The dean had been standing by the window of her office for a long time.
Outside, the children were playing in the snow in the orphanage yard. Winter had come early this year, with the first snowfall arriving in early November. The children ran excitedly through the snow, having snowball fights and building snowmen. Their laughter drifted through the window, bringing a bit of life to the simple office.
But the dean's gaze remained fixed on one person.
Nangong Wentian.
The eight-and-a-half-year-old boy wasn't running around wildly like the other children. He stood in a corner of the yard, surrounded by a group of younger children—Xiao Guang, Sayuri, Xiao Wu, and a few even smaller ones. He was saying something, gesturing as he spoke, occasionally crouching down to draw something in the snow. The children gathered around him, listening intently, occasionally exclaiming in awe.
The dean sighed softly.
This child was too unusual.
She had begun noticing his peculiarities three years ago. Back then, he was only five, yet he could help other children solve problems using simple language. At six, he started tinkering with junk he picked up from the trash heap in the kitchen, creating things she couldn't understand. In the winter when he was seven, he repaired the broken power system, giving the entire orphanage stable electricity for the first time. This spring, he made a set of unbreakable bowls, reducing the orphanage's utensil losses to a minimum. In the summer, he fixed the washing machine that had been used for over a decade, earning praise even from someone as picky as Agnes.
And just now, she had seen him drawing something in the snow while explaining to the children "why snow is white," "why snow melts into water," and "why clouds don't fall from the sky"—questions even she couldn't answer.
A genius?
No, it was more than that.
The dean had seen geniuses before. During her time working at Morgenroete, she had met many geniuses—top engineers selected from around the world, people who could sketch the future on blueprints. They were indeed smart and talented, but their intelligence had a traceable origin, rooted in their educational backgrounds and life experiences.
But this child was different.
His intelligence had no origin.
An infant abandoned at the orphanage's doorstep, with no background information, no family records. He grew up in the orphanage, receiving the most basic education and exposed to the simplest environment. Those books—she had specifically checked the library—those children's science books couldn't possibly have taught him those things.
Unless…
The dean's fingers tightened slightly.
Unless he was a Coordinator.
Once this thought surfaced, it stuck in her mind like a thorn, impossible to remove.
Though Orb remained neutral, it did not mean everyone could accept Coordinators. The nation's policies were open, but public sentiment was complex. Some harbored hostility toward Coordinators, viewing them as genetically modified monsters; others were filled with fear, worried that one day they would rule the world. Even among the relatively open-minded, attitudes would turn subtle when faced with a child who "might be a Coordinator."
If Nangong Wentian truly was a Coordinator...
The headmistress closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She remembered thirty years ago, at Morgenroete, she had met a Coordinator engineer. He was a young man, a few years younger than her, astonishingly intelligent, with design ideas that were always wildly imaginative. Problems that would take others a month to solve, he could devise solutions for in just three days. At first, everyone admired him, revered him, thought he was a genius among geniuses.
Later, someone discovered he was a Coordinator.
Attitudes changed immediately. Admiration turned to jealousy, reverence to hostility. Some began to ostracize him, others started questioning his achievements, and some openly said, "Coordinators are stealing jobs from Naturals." That young man eventually left Morgenroete, reportedly going to PLANT, and never returned.
She remembered the day he left, standing at the entrance of Morgenroete, looking back once, the complex light in his eyes—there was reluctance, resentment, and a deep weariness she hadn't understood at the time.
Now she understood.
It was the look of someone abandoned by the world.
The headmistress opened her eyes, her gaze returning to Nangong Wentian outside the window.
That child was smiling now. Xiao Wu had said something that made him laugh, and he reached out to pat Xiao Wu's head. The other children around them laughed along, happily and purely.
If he was a Coordinator...
What would he face?
Would he be ostracized? Discriminated against? Would those who once liked him look at him with strange eyes?
The headmistress clenched her fist.
No.
She would not allow it.
Whether he was a Coordinator or not, in her eyes, he was just Nangong Wentian—the infant rescued from that stormy night, the child who was always quiet and never caused trouble, the boy who would silently extend a hand when others needed help.
She remembered three years ago, when he was seven, he came to her and said he wanted to go out and explore the world. At the time, she wasn't sure, but now she knew—
This child did not belong here.
He had a longer road to travel, greater things to do. The small world of the orphanage could not contain his future.
She only needed to protect him until the day his wings were fully grown.
"Headmistress?"
Sister Mary's voice came from behind. The headmistress turned and saw Mary standing at the door, holding a cup of hot tea.
"It's getting cold. Drink something warm to heat yourself up." Mary walked over and placed the teacup on the table.
The headmistress nodded, picked up the teacup, but did not drink. She watched the steam rising from the cup and said softly, "Mary, what do you think of Wentian?"
Mary paused for a moment, then smiled. "Wentian? That child is extraordinary. You didn't see it when he fixed the washing machine last time—Agnes was completely stunned."
The headmistress did not smile, only continued to ask, "And what else?"
Mary's smile faded as she thought for a moment, then said, "Clever, exceptionally clever. But it's not just cleverness—that child… he's sensible. He knows his limits in everything he does and never gives the adults any trouble. While other children are rowdy, he just watches from the side; when others get into mischief, he never joins in. Sometimes I even forget he's only eight."
The headmistress fell silent for a while before asking, "Do you think he's a Coordinator?"
Mary froze.
The question was too direct—so direct that she didn't know how to respond at first.
The silence stretched on for a long time.
Then Mary said softly, "What if he is? What if he isn't? He's still that same child."
The headmistress looked at her, a flicker of relief in her eyes.
"Yes," she murmured, "what if he is, what if he isn't."
She set down her teacup and looked out the window again.
In the courtyard, Nangong Wentian was crouched on the ground, brushing snow off Xiao Wu's clothes. Xiao Wu looked up and said something, and Nangong Wentian smiled again.
"Mary," the headmistress suddenly said, "go fetch that old photo album for me."
Mary was taken aback. "Which old album?"
"The one on the top shelf of the cabinet, with the red cover."
Mary walked over, opened the cabinet, and found the red-covered album on the top shelf. It was very old—the cover was worn, and the corners were curled. She carefully took it down and handed it to the headmistress.
The headmistress accepted the album and gently opened it.
The first page held a yellowed photograph. In it, two people stood in front of a massive machine, wearing work uniforms. On the left was a younger version of herself, her hair tied in a ponytail, smiling brightly. On the right was a woman with chestnut-colored short hair, holding a circuit board, her expression focused and earnest.
Erica Simmons.
Back then, Erica was still a young engineer at Morgenroete. They had worked together, pulled overtime together, stayed up late for those wild designs. Erica was clever, persistent, and always full of passion—the most talented designer she had ever known.
Later, she left Morgenroete and came to this remote fishing village, becoming the headmistress of an orphanage. Erica stayed behind, gradually rising to become a core member of Morgenroete and one of the founders of Orb's Mobile Suit technology.
Time had passed in the blink of an eye.
The headmistress gently traced the photograph, her gaze lingering on the young Erica's face.
If Wentian really was a Coordinator, and if he wanted to go further… perhaps Erica could help him?
She shook her head and closed the album.
It was still too early.
That child was only eight—not yet old enough to make such choices. She couldn't decide anything for him; she could only stand silently behind him when he needed her.
"Headmistress?" Mary looked at her with concern. "Are you all right?"
The headmistress snapped out of her thoughts and smiled. "I'm fine. Just remembering some things from the past."
She returned the album to the cabinet, walked to the window, and took one last look at Nangong Wentian in the courtyard.
The boy was leading a group of children back inside—probably tired from playing and ready to eat. Xiao Wu held his hand, hopping along, still chattering about something.
Sunlight fell on his face, casting a golden glow.
Watching him, the headmistress thought silently:
Whatever you are, here, you are just you.
That is the best protection I can give you.