Erza leaned on Flowing Water, the tip buried deep in the muddy bank by the stream.
She panted hard. Cold sweat slid down her temples, soaking strands of scarlet hair at her forehead. The back of her clothes was already dark with sweat, clinging to her skin.
Head down, her gaze drifted, unfocused, over the smooth river stones at the water's edge.
The scene from just moments ago replayed in her mind over and over.
That field of countless blades, that burning plain of fire…
It wasn't swordsmanship. It didn't feel like magic either. It was more like something humans weren't meant to touch at all.
The moment Shane walked out of that fire, all the mana in her body had frozen solid. Her battle instincts screamed like sirens, telling her do not move—and she hadn't even had the courage to raise her sword.
She'd frozen and chosen to surrender instead of swinging at that power.
That had never happened before.
For the first time, she'd felt a very real doubt about whether she could ever catch up to Shane.
"Erza."
Shane's voice pulled her out of the memory.
He stepped closer, blocking the now-harsh morning glare, and held out his hand.
"Knowing your own limits clearly is something most people never manage in their entire lives," he said. "I don't think surrendering just now was a mistake. That's part of why I showed you that power in the first place."
His tone was calm, rational, trying to walk her through the pros and cons.
But Erza just stared at his hand in a daze. His voice sounded as if it were coming through water, muffled and distant.
She understood the logic, but… if she froze just because an enemy was strong enough to terrify her, how could anyone trust her to guard their back when they needed protection?
Seeing her sink even deeper instead of snapping out of it, Shane regretted showing her the full shape of the Phantasm so soon.
He stepped forward and simply grabbed her hand.
Her skin, usually pale and smooth, was scraped in several places from the fight, stained faintly red.
Pulled that hard, those wounds should've hurt—but all she did was curl her fingers slightly. No real reaction.
So the blow had hit harder than he'd thought.
He frowned. She really was too hard on herself. It was just a spar, but she refused to allow herself even a moment of backing down.
He paused—then a thought struck him.
His shoulders sagged; his head tilted to the side. He mimicked the creaky voice of those rusty market puppets, dragging his tone out and reading his lines flatly:
"Ahhh, I get it. Erza's the kind of person who gives up when she meets a strong enemy."
He layered extra, exaggerated disappointment into the words.
"Mhm, then if I ever run into danger, I'm screwed. You'll probably be the first one to run, huh? Aww, now I really don't feel safe going around with you…"
The words hit like a stone into still water, finally stirring her.
"No way!"
Her head snapped up, bristling like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.
She turned her grip around and squeezed his hands hard, knuckles whitening.
"If it's you, I'll save you even if I die! I absolutely will! There's no way I'd run!"
Her reaction was fiercer than he'd expected. Her chest heaved, and her dark, glass-bright eyes even glimmered with the threat of tears.
Then she saw his face—look of a plan perfectly executed.
He was looking at her with that half-smile, half-smirk.
…He's joking?
He was joking just now?
In a flash, she understood. He'd deliberately provoked her—just to drag her out of it.
But even knowing that… she didn't find it funny at all.
Her fists tightened.
Heat surged up her chest. For the first time, Erza was truly angry at him.
Joking around was one thing—but this? How could he turn that into a joke? How could he even suggest she'd abandon him?
She yanked her hands free hard enough that he stumbled.
Without a word, she spun around and stomped off, boots hitting the ground like she was trying to dent it, marching for home with near-violent determination.
Shane stared after her, stunned. Huh? That reaction seemed… off. No glare, no gritted teeth, no "I'll cut you"—just a slam exit.
Thinking she was still stuck in her own head, he hurried after her and started babbling.
"Mm, what day is it again?" He stroked his chin, trying to lighten the air with his legendary social skills. "Let's see, X776, December 9th? How about we declare today 'Erza's Retreat Day'? We can celebrate every year—"
He didn't finish.
Erza's steps snapped to a halt.
Before he could process it, she whirled, fist cocked, and drove it straight into his nose.
Thud.
"I. Am. Really. Mad," she ground out, each word spaced, teeth clenched.
Then she gave him no chance to respond—turned on her heel and bolted for home even faster than before, scarlet hair streaming behind her like the tail of a flame.
Shane, completely unprepared, rocked back, one hand flying to his face.
Thankfully, his body was tougher than ordinary; his nose bone held, no blood spilled—just a piercing ache and a sting behind his eyes.
Rubbing his throbbing nose, he stared in the direction she'd vanished and muttered, "Has Erza gotten… too dependent on me?"
In his memory, she was supposed to be steadier—more self-contained.
"Yeah. Things have been a little too peaceful lately," he decided, shuffling home. "She is a teenage girl… is this what they call 'comfort sickness'?"
Then he found himself blocked by a locked door.
He blinked at the solid, unmoving wood.
As everyone knew, Mr. Shane was a veteran homebody. Unless absolutely necessary, he never willingly went outside—and of course, a man of that caliber wouldn't be carrying something as practical as a "key" to his own front door.
"Hey! Erza! Open up! I'm still out here!"
He hadn't expected her condition to be this severe. He raised his voice toward the house.
Silence.
No footsteps. No rustle. Nothing.
If he hadn't just seen her go in with his own eyes, he'd have thought the house was empty.
~~~
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