The mini-kitchen didn't exist in a separate wing, it was simply an offshoot of the main treatment room.
It was built like a small apartment kitchen, dark wooden cabinets, a smooth stone countertop, a small sink, a stove, a compact refrigerator, and hanging brass utensils. A modest table with four matching chairs sat tucked against the side.
Juvia stood before the refrigerator in the quiet room. Her movements were naturally light and silent, her midnight-blue pigtails swaying against her shoulders. She reached into the cold interior, pulled out a small carton of juice, and poked a thin straw through the foil seal.
She took a slow, quiet drink, letting out a small sigh of relief.
Leaving the kitchen, her small feet made no sound against the polished floorboards of the main treatment room. It was the largest space in the clinic, spacious enough to hold three patient beds along the far wall, each separated by long, muted cream curtains that softened the room's clinical tone.
Against the opposite wall sat Sheila's massive medical workstation, a dark wooden counter lined with glass bottles, neatly rolled bandages, surgical instruments, and clean towels, beneath glass-doored cabinets labeled with handwriting. Juvia walked slowly past the workstation, her large, clear azure eyes tracking the quiet room.
'How long has it been...?' she thought softly to herself.
It had been nearly a year since the tragedy at Baywater, a year spent wandering alone through cold rain and empty roads between X777 and X778. Then she met Sheila. Sheila had taken her in, bringing her into Phantom Lord, giving her a roof, a place to belong, and what felt like a second life.
She stopped in front of the center patient bed.
"I can't believe it's almost been two years..." Juvia murmured aloud to the quiet room.
Today was July 4th, X778. Time had moved both too quickly and far too slowly.
Her gaze lowered to the bed. Gajeel lay motionless beneath the heavy, dark fabric of Sheila's suit jacket, which had been draped over him like a weighted quilt. His face was surprisingly peaceful in sleep, devoid of his usual snarl, but his left wrist looked dark, swollen, and deeply bruised where the fractured bone rested beneath the skin.
Juvia stood over him, clutching her plush gray seal tightly against her chest. As she looked down at his unconscious frame, the sharp, arrogant words he had shouted in the main guildhall echoed through her mind:
«Let's get one thing straight with you people. I couldn't care less about this guild, or its 'unwritten rules' for that matter.»
«I ain't scared of nobody. I'll take all of you stupid bastards at once!»
A faint, cold tilt touched Juvia's lips. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and laced with dry, detached disdain.
"Pathetic," Juvia said softly, staring down at him. "In the end... despite your strength... despite claiming you were raised by a dragon... you were just talk. You couldn't back it up."
She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"I almost pity you. Almost. You have no one to blame but your own ego."
Yet, even as she said it, a sharp knot of frustration tightened in her chest. Her mind dragged her back to the flooded corridor, to their fight earlier that day.
Juvia was frustrated. Not simply because she had lost, but because of how she had lost.
She was a prodigy. Her Skywater Magic—an innate power that had awakened within her naturally without a master—was exceptionally rare and versatile. She was smart, mature, and careful in battle.
Yet Gajeel, a hot-headed brute who relied on raw violence, had beaten her. If she hadn't flooded the entire corridor to bend the environment to her will, she wouldn't have even held out as long as she did.
Why did she have to lose to someone like him? Someone who, in her eyes, acted with so little thought?
She finished the last drop of her juice, setting the empty box on the floor near the bedside table, making a mental note to throw it away later.
She looked back down at Gajeel. Vulnerable. Defeated. Weak. Her mind traced back to why they had fought in the corridor in the first place. She hadn't wanted a fight, but she wouldn't let him attack her either.
During their clash, however, Gajeel had dropped a detail that chilled her to the bone: he knew information regarding the Ebonveil clan.
'The Ebonveil Clan—an ancient, secret clan ruling a hidden village... training shinobi for assassination, espionage, and sabotage rather than protection. They brand their members with an official mark: three solid circles inside a triangular layout, bound by an outer ring with three sharp inward curves.'
Gajeel had mentioned that they operated almost like an official guild, a detail that made no sense. How could a syndicate of assassins legally register? More importantly, Gajeel had let slip that someone connected to the Ebonveil clan was currently inside Phantom Lord.
Juvia had spent hours analyzing the possibility. Who could it be? It wasn't Sheila. Sheila was the only person who knew the truth about Juvia's past; if Sheila knew an Ebonveil assassin was in the guild, she would have told Juvia immediately.
Was it Master Jose? Juvia had considered it, but quickly dismissed it. Why would the Guild Master of one of the top wizard guilds in the kingdom align himself with a secret clan of criminals? Logically, he had no reason to. And even if Jose had, how could a nine-year-old child like Gajeel find out about it? Gajeel didn't even know what the Ebonveil clan was until recently. He was simply protecting someone who had held out a hand to him.
Juvia recalled what she had told Gajeel during their fight.
«I don't have a master. My Skywater Magic awakened naturally.»
Sheila had taught her basic Floating Magic, but Sheila wasn't a "master", she was family. Someone Juvia loved and trusted, but far too laid-back to be called a master.
She looked at Gajeel's bruised face. If Gajeel woke up, he wouldn't tell her who the insider was. He was too stubborn, too arrogant. And since she couldn't beat him in a fair fight, she couldn't force the information out of him either.
A dark, heavy quiet settled over Juvia's mind.
'If Gajeel has a connection to this person... and this person is connected to the Ebonveil clan... then I cannot guarantee Gajeel isn't working with them.'
"I can't trust you," Juvia said aloud, her voice dropping into a whisper so soft it barely disturbed the air. "I don't know if you're a spy for them. I can't take that risk."
The horrific memories of Baywater flooded her mind, the smoke, the blood on the rain-slicked soil. Her family. Her village. Her baby sister. All erased in a single night by the Ebonveil clan.
For an entire year after that night, hatred had been her only companion. Every second of every day had been consumed by a single vow: Find them. Destroy them. Avenge everyone.
She had two goals in this life now: protect the people she cared about—Sheila and Albion—and eradicate the Ebonveil clan from the face of the earth.
'For them... I will destroy anything in my way.'
Juvia slowly raised her right hand. Her clear azure eyes turned pitch-black with a cold hatred. The ambient moisture in the clinic room began to vibrate. Weightless droplets of water drawn from the air condensed around her small fingers.
Under immense pressure, the water elongated, flattening and sharpening into thin, scythe-like blades of liquid. Their edges shimmered with lethal, razor-sharp precision under the ambient light.
'Skywater Magic: Water Slicer.'
Juvia looked down at Gajeel's exposed neck, her expression completely devoid of warmth.
"I'm sorry. I don't care what it costs me. To avenge my family... My sister... my home... I will do whatever it takes."
She drew her hand back, priming the compressed water blades to drive downward.
A firm, unyielding hand clamped tightly around Juvia's wrist, stopping her arm dead in mid-air.
"What are you doing, Juvia?" The voice was low, perfectly level, and utterly calm.
Juvia's eyes widened in shock. The water blades hovering over her fingers instantly collapsed, splashing into harmless droplets against the floorboards.
Slowly, Juvia turned her head.
Standing behind her in her plain white t-shirt and dark trousers, a fresh cigarette unlit between her lips, was Sheila. Her eyes looked down at the eight-year-old with cold, analytical clarity.
"Don't tell me," Sheila said softly, her voice carrying no anger, only an unnerving, presence. "Are you actually going to kill Gajeel?"