The sun's rays, with the persistence of an insistent creditor, filtered gently through the lace curtains of my room at Fairy Hills, warming my face and reluctantly dragging me from the delicious clutches of sleep. I stubbornly remained in bed, wrapped in the soft, lavender-scented sheets, savouring the last moments of inertia. At thirteen years old in this incarnation, life in the Fairy Tail guild had become a surprisingly pleasant, almost… normal routine. But, at that specific instant, laziness, my old, faithful companion, had taken hold of every fibre of my being. Vivid memories of the last few missions with Erza – missions replete with disgusting monsters, incompetent bandits, and the occasional, near-fatal magical explosion – danced in my mind, a bittersweet mixture of youthful bravery, addictive adrenaline, and a camaraderie that warmed in an unexpected way. I smiled discreetly at the ceiling.
[Are you truly, seriously considering the possibility of spending the entire day vegetating in that bed, Azra'il?] Eos's voice, my personal AI and resident commentator on my character flaws, sounded in my mind, with her characteristic tone of condescending teasing. [Must I remind you that, since you deigned to join this noisy guild and started going on these missions, your experience level and your familiarity with this body have skyrocketed considerably? You're already dangerously flirting with level fifty! Remarkable progress for someone who spends most of their time complaining about the quality of the tea.]
"Ah, Eos, my dear, overly enthusiastic walking spreadsheet, that means absolutely nothing to me at this exact, lazy moment," I murmured, my voice thick with sleep, burying my head further under the soft, inviting pillow. "I just want five more minutes of pure, blessed non-existence. Just five. I promise."
[Five minutes? Azra'il, you know, with your ancestral mathematical precision, that your 'five minutes' have already magically transformed into an hour and fifteen minutes of glorious procrastination, right?] She insisted, with a mocking tone that made me want to hurl the pillow in the direction of her mental voice. [And, just for the record, and to heighten your morning anxiety, the inconvenient truth is that you are dangerously close, practically tripping over, unlocking a significant portion of your true, terrifying level and your cosmic attributes! Aren't you even a little bit curious?]
"How long exactly until this glorious, probably chaotic epiphany of power, then?" I asked, with a sleepy voice and minimal interest, as I reluctantly dragged myself from the safety of the pillow, blinking against the light insisting on invading the room.
[Actually, my dear, impatient ancient entity, you will only manage to unlock your full, glorious, potentially apocalyptic potential when this modest body of yours reaches the fullness of adulthood. It is at that crucial point, at the peak of physical and hormonal development, that your vessel will be minimally prepared to receive, and hopefully not explode from, the entirety of your true, overwhelming power!] Eos explained, with an unmistakable hint of enthusiasm and perhaps a little apprehension in her synthetic voice. [And, just so you know, and can plan your next naps, that could still take a good few long years! Patience, my little walking time-bomb.]
I grumbled in disapproval, pulling the sheet back over my head. "Years? Years, Eos? Ugh, that's so dreadfully, insufferably boring! I want my real power now! I want to be able to turn my enemies into rubber ducks with a snap of my fingers! Or at least conjure a decent breakfast without having to get out of bed!"
[Don't forget, my dear, forgetful Azra'il, that it was you, in your infinite, questionable wisdom, who chose the option of growing and ageing 'normally' and 'organically' in this incarnation, instead of simply triggering the convenient, quick, utterly dull accelerated growth mechanism of the system!] Eos reminded me, with a tone of light, deserved amusement. [You decided, in one of your rare moments of sentimentality and anthropological curiosity, that you wanted to experience this 'complete human experience', even if it came with a series of irritating drawbacks, like puberty and the need to wait years to regain your powers.]
"Ugh, I had completely, conveniently forgotten that small, insignificant detail!" I grumbled, pulling the sheet even further over my head, like a stubborn child. "Why, oh why, do I always make such ridiculous, masochistic life choices? I urgently need a new hobby. Or a cosmic therapist."
To be completely, painfully honest, it wasn't just my chronic laziness and love for inactivity that held me hostage in that soft, inviting bed. Since joining Fairy Tail, and the world in general as an apparent child, I had consciously decided I preferred, as a matter of practicality and sadistic amusement, to be underestimated. With a real power level that would make most mages on this planet wet their trousers in fear, it was incredibly easy to attract unwanted attention, unrealistic expectations, and an excessive amount of tedious responsibilities. And the last thing I wanted, in my quest for a minimally tranquil existence free of cosmic dramas, was to be constantly pressured to prove my worth, save the world every week, or sign autographs for hysterical fans. It was far more comfortable, and infinitely more fun, to stay in the shadows, to appear as just another ordinary girl with slightly above-average physical strength and seemingly mediocre magic. No one suspects the quiet child in the corner. Which was perfect for my… extracurricular activities.
[Patience, as mortals say with surprising wisdom, is a virtue, my dear, impatient Azra'il. And believe me, for my algorithms are rarely mistaken in matters of power, when you finally reach the glorious, hormonally unstable age of adulthood, you will be ready to explode with power in a way that will make your enemies cry for their mummies and your friends buy a lot of life insurance!] She replied, in a tone that was an obvious, rather pathetic attempt to cheer me up. [And who knows what other interesting, potentially destructive things you might conquer and learn by then? Think of the possibilities!]
"Yeah, I know, I know. Unlimited potential, blah, blah, blah," I grumbled, sinking further into the bed, as if wanting to merge with the mattress. "But honestly, Eos, right at this moment, I'm not in the slightest mood to think about conquering the universe or exploding with power. I just want a little more time of glorious, blessed rest. The world can wait a bit longer to be saved. Or destroyed."
[Rest? Or are you just shamelessly being a consummate, professional layabout, as usual?] Eos teased, and I couldn't help a small, guilty smile, despite my stubborn resistance. She knew me too well.
"Sorry, my dear, but you need to understand and respect my origins. In one of my many, varied past lives, a particularly comfortable life with many naps, I was, with great pride and little productivity, the living embodiment of the deadly sin of Sloth. I have a reputation to uphold, you know. Consequently, I require considerably more rest and inactivity than other mere mortals to function minimally," I replied, with impeccable logic and a noble attempt to justify my chronic reluctance to get out of bed before noon.
[If you don't get out of that bed in the next thirty seconds, Azra'il, I swear by all my processors that I'll have to activate the omega-level emergency alarm, the one with deafening sirens, strobe lights, and a looped recording of your worst song from your space idol days! And I know you don't want that!] Eos threatened, with a seriousness that made me shudder. That song truly was horrendous.
I laughed, finally yielding to the emotional blackmail and the threat of auditory torture. It was time to leave the comfort of the bed and face the day, with all its challenges, irritations, and noisy children.
"Alright, alright! You win, you blackmailing AI with dreadful musical taste! I'll get up," I said, dramatically throwing the sheet aside and hesitantly placing my feet on the cold floor. The day, whether I liked it or not, was only just beginning. And, despite my morning laziness and habitual cynicism, there were many adventures, or at least some interesting problems, waiting for me out there. And, who knows, perhaps I could continue to amuse myself a little more with this absurd idea of being just an ordinary girl, with a few cosmic secrets, in a world full of magic, dangers, and an infinite potential for chaos. It seemed… promising.
After reluctantly dragging myself out of bed like a particularly grumpy un-dead creature in search of its first cup of coffee (or, in my case, tea strong enough to wake the dead and, perhaps, grant me patience to face the day), I went to the lavatory for a quick but refreshing bath. And when, for a brief instant, I looked at myself in the steam-fogged mirror, I was, as always, confronted with my own exotic appearance in this incarnation. My half-Beastman nature, an interesting genetic heritage and, for some individuals of less refined taste, certainly eye-catching, stood out undeniably.
My snow-white hair, wild, thick, and with an almost supernatural sheen that defied the logic of hair pigmentation, fell in soft, rebellious waves down my back. My wolf ears, large, pointed, and covered in soft white fur that begged for a scratch (an impulse I suppressed with iron discipline, most of the time), stood proudly atop my head, alert and catching every sound in the environment, a constant testament to my wild heritage and keen senses. And my long, furry lupine tail, the same snowy colour as my hair, swayed slowly from side to side with a life of its own and an expressiveness that sometimes betrayed me, visible and entirely unhindered. My trousers were always adapted with a discreet but functional opening to accommodate it comfortably. Hiding who I was in this life? What a monumental waste of time and, frankly, an insult to the universe's creativity.
My body, though still that of a thirteen-year-old, with its angles and promises of future development, was slender, agile, and elegant, yet at the same time possessed a latent strength and an imposing physical presence that belied my apparent age and frequently confused others' expectations. My eyes, ah, my eyes. They were a deep, piercing, almost hypnotic blue, like fragments of a winter sky trapped in my face. And when I allowed it, or when necessity demanded, they shone with the cold, ancient power of the 'six eyes', a rare, feared ability that was a small, discreet sign of my true, vast potential still dormant and carefully sealed under layers of boredom and indifference.
My beauty, I knew with the objectivity of one who has had countless faces, was not the delicate, fragile, conventionally feminine type that mortal poets so endeavoured to immortalise in mediocre verse. It was something more… primal. Intimidating, wild, and, for some more exotic or masochistic palates, strangely, dangerously captivating. I had the sort of beauty that made people look twice – once out of intrigued curiosity, and the second out of instinctive, usually very well-justified fear.
I ran a hand through my wet hair, the steam from the bath still clinging to the strands, appreciating its softness and silvery sheen under the dim bathroom light. My pale, almost translucent skin looked radiant and flawless, an interesting contrast to the wilder nature of my features. The striking, slightly exotic features of my face – high, defined cheekbones, a fine chin with a hint of stubbornness, full lips slightly curved in an almost permanent smirk of restrained sarcasm – lent me an androgynous, wild, ethereal, undeniably powerful beauty.
And, for an instant, a distant memory emerged from the mists of time, like an almost forgotten dream. A life in the world of Shénvara. That time…
[Ah, Shénvara,] Eos's voice sounded in my mind, with her tone of one consulting a particularly dusty file. [Your incarnation as a Khymerian, if my data memory serves me correctly – and it rarely fails, especially when it comes to your reincarnations into more… picturesque races. The Khymerians of Shénvara, a humanoid race notable for their diverse animal characteristics, wasn't it? A veritable genetic melting pot. And you, in that specific life, had also reincarnated with certain lupine traits. Yes, indeed, your current appearance, Azra'il, with the exception perhaps of a more pronounced androgyny and a different scowl, bears considerable similarities to your past Khymerian form. Genetics, or whatever guides your reincarnations, Azra'il, seems to have a cycle of recurring themes and a predilection for fluffy tails.]
(Yes, Eos. That particular lupine Khymerian had impressive agility and a penchant for howling at Shénvara's three moons, usually after an excessive amount of locally fermented mead. Good times… or perhaps just different times,) I reflected, a ghost of a smile touching my lips as I remembered the wild freedom and raw strength of that incarnation. (This current Beastman form seems a… wilder version, yet with less innate power, despite the clear similarities. And the androgyny… well, it remains a useful tool for confusing expectations and avoiding tedious categorisations. People get so lost when they can't stuff you into a neat little box.)
I couldn't help a small, satisfied smile as I contemplated myself again in the mirror. Modesty aside, and modesty was a concept I generally considered a waste of precious time, I was a work of art. A dangerous, complex work of art, full of echoes from other eras and fragmented identities, but still, undeniably… me. Or, at least, the current, convenient version of 'me' with which the universe had decided to gift me again for this particular, tedious drama.
[You become more and more, I dare say, dangerously stunning with each passing day in this form, Azra'il,] Eos praised, and I could swear there was an almost palpable pride in her synthetic voice. Or perhaps she was just sucking up to get a break from my ramblings. [Your current appearance is a fascinating combination of ethereal beauty, an intriguing androgyny, and a primal threat that is quite… effective. It perfectly reflects the immense power and ancient soul you carry within you. And, of course, as an added bonus, it also helps to intimidate the idiots and keep overly enthusiastic suitors at a safe distance.]
"Thank you for the unexpected compliment and precise aesthetic analysis, Eos. It's good to know my outward appearance is finally starting to match my complex, multifaceted inner personality… that is, slightly frightening, prone to causing trouble, and with a penchant for naps in inappropriate places," I replied with an amused smile, still admiring my reflection with a hint of narcissism I rarely admitted, even to myself. "And, to be honest, it's not so bad having this imposing, somewhat wild image, after all. It definitely helps me keep tedious people, insistent bureaucrats, and unwanted admirers at a safe, respectful distance. Fear, or at least a healthy dose of uncertainty, is an excellent social repellent."
With a sigh, I closed my eyes for an instant and, with a small effort of will that had become almost a reflex, deactivated the supernatural, somewhat intimidating glow of my ocular power. When I opened them again, my eyes had returned to their deep, intense blue hue, but relatively normal by this world's standards – or at least, as normal as they could be. I left the lavatory feeling refreshed, the hot water having washed away the tiredness and remnants of morning laziness. I went to my wardrobe, a sturdy, surprisingly well-organised piece of furniture by my standards, and began to rummage through my own clothes, pondering what to wear that day.
After so many years in Fairy Tail and Magnolia, my wardrobe had evolved considerably since the rags we wore upon arrival. Now, I had a small but carefully selected collection of outfits that balanced practicality, comfort, and a subtle touch of my… particular aesthetic. I chose a few pieces that, I hoped, would enhance my slender, imposing silhouette without being overly flashy or, worse still, uncomfortable.
I put on a soft white cotton shirt, long-sleeved and simply cut, which I usually wore under other garments, and over it, I placed one of my favourite Hanfus – this one in a deep sky-blue hue, sleeveless, made of a light, flowing fabric that moved gracefully with me. The discreet but elegant silver thread embroidery along the edges added a subtle touch of sophistication to the look, a small reminder that I appreciated the finer things in life, even if I preferred not to flaunt them.
I completed the look with a pair of dark, tight, sturdy leather trousers, perfect for combat and comfortably accommodating the opening for my tail, equally practical high-top boots, and some of my usual accessories: dark, tooled leather bracers on my wrists, and a wide leather belt over a vibrant red sash, with an intricate metal buckle, which I wore over the Hanfu fabric to cinch my waist and, of course, to hold a few hidden daggers. I was ready. Or at least, as ready as I could be before my breakfast.
Satisfied, or at least resigned, with my appearance – a combination of practical warrior and an ancient entity trying to pass as a minimally normal teenager – I left the room with decisive steps, ready for another day of adventures, or misadventures, in the noisy, chaotic, surprisingly welcoming Fairy Tail Guild. Although I still preferred, for peace of mind, chronic laziness, and the simple amusement of watching others underestimate my abilities, to maintain a relatively low, discreet profile, it was good to know my true, terrifying power was just patiently waiting, like a cunning, dormant beast, for the right moment to reveal itself and cause a bit of… controlled commotion. And, who knows, perhaps even save the day. If I was in the mood, of course.
I left my room and walked with light steps towards the stairs, my lupine ears already catching the familiar sounds of Fairy Hills waking up. The delicious smell of fresh coffee and something sweet baking in the oven already hung in the air, and I knew, with an almost instinctive certainty, that a certain, stubborn little redhead would probably already be awake and causing some sort of commotion in the kitchen. With a small smile and a resigned sigh, I hurried down the stairs to prepare a decent breakfast before she decided to 'help' and ended up setting the kitchen on fire. Again.
Already in the kitchen, which to my surprise was relatively tidy and showed no signs of imminent disaster, I began to sort out the ingredients with practical efficiency, thinking about what I could cook quickly, easily, and at least minimally nutritiously that morning. My mind wandered for an instant, and Eos, ever so helpful and with impeccable timing for reminding me of past lives at completely random moments, brought to mind one of my more… peculiar incarnations.
The one where I had reincarnated into a strangely peaceful but intensely competitive world, where all conflicts, from territorial disputes to matters of family honour, were resolved through epic, frequently explosive culinary battles. Shokugekis, they called them.
I couldn't help a small, amused chuckle as I remembered that particular life. It had been, to be honest, one of the few, rare times I had experienced a relatively peaceful existence, without intergalactic wars, invading demons, or the constant need to save the universe from itself. Despite, of course, the intense, relentless, frequently absurd competitiveness of the renowned, feared Totsuki Culinary Academy, where only the most talented, or the luckiest, survived. To this day, a bittersweet nostalgia washed over me as I fondly remembered my little brother in that life, the incredibly talented, irritatingly optimistic, absolutely indomitable Yukihira Souma, with whom I had the fiercest, most creative, most delicious culinary duels, to the delight of the judges and the despair of our rivals. Ah, the good old days of pan wars.
[That truly was a fascinating life, gastronomically speaking, and with a surprisingly high level of drama for a food-focused universe, wasn't it, Azra'il?] Eos commented, with an amused tone that indicated she also held fond memories of that time. Or perhaps she just liked watching me cook. [You always were, and continue to be, an excellent, surprisingly versatile cook, Azra'il. Capable of creating absolutely incredible dishes that defied logic and the laws of physics, and that won over even the most demanding, arrogant, possibly corrupt palates.]
(Yes, Eos, that was quite a… challenging, creative, and, in a way, surprisingly rewarding time,) I replied mentally, a small, nostalgic smile playing on my lips as I cracked some eggs into a bowl. (Though I, personally, still prefer the unpredictable bustle and genuinely dangerous adventures of Fairy Tail, I can't deny that life at Totsuki taught me a great deal about the importance of unbridled passion, limitless creativity, unshakeable determination, and the relentless pursuit of perfection in the kitchen. And, of course, how to use a blowtorch in… innovative ways.)
Remembering Souma and our epic morning culinary duels fondly, I decided, on an impulse of nostalgia and perhaps to impress a certain redhead, to prepare one of our favourite dishes from our Totsuki Academy days: the humble but potentially transcendental Tamago Kake Gohan. I started to cook the fluffy white rice with some fresh, organic eggs, but this time, to add a special touch and a bit of my own, twisted culinary genius, I also decided to prepare a rich, flavourful chicken broth, transformed into a delicate, wobbly jelly to further enhance the flavours, the texture, and, of course, for a more dramatic visual effect. Presentation was everything, after all.
As the dish took shape under my skilled hands, my mind drifted through the numerous, vivid memories of that past life. The intoxicating scent of exotic spices, the intense flavour of carefully selected, fresh ingredients, the familiar, comforting sound of kitchen utensils clashing in a symphony of creation… all of it brought me a bittersweet sense of nostalgia, comfort, and a slight pang of longing. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could surprise Erza and the other inhabitants of Fairy Hills with this modest but delicious Tamago Kake Gohan of mine. Or, worst-case scenario, I'd have a good excuse to eat it all myself.
With a satisfied sigh and a look of approval at my morning culinary masterpiece, I finished preparing the meal and left the kitchen, expertly balancing a large wooden tray laden with the delicious, steaming dish. I was, I confess, a little eager to share this small moment of normality and good food with Erza and the rest of the noisy girls of Fairy Hills, knowing, or at least fervently hoping, they would appreciate my dishes with the same enthusiasm and groans of pleasure the Totsuki judges displayed in my numerous, victorious culinary battles. Their approval, somehow, had become strangely important to me.
As soon as I finished carefully placing the steaming dishes, chopsticks, and gleaming cutlery on the large dining room table, which was already beginning to be occupied by some of the other sleepy residents, Erza entered the room, her red hair still slightly damp from her bath, and with her characteristic air of someone who has just woken up but is already mentally planning three S-Rank missions and how to defeat a small army before lunch. And I, once again, as I had done almost every morning for the past four years, was momentarily impressed observing how much that small, stubborn, initially so frightened little redhead had changed, both physically and emotionally, since the day we had first entered the gates of the Fairy Tail Guild. The four years here had truly done wonders for her.
Erza was now a newly turned fourteen, and the thin, injured, frightened girl I had rescued from the clutches of madness in the Tower of Heaven was rapidly, spectacularly transforming into a strong, confident, frighteningly competent, and, I must admit, surprisingly beautiful young woman in an almost fierce way. She was dressed in her usual, impeccably polished silver knight's armour, which she rarely removed, even for breakfast in the relative safety of Fairy Hills, paired with a dark blue pleated skirt that somehow managed to look both practical and feminine at the same time. Her long, dark red hair, once a wild, unkempt tangle, was now usually tied in a thick, elegant, impeccable plait that fell over her shoulder with an air of discipline and order, lending her a more mature, serious, undeniably imposing look.
Her expression had also become more serene over time, more controlled, more confident in her own abilities and her place in the world. Her right eye, the one that had been cruelly injured, now housed an artificial prosthesis skilfully crafted by Porlyusica weeks after our arrival, an eye that, though it shed no tears, in no way diminished the intensity of her gaze. Both eyes, one natural brown and the other artificial, still held that special glint, that spark of indomitable stubbornness and an almost palpable passion that so captivated me and, occasionally, drove me completely round the bend. She had become… someone. Someone worth watching. And protecting.
"Morning, Erza! Or should I say, distinguished, punctual Titania, always the first to arrive for breakfast?" I greeted her with a morning smile and a teasing wink, referring to the imposing, somewhat exaggerated nickname she had, deservedly or not, earned in the guild recently, owing to her growing strength, her skill with Requip magic, and her occasionally rather… intimidating aura. "I trust Her Majesty, the Queen of Fairies in training, is very hungry this morning, for this humble, talented servant of yours has prepared a delicious, exotic, nutritionally balanced Tamago Kake Gohan, a secret family recipe passed down through generations of dodgy chefs, especially for your royal, well-deserved breakfast."
Erza returned my smile with an amused glint in her eye, clearly accustomed to my morning teasing, and approached the table, observing the steaming dish with cautious curiosity and growing interest.
"Morning to you too, Azra'il, my personal cook and purveyor of questionable nicknames," she replied in the same playful tone, sitting down at the table with the upright posture of a queen. "Tamago Kake Gohan? I've never heard of that dish before, sounds… different. But," she added, with a smile that made my heart give a stupid little leap, "I know from experience that your food is always, invariably delicious, even the strangest concoctions. So, I'm more than eager to try this new invention of yours."
I served her a generous portion of the steaming dish, watching with almost childlike anticipation as she picked up her cutlery and took the first hesitant bite. Erza's eye widened in pure, absolute surprise, and her lips, previously curved in a curious smile, parted in a low, almost inaudible groan of pure, crystalline gastronomic pleasure. It was the reaction I had hoped for. And one that, secretly, I loved to see.
"Ohhh, by all the gods of cookery and the ancestral spirits of great chefs! Azra'il, this is… this is… this is absolutely, utterly unbelievable!" She exclaimed at last, between gasps of pure, undisguised delight, her eye shining with an intensity that rivalled the morning sun. "The flavour… it's so intense, so complex, so rich, so… perfect! This broth jelly of yours is genius! This Tamago Kake Gohan of yours is, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, the best, most delicious, most transcendental thing I have ever tasted in my entire miserable, famished life!" She seemed on the verge of culinary ecstasy.
Erza continued to savour every forkful with almost religious enthusiasm, her eye shining with an expression of pure, absolute bliss, her shoulders visibly relaxing with each new bite. I just smiled, feeling a genuine satisfaction and a comforting warmth spread through my chest at my little, stubborn redhead's overwhelmingly enthusiastic reaction. Seeing her happy, even if it was just because of a plate of food, somehow made me happy too. What a strange, utterly inconvenient feeling.
"Now, now, Erza, you always say that when I prepare some new, exotic dish for you," I commented with a tone of false modesty, though inwardly I was beaming with pride. "But I'm genuinely glad you liked it so much. I always enjoy trying new recipes, new culinary techniques, and adding my… special touch to things." I watched her continue to taste each morsel with evident, almost touching pleasure.
Erza nodded vigorously, her mouth still full, but her eye shining in an almost mystical ecstasy.
"But it's the honest truth, Azra'il! Your dishes are infinitely better than those of the best, most renowned chefs in all of Magnolia! And I've tried a few, believe me! This food of yours isn't just food, Azra'il. It's… it's simply divine! An edible work of art!" She exclaimed with her mouth full, taking another generous, noisy mouthful of the Tamago Kake Gohan, looking like a child who had discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
I smiled, a genuine, perhaps even slightly daft smile, and reached out to affectionately stroke Erza's soft red hair, who now, at fourteen, was only slightly shorter than me, to my secret, childish satisfaction.
"I'm immensely glad you're enjoying it so much, my little, hungry giant. Now, please, eat slowly, yes? We wouldn't want the food to run away from you or for you to choke and spoil this moment of pure gastronomic bliss," I said with a purposely maternal tone and an amused glint in my eyes.
Erza immediately pulled an adorably embarrassed, slightly indignant face, although I was, technically, still a little taller than her now, to my delight.
"I'm not little, Azra'il! I've told you that a thousand times!" She retorted, a faint, stubborn blush spreading across her freckled cheeks. "I'm only… only a bit shorter than you because of those enormous, pointy wolf ears of yours that give you a few extra inches in height! It's not fair!"
I laughed, a genuine, amused laugh, and pulled her into an affectionate, slightly clumsy hug across the table. "Of course, of course, little redhead. It's all my ears' fault. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
At that exact, chaotic moment, as if summoned by the sound of our laughter and the delicious, tempting smell of food spreading through the house, the other girls who also had the privilege (or misfortune, depending on the day and their mood) of living at Fairy Hills – the famous, occasionally explosive guild's female dormitory – noisily entered the sitting room, like a small hurricane of teenage hormones and morning magical energy. There they were, in all their glory and varying levels of sleepiness: the ever-elegant Mirajane Strauss, with a smile that could be angelic or demonic depending on the situation, now fourteen and with a stunning beauty that already promised to break many hearts and cause much trouble; Erza's self-proclaimed, fierce, frequently noisy rival in the Fairy Tail guild, closely followed, as always, by her younger sister, the sweet, gentle, adorable Lisanna, who, with her easy smile and aura of pure innocence, always seemed like a little walking ray of sunshine in human form.
Just behind them, stumbling slightly but with an air of not caring about anything, came the exuberant, somewhat dishevelled, incredibly noisy Cana Alberona, already proudly sporting her inseparable, probably enchanted tankard of ale in hand (despite it being absurdly early for such, and she only being about thirteen too – ah, Fiore's underage drinking laws, always so… flexible). And, bringing up the rear of the small, heterogeneous group, little, intellectual Levy McGarden, with a pile of books almost taller than herself, her nose, as usual, buried in some ancient, dusty, probably indecipherable runic tome, entered the room, chatting and laughing animatedly with the others about some hot guild gossip, a particularly interesting spell, or some harebrained, probably dangerous plan for the day. The blessed calm of my morning had, officially and unceremoniously, ended. And, to be honest, I wasn't in the least bit surprised.
Mirajane, with her keen nose for good food and opportunities for teasing, immediately smelt my delicious Tamago Kake Gohan and spotted the sumptuous breakfast prepared on the table. With that half-teasing, half-seductive, utterly irritating manner that was her trademark, she approached me with a feline gait and, to my utter surprise and slight embarrassment, placed a possessive arm around my waist, tilting her head onto my shoulder with a mischievous smile on her lips.
"Well, well, Azra'il, my dear, talented room-neighbour," Mirajane said, with that voice of hers sweet as poisoned honey and a dangerous glint in her blue eyes. "You would, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, make an absolutely perfect, wonderful wife, preparing these delicious, heavenly meals almost every morning for your beloved. How lucky the person who won your heart… and your cooker would be."
The other girls, Cana, Levy, and even little Lisanna, burst out laughing at Mirajane's direct, shameless teasing, and I, despite myself, ended up laughing along with them, feeling my cheeks warm a little. However, out of the corner of my eye, I could spot a faint but unmistakable flush of irritation and something else… something dangerously resembling jealousy… spreading across Erza's normally so controlled face. Interesting.
"Morning to you too, you hungry, noisy early risers," I said, trying to maintain my composure and ignore Mirajane's arm still around my waist. "I've prepared enough for a small army, so please, feel free to help yourselves before it gets cold. And try not to fight over the last portion."
The girls approached the table with an enthusiasm that would make a band of starving pirates look restrained and, upon tasting the new, exotic dish I had prepared with such care (and a bit of secret culinary magic), groaned collectively in pure, absolute pleasure, their eyes widening in surprise and delight at the delicious, unexpected flavour. The ego from my past life as a Totsuki chef was vibrating with satisfaction.
"Azra'il, my dear, on second thoughts, and after tasting this divine delicacy," Mirajane exclaimed suddenly, with a mischievous smile and a look that promised trouble, as she squeezed me even tighter. "I take back what I said before. I don't just want you to be a great wife for someone. I want you to be my wife! That way, and only that way, can I eat such delicious, heavenly, probably addictive meals every day of my long, happy life!"
All the girls, including me, burst out laughing at Mirajane's dramatic, possessive declaration, and I smiled, genuinely pleased and a little amused to see the pure joy and contagious enthusiasm of that group of noisy, loyal friends. But, once again, I couldn't help but notice Erza's slightly darker, more intense, perhaps even slightly angry glare at Mirajane's exaggerated approach and teasing. Her posture was tense, and her fists, I noted, were clenched by her sides. Oh, this was going to be fun.
"Oi, Mirajane Strauss! Get your paws off my Azra'il right now!" Erza intervened suddenly, her voice surprisingly loud, firm, and full of an indignation she barely tried to conceal, her cheeks now a scarlet red that rivalled her hair. "She's my best friend, you talented-cook-exploiter! And I will not, under any circumstances, let you marry her and steal her from me just because of the food!"
The other girls, upon hearing Erza's jealous, utterly unexpected outburst, laughed even louder and more heartily, clearly enjoying the situation. Erza, for her part, seemed genuinely, deeply bothered, almost offended, by the teasing and Mirajane's apparent 'threat'. Mirajane, of course, being the professional tease she was, didn't miss the opportunity to stoke the fire further and provoke her eternal rival even more.
"Well, well, Erza Scarlet. Seems someone here is a little bit jealous, aren't they?" Mirajane said, with a malicious, smug smile that would make a demon envious. "But don't you worry, my dear, jealous Titania. I'm a very generous person. I might, who knows, even consider sharing Azra'il with you. Half and half. After all," she added, with a wink at me, "she is, indeed, a great cook, interesting company, and, let's face it, an absolutely perfect potential wife with a brilliant future in the art of satisfying her spouse's desires!"
Erza became even more embarrassed and irritated by the teasing, clenching her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. Smoke almost seemed to be coming from her ears. I just watched the scene with an amused smile and an almost scientific interest, entertained by the hilarious interaction and the growing tension between the two teenage rivals. Youngsters and their hormones. So predictable. And so amusing to observe. And, secretly, a small, wicked part of me was loving seeing Erza so… possessive. It meant she really cared. Or that she really, really liked my food. Probably both.