Friends' Argument 3

These words were like an icy chisel, breaking open the psychological barrier Yzak and Dearka had built from excuses like "the mission," "justice," and "there was no other choice."

They stared at Athrun in astonishment, mouths open, yet unable to make a sound.

Yzak wanted to argue. He wanted to say it was war, that civilian deaths in war were unavoidable, that their targets had been mobile suits, not civilians.

But Athrun's words—"the result is everything"—weighed on his heart like a mountain, choking every word in his throat.

Yes. No matter how many reasons they had, no matter what their original intentions had been, the outcome would not change—those who should have continued living in peaceful colonies had been reduced to cosmic dust because of their actions.

Among them were countless ordinary people whose names they did not even know.

Dearka's reaction was even more complicated.

The shock on his face was not merely because of Athrun's sharp words, but because Athrun had actually pointed the spearhead at themselves.

He had thought that he was alone on this path of reflecting on war's cruelty.

But now, Athrun had gone farther than him, and with even greater resolve.

Athrun was not merely condemning the scum who committed atrocities. He was judging all of them, including himself.

The courage of that self-examination, and the crushing sense of guilt it contained, made Dearka's heart tremble.

Athrun did not look at the expressions of the two companions beside him again.

He slowly turned his head forward, toward the dim, endless corridor leading to the dormitories.

Under the ghastly white lights, the profile of his face looked sharply defined and exceptionally cold.

"Athrun."

Dearka called his name softly on instinct, his voice carrying worry and confusion.

He did not know what Athrun had gone through