The hangar was exceptionally lively today. The Unicorn's Psycho-Frame continuously alternated between red and yellow; if someone had set up speakers and started playing music, it could have easily been mistaken for a concert venue.
Roz forced himself to stay conscious, attempting several more times, each ending in failure.
The Machine Spirit's consciousness continued to wrap around Roz's mind with characteristic gentleness, but every time they reached a certain threshold, they could proceed no further.
Throughout these repeated tests, the Machine Spirit could naturally feel Roz's mental state deteriorating. However, since control of the unit remained in Roz's hands, she could only cooperate with his actions.
Finally, seemingly unable to bear watching Roz's condition any longer, the Machine Spirit broke through her own self-imposed restrictions, forcibly seized control of the mobile suit, and brought the attempt to a halt.
The Unicorn's hatch slid open, revealing Roz slumped in the seat, unconscious from extreme mental exhaustion.
"This is bad!"
Mu, who had been standing in the hangar watching the Unicorn ignite and extinguish through several rounds of red and yellow strobing, saw the cockpit open. When Roz failed to step out or make any movement, he instinctively shouted and charged forward.
"What the hell is that guy Roz doing?!"
Although Dearka's attitude hadn't been great previously due to the beating he'd taken from Roz, seeing the current situation, he cast aside his role as a bystander and rushed over right behind Mu.
"Medical team! Roz is unconscious in the Unicorn's cockpit in the hangar. Get here immediately!"
Murrue pulled out her communicator to call the medical bay, while Natarle Badgiruel found a first-aid kit nearby.
It was hard to say what kind of mindset Roz had been in when he designed this ship; nearly every compartment had at least one storage locker stocked with emergency medical gear. This had led to some confusion for the Orb quartermaster when faced with the Nahel Argama's massive requisition for first-aid kits.
At the very least, these designs—of which no one knew when they might be needed—were proving their worth now... probably.
Mu reached the cockpit door first and saw Roz limp in the seat, out cold. Although he wasn't quite used to the spaciousness of a panoramic cockpit, Mu skillfully grabbed Roz's hand and, with the help of Dearka who arrived right after him, hauled Roz out of the cockpit.
Just as Roz was placed on the floor, the Unicorn's cockpit hissed shut.
"Whoa! What happened?" Dearka was startled by the sound of the hatch closing.
"It's just the unit's automatic cockpit closure, don't be so jumpy." Mu removed Roz's helmet and reached out to check his breathing.
A faint breeze brushed against Mu's fingers, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.
"What's the situation?" Murrue and Natarle arrived, asking anxiously.
"Roz is unconscious. His breathing is steady, but he's sweating a lot." Mu began analyzing Roz's state. "Is it a blackout from overexertion? What was he doing in there?"
Because Roz had maintained a high level of secrecy regarding the Psycho-Frame, only Christina and Marvin knew the truth. Even the Haros simply thought the gray components were some new type of armor or buffering material. Murrue and the others were no exception; they assumed the Psycho-Frame, which looked like an RGB light strip, was some sort of advanced armor system.
"He's always so mysterious, keeping things bottled up in his heart and refusing to speak out." Murrue opened the first-aid kit Natarle handed her, but she froze for a moment upon seeing the contents.
Given Roz's current state, Murrue truly couldn't think of how any of the items inside could help him. She instinctively looked at Natarle.
"Stop talking, keep the area ventilated! Everyone, move back a bit!" Seeing the group crowding around and noting Roz's condition, Natarle bit her lip, took off her officer's cap, and began waving it like a fan, vigorously fanning Roz.
The wind generated by the fanning cap blew across Roz's face. It was clearly visible that upon feeling the air on his skin, Roz's tightly clenched expression relaxed slightly.
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The ship's doctor from the medical team rushed to Roz's side with incredible speed and performed a brief examination.
"Extreme fatigue. He just needs rest."
The doctor's simple words allowed everyone to breathe a sigh of relief.
Mu and Dearka, naturally possessing no small amount of emotional intelligence, made up a quick excuse to leave. Looking at Roz lying on the ground, Murrue and Natarle exchanged a glance.
Positioning themselves on his left and right, they lifted Roz by the shoulders. They first took him to the locker room to remove his pilot suit, then moved him to Murrue's—or rather, Murrue and Roz's—shared quarters.
It wasn't until they laid Roz, his shirt soaked through with sweat, onto the bed in the dormitory that Natarle found herself momentarily dazed.
The figure of the pilot in the white MS descending from the heavens to save her and the figure lying weakly on the bed before her began to overlap. For Natarle, the sensation was deeply subtle.
"He's different from the Roz we usually see, isn't he?"
Murrue produced two towels and smoothly handed one to Natarle.
"The man we usually see is confident and reliable, but he is human too. He's bound to have moments of weakness."
Murrue took the towel and began wiping away the sweat on Roz's body. Even though the temperature in the quarters was quite comfortable, leaving him in such a damp state would inevitably lead to a cold.
After all, men are mysterious creatures: they can have their physical pain resistance maxed out and suffer in silence, yet a minor illness like a cold or fever can send them straight to bed. With the atmosphere between the Earth Alliance and ZAFT growing more tense by the day, Murrue wanted to prevent even a minor illness, despite Roz's high physical resilience.
Like sharing a long-treasured prize, Murrue spoke continuously about Roz. To the sound of Murrue's voice, Natarle took Roz's hand. With the white towel, she gently wiped away the beads of sweat, as if polishing a fine work of art.
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In his sleep, Roz's mind was consumed by a single thought: how to force the Psycho-Frame into its next stage.
Amidst his chaotic and fragmented dreams, he replayed every moment of resonance with the Machine Spirit in the Unicorn's cockpit. He could be certain of only one thing: if he could truly hear her voice, he might finally bridge the chasm before him and make the Psycho-Frame bloom with that "Perfect" blue light.
But how could he hear her?
Faint voices drifted into his ears. His consciousness felt as if it were rising through deep water, and as he finally broke the surface, Roz opened his eyes.
Greeting him was a familiar ceiling—or rather, a ceiling Roz was intimately acquainted with in the dark of night.
"Roz, you're awake?"
Murrue's voice sounded close by. Turning his head, he saw Murrue and Natarle sitting at the table, deep in conversation.
"How long was I out?" Roz propped himself up on the bed, shaking his head to clear the lingering grogginess.
"It'll be exactly two hours in eight minutes," Natarle replied with her usual precision, looking up from her coffee cup.
"I've wasted too much time..." Hearing this, Roz instinctively tried to get out of bed to change clothes and return to the hangar to finish the resonance. "I have to get it done."
"Are you going to keep doing what you were doing?" Murrue frowned. "You were failing the entire time. If you keep going like this, nothing will change. You should stop and think of a solution."
"But we don't have that much time." Roz stood up and headed for the wardrobe. "Time is the one thing we lack most."
Just as Roz stepped out of the bathroom in fresh clothes, ready to leave the room, Natarle grabbed his hand.
"Is there something else?" Roz asked, pausing as she blocked his path.
Inner agitation and the frustration of repeated failures had left him in a foul mood, but Roz had no intention of venting his negative emotions on those close to him.
"If you keep going, you're just throwing yourself against a wall until you're bloody. It won't change anything," Natarle said, her grip firm. She seemingly had no intention of letting him through. "Sometimes, stopping is the only way to find the direction forward."
In that moment, she felt Roz's current state mirrored her own when she was falling from ten thousand meters—instinctively, she wanted to reach out and stop his descent. "You've lost your way, Roz."
In truth, with Roz's strength, pushing Natarle aside would have been easy. Perhaps because he truly was lost, or perhaps because he simply couldn't bring himself to use force against his own people, Roz remained still, standing silently before her for a long time.
Finally, he sighed, took a few steps back, and sat on the edge of the bed.
"You've been burying something in your heart, Roz. You refuse to speak about it." Murrue sat down beside him and took his hands in hers. "But many things can't be accomplished alone. After all these battles, you should have some trust in us..."
Murrue could sense he held a secret he never touched upon—something likely connected to that "PS Armor" that changed colors and glowed.
"If nothing else... you can trust me," Murrue said, her expression incredibly earnest. "You already know everything about me—my past, my character. You can tell me whatever is weighing on you."
"And you can fully trust me as well," Natarle added, sitting on his other side. "We are comrades who trust each other with our lives, aren't we?"
"Besides, you mentioned 'resonance' earlier," Murrue sighed. "I don't know why you're using mystical terms like resonating with a machine... but assuming the Unicorn really can resonate with you, a heart full of secrets will only create noise during the exchange."
Roz froze at Murrue's words.
Noise... that's it. Static.
Every failure had been caused by the static that grew louder and louder during the mental merge until it became unbearable.
Was the problem... me all along?
Roz remained silent for a long time before letting out a long, heavy sigh. After a thousand twists and turns, finding the answer right back where he started felt almost absurd.
But Murrue was right. Perhaps it was time to trust his comrades—or at least, trust her.
"...Have you two ever heard of 'Newtypes'?"
...................