It didn't take Jellal long to get a fire going. He worked with quiet efficiency, gathering dry wood, striking flame, and coaxing it to life as though it were second nature. When the fire finally caught, he moved on without pause—searching the surrounding area for anything edible. He knew what to look for. Berries, roots, small plants—nothing that would poison them. He returned with what little he could find, though the results were less than appetizing.

The first bite confirmed it. Bitter. Sharp. Almost unbearable. Romeo made a face immediately and pushed the food away. "I'm not eating that."

Jellal sighed, already expecting resistance. "Come now, Romeo. We don't know when we'll find our next meal. You need to eat while you can."

"But it's nasty!" the boy protested, scrunching his nose.

"It may taste awful, but it will keep you alive," Jellal said firmly, crossing his arms. "Now eat."

"No! I won't!"

"Oh yes, you will."

"You can't make me!"

Jellal leaned forward slightly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Oh yes I can."

Erza watched the exchange from across the fire, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. The bickering reminded her of her childhood. Of the countless arguments she'd had with Laxus. She would scold him for slacking off, call him careless; he would roll his eyes, call her overbearing, and then find some way to annoy her in return. They had clashed constantly. She hadn't realized how much she missed that.

Her gaze softened for a moment before drifting away from the brothers and settling on Wendy. The girl sat quietly, apart from the argument, doing exactly as she had been told. She ate the roots and berries without complaint, without even so much as a flinch. No grimace, no hesitation. Nothing. It was as if she didn't taste them at all. Wendy's movements were mechanical, distant—her body present, but her mind somewhere far away.

"What happened to you?" Erza wondered.

"You're very young, aren't you?" Jellal asked Erza after finally getting his brother to finish his meal.

"What makes you say that?" she replied, adopting a faux deep voice.

"Your face—I can't quite explain it, but it doesn't look like a man's. I assumed you must be a boy, probably just turned fourteen or fifteen. Am I right?"

"No. I'm nineteen."

"Really?"

He lifted her chin, gazing directly into her eyes, studying her intently.

"If that's true, you're certainly the youngest-looking nineteen-year-old I've ever met. Your skin hasn't even sprouted any whiskers yet. Quite unusual for someone your age."

Jellal's face was striking, commanding attention in a way that made it hard to look away. She could see in his serious green eyes that he was no fool; he sensed something different about this "soldier" and was determined to uncover it.

"Would you mind taking your hands off my face?" Erza demanded, regaining her composure.

"My apologies," he said, releasing her at once. "I suppose I'm still cautious. Betrayal tends to do that."

"And that requires you to get so close to my face because?"

"I have something of a sense for lies," he admitted. "If I look directly at someone when they speak, I can usually tell."

Erza's expression tightened. "And you think I'm lying."

"Partially."

"Meaning?"

Jellal exhaled lightly. "It's difficult to explain. When you speak about who you are... I can tell you're lying." His gaze sharpened. "But I also believe you believe what you're saying is true."

"That makes no sense."

"Exactly." He stepped back slightly. "That's why I looked closer. I was trying to separate truth from deception."

"And did you?"

"No." A pause. "And that concerns me."

Erza folded her arms. "Why?"

"Because I can usually understand people," he said quietly. "But you... you don't fit neatly into anything I recognize."

He studied her one last time, then added, "For now, I'll leave it be. I don't think you mean us harm. That much is clear."

That didn't make Erza feel any less exposed. His gaze lingered just a second too long before he finally turned away. That night, sleep came poorly. Erza lay rigid by the fire, armor still on, helmet carefully in place despite how uncomfortable it was. The metal pressed into her skin, heavy and unforgiving. She couldn't risk taking it off—not even for a moment. One mistake. One glimpse. And everything would collapse.

So she endured it. Turning. Adjusting. Trying not to let the armor clink too loudly. Only exhaustion eventually dragged her under.

Morning came with sharp light and colder air.
Jellal didn't waste time.

"I want to see you shoot," he said, carving a rough target into a nearby tree with his knife.

Erza didn't hesitate. She took position, drew her bow, and released.

The arrow flew clean and true, striking the center of the mark with a solid thunk.

Jellal nodded once. "Not bad. In fact... quite good."

"Thank you," she said carefully.

"But is that all?"

"I didn't have time to learn more," she replied. "I had to leave quickly. It was... urgent."

"I see." He studied her again. "Then we begin properly. Hand-to-hand combat."

He circled her slowly, assessing her stance like he had done everything else.

"Your balance is off," he said immediately. "Too rigid. Too wide. You hesitate before movement. And your timing is inconsistent."

"There's no way you can tell all that just from how I stand," she muttered.

"I can," he replied without hesitation. "I've trained since I was a child. You haven't."

His gaze flicked over her again, briefly thoughtful.

"And that's why I still question your rank."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said. "Different nations train differently. I simply don't recognize yours."

"That's convenient," Erza thought bitterly.

But aloud, she said nothing.

Instead, she focused on his next words.

"You are not hopeless," Jellal said. "You're strong. Disciplined in your own way. Intelligent. Coordinated. And most importantly..." His expression softened slightly. "You have spirit. That matters more than skill."

Erza didn't respond, though something in her chest tightened at the unexpected praise.

"But spirit alone won't protect you," he continued. "So I will teach you how to use it properly."

And he did.

Climbing. Jumping. Landing. Tracking. Silence. Awareness. Spears. Slings. Barehanded strikes.

Every failure was immediate. Every correction precise.

"Too slow."

"Too loud."

"Wrong angle."

"Again."

By midday, her body already ached.

By evening, it burned.

Erza failed every test he gave her that first day and yet she didn't stop. Not once. Even when she stumbled. Even when she misstepped. Even when her breath came too hard and her muscles shook with exhaustion. Because she had made a vow to reach the Magnolia Nation. She would stop another war before it began and if that meant enduring pain, humiliation, and brutal training at the hands of an infuriatingly perceptive man, then so be it.

"You know," Jellal said after a while, "training would probably be easier if you took off all that armor. Why don't you?"

He wasn't wrong. Everything hurt more because of it—every movement heavier, every landing harder. Without it, she would almost certainly perform better. But then there was the problem she couldn't say out loud. Her body.

"I think it's better if I train with it on," she said carefully. "I'll be fighting in armor anyway. I should get used to it."

"Perhaps," Jellal replied, studying her. "But the climate here will only get hotter. If you keep this up, you'll risk heat exhaustion."

Erza tensed.

"For your own health," he added, "take it off."

"I... I can't."

"Why not?" he asked, blunt but not unkind. "We're in the wilderness. There's little chance of attack, and even then, you're safer without overheating. Your armor isn't necessary right now."

"It's not just for protection," she said quickly, scrambling for something—anything—believable. "It's... it's for my back."

"Your back?"

"Yes," she said, seizing the idea as it formed. "My spine. It's... misaligned. The armor helps keep it straight. Without it, I hunch."

That wasn't entirely untrue—at least in principle, but it was the first complete lie she'd managed that didn't immediately crumble.

"Oh," Jellal said slowly. "I see. Still, it's dangerous to let you suffer in it. We could bind it instead."

"Bind it?"

"We have strong cloth. If wrapped properly, it should support your back."

Erza hesitated. "I suppose... that could work."

"Good," Jellal said simply. "We'll use what we have."

Romeo and Wendy helped without question, each offering strips of cloth. Jellal even offered to assist, but Erza quickly refused.

"I can do it myself."

So she walked away from camp, deeper into the trees, until their voices faded behind her. Only then did she slip behind a wide trunk, finally alone. Her hands moved carefully at first. Armor pieces came off one by one, heavier than she realized. Then her shirt, set aside with quiet urgency. She wrapped the cloth tightly around her torso, pulling it firm enough to flatten her chest and hide her breasts. Every loop of fabric was deliberate, controlled. Every knot pulled secure. Finally, she secured the bindings with a hairpin, ensuring nothing would loosen.

"With my shirt on, they probably won't notice," she thought, adjusting her clothes. "But what am I going to do about my hair?"

Suddenly, Erza heard a small gasp from behind. She turned to find Wendy staring at her, mouth agape, shocked by the sight of the supposed soldier with long red hair and noticeable cleavage.

"Oh no," Erza said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, don't be alarmed! This isn't what it looks like!"

Panic set in for Wendy, and she bolted.

"No! Come back!"

Erza raced after her, and without the weight of her armor, she moved like a lioness. Poor Wendy was like a young gazelle, and she stood no chance as Erza pounced.

"Jellal!" Wendy tried to scream as Erza caught her. "Jellal—Mmmph!"

Erza quickly covered her mouth before another word could escape.

"Don't scream! Please, just let me explain!" Erza pleaded, pulling the struggling girl behind a tree and holding her tightly until she calmed down.