Wait a second, I just got here—how does Gray already know I'm in the guild?
The thought had barely flashed through Shane's mind when he caught a familiar figure lurking in the crowd.
Cana was half-hiding behind a pillar, peeking his way. Their eyes met. She flinched, then stuck her tongue out, looking smug as a cat that'd tipped over the milk.
Right. Mystery solved. Culprit found.
Gray's gaze swept the hall and locked onto Shane beside Macao.
His eyes lit up like a hound spotting prey. He bounded over in two strides. "Shane! Let's settle this!"
He'd been training hard, staking out the guild almost every day and missing him each time. Now that he'd pried news out of Cana, there was no way he was letting the chance slip.
Macao, who knew full well that Shane had a "second stage," broke into a wicked grin. He edged away, clearing space for the two youngsters.
He sidled up to Cana and murmured, "You've seen his transformation. Why tip Gray off?"
Cana flicked her fringe and sniffed. "He wouldn't stop pestering me about where Shane was—annoying. If he's that desperate, ask Erza. Or go knock on his door."
"You've gone bad, kid," Macao chuckled, then turned back to the floor. "Gray! Go get him! I'm rooting for you!"
Others who knew the score exchanged knowing looks and raised their mugs. "Ooh, go Gray! Get in there!"
Fanned by the heckling, Gray's cold aura billowed, fighting spirit climbing.
Shane sighed. No dodging this. He shook his head—fine, call it rehab training—and set his stance. "All right. Come on."
"Watch what I've been working on!"
Confidence flashed across Gray's face. He moved first.
Same spell as before: "ICE MAKE: Floor!"
But this time, the ice didn't spread under Shane—it laid a slick track under Gray's feet.
He shot forward, skating in a blur, speed spiking as he skimmed along the frost.
At the same time, he shaped two crystalline ice blades in his hands.
Using his momentum, he whipped the twin swords into a flurry, a storm of cold light. "Ice Blades—Sevenfold Dance!"
His assault hammered down like a squall; the blades hissed through the air.
Arms folded, Erza nodded, watching.
She could see that his week of grind hadn't been for nothing. His mana control, speed, and close combat were all sharper than before—more decisive, tighter.
And yet—
"Still not enough."
Shane let out a soft sigh.
Two blunt katanas formed in his hands.
He shifted his feet, slipping through the blizzard of cuts like a ghost. Steel met ice in perfect timing—blocking, sliding, diverting each stroke.
Metal rang against frozen edge again and again.
He didn't strike back—just held his guard, feeling out Gray's progress.
He had to admit, the kid had listened to Erza and had real talent. In a few days he'd blended magic and body work to a level that was genuinely impressive.
Which, ironically, made him more of a headache.
With that stubborn streak, if he came back after every marginal improvement to demand a rematch, Shane would never know peace.
Better to settle this once—make the gap undeniable.
Just then, after yet another fruitless flurry, Gray snarled and tried to pour more mana into his blades.
His ice hadn't even fully formed when his body suddenly stiffened.
A warm yet crushing presence seeped from Shane, like the first light of dawn breaking over the horizon.
The air itself seemed to thicken.
In Gray's wide eyes, Shane calmly lifted his hands, moving almost lazily yet faster than thought, pinching the thick spine of each ice blade between thumb and forefinger.
Gentle as if plucking petals.
Gray's face changed; he reflexively tried to yank the blades free—and found they didn't budge. Shane's fingers weren't even glowing. He was just… holding them.
"Good effort, Gray," Shane said, no mockery in his tone—just a simple statement. He wanted the kid to understand.
Then he squeezed.
Crack—
Both ice swords, and the gauntlets extending up Gray's arms, spiderwebbed and shattered into glittering shards that tinkled to the floor.
Gray stood there, staring at his empty hands, then up at Shane—now wrapped in a faint, otherworldly glow, a far cry from the nimble swordsman he'd fought before.
This wasn't just "stronger." It was a whole different layer of reality.
Even with his stubborn pride, he couldn't miss it.
Around them, the onlookers who'd been waiting for this moment finally burst into laughter.
"Pfft—hahaha!" Macao howled, slapping his thigh. "Called it!"
"Did you see his face? Priceless!"
The laughter snapped Gray out of it. His cheeks flushed crimson. "Y-you all knew how strong he really was?! And no one told me?!"
Macao smirked, taking a deep pull of beer. "So what if we did? With your personality, would knowing have stopped you from picking a fight?"
"That's not the point!" Gray fumed, hopping mad. He knew Macao wasn't wrong, but it still stung. He spun to a new target. "Macao! Fight me!"
"Beat it," Macao waved him off. "You're a few years early, kid."
Shane watched the riotous hall and shook his head, letting his aura quietly fade. He turned to slip toward the library, still remembering why he'd come.
He'd barely taken two steps when the doors banged open.
A new figure strode in against the light.
Short, spiky yellow hair, black headphones, a blank face, an aura that shouted don't bother me.
He glanced at Gray clogging the aisle, frowned faintly—annoyed.
He'd heard his old man and grandfather were at it again the moment he got back. His mood wasn't great. He walked straight over.
"You're noisy, Gray."