Chapter Two: Quiet Foundations
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The guildhall of Fairy Tail in the year X699 was a place of pride and power, but it still pulsed with youth and optimism.
Victor, nearly four years old, had been led through the wide front doors by Marla just after sunrise. The scent of baked bread, lacquered wood, and the residual fizz of ambient magic filled the air. Mages laughed, shouted, and tossed spell sparks for fun or challenge—but always with a sense of camaraderie.
He moved carefully, eyes sharp but posture reserved. The chatter, the explosions of light, the casual displays of magic—it was all recorded silently in his mind.
Guild Master Precht Gaebolg stood waiting near the request board, arms crossed.
Precht was a tall man, built like ironwood and just as unyielding. His face was stern, but his eyes weren't cruel. He gestured for Victor to step forward.
"We evaluate all new blood," Precht said flatly. "Let's see what you've got."
Victor gave a carefully rehearsed nod. His plan was clear—show just enough. Not too strong. Not too polished. Just enough to be let in.
He formed a basic illusion, letting a duplicate of himself blink beside his real body before fading. It looked like a misfire. Intentional.
Precht raised an eyebrow.
"Uncommonly dense etherano for someone so young," he muttered. "Hmph. We'll keep an eye on you."
Victor was offered a place to grow within the guild—under supervision, of course.
He accepted quietly.
Another step forward. Another board to play on.
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The Guild Rules
Later that morning, a boy named Raffin was given the job of watching over Victor. Raffin was fourteen, smug and lazy in his attitude, but kind underneath. He pointed to a big wooden board near the stairs, written in big blocky letters.
"Alright, kid. These are the official Fairy Tail rules. They're, like, half-serious, but you better remember 'em. Everyone quotes these at some point."
Victor stared at the board, expecting something militaristic or strict.
Instead, he read this:
> FAIRY TAIL'S OFFICIAL TOTALLY SERIOUS RULES (Definitely Not Scribbled By Master Mavis… maybe)
1. Help your friends before they even ask. That's just good manners.
2. Don't fight indoors unless the floor can take it (and it usually can't).
3. Don't mess with the food stash. Seriously. We remember.
4. Leaving the guild doesn't mean leaving the family. You can always come back. We'll mock you, but we'll hug you too.
5. If you wreck a town, you better fix it. Or run. Probably run.
6. Laugh often. Cry if you need to. You're among friends.
7. And above all else: Never forget—we're Fairy Tail. Be proud.
Victor stared longer than expected. His brow furrowed—not in judgment, but in thought.
This wasn't the kind of code you'd expect from a powerful organization. There were no threats. No fear. No rigid hierarchy. It was loose, messy, a bit silly…
But it felt real.
Warm.
Victor didn't smile—but something loosened in his chest. He wasn't ready to believe in it yet, but for the first time since being reincarnated, he wondered if maybe not everyone here was a pawn or a threat.
Maybe, just maybe, he could feel something more than cold calculation around these people.
They're too idealistic, he thought. But… maybe that's not always a weakness.
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Guild Environment and Observation
Victor sat at a small table, sipping juice with exaggerated clumsiness while his eyes darted across the room.
To his right, two older mages were sparring using stone magic, trying not to hit support beams. A child about his age was levitating wooden dice. A woman wearing red robes caused laughter as she juggled flame bubbles above her palm.
Everyone seemed loud. Open. Predictable.
Victor took mental notes.
He spotted three guild members who drew more attention than the rest:
Griff Serin, a loud brawler who used steel gauntlets embedded with gravity runes.
Mira Carlow, an enchantress who used perfume-based hexes to confuse enemies.
Tovis Blayne, a pale young man who turned books into monsters. Literally.
Victor added their names to the list he was forming in his mind. Future problems. Or future leverage.
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The Fight in the Yard
That evening, Victor wandered outside the guild. The sun was dipping low. The air was cooling, and shadows grew longer across the training yard.
That's when he heard it.
Crying.
Peeking around a post, he saw three children. Two were bigger and louder, pushing around a smaller boy with brown hair and skinny arms. The smaller one tried to keep his feet, but a rough shove sent him tumbling onto the dirt.
"Come on, Evan!" the taller boy shouted. "Where's your big powerful magic now?!"
"Yeah!" the second chimed in. "You're just a weak tag-along!"
Victor stepped forward, arms at his sides, his voice even but firm.
"Do your parents know you're out here this late?"
The bullies froze.
Victor tilted his head. "It's past five. Pretty sure Master Precht told everyone to be back in the hall by then. Something about early dinner or whatever. You want him finding out you're out here picking fights?"
The two kids looked at each other. Uncertain.
Victor walked right between them, kneeling to help the crying boy—Evan—stand up.
"I can go get someone," he said, loud enough for the others to hear.
That did it.
The bullies backed off fast, muttering excuses as they jogged away toward the hall.
Evan sniffled, wiping dirt from his cheek. "Thanks…"
Victor nodded, brushing off the kid's shirt. "You okay?"
Evan nodded. "I just… I haven't learned much magic yet."
"That's fine," Victor said. "Neither have I. But we will."
Evan looked up at him. "You wanna train sometime?"
Victor paused.
He hadn't expected that. But there was something in the boy's voice—hope, eagerness, loyalty. It wasn't strategic. It wasn't calculated. It was real.
Victor nodded. "Sure."
He let himself sit beside Evan under the evening sky.
I don't need to rush this, he thought. I've got time. Eternal youth. And a guild full of tools and potential friends. I can take this slow.
He looked at the stars.
Maybe being here isn't so bad.
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A Quiet Night
Later that night, back at Marla's, Victor pretended to nap under a thick quilt. Moonlight filtered through the shutters. Marla hummed softly in the next room.
Under the blanket, Victor extended one finger. A faint shimmer flickered at its tip—barely visible. A tiny illusion: a flickering flame, cold to the touch.
It danced, then shifted shape. A wolf. A sword. A tower.
He dispelled it before Marla peeked in.
"Sleep tight, Victor," she said gently.
He nodded, eyes half-shut.
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> SYSTEM UPDATE
You have earned 1 Random Gacha Draw.
Criteria: Asserted influence in minor social conflict involving developing character.
Reward: Draw now available.
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END OF CHAPTER TWO
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