Lucy led the way through the winding, cobblestone streets of Magnolia in absolute silence. Rudra strolled a half-step behind her with his hands lazily shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slumped in his usual state of chronic exhaustion.
Eventually, they arrived at the familiar, leafy residential district near the river, stopping outside the quaint apartment complex where Lucy rented her room. She pushed open the main entrance and headed up the stairs. Rudra followed without a word, his heavy boots thudding softly against the wooden steps.
When she reached her door, Lucy paused, her key hovering inches from the lock. She turned around to face him, her expression unusually serious.
"My father wanted to meet you," she said softly.
Rudra gave a dull, indifferent nod. "Right."
Lucy unlocked the door and stepped inside, with Rudra sauntering in right behind her. But as she swung the door fully open, her eyes widened. The room was completely empty. The small dining table was bare, the chairs were tucked in, and there was no sign of Jude Heartfilia anywhere.
"What the...?" Lucy muttered, her brow furrowing as she took a few quick steps into the center of the room, looking frantically around the kitchen and balcony. "Where is he? He specifically said he'd wait here!"
"Lucy," Rudra called out dryly.
She snapped her head back toward him. "What?"
Rudra let out a faint chuckle as he casually strode past her, making himself right at home by flopping onto the edge of her plush mattress. He stretched his legs out, leaned back on his hands, and flashed her a lazy, mischievous smirk.
"If you wanted to invite me over to spend some quality time together," he purred, raising an eyebrow, "you really could've come up with a better excuse."
A wave of crimson heat instantly rushed up Lucy's neck, burning all the way to her cheeks. She threw her hands up in utter disbelief.
"W-What?! Who said I wanted to invite you over?!" she sputtered, her voice leaping an octave higher. "If it wasn't for my dad asking to see you, I wouldn't have brought you anywhere near my apartment! You're unbelievable!"
Rudra dramatically clutched his hand over his heart, collapsing backward onto her pillows with a heavy, theatrical gasp.
"Wow, Lucy. Cold," he groaned, staring up at her ceiling with the wide, betrayed eyes of a man who had just suffered a devastating heartbreak. "How can you be so cruel? First, you trick me into walking all the way across town under the guise of an intimate afternoon, and then you crush my fragile spirit without a second thought."
Lucy opened her mouth to yell at him, her fist already balling up in frustration. But as her eyes landed on him—sprawled across her bed, looking up at her with that startlingly soft, wounded expression—her breath caught in her throat.
Did I actually hurt his feelings? Lucy thought, a pang of sudden guilt twisting in her chest.
Her shoulders dropped, and her aggressive stance melted away. She took a slow, hesitant step toward the bed, looking down at him with genuine concern.
"Look... Rudra, I... I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said softly, her tone turning apologetic. "I was just surprised, okay? I didn't mean to sound mean—"
The moment the gentle words left her mouth, Rudra's tragic expression vanished instantly. A broad, irritating smirk spread across his face as he sat up, dusting off his coat.
"Just kidding," he said casually, looking her dead in the eye with complete, unbothered calm. "It's not like I actually care whether you invite me over or not."
Lucy froze. The air in the room seemed to turn instantly cold as the realization hit her.
Her guilt shattered into a million sharp pieces, replaced by a pure, volcanic rage. A visible tick mark popped onto her forehead, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed her fists so hard they shook. She desperately wanted to throw a right hook straight into his smug face.
Control yourself, Lucy, she chanted mentally, taking a deep, shuddering breath to keep from committing assault inside her own home. He's doing it on purpose. Don't give him the satisfaction.
Rudra, blissfully ignoring the lethal aura radiating from her, swung his legs over the side of the bed and glanced around the quiet room.
"Anyway," he said, nodding lazily toward the small wooden desk near her window. "If your old man isn't here, maybe he left a note or something saying where he went."
Lucy let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing her temples to soothe the headache blooming behind her eyes. "Yeah... he probably did."
Resigning herself to the situation, she turned away from him and began searching through the papers on her desk and the counter, while Rudra simply leaned back against her headboard, content to sit and watch her work.
It didn't take long for Lucy to spot a neatly folded piece of parchment resting beside a vase on her desk. She picked it up, unfolding it to reveal her father's elegant handwriting.
Dear Lucy, the letter read. I apologize for missing our meeting. Something urgent came up regarding my work that required my immediate attention, and I had to catch the afternoon train. Please extend my deepest gratitude to Rudra. I truly wanted to thank him in person for what he did.
Lucy stared at the paper, her brows knitting together in confusion. Thank him? For what? Did they even know each other?
Determined to get an answer, she turned on her heel and marched toward the bed. "Hey, Rudra! Why would my dad need to thank—"
In her rush, her foot caught on the edge of her own bedside rug.
"Ah—!"
With a shrill scream, Lucy pitched forward into complete chaos. Instinctively closing her eyes, she squeezed them shut as she crashed down onto the soft carpet. She groaned softly, sitting up while rubbing her bruised ankle.
"Ouch... that hurt..."
When she opened her eyes, however, the pain instantly vanished, replaced by sheer panic.
She was sitting directly between Rudra's legs.
Because he was sitting on the edge of her mattress, her clumsy fall had landed her right on the floor between his knees. Rudra was leaning slightly forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, staring down at her with a look of pure, unbothered amusement.
The silence in the room became agonizingly loud.
"You know," Rudra spoke up, his voice dropping into a dry, teasing drawl, "for someone who swore up and down that she didn't invite me over for company, you're making some pretty bold moves."
A tidal wave of crimson heat exploded across Lucy's face, burning all the way down to her neck.
"T-This wasn't on purpose!" she shrieked, scrambling backward like a startled cat until her back hit her wardrobe. "I tripped! The rug folded over! It was an accident!"
Rudra didn't even flinch at her yelling. He just offered a lazy, unimpressed shrug. "Sure it was. Just get up off the floor. If anyone walks through that door right now, they're going to think we're doing something wildly inappropriate."
"Don't say things that sound so dirty!" Lucy yelled, her cheeks burning brighter than a fire magic spell.
She hastily scrambled to her feet, dusting off her skirt while trying—and failing—to reclaim a shred of her dignity. Swallowing her embarrassment, she snatched the letter off the desk and shoved it toward his chest.
"Just... read it yourself," she muttered, looking anywhere in the room except at him.
Rudra took the paper with a quiet flick of his wrist. His dark eyes scanned Jude Heartfilia's brief message, his expression remaining completely unreadable. Once he reached the end, he folded the letter back up and tossed it casually onto her nightstand.
Without saying a word, he pushed himself up off the bed and sauntered toward the exit.
"Tell your old man he doesn't need to bother," Rudra said, placing his hand on the door handle. "I don't need speeches or thank-yous."
"Wait!"
Lucy's voice cut through the room, stopping him in his tracks. He paused, his hand resting on the brass knob, but he didn't turn around.
Lucy took a step toward him, her playful, embarrassed mood completely fading into genuine curiosity.
"Did something happen between you two?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his back. "When did you even meet my dad? Why is he thanking you?"
The silence stretched long between them. For a moment, it felt as though Rudra was simply going to ignore her, brush it off with another dry joke, and walk out.
"It's nothing," Rudra murmured quietly.
He turned the handle, pushing the door open to reveal the bright afternoon light streaming down the hallway. Just as he stepped over the threshold, he paused, tossing a final, quiet sentence back over his shoulder.
"I just told a man who was ready to die to hold on a little longer... so he could see his daughter again."
Click.
The door swung shut behind him, leaving the apartment in heavy, absolute silence.
Lucy stood frozen in the middle of her room, her hand half-raised, staring at the closed wooden door with an unreadable expression as his words echoed softly in her mind.
____
Leaving Lucy's apartment complex, Rudra made his way back toward the guild hall under the warm afternoon sun. When he pushed the heavy wooden doors open, the scene inside was a complete disaster. Most of the mages were passed out cold on the floor or slumped over tables, sleeping off a wild, night-long victory party. A few of the sober members were huddled near the stairs, staring up at Master Makarov's second-floor office with anxious, uneasy expressions.
Rudra ignored the chaos, sauntering over to the bar where Mirajane and Kinana were quietly wiping down glasses. He took a seat on his usual stool and gave a subtle flick of his fingers toward Kinana.
Recognizing the gesture instantly, Kinana grabbed a fresh bottle of liquor, unbuttoned the cap, and placed it directly in front of him.
Rudra took a long swig, letting the alcohol burn down his throat before nodding toward the second floor. "What's with the heavy atmosphere? Why's everyone staring at the Master's office like someone died?"
Mira paused her cleaning, her expression turning somber. "Gildarts returned early this morning," she explained softly.
Rudra kept drinking, giving a noncommittal hum. "And?"
"He isn't in good shape at all," Mira continued, her voice dropping into a hushed tone. "He came back covered in severe injuries, and some of his wounds aren't healing—not even with medical magic. Right now, he's inside discussing the details of what happened during his mission with the Master."
Rudra nodded absently, processing the information.
THUD.
A heavy slam echoed right beside him, making the wooden counter rattle. Rudra turned his head lazily to see Cana sitting two stools down. She had just slammed a massive wooden mug onto the counter, her shoulders trembling, a dark, terrified look in her eyes as she stared blankly ahead.
Rudra shrugged mentally, turning back to his bottle. What's her problem? he thought dryly.
System: She's probably in distress since Gildarts is her dad.
Damn, I forgot about that, Rudra replied mentally before taking another long swig from his bottle.
A moment later, the doors to Makarov's office creaked open. The entire room went dead silent as Makarov and Gildarts stepped out onto the balcony and descended the stairs. Gildarts looked visibly drained, his posture hunched and his face pale.
Makarov swept his eyes across the quiet hall, his gaze finally locking onto the bar. "Rudra," the Master called out, his voice sharp and serious. "Come here for a second."
Rudra pushed himself up from the stool, clutching his bottle by the neck as he sauntered over. "Something you need, Master?"
Makarov gestured toward the legendary S-Class mage beside him. "I want you to take a look at Gildarts. He was attacked by a demon during his latest assignment."
Gildarts offered a weak, weary smile, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and pulling the fabric aside. Embedded deep in the right side of his chest was a horrific, dark purple wound. It was festering, the flesh around it corrupted and pulsating with a slow, sickly rhythm.
"The medical mages can't close it," Makarov said grimly. "Healing magic reacts violently whenever it touches the tissue. What do you make of it?"
Rudra leaned in slightly, his dark eyes locking onto the pulsating wound. He stared at it for two quiet seconds, his expression completely flat.
Then, he looked up and met Gildarts's tired eyes. "I'm sorry for what I'm about to do."
Gildarts blinked, utterly confused. "Wait, what do you—"
Before the sentence could leave his lips, Rudra's leg lashed out in a blinding blur.
BOOM!
A brutal kick caught Gildarts dead in the chest, tearing the air right out of his lungs. The sheer force of the impact launched the colossal mage backward, sending him crashing violently into the stone wall. Dust and crumbled mortar rained down around him as he slid to the floor, gasping for air.
"Rudra! What the hell are you doing?!" Cana shrieked from the counter, springing to her feet with pure fury in her eyes, her hand reaching for her card deck.
Rudra turned his head back slowly, his eyes cold and void of any emotion.
"Sit down, Cana," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave into a chilling, absolute order.
Cana froze mid-stride. The sheer weight of his tone pinned her in place, her mouth shutting instantly as a cold sweat broke out on her neck.
Rudra turned his attention back to Gildarts, who was groaning heavily, struggling to push himself up off the debris. Rudra strolled toward him with slow, deliberate steps, stopping a few feet away.
"Come out if you don't want to die in there," Rudra said to the empty air.
The mages who had awakened from the commotion watched in utter horror, completely bewildered by his bizarre behavior.
"I'm giving you two choices," Rudra continued coldly, staring directly at the pulsating purple flesh. "Option one: come out on your own and die quickly. Option two: I force you out, and I tear you apart piece by agonizing piece. You have three seconds."
Nothing happened. The hall remained dead silent.
Cana couldn't take it anymore. "You crazy bastard, he's injured—!"
AAAAAARRRRGGGGHH!!
Gildarts let out a gut-wrenching roar of agony that shook the building. The purple wound on his chest violently split open, black, tar-like blood spraying across the stone wall. From deep within the ruptured flesh, a grotesque, multi-eyed parasite creature clawed its way out, squirming onto the floorboards in a panic.
The entire guild gasped in horror, recoiling at the demonic sight.
"Good choice," Rudra murmured dryly.
The demonic parasite scrambled backward on its spindly legs, looking up at Rudra with wide, terrified eyes. "S-Sparda...? No! Don't kill me! I'll leave! I'll leave right now, I swear to—!"
CRUNCH.
Rudra brought his boot down with a swift, casual stomp, instantly crushing the creature's head into a mess of black ooze.
The demon didn't even have time to scream again. Within seconds, its squirming body began to disintegrate into dark ash, fading into nothingness until not a single trace remained.
Without missing a beat, Rudra turned his back on the corpse. He held out his hand, and with a subtle pull from his Rinnegan, an unopened bottle of ale flew off the bar, sailing straight into his palm. He caught another bottle from a nearby table and tossed it through the air.
Gildarts, sitting amidst the rubble while clutching his bloody, now-healing chest, instinctively caught the bottle. He stared up at the young man in complete shock.
Rudra crouched down in front of him, raising his own bottle.
CLINK.
He tapped his glass against Gildarts's bottle with a soft, metallic ring.
"Cheers for a successful exorcism," Rudra said with a faint, lazy smirk.
He pushed himself back up, turned on his heel, and casually sauntered back toward his quiet corner table, leaving the entire guild frozen in stunned silence.
Makarov was the first to snap out of the daze. He cleared his throat, his authoritative tone cutting through the shock. "Mira! Cana! Get Gildarts to the infirmary immediately!"
"Right away, Master!" Mira called back, rushing over with Cana to support the exhausted S-Class mage.
As they helped Gildarts to his feet, Makarov turned his head, casting one long, helpless look at Rudra—who was already leaning back in his chair, taking another calm sip of his drink—before following them into the back room.