Reincarnation

His consciousness sank into a warm, viscous swamp, slowly and irreversibly swallowed by darkness.

The last thing he remembered was collapsing exhausted onto the single bed in his cheap rental after work, with an unfinished PowerPoint and his supervisor's caustic instant messages still flashing on the screen.

Another endless night of overtime, another profound firsthand experience of what it meant to be a corporate drone.

His surname was Li. His given name was ordinary, and his life had been just as unremarkable. Within China's vast, high-speed social machine, he had been nothing more than an insignificant screw, repeating the cycle of commuting, working, eating, and sleeping day after day. His dreams had long since been ground down into the humble hope of weekends off and getting paid on time.

He had fantasized about escaping countless times. Maybe winning the lottery, maybe finding a job he truly loved. Even while scrolling through web novels late at night, he had absurdly imagined waking up one day and transmigrating into a fantasy world of swords and magic. Even if the beginning was difficult, at least he could live another kind of life and escape this suffocating reality.

Yet death had come so quietly that it had not even given him a chance to say goodbye.

There had been no truck, no lightning strike, no heroic act. He had simply fallen asleep after extreme exhaustion, and the candle flame of his consciousness had quietly gone out, like a system crash—clean, decisive, without the slightest ripple.

Perhaps it had been overwork. Perhaps some hidden illness. The reason no longer mattered.

What mattered was that when his consciousness flickered back to life like a dying candle in the wind, what awaited him was a reality completely beyond imagination, even more absurd than his worst nightmare.

He "woke up," but this awakening was filled with strangeness and discomfort.

First came the confusion of his senses. His vision was blurry, as though he were looking through frosted glass. He could only vaguely make out outlines of light and shadow, along with intense patches of color.

A noisy heartbeat thudded in his ears, strong and powerful, yet utterly unfamiliar. It was completely different from the heart he remembered, one that had long been driven through weary days by caffeine and anxiety.

Then came a maddening feeling of helplessness. He wanted to raise a hand and rub his eyes, wanted to turn his neck and look around, but his limbs seemed shackled by invisible restraints, unbearably heavy. All he could manage were tiny, uncontrollable twitches.

What terrified him even more was that he could not speak. His throat could only produce meaningless coos and babbles, like... like an infant.

Panic flooded his mind like an icy tide.

An infant? He had become an infant? What was going on? Reincarnation? Transmigration? After a brief moment of shock, his survival instinct forced him to calm down and begin piecing together this fragmented reality.

He blinked desperately, trying to bring his blurred vision into focus.

After a difficult effort, the scene before him gradually became clear.

This was an extremely luxurious room. The ceiling rose high overhead and was painted with exquisite frescoes, while an ornate crystal chandelier refracted soft, warm light.

Beneath him lay soft silk bedding with a faint fragrance.

The room was decorated in a classical Western style. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the light from outside.

Several oil paintings hung on the walls, apparently landscapes and portraits, though they were too far away for him to make out the details.

This was a magnificent cage, and he was the prisoner trapped inside, unable even to turn over.

He was an infant with an adult's mind. The enormous disconnect of that realization nearly drove him insane.

The scenes he had once read in novels, where children displayed prodigious talent in infancy, now felt nothing but absurd and painful.

He could not even independently express or control his most basic physical needs—hunger and excretion. He could only rely on instinctive crying to draw attention.

For a modern adult accustomed to independence and self-reliance, this state of complete dependence and helplessness was torture worse than death.

He forced himself to observe and gather information. His gaze swept across every corner of the room, trying to find any clue that could explain his situation.

In the end, his eyes settled on an elegant wooden wall calendar on one side of the room.

The calendar was made of fine materials, but one alphanumeric marking on it pierced deep into his memories like a needle.

C.E. 56

"C.E."... Cosmic Era?

Why did this abbreviation feel so familiar, yet carry such an overwhelming sense of dread?

He desperately searched through his memories. As a typical corporate drone, his entertainment time had been limited, but not nonexistent.

Anime, games, and movies had all been ways for him to relieve stress.

And the C.E. calendar system seemed to hold a central place in some work... a work filled with war, tragedy, political strife, and... giant robots.

His heartbeat suddenly accelerated, nearly bursting through the chest of this tiny body.

"No... it can't be..." A terrible thought slithered into his mind like a venomous snake, chilling him to the bone.

He tried to recall more details: the Cosmic Era, the setting of that world... Coordinators, Naturals, ZAFT, the Earth Alliance, genetic discrimination, bloody conflict... a string of terms surged up uncontrollably, every one of them carrying immense weight.

Just as his thoughts were in complete turmoil, thrown into chaos by that sudden suspicion, the door to the room was gently pushed open.

The footsteps were light. The first person to enter was a young woman dressed in a standard maid uniform.

She had a lovely face, though her expression was somewhat restrained and submissive. When she saw him lying in the crib, a nearly imperceptible trace of pity flickered in her eyes before quickly being replaced by professional respect.

She walked to the bedside and skillfully checked his condition. Her movements were gentle, yet carried the detached air of routine work.

Close behind her, a tall figure entered the room, bringing with him an intense sense of oppression. He was a middle-aged man who looked to be around forty, dressed in an impeccably tailored dark suit.

His features were handsome and sharply defined. His short golden hair was neatly combed, and his blue eyes were sharp as a hawk's, yet unfathomably deep, revealing a chilling coldness and indifference.

He exuded the presence of one who stood above others, mixed with indescribable arrogance and... disgust.

Yes, disgust.

When the man's gaze fell upon him, there was not the slightest joy or warmth of a new father. There was only undisguised scrutiny, along with the critical dissatisfaction of someone examining a defective product.

Even through an infant's indistinct senses, he could clearly feel that bone-deep chill.

"Hmph." The man let out a soft snort, filled with contempt. "Still like this? What an eyesore."

His voice was low and magnetic, but his tone seemed forged from ice. "He's becoming more and more like that worthless Mu."

"Mu"?!

That name struck his mind like a second bolt of thunder.

If "C.E. 56" had merely given him an extremely ominous association, then the name "Mu" all but nailed that terrifying suspicion to the cross of reality.

Mu La Flaga—the man who piloted the Moebius Zero, later became a vital fighting force aboard the Archangel, and whose complex background earned him the title of "the man who makes the impossible possible"!

The man ignored any reaction he might have had and turned to command the maid, his tone firm and beyond question. "Listen. Starting today, strictly follow the plan I have laid out to 'educate' him. I want him to grow up as quickly as possible and become a qualified heir—one capable of surpassing, no, completely replacing Mu. The Flaga Family has no need for two failures, especially at such a crucial time."

"Yes, sir," the maid replied respectfully, lowering her head.

"Give him a name," the man said, seemingly on a whim. His gaze swept over the crib again with careless cruelty. "Call him... Char. Hopefully, he'll at least be more useful than that clone brother of his, who is only fit to crawl through the shadows."

"Char"? Was it because this body had inherited that distinctive golden hair and blue eyes as well?

Or did the name itself contain some malicious mockery or twisted expectation?

He could not know, nor did he want to know.

The man's orders continued, covering nothing more than how he was to be raised, what ideas were to be instilled in him, and the role set out for his future.

Every word was like an ice pick, piercing through the last shred of his hope.

C.E. 56.

Mu.

The Flaga Family.

Replacing his older brother as heir.

Golden hair and blue eyes.

A cold, ambitious middle-aged "father" who treated familial affection as nothing.

Every clue had come together, forming the picture he least wanted to see.

He suddenly realized that the cold middle-aged man was undoubtedly Al Da Flaga, the infamous SEED Universe schemer who had orchestrated the cloning plan and held an extremely twisted view of both his biological son and cloned son, even intending to use them to fulfill his own ambitions!

And he, this unlucky man who had just been reincarnated in another world, had not only failed to receive the peaceful life he had dreamed of, but had instead plunged headfirst into the abyssal universe of Mobile Suit Gundam SEED, a world filled with war, hatred, conspiracy, betrayal, and despair.

Worse still, his reincarnated identity was Al Da Flaga's son, Mu La Flaga's "younger brother"—the infant now named "Char"!

The current year was C.E. 56. There were fourteen years until the First Bloody Valentine in C.E. 70, and fifteen years until the Battle of Jachin Due in C.E. 71.

This was precisely the period when the conflict between Coordinators and Naturals was escalating by the day, and the clouds of war were gathering.

Not only was he no outsider, he had been born directly into the center of the storm—and into a family infamous for tragedy and distortion!

There would be no pastoral idyll here, no easy everyday life, no gentle elves or cute beast-eared girls.

What awaited him was a cruel society ruled by genetic determinism, an all-out war that could erupt at any time, the original sin and curse borne by the Flaga name, a controlling father who saw him as a tool, and an "older brother," Mu, whose future was filled with confusion and pain.

What he had wanted from reincarnation in another world was to escape the identity of a corporate drone and find comfort and freedom for his soul.

But reality had given him a resounding slap, pushing him from one pit of fire into another—one with hell-level difficulty.

Being born as Al Da Flaga's son, raised as Mu's "replacement" and potential rival, at this point in time... this was practically a beginning covered head to toe in death flags!

An unprecedented sense of despair seized him in an instant.

An adult's reason and understanding became the heaviest shackles of all.

He knew clearly where this world's future was headed. He knew the tragic fate of the Flaga Family and the cruel mercilessness of war.

He could see a track leading toward destruction, one that was almost impossible to leave, and he was firmly strapped onto this train called "fate," racing toward the destined abyss.

He wanted to scream, resist, and escape, but his tiny body could not even form clear syllables. All he could do was keep making meaningless wailing cries.

This time, the crying was no longer an infant's instinct. It came from the deepest fear and collapse of an adult soul.

Tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes, blurring his vision and the luxurious yet cold frescoes on the ceiling.

The lavish crib now felt like a gilded cage, more like an exquisite coffin announcing in advance the tragic end of his life in this other world.

It's over... he wailed silently in his heart. My life in another world... ended on its very first day. This isn't reincarnation. This is... a one-way trip to hell!

Al Da Flaga gave the crying infant a cold glance without the slightest reaction, then turned and left the room, leaving behind the maid and him, who had fallen into utter despair.

The world outside the window remained silent, but for Char Flaga, his life had already been stained with the uniquely bottomless gray and blood-red hues of the SEED Universe.