The air in the vast hangar bay of Side 3's Orbital Defense Command post was thick with the metallic tang of propellant and the lingering heat signature of recently operated mobile suits. Four Zaku IIs, designated for demonstration purposes, stood deactivated, their mono-eyes dark and lifeless after the brief, albeit intense, drill. Technicians moved methodically around them, checking actuators and coolant levels.
Above, in the observation gallery, a collection of officers and select personnel shuffled charts and debriefing pads. The atmosphere was one of routine post-demo analysis, a necessary formality after showcasing the capabilities of the Principality's burgeoning mobile suit force in the year UC 0076. Most of the observers were seasoned veterans, their faces etched with the weariness of military life in the ever-present shadow of conflict with the Earth Federation.
Among them, conspicuously young, were two individuals who had drawn quiet, sidelong glances throughout the demonstration: Lelouch and Tanya von Zehrtfeldt. Twins, barely teenagers, dressed in sharp, tailored cadet uniforms that seemed slightly too large for their still-growing frames, yet worn with an unnerving air of confidence. They sat side-by-side, their gazes fixed intently on the deactivated Zakus as the standard reports began.
One after another, junior officers and technical staff gave their observations, mostly positive boilerplate about pilot proficiency and unit performance. The seasoned veterans like Lieutenant Commander Shin Matsunaga, sitting near the front, listened with a practiced ear, occasionally scribbling a note, but mostly showing polite disinterest. This was standard fare.
Then, the name "von Zehrtfeldt" was called.
A hush fell over the gallery. Amid the rustling of papers and muted whispers, a sudden silence descended when the next name echoed through the gallery's speakers. Attention sharpened. Curiosity turned to scrutiny.
Lelouch rose first, his movements precise and economical. He held a slim data pad, his violet eyes scanning its contents. He cleared his throat, his voice clear and carrying slightly further than expected for his age.
"Cadet Lelouch von Zehrtfeldt reporting on Zaku Unit 3's engagement profile," he stated, his posture rigid but not tense. "Overall performance indicates strong pilot capability, however, significant tactical inefficiencies were observed." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the hushed gallery. "No unit cohesion was maintained past the initial skirmish line. The Zaku II, while excelling in direct assault and localized domination through superior mobility and armament compared to current EF designs, demonstrated critical vulnerability when operating in layered fire zones – such as the simulated urban environment layout. This vulnerability escalates dramatically without coordinated suppression or mutual support fire. The current doctrine, or lack thereof evident in Unit 3's maneuvers, necessitates immediate development and implementation of standardized formation doctrine, specifically tailored to exploit the Zaku's strengths while mitigating its weaknesses in complex environments."
A ripple went through the observers. This wasn't the usual "pilot was aggressive" or "armament performed well." This was a high-level tactical assessment, dissecting doctrine itself, delivered with an almost academic precision that was unsettling in one so young. Matsunaga lifted an eyebrow, his usual easy-going expression replaced by one of sharp focus.
Next, Tanya rose. Where Lelouch was coolly analytical, Tanya radiated a focused intensity that seemed to hum just beneath the surface. Her report was shorter, delivered with a clipped, almost impatient cadence.
"Cadet Tanya von Zehrtfeldt, analysis of overall unit performance," she announced, her blue eyes scanning the group, missing nothing. "Target prioritization was inefficient. Unit 1 fixated on a non-critical structure for seventeen seconds while two other units were flanked. Excessive movement was observed in close-quarters simulation; the pilots relied too heavily on evasive thruster bursts that drained fuel and broke formation, even temporary ones. Pilot instincts, while individually sharp, consistently exceeded unit coordination, resulting in fragmented attacks and predictable retreat vectors. The Zaku's potential is being squandered by pilots operating as individuals rather than components of a cohesive tactical unit."
Silence descended upon the gallery. These two cadets, barely old enough to shave, had just delivered critiques that were not only astute but cut directly to fundamental flaws in the demonstration's tactical execution and, by extension, the underlying philosophy guiding Zaku deployment. Their language wasn't that of enthusiastic cadets but of seasoned military theorists.
The observing officers exchanged looks of mingled surprise, confusion, and grudging respect. Whispers started, low and incredulous.
Lieutenant Commander Matsunaga, who had been leaning back moments ago, now sat bolt upright. He actually paused, rereading the notes he'd already jotted down, comparing them mentally to the twins' pronouncements. Then, he turned to a nearby staff officer, his voice rough with disbelief. "Who the hell trained these two?" It wasn't just a question—it was a warning masked as curiosity.
The question hung in the air. It wasn't just the content of their reports, but the perspective. They weren't just watching a demo; they were seeing the battlefield, the flow of conflict, the intricate dance of units and their inherent vulnerabilities.
Later that week, far from the hangar bay, the reports from the demonstration analysis session made their way up the chain of command. Copies of the twins' typed reports, containing their verbatim feedback, landed on the desks of some of the most powerful figures in the Principality of Zeon.
On a polished desk in the inner sanctum of the Zeon forces, Rear Admiral Dozle Zabi, a man whose imposing physique was matched only by his directness and tactical acumen, leaned back in his chair. He reread the reports from the von Zehrtfeldt twins, his thick fingers drumming on the mahogany surface. Beside the reports lay the raw combat data and performance logs from the Zaku units. He cross-referenced their observations with the numbers, the fuel consumption logs, the hit-and-miss ratios, the movement vectors captured by the simulators.
His eyes widened slightly. The cadets weren't just theorizing; they were deriving their conclusions directly from the quantifiable data, interpreting it with frightening accuracy.
"They're not just sharp," Dozle rumbled to his assembled staff, a rare note of wonder in his voice. "They think in three dimensions. They saw the weaknesses the pilots themselves didn't even recognize. They understand the system, not just the machine." He paused, his gaze hardening with decision. "Send them up. Put them in Mobile Suit training immediately. Report directly to me on their progress."
A copy of the same reports landed on the elegant desk of Vice Admiral Kycilia Zabi. Known for her intelligence and penchant for intelligence work, she scanned the documents with a cool, appraising eye. A faint smile touched her lips. Interesting. They possessed a strategic insight that transcended their years, a rare commodity. She filed the information away, recognizing potential assets for her own burgeoning plans.
Another copy, intercepted through Gihren Zabi's vast network of informants and loyalists, arrived at his austere office. The brilliant, rhetorical architect of Zeon nationalism read the reports silently, his face an unreadable mask. He absorbed the information, processing it through his own complex filters of ideology, power, and future conflict. Unlike Dozle or Kycilia, he offered no immediate comment, no directives. But the names Lelouch and Tanya von Zehrtfeldt were now registered in the calculating depths of his mind. Potential, whether for use or for control, was never ignored.
Miles away, orbiting the Earth Sphere at Luna II, the Federation's strategic stronghold, On a hidden orbital station drifting far from established patrol routes, Selene sat alone in a sparse, reinforced chamber. The report on her datapad had been intercepted by means best left unspoken—encrypted, rerouted through off-the-record channels. Information like this didn't come cheap, nor without danger. But the names were clear, the insight unmistakable: Lelouch and Tanya von Zehrtfeldt were no longer shadows. They were rising stars in the heart of Zeon's war engine.
She placed the data pad back on the table, her fingers tracing the edge absently. She had watched over them once, from a distance. Now, they were no longer children hidden under the veil of policy—they were becoming actors on the grandest stage. The information was noted. Its implications, unsettling. Remarkable minds were emerging, even among their enemy. The future conflict—a war that felt increasingly inevitable—would be fought not just by machines and masses, but by intellects. And these two young minds, barely blooming, had just announced their presence on that stage. The thought remained, cold and unreadable behind her calm facade.
Back on Side 3, oblivious to the high-level attention they had garnered, Lelouch and Tanya von Zehrtfeldt were simply told to pack their minimal belongings. Their cadet training schedule, originally projected over several years, had been abruptly truncated. They were being reassigned, effective immediately, to the frontline of the Principality's most critical military development: mobile suit operations. The path they had just analyzed so dispassionately was about to become their own.