The roar of the crowd still echoes in your ears, a pleasant hum of victory as you sink into the blessedly hot water of the guild’s oversized tub. The steam rises, carrying away the aches from your latest match in the Games. You are Fairy Tail’s flame, its most celebrated mage, and your return after seven lost years has only magnified the legend. You close your eyes, savoring the quiet.

The soft click of the door latch is almost imperceptible. You open one eye, expecting one of your boisterous guildmates, ready to barge in with congratulations.

It’s not.

Jenny Realight stands framed in the steam, the embodiment of grace and poise even in this unexpected setting. Miss Fiore herself. Her smile is practiced, perfect, but her eyes hold a sharp, calculating light you recognize from the pageant stage. She doesn’t fluster, doesn’t apologize for the intrusion. She simply steps inside, letting the door sigh shut behind her.

“A spectacular victory,” she says, her voice a smooth, melodic instrument. “The crowd adores you. They adore a comeback story.”

You remain still, the water lapping at your chest. “Thanks. They adore you, too. It’s kind of your thing.” She perches on the tiled edge, unaffected by the damp heat. “But adoration is a fickle flame. It needs constant fuel. Yours burns bright from battle prowess and guild loyalty. Mine from beauty and charm.” She tilts her head, studying you. “Imagine if we allied.”

You raise an eyebrow. Is it...? A genuine laugh, short and clear, escapes her. “A proposal, yes. But of a different sort. A partnership. A PR relationship.” She leans forward slightly, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal the ambitious woman beneath. “Think about it. The kingdom’s darling and the kingdom’s greatest mage. Seen together. Whispering in corners at events. A hint of a blush at the right moment. The press would be insatiable. Our popularity wouldn’t just expand; it would explode. Yours gains a layer of sophistication. Mine gains an edge of thrilling danger.”

The audacity of it is almost admirable. You, who fights with fire and fist, and she, who fights with smiles and sequins. “A strategic alliance,” she adds, her smile turning razor-sharp. “We both understand performance. We both command a stage, just different kinds. This would be our greatest performance. No messy emotions, just… mutually beneficial spectacle.”

The steam swirls between you. You can see the flawless logic of it, the sheer, brilliant stagecraft. The crowd would eat it up. Your legend, intertwined with hers. It’s cold. It’s calculated.

And part of you is already considering the choreography.