Mushoku Tensei (LN) - Volume 1 - Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

Friends 

I decided to try going outside. After all, Roxy had shown me I could do that, and I wasn’t going to let that go to waste. 

“Father,” I said, my botanical encyclopedia in one hand, “can I go and play outside?” 

Children my age were prone to wandering as soon as you took your eyes off of them. Even if I stayed in the general neighborhood, I didn’t want to worry my parents by slipping away without saying anything. 

“Hmm? Play outside? Not just out in the yard, I take it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh. Well, sure. Of course you can.” Paul gave his permission readily enough. “Come to think of it, we haven’t given you much free time. Here we are, taking up all your time teaching you swordsmanship and spellcraft, but it’s important for children to play, too.” 

“I really appreciate that I’ve got such good teachers.” 

I thought of Paul as a strict father who was worried too much about his kid’s education, but his line of thinking was actually pretty flexible. I’d half-expected a demand to spend all day working on my swordsmanship. It was almost a letdown. 

Paul was a man of intuition. “But, hmm… you really want to go out? I used to think you were such a frail boy, but I guess time does fly, huh?” 

“You thought I was frail?” This was news to me. I hadn’t ever been sick or anything. 

“Because of how you never used to cry.” 

“Oh. All right. But if I’m all right now, then it’s no problem, yeah? I’ve grown up to be a healthy and charming boy! Seeeeee?” I pulled my cheeks and made a funny face. 

Paul frowned. “It’s the ways in which you aren’t childish that worry me more.” 

“Am I not turning out to be the firstborn son you wanted me to be?” 

“No, it’s not that.” 

“Given the look of disappointment on your face, would it be better to say that you’re hoping I become a more fitting heir to the Greyrat family?” I posited. 

“I’m not proud of it, but when I was your age, your old man was a total brat who was always chasing after girls.” 

“You were a skirt-chaser?” So, they had those in this world, too, huh? 

And wait—did he just call himself a brat? 

“If you really want to be worthy of the Greyrat family, go out there and bring home a girlfriend,” he said. 

Wait—was that the kind of family we were? Wasn’t my dad a knight charged with protecting a frontier town in addition to being a low-ranking noble? Did we have no social standing at all? No, I guess we were just really low-ranking. 

“Understood,” I said. “Then I’ll be heading off into the village to look for a skirt or two to chase after.” 

“Hey now. You need to be nice to girls. And don’t go around bragging just because you can use powerful magic. Real men don’t get strong just to brag about it.” 

That was actually good advice. Man, I wish my brothers from my past life could have heard that. 

But Paul was right; power wielded for its own sake was meaningless. And even I was able to understand that, given the terms he’d put it in. “I understand, Father; power should be reserved for when you can make girls see how cool you look.” 

“That’s, uh, not exactly what I meant…” 

It’s not? Wasn’t that where this discussion was going? Heheh. Whoops! 

“I’m just joking,” I said. “It’s for protecting the weak, right?” 

“Yes, exactly.” 

With that conversation concluded, I tucked my botanical encyclopedia back under one arm, slung the wand I’d received from Roxy at my hip, and headed out. Before I got far, though, I stopped and turned, remembering one last thing. “Oh, by the way, Father, I think I’ll probably go out like this on occasion, but I promise I’ll always tell someone at home first, and I won’t neglect my daily magic and sword studies either. And I promise to be home before the sun goes down and it gets dark, and I won’t go anywhere dangerous.” I wanted to leave him with some reassurance, after all. 

“Ah, yeah. Sure.” For some reason, Paul sounded a little out of it. Look, if you’re giving me permission, just say so. 

“Okay then,” I said. “I’m off.” 

“Come back safe.” 

And then, I left home. 

*** 

Several days went by. I wasn’t afraid of the outside world anymore. Things were going pretty well. I was even able to exchange greetings with passersby without mumbling my way through. 

People knew about me—that I was the son of Paul and Zenith, and Roxy’s disciple. When I ran into people for the first time, I’d greet them properly and introduce myself. People I was meeting again got a “good day.” Everyone greeted me back, bright smiles on their faces. It had been a long time since I’d felt so open and carefree. 

Paul and Roxy’s combined relative fame was more than half of what helped me feel so comfortable. The rest was all thanks to what Roxy had done for me. Which meant, I guess, that Roxy was to thank for the bulk of it. 

I’d have to take very good care of those treasured panties. 

*** 

My main goal in going outside was to go exploring on my own two feet and get the lay of the land. If I knew my way around, then I wouldn’t get lost if I ever got kicked out of my house. 

At the same time, I also wanted to carry out some botanical investigations. I had my encyclopedia, after all, so I wanted to make sure I could tell which plants were edible and which weren’t, which could be used as medicine and which were poisonous. That way, if I ever got kicked out of my house, I wouldn’t need to worry about where I’d get food from. 

Roxy had only taught me the basics, but by my understanding, our village grew wheat, vegetables, and the fragrant ingredients of perfumes. The Vatirus flower, used in those perfumes, was very similar to lavender: pale purple and edible. 

With a visually striking specimen like that as my test case, I started using the botanical encyclopedia to cross-reference whichever plants caught my eye. 

As it turned out, however, the village wasn’t very large, and we didn’t have particularly notable flora. After a few days of basically nothing, I expanded my search radius and made my way closer to the forest. There were a lot more plants there, after all. 

“If I remember right, magic builds up more readily in forests, which makes them more dangerous.” More dangerous because higher concentrations of magic meant a higher likelihood of monsters coming into being, the energies causing sudden mutations in otherwise benign creatures. What I didn’t know was why magic accumulated more easily there. 

In addition to monsters being fairly rare in these parts, we also had regular monster hunts, making things even safer. A monster hunt was exactly what it sounded like: Once a month, a group of young men, made up of knights, hunters, and the local militia, would head into the woods and clear some monsters out. 

Apparently, though, monsters that were quite dreadful could suddenly turn up in the depths of the forest. Maybe part of why I’d learned magic was to do battle against such things. But I was a former shut-in who couldn’t even handle schoolyard scuffles. I couldn’t afford to be arrogant. I had no actual combat experience, and if I screwed up in the heat of the moment, it’d be a total disaster. I’d seen far too many people get killed doing that sort of thing—well, in manga, anyway. 

But I wasn’t the hot-blooded type. As far as I was concerned, combat was something to be avoided as best as possible. If I ran into a monster, I’d run back home and let Paul know. 

Yeah, that was a good plan. 

With that in mind, I made my way up a small hill. At the top stood a lone tree, the largest one around. A high vantage point like this would be perfect for confirming the layout of my village. Also, this being the biggest tree in the area, I wanted to see what type it was. 

And that’s when I heard them. Voices. 

“We don’t need no demons in our village!” 

At the sound of that voice, painful memories came flooding back. I remembered my time in high school, and what had led to my becoming a shut-in. I remembered the nightmares about being called “Pencil Dick.” 

These voices reminded me so very much of the voices that had called me by that terrible nickname. These were the voices of someone who used the numbers on their side to torment somebody beneath them. 

“Get the hell out of here!” 

“Take this!” 

“Ha, nice! Direct hit, man!” 

I saw a field, muddy from the other day’s rain. Three boys with their bodies all caked in mud were hurling mud at another boy who was walking along. 

“Ten points if you can nail him in the head!” 

“Hngh!” 

“I got him! Didja see that?! Right in the head!” 

Yikes. This was not good. This was classic bullying right here. These kids thought this other boy wasn’t good enough for them, so they could do whatever the hell they wanted. If they’d gotten their hands on an air gun, they would have turned it on this kid and opened fire. The directions always said not to point those things at people and shoot, but boys like these didn’t see their targets as people. They were abhorrent. 

Their target could have quickly shuffled on his way, but for some reason, he was dawdling. I looked more closely and saw that he had something like a basket clutched to his chest, which he hunched over to keep its contents safe from the balls of mud being hurled his way. It was keeping him from getting away from the bullies’ onslaught. 

“Hey, he’s got something!” 

“Is that his demon treasure?!” 

“I bet it’s something he stole!” 

“If you can bullseye that, it’s worth a hundred points!” 

“Let’s get that treasure!” 

I broke into a run, heading for the boy. Along the way, I used my magic to form a ball of mud, and the instant I was in firing range, I hurled it with all my might. 

Whap! 

“What the hell?!” I hit the kid who looked like their leader, a conspicuously large fellow, right in the face. “Gah, it got in my eyes!” 

His buddies all turned their attention to me at once. 

“Who the heck’re you?” 

“This ain’t got nothing to do with you! Stay out of it!” 

“What are you, an ally of the demons or something?” 

Guess people like this were the same in every world. “I’m no ally to the demons,” I said. “I’m an ally to the weak.” I gave them a haughty sneer. 

The other boys steeled themselves, drawing themselves up as if they were in the right. “Don’t you try to act tough!” one of them snapped. 

“Hey, he’s that one knight’s kid!” 

“Hah! He’s just a baby!” 

Uh-oh. They’d figured out who I was. 

“You sure the son of a knight should be doing this sort of thing, huh?” 

“See, I told ya that knight was on the demons’ side!” 

“C’mon, let’s get the others!” 

“Hey, guys! We’ve got some weirdo here!” 

Crap. These kids were calling for their friends! 

But no one showed up. 

Even still, my legs were locked in place. Sure, there were three of them, but it felt so pathetic, freezing up at having kids shout at me. Was mine just destined to be the saga of a bullied shut-in? “Y-you shut up!” I bit back. “Ganging up on a kid three-to-one—you guys are the worst!” 

Their faces screwed up in confusion. Ugh. Dammit. “Hey, you’re the one who’s shouting now, you dumbass!” one of them blurted. 

I was pissed off, so I hurled another mudball their way. I missed. 

“You little brat!” 

“Where the heck is he getting the mud from?!” 

“It doesn’t matter! Just throw it back!” 

What I’d dished out was being returned threefold, but thanks to the footwork Paul had taught me, as well as a bit of magic, I was able to dodge the volley rather gracefully. 

“Hey! Knock it off!” 

“Yeah, you’re not supposed to dodge!” 

Heheheh. Hey, if you can’t hit me, that’s your problem, fellas! 

The three boys continued to throw balls of mud my way for a while longer, but when it became apparent they weren’t going to hit me, they threw up their hands as if they’d suddenly found something better to do. 

“Aw, this is boring!” 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

“And we’re gonna let everyone know the knight’s kid is a demon-lover!” 

They tried to make it sound like they hadn’t lost—that they’d just decided to stop. With that, the little punks headed off for the other end of the field. 

I’d done it! For the very first time in my life, I’d beaten the bullies! 

Er, not to brag or anything. 

Whew. Arguments like that really weren’t my strong suit after all. I’m glad things hadn’t come to blows. For now, I needed to check on the kid they’d been throwing mud at. I turned to him and asked, “Hey, are you all right? Are your things okay?” 

Whoa… 

The boy was so pretty it was hard to think we were around the same age. He had rather long eyelashes for someone so young, with a dainty little nose, thin lips, and a somewhat pointed jawline. His skin was porcelain white, and his features combined to give him the look of a startled rabbit, in addition to a sense of unspeakable beauty. 

Man, if only Paul had been the prettier sort. Maybe I’d have a face like that. 

No, Paul wasn’t bad-looking. And Zenith looked really good. Which meant my face was fine. Certainly compared to my face in my past life, all flabby and marked with pimples. So, yeah, I was pretty good-looking. Yeah. 

The boy turned his timid gaze back to me. “Y-yeah, I’m…I’m okay.” He made me want to protect and care for him, as if he were some small animal. If you were a lady who was into shota stuff, you’d be helpless before him—er, well, if you could get past the way he was all caked in mud. 

His clothes were filthy, and mud clung to half of his face. The top of his head was basically a uniform brown. It bordered on miraculous that he’d managed to keep his basket safe. 

There was only one thing for me to do. “Here, why don’t you set that down over there and kneel by the irrigation ditch,” I said. 

“Huh? Whuh?” The boy blinked in confusion even as he began to do as I said. Guess he was the sort of kid who did what he was told. If he were the defiant sort, he would have fought back against those bullies earlier. 

He crawled over to the irrigation ditch, hunched on all fours as he peered into the water. A guy who was into shota stuff would be extremely into this situation, too. 

“Here,” I said. “Close your eyes.” I used some fire magic to heat the water to an appropriate temperature: neither too hot nor too cold, but a nice, warm forty degrees Celsius. I then took some of it and doused the boy’s head. 

“Gwah!” 

I grabbed his collar as he squirmed and tried to get away, and proceeded to wash away the mud. He struggled at first, but as he got used to the water’s temperature, he started to calm down. As for his clothes, those would have to be laundered at home. 

“All right, that should about do it,” I said. With the mud out of the way, I used fire magic to create hot wind, like an air dryer, then took a handkerchief to carefully wipe the rest of the boy’s face. 

In doing so, I could finally see his pointed, elf-like ears, as well as the emerald green hair he sported. I immediately remembered something Roxy had told me. 

“If you ever see someone with emerald-green hair, make sure you don’t go anywhere near them.” 

Hm? Wait, hold on. That wasn’t quite right. I think it was… 

“If you ever see someone with emerald-green hair and what looks like a red jewel set in their forehead, make sure you don’t go anywhere near them.” 

Yeah, that was it! I’d forgotten the bit about the red jewel. This kid’s forehead, however, was nothing but a smooth and pretty white. 

Whew. I was safe. He wasn’t one of those nasty Superds. 

“Th-thank you…” 

The boy’s words of gratitude snapped me back into the moment. Dang. He was kinda giving me the tingles there. 

I decided to give him some advice. “Listen, if you just roll over for people like that, they’re never going to leave you alone, you know.” 

“I can’t beat those guys…” 

“You need to want to fight back; that’s the key.” 

“But they’ve always got bigger kids with them. And I don’t want to get hurt…” 

Ah, so that was it. If he fought back, those kids would call for their friends, and they’d give him a thorough beating. No matter what world you lived in, that was a thing. Roxy had put in a lot of effort, so the grown-ups seemed to have accepted demons, but not the children. Kids could be so cruel. 

This right here wasn’t too far from outright bigotry. “You must have it rough, getting bullied just because the color of your hair makes you look like a Superd.” 

“You’re…not bothered by it?” 

“My teacher was a demon. What race do you belong to?” I asked. Roxy had told me that the Migurd and Superd were closely related. Maybe his race was, too. 

But the boy just shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

He didn’t know? At his age? That was odd. “Well, what race is your father?” 

“He’s a half-elf. His other half is human, he said.” 

“And your mother?” 

“She’s human, but she also has some beastman blood in there, too.” 

The child of a half-elf and a quarter-beastman? Did that explain his hair, then? 

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes. “And so they—m-my dad, he…he tells me I’m not a demon, b-but…my hair isn’t the same color as his or my mom’s…” 

He started to sob, and I reached over to reassuringly pat his head. If his hair color didn’t match either of his parents’, though, that was a big deal. The possibility that his mother had had an affair occurred to me. “Is your hair color the only thing that’s different?” 

“My…my ears are longer than my dad’s, too.” 

“I see.” A demon race that had long ears and green hair sounded plausible enough. I mean, I didn’t want to pry too hard into the affairs of a stranger’s home life, but I’d been a bullied child myself, so I wanted to do something for him. Also, I just felt so bad for him, being bullied just for having green hair. 

Some of the bullying I’d experienced had been a result of stupid things I’d done. But not this kid. No amount of effort on his part could change how he’d been born. He’d been destined from birth to have mudballs pelted at him on the roadside just because his hair was a bit green. Ugh. Just thinking of it was enough to piss me off again. 

“Does your dad treat you nicely?” I asked. 

“Yeah. He’s scary when he’s mad, but he doesn’t get mad if I behave.” 

“And what about your mom?” 

“She’s nice.” 

Hmm. His tone of voice indicated that he was telling the truth. Then again, I couldn’t really know for sure without seeing for myself. 

“All right,” I said. “Let’s go, shall we?” 

“G-go where?” 

“Wherever it is you’re going.” Hey, stick with a kid, and his parents are bound to show up. That’s, like, a law of nature. 

“Wh-why are you coming with me?” 

“Well, those guys from before might come back. I’ll drive ’em off. Are you on your way home? Or are you taking that basket someplace?” 

“I’m, ah, delivering m-my dad’s lunch…” 

His father was a half-elf, yeah? When elves turned up in stories, they were a long-lived and isolationist people with haughty dispositions who looked down on other races. They were skilled with the bow and also with magic. Water and wind magic were their forte. Oh, and they had long ears, of course. 

Roxy had said, “That’s largely accurate, though they aren’t particularly isolationist.” 

Were the majority of elven men and women super-gorgeous in this world, too? No, no. Thinking of elves as all being super-gorgeous was a crass Japanese preconception. The elves in Western games had faces that were too angular and pointed and didn’t look particularly gorgeous at all. Guess Japanese otaku and foreign normies had different sensibilities. 

In the case of this boy here, though, it was a given that his parents were hot. 

“So, um…why…why are you…protecting me?” he asked haltingly, his mannerisms evoking more of that protective instinct in me. 

“My father told me that I should be an ally to the weak.” 

“But…the other kids might exclude you because of it…” 

Maybe so. It was a common story: getting bullied for helping out a victim of bullying. 

“If that happens, I’ll just play with you,” I said. “As of today, we’re friends.” 

“What?!” 

Our chips were in the same pile now. The chain of bullying grew when the person being helped turned on their helper instead of being grateful and repaying that kindness. Granted, the reason for this kid being victimized was rooted in something deeper than that, so I doubted he’d flip and side with the bullies. 

“Oh, are you usually too busy helping out around the house?” I asked. 

“N-no, not really…” He mustered a timid expression and a shake of the head. 

“Oh, that’s right. I haven’t gotten your name yet. I’m Rudeus.” 

“I…I’m Sylph—” His voice was so quiet that it was hard to make out the second part. Sylph, huh? 

“That’s a nice name. Just like a spirit of the wind.” 

At that, Sylph’s face turned red, and he nodded. “Yeah.” 

*** 

Sylph’s father was a very attractive man. He had pointed ears and blond hair that almost glittered, and he was slender without lacking muscle definition. Certainly, he lived up to the name of half-elf, having inherited the best parts of both elf and human. 

He stood guard at a watchtower on the edge of the forest, a bow in one hand. “Father,” Sylph called. “I’ve brought your lunch.” 

“Ah, thank you, Phi, as always. Did you get bullied again today?” 

“I’m okay. Someone helped me out.” 

Sylph turned to look my way, and I bowed slightly. “Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Rudeus Greyrat.” 

“Greyrat? As in Paul Greyrat?” 

“Yes, sir. He’s my father.” 

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you! My, what a polite boy you are. Oh, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m Laws. I typically hunt in these forests.” 

Based on what I’d heard, this watchtower was set up as a lookout post to keep monsters from making it out of the forest, and was staffed by men from the village around the clock. Naturally, Paul was on the roster as well, which explained why Laws knew him. I’m sure they’d talked to one another about their respective children. 

“I know how my kid must look, but it’s just something from further back in our ancestry,” Laws said. “I do hope you’ll be friends with each other.” 

“Of course, sir. And even if Sylph was a Superd, it wouldn’t change my attitude one bit. I stake my father’s honor on it.” 

Laws let out a sound of astonishment. “Those are impressive words for a boy your age,” he said. “I’m kind of jealous that Paul has such a bright kid.” 

“Being good at things as a child doesn’t mean that person will keep being good at things as an adult,” I said. “You don’t need to be jealous now when there’s still time for Sylph to grow up.” I figured I should put in a nice word. 

“Heh. Now I see what Paul was talking about.” 

“What did my father say?” 

“That talking to you makes one feel like an underqualified parent.” 

While we were talking, I felt a tug at the hem of my shirt. I looked, and Sylph was clutching it, his head cast down. I guessed a grown-up conversation like this was boring for children. 

“Mr. Laws,” I asked, “can the two of us go play for a bit?” 

“Oh, yes, of course. Just don’t get too close to the forest.” 

Well, that went without saying. I felt like there should have been more ground rules than that. 

“On our way here, there was a hill with a big tree on top. I figured we’d go play around there. I promise Sylph will head back home before it gets dark. And once your kid gets home, could you look out in the direction of that hill? If it looks like I haven’t gone home, there’s a good chance something’s wrong. Could you please arrange a search if that happens?” After all, there weren’t any cell phones in this world. Establishing proper communication was important. It was impossible to avoid all potential trouble, but bouncing back quickly from problems was also important. This kingdom seemed fairly safe, but there was no telling where dangers might be lurking. 

With one look back at Laws, who was a bit dumbfounded, Sylph and I headed back for the tree on the hilltop. “So, what did you want to play?” I asked. 

“I’m not sure. I’ve…never played with a…a friend before.” Sylph struggled to get the word “friend” out. I supposed he really never had one before. I felt so bad for him…but I didn’t have friends, either. 

“Yeah,” I said, “Until recently I never really left the house myself. But anyway, what did you want to play?” 

Sylph wrung his hands together and gazed up at me. We were roughly the same height, but because he kept himself hunched over, he had to look up at me. “So, um, how come you keep changing the way you talk?” 

“Hm? Oh! Depending on who you’re talking to, it’s rude not to speak properly. You need to show deference to your elders.” 

“Def-er-ence?” 

“Like the way I was speaking to your father before.” 

“Hmm…” He sounded like he didn’t quite understand, but he’d get it eventually. That was part of growing up. 

“More importantly,” Sylph said, “could you teach me that thing you did earlier?” 

“What thing?” 

Sylph’s eyes glimmered to life. He postured and waved his hands as he explained: “Like when you made warm water go all sploosh from your hands, and when you made that nice warm wind like whoosh.” 

“Ah, yes. That.” The magic I’d used to clear away the mud. 

“Is it difficult?” 

“It’s difficult, but with training, anyone can do it. Probably.” Lately, my magical reserves had grown so much I wasn’t even sure how much I was expending, to say nothing of what the baseline was for people here. But then, this was just using fire to warm water. People probably couldn’t just up and conjure hot water without an incantation, but with Combined Magic, anyone could reproduce the effects. That’s why it was probably fine. Probably. 

“Okay then!” I announced. “Today, we’ll begin your training!” 

And so, Sylph and I played until the sun went down. 

*** 

When I got back home, Paul was furious. 

He stood imposingly in the entryway, hands set on his hips in an expression of his anger. I immediately tried to think of what I’d done wrong. The first thing that came to mind was that he’d discovered the precious panties that I’d secreted away. 

“Father, I’m home,” I said. 

“Do you know why I’m upset?” 

“I don’t.” First, I had to play dumb. I didn’t want to bring unnecessary trouble upon myself in the event my prized possession hadn’t been discovered. 

“Mr. Eto’s wife came by earlier and told me that you punched their boy, Somal.” 

Who the heck were Mr. Eto and Somal? The names didn’t ring a bell, so I had to think. I hadn’t had much interaction with the townsfolk beyond basic introductions. I’d given them my name and gotten theirs in return, but I couldn’t recall whether or not there had been an “Eto” among them. 

Wait. Hold on. “Was this today?” I asked. 

“Yes.” 

The only people I’d run into today were Sylph, Laws, and those three punks. Was Somal one of those three boys, then? “I didn’t punch him. All I did was throw some mud at him.” 

“Do you remember what it was I told you earlier?” 

“That men don’t get strong just to brag about it?” 

“That’s right.” 

Aha. Now I got it. Come to think of it, that kid had said something about how he was gonna let everyone know I was a demon-lover. I don’t know how that turned into him lying about me punching him, but either way, he was determined to badmouth me. 

“I’m not sure what you heard, Father, but—” 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Paul snapped. “When you’ve done something wrong, the first thing you do is apologize!” 

Whatever lie this kid had told, my dad had clearly bought it. Crap. At this point, even if I told the truth about me saving Sylph from those bullies, it’d just sound like an outright lie. 

Still, all I could do was explain what happened from the very beginning. “Okay, so I was walking down the road when—” 

“No excuses!” Paul grew even more irate. He had no intentions of hearing me out. 

I could have just said “sorry,” but I felt like that wasn’t going to be fair to Paul, either. I didn’t want him to make a habit of behaving like this with any younger brother or sister he might well make for me. 

This method of punishment wasn’t fair. I kept my mouth shut. 

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Paul demanded. 

“Because if I do, you’re just going to yell at me not to make excuses.” 

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “What?” 

“Before a kid can even say anything, you yell at them and make them apologize. Everything is so quick and easy with you adults. Must be nice.” 

“Rudy!” 

Whap! A hot jolt of pain shot through my cheek. 

He hit me. 

I mean, I’d expected as much. Talk shit, get hit. 

That’s why I firmly held my ground. I probably hadn’t been hit in around twenty years. No—I’d gotten my ass beaten when I was kicked out of my house, so that made five years, I supposed. “Father, I have always put in the utmost effort to be a good son. Not once have I ever talked back to you or Mother, and I’ve always done my very best to do whatever you both tell me.” 

“That…that has nothing to do with this!” It didn’t look as though Paul had intended to strike me. There was a distinct look of consternation in his eyes. 

Whatever. That was good for me. “Yes, it does. I’ve always done my best to keep your mind at ease and to get you to trust me, Father. You didn’t listen to a word I said, and not only did you take the word of someone I don’t know and yell at me, you even raised your hand to me.” 

“But this Somal kid got hurt…” 

Hurt? That was news to me. Had I done that to him? If I had, maybe he was using it to sell his story. Well, too bad. I was justified in what I’d done. Assuming this whole thing about his being hurt wasn’t just some dumb lie anyway. 

“Even if it does wind up that it’s my fault he got hurt, I’m not going to apologize for it,” I said. “I didn’t go against anything you taught me, and I’m proud of what I did.” 

“Wait, hold on. What happened?” 

Oh, now he was suddenly curious? Hey, it was his own fault for deciding he wouldn’t listen to me. “What happened about not wanting to hear excuses?” 

Paul’s face twisted into a frown. It seemed I was close now. “Please don’t worry, Father. The next time I see three people going after someone who won’t fight back, I’ll ignore it. In fact, I’ll jump in so that it’s four on one. I’ll make sure that everyone around knows that the Greyrats take pride in bullying and ganging up on the weak. But once I grow up and leave home, I’ll never use the Greyrat name again. I’ll be too ashamed to let anyone know I belonged to a family so horrid they ignored actual violence and accepted verbal abuse.” 

Paul fell dead silent. His face turned red, then went pale, and there was conflict in his expression. Was he going to be mad? Or had I still not pushed him over the edge? 

You should quit while you’re ahead, Paul. I know I don’t look it, but I’ve spent over twenty years talking my way out of arguments I can’t win. If you had even one solid point to make, this might end in a draw, but justice is on my side this time. You don’t have any hope of winning this one. 

“I’m sorry,” Paul said, hanging his head. “I was wrong. Tell me what happened.” 

Yeah, see? Digging your heels in just makes things worse for the both of us. 

Remember, when you do something wrong, the first thing you do is apologize. 

Relieved, I explained the details of the situation as objectively as I could. I was making my way up the hill when I heard voices. There were three boys in an empty field pelting mud at another boy walking along the road. I hit them with mud once or twice until they backed down, and then they left while badmouthing me. Then, I used magic to clean the mud off the one boy, and we played together. 

“So, yeah,” I said, “if I’m going to apologize, this Somal kid needs to apologize to Sylph first. When you’re hurt physically, you’ll heal soon enough, but emotional hurt doesn’t go away so quickly.” 

Paul’s shoulders drooped despondently. “You’re right. I had this all wrong. I’m sorry.” 

When I saw that, I recalled what Laws had told me earlier: “Talking to you makes one feel like an underqualified parent.” Had Paul’s attempt at scolding me been him trying to show more of his paternal side? 

Well, if so, he’d lost this round. 

“You don’t need to apologize. In the future, if you think what I’ve done is wrong, by all means, scold me as you like. All I ask is that you hear me out first. There are going to be times when words don’t cut it, or where it’s just going to sound like I’m making excuses, but if I have something to say, please just try to see my side of things.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. I mean, I don’t expect that you’ll be in the wrong in the first place, but—” 

“When I am, use that as a learning opportunity for disciplining whatever younger brother or sister you wind up giving me in the future.” 

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” Paul said self-deprecatingly. The man was clearly in poor spirits. 

Had I gone too far? I mean, losing an argument to your five-year-old son? That’d take the wind out of my sails for sure. I supposed he was a bit young to be a father. 

“By the way, Father, how old are you?” 

“Hm? I’m twenty-four.” 

“I see.” So, he would have been nineteen when he got married and had me? I didn’t know the average age for marriage in this world, but with things like monsters and war and such being an everyday occurrence, that sounded pretty appropriate. 

A man more than a decade my junior had gotten married, had a kid, and was now struggling with how to raise him. Given my thirty-four-year-history of indolent joblessness, you wouldn’t think I’d be able to outdo him at much of anything. 

Ah, well. 

“Father, could I bring Sylph over to play sometime?” 

“Hm? Oh, of course.” 

Satisfied with that response, I headed into the house with my father. I was glad he didn’t hold any prejudice against demons. 

Paul 

My son was angry. The boy had never been one to display much overt emotion, but here he was, silently fuming. How did it come to this? 

It started that afternoon, when Mrs. Eto came by our house, furious. She brought along her son Somal, considered one of the neighborhood brats. There was a blue bruise around one of his eyes. As a swordsman who’d seen my fair share of battle, I knew right away that he’d taken a punch. 

His mother’s story was long and rambling, but the gist was that my boy had punched hers. When I heard that, I was inwardly relieved. 

I assumed my son had been playing outside, caught sight of Somal and his buddies playing, and tried to join them. But my boy wasn’t like other kids; he was already a Water Saint magician at his age. He’d probably said something high-and-mighty, the other kids had fired back, and then they’d all gotten into a fight. My boy was pretty clever and mature for his age, but he was still a kid, after all. 

Mrs. Eto continued to get red in the face and then went pale as she tried to make this out to be a major bust-up, when it was just a quarrel among children in the end. And just by looking, you could tell that her son’s injury wasn’t even going to leave a mark. I’d scold my boy, and that would be the end of it. 

Children were bound to get into scuffles that turned to blows at some point, but Rudeus was far more powerful than other children. Not only had he been the disciple of the young Water Saint, Roxy, I’d been training him since he was three. Any fight he got into was sure to be one-sided. 

Things had gone okay this time, but if he ever got too hot-headed, he might wind up overdoing it. A smart kid like Rudeus ought to be able to deal with someone like Somal without throwing a punch. I needed to teach him that punching someone was a rash thing to do, and he needed to give it more thought before resorting to it. 

I needed to give him a bit of a harsh scolding. 

That had been the plan, anyway. How did it go so wrong? 

My son had no intention of apologizing to me whatsoever. Rather, he looked at me like one might look at an insect. 

I’m sure that, from my son’s perspective, they were having a fight on equal footing. But when someone has powers like his, they need to be aware of how just how strong they are. Besides, he’d hurt someone. I needed him to apologize. He was a smart kid. He might not understand now, but I was sure he’d arrive at the right answer in due time. 

With that in mind, I took a firm tone to ask what had happened, only for him to respond with condescension and sarcasm. It galled me, and in the heat of the moment, I struck him. And here I was, trying to teach him a lesson about how people with power shouldn’t resort to violence against people weaker than them. 

I’d hit him. I knew I was in the wrong, but I couldn’t say that while trying to give my boy a lecture. I couldn’t tell him not to do what I’d done moments earlier myself. While I struggled with my rattled composure, my son implied he’d done nothing wrong, and even said that if I had a problem with that, he’d leave home. 

I almost told him right there to go ahead, go, but I managed to resist the urge. I had to. I was from a strict family myself, with an overbearing father who’d tear into me without giving me a fair shake. My resentment had grown to the point where we had a huge fight that ended with me storming out of the house. 

My father’s blood ran in my veins—the blood of a stubborn, unyielding curmudgeon. And it ran in Rudeus’s veins as well. Just look at how stubborn he could be. He was definitely my kid. 

When I was told to get out, I gave my old man some tit for tat and did exactly as he said. I might drive Rudeus off as well. He said he’d wait until he grew up before leaving home, but if I told him to get out right now, I bet he would. I was sure it was in his nature. 

I heard that, not long after I left, my father took ill and died. And I heard he regretted our big fight until the very end. And I was glad to hear it. 

No—if I’m being honest, I regretted it, too. In that light, if I told Rudeus to get out and he really did leave, I’d surely regret that, too. 

I had to be patient. Hadn’t I learned from experience, after all? Besides, on the day my child was born, I decided that I would never be a father like mine. 

“You’re right. I had this all wrong. I’m sorry.” The apology came out naturally. 

Rudeus’s expression softened, and he went on to explain what happened. He told me that he came across Laws’ kid getting bullied and stepped in to help. Rather than punch anyone, he’d just tossed balls of mud. It could hardly be called a proper fight. 

If what Rudeus said was true, then what he’d done was a laudable thing, something he should be proud of. But instead of being praised for his actions, all he got was a father who wouldn’t listen and struck him instead. 

When I was young, my father did the same thing to me so many times, never listening to my side of things and always blaming me for not being a perfect son. Each time it happened, I felt so miserable and helpless. 

Well, whatever lesson I’d been trying to teach here, I’d failed. Ugh. 

But Rudeus didn’t blame me for it. He even consoled me in the end. He was a good kid. Almost too good. Was I even really his father? No—Zenith wasn’t the type to have an affair, and besides, there was no father good enough to produce a child like him. Man, I never expected my seed would bear such strong fruit. 

More than pride, though, what I felt was an ache in my gut. 

“Father, could I bring Sylph over to play sometime?” 

“Hm? Oh, of course.” 

For now, I could at least be happy that my son had made his first friend.