"Director Erica, these Jegan D-type materials… aside from the blueprints and some of the technology, the rest are all existing tech…"
Inside an office in Morgenroete Inc.'s MS Development Department, a group of engineers in work clothes crowded around a table, flipping through stacks of documents. Nearby, several others were sweating over their tablets.
They were all familiar with the technologies used in this mobile suit—but none of them had imagined that these elements could be combined in such a way, or that it could rival the G Project's mobile suits.
"Magnetic coating technology, frame design, high-energy battery…"
Erica sat calmly in a chair nearby, holding a cup of coffee as she watched the engineers, who were drenched in sweat, trying to calculate the unit's performance. She took a slow sip.
"Whether new or old technologies—why didn't we think of assembling or improving them in this way?"
"Why is it that, even though the base is technology from one or two years ago, once its performance was improved, the completed Jegan D-type can go toe-to-toe with the cutting-edge G Project units? It can even crush our developing M1 Astray!"
To be honest, when Erica first saw Roz's Jegan D-type design, she was shocked at how much outdated technology it contained. At first glance, she instinctively judged that aside from the new tech and frame design Roz had included, the rest of the data didn't justify his quoted price.
But after carefully reviewing the full set of materials Roz provided, Erica found herself deeply impressed by his methods of enhancing older technology. Simply by improving what was already considered obsolete, he had managed to upgrade the old "Jegan A-type," a model from a year or two ago, into the "Jegan D-type." Not only did this cut costs, but it also significantly boosted performance.
"Morgenroete didn't hire you all to pass the buck."
Erica set down her cup, her tone turning serious.
"Face the gap between us and the person who provided this design. Learn from his way of combining and rethinking technology. Keep improving yourselves and create even better mobile suits—that's what I expect from you."
Seeing the engineers, who had been lost in self-doubt, regain their fighting spirit and begin studying the design schematics in earnest, Erica let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"Roz Links… If he continues to hone his skills in the field of MS design…"
-----------------------------------
"Clang…"
"I never should've made that bet with you!!!"
Inside a restaurant's private room, Roz slammed back a glass of juice with a face full of despair and slammed the cup down hard on the table.
He had clearly guessed correctly, yet watching his private stash of juice money end up in Mu's hands felt like a knife to the heart.
"It's just orange juice—you can't even get drunk on it! Don't talk and act like you're drinking alcohol!"
Now in casual clothes, Mu held a bottle of beer, deftly avoiding the few drops of juice that had splashed when Roz slammed his cup on the table.
Holding firm to his philosophy of "Eat as much as you can when you're not the one paying," Mu was stuffing his mouth with food nonstop.
"Damn it, even though I was right, it feels like my heart's been cut open! My private money!"
Calling himself a man of his word, Roz had gone to find Mu the next day to pay up on their wager.
But since Mu had recently been promoted to Lieutenant Commander, he didn't care much about money anymore, and changed the terms of the bet—making Roz treat him to a meal instead.
After a series of twists, that was how they ended up like this.
"Hey, you're not even married yet, right? It's easy to save up private money again."
With the air of someone who'd been through it all, Mu patted Roz's shoulder.
While the two of them were still chatting and boasting in the restaurant, Roz's communicator began to ring.
"Murrue's call?"
Roz pulled it out and glanced at it, looking a bit puzzled. But a moment later, he answered.
"This is Roz. What's the matter?"
"…Roz, sometime soon, Flay might try to contact you through the communicator."
On the other end, Murrue sat in her office, absently spinning a pen in her hand.
"You probably know already—today, the families of Tolle and the others came to visit them."
Thinking back on what had just happened, Murrue sighed and set the pen down.
"Among them, Flay also came. She asked for your contact information."
"I understand. Thanks for the heads-up."
Roz reached over and poured himself another glass of juice.
"I'll handle it."
"Alright… you… good luck."
Not sure what else to say, Murrue fell into an awkward silence for a while before abruptly hanging up, almost as if she were fleeing the conversation.
After the call ended, Mu leaned closer with a strange expression.
"What's this? The girl you punched back into shape is falling for you now?"
"Say one more word, and I'll hit you right now. Don't worry—it won't hurt."
Hearing Mu's teasing, Roz, who was mid-sip of juice, felt his fist tighten automatically.
Seeing the veins bulge on Roz's hand, Mu wisely scooted a little farther away.
Beep beep beep…
Roz's communicator rang again—this time, from an unfamiliar number.
When he answered, it wasn't Flay's voice that came through, but a low, slightly hoarse male voice.
"Is this Mr. Roz Links?"
Before Roz could respond, the vaguely familiar voice continued. "I'm George Allster."
Compared to how he'd sounded when they'd first met in the Eighth Fleet, his tone now was devoid of its former pride—carrying instead a trace of despair, as if something terrible had happened.
"May I ask if you have time? Please allow me to treat you to a meal, as a token of my gratitude."
Although he said he wanted to treat Roz to dinner, Roz could hear something else in his voice—like a desperate plea for help, as if he'd already made up his mind about something and was putting all his hopes on Roz's reply.
"…I have time. When and where?"
Roz instinctively touched the holster under his arm. The grip of his RE45 gave him a faint sense of reassurance.
"That's… wonderful. Please come to this address tonight. Flay and I will be waiting at home."
After a few polite words, George quickly ended the call.
"…Feels like a trap."
Mu took a swig of beer and voiced his suspicion.
"Whether it's a trap or not, I'll only know once I see it."
Roz finished his juice and stood up.
"I heard something else in his tone."
"Be careful not to get duped. You can't trust everything you hear over the phone."
Mu drained the rest of his beer and picked up the menu beside him.
"Waiter! Pack up these two meals to go!"
"Damn it, are you addicted to leeching off me now!?"
-----------------------------------
Around 5 p.m., Roz was still dressed in his usual jeans and pilot jacket as he followed the navigation to the address George had sent him.
It wasn't a luxurious restaurant or an embassy—just a simple, modern-looking apartment building.
However, Roz could clearly sense several gazes fixed on the address George had given him—and one or two pairs of eyes were watching him specifically.
"Ding-dong…"
Roz walked up to the door marked by the address and pressed the doorbell.
"Oh! Mr. Roz!"
The door quickly opened—it was Flay, just about to go out.
Seeing Roz, Flay's face lit up with delight, and she immediately grabbed his hand, pulling him inside.
"My dad's been waiting for you for a long time! I'm heading out to buy some groceries, so I'll leave you two to talk. He seems to have a lot to say to you."
When Roz entered the living room, George was there, holding a bottle of red wine and examining it carefully.
Though George still maintained his usual polite demeanor, Roz could see the fatigue in his eyes—and the sense of relief that appeared when he saw him.
"Mr. Roz, thank you for taking the time to visit. Flay insisted on cooking for you herself to show her gratitude."
George put down the wine and picked up a tablet, tapping a few times on the screen.
"Don't be fooled by how she looks—she might seem like someone who can't cook, but she actually ranked at the top of her home economics class back in Heliopolis."
Finally, George turned the tablet toward Roz. On the screen, a line of text appeared: [Please don't say anything out loud. I'm being monitored. You must have noticed the people watching this building when you came, right?]
"To be honest, this area's not bad," Roz said calmly, after glancing at the tablet. "Plenty of shops downstairs, lots of foot traffic."
He sat down casually and began scanning the apartment with his eyes.
"So, today's meeting—just dinner?"
"Yes. I wanted to properly thank you for protecting our transport ship back in orbit," George replied as his fingers typed quickly on the tablet again.
[I want to hire you—to protect Flay. At least keep her away from the war.]
[Orb will soon be swallowed by the flames of war.]
"That's not a difficult request," Roz said quietly, his voice steady despite the shock in his eyes. "But how have things been for you lately?"
"Still manageable," George said with a faint, tired smile. "But work has been troublesome. You can probably tell I've lost some sleep."
Then another message appeared on the tablet: [Blue Cosmos will soon attack Orb using a large mobile armor bearing ZAFT markings and design features. Their goal is to drag Orb into the war.]
"Is that so?" Roz's eyes narrowed slightly as he read the name Blue Cosmos. Even George could feel a chilling aura radiating from him.
"These days," George said aloud, "no one can truly stay away from the war. It affects everyone."
His fingers moved rapidly across the screen, typing out a longer message this time. The room grew tense.
['The envoy murdered'—understand? The attack's target isn't Orb's leader. It's me.]
[Once I'm killed by that mobile armor, they'll have justification to interfere in Orb. The destruction caused by the massive MA will also turn public sentiment against ZAFT.]
[I'm certain I'll be killed. I'm their primary target. That's why I want to ask you to protect Flay.]
"…Alright then," Roz finally said after a long pause, exhaling a sigh. "I'll accept your request."
"…Thank you, Mr. Roz. Just a small token of gratitude," George said with relief, erasing the previous messages from his tablet and pulling a bank card from his pocket.
Roz took the card. On the back, the password was written neatly in pen.
He slipped it into his jacket pocket just as the sound of a key turning came from the front door—Flay had returned.
.................