Natsu blinked, slowly waking from a strange dream. In it, he was drinking beer with Goku, right after the saiyan had declared, with the utmost naturalness, that Chi-Chi was not such a good wife after all and even called her a failure. Something clearly taken from an old meme from his past life.....
It was definitely a very strange dream.....
He rose from the hammock that served as an improvised bed, thinking that soon he would need to materialize a better house. He had not done so yet only because the memories of his predecessor and the lingering feeling that that house was, in some way, his home remained deeply rooted in his heart. Detaching himself from it was, surprisingly, difficult. Of course, he could simply renovate the interior and turn it into something far better. But he was not exactly in the mood to think about that right now.
And there it was again... his random, intrusive morning thoughts, surfacing before he was even fully awake.
He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his joints with a lazy sigh, his body responding with the elasticity of someone who had surpassed human limits long ago. The sensation was still strange, intense enough to make him believe he could stop an earthquake with a single punch. Having such an absurdly powerful body was still difficult to assimilate for someone who, in his past life, had been nothing more than an ordinary human.
That was different from when he had been reborn in that world and become "Natsu." In that case, he had essentially resolved and fused with his former self on an existential level, becoming one and the same. Inheriting, on the other hand, the entirety of "Yujiro Hanma's Physical Conditioning" had been even stranger by comparison. Even so, he had grown accustomed to it; controlling his own strength posed no difficulty whatsoever. Still, the constant awareness that his body was far beyond any normal human standard gave him a curious sensation, as if he were permanently under the effect of an extremely powerful magical tonic.
Activating his gravitational manipulation powers, he applied the Gravitational Weights to his own body. A purple aura enveloped him for a brief instant before rings of energy formed around his wrists, ankles, and waist, then vanished beneath the skin. Immediately, he felt his body "sink," subjected to intense gravitational pressure. Even so, it was not an extreme level; he handled it without difficulty.
This gravity-based training worked through constant pressure, forcing the muscles to work far beyond their limits. The strain damaged them repeatedly, only for them to regenerate almost instantly thanks to [Ultra-Fast Regeneration], an ability he kept active at all times at the cost of his Magical Power. In this way, in addition to strengthening his physical body, he also expanded and refined his magical reserves. His control already bordered on perfection, yet he still benefited from the continuous wear and repetition. Moreover, his mastery over gravitational manipulation evolved rapidly, since during training he needed to maintain absolute precision to avoid exceeding limits and compromising the entire process....
Of course, he could not maintain that indefinitely. Even with his extremely high endurance, the most he could manage was spending the entire day with that "training mode" active, turning it off only at night to allow for full recovery.
After adjusting the gravity on his body, Natsu cracked his fingers and yawned.
With a thought, he invoked his [Subjective Reality], materializing a bottle of ice-cold water directly in his hand. The cold glass immediately condensed droplets, and he brought it to his lips, drinking slowly, feeling the refreshing liquid slide down his throat. He decided that a shower would be the next step. He walked to the bathroom. With a fluid gesture, he activated [Reequip], causing his clothes to dissolve into particles of light that dissipated into the air, leaving him naked under the faint light entering through the small window. He stepped into the bathroom, turning the faucet with a satisfying click. Water cascaded down, warm at first, but he adjusted it to cold, letting it wash away the sweat and the worries of the night.
The "worries" he referred to were, in truth, doubts. Although he trusted his own ability to achieve his goals and protect the people important to him, uncertainties were still deeply rooted in his heart. He had never possessed a truly invincible mindset. In short, that excessive confidence, sustained by the absurdly advantageous abilities he possessed, had been only temporary.
In the end, when reality finally asserted itself, he realized he could not rely solely on that. It was precisely this realization that had driven him to dedicate himself so intensely to training lately. This was not a game or a convenient story; it was a real, unpredictable world, where many things could go wrong.
And if he wanted to survive and protect what mattered, he needed to be prepared.
The human heart was, above all else, unpredictable. There was no way to command feelings as if they were pieces on a board; they emerged, grew, and transformed beyond conscious will. Thoughts, in turn, were the mold of those emotions—one single misguided line of reasoning was enough for the heart to fill with resentment, fear, or doubt, clouding any capacity to think clearly.
In the end, what was he really talking about? The answer was simple and uncomfortable: this was the real world. As much as the people he had met lately resembled, in personality and appearance, characters from a manga, they were not fiction. They were human. They felt, suffered, desired, and precisely because of that, they were unpredictable.
That only reinforced a difficult truth to accept: no one had absolute control over anything. Trying to dominate the heart was like trying to hold back a river with one's bare hands—the harder you tried, the more it slipped through your fingers. As the proverb said, "the heart has reasons that reason itself does not know," and ignoring that was just another way of losing oneself.
The reason he was thinking about all of that had a name: Lucy.
Yesterday, he had merely made that idiotic comment about not being good with feelings and gone to bed, but he had not fallen asleep easily....
Indeed, he was not good with feelings, but he was also not a complete asshole, despite many women in his past life seeing him that way. The truth was simpler and repetitive: he never knew how to deal with emotions. Not out of disinterest, but out of caution. He knew well the unpredictable nature of feelings. Becoming attached could bring happiness, but also pain; likewise, avoiding bonds could protect him from suffering, but condemned him to emptiness. It was always an unequal trade.
Being present during Lucy's mourning brought those contradictions back to the surface. It forced him to think about things he believed he had left behind, once again bringing the uncomfortable sensation of living in a real world, not a story. And that caught him off guard, especially because he truly believed he had already overcome everything during his journey with Juvia.
Apparently, it was not so simple to abandon an entire life and accept a new reality that, for so long, he had treated as mere fiction. The characters in the stories he had read, who accepted being reborn in another world with almost absurd ease, now seemed strange to him. If they were real, they could only be aberrations, because no one with even a shred of genuine emotion could discard the past as if it had never existed.
In the end, he realized that feelings were like thin glass: beautiful when intact, dangerous when broken. Even so, avoiding them forever was living with empty hands. And that realization, as simple as it was, hurt more than he cared to admit.
That did not mean he hated that new world—quite the opposite. As he had said and thought countless times, he truly loved that place and the sense of freedom it gave him. Nor did he wish to return to the past.
The problem was never rejection.
It was, above all, a deep and sudden sense of estrangement.
Changing realities was not like switching colleges or changing girls at some random party. It was not a simple choice, nor a reversible one. It was more like waking up in a body that still responded to his commands, but carried memories that did not belong there. Everything worked, but nothing fit perfectly. He liked that world, the people, the possibilities. Still, there were moments when the weight of what had been left behind made itself felt, like a silent shadow. Accepting a new reality required more than adaptation; it required mourning. Mourning for the life that could no longer be lived, for the choices that would never be remade....
Perhaps that was what made everything so confusing: he was not divided between two worlds, but trying to exist in one while carrying the memories of the other. As the old saying goes, no one crosses a river without getting their feet wet. And, in that case, the water was still cold....
Yes, did he understand now why he was terrible with emotions? His psychologist friend would have said he had a very strong emotional block....
He remained there for a few minutes, thinking about all of that, eyes closed, allowing the spray to massage his tense muscles. After finishing his shower, he shook his head to flick the excess water from his pink hair. Instead of grabbing a towel, he raised his body temperature with a subtle pulse of his fire magic, turning the droplets into vapor that rose around him like a warm mist, drying him instantly.
Satisfied, he invoked [Reequip] once more. The particles of light gathered, weaving a pair of dark gray tailored pants that fit perfectly around his legs, followed by a loose but elegant white sweatshirt, whose sleeves he rolled up to his elbows. His familiar scarf materialized around his neck, swaying lightly. And, on a whim, he added a white cap, adjusting it on his head with a subtle smile.
In his past life, caps were something casual, but that was not the case for him. Whenever he was lost in thought, he felt the need to pull the cap forward, keep his gaze fixed on the brim, and isolate himself from the world around him while organizing his own feelings. Maybe it did not make sense to anyone else. Maybe it was just an unimportant habit. But for him, it was a simple gesture that said a lot: when emotions became too confused to face head-on, lowering his gaze was the only way to keep thinking honestly.
Well... at least that was how it was for him.
He looked at himself in the fogged mirror, wiping it with his hand. He did not look bad.
With one last adjustment to his scarf, he left the bathroom, ready to face whatever came next.
The sun was already rising in the sky when he left the house. The path to the meeting point with Lucy was not long; she had set it at the train station, since they would need to take one to reach their destination. Acnologia, once again.
Lucy's parents were buried in the local cemetery, and he could not help but find it strange that she had not wanted to go there the day before, even though she was already in the city. Still, he quickly thought of a plausible reason for that. She probably needed time to process everything in her old home. Happy's death and everything that happened on Tenrou Island had not been easy for anyone to overcome, and now her father's death must have been quite disturbing....
Natsu let out a slow sigh, feeling the weight of those persistent thoughts settle once more in the depths of his chest.
"I really am not good with feelings..." he murmured, more to himself than to the world.
The next instant, he decided to teleport....
Space folded almost imperceptibly, and the scenery before him was replaced by worn stone and wooden walls. He appeared in a narrow, silent alley, exactly where he had left the mark of the [Flying Thunder God Technique] days earlier. No sound beyond the distant movement of the city waking for another day. Perfect.
Unhurried, he adjusted his cap, slipped his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, and left the alley as if he had always been there, blending into the morning flow of Magnolia.
The train station was already relatively busy. Merchants discussed prices in low voices, travelers carried simple luggage, and some adventurers discreetly displayed their guild emblems. The smell of metal heated by the sun mixed with the fresh coffee coming from a nearby stall.
Lucy was near the ticket counter.
She wore casual clothes: a simple, light-colored long-sleeved blouse paired with a short navy-blue skirt and low leather boots. Her blonde hair was tied in a loose ponytail, with a few strands escaping to frame her face. There were faint dark circles beneath her brown eyes, and her posture, though composed, betrayed an emotional fatigue that was hard to hide.
Natsu recognized her immediately.
"Yo, Lucy."
She turned, and for a moment seemed surprised. Soon after, a small, sincere, but restrained smile appeared on her lips.
"Good morning, Natsu...."
There was no usual cheerfulness. Even so, she tried to keep her tone light, as if she did not want to turn that meeting into something heavy at the very start of the day.
"Sleep well?" he asked, more out of habit than expectation.
Lucy hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering.
"Enough... I think."
Natsu did not press. He was never good with questions that poked at open wounds, and Lucy also did not seem inclined to delve deeper. Instead, he pointed his thumb toward the counter.
"Let's get the tickets already. The earlier we leave, the better."
"Yeah... let's."
The process was quick. A few coins exchanged hands, a brief comment from the attendant about the schedule, and within minutes, the tickets were in their hands. Fifteen minutes later, the train whistle echoed through the station, and the two boarded along with the other passengers.
The interior of the car was simple, polished wooden benches and wide windows through which the morning light entered easily. They sat side by side, Lucy by the window, Natsu leaning back against the seat, arms crossed in a relaxed manner.
The train began to move with a gentle jolt.
For a few moments, neither of them said anything. The rhythmic sound of the wheels on the tracks filled the space between them, creating a kind of silent comfort. Lucy watched the urban landscape slowly recede, buildings giving way to open fields and scattered trees.
Natsu glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
She looked fragile. Not in a physical sense, but like someone holding something on the verge of overflowing, staying steady by sheer force of will. That bothered him more than he cared to admit.
"Hey," he said, breaking the silence. "If you want to talk about something... I'm here."
Lucy blinked, surprised by the unexpected frankness. For a moment, she seemed to consider refusing, but ended up letting out a soft sigh.
"Thank you," she said simply. "Maybe... later."
Natsu nodded, accepting that without question. For him, that was already enough.
The train moved on, carrying them away from Magnolia and, with it, into another chapter that neither of them knew exactly how to face. But at least for now, they were not alone.
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