The corridor wasn't long, and soon Laxus reached the heavy wooden door of the infirmary.
He paused with his hand on the knob, standing in silence for several seconds as if gathering his courage.
Then, he pushed the door open.
The infirmary was quiet.
Makarov sat on a chair by the window, his back to the door, gazing outside.
The morning sunlight streamed through the glass, casting his small frame into a long shadow.
He held a cup of tea, but it had clearly gone cold; no steam rose from the rim.
Hearing the door open, Makarov didn't turn around.
"You're here," the old man said calmly, his voice slightly hoarse.
Laxus closed the door and stopped three steps behind his grandfather.
He looked at that familiar, small back, the graying hair, and the slightly hunched shoulders.
In this quiet morning room, filled with the sterile scent of medicine, Laxus could clearly sense a deep, crushing weariness radiating from the old man.
"Gramps," Laxus began, his voice unexpectedly dry.
Makarov slowly turned around.
For the first time, a clear flicker of true guilt flashed in Laxus's eyes.
It wasn't the frustration of last night's defeat or the anger over his failed plan. It was something deeper—a soul-crushing self-reproach.
He looked into his grandfather's eyes. Those eyes, which had always held warm laughter, now held only exhaustion and sorrow.
Laxus felt as if an invisible hand were squeezing his heart.
Between them stood a small round table with a teapot, two cups, and a plate of cold biscuits.
Sunlight slanted through the window, illuminating the tiny dust motes drifting slowly through the air.
A long silence ensued.
From outside came the distant noise of the streets and faint voices from the guildhall, but the infirmary was so quiet they could hear each other breathing.
Finally, Makarov spoke.
"How are your injuries?" he asked, his tone as casual as if inquiring about the weather.
"Fine," Laxus replied curtly.
"What about Freed and the others?"
"In the guild basement. They're badly hurt, but they'll live."
Another silence fell.
Makarov picked up his cold tea, took a slow sip, and set it back down. His fingers lightly traced the rim of the cup as he stared at the dark liquid.
"Laxus," he began, his voice low. "Yesterday, you nearly destroyed the guild."
It wasn't an accusation or a rebuke. It was just a heavy statement of fact.
Laxus's body stiffened slightly.
"What we call a guild is a place where comrades gather. For lost children with nowhere to go, it's a warm home," Makarov said quietly. "It doesn't belong to any one person. A guild is built on mutual trust and loyalty. It becomes a bond stronger than anything else."
"But you betrayed that loyalty and endangered your comrades' lives. That is absolutely unforgivable."
Laxus clenched his left fist. "I know. I just wanted the guild to become stronger."
Makarov suddenly stood up. "You really are a clumsy fool. Why not loosen the tension in your shoulders? Only then can you see what you couldn't see before, and hear what you couldn't hear."
Laxus fell into deep thought.
"Do you know what I was thinking when I saw those girls turned to stone? When I witnessed our family fighting each other in the streets, and watched the entire city descend into chaos?" Makarov lifted his head, his tired gaze settling on Laxus's face.
Laxus didn't respond.
"I was thinking... maybe I was wrong." Makarov's voice was soft, yet each word struck Laxus's heart like a physical blow. "Maybe I, as your grandfather, never truly understood you. Maybe I didn't give you enough care, maybe my expectations were too heavy... maybe I never truly entered your heart."
"That's not—" Laxus tried to speak, but Makarov raised a hand to stop him.
"Let me finish." The old man took a deep breath. "Over these past few years, I've watched you become increasingly withdrawn and radical. I watched you form the Thunder God Tribe and drift apart from everyone else. I thought you were just growing up. I thought giving you space to explore your own path was the right approach."
He paused, moisture gathering in his eyes.
"But I was wrong. Terribly wrong. I gave you space, but let you wander further into loneliness. I watched you become radical, but didn't pull you back in time. I arrogantly believed that children must learn to fly on their own, but I forgot that once you fly in the wrong direction, you can never return."
A tear slid from the old man's eye, tracing a path down his wrinkled cheek before dripping into his teacup.
Watching that tear fall, Laxus felt as if he had been stabbed.
He wanted to say, It's not your fault.
He wanted to say, I chose this path myself. But his throat felt blocked, completely unable to utter a single word.
"When your father Ivan left, he told me: 'Makarov, you'll never understand how to be a father.'" Makarov's voice trembled.
"I refused to accept it back then. I thought... I raised you. I gave you the best education, I taught you magic, I entrusted the guild to you. How could I not know how to be a father?"
He closed his eyes, the tears flowing more fiercely now.
"But now I understand. Ivan was right. I truly don't know how to be a father. I don't know how to communicate with a rebellious son, I don't know how to reach a grandson's closed heart, and I don't know how to provide guidance when you needed it most."
"I'm just... a failed father. A failed grandfather."
"You chose this path yourself. I know that." Makarov opened his eyes. The tears still flowed, but his gaze was unusually clear.
"But as your elder, as the Guild Master, and as the person responsible for this family, I also bear undeniable responsibility. I failed to notice your pain in time. I failed to stop you in time. And I failed to slap you hard enough to wake you up when you strayed onto the wrong path."
He slowly stood up and walked to the window, turning his back to Laxus.
The sunlight cast his small figure onto the ground, stretching his shadow long and making him appear incredibly lonely.
"Laxus, do you know what Fairy Tail's belief is?" Makarov asked softly. "We are family. Comrades."
Makarov turned around, his gaze as sharp as flames. "But last night, you treated your family as hostages and your comrades as pawns. You threatened me with their lives, gambling with the very existence of the entire guild. You trampled upon the core belief of Fairy Tail, and you betrayed everyone who saw you as family."
Laxus's face turned as pale as paper. His lips trembled, but he was unable to form words.
"The guild has its rules." Makarov's voice turned icy, carrying an absolute authority that Laxus had rarely heard—the unquestionable dignity of the Master.
"Those who harm their comrades are expelled. This is an ironclad law, unchanged since the day this guild was founded."
He looked at Laxus, his gaze filled with agony, yet completely unwavering.
"Laxus Dreyar. By my authority as the Third Guild Master of Fairy Tail, I declare—"
The old man's voice broke, but he forced himself to continue.
"From this moment onward, you are no longer a mage of Fairy Tail. All ties between you and this guild are hereby severed."
Silence.
Only the heavy breathing of the two men remained in the infirmary.
Laxus stood there, unmoving.
He looked at his grandfather's tear-streaked face and the eyes filled with agony. He felt something shatter inside his chest—a sharp, suffocating pain.
But he did not beg for mercy. He did not offer excuses, and he did not express anger.
He simply rose slowly, and bowed deeply to Makarov.
"I'm sorry, Gramps."
Four words, draining absolutely all of his strength.
He straightened up, turned, and walked toward the door.
Each step was steady, but his broad shoulders trembled faintly.
Just as his hand touched the doorknob, Makarov's voice sounded again.
"Laxus."
Laxus stopped, but did not turn around.
"Leaving the guild does not mean you are no longer my grandson," Makarov choked out.
"No matter where you go... no matter what you become... you will always, always be my grandson."
Laxus's body shuddered violently.
Clenching his teeth, he pushed the door open and walked out without looking back.
The door clicked shut.
Inside the infirmary, Makarov slowly sank back into his chair.
He covered his face with his hands, his small shoulders shaking intensely as muffled, agonized sobs escaped through his fingers.
Out in the hallway, Laxus leaned heavily against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes to stop the tears from falling.
...
Back in the guildhall, everyone saw Laxus emerge from the corridor.
They saw the devastating emptiness in his eyes.
Laxus walked silently through the crowd toward the main entrance.
This time, no one stopped him.
No one cursed him.
Everyone simply watched in silence as the once-proud man departed in disgrace.
Just as he was about to step out the front doors—
"Laxus."
It was Ace.
Laxus halted and slowly turned around.
Ace walked up to him.
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, holding it forward—a silver emblem bearing the crest of a roaring thunder dragon, with tiny lightning lacrima embedded in the dragon's eyes.
"What is this?" Laxus asked hoarsely.
"The emblem of the Thunder God Tribe. Freed asked me to give it to you," Ace said calmly. "He said, no matter where you go, the Thunder God Tribe will always follow you."
Laxus looked down at the emblem, staring at it for a long, quiet moment.
Then, he reached out and took it.
"Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
He turned around, stepped out of the guild's main entrance and disappeared down the end of the street.
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