Lelouch's POV:
Perfection is a matter of control. Control over one's environment, one's circumstances, and most importantly, control over oneself.
This philosophy has guided me through the sixteen years of my existence, though I've only articulated it properly in the last few.
I adjust my tie in the reflection of the car window as we arrive at Gotham Academy. The school's Gothic architecture looms against the morning sky, imposing and pretentious - much like most of its student body.
Beside me, Mark fidgets with the sleeve of his uniform jacket, a habit he's developed in recent weeks.
"You're going to fray the material if you keep that up," I observe, my tone measured but not unkind.
Mark drops his hand immediately. "Sorry."
Goku pulls the car to a stop in the drop-off zone. "Have a good day, you three. Remember, I'll pick you up at 3:30."
"We remember," Mikasa says from the backseat, her voice as even as always.
As we exit the vehicle, I cast a sidelong glance at Mark. Something has changed in him these past two weeks.
The transformation was sudden - occurring literally overnight. One morning, he simply... shifted. Like a chess piece moved to an unexpected square, altering the entire strategy of the game.
The Mark I grew up with at the orphanage was boisterous, optimistic to the point of naivety, and perpetually in motion.
He laughed easily, spoke without filtering his thoughts, and possessed an enviable ability to make friends with anyone.
His emotional transparency was both his greatest strength and his most exploitable weakness.
This new Mark is different. More reserved. More watchful. He moves through spaces as if calculating escape routes.
His smiles, once freely given, now appear after a noticeable delay - manufactured rather than spontaneous.
He observes conversations rather than initiating them. And sometimes, I catch him staring at his hands as if they belong to someone else.
"Lelouch, are you coming?" Mikasa calls, already several steps ahead with Mark.
"Of course," I reply, lengthening my stride to catch up.
The hallways of Gotham Academy are bustling with the usual morning activity. Students congregate around lockers, comparing weekend activities and homework answers.
Teachers move purposefully toward their classrooms, clutching coffee mugs like lifelines.
We separate at the main junction - Mikasa heading to Advanced Physics, Mark to English Literature, and I to Advanced Calculus. Before we part, I study Mark once more.
"You're still coming to chess club after school?" I ask, though it's more statement than question.
Mark hesitates, that new hesitation that has become part of his character. "Yeah, of course. Wouldn't miss it."
Another fabricated smile. Another calculated response.
"Good," I nod, then turn toward my classroom.
The morning proceeds with its usual tedium. Calculus presents no challenge, though I make a show of taking notes to avoid drawing undue attention.
History follows, then Chemistry. By lunch period, I've accumulated precisely zero new insights from my instructors.
I find Mark and Mikasa at our usual table in the cafeteria corner - the one with optimal sightlines to all entrances and minimal exposure to the social hierarchy's more vocal elements.
"Did you complete the English assignment?" I ask Mark as I set down my tray.
He looks up, momentarily startled, as if pulled from deep thought. "What? Oh, yeah. The Hamlet analysis."
"And?" I prompt, arranging my utensils with precision.
"And what?"
"Your interpretation. Last week you were quite insistent that Hamlet was justified in his actions. I'm curious if your position has evolved."
Mark's expression shifts subtly - a microexpression of discomfort that would be imperceptible to most observers. "I think... I think I understand him better now."
"In what way?"
He pushes his food around his plate, avoiding eye contact. "His world was shattered. Everything he thought was true turned out to be a lie.
His father figure betrayed him. I just... I get why that would mess someone up."
The specificity of his response is curious. Two weeks ago, Mark had argued that Hamlet was simply avenging his father. This nuanced psychological analysis is new.
Mikasa watches our exchange silently, her dark eyes missing nothing.
"An interesting evolution in your thinking," I comment, taking a precise bite of my lunch.
Mark shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "People change."
"Not overnight," I counter.
His eyes meet mine then, and for a moment, I glimpse something unfamiliar - a depth of experience that seems incongruous with our shared history. "Sometimes they do."
The remainder of lunch passes with inconsequential conversation. Mark participates minimally, Mikasa observes quietly, and I maintain the social equilibrium with practiced ease.
The afternoon brings World History, a subject I find simultaneously fascinating and irritatingly simplified in its academic presentation.
As Professor Hamilton drones on about the fall of the Roman Empire, I feel a strange pressure building behind my eyes.
At first, I attribute it to the fluorescent lighting - a common trigger for mild headaches. But the sensation intensifies rapidly, transforming from discomfort to actual pain within minutes.
I raise my hand, interrupting Hamilton mid-sentence. "Professor, may I be excused to use the restroom?"
He glances at me with mild surprise - I rarely request to leave class - but nods his permission.
The hallway seems to tilt slightly as I make my way to the nearest bathroom. By the time I push through the door, the pressure in my head has become a pulsing agony. I grip the edge of the sink, steadying myself as I stare into the mirror.
My reflection wavers, distorts. And then-
My eyes change.
The violet irises I've had since birth suddenly illuminate with a strange, bird-like sigil. A glowing red symbol that seems to burn from within.
"What-" I begin, but the word dies in my throat as a torrent of images floods my consciousness.
A grand palace. A wheelchair-bound girl with sandy hair and closed eyes. A mother's assassination. Exile to Japan. War. Destruction. A strange green-haired woman offering a contract.
Power. The power to command absolute obedience.
Zero. The mask. The rebellion. The Black Knights.
Euphemia. Blood. Betrayal. Nunnally. The Emperor - my father. C's World.
The Zero Requiem. A sword through my chest. The world's hatred focused on me alone.
Death. My death. Planned. Executed perfectly. For a better world.
A scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. I clutch my head as an entire lifetime of memories crashes into my consciousness like a tsunami, drowning out my current reality.
I see it all - every triumph, every failure, every manipulation, every sacrifice. Every death I caused. Every life I destroyed in pursuit of a better world.
And then, as suddenly as it began, the flood recedes, leaving me gasping and trembling against the bathroom sink.
I stare at my reflection. The symbol - Geass - has vanished from my eyes, leaving only the familiar violet irises. But I am changed. Irrevocably altered.
I am Lelouch vi Britannia, Eleventh Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire. I am Zero, leader of the Black Knights. I am the Demon Emperor who conquered the world to save it.
And I am also Lelouch, adopted son of Goku, and brother of Mikasa, and Mark. High school student. Chess club president.
Both lives exist simultaneously in my mind now, perfectly reconciled despite their contradictions.
I straighten, my breathing gradually steadying. My mind - enhanced by the strategic genius of my past life - immediately begins processing implications, possibilities, risks.
First: I cannot remain here. Anyone who heard that scream will investigate. Questions will follow. Explanations will be demanded.
Second: I need time. Time to process, to plan, to adapt to this new dual existence.
Third: No one can know. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
I splash water on my face, erasing the evidence of my distress.
Then, with the composure that once allowed me to command armies, I exit the bathroom and walk - not run, never run, that attracts attention - directly to the nearest exit.
The school's security is laughably inadequate. A side door near the gymnasium provides easy access to the street without passing any monitoring stations. Within three minutes of my... awakening, I am off campus and walking purposefully toward the city center.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Mark: Where are you? Hamilton said you never came back to class.
I consider my response carefully. Mark has been acting strangely for weeks - could he possibly...? No, speculation without evidence is useless. I type: Sudden migraine. Went to nurse, being sent home. Don't worry.
Simple, plausible, and it buys me time.
I find myself at Robinson Park, a quiet green space in Gotham's otherwise concrete landscape.
Sitting on a bench beneath an oak tree, I close my eyes and begin the methodical process of organizing my thoughts.
The memories of my past life are intact - every detail, every emotion, every calculated move and its consequences. I remember dying.
I remember Suzaku, disguised as Zero, running me through with a sword as planned. I remember the satisfaction of knowing my death would usher in a gentler world for Nunnally.
And now, inexplicably, I am here. Reborn or reincarnated into another world entirely - a world of superheroes and villains rather than Knightmare Frames and geopolitical machinations.
I open my eyes, watching a pair of squirrels chase each other up a nearby tree. The banality of the scene contrasts sharply with the existential crisis occurring within my mind.
What does this mean for me? For who I am? For what I should do?
In my previous life, every action was driven by a singular purpose: to create a better world for Nunnally. I committed atrocities, manipulated allies, sacrificed innocents - all justified by that ultimate goal.
And I succeeded. At the cost of my life and my soul, I succeeded.
But here? In this life? Nunnally doesn't exist. The Britannian Empire doesn't exist. The wrongs I sought to right have never occurred.
Instead, I have Goku - our unlikely guardian who took in three orphans despite barely being an adult himself. I have Mikasa, stoic and loyal. I have Mark, who has clearly been going through his own existential crisis these past weeks.
My phone vibrates again. Another text, this time from Goku: School called. You left campus? Are you okay?
The concern in those simple words resonates differently now. Before my awakening, I would have seen it as a minor inconvenience - an authority figure requiring management.
Now, with the perspective of my past life, I recognize it for what it is: genuine care.
Something I had precious little of as Lelouch vi Britannia.
I type back: I'm fine. Needed air. Will explain later.
Then, after a moment's consideration, I add: Sorry for worrying you.
The apology feels strange - Lelouch vi Britannia rarely apologized to anyone - but also right. Goku deserves better than manipulation and lies, the tools I wielded so effectively in my previous existence.
As the afternoon wears on, I remain in the park, processing. Analyzing. Coming to terms with who I am now - a composite being with the memories and experiences of two distinct lives.
By the time the sun begins its descent toward the horizon, I've reached several conclusions:
First, whatever cosmic force or metaphysical principle has granted me this second chance, I would be a fool to waste it repeating past mistakes.
Second, the ruthless pragmatism that defined my actions as Zero and the Demon Emperor is unnecessary in this life. I have no empire to overthrow, no sister to protect at all costs.
Third, and perhaps most importantly, I have been given something I never truly had before: a family that loves me without condition or expectation.
My phone buzzes with a final text from Goku: Coming to pick you up. Robinson Park, right? Mark mentioned you go there sometimes.
I smile slightly at that. Of course Mark would know my habits. We grew up together, after all - in this life, at least.
As I wait for Goku to arrive, I make a decision. The genius of Lelouch vi Britannia will not be wasted, but neither will it be used for destruction.
The charisma and leadership of Zero will not be forgotten, but neither will it be used to manipulate.
This time, I will live for myself and for the family I have been fortunate enough to find. No grand schemes.
No world-altering plans. Just... living. A concept that always eluded me in my previous existence.
I spot Goku's car pulling up to the park entrance and stand, brushing off my uniform pants with habitual precision.
As I walk toward him, I feel the weight of two lifetimes of memories balanced within me.
Lelouch vi Britannia died achieving his goal.
This Lelouch - just Lelouch - has a chance to live achieving something far more valuable: happiness.
And I intend to seize that chance with both hands.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
Do tell me how you found it. So here it is, Lelouch remembers now as well.
Mikasa and Goku remain. Mikasa I think I will do next chapter, so look forward to that.
See you all later,
Bye!)