Chapter 3: The Light Behind the Mask
The guild hall hummed with life as sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Merchants' voices, clanging dishes, and the occasional shout filled the air, but Menma Uzumaki moved through it with a quiet grace. Every step measured, every glance observant. He had returned to Magnolia, but for the first time, he was not alone in carrying the weight of the world.
At the far corner of the hall, Mirajane Strauss sat quietly, a faint shadow across her usually bright features. Menma noticed immediately. She had always been warm, a smile that could ease the hardest hearts — but today, her silver hair fell over her eyes, and her hands trembled as she held a cup of tea.
He approached her slowly. "Mira." His voice was soft, careful, carrying no threat, only presence.
She looked up, startled, then forced a faint smile. "Menma… I didn't hear you come in."
"You seemed… troubled," he said gently, taking a seat opposite her. "Is everything alright?"
Mirajane hesitated, her eyes flicking to the floor. "It's Lisanna… I… I still… I can't…" Her voice broke, the years of grief pouring out in a whisper.
Menma's heart tightened. He had heard of Lisanna's passing, of course — the mission reports, the whispers among guildmates. But seeing Mira like this, vulnerability laid bare, struck him differently than any battle ever could.
"You don't have to talk if you're not ready," he said softly. "But know that you're not alone. Not anymore."
Her hands trembled in her lap. "I… I keep thinking about her. How she was… taken from us so suddenly. I feel guilty… I should have been there…"
Menma leaned forward slightly, placing a hand over hers. The warmth was grounding, a silent promise. "Grief doesn't mean weakness. It means you loved. And that love… it's stronger than any magic, stronger than any guild could ever measure."
She looked at him, eyes glossy with unshed tears. "You… you always know what to say."
"I've learned from watching," he said quietly. "And from understanding what it means to protect others. You're not alone in this, Mira. Not now, not ever."
A small, fragile smile crept onto her face. "Thank you, Menma… really."
A Moment of Connection
For a few quiet minutes, they simply sat there. No words, no noise from the guild — just the warmth of presence and understanding. Menma's left eye, hidden beneath his eyepatch, pulsed faintly, sensing the subtle shifts of her magic and emotions. He did not pry; he merely observed, ready to respond if needed.
"You… you feel like family," Mira whispered, her voice almost a question.
Menma's lips curved into a gentle smile. "Then I'll be your family, if you let me."
, fragile smile crept onto her face. "Menma… can I… call you…" Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced down, almost embarrassed.
Menma raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Call me… what?"
"ダーリン… Dārin," she whispered, her voice almost playful, almost shy. "Just… sometimes, if that's alright."
Menma's lips curved into a faint, amused smile. "If it makes you feel comfortable, then… yes."
Her expression brightened immediately, a mix of relief and mischief in her silver eyes. "Really? You don't mind?"
"I don't mind," he said calmly. "But only… sometimes."
Mira chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair. "Just sometimes, huh? I'll take what I can get."
That small, teasing exchange warmed the atmosphere between them. Even in the shadow of grief, a spark of closeness, of light, had returned. It wasn't just comfort — it was playful trust, a bond forming in both laughter and silence.
By evening, Mira returned to the counter with a sigh. "Thank you again, Menma. I… I really needed that."
"You're welcome," he replied simply. "Grief is heavier when carried alone. Now, you don't have to."
She paused, eyes meeting his. "You… understand me more than anyone. Even Makarov seems… distant sometimes, compared to you."
Menma's gaze softened. "It's because I've seen what loss does to a person. I'll do my best to make sure it never breaks you."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "Then I suppose I should try to keep up with you."
Menma allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle. Mira's spirit was as stubborn as it was bright. He thought that perhaps, in time, she could truly smile again without the weight of her grief shadowing her.
Nightfall Reflection
Later, when the guild quieted and most had left for the night, Menma sat on the balcony overlooking Magnolia once more. The city's lights shimmered on the river, reflecting the soft glow of lanterns and rooftops.
His mind wandered to the past — the rifts, the missions, and the weight of his power. The Rinnegan, hidden beneath the eyepatch, pulsed faintly in response to his own reflection on potential threats. He knew that protecting friends, guildmates, and the innocent would always be a balance between action and restraint.
Yet, seeing Mira heal even slightly today, he felt a measure of hope. The world could still have light — fragile, yes, but persistent.
This is why I fight, he thought quietly. Not for fame, not for power, but for the people who cannot protect themselves. For the family I choose… for the family I've found.
And with that resolve, Menma Uzumaki, the Riftwalker and Masked Warden, watched over Magnolia, silent and vigilant, ready for whatever the future held.
End of Chapter 3: The Light Behind the Mask