After what seemed like a calm dinner, Roz walked along the streets of Orb at night, lost in thought.
For some reason, even though Flay had said she would just see him off, she continued walking beside him until they were a full block away from her home.
"This is far enough. It's already late—go back, Flay."
Standing at the intersection, Roz urged her to return home for the second time.
"…Mr. Roz, my father's purpose wasn't really just to thank you, was it?"
After a long silence, Flay finally asked that question in a low, uncertain voice.
"My father isn't that generous—especially about the time you hit me. He's never really forgiven that."
The neon lights from the shopping district made the street seem lively. People strolled leisurely, stopping in front of stores before going in.
Parents with their children, affectionate couples, teenagers teasing each other—it all looked as if the war had never existed, as if everyone was still living their everyday lives, hoping for a better tomorrow.
But around Roz and Flay, the world seemed to slow down. A heavy tension surrounded them, and people unconsciously gave the pair a wide space.
Roz wanted to tell Flay about George's request, to just throw responsibility aside and say it outright—but when he opened his mouth, he found himself unable to speak.
"Tell me, Roz. What did my father say to you?"
For a moment, Flay felt as if she were back aboard the Archangel. Everyone had their secrets, their pasts, and she was the only naïve one who knew nothing.
"…Sorry. I can't tell you. It's for your and your father's safety."
Under Flay's piercing glare, Roz hesitated for a long time before finally saying that.
"Maybe… in a few days, you'll find out."
"Can't tell me… again with the same excuse."
Flay gripped the hem of her clothes tightly. The helplessness of wanting to act but being unable to do anything filled her chest.
"So when, then? When will I get to know the truth?"
"When everything's already at its worst? When all that's left is for you to tell me there's nothing I can do?"
"…If you're lucky, you won't ever have to know."
Roz took two steps closer to her and reached out his hand.
Flay instinctively thought Roz was about to hit her again—she flinched, stepping back half a step, her body tensed as she shut her eyes.
But the pain she expected never came. Instead, Roz's hand rested gently on her shoulder.
"Don't think so negatively. Go home early, and stay by your father's side."
Roz's voice was low, as if he had made up his mind about something.
"Even you… there are still things only you can do."
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Roz returned to the factory he had bought long ago in Orb.
Inside the factory, the Jesta stood quietly as several Haros operated mechanical arms, performing maintenance and inspection work.
The lights shone on the Jesta's frame, making the steel edges gleam faintly.
"You're back, Roz."
Christina, who was directing the Haros, walked toward him. When she saw his expression, she frowned slightly.
That familiar seriousness—she had only ever seen it when Roz was about to head into battle.
"Are you going to fight?"
"…Yeah."
Roz took out his communicator and scrolled through the numbers displayed on it. Then, he dialed Cagalli's number.
Standing beneath the Jesta, Roz looked up at the machine that had fought by his side for some time.
The atmosphere was heavy—only the faint standby tone of the communicator and the mechanical sounds of the Haros reinstalling the Jesta's armor panels filled the air.
Finally, as the last armor piece locked into place, the communicator connected.
"Sorry, sorry, Roz. I was just taking a shower."
Cagalli's voice came through the line.
"What's going on?"
"Cagalli, I need a transport capable of carrying an MS. Can you find one?"
Roz didn't hold back and stated his request directly.
"A transport that can carry an MS? Those big ones are all with Morgenroete, right? Why not just rent one from them?"
Cagalli didn't really understand why Roz would come to her for that.
"I just met with Flay's father—the Atlantic Federation officer, George Allster."
Roz began recounting the information he had received from George.
"There's an enemy coming. The attack route is unknown."
"That's impossible! Orb is a neutral nation—who would attack us? And where did George even hear about this?"
Cagalli's first reaction to Roz's words was disbelief.
But then what Roz said next made her break into a cold sweat.
"The targets are Orb's cities and George. Blue Cosmos wants to drag Orb into the war."
The line fell silent—dead silent. Only the faint sound of breathing and the hum of standby equipment could be heard.
After a long while, Cagalli finally spoke again.
"I don't know if what you're saying is true or not… but based on what Captain Murrue told me—that your predictions are usually right—I'll believe you this time."
"Bring your mobile suit to Morgenroete. They'll prepare a hangar specifically for you, so you can launch at any time."
After a brief pause, Cagalli seemed to recall something.
"As for what you told me, I'll report it truthfully to my father."
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Kingdom of Foundation, inside a certain base.
"Then, regarding the second phase of cooperation on these two projects—let's have a pleasant collaboration?"
"Pleasant collaboration."
Inside a massive factory, as a sleek, submarine-sized machine began to submerge into the water, a man in a suit bearing the Blue Cosmos insignia shook hands with a blond-haired boy in luxurious clothing before hastily departing.
"Shamblo… huh?"
Watching the red, streamlined machine dive into the water and swiftly leave the facility, the blond boy narrowed his eyes.
"Hey, do you think those Blue Cosmos people will keep their word?"
A little blond-haired girl, who had appeared beside him at some unknown point, spoke as she walked up next to him.
"They don't look like they're planning for a win–win deal to me."
"Even if they go back on their word—so what?"
The blond boy smiled. "At most, we'll just lose a bit of borrowed strength. We're preparing our own trump cards anyway. The pilot inside this Shamblo will serve nicely to test the data for those trump cards."
"With the Earth Forces so powerless against ZAFT, how could we not prepare?"
Inside the Shamblo, now speeding through the water—
A pilot wearing a black flight suit looked listlessly at the monotonous scenery ahead, occasionally glancing with disgust at the five metal-encased canisters placed before him.
"Hurry up already, you damn brainheads!"
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