The room Krampus led them to was small, warded, and very deliberately boring.
Plain wooden walls. A round table. A single crystal lamp humming softly with containment magic. No windows. No decoration. No trophies. The wards layered into the walls were subtle but dense—privacy, sound isolation, mana suppression tuned just enough that nothing accidental would leak out. It was the kind of room used when Fairy Tail needed to talk about the future rather than celebrate the present.
Krampus closed the door behind them, the wards sealing with a soft click that barely registered unless you were listening for it.
Makarov hopped down from his seat and stretched, rolling his shoulders as the fog of alcohol burned away faster than it had any right to. His eyes sharpened, posture shifting from indulgent grandfather to guild master in the space of a breath.
Laxus leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, one boot braced against the wood. He looked relaxed, but his attention was locked in, lightning faintly crackling under his skin the way it always did when something interesting was about to happen.
"Alright," Makarov said. "What's on your mind?"
Krampus didn't waste time.
"With Magnolia expanding as quickly as it is," he began, "and the Harvest Festival approaching, Fairy Tail is entering a phase of visibility and growth it hasn't experienced in a long while. More eyes. More expectations. More pressure."
He folded his hands behind his back. "Which means preparation."
Laxus snorted. "You mean fighting."
Krampus smiled faintly. "Among other things."
He reached into nothing and produced a small, faintly glowing object—smooth, seed-like, warm to the touch, etched with subtle runes that shifted when looked at too closely, as if they refused to settle into a single interpretation.
"The Origin Seed," Krampus said, setting it on the table between them. "I propose we begin distributing these to high-level guild members. Preferably B-rank and above."
Makarov's brows rose. "You're talking about spiritual equipment."
"Yes," Krampus replied without hesitation. "Not borrowed weapons. Not external enchantments. Equipment born directly from a mage's own magic, identity, and combat philosophy."
He tapped the table once, the seed pulsing in response. "It gives them something to fight with confidence. Defense that responds instinctively rather than reactively. A moderate but meaningful boost to their magic output—enough to matter when things go wrong.""
Laxus was already grinning.
"…You've had that," he said, eyeing Krampus. "This whole time."
Krampus's tail flicked. "I have."
"And you didn't share?"
Krampus shook his head. "I only finished stabilizing the Origin Seed a week ago. Before that, it was… temperamental. I wasn't about to hand half-grown divine prototypes to guild members."
Makarov snorted. "Sensibly paranoid of you."
"You weren't ready," Krampus added, glancing at Laxus. "And neither was the Seed."
Laxus scoffed, lightning crackling faintly along his shoulders. "I'm ready now."
Makarov leaned forward, interest sharpening, elbows on the table. "How much of a boost are we talking about?"
"Enough to matter," Krampus said. "Enough to change how a mage survives when caught off guard. Enough that mistakes don't immediately become funerals."
Makarov's eyes slid to Laxus, a familiar spark lighting up. "Care to demonstrate?"
Laxus straightened instantly, grin widening. "Absolutely."
Krampus pushed the Origin Seed across the table. "Take it. Channel your magic into it. Don't force it—let it decide how it wants to respond."
Laxus didn't hesitate.
The seed warmed in his palm, then softened—melting like wax before dissolving entirely and sinking into his skin.
Usually, there would be an incubation period. Hours. Days. Sometimes longer.
That was how it worked for most mages.
The Origin Seed needed time to listen—to map the mage's magic, their habits, instincts, contradictions. To wait for hesitation, for uncertainty, for the rough edges that came from an incomplete path. The less defined the magic, the longer the Seed had to sit, grow, and coax something coherent out of it.
Krampus watched closely.
Nothing happened.
Makarov frowned. "That's it?"
Then—
Everything happened at once.
Laxus's magic surged, not explosively, but coherently—like a system snapping into its final configuration. Lightning and will didn't spill outward; they aligned, locking together into something complete, confident, unmistakably him.
Krampus felt a sharp flash of satisfaction.
Of course.
With Krampus's education, Laxus's magic was no longer just power—it was a complete system, refined and self-consistent, full of personality and intent. There were no gaps to fill. No confusion to smooth over. The Seed didn't need to wait.
His path was finished. Educated. Defined.
The spiritual equipment had nothing left to incubate.
It answered immediately.
Light wrapped around him, not in a rush but in deliberate layers, almost reverent, resolving into form with an awareness that felt tailored to every inch of his body.
White vambraces climbed his arms to the shoulders, dragon‑scaled and traced with gold, every plate hugging thick muscle perfectly. They framed bulging biceps and heavy forearms, the scale pattern emphasizing their size rather than hiding it. Greaves mirrored them, encasing his legs to the knee, following the powerful lines of his calves and thighs without restricting them in the slightest.
Between them, his torso and thighs remained bare—deliberately so. Broad chest, dense abs, and thick thighs were left exposed, framed by armor in a way that made his beefy build impossible to ignore. It wasn't absence of protection; it was confidence put on display.
An armored fauld skirt formed at his waist—plates hanging from a girdle over cloth, the sides and back protected while the front bore a single drape meant more for suggestion than concealment. It shifted subtly with his breathing, doing very little to hide the big bulge beneath.
Over his shoulders settled a red shawl‑scarf‑cape, wrapped around his trapezius and upper chest, its white, fluffy fringe brushing warm skin. It covered the upper half of his pecs just enough to draw the eye, flowing freely down his back, hood resting open like an invitation.
Laxus looked down, rolled his shoulders once, testing the fit.
Then he grinned—slow, satisfied, and very aware of how good he looked.
"Oh, this is nice.""
Krampus, meanwhile, had stopped breathing.
God, it suited him. Not just the armor itself, but the way it worked with Laxus's beefy body—the dragon-scaled metal drawing the eye along thick arms and powerful legs, the exposed skin turning what should have been absence into emphasis. The red fabric framed muscle instead of hiding it, turning his physique into something that demanded attention rather than politely requesting it.
Krampus's eyes wandered shamelessly, lingering on the breadth of Laxus's chest, the weight in his shoulders, the way thick muscle shifted under skin with every small movement. Laxus didn't just wear the armor—he inhabited it, standing with the kind of solid confidence that made it feel like the equipment had been waiting for him all along.
Makarov cleared his throat. "I'm… curious about the defense," he said, deliberately practical. "There's a lot of skin showing."
Krampus snapped out of it. Mostly.
"The protection is magical," he explained, forcing his tone back into something professional. "With full coverage. The actual materialized form is for aesthetic and is symbolic. It doesn't matter if it's skimpy."
He squinted, eyes narrowing as he reassessed with a craftsman's eye instead of a lover's.
"…Though," he added, dryly, "in strong winds, that loincloth isn't hiding much."
They all noticed it at the same time.
Laxus's underwear had transformed along with the rest—from a black jockstrap into a black thong, the change doing absolutely nothing to preserve modesty.
Krampus felt his nose threaten to bleed.
This is dangerous, he thought. For me.
Laxus, meanwhile, looked extremely pleased—especially when he caught Krampus staring. He shifted his stance slightly, deliberately testing how the armor moved, how it flexed with him, enjoying both the perfect fit and the very obvious effect it was having.
The vambraces flowed with him effortlessly, metallic but alive. Dragonscale, not metal. The greaves bent naturally with his steps, no resistance, no awkwardness. And the shawl—resting warm against his shoulders—made him feel like Krampus was right there with him, even when they weren't touching.
"I love it," Laxus said.
Considering the skimpy armors that will be materialized for other guys after seeing this example, Krampus briefly contemplated inventing a new spell called [Almost able to see the skirt'scontent], a subtle enchantment that would ensure that no matter the angle, no matter the wind, whatever lay beneath a skirt would remain a mystery. A tasteful veil of ambiguity. Practical. Elegant. Very responsible.
He considered it seriously for a full second longer than necessary.
Then dismissed it and leave the spell for the girls only.
Girls could have mystery. That kind of protection, that kind of tasteful concealment, had its place—and he would absolutely make the spell available for them.
Guys, on the other hand, didn't need it.
There was no reason to hide strength, shape, or presence. Bodies were meant to be appreciated, admired, and celebrated for the work and power they represented.
Krampus nodded to himself, entirely righteous in this conclusion as he wanted to ogle at the bodies of beefy guys some more.
Just because he was in a relationship didn't mean he couldn't enjoy some eye candy.
Krampus clapped his hands, sharp and decisive, forcibly reining himself in and dragging the room back into something resembling professionalism. "Alright," he said, voice firm. "You can try summoning the spiritual weapon now."
Laxus raised a brow, lightning flickering faintly in his eyes. "You're not even going to warn me what kind?"
Krampus smiled thinly. "Your magic already knows."
Mana answered immediately.
The air thickened, pressure coiling tight around Laxus like a held breath. Thunder rolled low and contained—not explosive, but disciplined. Then the weapon manifested.
A halberd materialized beside Laxus in a crackle of restrained thunder, its shaft long and perfectly balanced. Lightning crawled along its length like a living thing testing its freedom, responding to his presence rather than simply existing. The blade gleamed with the same draconic geometry as the armor—edges sharp, lines proud, elegant and brutal in equal measure—its presence alone heavy with intent.
Makarov's eyes narrowed. "That's not decorative," he noted.
"No," Krampus agreed quietly. "That's purpose."
Laxus's grin widened, slow and feral.
"Oh, I like this," he muttered.
He took it in hand—and the reaction was instant.
The halberd responded to him as naturally as an extension of his arm. He enlarged it with a thought, the shaft growing thicker and longer, then shrank it back down just as easily. He lengthened the blade, shortened it, adjusted the balance mid‑motion as if he were tuning lightning itself.
Electromagnetism wrapped around the weapon effortlessly.
Duplicates tore free from the original in rapid succession, each one perfectly formed. Laxus compressed several of them down, condensing mass and mana until they screamed with potential—railgun‑ready projectiles held neatly in place by his control.
More duplicates followed.
Then, with a casual flick of will, they dissolved—breaking apart into fine, shimmering golden sand that hovered obediently around him, ready to be shaped, fired, or recalled at a moment's notice.
Krampus watched closely, excitement replacing thirst.
Unlimited ammo.
No reliance on the environment.
A self‑contained arsenal born directly from Laxus's magic.
And when Laxus spun the halberd once and brought it to rest, the weapon settled against his massive frame like it belonged there—perfectly matched to his physique, his fighting style, his sheer overwhelming presence.
Krampus felt a flicker of recognition spark through him.
He distinctly remembered it—one of Laxus's spells from the original timeline. The Thunder Dragon Halberd. A manifestation of lightning and draconic will, shaped into a weapon that embodied his power.
And now, here it was.
Of course.
Destiny was funny like that.
"Alright," Krampus said, pulling their attention back, clapping his hands once more to reset the mood. "Back on track. So grandpa, should I give this plan the go ahead or what?"
Makarov didn't hesitate.
He leaned back comfortably, beard lifting with a small, amused huff as he glanced between the Origin Seed and Laxus—still armored, still radiating contained power.
"Sure," he said casually. "Sounds good to me. Distribute Origin Seeds to B‑rank and above."
Laxus blinked. "…That's it?"
Makarov chuckled. "You expected a speech?"
He looked back at Krampus then, eyes warm rather than sharp, and gave him a long, thoughtful look.
It wasn't caution.
It was pride.
"You've been doing a lot for this guild," Makarov said lightly. "Improving it. Strengthening it. Thinking five steps ahead even when no one asked you to."
The look lingered a moment longer than necessary. "Sometimes I almost forget I'm still the guild master."
Krampus blinked. "…What?"
Makarov laughed softly. "Relax. I'm not kicking the chair out from under myself just yet."
Then, more quietly, with a fondness he didn't bother hiding, "But I do look forward to the day you officially take office. After I retire."
Krampus froze.
"…Oh."
Makarov waved a hand as if it were nothing. "Plenty of time. For now, keep doing what you're doing."
He smiled.
Krampus swallowed, then nodded once.
"…Right," he said.
Makarov only smiled.
Krampus moved on, pacing a slow circle around the table as his thoughts aligned, earlier excitement settling into something sharper and more deliberate.
"With Magnolia as it is now," he said, gesturing vaguely as if the city itself lay spread out beyond the walls, "Fairy Tail can introduce a new event. Something for the people. Something that lets them see what protects them."
He stopped, claws tapping lightly against the wood. "A celebration, yes—but also a statement. A way to showcase our strength openly, instead of only when disaster strikes. It would draw visitors, merchants, sponsors. Increase Magnolia's GDP, reinforce its reputation as a city backed by monsters who care."
Makarov hummed thoughtfully, already picturing it.
Laxus smirked. "And satisfy the guild's battle lust."
Krampus's grin widened. "That too. Structured fights. Rules. Bragging rights. No grudges carried outside the arena."
He lifted his head, eyes gleaming. "A place where our mages can push themselves, test new techniques, and remind everyone—including ourselves—what Fairy Tail stands for."
"The Fairy Games," he declared.
Makarov chuckled low. "The city's going to love it."
"And the guild's going to tear itself apart over it," Laxus added, amused.
Krampus laughed softly. "Probably."
Krampus leaned back, fingers steepled, thoughts flowing in a familiar, branching pattern—the kind that only emerged when he stopped reacting and started planning several steps ahead.
"We already do this," he said aloud, mostly to himself. "The underground arena. Sparring. Duels. Bragging rights. Half the guild treats it like a second home."
He flicked a claw lazily, as if sketching the image in the air. "They train there. They blow off steam there. They settle disputes there. On any given night, it's louder underground than it is in the main hall."
Laxus snorted. "That's putting it mildly. Half of them would sleep down there if Makarov let them."
"Exactly," Krampus said, pacing slowly now, tail swaying with the rhythm of his thoughts. "So instead of pretending it's just informal sparring, we acknowledge it. We formalize it."
He ticked the points off on his fingers. "Rules. Brackets. Time slots. Medical oversight. Clear win conditions. We turn chaos into spectacle."
"And," he added, glancing at Makarov, "we stop paying for broken walls after the fact and start charging people to watch it happen."
"So," Krampus continued, "we make a show out of it. Sell seats. Sell food. Sell merch. Betting, if the city approves. Earn some money while we're at it."
Makarov hummed, noncommittal but listening, beard twitching as the idea settled.
Originally, Krampus had wanted to organize the Fairy Games around July. That would have left a clean buffer before the S-class trials. Enough time for hype to build. Enough time for participants to recover. Enough time for everything to be neat, orderly, and optimally spaced on a calendar only he cared about.
Unfortunately.
Getting the word out to the rest of the world was a pain.
Not the exciting kind of work. The exhausting kind.
Paperwork. Announcements. Diplomacy. Invitations. Guild politics. Endless correspondence with people who cared more about prestige than practicality.
And Krampus… had been distracted.
Not in the dramatic, world-ending sense. Not because of doubt or lack of focus.
But because he had only just gotten into a relationship with Laxus.
He cleared his throat and very deliberately did not look at him.
It was new. It was intense. And it had completely rearranged his priorities without asking permission.
Most of that period had been spent in bed.
Or on the way to the bedroom.
Or—more often than either of them would ever admit—not making it to the bedroom at all and just doing it right there in the woods, or against a tree, or wherever they happened to stop arguing and start kissing.
Krampus winced internally.
Focus.
The problem wasn't that he couldn't work.
It was that every time he did work, Laxus would appear—leaning in a doorway, smirking, crackling faintly with lightning—and suddenly the concept of timelines became optional.
That distraction was also the reason the Origin Seed had taken five months to finish.
Which was absurd.
With his abnormal genius brain, ridiculous knowledge reserves, and access to materials most enchanters could only dream of, a project at that level should never have taken that long.
It should have been done in weeks.
Days, even.
He refused to acknowledge how much of that delay had involved Laxus.
Back on topic.
"This brings us to the upcoming Harvest Festival," Krampus said, snapping his attention back to the room and planting both hands on the table. "We can piggy-back off it to boost awareness of the Fairy Games. People are already coming to Magnolia—merchants, tourists, nobles, adventurers. They're already in the city, already spending money, already looking for spectacle."
He lifted his head slightly. "We introduce the Fairy Games as a special attraction. Not a separate event people have to plan around, but something they discover once they're here."
Laxus's eyes lit up immediately. "So instead of dragging the world here for us, we let the world come to us first."
"Yes," Krampus said, nodding. "Less effort spent on outreach. Less waiting. More immediate impact."
"Less work," Laxus summarized with a grin. "More impact."
"Exactly," Krampus agreed. "And if it works—if we make real money from it—we take that proof straight to the mayor. We talk long-term planning. A dedicated date. A dedicated venue. Something that belongs to the Fairy Games alone instead of borrowing space from other festivals."
Makarov raised a brow, clearly entertained. "And the construction for this grand vision of yours?"
Krampus waved a hand dismissively. "Please. Leaving me aside, Fairy Tail is full of talent. Builders, earth mages, metal shapers, reinforcement specialists. We could put together a proper colosseum in a week if we put our minds to it."
He paused, then sighed, shoulders dropping just a little. "Enchantments would still fall on me, though. Structural stability, safety barriers, impact dispersion. Erza's Enchant Magic isn't there yet."
Makarov chuckled, shaking his head. "So technical problems aren't problems at all."
"No," Krampus agreed calmly. "They really aren't."
Which brought him, inevitably, to the less glamorous reason.
"Extra funds is another reason for doing this," he said simply, voice flattening into something practical and unromantic.
He didn't elaborate right away.
He didn't need to.
Even after his education initiatives. Even after inventing Reparo. Even after drilling restraint into half the guild—hard lessons, repeated until they stuck.
There were still incidents.
Not the catastrophic kind. Not city-level disasters.
The mundane ones.
Property damage.
Client complaints.
Compensation.
A smashed storefront here. A cracked road there. A panicked client demanding repayment because someone got carried away.
Less than before—far less—but given enough time, it still added up.
"I want more operational funds," Krampus said, finally. "Enough that compensation doesn't feel like a punishment. Enough that we don't have to argue about whether fixing something now will hurt us later."
He paused, then continued, tone quieter but more insistent. "And enough to upgrade the guild building itself."
He glanced around as if the walls of the main hall might hear him, as if the old structure might take offense.
"Despite everything I've done underground," he said, "the main building is still the same size. Same style. Same everything. It works—but it's cramped. Outdated. And it doesn't reflect what Fairy Tail has become."
He looked back at Makarov.
And unless it gets wrecked like in the original timeline, you're never going to agree to a proper upgrade.
Makarov coughed. "I resent that."
Krampus smiled sweetly. "You love the retro."
"…I do," Makarov admitted, unapologetic.
"But," Krampus continued, "if the guild is swimming in funds—if repairs, upgrades, and expansions stop feeling like risks—you might change your mind."
Makarov did not deny that.
"And finally," Krampus said, tone sharpening, "this is about recruitment."
Fairy Tail's popularity was at an all-time high.
Requests poured in constantly.
Letters. Walk-ins. Recommendations from other towns. Wide-eyed kids who had grown up hearing stories and adults who thought they knew what they were signing up for.
People rushed to join.
And most of them didn't last a week.
Some couldn't adapt to the rowdy, enthusiastic atmosphere—the noise, the constant closeness, the way arguments turned into laughter and laughter turned into broken tables.
Some were overwhelmed by macho gay guys running around in minimalist clothes, utterly unapologetic about who they were and very comfortable taking up space.
Some couldn't handle beautiful girls who acted manlier than most men, who drank harder, hit harder, and refused to be placed into anyone's expectations.
And some simply couldn't reconcile all of it existing in the same place.
Compatibility was the real bottleneck.
"As the most premiere magic guild in all of Ishgar," Krampus went on, voice steady but edged with quiet frustration, "we only have around seventy members. That's small. Small-time guild numbers, despite our reputation."
Makarov nodded slowly, already knowing where this was going.
"And it's going to drop," Krampus added. "Around thirty of them are from your generation. They're thinking of retiring. Like Grandpa Rob did, before the whole R-system fiasco."
He frowned, ears twitching. "Which I still don't understand. Especially now."
His gaze drifted briefly, unbidden.
Bodybuilding magic has turned them all into beefy GILFs, and still so spry, so why quit when you're ahead?
He shook his head. "But I respect their choices."
He looked up at the two of them. "The Fairy Games show who we are," he said firmly. "They show our values, our chaos, our strength, and our bonds. They attract people who can handle us, who are not intimidated by us, and who actually belong here."
Laxus crossed his arms, his grin wide and unapologetic. "I am in," he said without hesitation. "New blood means new fights, new rivals, and new energy. That sounds great to me."
He paused, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. "Besides, it might be nice being a real senior for once instead of the youngest powerhouse in the room."
Makarov laughed, deep and warm, the sound carrying years of pride and affection. "You already are a senior," he said. "You just forget that sometimes."
Then he turned to Krampus.
The look he gave him this time was even more meaningful than before.
It carried approval for the plans laid out so carefully.
It carried expectation for the future Krampus was quietly shaping.
And it carried something else entirely.
"If we're doing this then I want you to come with me to the monthly guild meeting this time," Makarov said casually, as if he were asking Krampus to join him for a drink rather than stepping into guild politics.
Krampus froze.
"…What?" he asked, genuinely startled.
Makarov smiled, utterly unbothered. "You have been avoiding it for years," he said. "At this point, it has become a tradition of its own."
Krampus's inner monologue screamed in protest.
I have social anxiety. I have antisocial tendencies. I do not like strangers. I do not like politics. And you're asking me to go to a social event full of strangers?!
Fighting Acnologia would genuinely be easier than sitting through a room full of guild masters and officials.
He looked at Makarov.
He looked at Laxus.
He looked at the future he was apparently building, whether he liked it or not.
From the look on Makarov's face, calm and quietly resolute, he knew he could not say no.
Is there no escaping for me after all?
The thought lingered in his mind, heavy and unavoidable.
And the Fairy Games loomed closer.