Time: C.E. 50, March
An infant's perspective is the most peculiar framing device in the world.
Nangong Wentian had been lying in this tiny body for a month now. What he could see was the mottled ceiling above his cradle, Sister Mary's face when she leaned over, and the small patch of sky when he was occasionally carried to the window.
But what he could hear was far more than what he could see.
This infant body's ears were exceptionally sensitive. He could hear footsteps from the end of the hallway, distinguish whether they belonged to Mary or the cook, Tanaka, and even discern the weight and urgency of their steps. He could hear the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, the crying and laughter of children in the next room, and the distant roar of waves crashing against the cliffs.
And then there were the things he deliberately listened for—the adults' conversations.
This was his only way of gathering information in this world.
"Three more have arrived, escaped from PLANT."
That was the voice of Tanaka, the cook. He was a portly man in his fifties, and his words always carried the smoky scent of the stove. At this moment, he was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, chatting idly with Mary, who was helping out.
Nangong Wentian was in a cradle in the corner of the kitchen, his eyes closed and his breathing even. This was a little trick Mary had discovered—as long as this child was in the kitchen, he wouldn't cry or fuss, just sleep quietly. What she didn't know was that Nangong Wentian was "listening."
"Coordinators?" Mary lowered her voice.
"Yeah. The man died in the conflict. The woman took the two kids, but their smuggling ship was intercepted in international waters and they were sent to Orb." Tanaka's knife paused. "The woman was injured and sent to the hospital. The children were sent to us first."
"What does the Orb government say?"
"What can they say? Take them in, of course. We're a neutral nation, after all, got to look the part." There was a hint of sarcasm in Tanaka's tone. "But they can't even support their own orphans, and now they're taking in the orphaned children of Coordinators?"
Mary was silent for a moment.
"Don't say that," she said softly. "The children are innocent."
"I know." Tanaka sighed. "I just feel bad for you. Two more mouths to feed means how many more sleepless nights for you."
Nangong Wentian, with his eyes closed, sorted through the information in his mind.
PLANT—the nation of Coordinators, only recently established. C.E. 50, he was very clear about this point in time: PLANT's colonial satellite cluster was just taking shape, but the conflict with the Earth Federation was already beginning to brew. The opposition between Naturals and Coordinators had already shifted from an undercurrent to a visible wave.
And Orb, this small island nation, was trying to maintain its neutrality in the middle of it all.
But neutrality came at a price. Accepting refugees was one of those prices.
He heard Mary walk over to the cradle and look down at him. He could feel her gaze.
"This child sleeps so soundly," Mary said softly.
"The one who was found?" Tanaka asked.
"Yes. It's been a month. He doesn't cry or make a fuss. He just eats and sleeps, and when he's awake, he just stares at the ceiling." There was a hint of confusion in Mary's voice. "I've been taking care of children for fifteen years, and I've never seen one like this."
"Isn't it good that he's no trouble?"
"It is, but…" Mary paused. "His eyes… they just don't seem like an infant's."
Nangong Wentian's heart skipped a beat. He quickly made his breathing steadier and controlled his heartbeat to be more even. He had lived in an orphanage before and knew how to feign sleep—he had learned it long ago during those years in the orphanage in his past life.
Mary watched him for a while longer before finally turning to leave.
Nangong Wentian stealthily opened his eyes a crack and saw her back disappear through the doorway.
He let out a sigh of relief.
Then he continued to listen.
In the afternoon, the director arrived.
Nangong Wentian was carried to the director's office and placed on a chair padded with a soft cushion. The director sat opposite him, frowning at a document in her hand.
Mary stood to the side.
"I've checked," the director said. "There's no identification on this child, no tracking chip, no genetic markers. He's completely clean, as if he fell from the sky."
"The sky?" Mary gave a wry smile.
"From satellite orbit," the director said expressionlessly. "PLANT and the Federation have been in a war of words recently, but there's been a lot of covert action in space. Some speculate he might be the product of some experimental project that was being cleaned up."
Nangong Wentian's heart raced.
An experimental project?
"A Coordinator experiment?" Mary's voice was tense.
"Not necessarily," the director shook her head. "It could also have been done by a Natural anti-Coordinator organization. Who knows. In any case, this child has no legal identity. According to Orb law, he can remain at the orphanage."
She paused, looking down at Nangong Wentian.
Nangong Wentian stared back at her with wide eyes.
The director's gaze was complex—there was pity, caution, and something else he couldn't quite place.
"Mary," the director said, "do you think this child is normal?"
Mary was silent for a moment.
"He's not normal," she said. "But he's a baby. And what a baby needs is love, not research."
The director looked at her for a long time before finally nodding.
"So be it. Register him, and give him a name… What should we call him?"
"Today is the third of March, and the cherry blossoms have just begun to fall," Mary said, looking out the window. "Let's call him 'Wentian.' To ask the heavens why they let children suffer."
Nangong Wentian's heart jolted.
Wentian.
His name from his past life had also been given to him by the director of an orphanage. That director had said, "You have no father and no mother, so you can only ask the heavens (wen tian)."
Now, another director had given him the exact same name.
A coincidence?
Or…
Something whistled past the window.
Nangong Wentian's gaze followed it—it was a silver-white aircraft, trailing a faint contrail as it streaked over the orphanage, heading north toward Morgenroete.
A Training Aircraft.
He knew. It was a test plane for the Prototype that Morgenroete was secretly developing. In C.E. 50, Orb's Mobile Suit development had already begun, and Erica Simmons was likely already involved.
The director also looked out the window, her brow furrowing even deeper.
"There it is again," she said in a low voice. "The third time this month."
"From Morgenroete?" Mary asked.
"Yes." The director nodded. "Lord Uzumi wants to rely on technology to protect our neutrality. But with technology, once it's created, who's to say whether it will be used for defense or offense."
Nangong Wentian silently committed the name to memory—Uzumi Nara Athha. The Chief Representative of Orb, an idealist who, in the original story, staunchly defended neutrality and ultimately died a heroic death for his country.
The aircraft outside the window disappeared.
The director withdrew her gaze and looked back at Nangong Wentian.
"This child might just live to see a different era," she said softly. "I hope that by then, the war will be over."
It will be, Nangong Wentian answered in his heart. I will make sure it ends.
In the evening, the kitchen became lively again.
The children of the orphanage returned one by one, gathering around the large table, waiting for dinner. Nangong Wentian was placed in his corner, watching these children of various ages—the oldest were five or six, while the youngest were still in swaddling clothes.
A boy of about five came over, looking at him curiously.
"Is this the new one?" the boy asked Mary.
"Yes. His name is Wentian," Mary said, serving porridge. "Xiao Guang, you can play with him for a bit after you finish eating."
Xiao Guang.
Xiao Guang reached out a finger and poked Nangong Wentian's cheek.
"He's so small," Xiao Guang said. "Even smaller than my little brother."
"Your little brother?" a girl next to him asked. She was about four, with two small pigtails, and her name was Sayuri.
"Yeah." Xiao Guang lowered his head. "He died. He got sick, and we had no money for treatment."
The kitchen fell silent for a moment.
Mary walked over and stroked Xiao Guang's head.
"Wentian will live on for your little brother," she said softly. "You have to protect him, okay?"
Xiao Guang nodded vigorously.
Nangong Wentian looked at the five-year-old boy, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside him. The cruelty of this world was starkly evident in the orphanage—scarce resources, rampant disease, and children struggling to survive in the cracks.
He didn't know how Xiao Guang's brother had died, but he knew that similar tragedies would happen countless more times in this world, until the flames of war had consumed everything.
Unless someone stopped it.
He clenched his tiny fists.
Xiao Guang saw it and exclaimed in surprise, "He made a fist! He's so strong!"
Mary smiled, not thinking much of it.
Only Nangong Wentian knew that this fist was a promise to himself.
The night grew deep.
The children were all asleep, and only Tanaka was left in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes. Nangong Wentian lay in his cradle, his eyes closed, but his mind was racing.
He had heard too much information today.
Coordinator refugees were pouring into Orb, the conflict between Naturals and Coordinators had already seeped into the civilian populace, Morgenroete was secretly developing MS, and Uzumi was trying to protect neutrality with technology… These clues were assembling like puzzle pieces in his mind.
He remembered the voice from when he crossed over:
"Accept it."
"This is the gift of the…"
"Use it, to change fate."
The technical knowledge that had flooded his mind, those shimmering green points of light, that mysterious consciousness—he still didn't know where they came from. But he was becoming more and more certain of one thing:
His arrival was no accident.
He had been chosen. Chosen to do something.
What was it?
He didn't know everything, but he knew the first step—survive, grow up, learn everything about this world, accumulate power, and wait for the right moment.
Twenty years. He had twenty years.
The moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating his face. He opened his eyes and looked at that small patch of night sky. The stars twinkled, like countless eyes watching him.
He thought of Gundam SEED, which he had watched in his past life, and of all the tragic fates—Kira's struggles, Athrun's pain, Cagalli's confusion, Lacus's tears, and the countless civilians who turned to ash in the war.
Now, none of this was just a story on a screen.
This was the reality he had to face.
But he was not afraid.
Because he was Nangong Wentian.
His mind held the power to change the world, and his heart held the determination to change it. He had twenty years, countless people he could unite, and countless things he could do.
He would make this world different.
He would let those who were supposed to die, live.
He would let those families that were supposed to be broken, remain whole.
He would make the war end sooner.
No, not just end it—he would make it so that it never happened again.
He raised his small hand toward the night sky outside the window and clenched his fist.
This was his first vow upon arriving in this world:
"In my name, Nangong Wentian, with this knowledge as my sword and this heart as my shield, I will end the chain of hatred and protect these starry skies."
"No matter the cost."
Outside the window, a training aircraft streaked past again, its contrail glowing silver in the moonlight.
In the cradle, the infant closed his eyes, his breathing even.
But this time, he wasn't pretending to be asleep.
He had truly fallen asleep.
Because he knew that when he woke up tomorrow, it would be a new day. There would be new information to gather, new knowledge to digest, and new opportunities to wait for.
And all of this was just the beginning.
In the kitchen, Tanaka washed the dishes, humming an unknown tune.
He had no idea that in the cradle right behind him, a destiny that would change the world had already begun to turn.