The Call Was Cut Off

His tone shifted, carrying a trace of almost mocking "gratitude" as he refused their "aid." "While I must thank your ZAFT fleet for coming to offer 'support,' this is not the kind of 'aid' Orb wants. Orb has its own dignity and principles. We will not accept military interference in any form, nor will we accept any kind of 'exchange.' Our country intends to—and will—remain firmly neutral. We will not involve ourselves in the conflict between the world's two great camps! So please... leave at once. Withdraw ZAFT's forces from Orb's airspace and territorial waters!"

Those unequivocal words rejected ZAFT's "goodwill" outright, along with its attempt to drag Orb deeper into the mire.

Every word rang with Orb's pride and the resolve of its commander-in-chief!

His stern, resolute gaze seemed almost to take physical form through the screen, fixed sharply and without mercy on Athrun Zala's deep, cold eyes.

Athrun Zala met it with a gaze just as piercing and unyielding.

Their clash of wills seemed to last a century.

At last, a faint, almost imperceptible weariness showed on Athrun Zala's young, handsome face.

The rigid anger and determination in his expression seemed to crack from within, like a sheet of ice.

His breathing grew heavy. Then, as though surrendering something vital—or setting down a crushing burden—he let out a soft sigh, weighted with reluctant relief.

It was so faint that Cagalli Yula Athha barely caught it. Athrun Zala's eyes, so sharp until now, slowly closed in a final farewell.

He had buried every personal feeling deep inside.

"All right. I understand Orb's position."

When Athrun Zala spoke again, his voice had returned to the cold, emotionless tone of a ZAFT soldier, as hard and chill as steel.

Yet beneath that coldness lay a weary, helpless concession—and perhaps a farewell