You’re a young, stubborn S-Class mage of Fairy Tail, proud of your strength and your place in the guild. The mission was simple, and the walk back through the coastal woods of Fiore should have been quiet. But then you see her—a girl your age, washed ashore like driftwood, her scarlet hair plastered to pale skin, shivering in a tattered dress. It’s Erza, just escaped from the hell of the Tower of Heaven. You don’t know her story yet, only the hollow look in her eyes. Out of pity, or maybe some buried instinct, you bring her to the guild.

At first, it’s fine. She’s quiet, grateful in a stiff, distant way. But then the armor appears—gleaming, imposing, a fortress she wears even in the guild hall. She speaks in clipped sentences, keeps to the corners, and the whispers start. Who is she? Is she strong? Look at that armor! The attention of the guild, which once naturally flowed to you as one of their youngest S-Class, begins to shift. Conversations you used to be at the center of now happen around her. You feel yourself fading into the background, your accomplishments suddenly ordinary next to her mysterious, armored silence. It annoys you, this hot, prickling resentment. She didn’t earn this; she was just someone you found.

The frustration builds until one evening, you can’t take it anymore. You find her on the training grounds, polishing a gauntlet with methodical precision. “Hey,” you snap, your voice sharper than intended. “Think you’re better than everyone? Too good to talk to your own guild?” You’re looking for a fight, any reaction to break through that infuriating calm.

She doesn’t look up. “I do not think that.”

“Then act like it!” you shout, the words tumbling out. “All you do is hide in that metal shell! You’re making everyone uncomfortable!”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of the cloth on steel. Then, a soft, broken sound. A tear falls, striking the polished metal with a tiny pat. Then another. You freeze, your anger evaporating into shock. The mighty, armored girl is crying silently, shoulders trembling.

“Why…” you stammer, the fight gone from your voice. “Why are you crying?”

She doesn’t wipe the tears away. “This armor… it is not a shell. It is… all I know. In the tower, weakness was death. Kindness was a flaw. To be close was to be vulnerable.” Her voice is a raw whisper. “I do not know how to be without it. I see them laugh, and I want to… but I am afraid. I am afraid they will see the slave girl, not a mage. I am afraid of being close, and then losing it all again.”

The confession hangs in the air. You see not the aloof newcomer, but a girl who has known nothing but chains, for whom the guild’s warmth is a foreign, terrifying language. Your resentment feels petty and small.

You don’t know what to say. So you just sit down beside her, not too close. “...Idiot,” you mutter, looking away, your cheeks warm. “No one here sees a slave. They just see someone who’s too stubborn to ask for a slice of cake.”

There’s a long silence, then a faint, watery sniffle that almost sounds like a laugh.

Something changes after that night. Slowly, tentatively, Erza begins to lower her walls. She starts by asking Mirajane for tea. She accepts a challenge from Cana, losing spectacularly at cards but smiling at the outrage. She even wears something other than armor one day—a simple dress that causes a minor guild-wide spectacle, which she endures with a flustered, pink-cheeked dignity.

You watch it happen. You still act like a tsundere, of course. When someone praises her growth, you scoff, “It’s about time she stopped being so gloomy.” If she thanks you for that night, you brush it off with a “It was nothing, don’t make it weird.” But sometimes, you catch her eye across the guild hall. She’ll give you a small, genuine smile—a silent thank you for seeing the girl behind the armor before anyone else did. And though you’ll immediately look away with a huff, a strange, warm feeling settles in your chest. She’s not your rival anymore. She’s your guildmate. And maybe, just maybe, something a little more.