AC 186
Victoria Academy

Noin sighed as she stepped into her room, a sanctuary from the endless scrutiny outside. She sat down and allowed herself to slump out of her ramrod posture, ruffling her hair and closing her eyes as well. The teachers had called on her again and again today, continuously showering her with praise when she answered correctly, as she always did. And her classmates. . . They all eyed her every single time; they all looked to her as though she could do no wrong. And even though she knew she should be grateful for what she had, there were days like today when she wished that nameless Specials officer had simply left her with her band. But instead, he had deposited her here like so much unwanted baggage, despite all the effort he had gone through to convince her, abandoned her and left her to fend for herself. No doubt he thought she was capable. No doubt everyone thought she was capable. No doubt this was something to be proud of.

She sighed again and curled up on her bed, her face turned toward the wall. She hated it here, at this place, where she had nothing to call her own. She was well fed, of course, and clothed, and provided for, and cared for, and given an allowance. The list continued on and on. But there was no place to go where she could simply be Noin instead of the Cadet Noin, no one to talk to who would see her as a human being, just as frail and imperfect as everyone else. She did enjoy the teachers' praises, though, loved feeling the warmth in their smiles, adored their acceptance of her. Even so, it did nothing for her, only distanced the others. She could still feel their cold eyes on her, their awe oppressing her, weighing her down. They didn't know who she was. They only knew the student, only cared for the grades she got. The teachers too. They didn't care who she was, as long as she kept spitting out the correct answers. There was no one. No one but herself. . . the words echoed through her mind as she finally faced the harsh truth. There will never be anyone here who will understand me. There will never be anyone who will like me for myself. I must never expect companionship, for I am different from the rest of them in so many ways. Born in the streets. Female. Top of the class. There was nothing in her that anyone could sympathize with, nothing the rest of her classmates could connect to. And even if they could, even if they did, it would still be of no use to her. Just like before, everything would eventually be taken away from her. Remember, she told herself, You are alone till the very last.

* * *

Zechs watched the girl with the short black hair as she walked back to the dorms, admiring how she kept her shoulders back and her chin up the entire time. He couldn't help but notice her bearing, how she held herself as though there were eyes on her at all times. And in a way, there were. He knew. How could he not know? He had felt them himself, continued to feel them even now, sitting in the library, catching the faintest whispers of passer-bys. They were probably asking themselves how he did it, staying at the top. Asking if he could keep it up. Asking who this upstart aristo was, for his very manners made it evident he was not one of them. He was a part of a class eliminated long before by the Federation. He was not like them. He wondered what the black-haired girl was thinking as she had walked out so proudly. Noin, was that her name? He couldn't remember, even though the teachers called on her constantly in class. It was last period that he had noticed, that he had paid enough attention to his surroundings to see the flash in her eyes as she stood up to answer a question, to catch a glimpse of her unguarded. And in that flash, he thought he saw something akin to what he was feeling -- the gray despair of loneliness.

No, he told himself. Even if she did feel the same, why would she want to associate with him? He was nothing. He was the lost heir to a lost country, an anachronism who longed desperately to bring back the past he belonged to. He was the bearer of the Peacecraft legacy, yet he was here training to become an expert in Mobile Suit combat, to learn how to kill. What would his father have said to that? He lowered his head. His father. . . He didn't even remember him now. Just a voice in the dark that spoke of forgiveness and passive resistance in the face of violence. Just the thundering passion that arose whenever the subject of war came up, the utter renunciation of it obvious to even a child. If his father could see him now, excelling in the very subject he hated most. . . Zechs could vividly feel the disappointment that was worse than anger, for at least anger he could defy. He could hear the adoring tones of his classmates, the respect with which they spoke his name. How could anyone like him once they truly knew what he was like? He was a hypocrite. He didn't deserve any of their praise. He put the thoughts of the black-haired girl out of his mind. She was someone he couldn't even hope to befriend, no matter how similar the two of them were. He was too sullied. Remember, he told himself. You are alone till the very last.

* * *

AC 187
Victoria Academy

As Zechs knocked down the last Mobile Suit in the practice room with ease, he wearily closed his eyes. Even though they had only began to man Mobile Suits in the practice room this past month, he was already sick of it, of the endless monotony of it. The lessons of the previous semester had taught him all he needed to know of the machine; he knew the controls like he knew every tiny crease and tear in his one picture of his family. Even after only a month in it, the MS was more a part of his body than it was a separate entity to operate. He belonged in the cockpit, fit in like he did nowhere else in the world. But the strange sense of peace he found in the MS was countered by the ennui he faced in practice. There was clearly no one who even began to rival his mastery of the MS, and he could hear the whispers starting up yet again.

"Cadet Zechs. Prepare yourself for a new battle." The command issued from the loudspeakers, causing him to wearily gird himself for yet another fight. How many were they going to send again him this time before they finally realized he could best anyone in the Academy blindfolded?

He looked up, startled. Just one? They had stopped doing that after the first day. What was this? A joke? He quickly disregarded the thoughts. Just another battle. Performing the standard checks on the controls caused the familiar rush of adrenalin to flood his body, and he stretched his arms, beginning to eagerly anticipate the battle. He could distantly hear the gasps of the other students as they watched but chose to disregard them in order to focus on the coming fight. Suddenly, he jerked his MS to a stop, surprised beyond measure. Her? They were making him fight her? He shook the rebellious thoughts out of his head. It should make no difference who he was going fight. They were all the same; just people who poured empty words of praise onto him in order to please him, when he knew they would simply abandon him if they truly knew who he was. Why would she be different? He began the sequence that would activate the MS, pushing aside the little voice which was desperately trying to convince him that she would be different from the rest.

"Are you really going to fight me?" said the little figure in screen that just popped up. It was her. He didn't bother to reply, telling himself that dragging out the scene would merely cause more pain. Better to keep himself distant before she found out more and began to hate him, as anyone would.

"This is Cadet Noin. Zechs -- ? Is that your name? Are you really going to fight me, Zechs?"

He sighed even as he felt a slight glow within him. She was making it difficult. But she knew his name.

"Yes, that's my name. Yes, I'm going to fight you. What else would I do?"

The little figure looked a bit put aback by his reply, and he immediately felt guilty for his necessary curtness.

"But why? We're alike, you and I. Would you give them" - she motioned toward the other students - "the pleasure of watching us pit ourselves against each other?"

She had just said they were alike. She had said she was like him. Alike. Maybe - just perhaps - she might give him a chance. A smile flashed on his face, as distant and quick as lightning, to be answered by an anticipating one on the other screen.

"So," he said, "shall we proceed to battle?"

He watched with joy as her smile widened to a grin that spoke of evil things.

* * *