The halls of Granada's Research and Development wing always smelled faintly of ozone and oil, the residue of test-firings and half-finished prototypes. The hum of machinery echoed down the reinforced corridors as cadets, engineers, and officers shuffled between labs, arms burdened with schematics and datapads. Among them, Lelouch von Zehrtfeld walked with his usual measured grace, every step calculated, every glance deliberate.
He had been watching Jason Arkadi for weeks. The boy was brilliant, undeniably so — far beyond the ordinary level of a mechanic's apprentice. He solved equations without pause, found flaws in Zeonic drive systems that even seasoned engineers overlooked, and spoke of theoretical improvements as if he had tested them himself in another life. Too brilliant, Lelouch thought. And too careless.
Jason was bent over a disassembled actuator when Lelouch approached, his fingers moving with the precision of a surgeon. Sparks flared as he adjusted a connection, and the boy muttered under his breath, absorbed in his work. Lelouch's shadow stretched across the bench, and Jason flinched before forcing a smile.
"Von Zehrtfeld. Didn't hear you come in."
"You rarely do," Lelouch replied softly, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. "Your focus is admirable. Though… sometimes it borders on obsession."
Jason chuckled awkwardly. "Isn't that what Zeon wants? Obsession. Perfection. Innovation."
Lelouch studied him, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps. But you've let your tongue slip once already. You called my name before we were formally introduced. A curious mistake."
The wrench in Jason's hand froze mid-turn. His throat tightened, and he tried to cover it with a laugh. "Oh, that. I must've overheard it somewhere. Maybe from one of the adjudants."
"No." Lelouch stepped closer, voice dropping low enough that the whir of machinery nearly swallowed it. "You asked Liam my name, didn't you? I've spoken with him. He remembers."
Jason's breath hitched. For a heartbeat, his carefully built mask cracked — panic flickered in his eyes. He turned away, fumbling with the actuator as though burying himself in work could erase the weight of Lelouch's gaze.
"You're mistaken," Jason muttered. "Why would I—"
"Because you recognized me," Lelouch interrupted, the precision of his words like a blade pressed against Jason's throat. "Not my name. Me. You stared as if you'd seen a ghost. As if you'd known me long before this place."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Jason's shoulders tensed, his hands gripping the bench until his knuckles whitened. Finally, he whispered, "Damn it…"
He turned to face Lelouch fully, eyes shadowed with conflict. "You're right. I did know you. Not here, not in this world… somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn't exist anymore."
Lelouch didn't flinch, though his mind raced. He had suspected, but hearing it aloud twisted the unease into something sharper. "Another world," he echoed. His voice was cold, measured. "You expect me to believe such a thing?"
Jason gave a hollow smile. "You don't have to. But where I come from… you were someone impossible to forget. A genius. A strategist who could twist the battlefield with nothing but his words and mind. The kind of person you don't mistake for anyone else."
For a long moment, Lelouch said nothing. His gaze was piercing, dissecting every word, weighing its truth. Finally, he stepped back, folding his hands behind his back in that same regal posture that unnerved so many of his peers.
"You've given me much to consider," Lelouch said quietly. "But one thing troubles me. If you knew me… then you must also know what I am capable of. And yet, you reveal this truth so freely. Why?"
Jason hesitated. His lips parted, then closed again. He could not tell Lelouch about systems, about reincarnations, about the strange mechanics of their existence. So he chose a simpler truth.
"Because…" Jason whispered, almost pleading, "in that world, I respected you. And in this one, I don't want to be your enemy."
The words hung between them, fragile, dangerous. Lelouch studied him for a final moment before turning toward the door.
"Respect," Lelouch repeated. "A dangerous currency in this world. Spend it wisely, Arkadi. And remember — I do not take kindly to ghosts whispering in my ear."
As he left the workshop, Jason slumped against the bench, heart pounding. Lelouch's suspicion had not diminished. If anything, it had sharpened. And Jason knew — the game had only just begun.
Jason leaned back against the cold bulkhead of his dorm, staring at the ceiling as if the steel plates could give him an answer. His pulse was still unsteady from the confrontation. Lelouch had looked at him like a hawk sizing up prey, cutting through the half-truths Jason threw like flimsy armor.
He hadn't meant to slip. He only asked Liam for Lelouch's name because panic had surged the moment he saw him. Panic that came from memory—memory of a world where names like "Lelouch" and "Zeon" were inked across fiction, not reality. That one impulsive question had set off alarms in Lelouch's sharp mind.
Jason cursed under his breath. He knew this wasn't a person to underestimate. Lelouch had the kind of eyes that read intentions before words were even spoken. To him, Jason must already look suspicious—maybe even dangerous.
But Lelouch had not pushed too far. Instead, he left Jason with a single terrifying gift: the possibility of trust. The fact that Lelouch didn't dismiss him or report him suggested he was weighing options. That hesitation was Jason's lifeline.
Jason rubbed his temples. He had to be careful. Too much honesty and he would be dismissed as insane. Too much vagueness and Lelouch would brand him a manipulator. Walking this line would decide whether he lived as ally or burned as enemy.
Still, the thought of Lelouch being here lit something in him. He wasn't alone anymore. Someone else—someone impossible—stood as proof that this reality wasn't bound to simple history. Lelouch being here meant things could change. Maybe for the better… maybe for the worse.
And Jason? He held knowledge none of them had. He knew the colonies would burn, the Federation would falter, and the Principality would unleash horrors in the name of independence. He knew about Loum, about Odessa, about the tragedies to come. The war wasn't abstract—it was scripted, mapped, waiting to unfold.
But the script wasn't unbreakable. That was the reason he feared, and the reason he hoped. Lelouch's presence was already proof the board was different. If Lelouch could walk these halls, then the pieces weren't fixed.
Jason clenched his fist. He couldn't fight this alone. If there was anyone in this era who could rewrite destiny, it was Lelouch. A genius of strategy, a mind built to overturn empires. The irony was almost comical—Jason had watched him do it once, in another world, through a screen. Now he might have to stand beside him to see it happen in reality.
He let out a quiet sigh of relief, the weight of the confrontation still pressing on him. Thank God, he thought, he doesn't have that power… that Geass of his. If he knew everything I know, I'd be finished before I even had a chance to think.
But what if Lelouch ever suspected more? Jason knew the man's brilliance could cut both ways. If Lelouch saw him as a threat rather than an ally, then everything—his knowledge, his foresight, his very existence—would be a liability. Jason would be crushed before he even moved a piece.
That fear dug into him, but it also solidified his resolve. He had to prove himself useful. He had to earn trust. If he showed Lelouch that his foresight could be a weapon instead of a danger, maybe—just maybe—they could carve out a path through the storm ahead. And with that, a thin smile crossed his face. "I'll make him my ally," he whispered to the empty room. "No matter what it takes. Because with him, the future doesn't have to end in fire."