Gilbert Durandal

December in PLANT.

As a newly promoted commander in white, recipient of the Nebula Medal, and captain of the new warship Vesalius, Rau Le Creuset was currently resting in his detached villa in the city of December, dressed in his pajamas.

Regardless of his status, he had yet to transcend the boundaries of humanity; naturally, like everyone else, he required rest.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

Disturbed, Rau Le Creuset donned his mask and walked toward the door.

"Pajamas?"

At the entrance, a long-haired man wearing the green uniform of a councilor looked stunned; clearly, he had not expected this sight.

Hearing this, Rau Le Creuset, standing at the door, retorted, "It seems you are surprised?"

"Everyone has things they cannot know and that fall outside their range of understanding; I am naturally no exception."

The long-haired man replied with a light chuckle.

"That is a truly amusing joke."

Rau Le Creuset finished coldly and turned to walk toward the living room.

Seeing this, the long-haired man smiled faintly and followed him inside.

Rau Le Creuset's living room was minimalist, so simple that it contained only basic furniture; the long-haired man had expected as much.

In front of the coffee table.

Rau Le Creuset removed his mask, placed it on the table, and asked the man before him, "I heard you were summoned by the Genetic Research Institute a few days ago."

"To think you'd know about such a trivial matter—you really do care about me, don't you?" the long-haired man replied with a light laugh.

"Are we not friends?"

Rau Le Creuset caught the implication, but he had his own reasons.

"That goes without saying."

"Then don't you think mutual concern between friends is a heartening thing?" Rau Le Creuset continued to probe.

"Mm, you're right. That's why I came to see you the moment I heard you were back. Are you deeply moved by that?" the long-haired man replied with a smile.

"Exceptionally moved."

Having said that, Rau Le Creuset did not delve further into the topic, instead asking, "I only have coffee here. Would you like some?"

"I am never picky about anything."

The long-haired man agreed with a light chuckle.

"Is that because, in your eyes, everything has its own unique value?"

Rau Le Creuset countered.

The long-haired man turned to look at Rau Le Creuset, a calm and amiable smile gradually spreading across his face.

Rau Le Creuset met his gaze calmly.

"Why must we always trade barbs like this every time?"

A moment later, the long-haired man broke the silence with a light laugh: "I take sugar in my coffee, thank you."

"Picky fellow."

Rau Le Creuset finished and turned toward the coffee machine.

The long-haired man took off his councilor's jacket, tossed it onto the sofa, and stood there looking around, trying to see if there were any features different from his memory.

The decor and furniture of a home reflect, from the side, some of the occupant's personality and traits.

This was not intentional, but an unconscious acquiescence.

A short while later.

Rau Le Creuset walked out carrying two cups of coffee and said to the man who was looking around, "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"So direct?"

The long-haired man was somewhat surprised by Rau Le Creuset's bluntness.

"My apologies, I don't have any sugar here. The taste of the coffee might not suit you, so I won't keep you for long."

Rau Le Creuset provided his reason.

"That is indeed a frustrating state of affairs."

The long-haired man nodded, sat on the sofa, picked up the coffee, and said, "Not long ago, I received a very special request. They wanted me to go to the Genetic Research Institute to help examine something."

"To think they would ask someone who is already a councilor to inspect it—it seems that thing is quite special."

Rau Le Creuset echoed.

The PLANT Supreme Council serves as the highest decision-making body, with a 60-member council beneath it, and each colony has a district administrator and an administrative team.

The political system is a republic; district administrators and others are elected by mutual vote, but they cannot run for office.

One PLANT colony is equivalent to one district, with ten districts forming one city.

The cities of PLANT function as mutual aid societies.

When a situation arises within a district that cannot be handled internally, other districts extend a helping hand.

Therefore, the municipal government does not function as an administrative unit to implement unified governance.

There are no mayors for the sake of convenience, nor are there city-level councils.

However, to unify the opinions of PLANT, a 60-member council was established.

The man before him was a member of one of these city councils—Gilbert Durandal.

"Yes."

Gilbert Durandal nodded.

"And then?"

Le Creuset continued to ask.

"There is no 'then.' I simply wanted to share this good news with you."

Gilbert Durandal replied with a light chuckle.

"So that special thing is related to Eno Kamal?"

Le Creuset seemed to have guessed the other party's intentions and purpose.

"I am not clear on that; perhaps it is related, or perhaps not."

Gilbert Durandal replied with a light chuckle.

Le Creuset fell silent upon hearing this.

A moment later, having pondered the situation, Le Creuset took a sip of coffee and admitted, "Although you may already know, he is indeed not my target."

"It seems I guessed correctly."

Gilbert Durandal nodded at these words, clearly having anticipated this answer.

"So, what do you intend to do?"

Le Creuset countered.

"I only came to share my joy and confirm my answer."

Gilbert Durandal smiled.

"Analyzing the current situation, he should already know he has been exposed and is preparing to save himself."

Le Creuset continued his calm analysis: "First, he becomes an MS pilot to lower the guard of his superiors, then finds an opportunity to reach the front lines after graduation, and finally pilots an MS alone on some battlefield to escape this place of trouble—"

"If I do not intervene, the probability of this plan succeeding is infinitely close to one hundred percent. Of course, when the plan succeeds, he will also become a corpse that cannot speak—"

At the end of his statement, Le Creuset tilted his head to look at Gilbert Durandal: "So, do you wish for him to live or die?"

"Everyone has a fate they cannot escape; no one is an exception."

Gilbert Durandal chuckled, "Whether he lives or dies, that is his fate."

"Fate, what a tiresome concept."

Le Creuset had once scoffed at so-called fate, even holding it in contempt.

Yet, as time passed, he gradually discovered that fate was sometimes truly helpless.

"It is indeed quite tiresome."

Gilbert Durandal nodded, acknowledging Le Creuset's answer.

"Then, if I were to accidentally break this fate you speak of, what would you do?" Le Creuset asked.

Gilbert Durandal's hand holding the coffee paused slightly at these words; he turned his head to look at Le Creuset and said, "If a fate is broken, it means its significance was limited to that point."

"Heh, I find you are becoming increasingly like a mystic."

Le Creuset could not help but laugh at this.

"If that is my fate, then there is nothing wrong with that."

Gilbert Durandal replied with a smile.

About ten minutes later.

Gilbert Durandal, dressed in his green councilor uniform, drove away from the villa.

Watching the car disappear into the distance, the expression on Le Creuset's face gradually became solemn and complex.

Gilbert Durandal never did anything without meaning.

Or rather, everyone's actions have their own unique significance.

But what was the significance of Gilbert Durandal telling him all of this?

Without a doubt, Gilbert Durandal had discovered something about Eno Kamal.

But what exactly had he found?

Even Le Creuset did not know what kind of reaction he should give.

Because he did not know what reaction Durandal expected from him.

In this state of uncertainty, any choice or action he made could potentially become the very action Durandal desired.

"Heh, what a troublesome fellow."

Feeling his thoughts disrupted by the other man, Le Creuset chuckled as he closed the door.

He was unsure of what Durandal wanted, nor was there any need to be certain.

He only needed to know what he himself wanted and strive toward that end.

Had he not always lived his life this way?