They never did get the Tomas's Coffee signature dessert.
Strangely, even though Erza had been looking forward to it for ages, she didn't seem too disappointed. Her lips even curled slightly, as if finding it a little regretful was kind of nice.
"Next time," Shane said first. "We'll set aside a day just to walk around. First stop is there."
Erza nodded, smile widening. "Deal."
They swung by the inn, checked out, grabbed their luggage, and officially moved into their new home.
Cleaning took a while. The place really was as the manager had said: good bones, white walls, a cozy brick-and-stone fireplace, and a decent set of furniture. Everything was just dusty—once wiped down, it all looked solid.
The only weak point was the shower. There was a tub, but for Shane it was… tight. He could stretch his legs, but not flail, and that made bathing feel cramped and unsatisfying.
He found himself eyeing the yard. With that much space, maybe one day he'd wall off a corner and build an outdoor hot spring.
Being able to soak anytime—that was living.
But hot water was a problem. Where to source it? How to keep it heated? All too much hassle. For now, the idea remained a dream.
As for the front yard, the flat plot had his blood humming.
Leaving it empty was a crime. Should he plant low-maintenance vegetables—tomatoes, lettuce? Or hardy flowers, long-blooming shrubs, maybe a fruit tree or two?
He stood in the yard, already sketching out beds and pots in his head.
Erza was more down to earth. While he cleaned, she made another trip into town, this time to a locksmith, and had a brand-new key cut.
Back home, she handed it to Shane with unusual ceremony.
"Here." She was very serious. "This is our house key."
He took the still faintly warm metal, felt a small tug in his chest, and tucked it into the deepest part of his pocket.
After that, life settled—hard and fast.
Shane didn't set foot in the guild for an entire week.
Hiding from Makarov a bit, yes—but mainly because the psychic backlash from his failed True Name guess was far worse than he'd expected.
His head had been fogged, as if stuffed with cotton; anything remotely complex made his temples throb, and focusing for long was painful.
His nearly-rank-up Agility stalled for that entire week.
It made him restless and frustrated—and there was nothing he could do.
With his mind useless, he turned to cooking.
He'd always liked messing around in kitchens in his past life.
Chopping, seasoning, managing heat—none of it demanded mental power; in fact, it calmed him. He found he enjoyed the routine.
Erza was the opposite. She went out at first light, without fail, and spent every day buried in the guild library until evening, returning with the faint smell of ink on her clothes.
She seemed to mesh perfectly with Requip—grasping it faster than expected.
By her estimate, she'd have the basics down by next month and could attempt her first Requip.
That made Shane click his tongue and accuse her of cheating on their study plan. He even added extra chili to her dinner out of "spite."
She just ate happier—and asked for seconds.
By Sunday noon, Shane had just finished lamb chops.
The meat was crisp outside, tender within; the fat sizzled softly on the plate. Erza tore through her share in silence and record time—eating nearly twice what Shane did.
She set her chopsticks down, dabbed her mouth, then said as if remembering, "Oh right—Shane, the master says stop avoiding him."
Shane froze mid-chew. "I'm not," he protested weakly—even he didn't believe it.
Erza ignored that and continued, "Gildarts wrecked another harbor a couple days ago. The Council's already sent papers. Master's anger… seems to have shifted to him."
Shane's eyes lit up.
He switched tracks instantly. "…Then it has been a while since I dropped by. I'll go with you this afternoon," he said, stacking his empty dishes by the sink.
Cooks, it seemed, had a universal flaw: they loved the stove, not the sink.
Luckily Erza never skimped on food; washing up as "payment" was natural to her.
By the time she'd finished eating and returned the plates to their places, Shane was already ready to go, Gale-Force Reading Glasses tucked safely away, eager to leave.
He was stung by Erza's pace and wanted badly to catch up on Requip.
Fairy Tail was as rowdy as ever.
Shane had barely stepped through the door, eyes already drifting toward the library stairs, when a boozy arm hooked around his neck.
Macao, face flushed, radiating warmth and alcohol, leaned in.
He clearly wanted to recruit a drinking buddy—but with Erza watching like a hawk, Shane couldn't indulge even if he wanted to.
"Yo, rookie! Finally showing your face?" Macao thumped his shoulder. "Heard you were dodging the master's nagging for a week? Didn't take you for the type!"
"I actually was busy," Shane replied weakly.
Macao snorted, got closer, and lowered his voice. "You should learn from your seniors. Jobs going sideways is normal. Why fear the old man? Look at Gildarts—every job is a disaster, and he just wanders back like nothing happened."
Warm, alcohol-laced breath washed over him; Shane leaned away on instinct, but the words sank in.
He's got a point. Gildarts's "I caused trouble, but I'm chill, so I'm not wrong" attitude was… kind of a Fairy Tail tradition.
"Yeah. I don't need to feel guilty," Shane thought. His earlier nerves suddenly seemed silly.
After swapping more "old" wisdom, Shane felt genuinely enlightened. His mental map for handling future jobs looked a lot cleaner.
"Macao really is a veteran—sharp and experienced," he thought, buying the man three big beers in thanks.
Satisfied at last, he started toward the library—when the doors flew open and Gray's familiar, ringing voice cut through the noise.
"Shane! Where's Shane?!"
~~~
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