The atmosphere at the back of the Fairy Tail guild hall was electric. The calm lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, providing a beautiful but deceptive backdrop to the impending chaos.
Blake and Makarov Dreyar, the colossal Master and the unnervingly composed nine-year-old, stood in the impromptu arena.
Around them, the entire guild had gathered. The usual culprits—Macao and Wakaba—were already in business mode. With surprising speed, they had conjured a makeshift table out of nowhere and were loudly soliciting bets.
"Alright, lads! Place your Jewels!" Macao roared, slapping the table. "Odds on the new kid!"
"I'm giving odds that the Master knocks him flat in under one minute!" Wakaba shouted, taking a massive wad of cash from an eager mage. Macao chimed in, laying out the betting lines: how many minutes could the kid withstand the Master's gentle pressure before defeat. The clamor was immediate and intense as everyone scrambled to get their bets placed.
Once the money was down, Makarov grinned broadly. His voice boomed, despite his size.
"Alright, young sprout! No holding back! Come at me with all you've got! Show me the fire in your belly!"
Blake took a deep, centering breath. He gave a sharp, respectful nod. "I am coming, Master!"
He rooted himself for a fraction of a second, then his body vanished. He used Soru (Shave), kicking the ground multiple times in a single instant. He didn't just move fast; he seemed to skip through space, appearing directly in front of Makarov. He launched a quick, focused punch aimed low.
Makarov merely leaned back, his head tilting slightly. He easily dodged the attack. In Makarov's eyes, the high-speed movement, while technically impressive, was still readable. He wasn't just seeing the speed; he was seeing the intention and the flawed angle of the strike.
Blake didn't pause. He coated his fists and forearms in a visible, black sheen of Armament Haki and launched a flurry of attacks. Left, right, a low sweep, a sharp uppercut—all attacks meant to strike Makarov's unprotected body.
Makarov continued to easily dodge every strike, his movements minimal and economical. He was a master, playing with an ambitious student. In between Blake's attacks, Makarov also casually sent a few punches and leg sweeps aimed at Blake's midsection and legs, gentle, probing strikes meant to test the boy's defense and reaction time.
Blake, however, was ready. Before Makarov's foot could complete its sweep, Blake easily dodged it, pulling his leg back with a speed born of years of defensive training. His Observation Haki was working perfectly, granting him a brief, invaluable window into Makarov's intentions. He knew exactly where the blow was aimed before the muscle even fully contracted.
"Not bad, not bad at all!" Makarov chuckled, impressed by the boy's reaction speed.
Then, Makarov decided to up the ante. With a flash of yellow magic, he grew his hand to a monstrous size. The hand swelled to the size of a small carriage, its shadow engulfing Blake. He brought the gigantic palm down in a sweeping slam aimed to simply smother the boy and end the match.
Blake's eyes widened slightly, the threat immediate and obvious. He couldn't dodge sideways in time. He used Soru again, but this time, he jumped back multiple times in an instant, creating distance with bursts of speed until he was safely out of the hand's impact zone. The giant hand slammed the ground, sending dust and small rocks scattering.
Makarov retracted his hand, slightly more serious now. "Fast feet! Good awareness! But I still don't see any magic, lad!" Makarov challenged. "Why don't you show me your magic? That unique power you mentioned?"
Blake, breathing heavily but utterly focused, took another deep breath. "Understood, Master."
He nodded and consciously channeled his forbidden gift. A dark, roiling energy coursed through his arm. He coated his fist in Anti-Magic. The effect was instantaneous and visible: his fist turned a deep, matte black—a black that seemed to suck the light out of the air—far darker and more menacing than his Armament Haki.
He shot forward with Soru and threw a devastating punch straight at Makarov's stomach.
Makarov, surprised by the sudden, terrifying darkness of the fist, decided to block with his own physical strength rather than magic, sensing something wrong. He thrust his large, normal-sized fist out to intercept the strike.
When Makarov's fist connected with Blake's black fist, the Master's eyes briefly widened. He felt an intense jolt—a sensation that wasn't impact, but a strange, chilling negation. The contact was wrong; it felt like punching a hole in the fabric of his own power. He couldn't sense magic, but his physical senses told him this was immensely dangerous.
Blake kept up the pressure, hitting Makarov's arm and body with a rapid succession of Anti-Magic and Haki-infused strikes. Makarov, now using his martial skill, dodged the flurry of blows, his movements no longer playful but genuinely defensive.
"Oi! What was that?!" Wakaba shouted from the sidelines, leaning forward, utterly transfixed. Macao had dropped the betting ledger. The surrounding mages were silent, confused by the strange darkness that clung to the boy's attacks.
Makarov grinned, pushing Blake back with a burst of wind pressure. He then grew his palm large again, but kept his arm retracted, preparing to swat Blake with a massive slap.
Blake, knowing he couldn't dodge far enough in the air, did the unexpected. He kicked the air repeatedly using Geppo (Moonwalk) to slow his descent and then used Soru to propel himself toward Makarov's extended giant arm, closing the distance instantly. As the giant palm rushed toward him, Blake reached out, grabbing hold of the gigantic forearm with both his Anti-Magic-coated hands.
The instant Blake caught Makarov's arm, the catastrophic effect of the Anti-Magic was unleashed. The black energy forced magic out of existence. Makarov's magically enlarged forearm began to rapidly shrink in size, returning to its small, original, non-magical state. It happened in a terrifying, sudden flash of reversed transformation.
Makarov yanked his arm back, staring at his now normal-sized hand, then back at Blake. The look of playful annoyance was gone, replaced by a sudden realization.
He let out a short, sharp laugh—a mixture of astonishment and relief.
"ALRIGHT! STOP!" Makarov roared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence of the crowd. He looked down at Blake, his eyes gleaming with respect and caution. "You win, kid. You've proven your point. You can join the guild!"
A cheer erupted instantly. The entire guild, released from their tension, surged forward, applauding and clamoring.
As the mages celebrated, a figure emerged from the crowd and walked directly toward Blake. It was the tall, blond-haired youth Blake had seen earlier—Laxus Dreyar.
Laxus approached Blake with an open, cheerful smile, his demeanor entirely that of a friendly, confident youth—this was the uncorrupted Laxus, still in his sunny phase, before the influence of Ivan Dreyar poisoned his view of the guild.
"Hey, that was awesome!" Laxus said, clapping Blake on the shoulder—a clap that nearly knocked the smaller boy over. "My name's Laxus. You've got a crazy power, man. We should be friends!"
Blake, recovering quickly, returned the smile. "Blake Corvus. Alright, we can be friends."
The guild returned to the hall, the party starting up again with double the intensity. Makarov waved Blake over to the bar.
"Alright, Blake. Welcome to Fairy Tail! Where do you want the stamp, and what color?"
"Black," Blake requested. "And on my left shoulder."
Maria carefully set the stamp dial to black. Fairy Tail. Black. Left Shoulder. The guild cheered loudly, sealing his membership.
Makarov lifted his tankard high. "Let the party begin!"
As the party raged around them, Makarov's focus remained on his newest, most dangerous recruit. He gently tugged on Blake's sleeve. "Blake, come to my office. We need a private word."
Blake followed him up to the small, cluttered office. Makarov sat behind his large desk, the smile replaced by a profoundly serious face.
"Kid," Makarov said, his voice low and solemn. "Do you know what kind of magic you have?"
Blake nodded. "Yes, Master. I know it's called Anti-Magic."
"Do you understand the implications?" Makarov pressed, his eyes searching Blake's. "In a world filled with magic, you can negate anything that relies on it. That is a kind of power that puts you above even the gods in certain contexts. It makes you the single most powerful being by definition of counter-magic alone."
Blake nodded again, the gravity of the situation clear.
Makarov leaned forward, his voice a low growl. "Listen carefully. You are my child now, and I will protect you. But you must not tell anyone what the true nature of your magic is—not until you are strong enough to protect yourself from the entire world. If this information passes through the wrong channels, if the Dark Guilds, or even the Council, know of this, they will not rest. They will covet you—to use you, to dissect you, or to eliminate you as a threat to the balance of power."
"Be safe, Blake," Makarov finished, his expression a plea.
"I understand, Master," Blake said, the seriousness of the warning sinking deep. He would keep the secret of his Anti-Magic safe.
Makarov finally relaxed, reverting to his Master persona. "Good. Now, the practicalities. You just entered the city this morning. Do you have a place to stay?"
"No, sir. I do not."
"You'll need security, and stability. You can live in Fairy Hills' Men's Quarters," Makarov offered. "The rent may be high, but the security is guaranteed. The walls of Fairy Hills are the safest place in Magnolia. You'll be safe there."
Blake, knowing the reputation of Fairy Hills, nodded gratefully. "I accept. Thank you, Master."
The most powerful Master in Fiore was now his guardian, his secret keeper, and his friend. Blake was home.