Happy quickly gulped down the milk, letting out a tiny, satisfied burp before curling up in Natsu's arms and drifting into a deep sleep.
Natsu gazed at Happy's peaceful sleeping face, a goofy grin spreading across his own. Then… he picked up a massive syringe glinting with a cold, menacing light!
"Idiot! What do you think you're doing?!" Erza, quick as a flash, sent Natsu flying with a single punch, catching the startled Happy—who let out a surprised "Mew!"—in her arms. Her hair practically stood on end with fury!
Natsu clutched his swollen cheek, whining loudly, "Ouch! What else would I be doing?! Giving him antibiotics! What if he gets sick and dies?!"
Erza's temple throbbed with visible veins. She snatched the syringe from him, squeezed out a bit of the murky green liquid, and sniffed it. Her face darkened. "This isn't antibiotics! It's not even some kind of stress reliever! It's just poisoned mushroom juice that makes people hallucinate!"
"How many times have I told you?! Stop buying junk from those shady street vendors!"
Natsu's face flushed as he rushed forward, snatching Happy back and clutching him protectively. "Tch, whatever! The guy said it works just as well!"
"And another thing!" Erza pointed at the grass seeds and meat poking out of Natsu's backpack, her tone sharp. "You absolutely cannot feed Happy meat or grass seeds! He's too young for that—he needs to grow a bit more first!"
"How much is 'a bit more'?" Natsu pressed.
"Well…" Erza faltered, caught off guard. She'd only overheard some customers at a bakery mention it in passing, but she didn't actually know the specifics.
"See? Some people just don't know what they're talking about~" came Mirajane's voice, laced with a lazy, teasing drawl.
Mirajane spread her hands, shaking her head as she sauntered over with an elegant stride, a smug, victorious smile on her face.
"At least two months before he can try even a little bit of meat. Honestly, amateurs…" she said with a smirk.
Erza's fists clenched so hard they creaked, the veins on her forehead popping again. "Oh? So you think you're the expert, huh, Mirajane?" Scarlet magic began to swirl around her.
Mirajane tilted her chin up, her lips curling into a provocative grin. "Hmph. Way better than a half-baked wannabe like you!"
Her fists tightened, knuckles whitening, before she thrust out a thumb, pointing sharply toward the guild's back door. "You wanna go?"
"Bring it on!" Erza didn't hesitate, spinning on her heel and storming toward the door, her boots thudding loudly against the floor.
Mirajane wasn't about to be outdone. She hurried after Erza, the two of them shoulder-to-shoulder, neither willing to yield an inch as they squeezed through the not-so-wide doorframe together.
As they passed through, they rammed shoulders with a loud thud, each jostling the other.
"Tch!" Both let out an irritated huff, shooting each other a glare before storming off in opposite directions toward the open area behind the guild, the air crackling with tension.
The guild fell silent for a split second before erupting into chaos.
"They're at it again!"
"Quick, let's go watch!"
"Place your bets! Who's gonna win?"
"Master! They're—"
At the bar, Makarov set down his mug with a long sigh.
From the back door came the sound of fists slicing through the air with a whoosh, the dull thud of bodies colliding, and the girls' unrelenting, pain-laced bickering:
"Ow! You brute! Do you have to hit so hard?!"
"You're just too slow! A demon should act like one!"
The noises grew fiercer, punctuated by the crackle of clashing magic and the muffled booms of small explosions.
"Ugh…" Makarov sighed deeply, feeling his blood pressure spike.
He hopped off the barstool, hands behind his back, and trudged toward the back door, muttering under his breath, "Those two girls… they're getting more out of hand by the day…"
The commotion outside grew louder, and he shouted, "You two better not tear the guild apart!!"
No sooner had he spoken than a purple blast of light reflected in his eyes. With a BOOM, the back door doubled in size.
Makarov's shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with despair. "Another guild renovation… These kids keep getting stronger, and the guild keeps needing repairs more and more often."
"I just hope they'll tone it down someday," he muttered, shaking his head as he stepped through the now much larger back door.
---
As the guild's repair count kept climbing, time marched on to the year X782.
Roger, fresh off a completed job, was on his way back to the guild. As he stepped into a forest, his pace suddenly halted.
"Hm?" His brow furrowed as he sensed something off. "The magic here… it's thinning out?"
He took a few steps back, then forward again, focusing intently.
"No mistake. The magic density drops sharply at the forest's edge."
Closing his eyes, Roger sank into his magical senses. In his mind's eye, countless blue specks of magic, like fireflies, were surging frantically toward the sky!
There, an invisible, massive vortex spun and expanded, greedily swallowing the magic like a ravenous maw.
Roger's eyes snapped open, and he looked up—the sky was still a calm, serene blue, revealing nothing.
"It's invisible to the naked eye… A trap? Or a magic circle?"
He raised his right hand, a blue glow flickering in his palm as a magic circle formed instantly.
Whoosh!
A half-man-high pillar of water, brimming with surging magic, shot toward the vortex like an arrow!
When the water reached a certain point in the sky, its tip silently broke apart, dissolving into specks of blue light that were completely devoured by the invisible vortex!
"It absorbed it?!" Roger's heart sank.
As if fed by his magic, the clear sky suddenly churned with thick, gray clouds. They roiled and formed a massive, slowly spinning vortex that perfectly matched the one in his senses!
"Tch, this is trouble…" Roger flipped his left hand, revealing a card with a small whirlwind drawn on it.
Just as he prepared to fling the card, a low, calm male voice accompanied by footsteps echoed from the forest.
"Stop. Anima can only be closed with a specific method. Attacking it with magic will only feed it, letting it absorb more."
Roger turned toward the voice. A figure emerged from the forest's shadows, wearing a wide-brimmed black hat and a dark green mask, with five peculiarly shaped magic staves strapped to his back.
"Oh?" Roger raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Mystogan, one of the guild's six S-Class wizards? This is rare. I think this is only the second time we've met since you joined the guild, right?"
"Sorry," Mystogan said, his voice muffled through the mask as he stepped closer. "I'm not great with people. Your senses are too sharp, and I was worried… you might see through some things. That's why I usually visit the guild when you're away."
Roger's gaze drifted to the five staves on Mystogan's back. "You mean the fact that you have no magic power in your body and rely entirely on those magic tools to cast spells?"
Mystogan went silent for a moment before letting out a wry chuckle.
He raised a hand, slowly removing his mask. Beneath his sky-blue hair, a young face adorned with strange tattoos was revealed.
"I figured it might come out eventually… but I didn't expect it to be this soon. When did you figure it out?"
"The first time we met," Roger replied bluntly. "The magic from your staves feels 'dead' and 'still.' It's completely different from the 'living' magic that flows through a wizard's body."
"Talk about being completely exposed," Mystogan said with a shake of his head, dropping the subject. His gaze shifted to the ominous gray vortex in the sky.
"We'll deal with that later. Your magic fed the Anima, and it's growing faster now! We have to stop it before it gets out of control!"
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