Smoke hung heavy over Odessa's skies, the blackened earth trembling with each fresh detonation. Tanya stood atop the battered ridge, her Zaku's optics flickering with static as the storm of Federation artillery battered the horizon. Beside her, Mila's voice crackled through the comms, sharp but steady, "Squad positions holding, Commander. Federation line is stubborn—doesn't crack like Side 5." Tanya grunted. "Earth fights differently. They dig into the dirt like it's their last shield."
Through the chaos, her eyes caught the streak of crimson slicing across the battlefield. Char Aznable's Zaku moved with impossible grace, cutting through the smoke like a predator that had no business existing in such chaos. Tanya narrowed her eyes, feeling that familiar gnaw of curiosity that had haunted her since Loum. "How does he move like that?" she whispered. Mila, overhearing, muttered, "The Red Comet… makes the rest of us look like we're crawling."
Her squad, the GED Vanguard, adjusted their formation to cover the flanks. Mila's fire pinned down a Federation armor column, but Tanya barely noticed—her gaze followed Char's movements. His acceleration, his sharp cuts through enemy fire, even the way his unit seemed to anticipate attacks before they came—it was more than skill. It was something other. She remembered Loum, the first time she'd seen that streak of red, and the chill it had left in her spine.
"Commander, orders?" Mila prompted, pulling Tanya from her trance. Tanya snapped back, barking commands to reposition the Vanguard, but her mind stayed divided. Part of her executed the battle as she always did—precise, surgical, relentless—but another part analyzed Char. Was it only training? Instinct? Or was this that whisper she had felt tugging at her mind since Side 3—the thing people in Zeon dared to call Newtype?
A Federation GM squad surged forward, intercepting Char's path. Tanya's breath caught as she recognized them—not Zakus, but mass-produced units born to match Zeon's edge. They were clumsy, still rough in formation, yet their very existence gnawed at her. "Mass production… damn it," she muttered. Mila reported, "Those aren't tanks. They're protecting White Base." Tanya's knuckles tightened around the controls. The Federation had caught up faster than she feared.
Char tore through them, but Tanya's mind worked faster than her pulse. If the Federation could produce these in numbers, the advantage of Zakus—and even her Vanguard—would thin to nothing. She ordered Mila to flank and hammer their rear, while her own Zaku struck with precision, crippling joints instead of blasting head-on. If Char represented the extreme of individual skill, then Tanya resolved to refine the art of elite coordination. Where one ace could not be everywhere, an elite squad could.
When the smoke cleared and their line held, Tanya's squad regrouped. Mila pulled up alongside her, armor scorched, voice tired but edged with awe. "Commander… you watched him, didn't you? The Red Comet." Tanya exhaled, visor reflecting flames. "Not just watched. Studied. If we don't learn how to counter that speed—or match it—we'll be dead before the Federation's factories even warm up."
Her Vanguard had survived the day, but Tanya's eyes weren't on the battlefield anymore. They were fixed on the silhouette of Char disappearing into the smoke, a mystery she couldn't ignore. She felt admiration, yes—but also calculation. If she couldn't understand how he did it, she would never surpass him. And if Zeon was to survive against mass-produced GMs, her squad would need more than precision—they would need an answer to the Red Comet himself.
Far away, under the steel skies of Granada, Lelouch von Zehrtfeld was immersed in a different battle—the quiet war of numbers, engines, and design sheets. His hands tapped over glowing projections of the Zudah schematics, frustration etched into his calm features. "Its frame collapses under acceleration. The Federation's GMs won't fail like this." Rezén leaned against the console nearby, a test pilot still sore from yesterday's trial run. "Then what do you want, Lelouch? Magic?"
Lelouch gave a cold smile. "Not magic. Engineering with foresight." He adjusted the schematics, stabilizers flaring red where the stress tests broke. "Char Aznable fought the Gundam head-on, and still forced Amuro Ray into desperation. The data screams one truth—the battlefield belongs to speed. But speed without stability is suicide. We can fix this." Rezén scoffed but leaned closer, watching as Lelouch redrew the thruster matrix.
Every report he devoured told the same story—Char's high-speed maneuvers, White Base's desperate defenses, the Federation's terrifying leap into MS mass production. Unlike Tanya, Lelouch didn't feel awe. He felt inevitability. Wars were never won by single aces, no matter how brilliant. They were won by machines, numbers, and the men who ensured those machines never failed. He scribbled notes beside the Zudah design: "Stabilize core. Reinforce limbs. Experiment with Gyan thrust system."
Rezén crossed his arms. "You're asking pilots to dance on the edge of an explosion. You think anyone but Char could handle that?" Lelouch turned, eyes sharp as glass. "I don't need everyone to. I need a handful of elites—pilots like my sister. With the right machines, they'll bleed entire squadrons of GMs dry." His voice was soft, dangerous, the kind of voice Rezén had learned not to dismiss.
Later, in the testing hangar, Rezén strapped into a Zudah prototype while Lelouch watched from the control booth. Engines roared, thrusters flared, and for a moment the machine looked like it could rival even Char's speed. Then the frame buckled, alarms screamed, and Rezén cursed as he wrestled it back to landing. Lelouch only nodded, as if he had expected the failure. "We're close," he murmured, jotting notes. "Too close to stop."
He thought of Tanya then, though he would never admit it aloud. She was fighting in Odessa, relying on raw instinct and iron will to hold against the Federation tide. If she had machines worthy of her skill, her Vanguard would cut through enemy lines like Char himself. That image lingered, fueling his obsession with stabilizers and thrusters. He wasn't building Zudahs. He was building weapons for Tanya, and through her, the survival of Zeon.
When Rezén returned, drenched in sweat and fury, Lelouch simply handed him a fresh design sheet. "Again," he said. "Until this frame sings at full throttle." Rezén cursed, but obeyed. He understood now—Lelouch wasn't chasing glory. He was building the edge Zeon would need when the Federation's factories flooded the stars with GMs.
At night, alone in the steel corridors of Granada, Lelouch reviewed the battle reports once more. Char's speed, Tanya's field reports, the first cracks in Zeon's technological advantage—they all converged into a single truth. The war had entered a new stage. And he, Lelouch von Zehrtfeld, would ensure Zeon wasn't left behind. Where Tanya sought to match Char in spirit, Lelouch sought to outbuild the Federation in steel.
The battlefield at Odessa and the workshops of Granada were far apart, but the twins' thoughts mirrored one another—Tanya admiring and calculating against Char, Lelouch dissecting and refining his legacy into machines. Together, without speaking, they were already shaping Zeon's next step.
Amuro Ray sat slumped against the bulkhead, his hands still trembling even though the battle had long since passed. The faint vibrations of White Base's engines hummed through the steel, but to him it still felt like the echoes of beam fire and explosions rattling his bones. He tried to steady his breathing, yet his chest rose and fell too quickly, like he was still in the cockpit with Char Aznable pressing in on him. The Gundam had survived. He had survived. But inside, he felt as if something had come apart.
Fraw Bow knelt beside him, her face pinched with worry. "Amuro, you need to rest. You're shaking all over. You can't keep throwing yourself in like this." She reached for his hand, but he pulled it back slightly, ashamed that the sweat on his palms still carried the stench of fear. He wanted to reassure her, to say something calm and confident, but his throat refused to form the words. All he could do was look away, swallowing the bitter knot in his stomach.
Hayato and Kai stood close by, their expressions a mix of concern and unease. Hayato crouched lower, his tone quieter than usual. "You fought well out there, Amuro. Better than anyone could've expected. But… it's not normal, what you're carrying on your own." He gestured vaguely toward the hangar, where mechanics were still working on patching up the Gundam. "You're one pilot against entire fleets. No one could stay untouched by that."
Amuro closed his eyes, and flashes of the battle rushed back unbidden. The red comet streaking across his monitors. Char's relentless pursuit. The split-second decisions between life and death. At first, he had panicked—hands fumbling at controls, heart hammering loud enough to drown out the alarms. Yet something inside him had shifted in that crucible. Reflexes sharper than thought had guided him, intuition whispering when to dodge, when to strike. For a moment, it had felt less like piloting and more like being pulled along by something unseen. That realization frightened him more than Char ever could.
"I… I don't know if it's really me," Amuro admitted finally, his voice low, cracking. "Sometimes, in the middle of it, it feels like I'm just reacting—like something else is steering me. But then I remember everyone counting on me, all of you on White Base. If I hesitate, even once, it's over. So I keep going. I don't have a choice." His eyes darted toward Fraw, who looked close to tears, then toward his friends, who bore the same exhaustion in their faces.
Kai scratched the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable, but his tone softened. "Just… don't burn yourself out, Amuro. Gundam or not, you're still human. If you push too far, there won't be anything left of you to fight." Fraw nodded fiercely in agreement, tightening her grip on his sleeve. Amuro managed a faint, weary smile in return. He didn't believe he had that luxury—yet in that moment, surrounded by their concern, he felt the faintest reminder that he wasn't alone, even in the shadow of Char's red comet.