I decided to go outside.
Roxy had worked so hard to get me to leave the house. I wasn't going to waste that.
"Father, may I go out and play?"
One day, plant encyclopedia in hand, I asked Paul.
Kids this age tend to run off the moment you look away. I was being considerate — even though it was just the neighborhood, I figured they'd worry if I snuck out without telling anyone.
"Outside? To play? Not the garden?"
"Yes."
"Oh, o-of course."
Permission was granted just like that.
"Come to think of it, I never gave you any free time. Your mother and I made you learn magic and swordplay at the same time, but children need to play too."
"I'm grateful to have found such a good teacher."
I'd thought he was a strict, education-obsessed dad, but he seemed to have a fairly flexible mindset. I'd been prepared for him to tell me to practice swordwork all day long, so I was a little let down. He seemed to be the type who went with the flow, rather than someone who believed in brute-force determination.
"Still, you going outside, huh... I thought you were a frail kid, but time really does fly."
"You thought I was frail?"
That was news to me. I'd never been sick...
"You never cried at all, you know."
"Is that so? Well, as long as I'm fine now, right? I'm growing up into a healthy, lovable son. Berooon!"
I pulled on my cheeks to make a funny face, and Paul chuckled wryly.
"That's exactly the kind of thing that worries me — you're not very childlike."
"What's wrong with an eldest son being mature?"
"No, it's not that I'm dissatisfied..."
"Then stop looking so disappointed and say something like 'Become someone worthy of carrying on the Greyrat name.' Go on, I won't mind."
"To tell the truth, when I was your age, I was a little brat obsessed with flipping girls' skirts."
"Skirt-flipping, huh?"
They had that in this world too, apparently. But hold on — did he just call himself a little brat?
"If you want to become someone worthy of the Greyrat family, then at least bring home a girlfriend."
What? Is that what kind of family this is? I thought we were minor nobles serving as border knights? We don't have any class or prestige? ...Well, I guess that's what being minor nobles means.
"Understood. Then I'll head into the village to find some skirts to flip."
"Hey, be nice to the girls. And don't get cocky just because you're stronger and can use magic. A man's strength isn't for showing off."
Oh, he said something good there.
Nice, nice. I wished my brothers from my past life could've heard that.
He was right. Having power means nothing if you just swing it around.
What Paul said made perfect sense. I was on the same page.
"I understand, Father. Strength exists so you can look cool in front of girls, right?"
"...No, that's not what I—"
Huh? Was that not where the conversation was heading?
My bad, my bad. Teehee.
"I'm joking. It's to protect the weak, right?"
"Yes, exactly."
After that conversation, I tucked the plant encyclopedia under my arm, strapped the staff Roxy had given me to my hip, and was about to head out when I suddenly turned back.
"Oh, that's right, Father. I'll probably be going outside fairly often from now on, so I'll make sure to tell someone in the family whenever I leave. I won't skip my daily sword and magic training, and I'll be home before dark. I won't go near any dangerous places."
"Ah... ah, right."
Just to be safe, I left him with that.
Paul seemed somewhat stunned for some reason.
Honestly, that's the kind of thing *you* should be telling *me*.
"Well then, I'm off."
"...Take care."
And so, I left the house.
---
A few days passed.
The outside world wasn't scary. Things were going smoothly.
I could even exchange pleasant greetings with the people I passed.
They all knew who I was — Paul and Zenith's child, Roxy's student.
To people I met for the first time, I'd greet them and introduce myself. The second time around, I'd just say hello. Everyone would smile and greet me back.
It had been a long time since I'd felt this lighthearted. More than half of it was thanks to Paul and Zenith's reputation. The rest was all thanks to Roxy.
I needed to treasure that sacred relic.
---
So.
My main reason for going outside was to walk around on my own two feet and learn the geography. If I knew the layout, I wouldn't get lost even if I was suddenly kicked out of the house.
At the same time, I wanted to study the local plants. I happened to have the plant encyclopedia on me, so I wanted to be able to distinguish what was edible, what wasn't, what had medicinal properties, what was poisonous, and so on. That way, even if I was suddenly thrown out of the house, I wouldn't have to worry about food.
Roxy had only taught me the basics, but it seemed this village grew wheat, vegetables, and ingredients for perfumes. The perfume ingredient — a flower called Bathyls — was apparently a plant that closely resembled lavender. It was pale purple and could also be eaten.
Focusing on these prominent features, I went through the village matching every plant I spotted against the encyclopedia.
That said, the village wasn't very large and didn't have many notable plants. Within a few days, my range of exploration had expanded toward the forest. There were more plants there.
"Right — forests tend to accumulate mana, so they're dangerous, aren't they?"
Areas where mana pooled had higher monster-spawn rates. Monsters were born through mana-induced mutations. I didn't know why mana accumulated in forests, but regardless, this area was relatively safe. Monsters rarely appeared here, and periodic monster hunts kept things under control.
Monster hunts were exactly what they sounded like. Once a month, the knights, hunters, and vigilante corps would enter the forest en masse to exterminate the monsters.
That said, fierce monsters could apparently still appear deep in the forest without warning. I might have learned magic and gained some ability to fight, but at the end of the day, I was a former shut-in who could barely handle a bar fight. I couldn't afford to get cocky.
I had no real combat experience, and if I got overconfident and messed up, it would be ugly. I'd seen plenty of people die that way... in manga, anyway.
Besides, I wasn't the violent type. Avoiding fights altogether was the best policy. If I encountered a monster, I'd run home and report to Paul.
That was the plan.
Lost in these thoughts, I climbed a small hill. At the top stood a single large tree — the biggest one in the area. A high vantage point was ideal for surveying the geography I'd walked. I also wanted to check what kind of tree it was.
That was when I heard it.
"Get out of here, monster-kid!"
The voice drifted on the wind, and with it, terrible memories came flooding back.
The high school life that had made me a shut-in. The nightmare of being nicknamed "Hawk." That voice was almost identical to the one used to call out my own nickname — the voice of people who knew they were above you and were going to crush you with numbers.
"Get lost!"
"Take this!"
"Nice shot!"
I looked. There was a field that had turned into a muddy swamp after the rain. Three children, caked head to toe in mud, were hurling mud balls at a boy walking along the path.
"Hit him in the head for ten points!"
"Yeah!"
"I got him! I got him!"
Ugh. No, no, no.
It was a bullying scene. That kind of person thought they could do anything to someone below them. The type who, the moment they got their hands on an airsoft gun, would think it was okay to shoot it at someone — even though the instructions clearly said not to aim at people. They didn't see the other person as human.
Unforgivable.
The boy should've just walked away quickly, but for some reason, he was moving slowly. Looking closer, he was clutching a basket-like object to his chest, curling up to shield it from the mud balls. That was why he couldn't escape the assault.
"He's got something!"
"It must be monster treasure!"
"Where'd he steal that from?"
"Hit that for a hundred points!"
"Let's take his treasure!"
I ran toward the boy. While running, I formed mud balls with magic, and the moment I was in range, I threw with all my strength.
"Whoa—"
"What the—?!"
It hit the biggest of the three, the apparent leader, square in the face.
"That stung! It got in my eyes!"
"Who the hell are you?!"
"Mind your own business, you outsider!"
"You're taking the monster's side?!"
All three turned on me in an instant. It was the same in any world.
"I'm not taking the monster's side. I'm taking the weak's side."
I said it with my best tough-guy face. But the three looked at me as if *they* were the ones in the right, and started railing against me.
"Don't try to act cool!"
"You're that knight's kid, aren't you?!"
"Oh, it's the spoiled rich boy!"
Oh great. My identity was exposed.
"It's okay for a knight's kid to do this?!"
"We'll tell the knight you're friends with monsters!"
"Let's call our big brothers!"
"Big broooother! There's a weirdo hereee!"
They called for backup. But nobody came.
And yet my legs were frozen!
Guh — even though it was just three kids, having them yell at me made me freeze up...
How pathetic. Was this the lot in life of someone who'd been bullied into becoming a shut-in?
"Sh- shut up! Ganging up three-on-one against one person — you guys are the worst!"
They looked at me like I'd said something ridiculous.
Grr. Infuriating.
"You're the one who's yelling, you damn loser!"
I was so annoyed that I threw another mud ball.
It missed.
"You bastard!"
"Where's he getting more mud from?!"
"Who cares, throw it back at him!"
It came back threefold. Using the footwork Paul had taught me plus magic, I dodged with flair.
"Ah, can't hit him!"
"Stop dodging, dammit!"
Ha ha ha — as long as it doesn't land, who cares!
The three kept throwing mud for a while, but once they realized they couldn't hit me, they suddenly got bored and stopped.
"This sucks!"
"Let's go already!"
"We'll spread word that the knight's kid is friends with monsters!"
Not like they'd lost or anything.
They just got bored and quit.
That's the tone they left in as the three little brats disappeared beyond the field.
I did it! For the first time in my life, I'd beaten the bullies!
...Nah, nothing to be proud of.
Phew.
But yeah, fighting still wasn't my thing. At least it hadn't turned into a fistfight.
"Hey, are you okay? Is your bag all right?"
I turned around to the boy who'd been getting pelted with mud and—
Wow...
What a surprise.
A stunningly beautiful boy. He didn't look like he was the same age as me at all.
Damn. If only Paul had been more of a pretty-boy type, maybe I could've...
No, it wasn't Paul's fault. Zenith was gorgeous too. So this face was fine.
Compared to my past life's face, which was all acne and subcutaneous fat, this was more than adequate.
"Yeah... I'm... I'm fine..."
The boy looked at me with terrified eyes, the kind that inspired an overwhelming protective instinct. If a certain type of older sister had been around, she would've fallen for him in an instant. But right now, all that was ruined by the mud caked all over him.
His clothes were filthy. Half his face was covered in mud, and his hair was entirely mud-colored. The fact that he'd managed to protect the basket was practically a miracle.
Oh well.
"Here, put your bag down, and kneel over there in front of the irrigation channel."
"Eh...? Eh...?"
The boy's eyes went wide, but for some reason he did as I told him. He seemed like the type who didn't argue with others much. Well, if he were the arguing type, he probably would've fought back against those bullies.
The boy got on all fours and peered into the irrigation channel.
If a certain type of older brother had been around, he would've— anyway.
"Close your eyes."
I adjusted the water temperature using a combination of fire magic. Not too hot, not too cold — about forty degrees. A nice warm bath.
I dumped it over the boy's head.
"Whoa!"
As he tried to scramble away, I grabbed him by the back of the neck and washed the mud off clean.
He struggled at first, but once he got used to the water temperature, he calmed down again.
His clothes would probably need to be washed at home.
"Alright, that should do it."
With the mud washed off, I adjusted the air with fire magic to create a warm breeze like a hairdryer, and carefully wiped his face with a handkerchief.
And there, revealed, were pointed ears like an elf's and — gleaming in the sunlight — beautiful emerald-green hair.
The moment I saw that color, Roxy's words came back to me.
*'Never approach a race with emerald-green hair.'*
Hmm? No, that wasn't quite right.
Let me think...
*'Never approach a race with emerald-green hair and a red gem-like mark on their forehead.'*
That was it. The red gem-like mark on the forehead. That was the key.
The boy's forehead was smooth and clean.
Okay. Safe.
He wasn't from the dangerous Superd tribe.
"Th- thank you..."
Snapping back to reality at his words of gratitude.
Whoa there. You nearly gave me a heart attack.
To get back at him a little, I started giving advice in a condescending tone.
"You know, you really need to fight back against those kinds of kids. Otherwise they'll just keep escalating."
"I can't beat them..."
"It's the will to fight back that matters."
"But... there are always even bigger kids too... I don't want it to hurt..."
I see. So if he fought back, they'd call in their friends and beat him up thoroughly. Some things were universal across all worlds.
It seemed like Roxy's efforts had made the adults more accepting of non-humans, but the kids were a different story. Children were cruel. If you were even slightly different, they'd ostracize you.
"You've got it rough, huh? Getting bullied just because your hair color is similar to the Superd tribe."
"A- are you... okay with it?..."
"My teacher was from a non-human race. What tribe are you, exactly?"
Roxy had said her Migurd tribe was closely related to the Superd. Maybe he was from a similar tribe. I asked, but the boy shook his head.
"...I don't know."
Was that normal for his age?
"What about your father's tribe?"
"...Half long-eared tribe, and the other half is human, he says."
"And your mother?"
"She's human, but she's got a little bit of beast-race in her, apparently..."
Half long-eared tribe, and a quarter beast-race? And that was enough to produce this hair color?
As I was mulling this over, the boy's eyes filled with tears.
"...So I'm not a monster. That's what my dad says, but... my hair color... it's different from both my mom's and my dad's..."
I patted the sobbing boy on the head comfortingly.
But having a different hair color was a big problem. It raised the possibility of infidelity on the mother's part.
"Is it only your hair color that's different?"
"...My ears are longer than my dad's, too..."
"I see..."
Long ears and green hair — there had to be some non-human tribe out there with those traits. Hmm, I didn't want to dig too deep into someone else's family affairs.
But I'd been bullied myself. I wanted to help somehow.
Getting bullied just because your hair was slightly green was just sad.
The bullying I'd experienced had been partly my own fault. If I could go back to those moments, I was confident I could handle them better this time.
But this boy was different. You couldn't change your birth through effort alone.
Born into this world with slightly green hair, getting mud balls thrown at you in the street...
Just thinking about it made me feel sick.
"Is your father kind to you?"
"...Yeah. He gets scary when he's angry, but if you behave, he doesn't get mad."
"What about your mother?"
"She's kind."
Hmm. From the sound of it, both parents seemed to give him proper love and affection. Not infidelity — he was their real child.
Well, I wouldn't know for sure without seeing for myself.
"Alright, let's go."
"Where... where are we going?"
"I'll follow you home."
If you followed a child home, the parents would appear. That was the natural order of things.
"...Why... why are you following me?"
"Well... those kids might come back. I'll walk you home. Or do you need to deliver that somewhere?"
"My lunch... I'm bringing it to my father..."
The father was a half-elf, then. Elves in stories were long-lived, reclusive, arrogant, and looked down on other races. They were skilled with bows and magic, particularly wind and water magic. And they had long ears. That was pretty much the extent of it.
According to Roxy, "That's mostly right, but they're not actually reclusive." So the elves in this world probably also had plenty of beautiful people.
Well, "elves are beautiful" was really just a Japanese otaku prejudice anyway. The elves in Western games always had overly pointed faces and never looked particularly beautiful to me. Japanese otaku and Western pretty-boys didn't exactly operate on the same scale.
Of course, this boy's parents were definitely a gorgeous pair.
"Um... why did you... protect me?"
The boy asked timidly, with a look that practically begged to be taken care of.
"My father told me to stand up for the weak."
"But... the other kids might stop hanging out with me..."
Fair point. If you helped a bullied kid, you'd get bullied too. That was a tale as old as time.
"If that happens, you'll hang out with me. We're friends starting today."
"Eh?!"
That was the deal. You had to form alliances.
The cycle of bullying was broken when the victim turned on their rescuer. The person who was saved had to take responsibility and repay the kindness.
Well, in this boy's case, the root of the bullying ran deeper, so he probably wouldn't betray me and join the bullies.
"Oh, are you busy with chores at home?"
"N- no..."
I realized I hadn't even checked whether this was convenient for him, but he shook his head vigorously.
Good. That expression — if a certain type of older sister had been around, she'd have swooped right in.
Hmm. This could work out.
With this face, he'd probably be popular with girls in the future. And if I was his friend, maybe some of that luck would rub off on me. My own face wasn't anything special, but when two guys stood side by side, the one with the better-looking friend elevated the other by association. Girls with low self-esteem would probably target me.
I preferred girls who were a little unsure of themselves over the overconfident types who came on strong anyway.
This could work.
A beautiful girl puts an ugly friend next to herself to make herself look better.
I'd do the reverse.
This could work.
"Oh right, I haven't asked your name. I'm Rudeus."
"Syl... phie..."
He mumbled the second half so quietly I could barely make it out, but it was Sylphie.
"What a nice name. It sounds like a wind fairy."
At that, Sylphie blushed and nodded.
---
Sylphie's father, Roald, was a handsome man.
Pointed ears, golden hair that seemed to shine, a slender build but not lacking in lean muscle. He was the perfect blend of elf and human features — worthy of the half-elf title.
He was standing watch in a watchtower at the edge of the forest, bow in hand, scanning the treeline.
"Dad, here's your lunch..."
"Oh, sorry to trouble you as always, Luffy. You weren't bullied today, were you?"
"I'm okay. Someone helped me."
Sylphie introduced me with a look, and I gave a slight bow.
So "Luffy" was his nickname. Sounded like he'd be stretching his arms any moment.
If Sylphie had been more carefree and brazen, maybe he wouldn't have been bullied in the first place.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Rudeus Greyrat."
"Greyrat... could it be, Paul's son?"
"Yes. Paul is my father."
"Oh, I'd heard about you. What a well-mannered boy."
He paused. "Oh, where are my manners — I'm Roald. I usually hunt in the forest."
Apparently, this watchtower was used to keep monsters from emerging from the forest. The village men took turns standing guard, maintaining a 24-hour watch. Naturally, Paul had a shift too, and that was how he'd met Roald. They'd bonded over discussions about their respective children.
"My kid may look like this, but he's just a throwback to the old bloodline. I'd appreciate it if you got along with him."
"Of course. Even if Sylphie turned out to be from the Superd tribe, my attitude wouldn't change. I swear on my family's honor."
Hearing this, Roald let out an admiring sigh.
"At your age, talking about honor... Paul's a lucky man to have such an outstanding son."
"An outstanding child when young doesn't necessarily stay outstanding when they grow up. It's never too late to be jealous — even after Sylphie becomes an adult."
I threw in a word of support for Sylphie.
"I see... Paul was right about you."
"...What did Father say?"
"He says talking to you makes him lose confidence as a parent."
"Is that so? Then I suppose I should cause a little more trouble and let him scold me."
As we chatted, I felt a tug on my sleeve. Sylphie was looking down at the ground while pulling at the hem of my shirt.
Adult conversation probably wasn't very interesting for a kid.
"Mr. Roald, would it be all right if the two of us went out to play?"
"Of course. Just don't go near the forest."
That went without saying, but... he could've been a little more cautious, maybe?
"There was a hill with a big tree on the way here, so we'll probably play around there. I'll make sure to bring Sylphie home before dark — if you look toward the hill on our way back and we're not there, there's a good chance we've gotten caught up in some kind of incident. In that case, could you please organize a search?"
"Ah... ah, of course."
After all, this was a world without cell phones. It was important to have a proper safety net.
You couldn't avoid all trouble. What mattered was recovering quickly.
The security in this country seemed pretty good, but you never knew where danger might be lurking.
Leaving a stunned Roald behind, the two of us headed back to the hill's tree.
"So, what should we play?"
"I don't know... I've never played with a friend before..."
He hesitated at the word "friend." He must never have had one before. Poor kid.
Well, neither had I, until recently.
"Yeah. To be fair, I only recently stopped being a shut-in myself. So I'm not sure what kind of games to play either."
Sylphie fidgeted with his hands clasped together, looking up at me with uncertain eyes. We were about the same height, but he was hunched over so much that he ended up looking up at me.
"Hey, why do you keep changing how you talk? Like 'boku' and 'ore' and stuff?"
"Hm? Oh, it depends on who I'm talking to. It'd be rude not to. You use polite speech with people older or above you."
"Polite speech?"
"Like the words I was using earlier."
"Ohh?"
He didn't seem to quite get it. That was something you'd figure out over time. That was part of growing up.
"More importantly, tell me about that thing from earlier."
"That thing from earlier?"
Sylphie's eyes lit up, and he described it with animated gestures.
"Warm water goes *splash* from your hands, and warm wind goes *whoosh*."
"Ah, that."
I was talking about the magic I'd used to wash off the mud.
"Can I... learn that too?"
"It's difficult, but anyone can do it if they practice... probably."
Recently, my mana reserves had grown so much that I couldn't really tell how much I was spending anymore. And I had no idea how much mana the average person in this world had to begin with. Still, all I'd done was warm water with fire. I couldn't do it wordlessly from scratch, but as a combined spell, anyone should be able to replicate it.
So it was probably fine. Probably.
"Alright. Starting today, training begins!"
And so, Sylphie and I played together until the sun went down.
---
When I got home, Paul was furious.
He was standing in the entranceway with his hands on his hips, radiating barely contained anger.
Let's see... what had I done?
If there was anything, it would be the discovery of my carefully hidden sacred relic, but...
"Father, I'm home."
"Do you know why I'm angry?"
"No, sir."
First, play dumb. If he'd found the pan... if the sacred relic had been discovered, it would be opening Pandora's box.
"A moment ago, Et's wife came by. She said you hit Somal from Et's house."
Et. Somal.
Who were those names?
I drew a blank. Basically, I only greeted people in the village. If I said my name, they'd say theirs in return. But I couldn't quite remember whether an "Et" had been among them or not.
Wait...
"From today?"
"Yeah."
Today I'd only met Sylphie, Roald, and the three brats. So Somal must've been one of those three.
"I didn't hit anyone. I only threw mud."
"Do you remember what I told you the other day?"
"A man's strength isn't for showing off?"
"That's right."
Ahh. So *that's* how it was.
Now I remembered — they'd said something about spreading word that I was friends with monsters. It was that kid.
I didn't know what kind of lie he'd told to make it sound like I'd hit him, but the point was he'd trashed my reputation.
"I don't know exactly what you were told, Father, but—"
"No! When you do something wrong, the first thing you do is apologize!"
He cut me off sharply.
I didn't know what story he'd heard, but he'd bought it hook, line, and sinker.
This was bad. In a situation like this, even telling him the truth — that I'd rescued Sylphie from being bullied — would sound like a lie.
Still, I had no choice but to explain from the beginning.
"The truth is, I was walking along and—"
"Don't make excuses!"
I was getting more and more frustrated. He wasn't even willing to hear my side of the story, never mind whether it was true or not.
I could have just apologized, but that wouldn't be good for Paul either. I didn't want his future younger children growing up under this kind of unreasonable discipline. This approach to parenting was wrong.
"..."
"What's the matter? Why aren't you saying anything?"
"Because if I open my mouth, you'll yell at me to stop making excuses."
"What?!"
Paul's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You yell at a child before they can even speak, and force them to apologize. It must be so convenient being an adult — quick and easy. I'm jealous."
"Rudy!"
A hot stinging sensation across my cheek.
He'd slapped me.
But I'd expected it. Provoking him was going to get me hit. That was only natural.
So I held my ground.
When was the last time I'd been hit? Twenty years ago?
Well, I'd been beaten up when I left the house, so maybe five years.
"Father. Up until now, I've tried my best to be a good child. I've never disobeyed you or Mother's orders, and I've always done my best at whatever I was told to do."
"That... that has nothing to do with this."
Paul hadn't meant to hit me, apparently. He was visibly flustered.
Good. That worked in my favor.
"No, it does. I've worked hard to earn your trust and put your mind at ease. And yet, without hearing a single word of my side, you blindly believed what some stranger told you, yelled at me, and even raised your hand."
"But Somal really was injured..."
Injured?
I didn't know anything about that. Had he done that to himself? What a scam artist.
But too bad. I had the moral high ground. A petty lie about a minor injury wasn't going to cut it.
"Even if that injury were my fault, I have nothing to apologize for. I didn't disobey your orders, and I'll proudly say I did what I did."
"...Wait. What exactly happened?"
Oh? He was getting curious now.
But you'd made up your mind not to listen, hadn't you?
"I thought you didn't want to hear my excuses."
Paul's face twisted with frustration.
Almost there.
"Don't worry, Father. Next time I see three people ganging up on one helpless person, I'll just ignore it. Better yet, I'll make it four-on-one myself. I'll spread the word that bullying the weak is the proudest tradition of the Greyrat family. And when I'm old enough, I'll leave home and never use the Greyrat name again. After all, I'd be embarrassed to identify myself as part of a family that tolerates verbal abuse while ignoring physical violence."
Paul was speechless.
His face went red, then blue, and I could see the inner conflict playing out.
Would he explode? Or did he need one more push?
Careful now, Paul. I was a man who had talked his way out of unwinnable arguments for over twenty years. If I could find even a single crack, I could at least fight to a draw.
And this time, I had complete justice on my side.
You had no chance of winning.
"...I'm sorry. I was wrong. Please tell me what happened."
Paul lowered his head.
There it was. There was no point in being stubborn. It only made both sides miserable.
When you were wrong, you apologized. That was the best approach.
I calmed down and explained the situation as objectively as possible.
I'd been climbing the hill when I heard voices. Three children in a field were throwing mud at a lone kid on the path. After pelting him with one or two mud balls, I'd managed to talk them down, and they'd left cursing. Then I'd used magic to wash the mud off the boy, and we'd played together.
"So if anyone needs to apologize, it should be this Somal person to Sylphie first. Physical wounds heal quickly, but emotional wounds don't."
"...You're right. It was my mistake. I'm sorry."
Paul's shoulders drooped dejectedly.
Seeing that, I remembered what Roald had told me earlier that day.
*'He says talking to you makes him lose confidence as a parent.'*
Maybe Paul had just been trying to play the strict father role. Well, it hadn't gone well this time.
"There's no need to apologize. Going forward, if you think I've done something wrong, please don't hold back from scolding me. But I'd appreciate it if you'd also hear me out. Sometimes I don't explain myself well enough, or it might sound like I'm just making excuses, but I do have things to say. I'd be grateful if you'd try to understand what I mean."
"Yeah, I'll be more careful. Though you don't seem like the type to do anything wrong..."
"If that's the case, then use this as a lesson for when you scold my future little brother or sister."
"...I will."
He said it with a self-deprecating smile.
Had I gone too far? Being out-argued by your five-year-old son... yeah, I'd feel pretty awful about that too.
Paul looked clearly downcast, and I felt a pang of sympathy. He was still young as a father, after all.
"By the way, Father — how old are you?"
"Hm? Twenty-four, why?"
"Nothing, just curious."
So he'd gotten married at nineteen and had me. I had no idea what the average marriage age was in this world, but it probably wasn't like modern Japan where people married around thirty. With monsters and wars happening regularly, this seemed about right.
A man ten years younger than me — married with a kid, struggling with parenting. Just that alone should've been enough to put him well ahead of a thirty-four-year-old unemployed, homeless, jobless nobody like me.
But whatever.
"Father, can I bring Sylphie home sometime?"
"Hm? Oh, of course."
Satisfied with that answer, I went inside with my father.
I was glad Paul didn't have any prejudice against non-humans.
---
**[Paul's Perspective]**
My son was angry.
The son who had never shown anything resembling strong emotion was quietly furious.
How had things gotten to this point?
It had started in the afternoon, when Et's wife had burst into our house in a rage. She'd brought along Et's boy Somal, who had a bruise around his eye.
As a swordsman who'd been through his share of rough situations, I could tell immediately that it was a bruise from being hit.
The wife's explanation was rambling, but the gist was that my son had punched Somal.
Hearing that, I'd actually felt relieved on the inside.
He'd probably been out playing and spotted Somal and his friends, then tried to join them. But my son was different from other kids. He was a Water Saint-class magician at his age. Roxy's student, no less. He'd probably said something condescending. That had led to a fight.
My son was unusually smart and mature for his age, but he still had his childish side.
Et's wife's face kept turning red and blue as she tried to keep things civil, but at the end of the day, it was just a kids' fight. The injury didn't seem serious — it wouldn't even leave a mark.
I'd scold him and that would be that.
Boys got into fistfights. That was normal.
But Rudeus was stronger than other kids. He was a Water Saint-class mage trained by Roxy, and his body had been conditioned under my guidance since age three. The fight would've been completely one-sided.
This time it was fine, but if he got carried away and lost his temper, he could go too far.
I needed to scold him firmly. A smart kid like Rudeus should have found a way to deal with Somal without resorting to hitting him. I needed to teach him that violence was a crude approach that required more thought.
And yet, how had things turned out this way?
My son had shown no intention of apologizing. Quite the opposite — he was looking at me with contempt.
True, from his perspective, he may have felt like he was in a fair fight. But the strong had to be aware of their own strength. He'd hurt someone.
Regardless, I had to get him to apologize. He was smart — he might not understand now, but he'd eventually reach the right conclusion on his own.
That's what I'd thought as I tried to lay down the law, when he'd hit me with a sarcastic barb. And I'd snapped and slapped him.
I was trying to lecture him about how the strong shouldn't casually use violence against the weak — and I'd used violence myself.
I was in the wrong.
I knew that, but I couldn't exactly admit it while I was in the middle of disciplining him. And having just done the very thing I was telling him not to do, I had no credibility left.
While I was fumbling, my son had insinuated that he'd done nothing wrong, and when that didn't work, he'd even threatened to leave home.
My first instinct was to snap back and tell him to get out, but I held back. Barely.
I needed to hold back.
After all, wasn't this exactly what had happened to me?
I myself had grown sick of my strict father's dictatorial scolding and had stormed out of the house after a massive fight.
I was my father's son.
I'd inherited his stubborn, inflexible blood.
And Rudeus had inherited it too.
Just look at that stubbornness.
Rudeus was my son.
That day, I'd been told to get out, and in a fit of spite, I'd left.
Rudeus would leave too. He'd said he'd leave when he grew up, but if I told him to leave now, he'd probably go without hesitation.
I'd heard my father fell ill and died shortly after I left.
The rumor was that until his dying breath, he'd regretted the fight we'd had that day.
So I had my own regrets too.
No — let me be clear. I deeply regretted it.
And if I applied that to this situation: if I told Rudeus to leave now and he actually did, I would absolutely regret it. Both Rudeus and I would.
I had to hold back.
Hadn't I learned from experience?
Besides, hadn't I made a promise when my child was born?
I would not become like my father.
"...I'm sorry. I was wrong. Please tell me what happened."
The apology came naturally.
And then Rudeus relaxed his expression and calmly explained.
Apparently, he'd happened upon Roald's boy being bullied and stepped in to help. There had been no punching involved — just a mud ball fight. He hadn't even really been in a fight at all.
If that was true, Rudeus had done something he could be proud of.
And yet, instead of being praised, he hadn't even been allowed to explain before being struck.
Ah, I remembered. When I was a child, the same thing had happened to me countless times. Father never listened. He only criticized my shortcomings. Each time, I'd felt so helpless.
I'd failed.
What was it I'd been saying about needing to scold him?
...Rudeus, without blaming me at all, had even tried to comfort me at the end.
What a fine son. Too fine, even.
Was he really my child?
Well, among Zenith's potential suitors, there wasn't anyone who could've fathered such an outstanding kid.
Ugh — to think my own seed could produce someone this impressive...
Rather than pride, what I felt was a stomachache.
"Father, can I bring Sylphie home sometime?"
"Hm? Oh, of course."
For now, I would simply be happy that my son had made his first friend.