Foreword: Music is as follows.

Bruce Faulconer - A Little Help From A Friend

Chrono Cross - Another World

G Gundam - The China Shuffle(or Hack Sign - Magic and Sword)

Staind - So Far Away

Rurouni Kenshin - Departure(or Metallica - I Disappear)


Sidetracked

Prologue: Past Dealings II

Keiun grimaced. Normally appearing at least somewhat jovial, it was an expression that didn't quite fit him, though he would one day come to wear that same expression on an almost hourly basis, driving frown lines into existence that hadn't been there before. The silence in the room was close to deafening as he placed the letter down on the floor, a silence that wasn't broken easily until Feilong, the current master, spoke up, his own expression taut and restrained.

"As you can see, this does not bode well for our dream," he said, still maintaining an impassive tone. He had never been particularly close to his son, but it was obvious that the letters content had stressed him severely. "In fact, it may very well spell the dreams end."

"Indeed," Zuisen finally agreed, having maintained his own wall of silence since reading the letter. A former Gundam Fighter himself, it didn't look as though the Temple stood much of a chance with its star pupil having only a year and a half to live, while the upcoming 13th Gundam Fight was still three years away. Sai Feilong had been too worn with the riggors of aging under the harsh training of the Shaolin style, while Keiun had never been willing enough to fight in the first place. Zuisen, on the other hand, had fought in the previous Gundam Fight, barely a year earlier.

He had made it as far as eleventh place before being eliminated by Gentle Chapman. He had been the first Shaolin monk to compete in the Gundam Fight in over thirty years, and he had lost.

He was also well versed in the dream shared by all three of the men sitting in the room, himself included. Even more so, he was painfully aware that they were among the best the Shaolin Temple had to offer.

"Damned Chicoline," Keiun growled out a bit hoarsely, reprimanding himself a second later and calming down before Zuisen and Feilong could do it for him. Still, his words bore an eerie ring of truth to them, however short they'd been. If not for the Chicoline Defection, none of them would've been having these troubles in the first place.

"I suppose," Feilong began, an aged glint shimmering in his good eye. The other had been blinded in an accident. "That we will have to improvise. The Chicoline Temple," he paused thoughtfully, planning through his words. Keiun and Zuisen were both unamused. "Its rules are gentler than our own, but its style is still much the same, correct?"

Only Zuisen nodded. Keiun seemed a bit too disgusted to do anything but give a well concealed glare.

"Then my grandson will have to do."

"What?" Both asked harshly. Anyone but Feilong would've been attacked for such a comment, especially considering that Sai Saichi was literally the only member of the Shaolin Temple who was under the age of forty.

"A seeming defection. I have a feeling that he can learn more under the relaxed rules of the Chicoline, much faster than he can under the strict guidelines of Shaolin. The techniques will be the same, but he will likely acquire them with much better progress."

"What you're saying, Master, is a near violation of the past two hundred years of Shaolin teachings," Zuisen objected, barely hiding his indignance under a layer of currently-false respect. "How is he to become a proper Shaolin warrior if he doesn't even achieve inner peace along the way?"

Feilong was silent. For a moment, Keiun and Zuisen both feared that they had overstepped their boundaries.

And then he smiled softly, closing his eyes and continuing.

"The rules and teachings of our Temple are not static. They've changed numerous times to adapt to new threats and ideologies through the millennia. If they hadn't, Saichi would not even exist, and my son would have never been born to father him. He is a representation of change, a change that we must force ourselves to adapt to. If we must use a bit of treachery, then we will do just that, and spend the rest of our lives either atoning for it or seeing that we were right in doing so."

Another pause. The smile grew a bit wider.

"The Americans, if I recall correctly, said it best when they coined the phrase: 'What goes around, comes around.' Twenty-five years ago, every one of the Chicoline Temple's current upper echelon defected from the Shaolin Temple, I say it is time we returned the favor."

For the first time, Keiun spared a slight smirk and Zuisen merely nodded.

"Sai Saichi will learn inner peace, of that I am sure, because once he defects back to us, you will be his guides," Feilong added, almost as an afterthought, to quell any potential doubts.

"That settles it then," Zuisen stated. "Yes, it does," Keiun agreed, so quickly that the other had only barely finished speaking. It was a habit between them that would grow to where they spoke and thought the same things and finished each others sentences in the coming years.


"I still... Do not understand this, Grandfather," an eight year old boy said with more respect and articulation than he would ever use for anyone else. His head had been shaved bald, his skin was paler than it would one day become and his choice of clothing was the traditional wear of a Shaolin warrior monk-in-training, baggy pants with strings tied around the middle of each shin, slippers and a half-shirt that concealed most of the upper body except for the arms, one side of the chest and back and the shoulder of the exposed side, as well as a pair of white bands on the wrists.

About the only recognizable aspect of this child was that his eyes were still the same, apple shade of red that they had been since shifting from brown at the age of two.

Feilong was impassive, and obviously straining to hold his neutrality on the matter. His grandson was all he had left outside of the Temple itself - his own wife had died of a rare cancer and his daughter-in-law had divorced his son shortly after Saichi had been enrolled in the Temple rather than being given the chance to live a relatively normal life.

"There is not much for you to understand in the first place, Saichi. Keiun will escort you into a marketplace frequented by Chicoline recruiters and there, you will desert him at a convenient moment and find one of them. From then on, you will spend the next three years studying the styles and practices of the Chicoline Temple, then return to us just prior to the Gundam try-outs."

"I still do not understand why though," Saichi said again, looking up from where he was knelt down before the eighty year old Shaolin Master. The rushing sounds of the waterfall behind the old man put the scene into an almost serene sort of setting, allowing for a calm, collected mind in both of the Sai family members. It this case, it only made things a bit more confusing and hard to get for the younger of the two. Even if he was highly intelligent for his age, the prodigal son of Sai Lonbai was still a child.

"What's the point of defecting to another Temple just to learn the techniques that are Shaolin by right of creation?" He asked for the umpteenth time in the conversation, staring right into his grandfather's eyes without the slightest sign of hesitation, fear or intimidation. There was only respect.

Feilong sighed, looking for the right words and finding them all too easy to say when he succeeded.

"The point is that even though you can learn the same techniques here, there is no one at this temple who has the will to skip through the spiritual demands of attaining inner peace. To teach you as quickly as we need would go against the views of so many of the Shaolin Temple's members that it would be impossible to find a proper trainer who could keep up with your youth and potential," he explained. "We've become rigid, bitter from the Chicoline Defection. That rigidness is what would hold you back."

Another short pause.

"If I weren't so worn with age, I would teach you myself, or take part in the coming Gundam Fight. I can do neither, and neither can anyone else. You are our hope now, this plan is all that can save the Shaolin Temple from falling into nothing but memory."

At that, something dawned upon the younger of the two.

"Why not just wait until the 14th Tournament? Why now?"

This time, the answer didn't take so much as a thought to give, it was almost reflexive.

"Because the Shaolin Temple, as it is now, is only living on Neo-China's space colony for historical pride, pride that is rapidly vanishing. Even if it is a national symbol, we're here only because the government is willing to pay our costs of living on the off-chance that we can produce a new champion in time for the Gundam Fight. If we fail to do that by the time of the 13th Tournament, I am certain that the Neo-Chinese government will become disillusioned with us and remove us, by force if necessary," the elder Sai explained, his tone a bit graver than usual.

It finally dawned upon Saichi, for the first time but definately not the last, that he would be carrying the weight of a nation's fading pride and his own heritage's survival. Also for the first time, and definately not the last, he brushed this fact off in a matter of seconds, the situation at hand proving vastly more important than the big picture as a whole.

"How will I feign defection then, Master?"


A typical marketplace on the Neo-Chinese space colony. While it was true that there was a fairly rich upper class in Chinese society - there had been one since the end of the fourth World War - which preferred to shop at more secluded, moneyed places, most people tended to shop from simple, enclosed marketplaces like this one, which closely resembled a Western shopping mall, only without any centralized ownership. All of the shops varied as well, ranging from fruit stands to clothing shops, and at several corners, Chicoline recruiters could be seen, working their wits and mouths - not to mention the arms that they used to carry entree papers for the Temple - to draw in potential students.

In fact, marketplaces like this one were the primary recruiting grounds for the Chicoline Temple. Unlike the current Shaolin, they didn't wait for people to come to them, they got out and spread the word themselves.

This was increasingly obvious to Sai Saichi as he and Keiun began their trek through the front doors and down the corridors, running into a few of the would-be recruiters in the process. Everytime, one would look at Saichi with an appearance of perplexed disbelief - a child in the Shaolin Temple? It didn't make any sense, especially not with the fact that the Shaolin hadn't been able to draw in anyone under the age of thirty since the great defection.

Until, finally, the two of them arrived at their intended destination. A book shop. Despite being well into his late fifties, and despite the obvious matter of his life as a Shaolin monk, Keiun had always had two things about him that made him different from the stereotype of the Temple's membership - for one, he had a sweet tooth the size of Rhode Island, for another, he was an ardent reader of conventional and martial arts-based fantasy and science fiction.

He had sixteen copies of the Lord of the Rings series, including the Hobbit and the Silmarillion, though he hadn't finished any of them since he preferred to skim through chapters with different languages for each one. He often used the excuse of 'honing his skills' as a Temple translator. Originally, he had hoped that the Temple would achieve such a revival that people would come from other nations, such as Neo-England, Neo-America, Neo-Russia, or even Neo-Arabia.

That said, it was a bit too convenient that the book store he had chosen - one of five or six, each of which had been markedly closer to the entrance than this one - happened to have a Chicoline recruiter standing outside.

"Stay here while I go inside," the old monk ordered as if speaking to his own grandson. Saichi merely gave a nod and posted himself by the door, standing as still as a statue in the process. Normally, he followed orders to the letter unless something was purely questionable about them, but this time was an exception to that rule. A part of his growing sense of dignity and honesty felt hurt and betrayed by the orders that had been given to him, but the rest of him knew what he was doing simply had to be done, regardless of how many of his own morals he trampled in the process.

"Hello there."

Finally, he turned from staring at the doorway to the bookstore and turned, ever so slowly, to look up into the gentle, persuasive face of the recruiter who had been standing near the entrance. His face, which Saichi figured was normally very jovial and pleasant, seemed overcome with shadows that weren't there, making him look as imposing and difficult as the task that the boy had been presented with in the first place...


Falsely defect and infiltrate the Chicoline Temple for three years, then re-defect back to the Shaolin Temple just before the qualifying tournament to select Neo-China's Gundam Fighter.

It sounded hideously complex and hideously simple at the same time, but the truth was that it bordered some forsaken midground between the two. In order to blend in, one had to make friends, but how could one make friends if they didn't want to have to betray them in a few short years?

It was a vexing question that rode on the mind of Saichi as he looked himself in a mirror for the first time in weeks. It had been roughly twelve months now, twelve months since he had made his seeming defection and twelve months since he had begun to grow into things.

Truth be told, Saichi actually liked it better with the Chicoline. The rules were relaxed in comparison to the rigorous routines of the Shaolin - he could sleep a little later than dawn, he could eat as much as he could cram down his gullet before meal time was over and he was free to bathe twice daily if he wanted.

Among other things, he was also allowed to slack off and be a kid from time to time, more so than the rare game of soccer back at the old Temple. He had been able to make a few friends on the outside, he even had a bedroom that was his, not because he was the only child in the entire school - here, he wasn't - but because he was actually cared for as more than just a wishful thought of the future. Back at the Shaolin Temple, they had treated him more as a servant than a true member, a shadow of his father and a shadow's shadow of his grandfather, but here?

Here, he was Sai Saichi. He wasn't Feilong's grandson, he wasn't Lonbai's only child, he was just another student. He was accepted, not because of his heritage, though that certainly played a bit of a role in it in some ways, but because he was thought of as one of them.

He even had friends in the temple. Boys his own age, a girl or two - women weren't banned from the Chicoline school like they were with Shaolin, which was still struggling to accept them even after over four hundred years of effort in doing so - even a few teenagers he could look up to as if they were his own brothers.

His appearance had changed, he noted, with a sense of thoughtful awareness that didn't really apply to most children his age. He was a bit taller and his eyes had lost the seeming weight they once carried, they looked a bit brighter. He had aged a bit, and yet he looked younger and livelier now than he ever had before. Muscle was starting to become a little more apparent on his arms and chest, and his clothing had changed too, going from the blue training douji he had once worn almost day in and day out to a pair of tan pajama pants that were a size too wide in the legs, held in place by the same type of strings. He also wore a somewhat tight, white tank top that seemed to fit him far better than the half shirts favored by the Shaolin.

Black slippers and white socks. No wrist bands, and his hair...

His hair was starting to grow. At first, it had been like peach fuzz, but then it had begun to get some length to it, and now it was something of an untangled, inch long mess on his head, complete with side burns. Every strand was fine and straight, not a single curl. And then there was his skin...

His skin had begun to darken a bit. Maybe it was the constant hours that he opted to spend his time learning the arts of combat in the sun, rather than in a shaded training area or an enclosure with only a panoramic view of the outside world, but he had begun to gain a tan. In an eerie thought for a kid his age, Saichi felt that it was somewhat symbolic of his own lost dignity.

But then again, he wasn't terribly focused on his dignity anymore. Honesty was becoming subjective as well, but only to an extent.

"Yo! Sai!" Called a voice, rousing him out of his self-reverie and forcing his attention away from the mirror that hung in the bathroom connected his bedroom to three others

Stifling the urge to feel guilty, the cocked his head back to an impossible degree, turned to look at his visitor and quickly fell into the role he had been growing into more and more every day: The role of the fool. The joker. The slightly lecherous little punk. He found it far easier to do, and far more comfortable, than being serious all of the time.

The catch to this was that it got him more friends than he wanted. More people he would have to betray at some point.

Among those people were the seventeen year old foriegner standing in the doorway with a lopsided frown that would one day give way to an immensely mellow, laid back attitude, dressed in almost the same outfit as Saichi himself, bar that his tanktop was a dark blue and fit more loosely. His name was Hans, quite possibly the most serious student of the Chicoline Temple since its creation. He was from Neo-Denmark, the only non-Chinese at the Temple, and it seemed almost as if everything around him seemed to boil down to a challenge.

And everytime he got a challenge, he came back even stronger and more determined. He was probably the second or third most advanced student in the entire Temple, after Saichi, one or two others and the teachers themselves.

"Time to start already?" Sai asked a bit apprehensively, still wiping the sleep out of one eye. It hadn't been there a few seconds ago, but it was now.

"No, but I need a warm-up partner and you're the only one other than the teachers who's up for a spar, and the only one who's willing to take me on without being ordered to," Hans said with his slightly odd accent - odd to Saichi, at least - as if there weren't any room for arguement.

"Fighting on an empty stomach? Come on, bro, you know I only get one chance at breakfast..."

"Not my fault you can't keep a steady schedule," Hans shot back, completely unphased. Arguing with the guy was like trying to win a war of words with a brick wall, it was utterly pointless.

"Can I at least get a donut or something?" Saichi whined, obviously not too high on health foods since he had been introduced to the vastly more varied menu of the Chicoline diet. Another thing, too, he never used to whine. Ever.

"No."

Pause. The boy let out a sigh, popping his knuckles and turning around completely before starting to walk after his intense colleague with the same stride of a death row inmate.

It would be another fifteen minutes before the two had finished their supposedly brief 'warm-up.' When it was over, each bore a few bruises on their forearms and legs, though they stood out a bit more on Hans since he was significantly paler, but neither was hurt. They were used to dealing with each other's fighting styles, advantages and disadvantages now, it was almost like watching a dance with the way that they moved. Sometimes Hans would take advantage with his size, power and stamina, sometimes Saichi would take the lead with his speed, agility and adaptiveness, but usually they would end in an absolute deadlock.

This was no different.

By the time it was all over, the two were sitting across from each other, legs crossed beneath themselves, heavy for breath, but not out of steam. Compared to some of their more notorious days, this had been a lighter bout between them.

"Thanks for costing me breakfast," Sai muttered half-heartedly, propping his head up in one hand and sighing as the typical instructor walked into sight, going through his usual before-class routine of a morning walk after a light breakfast and a bit of meditation. Hans didn't even bother responding, he was somewhat zoned out instead.

"Bro?"

"Hm?" The older of the two asked his younger friend, looking up from a picture he had suddenly been holding out of nowhere.

"Must've had it in his shirt," Saichi thought before motioning to the picture with a nod. Hans shrugged before speaking up in response.

"A shot of my sister's birthday. I couldn't attend since I'm out here and all," he said a bit whistfully, lifting the image up and turning it around so that Sai could see.

The people within were a slightly ragged looking older woman, a couple in their mid-thirties and a little girl standing between them, she didn't look older than seven or eight, with the same kind of hair that Hans probably would've had if he didn't keep it buzzed down, though it was kept in a long, thick ponytail that was draped over one shoulder.

"Cute," Sai said with a shrug, not bothering to ask the girl's name. He and Hans only knew scant details of each other, neither was exactly curious about the other's past. Hans was too focused on his studies to care about Saichi's history, and Saichi didn't want to know for fear that it might make his eventual re-defection even more difficult than it already would be.

"Funny you'd say that," Hans commented, giving a rare break from his usual dedication and showing a sign of what he was really like, a small glimpse of the laid back, cheerful young man who sat beneath the surface almost all of the time. He smiled, continuing. "You're... Nine now, right?" He asked, head tilted to the side. Sai gave a mute nod, already not liking where the conversation was going.

"She's only a half a year younger than you then, I think."

"... Um... Cool?" The Chinese boy shrugged out.

Hans blinked a bit. "I haven't seen her in two years. I wonder what she's like now?"

"What was she like the last time you saw her?" Sai asked curiously, though he almost instantly regretted showing even the slightest sign of interest. Having the urge to peek in on the girl's showers was one thing, even reading a naked magazine, it was all just decreasingly innocent curiosity at this point, but girls his age? Come on, they had to have some sort of disease or something!

"Kindhearted, generous... Very mature," Hans listed off, only to quiet himself down at the blank look on Saichi's face. "Not interested, huh?" He asked knowingly, looking more than a bit sardonic.

"... Nothin' personal bro, but..."

"Yeah, I know. Give it a few years, kid," Hans said mockingly, though the two were cut off before Saichi could try and shoot back a retort, already blushing near to the roots of his hair for a reason he didn't even know.

The striking of the gong in the courtyard meant that the first class of the day was about to begin. As one, the two sprang back up, the photo of Hans' family vanishing back into some hidden place inside of shirt as the other students started filing in.


A year went by, and things changed.

He was ten years old now, physically developed into almost the exact physique he would have when he finally entered into the Gundam Fight, though his hair was a bit short and allowed to flow freely, and he still lacked the first dot upon his forehead. His clothing had grown to suit him, taking on tanned, pajama-like pants now, along with slippers and a dark green tanktop, though he now also wore a sash as a belt, tied around his waist with the knot and two loose ends hanging to his left side.

The place was the same as it had been on all of the days that he and Hans had sparred with each other and with their fellow students, the same as it had been during every day he spent practicing and honing himself at his own pace. His attitude had become a bit more slacked than when he was nine, his skin had darkened a bit more and his eyes were a little more defined. He had become a bit more mature, but a bit more childish at the same time.

The place was the same. He was the same.

But it had also changed, and so had he.

Hans was gone, he had been recalled home for some reason or other, leaving in the middle of the night without so much as a good-bye. It hadn't hurt Saichi, he was secretly glad that his part-time rival, part-time surrogate older brother had left, that meant one less person he might have to personally fess up to after the Gundam Fight.

Unfortunately, it meant he had also lost just about the only person who could keep up with him. He moved too quickly for even the trainers to effectively handle anymore, his stamina had improved to the degree that he could take a full level blow from the Chicoline master - right in the face - and come close to shrugging it off without so much as even passing dizziness. In every way, Sai Saichi had moved ahead of the game, he was just a few steps shy of being in a completel league of his own.

And that was why they had selected him to take part in a coming in-temple tournament to decide who would serve as the Chicoline representative in the tournament to pick Neo-China's next Gundam Fighter.

That tournament was slated to start later today.

A bit too idly for his own good, the boy cracked his knuckles, then stretched his legs. It wasn't even morning yet, the sun hadn't risen on a new day in the Neo-Chinese space colony and only a few others were even awake right now, he had free reign over the courtyard, but what to do with it?

Lazily, he sat down, rather than start any early-morning warm-ups. It was all but a given that it wouldn't have done him much good anyway, Sai found that training alone tended to bore the freaking snot out of him, and without Hans around to try and keep pace with him, it was really the only thing he could do every morning. None of the other students were really up to par.

"May as well watch the sunrise," he muttered out to himself, holding his cheeks in hand and propping his elbows onto his knees, his legs folded under him as he slumped forward, facing the direction of the soon-to-be rising sun. He could make out the distant glimmer Neo-Japan and, beyond that, Neo-America. At night time, they and Neo-Russia were visible like nearby stars, unable to see with any detail using the naked eye, but still beautiful to look at nonetheless.

Neo-America.

Sai had a dream of going there someday, he had heard good things about it. Kids were free of responsibilities that were lumped on them in Neo-China, the atmosphere was relaxed, there was no single dominant nationality and everyone was different. It was a place where you were free to be yourself, a place, Sai felt, that he could be free to be himself, rather than what he was now.

A place where he could be a little lecherous, joker dirt bag without having it feel like an empty shell he put on to hide his true self. A place where he could make friends without knowing he would have to face up to them for ultimately selling them out, and a place where he wouldn't have some sort of set, pre-ordained destiny to follow in his forefathers' footsteps.

"I wanna go there," he mumbled out to himself, still watching the fading stars before sighing aloud and standing up. He didn't really feel like it, but he was going to have to warm himself up, maybe even tire himself out. If he was too exhausted to fight, that meant he might be able to believably fake a loss and diminish the damage he knew he would end up causing someday, but there was the nagging feeling that the day in question would never arrive.

It was as distant to him as Neo-America. Never arriving, but always a constant sight on the horizon.

Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed, he ran through movements that had been drilled into his head through countless hours of practice. Routines, self-invented combinations, tactics and strategies against self-imagined foes who could only be seen at the edge of the mind's eyes.

Sixteen punches in a blur that looked like four or five, a jump backwards and a straight kick at such an angle that it looked like it should have broken his hip and toes upon landing, a jump straight up that lead to a half-dozen mid-air roundhouse kicks, each whistling through the air like the dry tune of an old flute. The landing went in tune, on one hand and foot in a crouch, the other leg touching to the ground afterward before he straightened up and went to repeat it, this time walking forward with every punch.

With any luck, he really would exhaust himself. With any luck, he wouldn't win the sub-qualifiers. With any luck, the day he dreaded would never arrive.


He won the tournament with little trouble. None of the other combatants could even last more than a minute and a half with him, but that had been a year ago.

In the foriegn calendar that had replaced the original Chinese one, it was December 1st, FC 59. The national tournament would be starting within one week. He already had a Gundam of his own, the Solar Gundam, but that didn't matter.

It was midnight, the air was crisp enough that it almost hurt him to breathe it. The Chicoline Temple stood in the background, imposing but friendly. It had an air of family to it that the Shaolin had never possessed, an air that made his assigned task even more difficult than it already was. No one else was awake at this hour but the few dedicated monks who had made it a habit of praying once every six hours, even if it meant waking up in the middle of the night to do it.

They were in the shrine though, which itself was positioned behind the larger, castle-like Temple. It was an enormous structure, stretching for almost half a mile straight up, numerous courtyards at every single level, statues and monuments uncounted lining the wide staircase that lead down the artificial mountain it had been built into. The shrine was behind that Temple, but the gate wasn't.

The gate was right in front of him. The doors were wide open, like they always were, and the evening sky was light up brightly. Neo-Japan and Neo-America were as visible as they had ever been, shimmering just as brightly as they always did, every single night. For whatever ironic purpose, the two colonies, in particular, Neo-America, were settled directly in front of the gate.

A step forward was all it would take for that seeming inevitability to become a reality. One step and it would be over.

The lie he had been living since he was eight would be resolved, his true loyalties would be revealed and those who he had thought of as his closest friends would forsake and despise him. He would truly fullfill the destiny of a puppet with a pre-ordained, imperfectly scripted fate, set down by the grandfather he now felt he had never truly known.

Had he ever even known any of them? Were his family's supposed dream of reviving a martial arts school that now seemed so archaic that it probably deserved to collapse and die of old age so important that it was worth giving up his own happiness to achieve?

Doubt struck into what had once been iron resolve.

He had changed again. He was eleven now, a bit taller, and he had grown a bit more into his own body, it seemed. His hair was now kept in a long, tight ponytail, with sideburns that had grown long enough to touch his cheeks. His clothes had changed as well, though the outfit he wore had been made by his own hands. A dark tan pair of pants, black slippers and black wristbands, red armbands and a thick, sleeveless white vest-shirt with a tail that ran down to just above the back of each knee, along with a green sash belt like his old one.

It was basically the same outfit and style he would have as a Gundam Fighter. He just lacked the dot on his forehead and the carefree bounce in his step.

"... Is it really worth doing?" He asked himself. "One more step and I'll be Shaolin once again, but..."

Doubt lingered. What had the Shaolin monks ever done for him? What had his own family ever done for him?

He didn't even know his mother's name, he had only sparse recollections of his father and his grandfather had never done more than take him out a few times for his birthdays - and that was before he had enrolled in the Temple.

"Just one step..."

The Chicoline had taken him in. They hadn't cared of his heritage as Sai Feilong's grandson, they had responded with genuine sympathy over the news of his father's death, they had adopted him like a family. A gigantic, extended family with more brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers than he could count. Were a bunch of detached, weepy old men worth leaving them for?

"... Just as soon as I belong," he began heavily, looking up and back to the Temple that had been his home for three years. He had left a parting note, he doubted they would read it with sympathy, but it had been one final gesture he tried to make anyway.

"It's... Time I disappear, I guess," he said to himself, turning back to the gate. In one second, it was all over.

He took the first step towards Neo-America, the first step beyond the gates and the first step to the inevitable. Why he took it, he didn't know, but after it, there was no going back.

His feet felt like lead weights, but he continued. Guilt-ridden, biting back more than a few tears, he kept walking, gaining speed as he left the only home that had ever truly been his, finally bursting into a streaking run down the long, winding dirt road that lead into the very city he had first been recruited in.

Hours later, an older monk by the name of Xuan Ze made his nightly rounds, peering into the rooms of each student with the care of a parent, only to find that one was missing, and the only thing in his place was a single, folded note, not even placed into an evelope. It sat simply upon the pillow of a neatly made bed, within a room that had been tediously cleaned to the extent that it almost sparkled.

And it read:

To whom it may concern,

I'm sorry. I can't really

think of anything else to

say other than that.

- Sai Saichi

End Prologue II


Author's Note: More minor edits. Joy!

Again, for the curious, this entire chapter was basically inspired by one line of dialogue near the start of the first episode with Sai in it, and I'm not sure if its said in the original or not, but in the dub, Sai(I think) mentions that he spent time at the Chicoline Temple. Therein lies the basis for this entire prologue :P

Hans was at the Chicoline because I always figured he and Sai were just a bit too surprised at each other, not to mention that their fighting styles struck me as being relatively similar. Sai only saw an out-of-date image for Cecil, also, and he never bothered to learn Hans and Cecil's last name, so he didn't much recognize her when they first met. She didn't recognize him because, to me at least, she seems to be the type who'd prefer burying her face in books rather than watching the news, even when it comes to something as momentous as the Gundam Fight. Hans also didn't have any pictures of Sai to show her, so there ya go.

And credit to SaiSaiciAngel for correcting me about Sa'is father's name.

Sh33p out.