"Oh, oh, oh! It's Gildarts and Erza, they're back!"
"Look! There's some kid with them — never seen him before!"
The noisy shouts pierced through the thick wooden doors.
As Hoshino Arashi followed Gildarts and Erza into the guild hall, a violent wave of heat slammed into him head-on.
It was a dense blend of cheap ale's sour fragrance, the heavy musk of sweat, and the wild laughter of men — the unmistakable scent of chaos and life.
The Guild Hall.
It was far larger than he had imagined… and far more chaotic.
Everywhere he looked was a scene of glorious disorder.
By the bar, a few drunken mages were chugging entire barrels of ale straight down their throats, amber liquid spilling down their beards unchecked. In the center of the hall, two muscle-bound brutes were red-faced and arm-wrestling, veins bulging as the floorboards creaked beneath their boots.
Further back, a few others had gotten into an argument over who-knows-what — which swiftly turned into overturned tables and a full-blown brawl.
Wooden furniture flew through the air in dangerous arcs; occasional flashes of magic sparked where blows collided.
The entire place looked less like a guild and more like the frontlines of a small-scale siege.
But the roaring chaos reached an entirely new peak the moment the tall man stepped inside.
"Gildarts! You bastard, you finally decided to come back!"
"Come drink with me!"
Two middle-aged men, reeking of alcohol, stumbled forward with arms slung over each other's shoulders — Macao and Wakaba. Their unsteady steps wobbled dangerously close to Arashi, the ale in their glasses threatening to spill all over him.
Their hazy, tipsy eyes soon locked onto the unfamiliar black-haired boy standing beside Gildarts.
"Oh?" Macao leaned closer, his drink-flushed face stretching into a sly grin as he waggled his eyebrows.
"So, not only did you finish your mission this time, but you even brought home your long-lost love child?"
The words had barely left his mouth when—
"Shut it!"
Two voices erupted at once — one cold, one irritated — yet so perfectly in sync that they overlapped seamlessly.
Arashi's expression was flat and unreadable.
Gildarts' brow furrowed in exasperation.
Even the downturn of their mouths mirrored one another with uncanny precision.
That perfect synchronization drew a beat of stunned silence from the crowd — before the entire hall burst into laughter.
"Pfft—! That look! They're exactly the same!"
"Hey, hey, Gildarts, come on, just admit it already!"
Gildarts ignored the teasing chorus of voices. His easygoing grin had slipped into a look of mild annoyance. With a casual sweep of his large hand, he brushed aside the crowd in his path and led Arashi toward the second floor.
Up there, leaning casually on the railing, stood a short, elderly man with a kind smile and a distinctive white mustache that curled like an inverted crescent moon.
Though his stature was small, the tranquil authority radiating from him made him the center of gravity in the entire hall.
Makarov Dreyar.
Third Guild Master of Fairy Tail.
One of Ishgar's Ten Wizard Saints.
"Welcome back, Gildarts. Erza," Makarov said warmly. His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried effortlessly through the hall — imbued with a quiet power that made all other noise seem to retreat.
His gaze drifted past Gildarts and Erza, settling on the black-haired boy standing silently behind them.
For an instant, a flicker of sharp light crossed the old man's seemingly mild eyes.
"So this is the newcomer you mentioned in your letter?"
"Yeah." Gildarts nodded.
At that moment, every trace of playfulness vanished from his face.
His usual care-free grin disappeared — replaced by rare solemnity.
He took a slow step forward, meeting Makarov's gaze.
The guild's laughter and noise began to fade, subdued by the palpable shift in atmosphere surrounding him.
He drew in a deep breath and spoke, each word carrying unmistakable weight.
"Old man, listen carefully."
The sentence alone was enough to freeze the entire room for half a heartbeat.
Those drinking paused mid-gulp.
Those brawling loosened their grips.
A strange quiet rolled across the hall like a tide.
"I didn't bring back an ordinary recruit," Gildarts said, his voice echoing with firm conviction.
He stopped for a moment, eyes sweeping across the hall — then returned his focus to Makarov, whose expression had grown equally serious.
Then, he dropped the thunderbolt.
"I brought back a monster…"
A monster?
The single word sent a visible ripple through the crowd.
"…A real one. An unbelievable monster!"
BOOM!
The declaration exploded through the hall like a thunderclap in broad daylight.
The air froze.
A second ago, the hall had been a storm of laughter, alcohol, and noise.
Now, it was suffocatingly silent.
The men drinking held their mugs suspended mid-air.
The arm-wrestlers forgot to push.
The brawlers' fists hovered inches from each other's faces.
Every single person — dozens, maybe hundreds — turned their gaze in unison.
Eyes wide.
Breaths held.
Expressions frozen somewhere between awe, confusion, and disbelief.
All those eyes converged on the same spot — on the dark-haired boy standing quietly at the center of the hall.
The boy who could make Fairy Tail's strongest mage — the wild, untamable Gildarts Clive himself — speak those words.
To call him a monster.
Could that really be… a newcomer?
(End of Chapter)
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