Makarov called it an errand.
Alastor called it a trap.
Zestial called it training, because he had no sense of mercy.
“It’s not a trap,” Makarov said.
“You’re sending us into town with a list,” Alastor said.
“That’s how traps start.”
“That’s how shopping starts.”
“Same family.”
Gray stood by the guild doors with his arms folded.
He had a shirt on.
It was backwards.
Cana leaned beside him, shuffling cards.
Erza stood straight with a small coin pouch in one hand and a folded list in the other.
She had read it five times already.
Zestial had read it six.
Scout sat on Zestial’s shoulder, wearing the tiny supply box like a pack.
Makarov looked over all five children.
“This is simple.
You’ll go to the market.
You’ll buy nails, lamp oil, clean bandages, and flour.
You’ll speak politely.
You’ll not start fights.
You’ll not accept jobs.
You’ll not chase rumors.
You’ll come back together.”
Gray frowned.
“Why do I feel like most of that was aimed at me?”
Cana pointed at him without looking up.
“Because you challenged a broom to a duel.”
“It fell on me.”
“You called it a sneak attack.”
“It was.”
Alastor nodded.
“I support Gray’s war against household weapons.”
Makarov sighed.
Zestial said, “We’ll come back together.”
“Good.”
Erza looked at the list again.
“What if someone asks why we’re buying bandages?”
“Tell them Fairy Tail breaks things,” Cana said.
Makarov nodded.
“That’s usually enough.”
Alastor grinned.
“Honesty.
Nice.”
Makarov looked at him.
“No transformations unless someone’s in danger.”
Alastor’s grin faded.
“Define danger.”
“No.”
“That’s not a definition.”
“It’s a warning.”
Zestial tugged Alastor toward the door.
“We’re leaving before you lose market privileges.”
“I have privileges?”
“Barely.”
Scout gave a soft mrrp.
Alastor looked wounded.
“Wow.
Tiny supply officer turns on me before we even reach the street.”
“Walk,” Zestial said.
Magnolia felt different when they weren’t arriving half-dead.
The streets were busy.
Shops had open windows.
People shouted prices instead of orders.
A baker waved at Cana.
A fishmonger narrowed his eyes at Alastor, probably remembering the glaring from their first day.
Alastor waved.
The fishmonger looked away.
Zestial noticed.
“You’re doing the face again.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you’re deciding whether someone is edible.”
“I’m not.”
“You are a little.”
Alastor relaxed his jaw.
Gray looked over.
“Can you actually eat people in monster form?”
Erza said, “Gray.”
“What?
I’m asking.”
Zestial answered before Alastor could.
“No.”
Alastor raised a finger.
Zestial looked at him.
Alastor lowered the finger.
“No,” he agreed.
Cana smiled.
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“It’s a necessary answer,” Zestial said.
The first stop was easy.
Nails.
The carpenter was an older man with thick arms and a chipped front tooth.
He knew Fairy Tail, which meant he had already set aside a box of nails before they arrived.
“For the guild?” he asked.
Erza nodded.
“Yes.”
“Put it on Makarov’s account?”
Erza looked at the list.
Zestial leaned closer and pointed.
“Makarov wrote cash only.”
The carpenter laughed.
“Smart old man.”
Erza counted the money carefully.
Too carefully.
The carpenter waited without rushing her.
That helped.
Scout inspected the nails with solemn importance.
The carpenter stared.
“That cat checking my merchandise?”
“Palico,” all five children said.
The carpenter blinked.
Scout gave a firm meow and tapped the box twice.
Zestial nodded.
“Good quality.”
The carpenter looked from Scout to Zestial.
Then he shrugged.
“Well, I’ll take it.”
Alastor leaned toward Gray.
“Scout has entered commerce.”
Gray whispered back, “It’s better at this than us.”
“Speak for yourself.
I’m charming.”
“You scared the fish guy.”
“Charm has many forms.”
The second stop was bandages.
That was harder.
The apothecary smelled too sharp.
Not like Porlyusica’s house.
Cleaner, brighter, less forest and more alcohol.
Erza stopped just inside the door.
Her hand tightened around the list.
Zestial noticed first.
Cana noticed second.
Alastor noticed because both of them stopped.
The apothecary woman looked up from behind the counter.
“Fairy Tail?”
Cana answered smoothly.
“Bandages.
Clean roll, wide, three if you have them.”
The woman nodded and turned to the shelves.
Erza didn’t move.
Alastor stepped half a pace in front of her without thinking.
Zestial touched his sleeve.
Not here.
Alastor stopped.
Erza inhaled once.
Then again.
Gray looked around, uncomfortable.
“You okay?”
Erza’s left eye flicked to him.
Gray scratched his cheek.
“I mean, you look like you’re about to stab the shelf.”
Cana closed her eyes.
“Gray.”
“What?
I didn’t say she was wrong.”
Erza stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, she said, “I don’t like the smell.”
Gray nodded like that made perfect sense.
“Yeah.
Smells like healers.”
Zestial looked at him.
Gray looked away.
“My teacher used stuff like this.”
Cana’s expression softened for half a second.
Then she hid it behind her cards.
The apothecary came back with bandages.
Erza stepped forward and paid.
Her hand shook once.
Only once.
The woman didn’t mention it.
Outside, Alastor let out a breath.
“You good?”
Erza looked at him.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Fair enough.”
Zestial looked at Gray.
“That was almost tactful.”
Gray frowned.
“Almost?”
Cana patted his shoulder.
“Take the win.”
Gray looked annoyed, but less than usual.
They got the lamp oil without incident.
Mostly.
Alastor only asked one question about whether oil counted as an explosive if someone was creative, and Zestial shut that down quickly.
The flour was last.
The market square was fuller now.
A wagon had stopped near the bakery.
Two workers unloaded sacks while the baker argued with a delivery man about a broken wheel.
Makarov’s list said one sack.
The baker smiled when Cana approached.
“Fairy Tail’s out again?”
“Master says we need flour,” Cana said.
The baker looked toward Gray.
“Did he eat it?”
Gray bristled.
“Why does everyone assume I did something?”
Cana tilted her head.
Gray held up a hand.
“Don’t answer.”
The baker laughed and turned to grab a sack.
That was when the wagon shifted.
A crack snapped through the noise.
The back wheel buckled.
One of the workers shouted.
The wagon lurched sideways.
Three flour sacks slid down at once, heavy enough to crush a foot or knock a child flat.
A little boy near the stall froze directly in their path.
Alastor moved first.
He wanted speed.
Nargacuga legs.
Tobi-Kadachi reflexes.
Tigrex strength.
Three answers hit him at once, too many doors opening too fast.
His magic flared.
Zestial snapped, “One choice!”
Alastor clenched his teeth.
One.
Not the loudest.
Not the biggest.
His arms shifted, feathers and scales flashing over his skin.
Taloned fingers snapped out, built for gripping, catching, carrying awkward weight.
He caught the first sack.
It hit hard enough to skid him back.
Gray grabbed the boy and yanked him away.
Erza caught the second sack with both arms and staggered but stayed upright.
The third sack tore open against the ground, flour bursting upward in a white cloud.
For one second, no one moved.
Then Alastor sneezed.
Flour exploded off his face.
Gray stared at him.
Cana stared too.
Erza was covered from shoulder to waist.
Zestial slowly lowered the hand he’d raised to summon something.
Scout, dusted white, gave an offended yowl.
Alastor looked down at himself.
Then at the flour.
Then at Gray.
“Not a word.”
Gray’s mouth twitched.
Alastor pointed with one talon.
“Gray.”
Gray broke.
He laughed so hard he almost dropped the little boy.
Cana followed, leaning against the stall.
Even Erza’s mouth twitched.
Zestial pressed his lips together, clearly fighting it.
Scout shook itself, sending flour everywhere, then gave a sharp meow.
Zestial lost the fight and laughed once.
Alastor narrowed his eyes at all of them.
“Beautiful.
I save the flour sack and this is the thanks I get.”
Gray wiped his eyes.
“You look ridiculous.”
Alastor stared.
Cana doubled over.
Erza actually laughed.
Small, quick, but real.
Alastor heard it and decided not to retaliate.
Not much.
He shook his arms sending flour into Gray’s face.
Gray stopped laughing.
Alastor smiled.
“Wind changed.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
The baker rushed over.
“Is everyone all right?”
The little boy nodded quickly.
Gray set him down.
The boy looked up at him.
“Thanks.”
Gray suddenly seemed unsure what to do with his hands.
“Yeah.
Don’t stand near broken wagons.”
Cana sighed.
“So close.”
The baker checked Erza next.
“You hurt?”
Erza shook her head.
“No.”
“You caught that whole sack.”
She looked at the flour in her arms like she’d only just noticed.
“I did.”
Makarov had said no combat.
He hadn’t said anything about catching supplies.
The delivery man groaned near the wheel.
“Whole axle’s cracked.
I can’t move this.”
Zestial crouched by the wagon before anyone asked.
Scout hopped down beside him and inspected the wheel.
Alastor wiped flour from his eyebrow.
“Can we fix it?”
Zestial didn’t answer right away.
His eyes moved over the axle, the cracked support, the weight distribution, the remaining sacks.
“Temporarily.”
The delivery man looked doubtful.
“You’re a kid.”
Zestial stood.
“Yes.”
Cana stepped beside him, smile gone sharper.
“He’s Fairy Tail.”
That carried weight in Magnolia.
Not always good weight.
But weight.
The man hesitated.
Zestial said, “If you unload the rest first, I can brace the axle enough to move the wagon out of the road.
Not far.
Just clear of the square.”
The baker looked at the broken wheel.
“You sure?”
“No,” Zestial said.
“But I know what I’m looking at.”
That answer worked better than pretending.
Alastor moved the sacks with Kulu-Ya-Ku arms until the form faded.
Then he switched to Arzuros for heavier lifting, slower this time, checking his grip before every move.
Erza helped carry what she could.
Gray helped too, complaining only twice.
Cana kept people back and somehow convinced three adults to assist without making it sound like she’d asked.
Zestial worked with ordinary tools first.
Wood brace.
Rope.
Wedge.
Nail.
Scout passed him supplies with quick little mrrps and paw taps.
When the axle still sagged, Zestial summoned a small metal clamp from blue-white magic.
Not a full weapon.
Not armor.
Just a clamp.
It clicked into place around the cracked support.
His hand shook after forming it.
Alastor noticed.
“You good?”
“Fine.”
“Real fine or stupid fine?”
Zestial gave him a look.
“Real enough.”
Scout gave a doubtful trill.
Zestial sighed.
“Temporary real.”
Alastor nodded.
“Better.”
Together, the adults pushed the wagon clear.
The brace held.
Barely.
But it held.
The delivery man stared at it.
“I’ve seen grown repairmen do worse.”
Zestial stood slowly.
“Don’t drive it beyond the next street.”
“I won’t.”
“You need a real replacement axle.”
“I know.”
“Don’t overload that side.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t—”
Alastor put a hand on Zestial’s shoulder.
“He gets it.”
Zestial stopped.
The delivery man looked amused, not offended.
“Thanks, kid.”
Zestial nodded.
Scout gave the man a firm meow, like a final inspection warning.
The man nodded at Scout too.
“Yeah, yeah.
I won’t mess with the Palico’s work.”
Scout puffed up.
Gray stared.
“Scout’s famous now.”
Cana looked at the flour-covered group.
“We’re also very visible.”
Erza looked down at herself.
Alastor looked down too.
They were all covered in white dust except Cana, who had somehow avoided most of it.
Gray looked like he’d lost a fight with a bakery.
Alastor looked worse.
The little boy’s mother hurried over, thanked them, and tried to brush flour off Gray’s hair.
Gray went red and pulled away.
“I’m fine.”
Alastor grinned.
“Hero of the flour district.”
Gray pointed at him.
“Look who’s talking.”
Erza looked between them.
Then quietly said, “Both are accurate.”
Cana laughed again.
When they returned to Fairy Tail, the guild went silent for three seconds.
Then everyone started talking at once.
Makarov looked at the flour-covered children.
Then at the supplies.
Then at Scout’s proud stance.
“I said simple errand.”
“It was,” Zestial said.
Alastor nodded.
“The wagon complicated itself.”
Gray added, “We didn’t start it.”
Cana held up the list.
“We got everything.”
Erza placed the coin pouch on the counter.
“And came back together.”
Makarov looked at her.
Her face was powdered white.
Her hair had flour in it.
Her artificial eye was steady, her left eye bright from exertion.
She looked tired.
She also looked a little pleased.
Makarov’s mouth twitched.
“Good.”
Alastor blinked.
“That’s it?”
“You followed the important rules.”
Gray stared.
“We did?”
Makarov nodded.
“No fights.
No accepted jobs.
No chasing rumors.
You helped people in immediate danger and returned together.”
Alastor looked at Zestial.
Zestial looked back.
Cana leaned toward Erza.
“Take the win before he changes his mind.”
Erza nodded seriously.
Makarov pointed toward the washroom.
“Clean up.”
The guild groaned in sympathy.
Porlyusica chose that moment to enter.
She stopped in the doorway.
Her eyes moved over the flour.
Alastor slowly raised one hand.
“In our defense—”
“No.”
He lowered the hand.
Porlyusica pointed at him.
“Why feathers?”
“Kulu-Ya-Ku.”
“That explains nothing.”
“It explains some things.”
“It explains nothing useful.”
Zestial stepped forward.
“No injuries. Get faster updates on g.com.
Some magic strain from a temporary clamp.
Minor.”
Porlyusica looked at him.
“Minor.”
“Yes.”
Scout gave a sharp mew and tapped Zestial’s wrist.
Porlyusica narrowed her eyes.
“What did it say?”
Alastor wiped flour from his nose.
“Scout says he’s downplaying it.”
Zestial stared at him.
Alastor shrugged.
“What?
You were.”
Porlyusica pointed to a chair.
“Sit.”
Zestial sat.
Alastor leaned closer.
“Look at that.
Accountability.
Beautiful thing.”
Zestial gave him a tired look.
“I’ll remember this.”
“For at least ten minutes?”
“Maybe fifteen.”
Scout gave a pleased mrrp.
Porlyusica checked Zestial’s wrist, then his pulse, then his eyes.
“You’re tired.”
“I know.”
“Then stop pretending you’re not.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She looked suspicious, like agreement offended her.
Then she checked Alastor’s arms.
“Feather residue.”
Alastor looked down.
Tiny pale feathers stuck to his wrist.
“Huh.”
“Any pain?”
“No.”
“Any numbness?”
“No.”
“Any urge to peck grain?”
Gray made a choking sound.
Alastor stared at Porlyusica.
Was that a joke?
Her face gave nothing away.
Alastor chose caution.
“No.”
“Good.”
Cana whispered, “She joked.”
Gray whispered back, “I’m scared.”
Erza stood still while Porlyusica checked her eye.
“No strain?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Lying?”
Erza paused.
Porlyusica’s eyes sharpened.
“A little,” Erza admitted.
“There it is.
Sit down.”
Erza sat.
Makarov looked over the room.
His expression was tired, but not unhappy.
“Tomorrow, no errands.”
Alastor opened his mouth.
Makarov looked at him.
Alastor closed it.
Zestial smiled faintly.
After everyone cleaned up, the guild settled into evening.
The flour story spread fast.
By dinner, Wakaba had already called Alastor “Chicken Ghost” twice.
Alastor pretended to be offended.
He was only mildly offended.
Gray enjoyed it too much, so Alastor told everyone Gray had been rescued from a sack by his own shirt.
That part wasn’t true.
It became popular anyway.
Erza sat with Cana, listening.
She didn’t speak much, but she didn’t pull away from the noise either.
Zestial worked at the table with Scout beside him, drawing the wagon brace from memory.
Alastor sat across from him.
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“Turning a near disaster into homework.”
“It worked.”
“It barely worked.”
“That’s why I’m studying it.”
Alastor leaned over the sketch.
“Can you make a better version?”
“Yes.”
“For carts?”
“For carts.
For braces.
Maybe armor joints later.”
Alastor nodded.
“Good.”
Zestial looked up.
“You’re not asking if it explodes?”
“I’m growing.”
Scout gave a doubtful trill.
Alastor pointed at it.
“Rude, but fair.”
Zestial smiled.
Then his eyes lowered to the sketch again.
“My hands knew what to do faster today.”
“Yeah?”
“Some of it.”
Alastor waited.
Zestial tapped the drawing.
“The magic made the clamp.
The memory knew the concept.
But the brace?
The rope and wedge part?
That felt like this body.”
Alastor nodded slowly.
“The Tower kid.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good, right?”
Zestial didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said, “I think so.”
Alastor looked toward Erza and Gray arguing about whether catching flour counted as training.
“Mine too.”
Zestial looked at him.
Alastor rubbed his wrist.
“I wanted to pick something big when the sacks fell.
Tigrex.
Rathalos.
Anything loud.
But that would’ve been stupid.”
“Very.”
“Thanks.”
“You know it would’ve been.”
“Yeah.” Alastor looked at his hands.
“Kulu-Ya-Ku made sense.
That wasn’t my first instinct before.”
“Before before?”
“Yeah.”
Zestial lowered his voice.
Alastor did too.
“I think the kid knew how to grab things without breaking them,” Alastor said.
“Kids, mostly.
Tools.
Food.
Whatever he could carry.”
Zestial’s expression softened.
Alastor shrugged, but it was small.
“Maybe I’m not getting worse.
Maybe I’m just louder because all the pieces are bumping into each other.”
“That’s probably closer.”
Alastor gave him a faint smile.
“Look at you.
Therapist again.”
“Don’t start.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Doctor Zestial, emotional mechanic.”
Zestial threw a bread crust at him.
Alastor caught it and ate it.
Scout gave a delighted little prrt.
Across the hall, Erza looked over.
“What are you laughing at?”
Alastor pointed at Zestial.
“Him.
He attacked me with bread.”
Zestial said, “He deserved it.”
Erza considered this.
“Probably.”
Alastor placed a hand over his chest.
“Et tu, Erza?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Zestial gave him a warning look.
Alastor winced.
“Right.
Weird phrase.
Forget it.”
Erza watched him for a second longer.
Then turned back to Cana.
Zestial leaned closer.
“Careful.”
“I know.”
“You’re getting comfortable.”
“That’s bad?”
“No.
Just dangerous.”
Alastor nodded.
“Yeah.”
The room was warm.
Loud.
Safe enough that careless words could slip out.
That made it more dangerous in a different way.
Later that night, Zestial wrote in his notebook.
Market errand: useful test.
Alastor selected Kulu-Ya-Ku under pressure.
Good sign.
Preference did not override purpose.
Current-body memories may include carrying, hiding, repairing, tool handling, and survival tasks.
He paused.
Then added:
Not stolen.
Not simple.
Integrated.
Across the hall, Alastor sat on his bed with his own notebook open.
He had written less.
Could’ve gone big.
Didn’t.
Chicken ghost nickname unfortunate.
Then, after a long moment:
Maybe the kid was careful too.
He stared at the line.
It felt important.
He didn’t know why yet.
In the hallway, Scout slept between the cracked doors with the supply box tucked under one paw.
The guild quieted.
Magnolia settled.
And for once, the memories that came back didn’t feel like proof of theft.
They felt like tools being returned to hands that had always been waiting for them.