31st of October, X775.
Harvest Festival.
From the moment the sun rose over Magnolia, the air itself felt charged.
Not merely festive.
Charged.
Magic threaded through the city like unseen wiring beneath polished stone. The town square shimmered faintly under layered enchantments I had personally calibrated at dawn. Sound amplification arrays, illusion stabilizers, projection grids, safety barriers woven thin enough not to obstruct the view yet strong enough to catch an errant blast of magic if necessary.
Colorful banners stretched between buildings, embroidered with the Fairy Tail crest in gold thread that caught the morning light. Stalls lined the streets in dense rows, vendors shouting over one another with theatrical enthusiasm. Music drifted from every direction—lutes, drums, pipes, and magically enhanced backing tracks blending into an orchestrated chaos that Magnolia had come to expect once a year.
The scent of roasted meats, spiced cider, caramelized nuts, festival sweets, and fresh bread rolled through the air in waves. Beneath it all hummed the low, steady thrum of enchantments woven subtly into the town square—cooling charms to keep the crowd comfortable, cleansing runes to prevent waste accumulation, and micro-barriers to ensure children did not wander into restricted zones.
The schedule was, by all reasonable standards, absurd.
Deliberately so.
Two pageants in the morning—male and female categories.
Fairy Games throughout the entire afternoon, where every guild member under S-rank would fight for the title of strongest under S-rank and win 10 million jewel. Second through tenth place would not walk away empty-handed either; prizes had been carefully curated to motivate growth rather than just ego. Training equipment. Rare spell manuals. High-grade lacrima. Even long-term funding for personal magic research.
Then, as if that were not enough, the parade would run most of the night, culminating in a coordinated magical finale designed to be visible from the furthest corners of Magnolia.
Some might wonder how the guild could possibly survive such a schedule without collapsing from exhaustion or injuries.
They would not be wrong to question it.
Physical strain. Mana depletion. Mental fatigue. Emotional overload.
But I am not "some."
I am Krampus.
And I plan.
For the past year, Porlyusica and I had quietly advanced our medical magitechnology project in the background of everything else I was building. Regeneration pods—compact, rune-inscribed chambers layered with restorative arrays capable of restoring physical injuries, stabilizing mental fatigue, reinforcing depleted mana pathways, and even smoothing over minor soul damage within ten minutes.
Ten minutes.
Hop in battered.
Hop out refreshed.
Bone fractures knitted. Muscle tears resealed. Mana circuits recalibrated. Emotional spikes leveled.
Mass production was not yet feasible. The resources required were still rare and temperamental. The core matrices demanded precision rune-carving that only a handful of us could execute safely.
But for guild usage?
More than enough.
Enough that everyone could fight at full intensity, recover, then enjoy the festivities without dragging themselves through the evening.
Enough that no one would miss a moment.
Enough that this absurd schedule would not break them.
But that was for later.
Right now, Laxus and I stood at the town square stage as judges.
Elevated above the sea of people, the platform reinforced with layered stabilization arrays beneath our feet, we had a clear view of everything—the contestants waiting backstage, the restless crowd pressed shoulder to shoulder, the floating projection screens hovering high enough to avoid obstructing sightlines.
The first contest: Mr. Fairy Tail.
The male category functioned less like a beauty contest and more like a bodybuilding championship.
Which meant I was excited.
Visibly composed.
Internally enthusiastic.
Even if Laxus was not competing this year.
He had won by a landslide last year. The memory was still fresh—overwhelming votes, roaring approval, the way the stage seemed almost too small to contain him. This year, he claimed he wanted to give others a chance.
He also informed me—calmly, deliberately—that since he was my lover now, standing on stage in a skimpy show-off thong for the entire town to admire might be… inappropriate.
He did not want me to feel conflicted.
That man.
He knows me too well.
He understands that I am capable of generosity.
He also understands that I am capable of jealousy.
If Laxus truly wished to compete, I would support him entirely—even if my jealous little heart turned sour in private. I would never chain him with insecurity. I would never dim him for my own comfort.
But the thought of thousands of eyes lingering on him the way mine do…
Yes.
There would have been conflict.
And yet he chose, of his own accord, to step back.
Not because I asked.
Not because he felt restricted.
But because he considered me.
I fell a little deeper in love with him for that.
The contest began with thunderous applause.
Not only from the square, but from all across Magnolia. Floating magical screens hovered above major intersections, livestreaming the event through the magitechnology network I had already seeded throughout town.
Fairy Phones vibrated constantly as viewers tuned in.
The fanfare was wild.
I stepped forward first, my voice amplified effortlessly through the sound arrays.
"Magnolia! Welcome to the Harvest Festival's Mr. Fairy Tail Contest!"
The roar that answered nearly rattled the projection grids.
"Today, we celebrate strength, discipline, dedication—and unapologetic confidence." I allowed the faintest smile. "Contestants, show us what relentless training has carved from your efforts."
Laxus stepped up beside me, lightning crackling faintly along his shoulders purely for dramatic effect.
"You all know the rules," he said, voice deep and steady. "Stage presence. Conditioning. Symmetry. Crowd response. Don't hold back. If you're stepping up here, own it."
More cheering.
The first wave of participants stepped forward, flexing, posing, and showcasing the results of months of dedication.
Perhaps because of Laxus's overwhelming victory last year, many contestants this year came from my own hardcore bodybuilding faction. Others may have been deterred by comparison.
Still, Macao, Wakaba, and Gildarts stepped forward to represent the older generation—each determined to prove that experience could stand shoulder to shoulder with youth.
"Macao's been grinding," I said with a grin as he locked in his front double biceps. "Look at those shoulders. Way thicker than last year."
Laxus chuckled low into the mic. "Wakaba's chest is crazy. Old man's been living at the gym."
"And Gildarts—" I shook my head as he turned, muscles shifting like they had their own gravitational pull. "That's just unfair. He wakes up built like that."
Billy. Matthew. Carlo. Adam. Several others.
Each entrance got louder than the last, the crowd reacting like they were ringside at a title fight.
When Matthew stepped forward, Laxus leaned in. "That back is wide. Look at that spread. Dude's been pulling heavy."
Carlo hit a side chest and held it.
I laughed softly. "He's not even subtle about it. Flex harder, why don't you? That lower half's been putting in work."
Even Logan and Bernard had been roped in.
They claimed reluctance.
They were lying.
They enjoyed it.
When Bernard flexed, the square audibly gasped.
I let out a low whistle. "Okay, rookie's been eating. Look at that size. Dude came in thick."
Laxus smirked, clearly entertained. "And Logan? Those legs are stupid. That's not training, that's violence. Those thighs are illegal."
Logan's ears burned bright red under the enchanted lights.
Every participant possessed an impressive physique: thick muscular arms, boulder-like shoulders, enormous pecs that moved with each breath, sharply defined abs, powerful thighs, and firm glutes sculpted through relentless training. Heights ranged from six foot five to well over seven feet.
The square roared with every pose, each flex amplified by both magic and momentum.
Votes streamed in through Fairy Phones, displayed in real time through projection arrays above the stage. Bars of light rose and fell as numbers recalibrated every few seconds, the crowd reacting audibly whenever someone surged ahead.
Billy, however, understood presentation.
Very well.
His soap magic activated subtly at first—a faint shimmer along his shoulders, then a gradual intensifying gloss that made every contour of his physique catch the light. Under the enchanted beams overhead, he gleamed like polished marble.
His posing routine was strategic—slow turns, controlled flexes, deliberate emphasis on symmetry and proportion. He did not rush. He allowed the audience time to appreciate each transition. Front double biceps. Quarter turn. Side chest. Rear lat spread.
Then he pivoted.
And when he highlighted his lower half with a perfectly timed pause—hips angled, glutes flexed with deliberate control—
The crowd lost control.
Whistles erupted. Cheers spiked so sharply the projection arrays flickered.
I barked out a laugh into the mic. "Alright, Magnolia, we see what you're looking at. Man didn't skip glute day once."
Laxus snorted beside me. "That's not stage presence. That's premium bakery work. Dude brought the whole cake display."
Billy executed a slow, exaggerated turn, tightening and releasing with impeccable timing. The soap magic enhanced the sheen across his lower back and hips until every curve caught the light like polished sculpture brought to life.
And then he flexed properly.
The movement was deliberate—controlled contraction, precise isolation. The muscles of his lower half rounded and lifted with almost theatrical exaggeration, full and unapologetic, like a perfectly ripened peach under summer sun. Like twin harvest moons rising over Magnolia. Like sculpted marble that somehow refused to obey gravity. Like something carved by a god who had clearly been in an indulgent mood. Like-( 50 other sentences synonymous with bootylicious omitted here).
Those cakes of his were, quite frankly, mesmerizing.
I felt my professional commentary buffer struggle for a fraction of a second.
Focus.
"Alright, that's stupid," I said into the mic before I could stop myself. "Look at that squeeze. Man's out here flexing like he's trying to crack walnuts back there."
Laxus leaned in, openly grinning now. "That's not just glute work. That's religious dedication to leg day. Bro built that from pure spite and protein."
Billy pivoted again, soap magic flashing so hard the projection screens dimmed automatically.
The crowd completely lost it.
Whistles shrieked. Cheers thundered. Someone in the square actually shouted, "Turn around again!"
I laughed outright this time. "He heard you. And he's absolutely going to do it."
Billy rolled his hips just slightly before locking the flex again.
Laxus shook his head. "He knows exactly what he's doing. Man walked in here with a whole bakery and said, 'Yeah, I'll display it.'"
Yes.
He absolutely did.
Even Laxus leaned slightly forward.
I maintained my composure.
Mostly.
Billy did not win easily, though. Competition was fierce. Some contestants matched him in raw mass, others in balance or conditioning. Matthew's back symmetry drew heavy support. Carlo's leg definition scored consistently high. Even Gildarts received a surge of nostalgic votes from longtime fans.
Bernard and Logan were undeniable dark horses.
When Bernard hit a side pose, a ripple went through the square.
I grinned into the mic. "Okay, hold up. Rookie walked in and chose violence. Look at those delts. That's not casual lifting, that's commitment."
Laxus leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself. "And Logan's flex control? Stupid. Those legs aren't for show. That's power you can feel from up here."
Originally standing at six foot eight with natural strength from years of labor, their werewolf transformations combined with bodybuilding magic had triggered a second growth spurt. They now stood near seven foot two—bigger, thicker, somehow even more built, but still moving clean.
Obviously, I was not about to explain the science behind that to the crowd.
"New blood came in stacked," I said instead. "Fairy Tail's been feeding them right."
As the final vote tally stabilized, Billy remained ahead—solid lead, not a landslide like Laxus last year, but clean.
I laughed into the mic. "Alright, Magnolia, you've made it clear. The bakery wins today."
Laxus smirked. "Mr. Fairy Tail's locked in."
When Billy's name exploded across the projection grid in bold gold letters, the square erupted into a wall of sound.
The crowd's approval was deafening.
Afterward, the stage shifted for the Miss Fairy Tail contest.
The transformation was immediate.
The lighting softened. The amplification arrays adjusted tonal balance. The crowd's roar reshaped itself from thunderous aggression to electric anticipation.
From raw power to radiant performance.
Feedback from my chibi clones had already warned me that several of the girls had been secretly practicing singing and choreography in unused rehearsal rooms and even on rooftops at dusk. The contest had quietly evolved into something closer to Magnolia's Top Idol—less about static presentation, more about presence, narrative, and emotional impact.
Glittering dresses replaced posing trunks.
Fabric shimmered with enchantments woven into the hems—micro-illusions, light-catching threads, subtle mana amplifiers tuned to harmonize with vocal output.
Music swelled.
Magic became spectacle.
I stepped forward once more, voice smooth and resonant through the arrays. "Magnolia, strength takes many forms. This stage now belongs to elegance, artistry, and magical expression."
The crowd answered with cheers just as fierce as before.
Laxus crossed his arms, surveying the stage with interest. "Let's see who can command it."
Though fewer in number, each participant commanded the stage with undeniable charisma. They blended singing, dance, and spellcraft into cohesive performances that turned the square into a theater. Illusions of blooming flowers spiraled overhead. Constellations formed briefly in daylight skies. Controlled gusts of wind lifted skirts and capes in dramatic timing.
One performer wove fire into ribbon-like arcs that traced her choreography. Another layered wind magic beneath her steps so each leap felt weightless.
"Excellent mana control," I murmured into the mic during one particularly sharp transition. "Notice how she times her spell release to her breath."
Laxus nodded once. "Clean execution. No wasted movement."
Then the temperature shifted.
And then there was Ur.
As expected.
She did not rush onto the stage.
She claimed it.
The first note left her lips, low and steady, and frost formed instantly at her feet. Thin crystalline lines raced outward in intricate patterns before rising into translucent pillars.
Walls of ice arced upward in elegant curves. A rose garden bloomed from frost—petals forming one by one, each sculpted in delicate precision. The pavilion expanded with each sustained note, responding not merely to magic, but to emotion layered within her voice.
"Control," I said quietly, unable to keep the admiration from my tone. "Absolute control."
Laxus's eyes tracked the expanding structure. "She's not just singing. She's building."
By the crescendo, the pavilion had become an ice palace—faceted towers catching sunlight and refracting it into shimmering rainbows that scattered across the square. The final sustained note echoed through crystalline corridors as snow-like motes drifted gently from above.
By the final note, she stood at the center of it all—queenly, composed, radiant.
Silence fell for half a heartbeat.
Then the audience erupted.
Applause rolled through Magnolia like a tidal wave. Even the projection screens flickered under the vibration of sound.
It was impossible not to applaud.
Beauty and strength, intertwined.
Not delicate.
Not fragile.
But commanding.
A different feast for the eyes than the daintier stylings often seen at Blue Pegasus, but no less captivating—where Blue Pegasus offered polished charm, Fairy Tail's women radiated presence that felt almost mythic. Amazonian princesses. Warring valkyries. Idols forged in battle rather than salons.
When the final votes settled and Ur's name illuminated across the projection grid in crystalline lettering, the outcome felt inevitable.
"Miss Fairy Tail," I announced, allowing the pride to carry in my voice.
Laxus gave a small approving nod. "Well deserved."
When the morning contests concluded, Magnolia buzzed like a living organism—heated, delighted, restless for more.
After lunch break, the Fairy Games would begin.
And I could already feel the tension building.
Anticipation.
Competitive fire.
Ambition.
I folded my hands behind my back, watching guild members disperse to eat, rest, and mentally prepare.
The real clashes were coming.
And I could not wait.
Neither, judging from the spark in everyone's eyes, could they.
Lunch passed quickly.
Magnolia's streets were completely overrun.
Food stalls had formed long chaotic lines that snaked through the festival crowds, vendors shouting over one another while plates, skewers, mugs, and trays changed hands faster than most cash registers could keep up with. Roasted meat dripped juices over open flames, spiced cider steamed in massive kettles, and someone nearby was aggressively selling honey‑glazed festival bread like their life depended on it.
Everywhere we walked people were eating, laughing, shouting, arguing about the results of the morning contests, and placing bets on who would survive the Fairy Games.
Laxus and I didn't bother sitting down.
We grabbed a handful of grilled meat skewers, a pair of festival breads still warm from the oven, and kept walking.
Laxus tore into one skewer and glanced toward the distant stadium.
"Place is already full."
"Of course it is," I replied between bites. "Half the city has been camping there since morning."
Because the real spectacle of the Harvest Festival was about to begin.
The Fairy Games.
And when the stadium finally came into view again, towering above Magnolia's rooftops, I felt a small pulse of pride.
The structure rose before us like a second mountain.
Technically speaking, it used to be a mountain.
I flattened it.
Completely.
Reduced the entire ridge to a perfectly level foundation before construction even started.
It had caused a bit of a commotion at the time.
Apparently removing a mountain overnight attracts attention.
The project had started with a very simple problem: Fairy Tail's members had grown far too strong for conventional arenas.
A normal stadium would not survive the collateral damage of a serious fight.
Even a reinforced coliseum would eventually collapse under repeated magical bombardment.
So instead of trying to protect a fragile structure…
I redesigned the entire battlefield.
The result was the Fairy Games Stadium.
A gigantic dome‑like structure roughly the size of twenty standard football stadiums combined.
From the outside it already looked enormous.
From the inside it was absurd.
Space‑expansion arrays were layered throughout the internal structure, stretching the arena's interior far beyond what the exterior dimensions suggested. The battlefield alone could swallow entire city blocks without feeling crowded.
The environmental system was based on the underground training arena beneath the guild hall…
Only this time scaled up to a level that would probably make most magitech engineers faint on the spot.
Entire ecosystems could be manifested inside the arena.
Forest.
Wetlands.
Mountains.
Urban ruins.
Open plains.
Volcanic terrain.
Even shifting environments if I wanted to change conditions mid‑battle.
The seating arrangement had taken almost as long as the arena construction itself.
Rows upon rows of wide cushioned seats wrapped around the battlefield in rising tiers, each seat spaced generously so even heavily armored mages—or extremely muscular idiots from my guild—could sit comfortably without elbowing their neighbors.
The first time visitors entered the stadium they almost always made the same assumption.
These must be VIP seats.
They were not.
Those were the normal seats.
The real VIP areas were the luxury viewing boxes embedded into the upper interior walls of the dome, each one a private suite with its own dining service, illusion displays, climate control enchantments, and sound isolation barriers.
Of course…
A stadium this large created an obvious problem.
Distance.
Even the best eyesight in Magnolia would struggle to track detailed combat happening hundreds of meters away.
Fortunately.
I am not a normal architect.
Each seat contained a magitechnological interface woven into the armrests and headrest—small, elegant arrays that activated the moment someone sat down.
The system synchronized the spectator's senses with the battlefield projection network.
From the audience's perspective…
They were suddenly standing directly inside the arena.
Right next to the fighters.
They could feel wind pressure from spells ripping through the air.
They could feel heat from a fire blast rolling past.
They could even feel the shockwave of a heavy impact shaking the ground.
But none of it could actually touch them.
Their bodies remained safely in their seats while their perception existed in a phased viewing state.
Present for the experience.
Untouchable by the battle.
They could even choose which fighter to follow, switching viewpoints with a simple mental command—almost like changing channels.
The result was essentially a magical four‑dimensional broadcast system.
Up close combat viewing…
Without a single risk to the audience.
To make absolutely certain no stray attack could ever reach the audience, the entire stadium was enclosed inside a protective barrier inspired by one of Fairy Tail's three ultimate magics.
Fairy Sphere.
The real Fairy Sphere is absurd.
It does not merely block attacks.
It removes everything within its boundary from the flow of time itself. Nothing inside ages. Nothing moves. Nothing exists in the same world as the outside until the spell ends.
I studied it very carefully.
Then I accepted a simple truth.
Recreating Fairy Sphere was impossible.
Even attempting it would require magic power on a scale that only a handful of beings in history could sustain.
So instead of copying it…
I cheated.
Rather than freezing time, I rewrote the relationship between spaces.
Inside the dome, the arena and the spectator area exist as two overlapping worlds occupying the same coordinates.
They can see each other.
They can hear each other.
But they cannot physically interact.
To the fighters, the audience is intangible.
To the audience, the fighters are perfectly visible but permanently out of reach.
An explosion can bloom across the battlefield.
Shockwaves can ripple across the terrain.
But the force simply has nowhere to travel once it reaches the dimensional boundary.
It disperses.
Harmless.
The idea came from another legendary defensive construct from a different magical tradition.
Avalon: The Everdistant Utopia.
A sheath that exists in a separate dimension where nothing in the outside world can reach its bearer.
Of course, Avalon isolates a single individual.
Scaling that concept to an entire stadium…
Was an entirely different kind of headache.
The barrier had to anchor itself to thousands of spatial reference points simultaneously while constantly recalibrating the boundary between the arena world and the spectator world.
If the synchronization drifted even slightly, the viewing projection would desynchronize.
Which would be… unpleasant.
Thankfully the stabilization arrays worked exactly as intended.
The result was simple.
Even an S‑rank mage could not punch through the barrier.
Gildarts had tested that personally.
Very enthusiastically.
I still remember the moment clearly.
He had walked into the arena, rolled his shoulders once, and asked me very politely if he could "try something."
Then he punched the barrier with enough force to shatter a mountain.
The dome did not even tremble.
The look on his face afterward was extremely satisfying.
Building this stadium had been… exhausting.
Even with help from Adam, Carlo, and several other guild members, the project had consumed weeks of relentless work.
Flattening the mountain was actually the easy part.
Synchronizing the environmental arrays, spectator projection network, and dimensional barrier without them interfering with each other nearly melted my brain.
The construction schedule became so intense that I ended up spending far less time with Laxus than usual during that period.
Which, considering our usual routine… was a noticeable downgrade.
Before the stadium project, our daily "exercise" schedule had been sitting comfortably around ten rounds a day.
During construction?
Three.
Three rounds only!!!
I still consider that a tragedy.
Laxus noticed immediately.
Of course he noticed.
Laxus notices everything about me.
And more importantly, he noticed the missing seven rounds.
Which was precisely why, once the festival ended, we had already agreed to take several days off to rest properly at home.
Three full days.
No meetings.
No magitech construction.
No guild business.
Just the two of us.
Uninterrupted.
Back‑to‑back.
Frankly speaking, by the time those three days are over my house is probably going to look like someone dumped several buckets of very suspicious white slime across every surface inside.
The thought alone was enough to make me smile to myself.
But that would come later.
Right now, the stadium roared with life.
From our position high above the battlefield I could see the entire interior of the dome alive with motion. Tens of thousands of spectators filled the seats, waves of color shifting as people stood, waved banners, or leaned forward in anticipation.
Tickets for the seats were not cheap, but still affordable enough that most Magnolia households could attend if they wished.
That had been intentional.
I wanted the stadium full.
A spectacle like this deserved a crowd.
For those who could not afford tickets—or simply could not find one because the entire place had sold out days ago—projection screens across the city broadcast the battles in real time.
Every major square in Magnolia had one.
Even some rooftops.
The camera work was handled by my chibi clones.
They had insisted on doing it themselves.
Apparently directing a city‑wide magical broadcast was "important professional experience."
They were extremely proud of their work.
Several of them were currently flying around the arena with recording crystals the size of melons, adjusting angles and arguing with each other through the network about which shot looked cooler.
As Laxus and I stepped onto the central commentator platform overlooking the arena floor, the noise of the crowd rose into a thunderous wall.
It was the kind of sound you didn't just hear.
You felt it in your bones.
Laxus lifted a hand.
Lightning crackled faintly across his knuckles as the amplification arrays carried his voice across the stadium.
"Magnolia!"
The response was immediate.
The entire dome exploded with cheers.
People stood.
Whistles shrieked.
Someone set off a minor illusion firework that briefly turned into a giant dancing Fairy Tail emblem before dissolving into sparkles.
"WELCOME TO THE FIRST OFFICIAL FAIRY GAMES!"
The roar that followed nearly shook the structure.
Beside him I stepped forward, letting my voice carry through the same amplification arrays.
"Today," I said, "every Fairy Tail mage below S‑rank will compete to prove who stands at the very top."
Another roar rolled through the dome.
Laxus folded his arms and grinned toward the battlefield below.
"First place," he continued, "takes home ten million jewel."
The reaction was immediate and feral.
People started shouting names from the crowd.
Bets were probably changing hands again.
That number alone sent the audience into another frenzy.
"But getting there won't be easy," I added.
"The first round is a battle royale."
The projection arrays immediately shifted.
Above the arena floor, massive illusion screens appeared, displaying sweeping views of the battlefield terrain so every spectator could understand the layout.
Wetlands glimmered under artificial sunlight.
Forest clusters stretched across one side of the arena.
Rocky ridges rose like natural walls in the distance.
Open ground waited in the center.
"Every fighter has been equipped with a magical shield calibrated to their own durability," I explained. "Armor and natural defenses included."
The shields themselves flickered faintly around the fighters already entering the arena, barely visible distortions in the air.
"When the shield breaks," Laxus continued, "that means the system has judged they've taken enough damage to be considered knocked out."
"They will then be instantly teleported out of the arena," I said. "No lasting injuries. Only exhaustion."
That line drew visible relief from several spectators.
Fairy Tail members fighting seriously could easily level buildings.
Laxus leaned slightly toward the edge of the platform, eyes scanning the fighters gathering below.
Then he grinned.
"Last eight fighters standing move on."
The gates of the arena opened.
Dozens of mages entered the battlefield, spreading across the massive terrain the moment the starting signal appeared overhead.
The wetlands glistened with shallow water and reeds. Forest clusters formed natural cover. Jagged rock ridges cut through the field like defensive walls. Open plains waited in the center for the inevitable clashes.
The signal flare shot into the air.
The Fairy Games had begun.
And the very first move came from Billy.
He had already transformed into his spiritual equipment form before the flare even faded.
Billy stood knee‑deep in the wetlands, and the sunlight gleamed off his outfit so brightly that several illusion screens immediately zoomed in.
His combat suit looked almost painted onto his body.
A skin‑tight latex singlet of glossy blue and white hugged every inch of him, the material stretched so smoothly across his physique that it might as well have been a second skin. The white section resembled a pair of swimming briefs, while thick blue harness‑like straps wrapped around his torso and ran down his sides and thighs.
Between those straps, the rest of the suit was transparent latex.
Not translucent.
Transparent.
Every ridge of muscle beneath the material was visible.
His chest pressed proudly against the glossy surface, thick pectorals shifting under the tight rubber sheen every time he moved. His abdominal muscles were completely visible beneath the clear latex, each contraction flexing against the stretched material like sculpted stone under glass.
The latex clung so tightly to his body that it reflected light like polished water.
Laxus leaned toward the microphone and gave a low whistle.
"Guy really showed up wrapped in rubber just to flex on everybody."
I couldn't help chuckling.
"He clearly understands presentation."
White rubber gauntlets hugged Billy's forearms, while matching boots reinforced his stance in the muddy wetlands. The glossy material creaked slightly whenever he moved, emphasizing just how tightly the latex clung to his physique.
The top of the singlet added the finishing touch—flaps and a necktie reminiscent of a sailor uniform, an odd but strangely fitting nod to Billy's background.
From the audience perspective, the result was… striking.
A towering wall of muscle wrapped in gleaming latex, standing ankle‑deep in wetlands water while sunlight danced across the rubber surface.
Laxus snorted.
"Man didn't just dress for battle. He dressed to be looked at."
I nodded, watching Billy stretch his shoulders.
"And the cameras love him for it."
Billy raised his spiritual weapon—a giant bubble‑blower staff almost as tall as he was.
Then he swung it.
The wetlands exploded with bubbles.
Hundreds of shimmering soap spheres poured into the air, drifting across the waterlogged terrain like a glittering cloud.
The moment they touched nearby fighters, their strength visibly drained.
Several mages staggered.
Their shields flickered violently.
"Billy's bubbles sap physical strength," I explained to the audience. "Contact drains stamina before the real attack even begins."
Billy snapped the staff forward again.
The bubbles detonated.
Wetland water erupted as explosive bursts launched multiple fighters backward. Their magical shields shattered instantly, and the teleport system whisked them out of the arena in flashes of light.
Laxus leaned forward, grinning.
"Billy's taking early control!"
The audience erupted.
Even spectators watching from Magnolia's city projections could be heard cheering through the broadcast network.
Even viewers across Magnolia were cheering through the broadcast network.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest terrain…
Bernard had already begun his own performance.
Silent.
Patient.
And far more dangerous than the crowd realized.