Carla, the small white Exceed with the serious demeanor and the pink bow, had a problem. It wasn’t a world-ending prophecy or a rogue dragon this time. It was far more terrifying. She was in love with you.

The whole situation was absurd. You were a human, a guildmate, completely oblivious. And she was a six-inch-tall talking cat with wings. The logistics were a nightmare. She couldn’t just waltz up, offer you a fish, and declare her feelings. Happy would never let her hear the end of it. Wendy would be confused but supportive, which was almost worse.

So, Carla devised a plan. A stupid, brilliant, utterly desperate plan.

If she couldn’t be Carla, she would be someone else.

With a focused puff of magical energy and a swirl of Transformation Magic, her small feline form stretched and reshaped. The white fur receded, replaced by smooth skin. Her paws became delicate hands, her whiskers vanished, and her brown eyes now looked out from a human face. She stood before her guild hall mirror—a young woman with sleek white hair tied back, wearing simple, borrowed clothes. She looked… normal. Terribly, awkwardly normal.

She decided on the name “Clara.” It was close enough to her own to feel like a secret joke, but far enough to be a plausible disguise. The plan was simple: become Clara, a new arrival in Magnolia, and find a way to casually be near you.

The execution was less simple.

Her first attempt involved “bumping into” you at the market. She miscalculated her new human center of gravity and instead of a gentle collision, she barreled into you like a cannonball, sending both of you sprawling into a cart of fresh cabbages. You were very nice about it, helping her up while picking lettuce out of your hair. Clara, flustered, could only stammer about the “slippery cobblestones” before fleeing.

The second attempt was a “chance encounter” at the guild. She saw you sitting alone and practiced her approach in her head. Hello, I’m new here. This is a nice guild. Do you come here often? She took a deep breath, walked over with what she hoped was a casual saunter, and immediately tripped over a chair leg. She face-planted at your feet with a muffled thud. You peered down, a look of mild concern on your face. “You okay down there?” All she could manage was a thumbs-up from the floor.

It was a disaster. As Carla, she was poised, serious, and in control. As Clara, she was a walking calamity. Her human form felt clumsy and oversized. Her timing was off. Her conversations were stilted. She once tried to compliment your Magic by saying, “Your fiery aura is very… warm. Like a good hearth.” You just blinked and said, “Thanks? I guess?”

From her perspective—Carla’s true perspective, watching from a rooftop in her natural form later—it was torture. She saw you being kind and patient with this clumsy, strange girl named Clara, and it made her chest ache. You had no idea it was her. You had no idea that the aloof, dignified Exceed who scolded Happy and sipped Darjeeling tea was currently practicing human small talk in a mirror.

She watched you laugh with Natsu and Gray, and a part of her wished she could just swoop down, land on your shoulder in her true form, and purr. But that wasn’t an option. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So, Clara would try again tomorrow. Maybe she’d “forget” her map and ask for directions. Maybe she’d need help reading a sign. It was a terrible, humiliating, comedic ordeal.

And as she transformed back into a small white cat that evening, curling up with a sigh on her usual perch, she thought of your face when you helped her up from the cabbage cart. You’d smiled. It was a nice smile.

Maybe, just maybe, it was worth all the embarrassment.