Chapter 8: Before the Mask

With long baited breath, the silent-so-a-pin-drop-could-be-heard auditorium awaits the answer of Milliardo Peacecraft A.K.A Zechs Marquise, former member of Treize Khushrenada's OZ organization that, not so long ago, had the entire world and Outer Space within its grasp.

And had let it slip through....

Just as Treize had let Zechs go once--yet the hold still remained over him, over many who would still, to this day, give their lives up for their beloved leader, since passed from the surly bonds of this world--and also over those who had cursed the power he held over them while he was still in it.

The debate over Treize's role in this whole ideal world that was now coming to pass, just as he predicted, would never end for some. And Zechs was one of those "some."
Treize's impact on his life, his ideals of nobility were ingrained on young Milliardo Peacecraft's mind ever since that first time he met the boy, several years his elder, who had taken a special interest in the lad....

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The length of his wavy platinum blonde hair was a constant source of torment for this newcomer to the Royal Academy. Boys, even at early ages such as Milliardo, at the tender age of five, could tease one another to no end. They seemed to find some kind of superiority in pointing out each other's faults--even ones as petty as uniforms and haircuts---and long, ridiculous names.

"Milly! Hey, Milly!" The broken English of a six-year-old Spanish count to be made the nickname of the boy dubbed Milliardo even more foolish sounding.

Milliardo's platinum brows furrow together and the set of his little jaw was his only response. Ever since his mother had personally dropped the young aristocrat off at the academy, fluffed and tufted his hair with a tender kiss and motherly hug, waved farewell to the boy, 5-year-old Milliardo had gotten nothing but jibes and teasing from his fellow Academy students. About his mother, about his hair, about his nation's pacifist king.

It had been nearly two weeks since Milliardo first arrived at the Academy and he hadn't liked anything about it. The other boys were cruel and mean and left him out of everything. They called him names, and ridiculed his looks. They kept repeating, "Pacifist! Pacifist! Pacifist Milly!" And he wasn't even sure what they meant--only that they said it with sneers on their faces and cruelty in their eyes.

With all that and being away, for the first time from his parents and his infant little sister, Milliardo couldn't take it. It was all too much for him to bear. He wasn't a wimpy boy. He wasn't afraid of them. But he knew that his father wouldn't want him to get into fights, like so many times already he'd seen these boys fight between themselves on the playground and training areas. Not to mention in the boys' bedchambers where pins on the mattresses, honey goo in the shoes, or cut up trousers being found in your drawer was a regular thing.

This particular morning, Milliardo had gotten all three, as well as a reprimand by his teacher for being late with less than perfection pressed slacks and a misknotted tie to boot. This whole Academy ordeal was really getting to him. And today, even the Peacecrafts' son couldn't remain a mere pacifist. He just couldn't take it anymore.

And after all, he was still one of the boys before he was the Peacecraft heir.

"Take it back, Rodrigo." He says suddenly, his little voice raspy and cold, even as his eyes remained glued to his textbook.

"What did you say, Milly?" Jacques, the seven-year-old son of a lord was just asking for it. He laughed between his Spanish and Czechoslovakian comrades all picking on "Milly."

It took a lot to crack this young boy with an iron will, but the three boys' jabs, cackles and poking fingers pulling at his hair were too much today.

Enough was enough.

"I said TAKE IT BACK!!!!!"

~~~~

He was faster than anyone he'd ever seen before in all his life, as eight-year-old Treize stops in his tracks, taking in the scene before him. It was a scuffle between the younger boys again. He was accustomed to seeing such activities taking place at this all boys academy. After all, Treize himself had been attending the Royal School since he was even younger than the boys he was secretly watching.

He knew indeed well how uncivilized males could act and how often even the ones supposed to be civilized could stoop to their level. It was an unfair fight. Three ruffians against one. But Treize was not going to interfere--not yet anyway.

Besides, perhaps my services will not be required. He thinks to himself with an amused smirk and an approving eyebrow raised as the singular boy being attacked was winning the battle.

A quick jab sent the Spanish lad down to the ground, the Czech boy screamed in pain as his arm cracks audibly, leaving the French boy begging for mercy--just before his upturned nose is smashed into a bloody mess.

"Speed. He has great potential." Even as all this happens in less than a 30-second span of time, Treize's analytical mind, much too old for his years, takes it all in. And now with admiration for the victor.

Milliardo however, wasn't feeling all that proud of his actions. He knew deep inside his father would look down on him.

But it felt so good to give them their just desserts!

"I won't be picked on as one of the weak people in this world!!!!" He announces over the three whimpering boys' bodies, an angry look in his steely blue eyes. The losers scurry away to tell on him to the principal's office.

"And so you won't. I'll show you how." Treize could keep silent no longer. He strode up to where Milliardo was standing with his fists still clenched though his whole body was trembling.

"Who--?" Milliardo looks up quick, his fists up and ready to fight this newcomer too.

He was a student in a uniform like himself, but there was something about this boy. He was older, yes, a few years ahead. Milliardo saw this from the different colored band around his perfectly knotted tie. He wasn't all that much taller though. Milliardo had had a growth spurt recently and the two boys stood nearly eye to eye.

His hair was a golden tan, swept and pushed back neatly, save for two tiny loose curls trickling over his noble forehead. His mouth was twitched in a pleased smirk and his dark blue eyes seemed to smile in admiration at Milliardo's triumph. His golden eyebrows were, well, Milliardo couldn't explain what he liked about them, but it was something...almost like the older boy's very features were amused at the world before him. That he knew something, a secret nobody else knew--and Milliardo suddenly wanted to know it too.

"How--?" Milliardo was about to ask what the older boy meant when the Principal appears from behind his slamming office door. The three tattletale babies Milliardo just whupped followed close behind, their noses up in the air.

"Like this." His back to the coming principal, Treize mouths this to Milliardo with a devilish grin, and then turns around. His smile to his superior bordered on angelic.

"General," Treize begins before Principal Catalonia has a chance to utter his sentence upon new student Milliardo.

"What have you to do with this, Khushrenada? I was not aware you were involved." General Catalonia turns to the three boys behind him. They shook their heads with a look of terrified fear coming to each of their eyes as they avert their gazes from the principal's questioning glare, and then from Treize's all-knowing, smiling one.

After all, to them, indeed to all inhabitants of this school, save for new boy Milliardo, were well aware of this Russian heir's prowess on all subjects, whether it be in academics to be acing a difficult history exam, making an elegant speech with flair, flamboyance and elocution, receiving the highest marks in theoretical mathematics (and triangulating circles around the most prestigious of instructors), and on top of his extremely high intelligence quotient, young Treize Khushrenada was an excellent sportsman. Horseback riding, skeet shooting, fencing--when it came to the sports of kings and noblemen, Treize had it all. That--and a witty mind that could easily cut through ice--or melt it with one of his smiles.

Treize was a natural born leader and though young Milliardo didn't know this at the time, he would soon find out why.

"General," Treize picks up again, the wily smile in place. "I was just testing out my latest theorem in human socialogy. It is a study of great interest to me--the interaction between one being of equal status to another, testing the limits of how much outside stimuli is required to set one off against the other." He pauses, giving the three battered and bruised tattles the questioning eyebrow. They all look up at him, not understanding one word of what he was saying. It went over their little numbskull heads, but they still sensed somehow that perhaps he was going to make everything all right with the general. After all, they knew they were in the wrong. General Catalonia's strict rules on groups of individuals ganging up on one singular individual with either "violence" or "inflammatory speech" would be highly chastised, punished in shame. And the result would be put on their permanent records--the be all and end all to these young men who, like their respected royal families around the globe, held prestige and high-character above all else.

And the report would be immediately sent on to their kingly fathers and queenly mothers if they were believed to be involved in anything as unsavory as a schoolfight--and on top of that, to be the losers against just one student.

Satisfied with the look of fear and gratitude on their peaked faces, Treize suppresses a smile and continues.

"And these young men were aiding my study." The three bite their lips, their tails all on the line.

General Catalonia looks to Milliardo's dumbfounded look on his face and sees it's enough to know he hadn't been informed of any psychology experiments Khushrenada was performing.

"And you, Peacecraft?" The no-nonsense, last name only basis, sets off the young boy's nerves. He was accustomed to being treated kindly and gently in his own home, but here, so far away, he didn't know who he could turn to.

"I..uh, I..." Milliardo was at a loss for words. So he follows the example of the other youngsters--and looks to Treize, the boy who seemed to always have the answers.

"I believe that the stimulus would, shall we say, muddy the waters if I had informed this young subject of the test and therefore make the experiment in psychology moot. I do hope you forgive my oversight." Treize smiles at Milliardo with a bowing nod, causing, for some reason, Milliardo to nod in agreement though he couldn't exactly explain why.

"I do admit, as you can see, things did get a bit out of my control. And my three friends" Treize stresses the word, running a smile over the three boys, "did overreact to the test subject's involuntary reaction. It is all entirely my fault, General. And I do ask that any reprimand made is put on my permanent record and my record alone." A sweep of the dramatic hand, a sweet smile and beseeching eyes--General Catalonia had known Treize ever since he was a tiny child. Yet, still he felt something amiss. Treize's way of winning others to his side was his own--well beyond his youthful years. It was a valued commodity in any leader and Catalonia was sure that someday his nephew would be an influential one in this trying world. And those somedays would come--with or without a reprimand on his record.

So, let's go without.

Catalonia, deep inside the rough principal role, was the kindest of kind souls. He saw something inside his young nephew that told him this Russian boy was something special--someone who could take the world and shape it in his hands.

The General had ideals of his own for this changing world--and he was certain young Treize was going to be part of it. Watching the lads faces of gratitude at young Master Treize, Principal Catalonia could now see why he always thought so much of his nephew. Maybe he was the one who would stand at his side as his right hand when the conflict comes to a head. And come to a head it would. Soon young Khushrenada would be leading the charge.

"Yes, yes. A reprimand may not be necessary, seeing as it was an academic project." The principal finally nods with a small chortle. "Let's see to those "involuntary" injuries, lads." Catalonia turns back into the strict boys' academy principal.

"And Treize," his uncle gives him a stern eye--one that knew and told he knew of the wool being pulled over his eyes today--"see this sort of experimentation doesn't occur again, will you?" He raises his eyebrow at the golden-haired lad.

"Understood, General, sir." Treize stands tall, saluting his superior as any well-trained soldier would.

"Oh, and Khushrenada?" Catalonia adds, as he turns back to his office, leaving.
"Sir?" Treize raises one interested eyebrow.

"See to Peacecraft's settling in."

Treize nods. That was already on his mind. This boy had impressed him with the speed and skill in taking down three other boys.

"And remember Peacecraft, we are all in this together." Turning to say as he leaves down the hallowed hall, the Principal had almost forgotten the new boy at the root of this entire problem to begin with.

Milliardo had unconsciously taken a step behind Treize all this time. He felt he was a comrade, a protector almost, in the older boy covering for him. He had amazed Milliardo by getting him off the hook and the other boys as well.

Milliardo's honest mind was a bit perturbed with this at first. Those three boys had angered him so and he was one to hold a grudge. However, the way Treize handled everything so deftly, the way the other boys looked upon Treize so respectfully, and in the very way he spoke, with large, important sounding words to the principal. These were things Milliardo was intrigued by and wanted to know more about.

All that--and the first question Treize had planted into his mind, which seemed forever ago, but in reality was just five minutes past.

Milliardo looks up to Treize, the question on his lips answered before he even has a chance to ask it.

"How not to be acknowledged as one of the weak people of this world?" Treize turns, rephrasing the question to the intently listening Milliardo.

"Become stronger, for the Earth and for the people you love here, Lightning Count." With a smile and nickname for his new friend, Treize Khushrenada says this with utter conviction and nobility. He brushes his two loose hair back as he leads the young Milliardo Peacecraft out into the sunlight, towards the shooting range.

~~~~~~

All this memory flashes back through Zechs' mind in a matter of mere seconds. The silent crowd in the auditorium still awaited the answer to the question the Justice had just posed.

Relena looks to her big brother, wondering what he'd say. Noin from behind, hoped her husband's answer would be a good one. She knew him so well that she knew he had just come back from one of his reveries.

No more doubts.

"Yes, I was once Lieutenant Colonel Zechs Marquise of OZ." He announces to the crowd as an almost palpable gasp could be heard. Zechs pauses an unnoticeable half-second, knowing his next words were coming from another's lips. But he truly believed them, now more than ever, so they were now his words too. "I've become stronger, for my Colony and for the Earth and for the people I love here."
Zechs' gaze alights upon Noin and then Relena.

Yes, Treize, I now know what you mean at last. Zechs thinks as the crowd roars in applause, a proud wife on one arm and a beaming sister on the other.