As Shane's laugh faded, the next thing he saw was a fist swelling larger and larger in his field of view.
Bam!
Makarov's punch was fast, steady, and came in at a nasty angle.
Even though Shane's agility had already risen to Rank D, and his reflexes were basically at a Servant's level, he still didn't react in time.
He went flying like a baseball hit clean out of the park, tracing a not-so-graceful arc as he spun straight through the guild doors—
—and with a "splut", he face-planted on the steps outside.
"Tch… the old man really doesn't hold back…"
Shane groaned, rolled over with difficulty, baring his teeth as he lay there. It took him a long breath before he finally managed to push himself up.
He dusted himself off and walked right back into the guild.
At the bar, Makarov still had his arms crossed and his face set in a hard scowl—an expression that said: Go on. Talk. I'm listening. Like that punch hadn't even scratched the itch.
Shane instinctively shot a plea for help at Gildarts.
Gildarts just shrugged helplessly, plain as day: Not my problem. Good luck.
Yeah. Asking for help was pointless.
Since he was clearly in the wrong, Shane forced a smile and shuffled closer, then obediently repeated the same explanation he'd given Erza earlier.
"…So, basically, that's it. I'm training a special kind of magic—by 'observing' the experiences of great heroes, I can borrow their power.
That black-mud surge just now was a projection of one of those heroes' past."
Makarov listened intently, his eyebrows tightening and loosening as Shane spoke.
When Shane finished, the old man stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
"So it works like that… What a strange way for magic to function."
He mulled it over and finally gave a verdict.
"This is probably a variant of Take Over Magic… Maybe we could call it… 'Take Over History'?"
Seeing Makarov's expression shift from stern to curious—almost like he wanted to take the spell apart and study it—Shane quietly exhaled.
Okay. I think I lived.
He'd already eaten the punch, nothing had been physically destroyed, and with Makarov's personality, he probably wouldn't keep pressing the issue.
Shane immediately threw up a thumbs-up, full of admiration. "Brilliant, Master! That's exactly what I was thinking—your summary is razor-sharp!"
"Don't try that on me."
Makarov snorted, completely immune.
"Shane, you need to understand something. The less you know about a powerful spell, the more cautious you should be—there's no such thing as 'too careful.'"
His face went serious again.
"I know you usually have a sense of restraint. But that doesn't mean accidents can't happen.
Like last night—if that black mud had been corrosive, or cursed, this entire city could have become a dead zone overnight.
If something that irreversible happened… are you sure you could live with the consequences?"
Shane's smile slowly disappeared.
His mind flashed to the Nirvit tribe's tragedy—destroyed because they abused power.
Power itself isn't "right" or "wrong," but the one wielding it must always hold it in awe.
He took a breath and bowed properly.
"I understand, Master. I swear… there won't be a next time."
Only then did Makarov let out a long sigh and slip back into his usual demeanor.
He hopped up onto the table with a pained grimace.
"Alright, alright. As long as you understand."
Just thinking about the mess he'd have to face tomorrow made his head throb.
"This happened because of me," Shane said immediately. "Tomorrow I'll apologize to the whole city and explain everything myself—"
Smack!
Another slap landed on the back of his head.
Makarov glared, furious.
"Idiot! I'm Fairy Tail's parent! When a kid screws up outside, that's the parent's failure for not teaching properly! Why would you be the one apologizing?!"
He waved Shane away like a fly, openly annoyed.
"You just remember this lesson, behave yourself, and enjoy the festival!
Go on, go on! I'm sick of looking at you! Let me have some peace so I can think about what I'm going to—ahem—how I'm going to explain it!"
Shane rubbed his head, looking at the old man's puffed-up moustache and bulging eyes.
It made him think of that strange old granny in the forest—shooing people away while stubbornly accepting the fruit basket anyway.
So stubborn…
Getting chased off like that, Shane felt oddly moved… but still had no choice but to leave with a sheepish grimace.
…
After Shane left, the hall finally quieted down.
Makarov slammed a huge cup of booze, then sighed.
"That kid… usually he's easy. Never causes me trouble. But when he does cause trouble—he goes big."
"Master, shouldn't you be used to that by now?"
With the crisis over, Gildarts instantly relaxed and went back to his lazy guild vibe.
"If they weren't like that, they wouldn't be Fairy Tail members, would they?"
"And you have the nerve to say that?!"
Makarov's temper flared again.
He whirled on Gildarts and jabbed a finger at him.
"I swear, Shane's whole 'lazy most days, reckless at the worst possible moment' habit—he got it from you!
And Erza's been getting rougher and rougher on jobs—smashing streets, 'violent enforcement,' the whole package… was that you too?!
The first person they ran into before joining the guild was you! You're the one who corrupted them!"
"Spare me…"
Gildarts raised both hands in surrender, innocent as can be.
"I didn't do anything! The kids are just freakishly talented—how is that my fault?"
But the more Makarov talked, the more worked up he got, and he unloaded everything he'd been sitting on—Gildarts' drunken rampages, property damage, bad influence on rookies…
He rambled for minutes, only calming down once he felt better.
Then he took a couple more drinks, cleared his throat, and went serious again.
"Seriously though. That magic of Shane's… what do you think?"
"Ah… that."
Gildarts swirled his drink, casual as ever.
"A power that strong—if it keeps growing… yeah. It'll probably cause even bigger problems down the line."
"So you think so too…"
Makarov sighed.
He remembered the "creature" he'd seen outside—wrapped in shadow and sludge, radiating a vile kind of mana.
Even if it was only a glimpse, the pressure it gave off stuck in his bones.
"I'm… worried about that kid."
"Getting old makes you obsess over nonsense," Gildarts yawned, cutting him off. "If a problem happens, you solve it. That's all."
As he spoke, he lifted a finger and tapped the sturdy wooden bar.
"Like when I was training my Crush Magic…"
Bzzzt—
The instant his fingertip touched, the entire wooden bar turned to powder and vanished—gone without a trace.
"…Didn't I cause all kinds of trouble back then too? And I still got through it."
Makarov shot him a sideways look.
"'Got through it'? Then why are you still too scared to use Crush Magic on actual people?"
Gildarts scratched the back of his head and laughed awkwardly.
"Hey, what can I say? I'm bad at holding back."
"You—"
Makarov was just about to tear into him again when something felt off.
"…Wait. Where's my bar?"
He stared at the empty space, eyes widening, about to explode—
—but in the time it took him to blink, Gildarts was already gone.
"Old man, you go figure out how you're gonna apologize tomorrow! I'm going to bed! Night!"
"GIL—DARTS—!!!"
…
The next day, the Harvest Festival arrived right on schedule.
It was as if last night's sludge incident had never happened. Magnolia was already packed and buzzing.
The city's big-hearted residents hung up streamers and banners along the streets.
Stalls popped up like mushrooms after rain…
Shane and Erza walked through the crowded avenues, looking around with bright-eyed curiosity.
It was their first time joining a festival this big, and everything felt new.
"Shane, look—that!"
Erza suddenly stopped, eyes sparkling as she pointed ahead.
Even though it was her first time, her route was oddly precise—as if she'd done homework.
A temporary booth stood there with a sign:
"Harvest Festival Limited: Dreamy Fruit Tart."
Glossy fruit piled high on crisp pastry, coated in special syrup that glimmered in the sun.
"Ugh… that line is insane…"
Shane stared at the queue and felt his brain ache.
But seeing the anticipation on Erza's face, he sighed. "Alright. Let's queue."
Thankfully, the shop was humane and used numbered tickets, or they would've lost the whole day standing there.
With a ticket in hand, they drifted along with the flow of the crowd.
Erza was clearly in a great mood—stopping at stalls, getting absorbed by street performers.
Shane, in contrast, looked distracted.
Even if he'd sort of grasped how the visions were changing, he hadn't forgotten his original goal:
experience the vision… and dig out more clues about Lancer's identity.
"Aurora… fairy…"
As he walked, he replayed the scene from last night again and again.
That woman named Aurora, when she awakened the silver-haired girl, had said:
"Hello, cute fairy."
"Fairy…?"
Shane muttered, brows knitting.
That girl born from the meat-mass… was a fairy?