Postwar 8

Only now did Canard truly feel a trace of regret—the irritation of bringing disaster upon himself because of a careless remark. His thoughts were instantly pulled back to the crude infirmary aboard the rescue craft.

At the time, the Hyperion Gundam he had piloted had been destroyed by Jiliang's Strike Gundam, and he himself had been taken in as a "prisoner" aboard an Orb warship.

Cold medical instruments surrounded him, and the smell of disinfectant filled his nostrils.

Cagalli and that ZAFT elite in red—Athrun Zala—had been in his hospital room.

Amid the tangled emotions of defeat's humiliation, physical pain, and uncertainty over the future, he had almost unconsciously spoken his mind.

To those two people, who had seemed laughably naive to him, he had voiced his confusion over what he should fight for from then on.

He would never forget the look in Cagalli's eyes then.

There had been no victor's pride in those emerald-green eyes, nor any contempt for an enemy. There had only been... a look he could not understand, something almost like sympathy.

She had told him, "If you don't know why to fight, then fight to protect someone important."

Protect? What a laughable word. He was a "failed product," created to surpass the "Perfect Coordinator," a weapon of war with blood on his hands. Who was he supposed to "protect"?

And yet, at that moment, as if possessed, he had thought of Jiliang.

He did not know what kind of feeling it was. Perhaps it was only because she and Cagalli were the "blood relatives" with whom he shared the deepest connection in this world, even though he most wanted to deny that connection existed.

So, at Cagalli's suggestion—or rather, provoked by her naive words—he had declared a resolution that even he found absurd: he