A slight timeskip for this chapter. No, the new members don't include Lucy. Not yet. Soon, though!

An ice pack was pressed into Mystogan's open hand. "How are you still hungover?" Cana questioned, plopping down into one of the chairs opposite Makarov's former desk. "It's been almost a full day." She paused, then leaned forward in her seat, squinting against the morning light shining through the window straight into her eyes. "Or is this part of the concussion thing?"

Mystogan's only response was to groan at her. Her voice was so… loud. And how was he supposed to know? He'd never had either one of those things before. And now he'd had them both back to back. And why was the room so bright? What did Makarov need such a large window for in his guild office? And right behind his desk? The morning sun just shone straight on through it, too. Did it have curtains? Mystogan hadn't thought to check, but now his head hurt too much to stand up again because if he did he was definitely going to vomit again.

Cana rolled her eyes at him and leaned back into her chair. "And shouldn't you wait at least a full day or two before doing anything after a concussion? It's only been like… twenty hours. Maybe."

Again, how would he know? "Couldn't," Mystogan told her bluntly through the drum beats in his skull. "Erza. Mountain. Needs to be handled." And Makarov was pretty adamant that he wasn't going to be the one to do it. Someone had to step up to the task and unfortunately Makarov had picked… Mystogan. Who had a million other things he would rather be doing. Normally he'd have been back on the road by now to the next place his calculations and intuition indicated an Anima portal would appear in. But no. He was – against his will – now in charge of about sixty wizards with a penchant for pissing off citizens and Rune Knights alike on a near daily basis. Or so the batch of paperwork that had been delivered to the office this morning spelled out in detail after excruciating detail.

"Right. Erza. Mountain." Cana clicked her tongue and inhaled through her teeth. "Making any progress on that? Also… are youuu… going to actually use that ice bag on your head or are you just going to keep holding it until it melts?" she inquired.

Oh. He'd been wondering why his hand was getting wet and cold. Mystogan pressed it to his forehead. "Thank you. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I'm a little concerned that you'll die if I leave you alone," Cana informed him. "Like a rabbit."

Her confidence in him was… inspiring.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and sighed. Putting a hand to the back of her neck, she cracked it – a noise which sent a painful stab of nausea straight through Mystogan's gut. "Look, Mysty…"

Great. She was still using that.

"…I don't know if you've noticed, buuuuut…" Not a hopeful start to a conversation. "…You aren't super well equipped for this job. You know what I mean?" She held up a hand. "No offense."

"None taken," he told her, removing the ice pack and pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead in its place. Mystogan shut his eyes and counted to five before opening them again… and then hastily covered them back up with his palm to block out the piercing light. "I completely agree with you." What on Earthland was he doing here really? He didn't belong here. Not on Earthland, and definitely not as a master of a guild he was almost never present at. He had an important task that absolutely required his attention – he didn't have time to play guild master. And he'd only made S-Class two years prior, on his first recommendation. Cana, on the other hand, had been recommended for the position four times already. And she was almost always there, at the guild. She knew everyone. She at least had some idea of how things functioned.

Hmm. Now there was a thought. Opening one eye, Mystogan peeked at her through his fingers. She was rather capable. It seemed like people trusted her if she could keep the guild members from bugging him the entire time he was in the infirmary.

"You're not shoving the job on me." When Mystogan removed his hand and stared outright at her, Cana shrugged noncommittally. "Not a mind reader. Your face is just surprisingly easy to read. Must be because you've always had it covered. Never had to learn to hide your expressions. I gotta say that it's refreshing. But again. I'm not gonna be guild master in your place. I'm not even S-class, remember?"

"Is that really a requirement, though?" Mystogan questioned.

"Yeah. It is." Cana gestured vaguely in the air. "Why else would someone even want to be S-Class if not for that?"

"Is that what you want?" Somehow, Mystogan was having a hard time picturing that.

She let out a frustrated huff through her nose. "…No, it's not," Cana admitted reluctantly.

"Well, it wasn't what I wanted, either." It had just seemed convenient at the time. Originally, he hadn't wanted to be S-Class, but then when Mystogan had learned that it would open up new jobs in regions he normally wouldn't be allowed into, he had jumped on the opportunity. Becoming guild master was a possibility that hadn't even entered his mind.

And now that decision had come back to bite him in his bucket pants.

Right on cue, a quiet knock sounded on his door. "Guild Master Mystogan?" Mirajane softly called through the wood. "Another batch of reports was just delivered for you from the Magic Council."

With an immeasurable level of effort, Mystogan repressed the urge to scream.

Seriously, could the guild members stay out of trouble for just five minutes? Even the more innocuous guild members whose magics weren't even naturally geared towards destruction somehow still managed to leave trouble and chaos and devastation in their wake. Like the report immediately in front of him, explaining just how Levy's attempt to translate an old tome had led to the collapse of an entire ancient tomb, causing incalculable damage and loss of valuable history and untold knowledge. This was really too much, even if it had been unintended on the blue-haired mage's part. To be fair to Levy, she was most likely beating herself up over it, too. But that wouldn't exactly bring back what had been destroyed.

The three bottles of whiskey Mystogan had already found stashed around Makarov's office (found in a filing cabinet, in the fake office plant, and a tiny one in the pen holder, respectively) were starting to make a lot more sense. Cana's nose for alcohol was already proving invaluable in that regard, and she made for a very convenient disposal option as well.

And there was no telling what sort of horrible news awaited on the other side of the door, in Mirajane's hands. Mystogan contemplated locking it. How long could he foreseeably hole up in the office before he ran out of food?

"Guild Master?" Mirajane called again when Mystogan failed to respond. "Are you in there?"

With a sigh, Mystogan set down his ice pack and began the painstaking process of rewrapping his face. "Just a moment."

Cana watched him with a sour expression on her face. There went her eye candy. "You could probably let Mira see your face," she told him. "She's not the type to spread sensitive stuff like that around if it matters that much to you."

The new guild master contemplated it. Sure, Mirajane had been good so far. She'd taken the news of the change in leadership with an aplomb that Mystogan couldn't help but deeply envy. And she'd been courteous enough earlier, even asking what she could do to help him settle in with his new role. But then again he also remembered what she'd been like a few years back. Besides which, a secret became less of a secret the more people that knew it. There was no telling what kind of trouble would arise if it accidentally slipped out no matter how good the intentions behind it.

"Hard pass," Mystogan said to Cana.

She gave him a thumbs down. "Boooooo," the brunette heckled him. "Laaaame."

Mystogan rolled his eyes. Then, his face safely covered, he cleared his throat. "Come in, Mirajane," he called out, putting the ice pack back to his forehead. Great, it had leaked a little on the desk. Now a couple documents were soggy. More importantly, his head bandana was now blocking most of the pack's coolness and he could barely feel it.

The door opened and Mirajane entered, a small brown package in her hands. Her eyes flicked over to Cana, who waved at her curious friend. When Mirajane reached the desk, she held out the package for Mystogan to take. He did so with the hand not clutching the ice pack. "Thank you, Mirajane."

She made an affirmative noise in her throat. "You're welcome, Guild Master."

When she didn't leave her spot in front of his desk, Mystogan awkwardly asked, "Was there… something else…?"

"Yes," she stated, her eyes roving over the documents spread out over the desktop and the soggy indentation of the ice pack on a few of them. "There are a couple of new people that wish to join the guild, but I seem to have misplaced my stamp. Makarov usually kept one up here as well, if I might borrow it for a bit?"

"Oh. Sure." Mystogan set down the delivery, but kept the ice pack where it was. Not seeing the stamp on the top of the desk, he opened up the top left drawer.

Then immediately shut it with great force.

"…Everything okay, buddy?" Cana asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not moving."

Sweating bullets, Mystogan didn't move a muscle. "…Mirajane," he said, his eyes not meeting hers at all, "do you mind waiting downstairs while I look? I'll have Cana bring it down when I find it. And uh… please close the door behind you."

Visibly confused as to the reasons behind his instructions, Mirajane still nodded of the orders. "I'll let the new members know that it'll be a few minutes." She shared a glance with Cana as she departed, but the brunette merely shrugged.

Once Mirajane had left and closed the door behind her, Cana looked over at Mystogan. "Dude, what the hell?"

Mystogan wet his suddenly dry lips. "Cana. I need you to help me dispose of what's in this drawer without anyone else seeing it. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"What?" she questioned. "What could possibly – "

"Porn." The word left Mystogan's throat in a half-wheezed, breathless rush. "It's full of porn magazines."

Cana's face lit up with abject delight at his news. "I got this," she reassured him.

"Thank you."

Dammit Makarov. What was the old man doing up here? How much work was he actually accomplishing?

Mystogan had a sinking feeling about what lay ahead in his future.