The Archangel took a day's journey, but the supercargo ship spent two and a half days to finally reach Kaohsiung.
At this moment, Roz was in front of the mirror in the bathroom, spraying hairspray on his freshly dyed blond hair, intending to style it like a certain embarrassing commander he admired.
Beside him, Murrue, dressed in her orange work uniform, looked at Roz with his blond hair, her expression somewhat complicated.
"Are you really going to dye it this color, Roz?"
After all, he had previously been a dark-haired young man, and suddenly switching to blond gave off a wild, carefree vibe reminiscent of a reckless youth.
With the hairspray setting, Roz's hairstyle became a faithful reproduction of the commander's style.
"After all, we're still behind enemy lines. The Earth Alliance probably already knows me as the redhead."
Roz adjusted his orange suit.
Compared to this eye-catching orange, Roz actually preferred blue or the more understated black.
But as a model enthusiast, Roz had long mastered a "self-adaptive" ability. Modifying, resizing, and repainting models with tolerances was routine for him.
Now, even though he wasn't particularly fond of the orange outfit, he had thought of a way to adapt: "wear sunglasses."
"Even if I wear the same clothes and style my hair like him, I still don't look like Char."
Roz stared at the mirror for a long time, finally sighing. "…Even though my face looks like Amuro's, I don't look like Amuro either."
"Char? Amuro… who are they? Friends?"
Seeing Roz looking a little deflated, Murrue blinked, picked up a dark green tie, and walked over to him.
"Hmm… I think they are two senior predecessors you've never met."
Roz looked at himself in the mirror: a face like Amuro's, dressed like Char. "I have some of their traits… I feel influenced by them in many ways."
"So, your actions and your judgment of things are based on your own values, not copying theirs?"
Murrue placed a hand on Roz's shoulder, turning him around.
With skilled hands, she wrapped the dark green tie around Roz's collar, tying it neatly, and clipped a tie clip onto his shirt.
"…Yes. Everything guiding my actions so far has come from my own thoughts."
Roz looked at Murrue, close at hand, and after a moment of thought, gave his answer.
"So, you're neither Char nor Amuro. You have some of their traits, but you are still you—my dependable space junk dealer, Roz Links."
Seeing Roz, now a little more mature with his tie fixed, Murrue nodded with satisfaction.
"That's true… probably influenced by wearing Char's outfit, I feel a little sentimental."
Roz wanted to scratch his head to ease his embarrassment, but when he touched his fully styled Char haircut, he hesitated, his right hand frozen mid-air.
A pair of hands cupped Roz's face, and a familiar warmth pressed against his lips, as if imprinting a mark on him. The kiss was calm yet carried a passionate emotion, like water on the verge of boiling.
But Murrue's strength made Roz briefly feel a slight pain in his front teeth.
Finally, as if reluctant to part, Murrue looked at Roz wearing sunglasses, his eyes hidden.
"Come back safely, Roz…"
She wanted to say more, but recalling her streak of misfortune since boarding the Archangel, Murrue gave up.
"The ship is almost docked… I suppose it's time to call you by your new identity."
"Mm, you still remember my new name?"
"Of course I remember."
Seeing Roz smile and give a thumbs-up, Murrue smiled as well.
"I won't forget everything we've experienced together, and that naturally includes the name you'll use when leaving the ship this time…"
"Quattro Bajeena."
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Kaohsiung, the Earth Alliance's new Mass Driver, and currently the only Mass Driver on Earth, was where Lowe Guele's transport plan was taking place.
Before transferring the materials, Roz still had to meet Lowe and go with him to finalize the preparations.
After all, to cover the two MS units and their equipment, Lowe had declared the weight as that of two "space shuttles."
However, there really was a space shuttle aboard Lowe's ship at this moment, serving as a showpiece and also as a means to transport the Archangel's other crew members.
Walking along the bustling streets, Roz glanced at the address in his communicator.
It was a public bench. On nearby benches, either a family of three rested or a couple shared a tender moment together.
"I've made my decision, mother."
A spirited young man's voice rang in Roz's ears.
"I want to join the Earth Alliance."
Roz turned to see the speaker: a young man in a shirt, seemingly fresh out of school, standing before his seated mother, declaring his decision.
"Mom, you must still feel resentful. Father died at the hands of that White Devil."
The young man's tone was full of righteous indignation, as if a surge of hot-blooded energy had risen within him. "Now I have a chance, a chance to avenge Dad!"
"The words of Blue Cosmos are right. To protect this blue sky of Earth, we must defeat all enemies, whether Coordinators or the White Devil!"
The middle-aged woman sitting on the bench looked at her son, consumed by his zeal for revenge. She opened her mouth to say something, but in the end, she remained silent.
"Though I really don't want you to join the military, living a quiet life together… you know I can't stop you."
The young woman sighed. "If you want to do it, then go ahead."
"Remember… come back alive."
Having witnessed the entire scene, Roz casually picked up a newspaper from the still-standing newsstand.
On a whim, he had the owner hand him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"Oh… I didn't expect anyone to still buy newspapers at a newsstand these days."
The elderly newsstand owner was a little surprised to see Roz in his bright orange suit.
"Sorry, you should put this newspaper back. It's quite old."
"It's fine. I'm just waiting for someone, killing time."
Roz didn't put the newspaper down, instead scanning the headlines roughly.
"Genetic Adjustment: The Future of Humanity? Potential Applications in Deep Space Exploration?!"
Reading the headline and briefly glancing at the content, Roz felt the longing for space exploration, the anticipation and imagination for the future, overflowing from the aged newspaper, singing in the reader's ears.
Behind his sunglasses, Roz's expression was complicated.
"…Occasionally looking at old newspapers isn't so bad. I'm somewhat nostalgic."
"Nostalgic, huh… not really suitable for you young people."
Perhaps because of the sunglasses, the newsstand owner didn't notice the sadness in Roz's expression. He calmly took Roz's money and sighed. "Nostalgia is a privilege for us old folks who can't keep up with the times. People your age should face the future boldly and take steps forward!"
Undoubtedly, in the owner's tone, "us old folks who can't keep up with the times" included himself.
"…After all, in this age, who would still come to a newsstand for newspapers and books?"
The elderly owner said this aloud while continuing to wipe the yellowed books and newspapers, maintaining his nearly deserted newsstand like a stubborn nail, unable to move forward, left to be washed by the current of time until it rusted or broke.
Sitting on the chair Lowe had designated, Roz took out a cigarette and lit it.
He inhaled sharply. First came the strong, stimulating taste, then, as expected, he choked and began coughing violently.
Roz didn't usually smoke, but for some reason, after seeing this scene, he instinctively wanted a cigarette.
Determined, Roz inhaled again, coughing once more, as if trying to cough out his inner confusion. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes gradually grew resolute.
"I didn't remember you being the type to smoke, Roz… Quattro Bajeena."
A figure blocked the sunlight: a red-haired young man with a headband smiled, looking at Roz holding a cigarette.
"Dressed so formally, I almost didn't recognize you."
"Just felt this occasion was suitable for smoking, so I tried it."
Roz stood, walked to a nearby trash can, and put out his cigarette.
"In the end, I got a result."
"So, what's the result?"
Watching the cigarette and lighter tossed into the bin, like abandoning tools of numbness and discarding confusion, Roz took a deep breath, facing the harsh reality that could not be reconciled.
There was no need to care about others' opinions anymore. Now he only needed to step forward, steadily advancing toward his goal.
As for right or wrong, merits or faults, let future generations judge.
"The result is… I really am not suited for smoking. It can't numb me."
Roz picked up the old newspaper he had glanced at a few times, but it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds in his hands, as if the past people, their longing for the future and hope for space exploration, were resting right there in his grasp.
"Let's go. It's time to set out."
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