"Running out of stamina already?"

As the opponent in this sparring match, Makarov was the first to notice, raising an eyebrow.

But upon reflection, it made sense.

Though Rayne's magical power and physical abilities surpassed those of his peers, he was still just a child.

Sustaining high-intensity combat for long periods was impossible.

In fact, Makarov was surprised Rayne had lasted this long.

He hadn't closely analyzed the nature of Rayne's magic before, but from what he could see now, its enhancement effect on the body was far stronger than that of most mages.

For a Holder-Type mage, this was unusual.

Then again…

For someone who could summon dragons, maybe it wasn't so strange after all.

Either way, Makarov knew it was time to end the fight.

"It's over!"

Seizing the moment Rayne slowed from exhaustion, Makarov swung his fist—a compact, wind-splitting blow aimed straight at the boy.

But just as he did, a dark shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

"What—?!"

It was Rayne's own fist, moving at a speed that defied his supposed fatigue.

Their punches collided—but Rayne's was caught in Makarov's palm, fingers clamping down with surprising strength.

For a brief moment, even Makarov couldn't break free.

His other hand was too slow to block.

"A trap?!"

Realization struck. He'd misjudged Rayne's endurance.

"Fine, I'll take the hit."

Makarov braced himself, but inwardly, he was thrilled.

Even while suppressing his own power to match Rayne's level, the fact that a rookie—someone who'd only trained for half a month—could land a blow on him?

For a guild master like Makarov, a single punch was nothing. He'd take a hundred if it meant nurturing such talent.

But when the strike finally landed…

It was barely a tap.

"...Guild Master, you taught me this on the first day—'what looks like an opening might not be one.'"

Rayne released Makarov's fist, panting heavily as he stood.

Sweat drenched his clothes, clinging to his skin as his chest rose and fell.

The fight hadn't been long, but fighting at full intensity had drained him.

Yet his eyes were bright, his smile genuine—a stark contrast to his ferocity in battle.

"Heh… Guess I'm getting old."

Makarov chuckled, shaking his head.

He wasn't retired yet, but he rarely fought these days.

To think he'd let his guard down twice against Rayne.

Though, in hindsight, the first time was carelessness.

This time? Even in his prime, he might not have dodged.

The boy's growth—both in magic and physique—was staggering.

"I thought you said you were gonna punch me?" Makarov mused, dismissing his Giant Magic.

"I did."

"Hm?"

Makarov gave him a skeptical look. That "punch" had been featherlight.

"Hitting you was just a goal—not like I'd actually do it."

Rayne tilted his head, as if Makarov were the odd one for expecting a real strike.

A soft hmph echoed in Rayne's mind—Ddraig clearly disapproved.

Rayne ignored it.

Makarov wasn't just his savior and mentor; the man's grandfatherly appearance alone made it hard to swing seriously.

(Of course, had this been one of the vile old men from his past life, he wouldn't have held back.)

"But if you really want a beating, ask someone else."

Rayne turned toward the spectators—Kanna and Porlyusica—and grinned.

"Yeah!"

With a sharp exhale, he punched the air, the sunlight glinting off the sweat-drenched Fairy Tail emblem on his hand.

The guild's sigil—a white fairy mid-stride, its tail like a streak of motion—shone brilliantly.

"Rayne!"

Kanna sprinted toward him, tiny legs pumping, her ivory horns glinting.

The way she charged, head slightly lowered, made Rayne half-expect to be impaled.

He barely managed to stop her by planting a hand on her forehead—

—before the sheer force slammed him onto his back, staring at the sky.

Even in human form, Kanna's strength was monstrous.

Normally, Rayne could handle it, but post-sparring? He had zero energy left.

Makarov hadn't been entirely wrong—Rayne was exhausted.

Blocking that last punch had drained him completely.

(And that was with Makarov pulling his strike at the last second.)

"So this is how Uma Musume trainers get trampled, huh? Does that make me… a dragon trainer?"

The thought slipped out, his usual discipline frayed by fatigue and relief.

"Rayne, when can we play too?"

Kanna's face hovered above him, blocking the sky, her tone oddly eager.

"Hah… Give me a while, okay?"

He pinched her soft, chubby cheeks, laughing.

Kanna's idea of "play" wasn't child's games—it was full-on dragon play.

And right now? One hit from her might send him straight to the afterlife.

"Okay."

She pouted but didn't push, mimicking him by squishing his face in her tiny hands.

"You spacing out? Don't tell me losing to a kid got to you."

Porlyusica's dry voice cut in as she approached Makarov.

"Not at all. Just feeling lucky—to have found such a promising boy."

Makarov grinned, wide and unguarded.

"Fairy Tail won't fade on my watch!"

"You look like an idiot."

Porlyusica scoffed, but as his old comrade, she understood.

Makarov had carried a quiet fear—one he'd never voiced.

Until now, only Gildarts had the strength to uphold Fairy Tail's legacy.

Laxus had potential, but his arrogance festered.

Warrod and Macao were capable, but in a guild like this? They weren't enough.

For a while, Fairy Tail had teetered on the edge—a generation slipping through the cracks.

It had weighed on Makarov, thinning his hair into its current state.

But now?

Now there was Rayne.

A little reckless in battle, perhaps, but otherwise flawless.

And for the first time in years, Makarov felt—

Maybe I haven't failed the First and Second after all.

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