a topic he had already been losing sleep over. "Hey, Milly?"


"What is it, Lelouch?" Milly had clearly noticed the change in his voice, her own growing equally serious.


"Do you…" He gulped. "Do you or your grandfather have any connections in the military?"


"Umm…" Milly hesitated. "You'll have to be more specific than that. Why? What do you need?"


"I have a friend," Lelouch began, "a friend from before… Before the Conquest. Before I accepted the hospitality of the House of Ashford. A… A Japanese friend. Recently, I discovered that he has, for some baffling reason, taken up the oath in one of the Honorary Legions."


"Oh… Oh, Lulu…" Milly's voice was instantly sympathetic and pitying. "I'm so sorry. But… I mean, chances are that he'll survive his stint. And ten years isn't too long. By the time it's up, things might have simmered down a bit…"


Good to know that we both suck at being reassuring.


"I am not content to take chances, not when I can avoid it," Lelouch replied dispassionately, pushing the instantaneous throb that the thought of losing another important person inspired back down. "However, I have limited means and no inroads into the military. On the other hand, the Ashford name still carries weight, at least in regards to Knightmare-related matters. Do you think that there could be any possibility that…?"


"I mean…" Milly sounded uneasy. "I guess there's always a chance? Grandpa has a pretty deep favor bank, so… possibly? But… C'mon, Lulu, they're not going to let an Honorary, especially not an Eleven Honorary, anywhere near a Knightmare."


"Just… try," he requested, hating the waver that entered his voice. "Please. It does not have to be with the Knightmare Corps; I would just be happy with his transfer to a unit not comprised solely of expendable cannon fodder. While I am confident that my friend will survive his term of service even in the Honorary Legion, I doubt that he will still be the person I remember by the end of it."


"...I can't promise anything, but I'll try," Milly agreed, sympathy warring with reluctance. "What's this friend's name? Do you know what his unit and rank are?"


I should have looked up the unit; it would not have been difficult to find his service record. But… I just could not bring myself to look for it. I did not want to know… Know what he had done in That Man's name.


"His family name is Kururugi," Lelouch said gratefully, "and his given name is Suzaku. I think I heard one of the soldiers I saw refer to him as Corporal. I do not know his unit; they were out of uniform when I saw them."


"Kururugi, eh?" Clearly, the name was not lost on Milly. "And a corporal? Man, the Legion has no idea who he is, do they? That's good, that'll help. I'll see what I can do."


"Thank you," Lelouch replied, and ended the call.


I have done what I can for Suzaku for now, and I have already spent my favor with Milly. I hope her grandfather can do something to save him because I surely cannot.


MAY 10, 2016 ATB
ALBERT'S TAPHOUSE, KITA WARD, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1948


By the time Milly and Lelouch arrived at the Taphouse, an impressive crowd had already gathered at the bar. The common area was practically standing room only, and the shared table the middle-aged waitress guided Milly towards only had a single seat available. Lelouch graciously pulled it out for his "date," before leaning against the wall behind her.


"New faces, eh?" A matronly woman greeted them with a tired yet cheerful from across the table. "Good to meet you, dearies. I'm Hilda, and this is my husband, Charles."


"Here for some trivia, eh?" A slender man with the shiny burns and thick calluses of a machinist waved from Hilda's right. "What're you kids good for, hmm? I'm pretty good at football trivia myself, and the missus knows everything there is to know about the soaps and shows."


"It's good to meet you guys too!" Milly beamed. "I'm Milly, and this is Leland. I'm pretty good at botany, biology, and all kinds of anatomy! Oh, and I watch a ton of TV too, so I can help you out, Hilda!"


"And I have a pretty solid command of history," Lelouch put in, leaning forwards onto the back of Milly's chair and resting his hands on her shoulders. "We cover each other's weaknesses quite nicely! I am certain that tonight, we shall triumph!"


"Quite right!" The wire-thin man across Charles put in, bright eyes blazing under a manic shock of hair as he turned to greet the newcomers. "The name's Havelock, and if you want any poetry or literary trivia, I'm your man!"


"Do you guys have a team name or anything?" Milly asked as Lelouch waved down the waitress. "And who's asking the questions tonight, do you know?"


"Ah, your first time?" Hilda asked with a knowing chuckle. "Not to worry, dearies, we're always looking for fresh blood. Old Tim always asks the questions, and we don't do team names – each of the tables is numbered, so we just go those instead."


"Didn't always use to be that way," Havelock interjected. "Used to be that everybody would spend a good fifteen, twenty minutes hashing out the names! But, as always, some young prick got all pissy about it and tried to glass his buddy when they just couldn't agree, so the table number is the house rule now."


"My, how violent!" Milly gasped theatrically behind her hand, miming a worried glance up at Lelouch. Familiarity made the dancing sparks of interest in her eye impossible to miss. "Glassing… That's when someone breaks a bottle and slashes someone with it, right? What happened? Was he okay?"


Nothing like a bit of danger to inject a note of adventure, Lelouch thought wryly. And Milly certainly loves her adventures.


"Mhm." Charles nodded, lips tightening momentarily. "Smashed a pint glass over the poor devil's head. Damned mess to clean up. But the Peelers showed up soon enough to haul the bastard away, and Doc Lawn got the glass out of the other man's scalp. Damn eventful for a Tuesday night, I tell you."


"Quite," Lelouch replied as the order of fried onions arrived. "Here, help yourselves, everybody. Thank you for letting Milly and I join you for the night."


"Thanks, Leland!" Havelock didn't wait for any further invitation, and as a second platter of fried onions and a round of cheap beer for the adults and cokes for the two sixteen-year-olds arrived, the small talk turned increasingly amiable.


By the time Old Tim stepped up to the ancient microphone to start the Trivia Night in earnest, Milly already had all three of the locals eating out of her palm, to Lelouch's amusement. She had dressed them both up as commoners for the night with an efficiency and a deft touch that he should have expected in hindsight, considering her love of costumes.


Interestingly, away from Ashford Academy and everybody who knew her as Milly Ashford apart from himself, Milly had chosen a very demure outfit, contrary to Lelouch's expectations. Her long skirt was loose and reached all the way down to the middle of her calves, and the shawl draped over her blouse covered up any stray hint of skin. Not that there were any, as she had buttoned said blouse all the way to the neckline.


Honestly, I think the modest outfit would shock our classmates more than the Queen of Ashford lowering herself to a blue-collar bar.


Disguises aside, it was surprisingly easy for Lelouch to allow himself to slip into "Leland", the pleasant and polite student and amateur historian. The role felt light on his shoulders and it gave him a reason to feign ignorance about most of the questions asked. By forcing himself to only give input on questions relating to history, Lelouch was proud that his team was in second place by the end of the round, narrowly avoiding the first-place slot.


The only downside was how… persistent Milly was in sticking to her self-assigned role as his girlfriend.


When someone at another table had left, Havelock had managed to snag their chair and had offered it to Lelouch so he could sit down. No sooner had he taken his seat than Milly had hopped up from her chair and deposited herself in his lap, to the men's approving laughter and Hilda's tolerant smile. Before Lelouch could protest, Havelock had slid the now-vacant chair back over to the other table, leaving him with a lapful of smiling Student Council President.


Then came the long, soulful stares when Old Tim had asked about some soap opera relationship, which character had left his wife for his mistress or some rot. Then had come her fanciful nonsense when Hilda had asked how they had met. Apparently, "Leland and Milly" were childhood friends who had been briefly separated by a parental move before they had reunited in Area 11, a triumph of young love, to hear Milly tell it.


Hilda had been properly appreciative, cooing in all the right spots. Lelouch had been less enthusiastic, although he had managed to play his irritation off as coy shyness.


To his mild horror, Havelock had been very sympathetic when Milly had hopped off to use the ladies' room.


"Enjoy it while it lasts, lad," he'd advised, clapping "Leland" on the shoulder with surprising strength for such a thin man. "Birds come and they go, and scarcely do they linger on a branch for long. Just don't let that one tie you up in too many knots, okay? Sometimes," he winked, "they like to be chased, you know. Just so long as it's on their terms."


Thankfully, before Lelouch had been forced to try to respond to that, Hilda had ridden to his rescue.


"Havelock Smythe, you horrible man, what nonsense are you putting in that boy's brain!" Her spoon had smacked down into the table beside Havelock's hand, causing the man to jump in his chair. "Damned poets!"


Fortunately, by the time the third round had begun, Lelouch had managed to escape into a second chair, freeing himself temporarily from Milly's admittedly convincing acting. That acting served as an excellent smokescreen, allowing "Leland" to steadily retreat away from the conversation as Milly chatted on.


By the time they secured third place, in no small part thanks to Lelouch's iron self-control stopping him from providing all of the answers to his teammates, Milly was deep into a conversation with Hilda about some convoluted television plot Lelouch couldn't even begin to make out. Meanwhile, Charles and Havelock were bitching about some unknown party. Seizing his chance, Lelouch muttered something about paying for the appetizers and slipped away from the table, leaving Milly to hold all attention firmly in place.


The bartender was, to say the least, unwelcoming.


"...Whaddya want, kid?" His accent was pure Pendragon, revealing the man's Homeland heritage. "You hear to settle?"


"Yes sir," Lelouch smiled as he fished a few pound coins out of his pocket. "The onions were quite good."


"Good to hear it," the bartender muttered as he pushed a grubby note across the stained wooden surface of the bar. "Three and ten, please."


"Here you go," Lelouch dropped five of the worn coins onto the receipt and pushed the paper back across the counter. "I was kind of disappointed that you did not have any calamari available, though. I guess the fishermen forsook their nets for the night, eh? They must have followed some loudmouth off to other engagements."


The bartender frowned for a moment, presumably wondering what Lelouch was on about since calamari rings were very clearly listed on the appetizers. Then, his expression went blank again, as placid as a lake. "Could be the case. You know how it is, someone sees some sign and decides to upend their whole life over it. They get it in their head to go out and conquer the world."


As the bartender spoke, he wrung out a wet rag on the bar in front of Lelouch. Without breaking eye contact, Lelouch drew a very sloppy Chi-Rho with the water droplets, before the rag swished back and wiped away the symbol.


"Past the bathrooms and down the stairs," the bartender said in a conversational tone, a non sequitur to anybody not in the know. "Mind your head – there's a bump halfway down."


"Many thanks," Lelouch tapped a finger to his forehead as if miming a salute, before letting his fingers drop straight down to brush over his lips. The bartender mimed touching his heart and nodded, and Lelouch walked past him into the dimly lit back corridor.


The hallway was thankfully deserted and Lelouch quickly found the splintered wooden door marked "Stairs" just past the restrooms, tucked away behind a pile of empty crates. The only sign that anybody had slipped past the crates in recent memory was the lack of grime where the opening door had pushed it back.


Without so much as a single backward look, Lelouch stepped around the accumulated crates, turned the knob, and quietly slipped past the door into the darkness beyond.


Confidence is the key. The most crucial part of any disguise was the confidence that you were who you claimed to be. It had been that way everywhere Lelouch had gone in life, from the Imperial Court to the shattered post-Conquest streets of Hachioji. And now, by sign and by signal, I have told whoever is down in the basement that I am one of them. Therefore, I am coming home, not plunging into danger. Confidence.


Halfway down the stairs, Lelouch was forced to duck under a low-hanging HVAC conduit.


Just like the barman warned me about, he thought with amusement, rubbing at his aching forehead, although not quite the way I had expected. With all of those double-meanings we were tossing around, I expected "the bump" I should watch for would be a man with a baton. I suppose that was not, in fact, part of the skullduggery.


The basement Lelouch stepped out into was built of dingy red bricks and had clearly seen long service as the storage room for the bar's excess inventory before it had found a new purpose. His eyes darted from the twenty-odd people standing around the basement clearly waiting for someone to show up to the obvious altar standing at the head of the room, if such a term could be used to describe a pair of boards on top of a keg draped in a tablecloth.


Above the altar, an old banner hung from a nail driven into the brickwork. The white linen had yellowed with age, but the embroidered device still retained its original colors of red, white, and blue.


It was unmistakably the same shield he had previously found painted on a wall, picked out in fine stitchwork instead of crude spray paint. The red of Saint George's cross gleamed against the pure white inlay, the symbols of the Chi-Rho and the letters Alpha and Omega contrasted against cerulean blue quartering.


The old church sign!


It was a symbol from a different Britannia, a Britannia that existed before the Emblem of Blood. When Baudoin du Britannia, 92nd Emperor of Britannia, had been assassinated in 1955, it kicked off a struggle for the throne that would not be fully resolved until That Man brought the conflict to a shuddering stop in 1998. The Britannia that emerged from the calamitous four-decade-long succession struggle was a very different creature from what it had once been.


Virtually every source of legitimacy had been demolished over those long, bloody years, including the old Britannic Church. Long a handmaiden of the Imperial Family, as the various dynastic branches fought for the throne the ecclesiastical hierarchy likewise ripped each other asunder. In the end, Bishop Warren of Tucson had backed the right horse in Charles zi Britannia and had been elevated to the position of Archbishop of Rochester and Chief Primate of the Britannic Church.


A match made in Hell, if ever there was one.


The religious reforms had been just as overarching as the temporal reforms. As That Man ruthlessly re-centralized power and brought nobles who had grown used to their freedoms back to heel, Archbishop Warren had made crucial changes to church doctrine, including the open embrace of polygamy, long an informal practice but never officially sanctioned, and the enshrining of the Emperor as the living voice of God in the temporal realm.


There had been, of course, protesting voices and dissidents pushing back on the radical new doctrine. Those voices had been branded heretics and had been executed as the heretics they now were. Drowned, beheaded, staked, and burned, Archbishop Warren had been ruthless in rooting out any old believing clergy unwilling or unable to go underground.


And now, Lelouch thought as he looked up at the aged banner that had, in all probability, once graced the wall of a parish church, the remnants hide among the settlers in the newly conquered Areas in the Pacific, or in the jungles of Areas 6 and 7 amongst the Catholic insurgents. All the while preaching of the day when a true king shall come to reopen the Emblem of Blood and cast down the usurper.


I can work with this.


Drawing on old lessons from his childhood spent as a prince of a holy empire, and thus required to attend public devotions on the high holidays, Lelouch drew himself up straight and, defying the orthodoxy of his childhood, raised the first two fingers – one straight and one slightly bent, thumb folded just so – to his forehead, before brushing down over his lips and down to his heart. Then, oriented towards the banner, he bowed low from the waist and crossed himself on rising.


A gentle sigh of collective relief drifted from the small crowd as he made the appropriate ritual genuflection. Hands relaxed around copies of the Book of Common Prayer and the few whose hands had slipped out of sight as Lelouch came down the stairs released whatever they had secreted in their pockets.


A man stepped out from the crowd. "Peace be with you," he said, greeting Lelouch with a smile and an outstretched hand.


"And also with you," Lelouch replied, shaking the proffered hand before adding, "and upon all who gather here in congregation."


"We're still waiting on Father Timothy," the man explained as he guided Lelouch towards the gathered knot of people, away from the stairs. "He usually takes his time. But, in the meantime, you can call me Brother Phillip. What name do you choose to worship under, Brother?"


Assumed names to introduce distance, in case one or more are found, Lelouch assumed. Some of them were probably in the crowd upstairs, and one could have heard me introduce myself as Leland, so that is not an option if I want to appear to be a savvy fellow traveler. So, what should I use?


Remembering the elder half-sibling who had challenged him to memorize the Bible, who had inadvertently given him the tools to find this meeting, Lelouch promptly replied "Brother Alexander, if you please."


"Good to meet you, Brother Alexander," Phillip said, his flashing white teeth a sharp contrast against his dark skin. "You can share my Book for the service if you'd like?"


"Thank you," Lelouch replied politely, "I'd appreciate that." He looked down at the rough cement floor. "Pardon me for asking, but…" he gestured towards the unyielding surface, "are we kneeling on that?"


"Not hardly," Phillip chuckled. "There's a pile of old seat cushions in the back corner. Just make sure to put whatever you take back afterward."


As Lelouch returned to Phillip's side, an old cushion spilling foam from busted seams tucked under his arm, an old man hobbled his way down the last step of the stairs. Judging by the carefully cleaned and bleached Roman collar around his neck and the much-mended but fraying stole around his neck, Lelouch deduced that the old man was the awaited Father Timothy.


Or as Havelock and Charles might call him, Old Tim. Lelouch smiled, shaking his head. A schismatic priest conducting a bar trivia night! Splendid, splendid. Although, he reflected as Father Timothy coughed wetly into his sleeve, time has clearly not been kind to this old priest.


For all that he was old and infirm, Father Timothy's voice was still quite robust as he raised his hands in benediction. "Light and peace, in Jesus Christ our Lord," he declared.


"Thanks be to God," the crowd replied as one, Lelouch mouthing the time-worn ritual response.


"Bless the Lord who forgives all our sins," Father Timothy continued, before plunging fully into a rite that was apparently "An Order of Worship for Evening Prayer," according to the title splashed across the page Phillip had open in his dogeared tome.


Lelouch let the words pass over him, facing forwards and appropriately attentive as his eyes passed over the heretics in attendance. Almost half were female and all, to a man, were obviously poor. Of the twenty-seven people in attendance, not counting himself or the priest, fifteen were gray with age and only two children were present.


And yet, one thing all have in common is the yearning hope writ large across their faces. They are all hungry for hope, for meaning, for a reason to look forward to the next day. And that old, sick man at the front is giving them just such a reason, even though his presentation skills are nonexistent and he stands one foot in the grave.


There is so much potential here if I can tap into it…


"And now," Father Timothy continued, his voice rough and cracked, "a reading from the Book of Isaiah:


"How is the faithful city become a harlot! It was full of judgment; righteousness lodged in it; but now murderers. Thy silver is become dross, thy wine mixed with water; Thy princes are rebellious, and companions of thieves: Every one loveth gifts, and followeth after rewards: they judge not the fatherless, neither doth the cause of the widow come unto them. Therefore, saith the Lord, the Lord of Hosts, the mighty One of Israel, Ah, I will ease me of mine adversaries and avenge mine enemies.*


"The word of the Lord."


"Thanks be to God," Lelouch chorused with the rest of the audience as the sermon began.


"Brothers and sisters, I will keep this brief." Father Timothy paused with a weary smile. "As the eighteenth year of this new Babylonian Captivity comes to a close, the news is bleak at every corner. The usurper sits on his bloody throne and his confederates turn Mother Church into a prostitute, as they have for nigh on two decades now. Every day brings us rumors of renewed purges of the faithful, of new martyrs brought to the ravenstone and bound to wheel or spike.


"And yet, brothers and sisters, I implore you to keep strong in your faith and to cling onto hope. Every day that passes with some new atrocity or blatant malfeasance from the princes of men weakens their foundation, though they know it naught. Everywhere, nobles and wealthy men scheme and steal and exploit. I tell you, in doing so they salt their own fields, and future harvests will rot in their hands!


"Likewise, the liars who wear miters and vestments gorge themselves as their parishioners starve. For all that our people were desperate for stability, desperate for room to breathe, they will not suffer depredations at the hands of their intended protectors forever. As the churches grow empty and tithes wither away, the whores who call themselves priests will grasp ever more greedily, and in doing so dig their own graves.


"But," Timothy paused and smiled out at his tiny flock. "You know this already, brothers and sisters. You have heard it all before, and the knowledge that our enemies cannot stand forever is scarce comfort when your bellies are empty and our brothers in Christ writhe beneath the bone-shattering blows of the rod and squirm helplessly as their limbs are braided about the spokes of the wheel. I know. I understand.


"I shall not lie to you, brothers and sisters; I doubt that most of us gathered here shall see the Promised Land reborn, cleansed of the rot and inequity that so plague our beloved Homeland. I certainly shall not – death is in my bones, and I doubt I will be with you to celebrate Christmas. And yet, I tell you, there is hope yet! The True Prince shall come, the one who shall sit on the throne and drown the traitors in their own blood! He shall come to us as was promised, shall renew the holy empire as the true Kingdom of God on Earth!


"I know not when he will come, brothers and sisters, but I am ironclad in my certainty that he already walks amongst us, that he sees our suffering and hears the cries of his people. The perversity that Charles the Usurper has wrought upon us demands justice, demands retribution, and our God would not deny us an instrument of his will to balance the scales.


"And so I say to you, brothers and sisters, as the spring gives way to summer and new life buds and grows – have faith! Hold on, my people, for our Heavenly Father will not long suffer a liar to sit in His chair and speak in His name! As surely as spring shall give way to autumn and autumn to winter, all that is man shall rot and decay, and our dross will be turned back to silver once more! Our reading goes on to promise the restoration of Zion, of our Pendragon!


"Brothers and sisters, truly I tell you, she will be redeemed with judgment! She will be converted with righteousness! All who have forsaken our Lord will be consumed! Liar-king and corrupt cleric alike, both shall burn, and nobody shall be able to put out the spark!"


A wrenching cough ripped its way out of Father Timothy's mouth, interrupting his sermon. Lelouch took the opportunity to glance sideways at Brother Phillip; the man's face was enraptured, his eyes aglow as he stared at Father Timothy.


"The word of God," Father Timothy forced out as another bout of coughing interrupted him, "for the people of God."


"Glory to you, Lord Christ." The reply of the congregation was fervent, a new fire breathed into them in the promises Father Timothy had made.


And nothing that Old Tim said is necessarily untrue, Lelouch considered, turning the brief sermon over in his mind. The empire is unquestionably riding for a fall; it is most obvious here in Japan, where all of the symptoms of imperial rot run rampant, but Clovis is merely a symptom of a larger failing, a decay that stems from That Man and him alone. He emerged victorious from the Emblem of Blood, but the Empire as a whole certainly did not. For all that Britannia rules a third of the world, she sits upon a crumbling foundation that no amount of conquest can mend.


Another man stepped up as Father Timothy was given a glass of water to drink, and the congregation duly recited the Nicene Creed and chanted a brief hymn on the theme of light. Finally, Father Timothy recovered enough to deliver the closing blessing, and the service drew to a close as the congregation chorused a final "Thanks be to God" in reply.


After thanking Phillip for the use of his book, Lelouch made his way over to where Father Timothy rested, leaning against the wall beside the banner of the Anglican Shield.


"That was quite the sermon, Rector," Lelouch said politely. "It's been quite a while since I heard such a passionately full-throated lesson."


Admittedly, that is because I have not attended a service since before Mother's passing. It is not as if the Britannic Church fully shuns fire and brimstone, after all.


"Thank you, young man…" Timothy smiled amiably up through his beard, but the cool intelligence in those rheumy eyes was not lost on Lelouch. "I don't think I've met you before, and yet, you clearly are familiar with the proper ways."


"I am," Lelouch replied with a deft smile, "from another flock than yours, yet follow the same shepherd. Or, at least, I was from another flock. I relocated to Tokyo from the Hiroshima Settlement a few months ago."


"Ah, I see!" The old man smiled, although the smile again didn't quite touch his wary eyes. "I rejoice that you found your way to us. Now, pardon an old man's curiosity, but your accent… I couldn't help but notice the traces of Pendragon…"


"My father hails from Pendragon," Lelouch replied honestly, "although my mother is from Area 2. I lived in Pendragon before orders came down that sent my family to Area 11."


"Ah, that would be it," Timothy nodded. "Forgive an old man's curiosity. It's not as if Pendragoner accents are exactly rare – lots of us came from the Homeland, after all – but just that combined with the touches of an aristocratic tone…"


"No worries," Lelouch said jovially. "My father is from a very minor noble family, but only barely; grandson of a third son, you see. He tried to squabble against the main branch for the family holdings back in the day, which played a role in how we ended up in Area 11."


"Lot of that going around," the old priest mused out loud. "Well then, my son, consider yourself welcome here."


"Thank you, Rector," Lelouch replied politely, probing carefully for an edge to carry the conversation along.


This is the man to impress; the congregation was practically eating out of his hands. If his health is as bad as he said it was, he is also vulnerable and without a successor.


"Ah, no need for formalities," Timothy waved the title away. "I haven't been a rector since '98, when the diocese discharged me from my post for refusing to swear to the new rite."


"And you have been out of communion with the state church since then?" Lelouch asked. "Have you been underground since then, Father?"


"Of course!" Timothy wheezed slightly as an embittered laugh slipped out. "Eighteen years of sleeping rough and traveling quietly from place to place, of preaching in basements like the Catacombers of Old Rome. They chased me all the way from Bainbridge in Area 4 to Tokyo, my son! And I'm one of the lucky ones… Old Uncle Knapsack is very thorough, you know."


Lelouch nodded, recognizing the Four slang for a secret policeman of any affiliation. Someone who could cram you into his sack and make you disappear into the night.


"All the way to Tokyo from Cuba? That must have been quite the change, in climate if nothing else." Lelouch paired the joking remark with a smile. "Still, you must have run quite fast to have lasted so long underground."


"I suppose so," Timothy sighed, "although, as you heard, my running days are done. I can barely get around the Settlement these days, even with that nifty new train our fool of a governor built. These old bones just can't take the stairs or long walks like they used to, and my wind is completely shot."


"Well, if it would not be too forwards of me…" Lelouch began, sensing an opportunity, "can I offer my assistance? I have some education, courtesy of my father, on the intricacies of our faith, and I have youth and vigor as well. I understand that those are the primary qualifications to be a Lay Eucharistic Minister, and if I could assist you with your duties in that office, it would benefit the church in hiding here in Area 11."


"You make a good point," admitted Timothy, "and I do need help. Unfortunately, those with the time and energy here lack the education or the ability to move freely about the Settlement and beyond, which I understand you have. This is not, you understand, the only congregation I tend to; there are others, hidden throughout the Settlement and the countryside beyond."


"I had figured as much," Lelouch confessed, "or at least hoped. It would have been quite… saddening to have finally found my way back to the true faith, only to find that it had withered to a score and seven in all of the Settlement."


"It's not quite that bad, but…" Timothy shook his head. "That's neither here nor there. I no longer have the luxury to turn down any assistance offered, and… While I have only just met you, Brother Alexander, I am certain you are no police plant nor a spy. When the Numbers are running rampant over the countryside, I doubt they would waste such an intelligent young man on our dregs. If you are willing to take on Eucharistic Minister duties, I would be happy to have you."


"Thank you for demonstrating your faith in me," Lelouch replied, extending a hand. "I will see that you will not regret it. Tell me, when would be best for us to meet further?"


"Would you be willing to take a day trip out to Chiba this weekend?" Timothy asked, grasping Lelouch's hand with a dignified frailty. "There is a small gathering of the faithful out on the Boso Peninsula. If you wouldn't mind, they are due for the Eucharist this Sunday, and I would appreciate the aid. We meet at a tobacconist's, near the sewage treatment plant in Hamanocho, south of the barracks in Chiba City."


"I would be honored, Father," Lelouch said, releasing the old man's hand. "I will stand ready to help keep the fire alight until the time comes for dross to turn back into silver once more."


"Then go in peace, my son, and I'll see you on Sunday."


Milly was waiting impatiently for Lelouch back up in the almost empty main room of the Taphouse.


"There you are," she said with a smile, honeysuckle sweetness not quite covering the acerbic exasperation. "I thought you'd left and stuck me with the bill, but the bartender said you'd already paid up. Then I thought you'd somehow tripped into the toilet and had been flushed down the pipes with all the other turds, but nope, no sign of you in the bathrooms. Where the heck did you go, Leland?"


"Oh, you know, I just went to my father's house," Lelouch jokingly replied, momentarily relishing her immediate and obvious shock before continuing. "Well, not really, but something like that. I went to see a man about some silver. Hopefully not thirty pieces of the stuff. Do not worry, I will tell you more back at home."


"You had better," Milly retorted playfully as she fell into step beside him, "otherwise the engagement's off, Leland! I can't have a husband who keeps secrets from me."


"We are engaged now?" He turned to look at her, brow raised. "I am all but certain that, when I left to pay the tab, we were just out on a casual date. When did we get engaged?"


"That's what you get for zoning out on the conversation all night, Lulu!"


As he and Milly made their way back to the Academy, Lelouch found his mind drifting back to the congregation in that dirty brick basement. Unlike the crowd of workers in the neighborhood by the train station, these were desperate people already actively hunted by the authorities. They had very little left to lose at this point.


Which means they have everything to gain. And unlike economics, religion is a guaranteed hot-button issue. I made mistakes last time, but this time will be different. I will let Nunnally and Sayoko know, for one. Lelouch involuntarily shuddered, remembering the scolding he had received from his darling little sister after the poster debacle. And depending on what she says, I might bring Milly in on it too.


The plan went awry last time, but now… Things will be different. Britannia will fall. A new world for Nunnally. The True Anglicans are waiting for a True Prince to come? I can be that. This can work. It will work.


It has to work.


*(Copied from the King James Version of the Bible, Isaiah 1:21 - 24)