Author Puff:Here's a bonus for this week because I published Fairy Tail Ordinary incorrectly; instead of fanfic, I published it as a novel.
🙏🙏
I stayed there for a long moment, crouched in the grass, watching her work.
She didn't hurry.
She didn't hesitate either.
Every movement had intent. She tested leaves between her fingers, discarded most without a second glance, and only rarely kept one. No wasted effort. No uncertainty. This wasn't how villagers gathered herbs.
My father's soft cough echoed in my mind. I couldn't wait any longer. I had to act.
I stepped out of the grass, careful not to rush, careful not to startle her. She noticed immediately.
Her head turned sharply, eyes locking onto me with that piercing intensity. No warmth. No irritation. Just alertness.
"…What?" she asked.
"I'm sorry," I said calmly. "I won't take much of your time."
She glanced at me, appraising, like she was weighing whether a child could be of any consequence.
"You're far from the village," she said.
"I help gather plants," I answered.
"For whom?"
"For my father."
Her gaze flicked past me, toward the distant rooftops of Date Village. Just once.
"He's sick," I continued. "And the illness is spreading."
"I don't treat humans," she said flatly, her voice firm, like steel.
"I'm not asking you to," I said, keeping my tone steady, calm, controlled. "I just… need guidance. Some hint, some advice. I have no one else to ask."
She paused, fingers brushing over a leaf she had selected. Her hands were precise, deliberate, as if even the air around them mattered.
I pressed my thumbs together, a small, quiet gesture of hope. This was my only chance. I had to try—for him, for the village, for the friends growing weaker every day.
"…You observe too much for your age," she said finally.
"I've had to," I replied. "Waiting hasn't helped anyone."
She didn't answer immediately, only shifted her weight slightly, continuing her careful selection of plants.
After a moment, she spoke again, without looking at me.
"If the illness worsens, keep them warm. Fluids. Don't overstrain. Only do what's necessary."
I nodded, pressing my lips together. It wasn't a solution, but it was something to act on.
"…Thank you," I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the worry pressing down on me.
She scoffed, without glancing at me. "Don't thank me. I haven't done anything."
I stepped back, careful not to crowd her. The faint hum of Massage Magic beneath my skin shifted—warmer, steadier, somehow lighter. It wasn't healing. It wasn't control. But it carried a quiet, subtle hope. The tiny magic resonated with my own heart, just as Makarov had once said magic does. My worry for Dad, my determination, and my hope all flowed into it, giving me just enough strength to act.
I didn't control it. I didn't fully understand it. I only knew it made me feel steadier, braver, more capable of what I had to do next.
And as I turned toward the village, I noticed her hair—pink, catching the sunlight. A vague echo stirred in my memory. I had read about a healer like this in manga and anime. Maybe she was Porlyusica? Maybe she wasn't. She looked younger, sharper, different from what I remembered. But there was something familiar about the precision in her movements, the seriousness in her eyes.
If she was Porlyusica, I could trust her—just enough to try a small deal. Tomorrow, I would return. I would ask if I could help her find the plants she sought. In return, I could observe, learn, and maybe even support her work using what I had learned from Dad and Garron. It was the only way I could hope to make a difference.
For now, I had to get back. I had to apply her guidance, subtle though it was, to my father's care. The villagers were getting weaker. Friends like Miko and Taro coughed and paused more often. Every day, every small action mattered.
The path back to our house felt longer than usual, my mind racing with careful plans. I pictured Dad resting on the cot, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and the gentle vibration of Massage Magic beneath my skin. I could ease his stiffness, help him breathe easier, support him in the small ways I was able. Not healing. Not curing. But helping.
I glanced back once more, to the edge of the field. She remained there, distant, focused on her work. I was just a child to her. She didn't know me. She didn't see my magic. And she wouldn't form any bond with me yet.
That was fine. I didn't need her to like me. I only needed her to exist, to act as a possible bridge to the knowledge and skill I desperately needed.
By the time I reached our small house, the sun was low on the horizon. The fields cast long shadows, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves. Dad's breathing was slow and shallow, his hands shaking slightly as I approached. I knelt beside him, placing my hands gently on his shoulders. The faint hum beneath my skin resonated with my determination, with the hope she had sparked, and with the quiet strength I drew from months of training.
It wasn't enough to heal him. It wasn't control. But it was something. And that something mattered.
I would return tomorrow. I would try again. I would propose my deal. And maybe, just maybe, I could help her find the rare plants she sought—while she, in turn, could guide me enough to help Dad and the village.
For now, I knelt in the fading light, hands warm on my father's back, whispering quietly to myself: I will do everything I can. I won't fail.
Outside, the village held its breath. The illness crept quietly through its streets, leaving whispers and quiet fear in its wake. Friends grew weaker, adults moved slower, and the silence of anticipation hung in the air.
Autors Puff: Ihope you Like it😉