712th Division Base Camp, Area Two
The bus stopped before a bland and hastily constructed gate with two lone soldiers standing guard. Katsuro Ban curled his lips. Already, he wished he was still in Japan. The glowering guard at the head of the bus snapped at him to disembark and, after checking his pocket for his ID paper and the smuggled photo of his family, he prepared to face his doom.
Everything had gone wrong. The carefully laid plan he and his friends formed was now ashes in the wind like his hometown. Britannia had burned Kagoshima and with it, his home, and his family. To think he was the only survivor because of a miss-timed business trip.
A soldier waved him towards another group of Numbers huddled around a crackling fire in the snow. Fives, Sixes, Sevens, and now, an Eleven. Were they all the same to the Britannians?
Katsuro's lip curled as he looked at his supposed new comrades and the worn lines in their face. They weren't the same. He was an accountant... had been. He knew what it meant to be free; they only knew how to serve.
His number, 793, was called and he trudged through the powdered snow to sit at a desk, while a Number observed him.
"Welcome to the 712th," the Number said as his pen scratched over the forms. Leaning back, he grabbed a stapled packet. "Read through these. Rules. Regulations. Everything you need to know. Sleep with it."
Katsuro accepted it and frowned. When he had enlisted, signed his name over to become an Honorary Britannian, there had been no such process. Just a Britannian soldier who threw a uniform two sizes too large at him before locking him into a barrack. There had been no rules, just obedience enforced with ever growing bruises. His leg throbbed in memory.
"Name?" the Number asked.
"793," Katsuro replied dutifully. The rebellious part of him remained deeply buried, locked down by chains of discipline and self-preservation.
The pen stopped scratching. Never a good sign. "I asked for your name, not your ID."
"I'm just a Number. 793." It was unfair for another Number to play this game, but what did he expect? They were still Britannians. Had grown up as Britannians. They were not his allies and for his insubordination he had been sent out of Japan so he could die surrounded by the enemy. It was only a matter of time, but first Britannia would suck the last drop of life from him.
The Number sighed and grabbed another stack of papers. "Fine. We'll update it later. Read through these. Then sign. Standard consequences. Talk to anyone and die. But we get a raise, so it's worth it."
There was no "we," but Katsuro took the papers regardless and scanned a surprisingly boilerplate non-disclosure agreement. And then the second paper, an NDA for the previous NDA. Anticipation and curiosity peaked their shameful heads and Katsuro shoved them back in the chest where they belonged. Now was not the time. Not with eyes boring into him and dissecting every breath he took. Everyone here was his enemy and the only way to survive was to pretend to be them. And a Number would sign, no questions asked. So he did.
The Number smiled and tore off the bright yellow receipt, returning it to him. Then he was whisked away through a more familiar intake process. Height, weight, combat assessment.
...
His new squadron was laughing when he entered their tent. A familiar camaraderie hung between them and they abruptly fell quiet as they caught sight of him, reaffirming he was not one of them.
A dark skinned man approached him. "Your bedroll is over there. The box by it is for personal stuff. Nobody will touch it unless the Sergeant is doing an inspection. So keep it tidy and we won't have a problem. Training is in five, by the flagpole. Don't be late."
The rest of the squadron left, leaving Katsuro alone in the tent with precious seconds ticking by. Curious, he opened the box. It was empty except for a flask and a small hand drawn picture taped to the side. "For Daddy," it read and Katsuro shut the box, feeling as if he had intruded on something private. Which was ridiculous; it was his box. His own photo still carefully hidden in his jacket, he headed outside.
To Katsuro, training had come to mean one and only thing. An excuse for Britanian officers to vent their anger on fleshy targets. But when he joined his new squadron by the flagpole, he didn't find an overweight Britannian officer with a scowl, instead a sun kissed man laughing at a joke.
"Sergeant Sanchez is unfortunately at sick call. I'm avoiding paperwork so volunteered my time to whip you sorry lot into shape. For those who don't know me,"-he nodded at Katsuro-"I'm Staff Sergeant Pablo Vega. I deal with supplies and logistics. Piss me off... Well, I'm in charge of rations, your uniform, and weapons..."
With that ominous ending, Staff Sergeant Vega began training. His sharp eyes caught every mistake of Katsuro's but the familiar bruises did not follow. Instead, the mistakes were corrected and hammered in through tedious repetition. At the end, his body burned and every muscle ached, but everything was self-inflicted.
At mess-hall, one of his squad mates sat down beside him and extended their hand. "Sam Mitzi. Nice to meet you, Greenie."
He turned away, ignoring the offered hand and tried some of the surprisingly edible goop.
"What's your name?" Mitzi asked slowly.
"Numbers don't have names," he grumbled back.
"Here we do, but if you want to be known as Greenie forever, be my guest. The others will take some time to warm up. Camilo... Didn't know him for long but they went through hell together. They'll warm up, don't worry." Mitzi clasped his shoulder. "So where's your accent from?"
Katsuro removed the offending limb from his shoulder. "Area Eleven."
"So what did you do to get sent to our wonderful division of death? Haven't met any Japanese yet."
The word brought a painful feeling of joy and he flinched, looking around and wondering who heard. "Don't say that where people can hear. It's Area Eleven."
Mitzi leaned back. "Forgot you're new. Probably would've been like you if I came in after. Was already strange enough with Gosling's mail scheme, but now he's in charge. Yeah... You'll get used to it. I believe in you, man."
A hand pulled him into a half sided hug and Katsuro peeled it away. "After what?"
"Right. Um... Wait a moment." Mitzi stood up and waved to the Staff Sergeant who was in deep conversation with a short, brown haired, Britannian child.
Katsuro turned away from the strange sight and his hand gripped his fork until his knuckles turned white. Children. Whenever he thought they couldn't sink lower, they did. Britannians sent their own children off to war. Savages.
"Mr. No Name, 793, right?" A smooth voice asked and Katsuro's back straightened as he turned around, already knowing he would find a Brit.
"Yes, sir," he whispered and cringed at how weak his voice sounded. It was best to sound neutral to not anger a Brit further. What had he done to attract attention? And Mitzi had said "division of death" which did not bode well for his own survival.
"Call me, Art," he said, flashing a smile which felt too honest and kind. A trap. "I like to put a face to all the new names, although in this case you're lacking one."
The English flowed too quickly from his lips and Katsuro struggled to keep up, processing each word, reordering, and translating them, trying to understand. The words didn't make sense. Come out right. There wasn't a command. And he was taking too long to respond which meant a punishment would follow.
"Yes, sir," he said, because that was safe.
Art, and that was a strange name, lost some of the shine in his eyes. His words became slower and more measured. "Why were you transferred to the 712th? Your file is rather sparse on the details."
"I..." Katsuro paused. Was Art telling the truth? Was he truly that lucky that some Britannian was too lazy to write down the real reason? Or did Art just want to hear his side of the story... Or more likely, want him to incriminate himself. "I don't know."
A safe answer again.
"Crow," Staff Sergeant Vega interrupted coldly.
Art rolled his eyes and Katsuro's heart hammered as he saw a Number sneer at a Britannian. This was not how things were supposed to be. Such flagrant disrespect would earn them all an overzealous punishment.
"Pablo, be nice," chided Art as he rose. "Although since you're here, perhaps you could tell me what happened to the socks I requested."
"They're reserved for non-carrion feeders like yourself."
"I thought we had an understanding. I don't interfere with your job; you don't interfere with mine."
Staff Sergeant Vega stepped forward without a hint of hesitation. "Do you have a note? And last I checked, your job just requires a pencil. Get out of my sight."
"He'd be so disappointed in you," Art tutted but stepped backwards, smoothing his uniform with a hint of distaste. Without another word, he left, the crowd parting before him as if his very presence was poison.
"Best to avoid him," Staff Sergeant Vega warned. "He's only alive because Gosling thinks he's useful. But once a Crow, always a Crow. If he steps a toe out of line, we'll kill him."
"Won't he retaliate?" Katsuro asked, because there were always consequences.
"No. Things are different here," Staff Sergeant Vega answered. "If anyone hurts you, inform me immediately. Gosling has no tolerance for that shit."
"Yes, sir," Katsuro answered, still not daring to believe there was decency in the Britannian world. How could there be when they burned his home to the ground without remorse. The promise of kindness felt cruel, but he had learned the rules of the game in Japan and would learn them here in Area Two.
Days of merciless training turned into weeks and at the end of the month, his squadron was finally cleared for active combat. His squad mates had slowly warmed up to him, but he made no effort to bridge the gap between them. They were not the same.
The mission was simple, but surprising. A raid on a minor noble's house. As the platoon prepared, he heard whispers of the enigmatic commander named Gosling and jokes about upcoming home-cooked meals. Despite the anticipatory energy, they felt relaxed. So far, the promise of kindness had not been broken.
Mitzi, having at long last learned the meaning of personal space, stopped beside him. "What's the problem?"
"I don't know the signs. Yours are different."
"Are they? Damn... Forgot that ours are some weird mishmash. Only got worse after Antonia ruptured his ear drums and begged to stay. I'll remind the squadron to keep them simple. Here are the basic ones." Mitzi quickly went through a series of hand signs for simple commands.
Hesitantly, Katsuro repeated one he had seen repeatedly flashed throughout the day. "This one?"
"Zero."
"Why are people counting?" he asked.
Mitzi burst into laughter. "Keep forgetting you're the Greenie. This is the number,"-he made a circle with his hand, and then switched to the sign in question-"and this is for the commander."
"His name is Zero?" Katsuro confirmed. Britannian names were weird.
"Probably not, but that's what the media calls him," Mitzi said.
A sharp whistle drew their attention, cutting the conversation short. As Katsuro jogged to join his squadron, he recalled the coverage of the Count's defeat-the despair at knowing Britannia would always win-and the excited whispers among the Britannians as they talked of the enigmatic commander. He could've sworn that they called him Zero. But that was ridiculous.
His immediate superior, Lance Corporal Juan Serbin, took their squadron aside and laid out the plan. "Don't discharge your weapons if you can. It will alert the guards. Understood?"
Richard Tovar leaned over the squiggly lines scratched into the snow dusted ground. "Why are we attacking the garage?"
"Just follow the plan, Richard. I don't know. I don't care. Gosling says we need to be there, so we will be." Lance Corporal Serbin crossed his arms and glowered at Tovar. "Anything else?"
"No, Lance Corporal," they chorused.
The attack started in the dead of the night under the darkness of a new moon. From Katsuro's understanding, there weren't enough night vision scopes in the last shipment. As a result, the scopes were handed to pairs. Mitzi was the eyes, leading the way, while Katsuro followed him, his eyes straining to see anything. Nervously, he gripped his rifle, jumping at every snap of a twig.
Abruptly, Mitzi stopped before him. "Wait for the signal."
Katsuro hoisted his rifle and his eyes could make out the eerie security light at the edge of the warehouse. Around him, muffled footsteps broke through the thin layer of ice.
"It's time," Mitzi whispered.
They converged on the warehouse, bursting through the door. A lone guard jumped from his reclined chair, fumbling for his gun. Above him, towering monstrosities stared down at them and Katsuro swallowed heavily. Even in the dim light, he could make out the familiar forms of the knightmares.
"Move and I shoot," Mitzi barked.
The guard raised the gun. "But you're Numbers?"
"And in the name of His Imperial Majesty, the House of Flegel is under arrest for treason."
The guard swallowed and dropped the gun. Raising his hand, he backed away. "I swear I don't know anything. I'm just a guard."
Tovar and his partner, Jorge, approached from the opposite end of the warehouse. "We have a problem. There are people here."
"I swear I didn't know," the guard cried. "I was just following orders. You have to believe me."
Katsuro sneered. Liar.
Lance Corporal Serbin arrived moments later followed by a stream of people huddled together. "This wasn't in our intelligence. We need to get them out of here."
"I'll do it, Lance Corporal," Tovar said. "Nathaniel and I can make sure they get past the tree line. We'll pick them up after the operation and let Gosling decide what to do."
A baby began to wail and Katsuro averted his eyes. Why was he always surprised by how far Britannians could sink? They were honorless scum, all of them.
He could imagine his wife and daughter standing there with bruised skin. For the first time he was grateful that they were gone and wouldn't suffer. Britannia only brought endless suffering for the living.
"Do it," Lance Corporal Serbin ordered and then turned to the guard. "Quit yapping. You'll face judgement soon enough."
Heels clacked on the concrete floor and an unfamiliar man, dressed in finery approached. "Oh this is amusing. You think you're actually going to get away with this?" More boots thundered and armed men filed in behind the newcomer. "I think Numbers, you should stand down and beg for mercy before I gun you down for the animals you are."
Lance Corporal Serbin turned around, one hand behind his back rapidly flashing through unfamiliar hand signs and the other held out placatingly. "House Felgel stands accused of treason. Please, my lord, let us handle this diplomatically."
The man sneered. "You come into my lord's house and ask for a diplomatic solution. I see only traitors before me." He raised his hand. "Kill them."
"Do that and you die," Lance Corporal Serbin replied coolly as the knightmare frame resting on the side of the warehouse powered to life.
"Fire," the man shouted before turning around and fleeing.
Kutsuro slammed into the ground, Mitzi dragging him down. Around them, the freed prisoners screamed as bullets tore through the air and Katsuro swallowed the rising bile. The ground shook as the knightmare stepped free from its platform and tore through the security force. But the man was already gone and around him, former prisoners bled.
"We need a medivac now! I've injured civilians. Three bleeding from..." Lance Corporal Serbin shouted as the rest of his men dispersed, attending to the injured.
Katsuro passed the Britannian guard, pale as snow with a look of disbelief etched into his face. He felt nothing. Not even the sweet taste of justice. The guard had deserved his death at the hands of his comrades. Rifle ready, Katsuro approached the fallen security guards. Some were still alive, begging. They bled just like their captives: red. And it was all for nothing. The man responsible wasn't among them
"We'll catch him," Mitzi promised. "He couldn't have gone far with the area surrounded. And Gosling has no patience for his kind."
"This happens often?"
"It's not the first time. Not always nobles but they have the easiest time covering it up or stonewalling an investigation."
Tovar joined them on the way back. "Brits are simply crazy. Must be something in their water. Nobody in my family would have the guts to declare war on the world."
"Your family doesn't have an army to back up that threat," Mitzi shot back. "It's greed. Plain and simple. Brits are the real pigs. Glutenous bastards."
"An insult to all pigs," Tovar complained. "At least a pig is useful."
Katsuro watched the interplay with a fond smile. Leaving Japan had never been the plan. Halfway around the world he could do nothing to avenge his family, but perhaps there were new allies to be found. And unlike serving under the Purists, he had yet to see any unfair consequences handed out. The rules were consistent and enforced by other Numbers. The few Britannians in the division barely interfering with the life of a private.
It would be so easy to disturb the peace and start something great. Already, the division hated the Brits. Unlike Katsuro, they had grown up under Britannia's boot, but he could see the embers of rebellion only needing to be fanned. The only problem was their almost fanatical loyalty to their commander. To the mysterious Gosling. A man who had saved the division from the Count. Who dared to stand up against nobles and weather the consequences.
Katsuro entered the tent quietly and began dissembling his rifle to clean each part. Years ago, he had worked with Britannians. Had faced them in board meetings as he stood behind his boss and presented financial projections for the next quarter. But Britannia had eradicated Kagoshima and scattered his family's ashes to the wind before he could return.
There would never be compromise or peace.
"Serbin, a word," a cold voice interrupted and Katsuro looked up to observe one of the Britannian teens playing at military affairs. Already partaking in the path of bloodshed when children should be in school learning and studying.
As quickly as the teen entered, he left, leaving a flustered Lance Corporal Serbin to rush after him.
Katsuro scowled. "I guess it would be too much to expect a Brit to have manners. Or any respect for their elders."
Where before the disparaging comments had earned chuckles, only silence greeted him. Katsuro looked at his squadron, confused. Was it because he was new? Had he yet to earn the right to make jokes?
Each member of the squadron turned away from him, leaving him to wonder what he had done wrong. He had just realized that there was an opportunity here in the division and now... Now, the opportunity was slipping through his fingers.
The others left the tent without a word, only Mitzi hesitating at the entrance.
"Mitzi, what did I do?" Katsuro asked desperately.
"You insulted Gosling," Mitzi answered, his eyes cold.
"What? I was talking about the kid."
"Exactly. I thought you were warming up. Finally getting over yourself. But I guess not. The only one without respect here is you." Mitzi turned away.
"Mitzi, wait! Mitzi!" Katsuro shouted as he dashed after him. Mitzi had always been there willing to lend a hand. Kind. A friend. "Sam! Please, wait."
Mitzi paused.
Katsuro bowed. "I'm sorry for addressing you so informally. I shouldn't-"
"It's my name. Why wouldn't you use it?" Mitzi asked.
"It's terribly rude. You never gave me permission and I'm very sorry."
"That-" Mitzi sighed. "That explains so much. We just thought you were standoffish refusing to use our names."
Oh. Katsuro swallowed and straightened. He hadn't realized.
"Let's start again. Hi, I'm Sam Mitzi. Please call me Sam." Mi- Sam extended his hand.
Katsuro clasped it firmly. "Katsuro Ban. Nice to meet you. Call me... Katsuro."
"You do have a name!" Sam shouted and pulled him into a hug, before abruptly pulling back. "Right. No hugs. You don't like them. Come on, let's get something to eat. What was life like before?"
With surprising ease, Katsuro talked about his old job. The long hours. The relationship with his boss. The promotion he was supposed to have received. When he got to his family, they lodged painfully in his throat.
A landscape of ash jutted with the corpses of buildings stretched out before him. His hands shook and he drew himself back to the present, pretending nothing was amiss at Sam's inquiring look.
Swiftly he changed the subject to his old college friend. Perhaps he was still alive. He talked about food and the wonderful picnics beneath the sakura blossoms. And Sam? He asked questions, but mostly listened.
"What happened?" Sam finally dared to ask. "When the invasion began?"
"Everything burned," Katsuro answered and even after all these years, tears pricked his eyes.
"I'll tell the others you didn't mean it about Gosling. Didn't know better."
"Gosling is a skinny teen," Katsuro confirmed, because it was beyond imagining. The stories made him sound like a seasoned commander. Old and wise. Tall and muscular. Radiating power. There was no way a child went against the Count and won...
"That's why we call him a baby goose," Sam said.
"That's what Gosling means?" Katsuro asked, flabbergasted. "I thought it was his name or something."
Sam snickered. "Well, his name is pretty ridiculous as well. Lelouch Lamperouge. There's a rumor that we catch so many French agents because they think he is one."
"Someone was very bad at French," Katsuro replied, recalling his college French classes. "The ladle and red lamp? Really?"
"That explains some of the jokes. But word of advice, don't call him Gosling to his face. He gave Staff Sergeant Vegas latrine duty for weeks and they're friends."
"What would I call him then?"
Sam paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "I think he's a Warrant Officer?"
"You think?"
"Ranks are weird. Like technically only nobles can hold officers rank... Unless you're a knight, but then you're like a half noble. Anyway, since nobody can officially be a Colonel or so, we sort of cheated."
"Cheated?"
"We just added a bunch of ranks between Staff Sergeant and Warrant Officer. So like Fadiman is Staff Sergeant Brigadier but that's a mouthful, so he's just Brigadier Fadiman."
"That can't possibly fly."
"Since we miraculously lost all our officers, there's nobody there to complain. And our only noble pilots a knightmare and loudly complains about the fact that he was promoted." Sam grinned. "Welcome to the Zeroth Division, Britannia's social experiment."
Three days later, he sat in a deserted mess hall as everyone else played a strange pickup game of something which dared to be named soccer yet was nothing like it. The division was packing up, offering a rare chance for down times and recreation. In a week, they would be breaking a new camp in Area Six. A more permanent location. Supposedly in response to escalating tensions.
"Not interested in the game?" someone asked.
"More like I don't understand the rules," Katsuro said. Turning to his new companion, his mouth widened and he shot to his feet. "Warrant Officer Lamperouge, my apologies. I didn't realize-"
"Sit down." he ordered. "It's just the two of us and frankly, getting my name shouted all the time is exhausting."
"Yes... sir."
"I try to introduce myself to everyone at least once, but that takes time unfortunately. You're from Japan, right?"
When the others asked him, it was different. They weren't leading him into a trap to find an excuse to punish him. But despite how much his comrades trusted Lamperouge, he was still a Britannian. "Area Eleven, sir."
Lamperouge smirked and switched to lightly accented Japanese. "Excellent. I need someone to practice with besides my sister. Where from in Japan?"
In English, Katsuro said, "I'm an Honorary Britannian, sir. I'm not allowed to-"
"We have an exemption for intelligence collection."
"But this isn't-"
"Of course it is. I'm saying it is unless you want to file a complaint to me about the improper use of language." At his silence, Lameroouge sighed. "I will throw in a free bowl of katsudon."
"Kagoshima," he said hesitantly, switching to Japanese. The words tasted like cherry blossoms on his tongue. It had been too long.
Lamperouge stood and he cringed waiting for the inevitable punishment. It was all a trick. He shouldn't have succumbed to temptation.
"Come on," Lamperouge barked, still in Japanese. "I promised you katsudon, didn't I?"
It wasn't a trick? Katsuro followed him into the kitchen where Lamperouge moved around with familiarity as he prepared the ingredients.
"How?" Katsuro asked.
"I lived in Japan for two years. It was... amazing. But now it's gone forever and only our memories remain." More cheerfully, Lamperouge asked, "Do you play shogi?"
"Not well, I'm afraid. I never was very fond of the game."
"My friend wasn't either. He would complain for hours that he had to learn it and calligraphy."
"I was similar as a child. I would much rather read the latest manga than sit down and study. But my father insisted and in the end it paid off. My daughter-" Katsuro cut himself off. It had been so long since he talked of her. He wouldn't share her memory with the Brits who had stolen her away. "What happened to your friend?"
Lamperouge shook his head. "I don't know. We were separated during the invasion but I don't know what happened afterwards. My condolences to your family."
"Thank you," he whispered and watched in fascination as Lamperouge set down a finished plate of katsudon. It smelled divine. "You were there for the invasion?"
"We were enjoying the nice weather, when the bombs dropped. I can never forget the stench. I doubt anyone could."
"I remember the ash," he whispered. "One day, my home was there. The next, burnt to the ground."
Lamperouge's face twisted and he stood up, beginning to clean the kitchen.
Maybe, Katsuro had been too hasty in casting judgement. There were Brits who could understand and had lived outside of Britannia. If he could sway the youth's loyalty from his home country, then the rest of the division would follow. The Numbers had no loyalty to the Emperor. Only their Gosling.
"I was an accountant. Never imagined I would be here," Katsuro murmured. "Why did you join the army?"
"That's the question." Lamperouge laughed, a broken rattling sound devoid of joy. "It felt like the natural continuation at the time and I rushed in. But I cannot change the past, only the future. So here I am."
"Of course you're in the kitchen," interrupted a Brit, scowling. "You know ditching your guard defeats the point of having one, Lelouch."
"The kitchen is hardly going to attack me, Frederick." But Lamperouge put away the pot and turned to Katsuro again, offering him a familiar Japanese bow. "It was nice meeting you Private Ban, but duty calls."
The bodyguard shook his head. "What language was it this time?"
"Just cooking. Let's avoid telling Henry all the same," Lamperouge said. "Which reminds me, I need to get some chili flakes."
While both of them walked with confidence, there was something undeniably young about them. The thought stayed his hand as he took in the kitchen. Burning it down would accomplish nothing of value.
Katsuro wandered back to the game played under the overcast sky and listened to the delighted cheering. The 712th or rather the Zeroth Division was nothing like anything he had seen back in Japan or could have imagined. Numbers being treated equally and a young commander who spoke fluent Japanese.
"Where were you?" Sam asked as he sidled up beside him. "Thought you were getting something to eat, but then you weren't there."
"Met the Gosling," he answered. "He is rather strange."
"But he's one of the good ones. Everyone has a story to tell about him. When I met him... It was before he defeated the Count again, but he was begging people for cooking recipes. I was all ready to be mad at some nosy Brit thinking he deserved our trust, and instead I got some kid following Pablo around like a little duckling."
"That's where the nickname is from?"
"Yeah. But geese are vicious hellions and you haven't seen him mad. It's like looking death in the face, except freakishly calm and eviscerates you with words alone and then when you're begging for mercy, leaves you to the misery of living," Sam whispered and shivered.
"What did you do?" Katsuro asked, aghast.
Sam grimaced. "Broke the line to chase after some Brit. Camilo... you replaced him. He died because I wasn't there. I got so caught up in striking against Brits that I forgot what was important."
...
The move to Area Six proceeded smoothly. From an empty field, more permanent structures sprung up overnight. And on weekends, they were allowed into the nearby town filled with Numbers. Their almost destitute conditions drove home that all the Numbers were in the same boat, even the Japanese. Katsuro wasn't better because he had earned a college degree, because they never had the chance to learn. They didn't even have the resources to rise up.
Spring turned into summer and Katsuro's brigade traveled through Britannia, always hunting terrorists and criminals. The best missions allowed him to fire on Brits and briefly fill the yawning hole of despair.
Often, his orders were strange, but he learned to follow them all the same. Sometimes, nothing would happen, the battle moving far from his position. But it was when the battle unexpectedly turned their way, that he would finally see the brilliant symphony play out as the enemy wandered into the trap that Katsuro had unknowingly helped lay.
They would always win, even if the situation seemed dire. Gosling had a tendency to grasp victory from the jaws of defeat in a way that made Katsuro wonder if that hadn't been the plan all along.
In June, eating one of the rare special meals, Katsuro froze as he realized what was happening. He was hunting down the very people who fought against Britannia and in doing so, ruining Japan's hope for freedom. His mouth tasted like the ash of his beloved home.
How could he forget?
Was he really so weak that a few nice words and basic human decency would make him cave?
"Katsuro? You alright?" Sam asked.
"I just... " His voice lowered. "Britannia stole everything from me, and here I am, defending her."
"If it wasn't us, it would be someone else. And personally, I rather be behind Gosling."
His thoughts were treasonous, but then they always had been. He was just remembering now. "It's wrong. And Gosling... If he..."
"Careful," Sam hissed. "That kinda talk is trouble. And Gosling... He wouldn't get away with all this shit if the Emperor didn't trust him to be absolutely loyal."
"But-"
"Others tried. Sent out feelers. Gosling has no tolerance. They disappeared or were executed for treason."
Thinking of their young commander ending someone's life in cold blood felt wrong. Gosling was reliable. His arguments, with whatever noble tried to poke their head in, legendary. And he treated everyone fairly.
"You thought there'd be a difference between him executing some Brit for treason and a Number?" Sam asked. "Then you're a fool. He might be better than the other Brits, but he's still one and you can't forget that."
"He's just one man," Katsuro said desperately. "We could change things. Rise up. And once the Emper-"
"Stop! Just stop," Sam begged. "We're not idealists. Most of us joined for the money. We earn more here than we would elsewhere. Our lives won't be carelessly thrown away. And if we die, our family is compensated. I'm not going to ruin this. And if we do, then all the Numbers will suffer. So, please, stop. If you continue, I'll have to report you."
Watching his friend leave, Katsuro finished his meal slowly. He had wondered how Gosling kept everyone in line. And here was his answer. Any effort required more than one person and someone would always tattle, too scared of upsetting the cushy status quo. The division wasn't a place of freedom, but rather a gilded prison. A different kind of fear kept everyone loyal.
Three days later, when Gosling's guard began to clearly head toward their squadron training out on the field, Katsuro knew this was the end. Sam was studiously avoiding his eyes and Katsuro cursed his naivety. They may have suffered just as much, but they didn't understand the burning desire for freedom in his chest. Perhaps before he died, he could strike one last blow.
Sam's hand caught his and he shook his head. "Don't."
The rest of the squadron's eyes flicked between him and the approaching Britannian. They had never been close, but it still stung as they drifted closer to their weapons and faced him with stony silence. They had fought together, killed together. But it was all for nothing.
"I trusted you," Katsuro hissed. "I wasn't going to do anything." Not alone at least. He wasn't suicidal. Not yet.
"I couldn't take that risk." Sam turned away, pretending as if he didn't exist.
"Private Ban, follow me," the bodyguard ordered.
Katsuro followed him silently as his mind searched for an escape. He wasn't ready to die. Not when he hadn't avenged his family yet. How could he face them after yet another failure. First, he hadn't been home to comfort them in the end. Then, he died before making the Brits pay.
They stopped outside a small building and the bodyguard held out his hand. "No weapons inside."
Defeated, he handed over his pistol and knife. The guard just nodded and led him inside. Cool air blasted him and Katsuro rapidly blinked as he hurried after the bodyguard through the hallway of doors. Morbidly, he wondered if each held a prisoner slowly freezing to death.
They entered the last room, an office.
Lamperouge looked up from behind the mountain of paperwork. "You're an accountant, right?"
"Was," Katsuro answered, confused.
"Good. You're being reassigned. You can start on that stack over there. And Frederick, the mail is behind me."
Not believing his luck, Katsuro sat down in the corner staring at various order forms and expense reports from each brigade. In another stack, he found additional expenses and income streams. He worked in silence, falling back into old forgotten habits. But while the work was calming, his heart continued to hammer.
Sam had reported him, basically confirmed it. They knew.
Why did Brits always insist on their games? He had thought Gosling above them, but apparently not.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Lamperouge worked diligently, decimating his stack of paperwork before pulling out another one. At one point, his other guard entered and they left with a rolled up map. Katsuro remained rooted to his position under the watchful eye of the guard.
Finally, the bodyguard straightened. "Let's get something to eat."
Wordlessly, Katsuro followed. Surely, this was when his punishment would finally be revealed after luring him into a false sense of security. No. They went to the next room with an old beat up fridge and a standing table.
As he quietly ate a surprisingly delicious sandwich, the other bodyguard poked his head in. "Frederick, have you seen Lelouch?'
"No, Henry."
Henry growled and stomped to the fridge. "One second. How the hell does he disappear in the one measly second I take my eyes off of him. I'm putting a tracker on him. Watch me."
"If you succeed, he'll notice it before the week is up. Best to ask Alex for help. He's the one who taught Lelouch how to lose a tail."
"How do I lose him more than you do? You don't even pay attention," Henry snapped.
Frederick laughed. "My presence is more bearable."
Glaring, Henry drained a water bottle and stomped out of the room.
"Aren't you worried?" Katsuro asked.
"No. He's with Alex and he could kill me before I can blink." Frederick grinned maliciously. "And Henry is too proud to ask for help, so now that I suggested it, he'll avoid Alex like the plague until he finds Lelouch. And if he doesn't cave until after dinner, I'll be twenty bucks richer."
"Isn't that rather..."
"Childish?" Frederick answered. "Maybe. But Henry deserves it."
Brits were insane and Katsuro settled in for the agonizing waiting game. They would always play games apparently. It was in their nature.
Three hours later, Lamperouge returned to his office trailed by a grinning soldier. "Is Henry still looking for me?"
"Yes. Came back twice asking me if I've seen you, but I think he caught on that I'm pulling his leg. Still, you owe me twenty."
"Still have tenminutes. Don't be hasty, Frederick."
Frederick narrowed his eyes. "You didn't cheat did you? Like you do at poker."
"I don't cheat," Lamperouge said then pointed at the soldier behind him. "That'd be Alex with cards in his sleeve."
"Once. You caught me once," the soldier, presumably Alex, complained, "and my honor is forever tarnished."
Katsuro glanced between the others skeptical face and Alex's mournful puppy eyes. He knew that look. The kid was definitely cheating.
A storm of curses echoed through the hallway and Henry stomped into the room, glared at Lamperouge before changing his mind, and rounding on Frederick. "You knew all this time! And I'm just swinging by and he's here!"
"Wait," Frederick turned to Lamperouge. "You knew he was going to be here! You can't just come out of hiding the last second to win the bet!"
"The only rule was that we couldn't tell him," Lamperouge answered, shamelessly grinning.
Henry threw up his hands and grabbed Frederick by the shoulder, dragging him out of the room. The door slammed shut behind them.
"I almost feel sorry for him. But considering he's won like once, you'd think he'd know better than to take a bet." Alex handed over a wallet. "Tell him to keep a better eye on it."
Lamperouge's right hand immediately patted his pocket and he groaned, "Alex."
Alex fished out two more wallets and Katsuro's hand drifted to his own empty pocket. He hadn't even noticed the kid near him.
"Why am I here?" Katsuro finally asked. The Brits had their fun, but he wanted answers. And maybe with two skinny kids, he had a chance to escape.
"I was told to delegate more. And you're an accountant," Lamperouge answered as he wandered over to his work and picked up the paper he was working on. "And your work is fine. So I don't see the problem."
"But, but I-" Katsuro grit his teeth. This was all an elaborate scheme. "You know what I said."
Lamperouge had the audacity to shrug. "No. I barely have time to sleep. I don't spend my time eavesdropping on conversations. Although, Alex? Anything on Private Ban?"
Alex closed his eyes and drummed his finger against his leg before shrugging. "Just the normal the Empire sucks stuff. Not anything actionable."
Lamperouge laughed. "I'd hope not or else I would be in trouble."
"Fortunately, you have an office so when you swear out every noble from the Pacific to Atlantic I'm the only one who knows."
"They sent me extra paperwork. There was to be one form. But they made me fill out bloody twenty useless ones and I only found out because I complained to my mother about it," Lamperouge grumbled.
"Maybe you should call your mother more often then."
"Absolutely not," Lamperouge snapped. "Although Private Ban, I have to wonder what you did say that was so awful."
Katsuro swallowed at the inquiring faces. "I was angry... remembering my home. I wanted things to be different..." For the Emperor to die for his crimes. For the Brits to burn and feel the pain of knowing their loved ones were ash on the wind. For Japan to be free and stand among the nations once again. "I shouldn't have said anything."
Lamperouge pursed his lips. "The Burning of Kagoshima, you mean. Were you there?"
"On my way home. Stopped right outside of the city, but it was too late. So I hid like a coward as the knightmares passed."
"The memories never leave, do they?" Lamperouge murmured and he looked incredibly sad for a moment. As if all those deaths weighed on his shoulders personally. "You have nothing to worry about, Private Ban. I only need an accountant and you're a more than capable one. Although if you will be here, then practicing our Japanese would not be amiss."
Tension drained out of him and they conversed more amicably, switching to Japanese. Alex listened with a pained expression until finally begging to know what certain words meant. They were so eager. So innocent despite the situation. And they reminded him so much of his own family.
But he couldn't forget what Sam had said. Lamperouge would never have risen to a position of power if the Emperor wasn't convinced of his loyalty. There were the rumored disappearances and executions as well. Despite his innocent face, a monster lurked under his skin, just like every Brit. And Katsuro knew he would kill them if it meant saving Japan.
A few weeks later, he ran into Sam who stared at him in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Gosling needed an accountant, apparently. No thanks to you," Katsuro said. "You sold me out."
Sam crossed his arms. "I'm not going to apologize for keeping the division safe. You should've kept your mouth shut."
"Words don't mean anything."
"But the look in your eyes when you said them?" Sam stepped away shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I'll protect the division, even from you."
The words ended any hope of reconciliation and Katsuro mourned the loss of his friendship, but he had no words to defend himself. He despised Britannia. Wanted to see it burn and he only became an Honorary Britannian out of necessity, even if the plan had derailed far beyond what he could imagine.
If only he could turn Lamperouge to his side and the rest of the division would follow. It would be so satisfying to watch Britannia shatter beneath the hammer she crafted to defend herself.
But he had no idea what tied Lamperouge to Britannia. His name was French, yet he hunted spies. He spoke fluent Japanese, understood French and Latin, and was learning Spanish, but always acted as if Britannia was superior. And from his accounting work, Katsuro knew Lamperouge earned a pittance. Enough to sponsor a round trip from Area Six to Japan with a little pocket change left over.
Slowly, he made new acquaintances but he never lowered his guard again as he had with Sam. The next time he spoke rashly, he might not be as lucky. But despite all the distance he purposefully maintained, he kept growing fonder of Lamperouge. Slipping into Japanese felt like coming home, and, for those brief moments, he could pretend he was away on a business trip and when he returned, his family would be waiting for him.
There was something magnetic about Lamperouge. He understood people, always giving them what they desired. It was a skill, perhaps a purposeful manipulation and it made him dangerous. With a well few placed words, he would cast doubt into someone's heart and then slowly reel them in until their loyalty was tightly bound.
And Katsuro? He knew what was happening. Felt that tug every day, begging him to let go of his hate and lay down his life for a Brit. And every day he fought back, but slowly he was losing. He was so tired and with Lamperouge in charge, he could trust him to make the hard decisions and finally let him rest; the plan be damned.
The plan... A worthless one halfway around the world. Whatever he did here would not help Japan.
"You know you can call me, Lelouch," Lamperouge interrupted one day as Katsuro tried to balance the budget so they could acquire another knightmare. "I think we've known each other long enough."
"Katsuro," he offered and bit his lip. Lelouch understood what he was offering. Him offering his name meant something more than the various other soldiers who regarded his mannerisms and formality with amusement. It was a display of trust, but traitorous thoughts rumbled in his head.
"Thank you, Katsuro. Did you manage to find the funds or do I have to go gambling again?"
"That's how you get the funds?" He had thought Lelouch was some sort of money demon for his ability to procure necessary funds out of nowhere when the time came. Apparently not. Just a luck demon.
Lelouch simply laughed.
The next day, the joyful atmosphere was gone as Katsuro finally witnessed one of the rumored executions. Three men had snuck out to the village and had been caught. But that wasn't why they were kneeling on the ground before Lelouch.
Henry led a young trembling girl inside the room. She looked at the kneeling men and Lelouch between terrified sobs. Lelouch spoke softly in Spanish as he knelt before her, gently asking questions.
Slowly, her sobs quieted, and she glanced up at Pablo standing in the far corner who nodded and replied in Spanish, his voice warm and reassuring. The three of them conversed quietly until the girl finally pointed at one of the men. Lelouch straightened, his face hard.
"As she claims the two of you did not participate, your life has been spared. But since you didn't interfere either when witnessing a comrade committed a vile act, you are dishonorably discharged. As for Private Bolivar,"-he turned to the man the girl had pointed to-"you will be executed at the crack of dawn. Until then, you will be under guard and may write one last letter to inform your family. Guards, take him away."
Katsuro repressed a shiver as he looked at Lelouch, who for a moment resembled an old dreaded officer that had ordered them to violently break a workers' strike. It would be ridiculously easy to charge forward and pin him down to the ground so the prisoners would escape. It would be so easy to let his hand slip and end the greatest threat to Japan's freedom.
The prisoners left, and the murderous fantasy faded.
...
Katsuro woke to the gunshots. He could imagine the man dropping to the ground, limp and lifeless. If anyone knew his heart, he would be there staining the ground with blood.
The office was empty and Alex waited in the door. "You shouldn't be alone here. No one is allowed to."
"I just... It's my job. I can wait." Katsuro had never arrived before Lelouch who he thought slept in his office.
"Take the day off. Lelouch won't be working here today. Never does on days like these."
He nodded and left, wandering aimlessly. When was the last time he was given time off? On the field, his old squadron trained with two new faces he didn't recognize. In the midst, he spotted Sam, who was, as always, pushing himself. He felt lost.
Brits were the enemy...
But an Honorary Britannian was a Brit.
Katsuro had sworn himself to the Emperor and become a Brit.
And not just Brits were capable of vile acts.
He found Lelouch tending to injured patients under the stern gaze of Lieutenant Colonel Tamay. The dark thought that perhaps Lelouch enjoyed the executions vanished. Even in his free time, he was helping while Katsuro achieved nothing. Would achieve nothing because hatred shackled his feet.
Was he just a monster waiting to emerge? Given the opportunity what would he do to make the Brits pay?
His wife would be ashamed of the dark thoughts that had taken root in his mind. His daughter would despair because there was nothing left of the father she loved. He was a husk of a man, clinging onto the last shred of life.
He knew what he had to do, to admit, before it was too late.
At dinner, he finished his meal, then pulled Sam aside. "I just want to say thank you for trying and apologize for being such a poor friend."
He walked away, Sam desperately calling his name behind him. Unable to stop him, Sam hurried away, undoubtedly to inform someone of his suspicious behavior.
In his dorm, Katsuro finished writing a letter to his friends back in Japan. It was vague, but hopefully he would be allowed to send it. They must have written him off by now, but he would give them the benefit of closure.
"Katsuro," Alex interrupted as he sealed the letter and confirmed Katusor's suspicion that Alex worked in intelligence. "What are you doing?"
He could turn around and fight. If he believed Frederick, then he would be dead before he could blink. Leave them to wonder why he had snapped. Or he could talk and draw out the inevitable.
Which child would he condemn as his executioner?
"I'm a traitor," he declared because he was selfish and wanted the chance to apologize.
Alex watched him warily.
"Why aren't you doing anything? I just said I'm a traitor to Britannia. I want it to burn. Do something!"
Alex turned away, the lock clicking into place behind him. Breaking down, he pulled out the last and only photo of his family and cried. He missed thier warm and tender embrace. His wife's sarcastic quips. His daughter discordant violin playing.
All that was left of them was a picture and even there, the colors were fading. Soon, there would be nothing to remember them by. He was so tired.
No matter what he did, he would never see their loving smiles again. He couldn't move on because every step he took poisoned the world around him. The only path forward was revenge, and he didn't have the strength of will.
"Katsuro," Lelouch said gently from across the room. Alex stood between them. "Was there something you wanted to say?"
"Why are you just standing there? Kill me. Arrest me. Don't you know that my dreams are filled with your blood spattered on the walls?" He choked back a sob. "Just end it before I do something unforgivable."
"That's your family?" Lelouch asked, picking up the photo from the ground. "Your daughter has a beautiful smile."
"The prettiest. She loved to play the violin. Practiced every day and cried when she got the notes wrong," Katsuro began and more memories spilled from his lips. Someone had to know how precious they were and hold onto the memory when he was gone. Finally, with his mouth parched, he looked up at the two watching him sadly. "I don't blame you. I know what's coming."
Britannia had no tolerance for traitors.
"I don't execute people for words," Lelouch said. "Here's what will happen. Tomorrow you will see Lance Corporal Tamay for debilitating headaches. He will declare you unfit for duty and I will sign an honorable discharge. Then, you may return home and grieve."
"But I said-"
"All I noticed was you breaking down from a migraine," Lelouch said. Halfway to the door, he paused. "But if we somehow end up on opposing sides of a battlefield, I cannot show mercy. And your NDA is still valid. If you break it, people will die."
...
A week later, he stood in Tokyo with a handful of cash and his prized possession. He had been sentenced to live yet didn't know how. No longer were his loyalties in conflict. He could go to a small cafe, ask for a job, and create a new life for himself. Or he could turn to the path of vengeance and accept the inevitable death when the Zeroth Division was called.
"Katsuro? Is that you? It's been ages my old friend," Haru from college exclaimed. "I can't believe you're alive. What happened to you?"
He smiled honestly. "Haru. It's wonderful to see you. I got kicked out of the army."
"You? In the army? Never would have imagined that. Come on, let's get a drink and catch up." Haru led the way through narrow alleyways, talking animatedly. "When I heard about Kagoshima, I feared the worse."
Katsuro pursed his lips and changed the subject. "How have you been?"
"Same old." Haru laughed. "Well, not really. I help folks find a job, or at least the next meal. I'd be happy to help you although Honorary Britannians have it easier as long as you're willing to put up with a lot of shit… Probably better than the army though. Hear they beat you within an inch of your life there."
"Sometimes I'm surprised that I'm alive. But I got lucky and was sent abroad. The commander was… decent." He could say more and try to explain the wonder of a Number division run without nobles. But how could he make someone understand what type of person Lelouch was? What he meant as their commander. It was unbelievable.
Lelouch, a Brit, had shown mercy. Allowed him to escape to a normal life so he could remake himself again. Even halfway across the world, part of his loyalty belonged to the Gosling. So he remained quiet and abided by the terms of his NDA. No one would hear the truth of the Zeroth Division from his lips.
Although, as he caught up on recent events, he wondered if Zero and Lelouch were one and the same. Because there had been no one else in those offices.
Author's Note:
And I'm back. Really sorry for the unexpected delay. Hopefully by the time you reached the end, the next fic will have finished uploading and be available to read.
As this is the epilogue, I indulged myself by writing a brand new OC. The next fic will get back to your regularly scheduled Lelouch and Nunnally. :)
Chat with me on the discord: discord . gg / uSBegVj
Thank you x1tears1X and Spaded Ace18 on FFN for your help with betaing