Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

At 11:47 p.m., Huang Jianyang turned off the TV.

The last line of text on the screen slowly faded away—Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch of Mercury, Episode 24, The End. He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling for a long time.

Twenty-six years old, living alone, with a degree in aerospace engineering, he works as a propulsion system designer at a private aerospace company. His days are filled with drawing blueprints, calculating data, and arguing with suppliers; his evenings are spent eating, watching animations, and browsing forums. This is his entire life.

Not bad.

But it's not exactly good either.

He got up, walked to the window, and opened it. The June night breeze, carrying the humid heat unique to Tokyo, rushed in, and the neon lights of Shinjuku in the distance dyed half the sky an ambiguous orange-red. The white light of the convenience store downstairs cast long reflections in the puddles after the rain, and occasionally a taxi glided silently through the street.

I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke slowly rise in the city's dim light.

"Ultimately, Gundam is something..."

He spoke as if to himself, his voice quickly carried away by the night wind.

"How many years will it take for humanity to stop fighting?"

This is a question he's been pondering ever since he first encountered Gundam. Sixteen years have passed, and the answer remains unanswered. The wars in the anime become increasingly exciting, while the wars in reality become increasingly realistic. The UC era has Minovsky particles, the CE era has the conflict between Coordinators and Naturals, and the AD era has GN particles and aliens—just change the name, change the technology tree, change the group of handsome men and beautiful women, but the essence has never changed.

Humans are always hurting each other.

And him? An ordinary engineer, not even qualified to offer a solution to this predicament. All he could do was finish his cigarette by the window late at night, wash up, go to bed, and go back to the company the next day to face that thruster nozzle whose parameters he could never get right.

Smother the cigarette butt on the windowsill.

At this very moment—

The ground shook.

It wasn't an illusion. The floor beneath my feet jolted violently, like a sleeping giant turning over underground. The water glass on the table tipped over, water flowing down the surface and soaking the draft paper with the words "Thruster Nozzle Parameter Correction Scheme" written on it.

"Earthquake?" Huang Jianyang instinctively grabbed the window frame.

Then he saw it.

The sky is cracking open.

The neon lights of Shinjuku weren't extinguished, but in Mafuyu's eyes, they seemed incredibly dim, because something brighter than all artificial light sources combined had appeared in the sky—a crack. A luminous crack stretching across the night sky. No, not a crack, more like a wound, a gash torn open in spacetime itself.

Light poured out from the crack.

The light had no color, or rather, it contained all colors. It swept across the sky like a tide, over the buildings, and over Huang Jianyang's body. The moment the light touched him, he heard a sound.

It wasn't heard through the ears.

It resonated directly from the depths of one's consciousness.

Countless voices, the roar of countless machines, the boom of countless explosions, countless cries and shouts. He saw it—not with his eyes, but with his entire soul—he saw massive machines clashing against each other in the universe, saw a web of death woven from beams of light and missiles, saw battleships being pierced, mobile suits being dismembered, and colonies being crashed onto Earth.

He witnessed the war.

It's not an animation.

It was a real, bloody war, one that left people no time to even scream.

The earthquake intensified. He heard the sound of cracking walls behind him, heard screams from the street below, and heard car sirens blaring. He should have run, found somewhere to hide, and done everything the earthquake preparedness guide taught him.

But he couldn't move.

It's not because of fear.

It was because that light was calling him.

Huang Jianyang felt his body becoming lighter. It wasn't an illusion—his feet really left the ground. Guided by the light, his body slowly floated towards the window, towards the crack in the sky. The screams from downstairs, the sounds of collapsing buildings, the shattering of glass—everything became distant and blurry, as if separated by a thick layer of water.

He glanced back.

His apartment was collapsing. The six-story reinforced concrete building folded up like paper, dust and debris shooting into the sky. His own desk, computer, the glass of water that had been spilled, the draft paper with the nozzle parameter correction plan written on it—all these traces of "Huang Jianyang," this ordinary man, were buried in an instant.

Then he went through the crack.

--boom--

There was no sound. Or rather, sound had lost its meaning.

Huang Jianyang felt like he was being torn apart.

This wasn't a metaphor. It was a literal tearing, starting at the molecular level. He could feel every cell in his body separating, the DNA double helix being pulled apart like a zipper, the connection between consciousness and body being forcibly severed. The pain transcended the realm of language—not the pain of a headache, stomachache, or broken bones, but the pain of existence itself being deconstructed.

You are Huang Jianyang.

This understanding is also crumbling.

What is Huang Jianyang? He is a gene sequence, a pattern of neural synaptic connections, and the sum of twenty-six years of accumulated memories and experiences. When these things are dismantled, disrupted, and thrown into a chaotic space without up, down, left, right, past, or future, what will be left of "Huang Jianyang"?

The answer is: consciousness.

Only consciousness remained.

Pure, unbound by the physical, naked consciousness.

He "floats" in the turbulent currents of spacetime. There is no light, no darkness, no temperature, no sound. But he can perceive everything around him—the intersection of countless timelines, the collision of countless parallel universes, the birth and annihilation of countless possibilities. This is the creator's workbench, the womb where all things are born, and the incinerator of all existence.

Within this chaos, images began to emerge.

He saw a brown-haired youth sitting in the white MS cockpit, his eyes calm and profound. The youth was speaking, but Mafuyu couldn't hear him; he could only sense his thoughts through some means beyond hearing.

"Humans always repeat the same mistakes."

Screen switch.

A blonde woman stood amidst the wreckage of outer space, her voice piercing through the vacuum and reaching the very core of Huang Jianyang's consciousness—

"But if you don't try to understand, nothing will ever change."

The scene then switches again.

Countless images flashed through Mafuyu's consciousness like a revolving lantern: the blood-red universe of the One Year War, the laser array of the Gryps Battle, the colony's fall in the First Neo Zeon War, Char's betrayal, the miracle of Axis... He saw the MS-06 Zaku II's single eye light up in the darkness, saw the RX-78-2 Gundam's eyes flashing with blue light, saw the Zeta Gundam transforming, and saw the ν Gundam pushing an asteroid into the atmosphere.

These are not animations.

It is not fiction.

It is a true historical event.

A bloody, real history from another universe, another timeline.

Then, those two people appeared.

Did you see that?

Amuro Ray. The White Devil, the legendary ν Gundam pilot, the man from Char's Counterattack. He stood before Mafuyu—no, not standing, but existing there in a way that transcended space. His eyes held weariness and sorrow, but no despair.

"The end of it all."

Lala Shin. Floating beside Amuro, her presence was like a gentle starlight. Her voice penetrated directly into the deepest part of Huang Jianyang's consciousness, and that warmth made Mafuyu almost forget the pain of her body being torn apart.

Let me tell you the truth.

Amuro raised his hand and pointed to the distant, empty void.

In that direction, at the end of countless images, I saw—

Moon.

No, it's not just the moon. It's a crater on the moon's surface. In the center of the crater lies a white mobile suit. Its shape is unlike any known Gundam; it has a distinctive crescent-shaped antenna on its head, and its body lines are graceful and ancient, like a relic from some distant era.

But what truly terrified Huang Jianyang was not its appearance.

It's what's unfolding behind it.

Countless nanomachines were released from its back, slowly unfolding like butterfly wings. These nanomachines reflected sunlight, displaying rainbow-like colors—Moonlight Butterflies. Huang Jianyang knew this name; he had seen the Turn A Gundam's design countless times in anime.

But seeing it with your own eyes feels completely different.

Those "butterfly wings" began to spread.

At the speed of light.

Everything they touch—cities, forests, oceans, mountains, the atmosphere itself—is silently decomposing. Reinforced concrete turns to sand, steel to dust, and organic matter to the most basic particles. It's not destruction, not annihilation, but a complete, irreversible, physical return to nothingness.

The entire civilization.

The entire history of humankind.

Every building, every machine, every book, every painting, every piece of music, every trace left by every life.

All.

Transformed into.

sand.

"When civilization crosses a critical point," Amuro's voice grew heavy, "when internal human conflicts become irreconcilable, when the logic of war completely overwhelms the desire for peace—"

"The Moonlight Butterfly will awaken," Lala continued. "It will reset everything. Not punishment, not judgment, but... cleansing. Like formatting a hard drive overrun by a virus."

"The SEED world is no exception." Amuro stared directly at Huang Jianyang's core consciousness. "That world—the conflict between Coordinators and Naturals, the arrogance and fear of genetic modification, the cycle of hatred between PLANT and Earth—all of these, if they continue along their current trajectory, will eventually reach that critical point."

"And you have already seen the end." Lala's eyes were full of compassion. "You saw the moment when the Moonlight Butterfly illuminated the Earth."

Huang Jianyang wanted to speak.

I want to shout.

I want to ask him what I should do, why he made me see all this, I'm just an ordinary engineer, why should I have to bear this truth.

But he couldn't make a sound.

Because his body is being rebuilt.

—Buzz—

High-energy particles from the spacetime turbulence surged toward Huang Jianyang's core consciousness like a tidal wave. These particles penetrated his "existence," engaging in a quantum-level entanglement with his soul. His genes—the genetic information about to be written into his new body—were being rewritten.

It's not the kind of genetic engineering used by the Coordinators.

It is a more fundamental, more thorough, and evolutionary mutation.

His brain structure is changing. The density of neuronal connections is increasing exponentially, and the speed of synaptic transmission is pushing biological limits. An unknown region in the neocortex is being activated, storing spatial cognitive abilities and psychic sensing capabilities beyond those of ordinary people.

He awakened.

Not as an adjuster.

They are a new kind of human being, originating from another evolutionary path, who should not exist in this universe.

Newtype.

When this understanding took shape in Huang Jianyang's mind, a massive amount of information flooded in like a burst dam.

Minovsky Physics.

He saw a completely new branch of particle physics—a special fundamental particle called the Minovsky particle, which has zero rest mass and positive and negative electric charge. When dispersed in space, it interferes with low-frequency electromagnetic radiation, rendering radar and radio communications ineffective. Based on this theory, a miniaturized nuclear fusion reactor—the Minovsky nuclear furnace—could be constructed. This would be the heart of mobile suits, a revolutionary technology capable of overturning the entire energy landscape.

MS design drawings.

The complete set of structural blueprints for the MS-06 Zaku II appeared in his mind. The internal structure of the monocular camera, the oil circuit design of the fluid pulse transmission system, the output curve of the nuclear reactor, the thickness and angle of the armor—every bolt, every cable, and the installation position of every armor plate was so clear it was as if it had been directly engraved into his brain. The design data of the RGM-79 GM, RB-79 Iron Ball, and even the RX-78-2 Gundam itself—these mobile suits were stored in the depths of his consciousness in the form of quantum state information.

GN particle theory.

A completely different particle system. GN particles possess a near-infinite energy supply, which can be used for propulsion, defense, weapon systems, and even have a direct impact on the human mind. The blueprints for the GN Drive—a device that generates energy through the evaporation of heavy particles—lie dormant in some corner of his consciousness, waiting to be read.

VEDAI.

Quantum computer system architecture. The foundational design for a super AI capable of unifying global information networks and possessing near-infinite computing power. If built, it will be able to analyze battlefield situations in real time, optimize mobile suit control, and coordinate multi-unit operations.

There's just too much information.

There was so much that he felt his consciousness was about to burst.

But he didn't explode.

Because his new human brain is processing this information at an astonishing speed, categorizing, compressing, and storing it in the deepest regions of consciousness. He knows the data is there, he knows it exists, and he knows that one day he can retrieve it, understand it, and turn it into reality.

But not now.

Now he is just a—

—Whoosh—

seawater.

Salty.

It was cold.

His consciousness was abruptly pulled back from that chaotic flow of time and space. For the first time, his lungs inhaled air, producing a loud cry—the cry of a baby.

He opened his eyes.

His vision was blurry, colors distorted, and focus difficult to adjust. He could only make out the general contrasts of light and shadow and patches of color. But his sense of touch told him that he was surrounded by cold seawater, and beneath him was something hard, floating on the surface—probably the wreckage of a ship. Sunlight shone overhead, warm and blinding.

He looked down at himself.

Tiny hands.

Tiny feet.

A tiny, wrinkled, newborn body.

He turned into a baby.

It wasn't about transmigrating into someone else's body. It was a complete rebirth—the soul was stuffed into the body of a newborn infant, but one that had already been modified by spacetime particles. This body had a completely new genetic sequence, unlike any known Coordinator; it was a unique and irreplaceable existence.

"I……"

He tried to speak, but only the babbling of a baby came out.

"I'm alive."

This realization inexplicably made him want to cry. But he didn't have tear ducts to shed tears—at least not now. A newborn's tear ducts are not fully developed.

He lay on the wreckage, drifting with the current, watching the blue sky and white clouds sway in his field of vision.

South Pacific Ocean. Near the equator. The air is humid and warm, the seawater is warm, and occasionally flying fish leap out of the water. Huang Jianyang—no, now we should call him "he"—is waiting. He doesn't know what he's waiting for, but his new human intuition tells him: someone will come.

really.

A black dot appeared on the sea surface.

The black dot was growing larger; it was a ship. A white hull, clean lines, and a flag fluttering on the bridge—Mafuyu couldn't make out the design, but he had a strong feeling that the flag was important to him.

The ship is getting closer and closer.

He heard the engine and the crew shouting. Someone had found him.

"There! There's something on the sea!"

"It's...it's a baby?!"

"Quickly, lower the small boat!"

After a flurry of footsteps and mechanical noise, a pair of warm, large hands lifted Mafuyu from the wreckage. It was a young soldier from the Orb naval patrol, who stared in shock at the baby in his arms—a newborn adrift alone on a ship's deck in the middle of the South Pacific, with no shipwrecks or signs of survivors.

"Sir! The baby is still alive!"

"The umbilical cord...the umbilical cord hasn't been dealt with yet..."

"Call the medics immediately!"

Huang Jianyang was wrapped in a dry towel and then carried onto a small boat. The engine roared, and the small boat cut through the waves, quickly approaching the large white ship.

He heard more voices.

Footsteps, radio conversations, the clanging of footsteps on the metal stairs. Someone wrapped him tightly in a warm blanket, someone checked his heartbeat and breathing, someone whispered "unbelievable," "it's like a miracle."

Then, he heard a new voice.

Calm, powerful, and with a natural air of authority.

"let me see."

Mafuyu was carefully handed to another pair of hands.

These hands were larger and warmer than a soldier's, with distinct knuckles and calluses from holding a pen and a sword. These were not ordinary hands; they were the hands of a leader.

Mafuyu opened her eyes with difficulty.

A man's face appeared in his blurry vision.

He was a young man.

Young, yet his eyes held a depth and composure far beyond his years. He had short black hair, sharply defined features, and wore traditional Orb clothing, with a knife at his waist—not just for decoration, but a real, sharpened blade. A flicker of shock crossed his eyes the instant they met Huang Jianyang's gaze.

Because the baby's eyes are open.

A newborn's eyes are usually cloudy, unfocused, and unable to focus. But Huang Jianyang's eyes were different. They were clear and bright, with light seemingly flowing deep within the pupils. They weren't the eyes of an infant—they contained understanding, cognition, and a contemplation of the world, as well as something that Uzmi couldn't quite put his finger on.

It is wisdom.

It is a wisdom that transcends age, race, and even the form of life itself.

Uzmi Nara Asha—the administrative head of Orb and the young patriarch of the Asha family, one of the five great families—held the baby that had drifted in from the sea and remained silent for a long time.

"Sir..." the adjutant beside him began cautiously, "this baby..."

"What's his name?" Uzmi asked.

The soldiers searched through the baby's swaddling clothes for a while and found a talisman that was soaked in seawater. It was a small wooden plaque with the character "Huang" engraved on one side and some kind of intricate family crest on the other.

"Huang..." Uzmi uttered the name, "Is it a Chinese surname?"

He looked down at the baby in his arms.

The baby was looking at him too.

In that instant, Uzumi had a strange feeling—this child knew him. Not just "Uzumi Nara Asha" as a person, but something more essential. The child looked at him as if to say, "I've been waiting for you for a long time."

Uzmi took a deep breath.

"From today onward," his voice was soft but unusually firm, "you will be called Char Langlad Ashar."

"Commander?!" the adjutant exclaimed in surprise.

In Orb, everyone knows what being adopted by the Asha family means. This baby of unknown origin has become a member of the country's most powerful family overnight.

Ignoring the adjutant's surprise, Uzmi continued speaking to the baby in his arms, "Langrad is the name of a dear friend of mine who had passed away. He once said, 'A man's worth is not in where he is born, but in where he is going.'"

He paused for a moment, then the light in his eyes became even more determined.

"And you will go to a very far place."

The baby made a soft, almost sighing sound.

It's not crying.

It is a kind of recognition.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, it painted the entire South Pacific Ocean a golden-red hue. The Orb patrol boat changed course and slowly headed towards the island nation to the north. On the deck, Uzumi stood at the bow, holding a baby, the sea breeze ruffling the hem of his clothes.

In the distance, the outline of land appeared on the horizon.

Orb.

An archipelago nation, a small country that maintains neutrality between Coordinators and Naturals. Here you'll find azure waters, white sand beaches, lush mangrove forests, and—on the most central island of the archipelago—the silhouette of the Dawn Corporation factory building, appearing and disappearing in the sunset.

In that building, the most powerful mobile suit in the world will be born in the future.

but not now.

Right now, it's just an ordinary factory.

Uzumi looked down at the baby in his arms and found that the baby's eyes were fixed on the Dawn Society building in the distance, with a strange light gleaming deep in the pupils—not the baby's curiosity, but the engineer's scrutiny, the strategist's calculation, and the introspection of a changemaker.

"This child," Uzumi said softly, his voice so low that only he and the baby in his arms could hear, "may bring a different future to this world."

The baby's lips curled up slightly.

It's not a baby's muscle spasm.

It's a laugh.

The baby's eyes shimmered with an eerie light in the setting sun—not a reflection of sunlight, but some kind of inner radiance. Those eyes held the technological civilization of the entire UC era, the transformative light of the 00 era, knowledge powerful enough to overturn the world, and a heavy secret:

Inside the crater on the moon, the Turn A Gundam is asleep.

But the Moonlight Butterfly will awaken one day.

unless--

Someone can find another way.