I'm absolutely thrilled by the response this fic has gotten so far! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well!

Jellal Faust's life thus far could be considered far from rosy. Living under the thumb of his power hungry, increasingly deranged father had seen to that at an early age and no matter how many tattoos he acquired, he would still know exactly what lay beneath them. And powerless to stop the king's mad plans for conquering the rest of Edolas, Jellal had turned to interfering with his plans in small ways. Of course, he'd been caught rather quickly. The Exceed that had saved his life back then had been banished from his homeland thanks to the consequences of that. So he'd turned to sabotaging King Faust's plans from afar, in a land very, very far from home. A land where he needed to cover himself from head to toe and put the place he'd finally been able to call home under a sleeping spell any time he wanted to visit.

So yeah. It probably wasn't the best of lives under anyone's reckoning. But… he was relatively happy. Even if he had to use a false name, and hide his face, it was worth it to protect a fellow guild member and to keep the peace. He had no desire to be mistaken for either of his counterparts and all the horrors that would ensue from such an occurrence.

Maybe content was a better word. Yes, he was content to live his life as "Mystogan," and to shut down the increasingly frequent Anima portals whenever they appeared. Even if his outfit was incredibly hot during summer, even if the bandages itched terribly and were prone to painful wrinkles, even if it took him literal hours to put the entire ensemble on. Perfectly content.

Being ambushed the second he entered the guild, however, was a new one for him. Even on Laxus and Mirajane's more rambunctious days, he'd never had someone lying in wait for him to enter before (he assumed – Mirajane might have tried but she was particularly susceptible to the sleeping spell, so she never really got the chance to do anything other than snooze on the floor).

And the fact that it was Makarov doing the ambushing was cause for some concern.

"Mystogan, my boy!" Makarov greeted him with a suppressed yawn, and walked towards him. "Just who I was looking for." He shoved a paper into Mystogan's chest once he'd gotten close enough. "Sign this for me, please."

Confused, and not able to see super well as it was already late June and hotter than a sauna inside his suit, Mystogan grabbed the paper reflexively. "What is this, Master Makarov…?" he asked, trying to peer at the document. Sweat slicked hair strands fell into his eyes, stinging painfully and making them water. He couldn't for the life of him make out what the tiny, cramped handwriting was saying.

"Just a formality," Makarov informed him, passing him a pen. "Sign your name, please."

This was suspicious.

"I'm not sure how you spell it," the Guild Master tacked on, his hat jingling pleasantly as he nodded along to his own words.

Ah, correction. This was incredibly suspicious.

Mystogan blinked furiously, trying to clear his sight, but only made it water more as a hair got stuck in his eyelashes. Slowly, he said, "I don't think you're being completely honest with me, Guild Master."

Nearby, Macao groaned and flailed a hand out, groping blindly for his mug of ale he'd dropped when sleep had overtaken him.

Cold chills swept through Mystogan's body.

Not a good sign.

The tiny old man glowered up at him. Magic swelled around him – not enough to transform, but enough to fully intimidate Mystogan. "Sign it," the old man ordered, his voice deepened by his rising magic.

Now fully compliant (and slightly worried that his sleeping spell was about to wear off completely), Mystogan took the pen and signed where the Guild Master pointed. No sooner than the pen completed the final stroke, Makarov reclaimed the document. He peered over it, his wizened face crinkled further as he frowned at it, his eyes roving over every line. Mystogan stood there, helpless and still uselessly holding the pen, while he waited for Makarov to finish. Suddenly, Makarov grinned, and he shoved the paper into his pocket. "Excellent!" he announced, beaming up at Mystogan. Then he turned around and motioned for Mystogan to follow him. "This way."

Relieved to escape his awakening guildmates, Mystogan was quick to follow on Makarov's heels.

Just as he was about to fully step onto the second floor, Mystogan heard Macao complain, "I must be drunker than I thought. I thought I just saw Mystogan."

"Only cure is to drink more," wisely stated Wakaba.

"You, my friend, are a genius."

Mystogan hoped that Makarov would explain what he was after soon, as he found this whole thing deeply mortifying. The only bright spot was that it looked like Erza wasn't in at the moment so there was no chance of harming her should his disguise slip.

When they reached Makarov's office, he motioned for Mystogan to shut the door behind him and lock it. "You can at least take the mask off in here, son," he informed him cheerfully. "It's not as if your face is a mystery to me. And you look like Happy's egg got fried on a rock."

As disturbing as that mental image sounded, Mystogan was only too eager to comply. Sweet, cool air hit his face and he almost sighed at the relief it provided. Now presented with the opportunity at last, he pushed his errant hair out of his face. "What did you need, Master Makarov?"

The old man didn't look up as he opened up a desk drawer and started rummaging around. "Ah, just Makarov now, my boy. Where on Earthland is that god-blasted stamp…?"

Confused, Mystogan furrowed his brow. "But that would be disrespectful." What did Makarov need the stamp for? Was it for the document that Mystogan just signed? What on Earthland had Mystogan just gotten himself into, and how difficult was it going to be to extricate himself from it?

"Not in the least!" Then Makarov straightened up, triumphantly holding up the small object he'd been searching for. "Found it! Now the envelope… oh I swear I just had it…" Then an epiphany hit him, flashing across his face like lightning. He patted his other pocket. "There it is!"

True to Mystogan's fears, Makarov crammed the signed piece of paper into the preaddressed envelope. He licked it and fixed the stamp on it with far more speed than someone of his advanced years should be capable of. "All done. Just need to take this to the post office now." He toddled over to Mystogan and rummaged through his pockets again, pressing a set of keys into Mystogan's hands. "It's all yours now."

Dread settled into Mystogan's stomach. "What's all mine now?"

Makarov shone like the sun as he patted the tall wizard on the arm. "Why, the Fairy Tail guild of course. Congratulations on your appointment. If you have any questions about anything, I'm sure Mirajane will be able to help you just fine, Guild Master Mystogan."

Guild…?

Guild… Master…?

Guild Master Mystogan?!

By the time the information finally permeated Mystogan's brain, Makarov was already heading out the door.

"Wait, Master Makarov…!" Mystogan cried, holding out a hand to capture his gremlin of a guild master.

"No longer Master!" Makarov cheerily reminded him, closing the door. "I'm retired!"

The snick of the door as it shut echoed in Mystogan's mind, sounding too much like a door slamming closed on his future.