Amber Hall, study.
Crystal chandeliers glead in extravagant splendor. Beneath the steps of the dais, more than a dozen generals knelt with lowered heads. On either side stood the vanguard guards in immaculate uniforms, tall and imposing, heavily augnted, only a pair of crimson, blazing eyes visible—murderous intent brimming between their brows.
Farther back waited several female officials, so standing with hands folded, others organizing docunts on the desks.
Click.
Vela set down the intelligence dossier stamped with the insignia of the Intelligence Bureau. With one hand she gestured lightly for them to dispense with formalities, and with the other she rose, stepping down from the desk.
"Good evening, Lord Shaing, Captain Kururugi," she said, glancing toward the accompanying officers and nodding. "I am pleased to see you all here."
Only after speaking did she lift the marshal's baton resting upon the velvet cushion of the side table and return their salute with solemn formality.
The ceremony concluded swiftly. Everyone took their positions, standing in orderly silence.
Shin Hyuga Shaing naturally occupied the foremost place, leading the officers of the Knights of St. Michael in two neat rows.
Suzaku Kururugi stood half a step behind, alone in his own line—much like the promotion bottleneck currently faced by honorary Britannians of Area 11. The workplace environnt had eased sowhat, but the military still lacked seasoned veterans. Building rit and accumulating years of service required ti. Not everyone could have a forr pri minister for a father while also being a reckless ace pilot charging headlong into battle.
Vela assessed them with analytical calm.
Mm. Quite a mixed composition.
There was no need to elaborate on Shaing.
A rising young general popular among the troops, a Geass wielder under Vela's watchful eye, and a key surveillance target she dealt with frequently.
On the surface, he appeared refined and gentle. In truth, he was sinister and twisted. As a youth he had dared to murder his mother and father, wiping out his own family. He possessed severe self-destructive tendencies—a white-cut black-core, a covert sociopath.
At present, he devoted himself to playing the role of a loyal and capable servant of the Empire.
To the outside world—especially in the eyes of the Pureblood faction—this so-called "last Eastern samurai" was nothing more than a fortunate man who had risen through marriage and patronage. Really, eating soft rice the hard way—no one envied him at all...
A solitary case of a Number elevating his status.
The sort that made countless Numbers still crawling through the inferno of war, striving for rit and glory, grind their teeth in envy.
Vela felt neither fondness nor dislike toward him.
Being able to live off others and make it look earned was a talent in itself.
Throughout history, such stories were hardly rare.
Besides, Shaing's Geass—Salvation of Loved Ones—looked practically useless at first glance: it implanted a death suggestion upon the one he loved. The prerequisite that the caster must love the target severely limited its applicability. Whoever he loved would die. The more one thought about it, the more perverse it sounded.
There was no reason to fear it.
Unless, of course, he was so kind of King of Lovers—albeit a twisted version. Falling in love with everyone he t, loving deeply, loving intensely, loving so much that he could not bear for those he loved to remain in this filthy world—and thus imposing death upon them.
And then, by so unfortunate accident, Vela herself beca the target, overwheld by obsessive love and control, compelled to slit her own throat... or driven mad by passion to launch a catastrophic rebellion against Britannia—perhaps even against the world?
The more she considered it, the more far-fetched it seed.
Still... you never know.
For that reason, even after gaining her own Geass ability, Vela had never summoned Shaing alone.
You could never predict a madman's logic.
It was responsibility toward herself—and kindness toward him.
Better than having the lunatic suddenly attempt a coup from below, forcing her to stage a tearful execution of a favored general. That would be inelegant.
After all, he was a useful blade.
A double-edged sword.
That was how Vela defined him.
As for Jean Rowe, Ashley Ashra, and the other close subordinates attached to Shaing—they were rely add-ons.
The battle group under Shaing's direct command ca from diverse backgrounds: war orphans, naturalized citizens, retainers of noble houses, household troops.
Elite, capable—but steeped in bad habits.
They were pri targets of the military reforms and rectification campaign presided over by Vela.
Jean Rowe—the sharp-looking adjutant—was manageable. Concealing her gender was a minor disciplinary violation, flexible in severity.
Ashley Ashra was another matter. If it were rely arrogance, impulsiveness, and a volatile temper, that could be dismissed as the temperant of a fierce warrior. But he should never have played Russian roulette within the ranks—much less pointed a gun at a comrade.
For that incident, the Commander of the Knights of St. Michael, Michele Manfredi, had been berated thoroughly by Vela and publicly criticized across the army.
Had Manfredi not cherished talent, and had Shaing not stepped forward to assu responsibility and plead for leniency, Ashley would have had no opportunity to atone through rit. He would already have faced a firing squad.
As for the remaining officers—"by the book," "following the flow," "ordinary"—those were their labels.
Young and middle-aged mixed with veterans, so already streaked with gray at the temples.
At first glance, the sharpness of this formation indeed seed diminished.
But anyone with common sense knew what it ant.
The old guiding the new. Succession secured. A functioning talent ladder.
They were Vela's foundation—the undeniable backbone of the Holy Britannian Empire's hegemony and its war of unification.
Because they were Britannians. Perhaps not hereditary nobles, but at worst from respectable families—property, livelihood, perseverance. Their interests resonated with imperial strategy. Loyal to the Empire's grand ambition of conquering the world. Loyal to the royal house. Fiercely proud of their nation.
As Vela's gaze swept across their faces, so bowed in deference, so straightened proudly with steady composure, and others looked at her with blazing eyes filled with fervor and excitent.
The morale was ripe for use.
Vela nodded inwardly.
Tap. Clack.
She stepped down from the dais and walked directly into the formation, stopping before the youngest-looking lieutenant.
"Hello, the Danzig Nova—Lieutenant Marseille."
Snap! The hard soles of his boots struck sharply together. "My respects, Your Highness!" The handso officer with hazel hair saluted instinctively.
Only after hearing his nickna spoken did he grow slightly embarrassed. "I didn't expect you to rember ."
"The fad Danzig Nova—who could forget? Since the third quarter of Imperial Year 2017—currently February 2018—you have destroyed 118 enemy armored units while serving in the experintal aerial KMF unit. Eight destroyed within ten minutes. Seventeen in a single day. As a commander, I am honored and proud to have a soldier like you."
The atmosphere relaxed instantly. Laughter rippled through the hall.
"Do not belittle yourself, Lieutenant," Vela said with a smile. "Excessive humility is arrogance. Keep up the good work. And do not die too early. I see the makings of a Knight of the Round in you."
With that, she turned her head slightly toward the waiting female official.
"Prepare the banquet hall of the Sakura Chamber."
"Yes, Your Highness." The official responded with a smile.
At once subjected to the teasing looks of his comrades and the princess' banter, Marseille felt his face burn, unsure where to put himself.
Having finished issuing instructions for the evening banquet, Vela rely smiled and lightly tapped his shoulder with the marshal's baton before turning to another field officer who looked every bit the seasoned veteran.
"What is it? My dear Colonel Rudel, I hear you violated the battlefield rotation regulations again. This ti was it excessive overextension—or did you once more 'borrow' a comrade's armored knight during his leave to sortie?"
"Er... cough, Your Highness, you know ..."
"Major Best, how is your health?"
"Fully recovered. Lung function excellent. Ready for deploynt, Marshal!"
"Colonel Moldes."
"Your Highness."
"Lord Cordub."
...
Human joys and sorrows are not shared. I only find them noisy.
Akito Hyuga watched everything in silence.
The Third Princess was exchanging pleasantries with her officers, smiling warmly. Her deanor appeared sincere. Despite her crushing workload, she rembered the na, honors, and specific battle records of every officer present—just as rumors claid, possessed of astonishing mory.
The scene resembled the banquets he had once attended at the Tuileries Palace in Paris alongside Leila Marrybell. Familiar—yet utterly different.
There was no cynical jesting, no carefree indulgence. Restraint and caution dominated here. Hierarchy perated every corner.
Especially when he saw his elder brother suppressing his true nature, lowering his gaze and currying favor.
Hypocrisy.
Others might not know—but how could he not know the madness and distortion hidden within Shaing?
Akito would never forget that scene: at dusk, the hall soaked in blood, corpses strewn in all directions, and Shaing standing beside their parents' bodies...
And now you stand here playing the loyal and virtuous subject?
Disgusting.
If he concealed himself so deeply, he must be plotting sothing else.
What are you planning, brother?
Akito Hyuga's thoughts churned as he looked at Shin Hyuga Shaing—who at that very mont was speaking deferentially to Vela, promising sothing. Judging from the conversation, it concerned strict enforcent of military discipline. Beside him, the usually arrogant and battle-hungry Ashley stood at attention in abject nervousness, sweat beading on his forehead, scarcely daring to breathe.
He did not know how to describe what he felt.
Schadenfreude? Certainly so of that.
One might deceive others, but seldom oneself. He harbored resentnt, hatred, bitterness. Naturally he found so satisfaction in seeing Shaing chastised.
Yet was that hatred rooted in the betrayal of the days when Shaing had still been called Hyuga Shin, when he alone had been abandoned? Or in the sea of blood and the extermination of their clan?
Perhaps both.
He suddenly wanted to laugh. But an inexplicable irritation surged within him.
Not at the man, but at the situation—at the sight of Shaing's "subservient ugliness."
Hyuga Shin had once sheltered him from wind and rain in just such a way.
At that mont, footsteps approached.
"Second Lieutenant Hyuga."
Vela's cool, clear voice pulled him back.
Akito raised his eyes. Seeing the princess so close—smiling faintly—his body stiffened instantly.
"What are you thinking about?" She stepped half a pace closer.
He opened his mouth, unsure how to answer.
Vela clearly had no intention of waiting for him to gather his words. Observing his awkwardness, she suddenly laughed softly.
"So stiff and hesitant? Could it be that even the 'Ghost of Hannibal' feels shy?"
"I was only..."
You were rely drifting along in muddled thoughts.
Vela completed the unspoken sentence in her mind. Having read his heart for so ti and watched the silent, multi-actor drama of intrigue unfold, she had already grasped the twisted, brother-centered fixation within him. She waved a hand dismissively and asked, "Compared to the E.U., are you adjusting well in Britannia?"
The question caused a visible stir among the assembled officers. They exchanged glances.
A fatal question.
Jean Rowe looked anxiously toward Shaing, fearing trouble. Akito was the deputy commander's younger maternal half-brother and had once served in the E.U. coalition forces. Though circumstances had forced his hand, his hands were nonetheless stained with the blood of forr comrades.
Please let this not affect Lord Shaing's future...
The adjutant pressed her lips together and prayed silently.
Then Akito answered, "Reporting to Your Highness—quite well."
"Soldiering is the sa everywhere. At the Danzig front we moved with the army. At the order's headquarters, it is training by day and night classes for redial study. Very fulfilling. Apart from fellow soldiers often inviting to spar, I have not encountered any troublemaking brutes, nor any idle aristocratic youths picking quarrels."
He paused, then said seriously, "The atmosphere in Britannia is indeed very different from that of the E.U."
Vela gave a soft hum, her fingertips brushing over the gilded patterns on the head of her marshal's baton. A bright smile slowly curved her lips.
It seed the rectification campaign had truly borne fruit. She felt gratified. Akito had entered the ranks as an E.U. prisoner of war, yet he had not been bullied by veteran louts. Even when provoked, it ca in the form of formal sparring or duels—not private brawls.
Very good.
As far as she knew, the reputation of the WZERO unit within the E.U. had not been favorable.
Even after earning great rit, European soldiers still sneered at them as slaves from Area 11—rcenaries risking their heads for coin. Many E.U. civilians whom they had protected at the cost of their lives regarded it as only natural, mocking them as scapegoats pushed forward by their superiors, even brazenly bullying the families of the fallen.
The cunning and chaos of such conduct was enough to make even her—a tyrannical oppressor of a foreign power—struggle to contain herself.
Autocratic as Britannia was, rigid in hierarchy and steeped in racial discrimination, at least its system of reward and punishnt remained comparatively clear.
Vela asked with interest, "How many years have you served?"
"Four years."
"Oh? You are not yet eighteen, I assu?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Where have you served?"
"Military preparatory school youth corps, the French Foreign Legion, the WZERO unit, and the Knights of St. Michael."
"Which models are you proficient in piloting?"
"The Gloucester type and the Vincent type." He hesitated briefly, then added, "And the Alexander type as well."
The Gloucester type and Vincent type were both mainstay standard-issue KMFs currently in service within the Britannian military. The Alexander type had originally belonged to the E.U. coalition forces as a specialized operations unit.
As for generational classification among KMFs:
The Gloucester had originally been positioned as a late fifth-generation unit. However, under Vela's administration, European Britannia's defense technology system achieved a generational leap. Its derivative developnt models had now reached sixth-generation standards.
The Vincent type—more precisely, the Vincent Project—had initially been a seventh-generation KMF armant research program spearheaded by Schneizel and led by Count Lloyd Asplund of the Empire's Advanced Special Envoy Engineering Corps, created to overco the mass-production bottleneck of the Z-01 Lancelot. The project had since been fully taken over by Vela and had entered the stage of concrete implentation.
As for the Alexander type—though it was an enemy model and its design philosophy differed markedly from Britannian systems—it was undeniably a groundbreaking and highly successful unit. Its overall performance rivaled that of the Sutherland, the standard fifth-generation machine. It possessed both humanoid and insectoid transformation modes, excelling in urban alley combat, mountainous maneuver warfare, and jungle infiltration. Certain tactical capabilities already approached seventh-generation KMF standards. Moreover, its fra incorporated modular redundancy, leaving vast room for future upgrades.
Naturally, Vela had set her sights on it.
Through the wreckage and intact prototypes captured during the war, combined with reverse engineering of its core technologies, Britannia had already completed an initial reproduction of the model.
As of February, Imperial Year 2018, the Britannian-modified Alexander-type KMF had been deployed in small batches to select units.
The Knights of St. Michael were among the first pilot units.
The darkly ironic twist was that Akito—once an ace pilot of the E.U.—had been semi-officially appointed by Shaing as the specialized instructor for the Alexander-type KMF, responsible for teaching piloting techniques and counter-tactics when facing the sa model in combat.
What a pair of loving brothers.
Vela cast Shaing a aningful glance.
He maintained his customary respectful posture, a faint smile on his lips, as though sharing in the honor.
"Composed in bearing, valiant without arrogance. Lord Shaing, you have a fine younger brother." Vela withdrew her gaze and sighed lightly. "To be separated by flesh and blood, only to reunite again—how fortunate."
Marseille, Rudel, and the others looked slightly bewildered.
Separated flesh and blood? What bones and at?
Shaing, of course, understood the Eastern-inflected phrasing. Bowing, he replied, "It is all by Your Highness' grace. Only, my younger brother is still inexperienced. I fear he may be unworthy of heavy responsibility and fail to live up to your expectations."
"Truly a harmonious pair of brothers." Vela smiled faintly. "Soldiers are forged through training. Your brother is an uncut jade. That the E.U. failed to recognize him was their loss. Polish him well. If in the future you two brothers both attain the rank of Knight Marquis, it would make for a fine tale indeed."
She exchanged a few more words with several others until an attendant reported that the banquet in the Sakura Chamber was ready.
Only then did she raise the marshal's baton and, using it as a signal, invite them to the feast.
As she passed by Suzaku Kururugi, she paused.
Her gaze lingered on the White Knight's face—youthful traces not yet faded, yet already carved by hardship.
Compared to the ceremony at Königsberg, new scars marked his cheeks. Fatigue was hard to conceal between his brows. Gloom showed plainly, and even his once-bright eyes were now clouded with a harsh edge.
The gaze of one tempered by the battlefield.
"You have grown stronger. And more weathered," Vela said.
"It is my duty." Suzaku t her eyes.
"To fulfill one's duty faithfully—excellent." Her tone held undisguised appreciation as she patted his shoulder. "Take your seat first."
With that, she turned and walked toward the side door.
Suzaku stared at her retreating figure, thoughts surging within him.
Then he quickened his pace and followed.
...
Sakura Chamber.
Water flowed along brown bamboo, dripping into the shishi-odoshi. The hollow tube struck the stone basin with a sound like cicadas and cranes—clear and tranquil.
Accompanied by the crisp knock of bamboo against stone, Vela led the group into this courtyard-style inner hall steeped in Eastern Zen aesthetics.
Suzaku's eyes widened slightly.
Before them lay a dry landscape garden of nearly a hundred square ters.
Rocks stood in place of mountains. Raked sand represented flowing water. Moss dotted the scene.
Though modern minimalist elents were present—for instance, at the center of the waterside pavilion stood a long cypress table carved with pastoral ukiyo-e motifs, rather than traditional tatami mats and cushions—there was no mistaking it. This was the garden style unique to his holand.
Perhaps stirred by the setting, long a stranger in a foreign land, mories from over eight years ago rose unbidden. Back then he had been carefree, the son of the Pri Minister, living in comfort. Gardens like this, the shrine and forest behind the hill—they had been the small world of his childhood.
It was during that ti that he had t and grown close to Lelouch and Nunnally.
But this was no mont for sentintality.
He had to discern the Third Princess' true stance.
"Is this garden in the style of the Chinese Federation?" Ashley asked Jean Rowe quietly.
"No," Jean replied. "It is the traditional garden style of Area 11." As an admirer of Shaing, she had deliberately researched such obscure knowledge rarely acknowledged within Britannian society.
Rudel, Best, and the others appeared thoughtful.
The traditional garden style of Area 11.
It seed Her Highness had no intention of implenting a final solution.
To continue the policy of differentiation and division, then.
Soon, under the guidance of attendants, everyone took their seats in order.
Tap, tap.
Vela withdrew the hand with which she had lightly tapped the edge of the table. Her gaze swept across them before she spoke unhurriedly.
"I have summoned you tonight to discuss the future direction of Area 11. Shall we pursue appeasent and nurse a festering sore—or carve away the rot and eradicate it entirely?"
The generals straightened instinctively, thinking the main act had begun.
Yet Vela abruptly shifted tone. "Incidentally, I recently ca upon an excellent chef. His skill is remarkable. I could not resist sharing it with you."
The tense atmosphere relaxed at once.
They all understood. This dinner was more private than political. Ti to unwind. No inspectors tonight.
"There is an old saying in the Chinese Federation—haste calls for slowness, and patience brings completion," Shaing said with a smile. "Since Your Highness has such refined interest, we shall naturally accompany you. May I ask what delicacies this chef has prepared?"
Vela smiled and raised her hand.
"Comnce the banquet," a female attendant announced clearly.
The side doors opened with a creak. A asured yet orderly rhythm of footsteps and the rolling of serving carts crossed the courtyard and stopped beside the long table.
Servants moved swiftly, setting down a dazzling variety of vessels—bowls, basins, plates, cups, bottles, boxes, pots—more than one could count.
Unlike the flat plates common in Western cuisine, several exquisite lacquered trays were brought forth first.
Appetizers: chilled seaweed salad, salted cuttlefish, grated radish topped with red roe.
Small in portion, but ticulously arranged.
"Chinese cuisine? Or... also from Area 11?" Marseille awkwardly gripped his chopsticks, curious. After the fall of old Japan eight years ago, its cuisine had naturally ceased to be promoted.
He was barely in his twenties. He had eaten plenty of Chinese dishes. Japanese cuisine? He had scarcely even seen it.
"It is Chinese—"
Jean Rowe began to answer, only to be gently interrupted by Shaing.
"No, Jean. It is Washoku—cuisine of the Yamato people," he corrected.
Vela cast him an approving glance.
Setting aside his nature, when not unhinged, Shaing truly was a capable minister—quick-witted and asured.
She deftly lifted her chopsticks, picked up a mound of grated radish adorned with red roe, and placed it in her mouth. After tasting and swallowing, she nodded in approval.
"Do not cry over spilled milk. Japan is now rely a geographical term."
She gestured toward the dishes before them.
"This is a specialty of the Yamato people—one of the ethnic minorities of the Britannian Empire."
As the conversation continued, additional side dishes and plum wine were served.
Next ca a small plate of sakura shrimp sushi, accompanied by a slice of grilled eel glazed in sweet sauce.
"Please take it in one bite, savoring the shrimp together with the vinegared rice. The shrimp are true sakura shrimp from Suruga Bay in Shizuoka, brushed lightly with soy sauce for flavor. You may dip it in wasabi paste..."
As if to affirm Vela's earlier words, the explanation of how to eat it sounded at just the right mont.
It was not the crisp, sweet voice of a palace maid, but an elderly, restrained English tinged with a heavy Japanese accent.
Suzaku Kururugi turned sharply.
Before him stood a diminutive figure, distinct from the banquet attendees.
"Are you Mr. Ono of Sukiyabashi Jiro?" he asked in disbelief.
The balding elderly chef, wearing old-fashioned round glasses, looked up.
"Ah, Mr. Kururugi." He bowed repeatedly. "Thanks to your struggle and sacrifice, and that of the Special Task Force, we Number commoners have been able to improve our circumstances. Truly, thank you very much."
"I..." Suzaku opened his mouth.
His expression was difficult to describe—joy at eting soone from ho, embarrassnt at encountering a familiar face in such circumstances, and beneath it all, the satisfaction of finally being acknowledged by his people after enduring humiliation and hardship.
"Your Highness!" He rose impulsively, unable to hide his agitation as he looked at Vela.
"Sit down, Sir," Vela said calmly, pressing her hand downward. "Eat first."
Suppressing a faint smile, she picked up a piece of sakura shrimp sushi and placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly as her gaze swept over everyone present.
Shaing's expression remained gentle as ever, seemingly genuinely pleased at the improvent of his compatriots' circumstances.
Akito and Jean Rowe exchanged a glance, sipping chilled wine in small mouthfuls, thoughtful.
Moldes and Cordub stared straight ahead, eating and drinking without concern for such matters.
Ashley, Marseille, and the younger officers harbored fewer calculations. If there was cause for joy, they rejoiced, sincerely applauding a comrade's good fortune.
Vela withdrew her gaze and t Suzaku's eyes, heavy with complicated emotion.
"There is no need for self-deprecating words," she said. "In governing and commanding, I reward rit and punish fault. The survival of the people of Area 11 has nothing to do with my personal appreciation of you, Sir Kururugi. It was the Special Task Force of Area 11 that proved its loyalty to the Empire through action. I adjusted policy accordingly—this is the reward they deserve."
As her words fell, she raised her wine cup across the long table in salute to Suzaku.
Suzaku dared not hesitate. He quickly stood and bowed with his cup in return.
As he resud his seat, servants brought forth the sashimi course.
Seasonal live-caught Ise lobster, geoduck clam, and red sea bream.
Each sliced into uniformly thin pieces and arranged over crushed ice, translucent and gleaming.
"When eating sashimi, one should drink refined liquor. Its fragrance is rich, its color clear, its nature llow—best enjoyed chilled alongside raw fish," Vela said, accepting the poured cup of liquor from the maid as she looked toward Shaing, who had begun eating. "How is it?"
"The flesh is fresh, crisp, and resilient to the bite. Lightly sweet and refreshing," Shaing praised. "Your Highness has discerning taste. The kitchen of Catherine Palace truly excels."
"Flattery. The ingredients are simply good," Vela replied, taking a sip of the chilled liquor. "Do you know where this shrimp and lacquerware co from?"
"I do not," Shaing answered frankly.
"Miyazaki Prefecture, Kyushu."
"Your Highness is most learned—"
"Spare ." Vela set down her cup and leaned slightly forward. Her gaze passed over Akito Hyuga, who sat below, focused on eating. "If I recall correctly, Lord Shaing's original surna was Hyuga, was it not?"
Snap.
With a flick of her fingers, the embedded projection device at the center of the long table lit up with a soft glow. Light coalesced rapidly into a detailed multilayered three-dinsional map.
The elongated chain of islands—it was Area 11.
Miyazaki Prefecture in southeastern Kyushu was marked distinctly.
At Vela's touch, an annotation expanded.
[Miyazaki Prefecture, forrly known as Hyuga Province]
"Do you harbor the ambition to quell disorder and pacify unrest—to divide the land and be enfeoffed?"
"I am willing to die for Your Highness." Shaing knelt on one knee without hesitation, swallowing the bait whole.
The assembled generals were stunned.
A truly enfeoffed title?
Even if only over a small village, even if hereditary rank diminished with each generation—that would still be tangible territory.
Young officers who had yet to receive titles set down their utensils, exchanging glances filled with yearning for achievent. Senior officers of rit and steady temperant swirled the wine in their cups, comprehension dawning upon their faces.
The policy of using Japanese to govern Japanese—now ca the mont of testing its results.
Suzaku felt his spirits surge.
This was precisely the goal he had pursued.
When he had enlisted despite criticism, beyond his hope of gently reforming the world from within the Empire, his core objective had been to earn a noble title through military rit—perhaps even to beco the First Knight of the Round.
For the First Knight possessed a singular privilege: the right to choose any region to govern.
Vela took in every expression.
Good. The ideological consolidation through this kaiseki banquet had essentially achieved its aim.
First affirm the achievents of the Area 11 Special Task Force. Then clarify what kind of Japanese you are. Publicly declare the Empire's reward-and-punishnt chanism.
These culinary masters, invited under the banner of promoting minority cuisine, had been brought here specifically for the Special Task Force officers led by Suzaku.
Afterward, she would arrange for them to visit the troops and would fulfill her promise to relocate their relatives to the resettlent zones in Hokkaido—making sure it was done with great fanfare.
The matter had to spread among the Wa people of Area 11, fernt, gather montum.
Official Britannian notices ant nothing to stubborn factions who refused to enlist in the Special Task Force. Words alone were useless. Better to use the lived experiences of their own people to stir hearts and sow doubt.
I have made my move, Lelouch.
May this aid the evolution of your Geass.
The atmosphere at the table grew increasingly fervent. Grilled dishes, soups, and hearty courses were served in succession. Amid the clinking of cups, Vela gently swirled the newly poured Dassai daiginjo in her hand and spoke.
"At present, unrest continues across the islands of Area 11. Zero spreads chaos locally and colludes with foreign terrorist organizations. This is both a challenge and an opportunity. To build anew, one must uproot the weeds entirely."
"Sir Kururugi, Second Lieutenant Hyuga, Lord Shaing—this is the ti for heroes to earn their glory."
As her words fell, she raised her cup high.
"Co. To Britannia. To the Area 11 Special Task Force. Drain the cup."
"Drain the cup!" they echoed, raising their glasses and drinking deeply.
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