Shane leaned back against the broken wall. Behind him, his mechanical dragon wings deliberately flapped a couple of times with no real rhythm, kicking up a ring of dust from the ground—yet he made no move to take off.
Instead, he quietly watched Ultear's face grow darker and darker.
Only when her breathing grew sharper and she was on the verge of exploding did Shane suddenly put on an overacted, discovering-a-new-continent expression and say,
"Eh? Ultear? Why are you back?"
The innocent look on his face was Oscar-worthy.
Ultear's fists clenched, then loosened. She knew he was trying to bait her into losing her temper.
No way was she going to let him win.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the shame and fury in her gaze had been forcibly pressed down.
"It's getting late," she said, not sparing even a fraction of a glance for Shane's punchable face.
"Let's get back to the station before dark."
She was just going to flip the page and pretend nothing happened?
This time, Shane was the one who froze for a beat.
He stared at the girl who looked perfectly composed—as if the person who'd been about to snap a moment ago wasn't her at all—and couldn't help admiring her.
That level of self-control was genuinely impressive.
"Alright. Let's go."
Since he'd hit a soft wall, Shane lost interest in teasing her further.
Besides, he'd already gotten half his revenge on her "riddle-speaker" habit. Watching her begrudgingly come back was satisfying enough.
Shane spread his dragon wings. Knees bent slightly, he prepared to rise the way he had earlier—hover two meters off the ground so Ultear could grab his leg and take off.
But the instant his toes were about to lift, a cool hand pressed down on his shoulder.
"Hm?" Shane paused mid-motion and turned, puzzled.
Ultear stood beside him, one hand holding him in place, the other folded across her chest. She glared at him with a stony face.
Shane blinked. "Is there still something we haven't done here? I thought you were the one in a hurry."
Ultear's mouth twitched. She finally couldn't hold it in anymore, and forced out a smile that wasn't a smile.
"Use a normal way of carrying someone."
Every word sounded like it had been squeezed out through her teeth.
She really didn't want to experience being treated like a dangling accessory, whipping in the wind, ever again.
"A normal… way?" Shane blanked for a second.
Then, looking at her expression—the one that screamed I am holding myself back by sheer willpower—realization finally hit him.
"Ohhhh—you mean that."
He put on a "you should've said so" face. "You could've just told me I can carry you. I even went out of my way to be considerate of your feelings."
Ultear's eye twitched.
So this was his "considerate"?!
Even with all her self-control, she nearly snapped. She swallowed down the urge to plant her boot on his face and instead rolled her eyes with perfect elegance.
"Wow. Thank you so much."
"Tough customer," Shane muttered under his breath, but didn't argue.
He stepped in, bent slightly, slid one arm around her slim waist, and scooped up her knees with the other.
She was lighter than he'd expected—featherlight, almost weightless in his arms.
He reflexively bounced her once and blurted out, "Didn't expect this… You're usually so cold and stiff—like a rock—but you're actually soft?"
"…!"
Soft?
What kind of normal man says that when he picks up a girl?
Ultear's composure finally shattered.
She straightened up in his arms, her hands—still unsure where to go—slid around his neck like gentle snakes and then—
squeezed. Hard.
"Are you trying to provoke me?" she murmured, warm breath brushing his ear.
Shane had just flapped his wings and lifted off, and his body immediately lurched in midair.
"Cough—cough! L-let go!"
He fought to steady himself while trying to pry her arms loose.
But the strength she was putting out right now was terrifying—like she was about to snap his neck in half.
They were so close they were practically cheek-to-cheek, like lovers whispering into each other's hair.
But there wasn't a shred of romance in Shane's head.
In those dark eyes, he saw only naked, icy killing intent.
She was serious. She genuinely wanted to strangle him to death in midair.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Shane immediately chose survival. "It's because—because your usual expression is so scary I keep forgetting you're even a woman!"
The pressure around his neck didn't ease.
If anything, it tightened.
Ultear stared at his face from inches away.
That sounded more like an insult than an apology—but at least, for once, he wasn't stubbornly doubling down. He'd actually apologized.
She snorted. The killing intent in her eyes faded a fraction.
"Don't do it again."
She didn't keep crushing him, but she also didn't let go.
Instead, she adjusted her posture and sat up straighter in his arms, hands still looped behind his neck—just with slightly less force.
Like she could tighten again at any moment.
From an outsider's perspective, they looked intimate: boy carrying girl, girl with arms around his neck, like a couple drifting romantically through the sky.
But to Shane, Ultear looked like a hedgehog with every spine raised. One wrong poke, and she'd explode.
So he shut up completely.
To avoid provoking her, he deliberately kept the flight low and slow.
The wind against them softened into a gentler breeze.
Ultear's mood was complicated too.
Am I really that scary?
She turned her face away, avoiding his gaze, and tried to force a smile to cover the awkwardness.
But her mouth twitched a few times, and the result just looked stiff and unnatural.
She gave up, feeling faintly defeated.
Her thoughts scattered in the wind.
For some reason, she remembered something Shane had said earlier—something she'd brushed off the moment he mentioned Ice-Make.
He'd said that even after Nirvana flipped her, she still hated him just as much as ever.
But that didn't make sense.
If Nirvana truly inverted light and dark, then logically… it shouldn't work like that.
Ultear frowned, confused.
After a short, fruitless attempt to reason it out, she forced herself into a "reasonable" explanation:
Maybe Nirvana's influence on her had been too slight. Or… maybe her personality hadn't fully flipped—plus she hated him so deeply it was carved into her bones, so it didn't change.
Yeah. That had to be it.
She accepted that explanation and stopped thinking about it—though her arms around Shane's neck tightened slightly again.
Meanwhile, the "flying machine" Shane was boredly scanning the scenery below.
He didn't dare look at the angry queen in his arms, so he focused elsewhere.
Worth Woodsea was spectacular, sure—but after a while, it was just endless green. Not exactly exciting.
Then—
As they passed over a massive gap in the forest canopy, Shane's casual gaze suddenly sharpened.
In the green shadows below, two tiny black dots were moving.
One figure had short blue hair—still striking even under the setting sun.
That distinctive color, and the faint "too mature for his age" vibe Shane could somehow sense even from this far away, hit him like a jolt of familiarity.
His eyebrows shot up. The gloom from nearly being strangled evaporated on the spot.
He'd actually run into them here? In the middle of nowhere?
What a coincidence.
Maybe this really was fate…
Jellal.