Gary Lin woke up in a bed that wasn't his. The sheets smelled of starch and chemicals, not the faint fabric softener he remembered from his cramped apartment. The ceiling above was metal, industrial, lined with pipes. His heart pounded. He sat up too fast, clutching his head.
The sound of distant machines hummed through the walls. He stumbled toward the door and pushed it open. What he saw nearly made him laugh, or cry, or both. Engineers in Federation uniforms bustled across a massive hangar. Mobile Suit parts—arms, heads, leg frames—were being assembled. This wasn't a dream.
His mind reeled. No way. No freaking way. Did I… isekai?
The answer came not from his own thoughts, but from the cold chime of something alien.
System Online. Welcome, User Gary Lin. You have received Template: Kira Yamato.
Gary's jaw dropped. A holographic interface only he could see flickered to life in front of him, lines of data scrolling endlessly. He whispered aloud, "Kira Yamato…? You've got to be kidding me."
The system didn't joke. It laid out his skills: piloting aptitude off the charts, tactical adaptability, the instinctive calm of Kira Yamato himself. Alongside it came something else—schematics, technologies, a library ripped from every sci-fi work Gary had ever obsessed over. Gundam, Star Wars, Halo, Star Trek—it was all there.
He staggered back against the wall. His brain screamed that this was impossible, yet his heart hammered with something else. Excitement.
Two weeks ago, Gary Lin had been just another otaku on Blue Star, glued to anime marathons, mobile games, and endless forums. Now he stood in the middle of the Federation's war machine. And the system had given him a purpose.
When he first approached the engineers, they scoffed. He had slipped past guards with the confidence only someone blessed by fate—or stupidity—could manage. They called him a lunatic when he scribbled his first sketches of a Gundam frame that didn't exist in this timeline.
But then he spoke with absolute clarity, his words guided by system-fed schematics. "Your problem is survivability. Zaku II weapons tear through your GMs like paper. You need Phase Shift Armor—an energy-based defense system. It renders conventional projectiles obsolete."
The engineers froze. He rattled off power equations, reactor tolerances, and armor dispersal patterns. All things he should not, could not, have known.
One grizzled technician muttered, "This… this could work."
The room shifted. Doubt gave way to curiosity. Curiosity turned into urgency. Gary pressed harder. "You want to win the war? Build this. Build it now. I don't care if it takes every hand and every hour. This machine will turn the tide."
The higher-ups resisted at first. Resources were stretched thin, desperation clawed at their morale. But Gary's confidence, the conviction in his voice, and the detailed blueprints silenced them. One general finally slammed his hand on the table. "Do it. All resources to the Strike Project."
From that day, the hangar never slept. Engineers worked in shifts around the clock. Sparks lit the dark like fireflies. The pounding of hammers, the hiss of welders, the endless chatter of diagnostics filled the air.
Gary walked among them as if born for this. His system whispered every correction, every optimal adjustment. He wasn't just an outsider anymore—he was the architect.
By the end of two weeks, the impossible had been forged into reality.
The Strike Gundam stood complete, its frame gleaming under floodlights, its Phase Shift Armor shimmering as tests ran. Gary stared up at it, awe mixing with pride. I did this. No—we did this.
And only he could pilot it. The Kira Yamato template was more than a gift. It was a key.
The day of the battle arrived. The Federation was on its knees in Southeast Asia. Amuro dueled Tanya's Gouf with desperate precision. The Apsalus tore apart formations with its monstrous cannon. Federation lines faltered.
White Base shook as alarms screamed. Bright Noa shouted orders, his voice raw. "We can't hold—dammit, where's the reinforcement!?"
Then the shadow fell across the battlefield.
The Strike Gundam descended, its Phase Shift Armor flaring to life, absorbing the glint of gunfire. Conventional rounds from Zeon units pinged harmlessly off its surface. Every soldier froze.
"What the hell is that!?" a Federation pilot gasped.
"A new Gundam…?" whispered a Zeon commander, his voice trembling.
Athrun Zala's chest tightened as he stared from his battered Ground Gundam. His breath caught in disbelief. The silhouette, the lines, the unmistakable profile—it was Strike. His Strike. How… how can this be here? Did… did Kira…?
But no. Something was wrong. The movements, the energy—it wasn't Kira. It was someone else.
Inside the cockpit, Gary grinned tightly, hands steady on the controls. "Two weeks of sweat and bullshit speeches. Don't fail me now."
The system chimed: Mission Objective: Neutralize Apsalus.
"Boss fight time," Gary muttered, and pushed the thrusters to maximum.
The Strike surged forward, dodging the first wild beam from the Apsalus. Ginias roared inside his monstrous machine, sweat dripping down his face. "Another Gundam!? No! NO! I'll destroy you!"
Massive beams tore across the battlefield, scorching earth and air. Gary's hands moved instinctively, guided by Kira's template. The Strike weaved, twisted, flipped. Explosions blossomed around it, never touching.
Amuro and Tanya broke their duel, both staring as the new Gundam danced with death.
Gary's voice was cold. "Sorry, Ginias. You're not making it past this episode."
He dove low, closing the distance as the Apsalus charged another beam. The energy core lit up with deadly brilliance. The system screamed warnings.
Gary smirked. "Not today."
He rolled under the blast, the Strike's armor glowing from residual heat. In a single fluid motion, he ignited his beam saber and lunged upward.
The saber pierced deep into the Apsalus' core.
"Noooo!" Ginias shrieked, his final cry swallowed by fire.
The Apsalus erupted. A massive explosion tore across the sky, shaking the ground for miles. Flames engulfed its frame, splitting metal like paper. Debris rained down as the monstrosity crashed, consumed in its own power.
White Base shuddered from the shockwave. The battlefield went silent.
On the Zeon side, shock turned to horror. Their trump card, annihilated.
On the Federation side, disbelief became hope. Soldiers cheered, voices rising over the fading roar.
Athrun stared, trembling. Strike… but not Kira… then who?
Lockon, watching from a support position, whispered under his breath, "To think… they built that in time."
Inside the Strike, Gary exhaled, sweat dripping down his brow. The system pinged: Mission Complete.
He let out a shaky laugh. "All those years… watching anime, reading novels, playing mecha games… and now I get to live it."
The Strike stood tall in the fading smoke, its armor gleaming defiantly.
Gary leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment before speaking. "Name's Gary Lin. Just some otaku from Blue Star. But now… I'm the pilot who'll change this world."
The battlefield had changed forever. And Gary knew this was only the beginning.