Maybe it's because my build resembles that of a school bully from my previous life, which triggered Rudi's PTSD. This "favorability" task is going to be tough… If only Rudi were a girl. No, wait—maybe the girl inside the 34-year-old NEET uncle of the eroge clan? Hiss… exploding.
Allen sighed silently and stepped over to the study door.
The study door was open. Inside, Paul was sitting with his head lowered, tugging at his hair as if deep in thought.
Allen knocked lightly on the doorframe.
"Master."
Paul looked up. Several sheets of letter paper were scattered across the desk.
"Oh, have a seat."
Allen glanced at the stool — it was quite far from Paul's cheek-supported desk. Paul picked up a pen and looked at Allen.
"Because your background is unknown, before you officially become a swordsman in our family, I need to conduct a brief investigation."
Allen raised his eyebrows and stared straight at Paul's face.
Seeing this, Paul quickly waved his hand, then scratched his head, eyes flicking to the ceiling, looking somewhat troubled.
"Don't worry, I understand adventurer's etiquette. After all, I used to be in this line of work myself. It's just a very rough inquiry — since this involves the safety of my child, I hope you understand."
Allen's expression shifted; as if suddenly interested, a slight smile appeared as he relaxed back in the chair.
"Go ahead, please."
"Uh... your name?"
"Allen."
Paul paused with the pen, then slowly nodded and continued.
"How about your age?"
Allen looked at Paul's pen and smiled indifferently.
"Nine years and four months."
Paul blinked.
"Your usual activity range?"
"The outskirts of Asla's capital."
Paul seemed to feel a dry throat and swallowed.
"Swordsman rank?"
"Currently awarded title: Suijin-ryu — Advanced level."
Paul scratched his head with the pen, then smiled after a long moment.
"I see your clothes are quite worn out. I guess you haven't had any income for a long time. When did you lose your money in the dungeon?"
Allen replied with a cheerful tone.
"Last November, master."
Paul took a deep breath and let out a relieved expression. He looked up at Allen, his expression softening, and spoke with unexpected warmth.
"Well then, Allen, stay here for now. We'll eat together later — Senis's cooking isn't bad."
Allen squinted at him.
"Any more questions, master?"
Paul hesitated, then shook his head.
"No, none. You can rest in your room or go play with Rudi. By the way, even though you're tall, you're only four years older than him."
Allen stood up.
"Then I'll take my leave."
"Mm, go ahead."
After Paul said this, his eyes glazed over a bit. Watching Allen's back, he reached out and closed the door behind him with a click.
Paul then started to write.
But before he even finished half the first character, a lazy voice drifted from in front of him.
"Uncle Paul, who are you writing to?"
Paul's pupils contracted sharply; he looked up in surprise.
Allen was leaning against the closed door, quietly watching him.
A few months ago, Allen's system suddenly popped up, notifying him that his participation score in the "Unemployed Reincarnation Great Event" had increased by 2 points. At the time, Allen was puzzled.
He had just set out for Buena Village. The people and events he encountered earlier in the capital seemed unrelated to the major events of his childhood phase—how could his score increase?
Now, the source of the problem had been found.
It seemed someone had "known" him long ago.
Allen stepped toward the slightly flustered Paul. When he got close, he looked with keen interest at the desk.
On it lay a letter filled with neat handwriting—an ornate, noble-style script, though the paper itself looked a little worn, not freshly written.
Allen squinted and rudely reached out to take the letter.
Paul's expression changed sharply; he suddenly stood up and tried to grab Allen's hand.
Just as Paul's hand was about to grasp his wrist, Allen brought his index and middle fingers together and pressed the side of his fingers against Paul's palm, sliding lightly.
His fingers moved like a swimming fish, slipping out of Paul's attempted grasp and flicking his hand aside.
Paul's hand grasped empty air, his body swayed, and he stumbled onto the desk.
Wide-eyed, he watched as Allen pinched the letter between two fingers, lifting it before his eyes, muttering softly.
"Suijin-ryu—Secret Technique."
Allen held the letter suspended before his eyes, his gaze serious as his eyes scanned the contents.
——
Paul,
How have you been lately? I imagine life in the countryside with your wife must be quite pleasant.
I am writing to you now because there is something I wish to entrust to you.
It concerns my eldest son in the capital—Allen Borreas Greyrat. Perhaps you still remember him; when he was born, I wrote to you.
At that time, he had only just opened his eyes when James took him to the capital to raise him as his own child. This is the price one pays for losing the succession struggle for head of the family.
It is also tradition within the Borreas family, intended to avoid excessive internal conflict.
Yet, I could not help but, under the guise of the mayor's official duties, secretly visit him behind my father's back.
After all, he is the first offspring I, Philip Borreas Greyrat, have left in this world.
The irony is that I do not even have the right to give him his name.
You are welcome to mock me for this — after all, it's usually me looking down on you and teasing you, so this is only fair.
Back to Allen: unlike me, he is outstanding. At such a young age, he has already shown remarkable talent in swordsmanship.
When I saw him from afar, he was surrounded by admirers, receiving praise from James himself. Yet his expression showed neither pride nor timidity—he was remarkably composed.
That calm yet sharp contradiction in his demeanor made me feel dazed. His expression resembled his father's in some ways but was not quite the same. I can't help but wonder—could this really be my child?
One thing is beyond doubt:
He deserves to grow up amidst flowers and applause, not to follow in my footsteps as a failure, stuck in Fitoya as the son of some worthless mayor.
But as I watched him, I couldn't help but think—if only I had won that power struggle with James for the next family headship, then perhaps the one standing before him now would be me.
I envy James. He doesn't deserve it.
Unconsciously, I've rambled on; I'll stop there and get back to the point.
A month ago, Allen disappeared while on his way to study at the Magic University.
At least, that is the official verdict given.
James seems uninterested in searching for him, but I am deeply worried for his safety.
Therefore, I asked the family guard—your former teammate, the Sword King Gilen—to investigate Allen's last known location: the Upper Jaw of the Red Dragon.
But now, ten days have passed with no sign of him.
I smell a conspiracy.
I intended to ask Gilen to use her adventurer contacts to gather information, but she regretfully told me that such networks are beyond her ability and suggested I seek your help.
Here, I ask you to use your connections from your adventuring days to help find any clues about him.
His features are very sharp, his eyebrows nearly identical to my father's. He inherited my brown hair and Hilda's gray eyes, making him quite distinctive and easy to recognize in a crowd.
If you receive any information, please inform me immediately. If anyone sees someone fitting his description, please help me send a message to them to keep him safe and contact me so I may verify.
Please understand, I cannot openly hire people to search for him—it would be inappropriate for my position.
After all, his "biological father" is James.
Apologies for revealing my weak side to you.
Written as if we were face to face.
Philip.
——
Allen fell silent as he read the familiar yet strange name at the letter's end.
Beside him, Paul scratched his head awkwardly, unsure what to say.