Fairy Tail: The Faint Smile in Earthland

Year X785 — July 

Location: Crocus — Grand Coliseum / Council Chambers

Next Day

The morning sun crested over Crocus' gleaming spires as the Grand Coliseum doors reopened for the second day of exhibition matches. Though the marble corridors remained quiet, anticipation crackled beneath the surface.

Yesterday's battle had already shifted the political winds.

The rumors had spread like wildfire through the capital:

"Fairy Tail's silent swordswoman dismantled an entire coordinated wind assault without breaking stride."

Tavern bards already wove exaggerated verses:

The Silver-Eyed Valkyrie cleaved the sky in half.

But not everyone was singing.

In the council chambers overlooking the arena, far from the eager crowds, quieter conversations brewed.

Councilor Org stood before a crystal projection, fingers tapping against polished stone as the replay unfolded. Every movement. Every cut. Every impossibly precise evasion.

"Void Sever again," he muttered. "It's not simply swordsmanship. She's slicing through magical constructs with frightening precision."

Beside him, Warrod Sequen sipped his tea, observing calmly.

"No brute force. She waits. Measures. Surgical... like unraveling loose threads."

"Predictive Mana-sensing fused with her foreign energy," Org growled. "Even most Wizard Saints would struggle against that dome. She dismantled it like child's play."

"We always knew world-crossers might bring... unusual skillsets," Warrod mused softly. "But she adapts fast."

"Too fast," Org snapped. "The Council tolerates her now because she clears our forbidden ruins. But after yesterday... every rogue guild watching saw what she's capable of."

His voice lowered:

"Factions would pay fortunes for someone like her."

And in the shadowed alcoves below, those factions were already stirring.

Far beneath Crocus' merchant quarter, behind concealed walls and abandoned tunnels, one of the city's forbidden enclaves buzzed quietly.

Masked brokers hovered over illuminated maps, reviewing reports.

"She dismantled Black Lotus' Tempest Binding as though slicing parchment."

"Her control over foreign energy surpasses even the top relic users."

"The Council shelters her under Fairy Tail's banner to minimize exposure. But her origins remain unregistered."

The masked leader leaned forward.

"She is... eligible."

"How do we proceed?"

"We test her boundaries. Before next year's official Games, the deeper networks must know her limits."

"Fairy Tail's position?"

"Weak. Isolated. Desperate to preserve face after Tenrou Island. If we move with precision, they cannot shield her."

"Direct recruitment?"

"Not yet," the leader smiled beneath the mask. "First, we observe her morality."

Above the growing web of whispers, Teresa remained unaware of how her precise display had rippled beneath the surface.

That morning, she stood alone on a quiet balcony overlooking the empty arena. As always, she had risen before dawn.

Her pale blond hair drifted gently in the wind. Unarmored now, she wore only her black Claymore tunic. Her long boots made no sound against the polished stone.

She traced one gloved finger along the cold rail, watching the golden morning light catch across its smooth surface.

It was not pride that brought her here.

It was silence.

Her senses extended, reading faint echoes lingering from yesterday's battle — air currents distorted by old magic, the emotional residue left by fading tension. This arena was no different than any ruin she had cleared.

Always the same hunger beneath:

Control.

Soft footsteps approached behind her.

"You're early, as always."

Macao appeared beside her, wearing his usual tired smile. Young Romeo followed eagerly.

"It's peaceful here," Teresa answered softly.

Macao leaned against the railing.

"You made quite a name yesterday. The whole city's buzzing."

"Names are irrelevant. Results matter."

"Sure. But appearances buy us breathing room. The stronger you appear, the less they'll test Fairy Tail's weak points."

"Strength draws predators," Teresa said flatly.

Macao's smile faded slightly.

He did not disagree.

Romeo beamed, stepping closer.

"Teresa, you were amazing! I've never seen anyone move like that! Can you sense where they're going before they attack?"

Teresa met his wide-eyed stare with calm silver eyes.

"I read intent."

"Like reading minds?"

"Not mind. Motion. Breath. Muscle tension. Magic fluctuation. Most strikes are declared before they land."

Romeo blinked, struggling to process.

Macao chuckled behind him.

"Don't worry, Romeo. You'll learn to read battle someday... though maybe not quite like her."

For a while, they stood quietly, watching maintenance crews ready the arena for the afternoon matches.

Yet beneath Teresa's still gaze, her awareness flickered.

A pulse.

Distant.

Far below the arena, something shifted.

By afternoon, as fresh crowds gathered and cheers renewed, those threads began to tighten.

In a restricted corridor near the preparation chambers, two unfamiliar individuals waited. Merchant cloaks concealed disciplined posture.

A council escort approached.

"You don't have clearance to be here."

One man smiled, producing a sealed scroll marked with an official council wax emblem.

"We're authorized. Delivery for Fairy Tail's Teresa."

"Delivery?"

"A private patron," the man said smoothly. "Wishing to reward her performance."

The officer hesitated. The seal looked genuine.

The package was allowed through.

Inside the locked box was a thin scroll, sealed in black wax, enchanted to avoid casual magical scans.

Later, alone in her assigned chamber, Teresa found the delivery waiting.

Macao had just departed after reviewing match schedules.

Her silver eyes narrowed.

Even before touching it, her yoki-sense twitched. No offensive magic — but deliberate concealment.

She opened it.

The message was brief, written in elegant, anonymous script:

"Your precision inspires us. Greater contracts await those willing to step beyond Council chains. Consider this a friendly invitation. You may contact us after the exhibition concludes. Neutral observers are always watching."

No name. No signature.

Only a single black emblem beneath the message:

A fang wrapped in chains.

Raven Fang.

Teresa traced the symbol with one gloved fingertip.

This was no flattery.

This was recruitment.

Or bait.

Outside, cheers erupted for the next match. But Teresa stood motionless, reading not just the message—but the currents beneath it.

Fiore's underworld was done watching from afar.

The circling had begun.

The faint smile touched her lips.

But her eyes remained cold.

If they seek the hunt…

They will find it.