The blood in their veins ran cold.
That was the shared sensation coursing through every member of the Greyrat family. Sylphy, pale-faced, stared at the man before her—Philip.
Paul, Zenith, Lilia, Rudeus, Sylphy—every one of them instinctively turned toward Allen.
But before their gazes even reached him, Allen's voice drifted casually through the air.
Unhurried. Without hesitation.
"I'm Allen."
For a second, everything was still. It felt like the world had gone silent—but only for a heartbeat.
All eyes snapped to Allen. His smile hadn't changed—not even a flicker. He answered plainly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
You asked if my name is Allen?
Yes, that's right. My name is Allen.
A response so natural, it didn't even require thought.
But the problem was—Philip's son was also named Allen.
Rudeus's pupils contracted in disbelief. He couldn't fathom what Allen was doing. They'd never made a point of hiding his name—after all, Allen was a common one—but now, in front of his father, he was openly declaring it? Wasn't he afraid of being recognized on the spot?
Philip paused slightly at Allen's answer, the smile on his lips freezing just for a moment—then quickly resettling. He regarded Allen with keen interest, as though admiring a finely crafted sculpture of his own making.
"Allen? That's a fine name. What a coincidence—my eldest son is also named Allen."
Allen patted Rudeus on the shoulder, signaling him not to worry, and smiled.
"What a coincidence indeed."
Philip looked into Allen's calm, stormless gaze, taking in the uncommon shade of ash-gray in his eyes. Still smiling, he said:
"I know you."
As Allen's hand idly brushed through Sylphy's soft white hair, her heartbeat gradually slowed in the calming rhythm of his fingers. Without looking up, he replied blandly:
"I've heard your name quite a few times too."
Philip arched a brow in mock surprise, just as Paul tried to cut in—only to be stopped short when Philip's hand casually clamped down on his shoulder.
"Oh? Is that so?"
Allen gave the Greyrats a brief glance, quietly taking in their anxious faces before looking back at Philip. He answered offhandedly:
"The name of the mayor of Roa echoes far and wide."
Their exchange quickened, volleying back and forth without pause, words echoing crisply through the courtyard.
"Heh, I didn't think I was so famous. Aren't you curious how I know your name?"
"Not really."
"And why's that?"
"You have many eyes, don't you? You see far."
"Many eyes? That's an interesting way to put it."
"Wasn't it you who appointed Lord Paul as a knight? I'd naturally be aware of things involving the employer's household."
"So you're saying I sent people to keep tabs on him in Buena Village?"
"Many eyes, see far. Naturally, that'd apply to all the villages under your jurisdiction, not just Buena."
"Then shouldn't I have known about you sooner?"
"Accurate information can't always be transmitted. Your 'filtering network' probably discarded something ordinary—like news of a knight's family hiring a simple private tutor. It's happened before, and it didn't warrant attention, did it?"
"You don't strike me as the reckless type adventurers are known to be."
"Not all adventurers are reckless. You flatter me."
"Then do you know why I'm here?"
Allen met the collective tightening of the Greyrat family's pupils with a question of his own:
"You came for me?"
"Yes. Don't you want to know why I sought you out?"
"No point being curious."
Allen fell silent. As Paul wiped sweat from his brow like a man in a sauna, Allen met Philip's eyes—which had at some point fully opened—and spoke coolly:
"It's probably because of what happened last winter. The news of someone single-handedly breaking through a monster tide reached Roa, and as mayor, you were intrigued. You came to Buena Village to scout this contributor. Isn't that right?"
"And there couldn't be any other reason?"
Allen smiled, warm as ever.
"There could be. But there shouldn't be."
Across from him, Philip's look of admiration burned brighter than the noonday sun.
"How old are you again?"
Allen said nothing—because it wasn't a question. It was a remark.
Philip turned toward Paul and addressed him directly.
"That letter I sent—have you given it any thought? Allen seems like a fine young man. When I heard there was someone in Buena who'd cleared an entire valley of monsters by himself, I knew immediately he was someone worth meeting. I admire him. That offer I mentioned—still not interested?"
Paul glanced from Philip to Allen, utterly lost.
And then—just like that—the smoky script reappeared before Allen's eyes, not even five minutes after it had last vanished.
[Trial (1/2) – Complete. Time Elapsed: 4 minutes 57 seconds]
[When you are trapped in a mental deadlock and unable to enter the Tutoring Phase, and an external force appears before you as a trigger, how will you seize it?]
["A meeting of kin"? Worst-case scenario. Recruitment pitch? Now that's more like it.]
[Philip has already pieced together that you're his son. But with James's eyes still watching, he can't officially acknowledge you. Even this trip to Buena must be framed around last winter's monster incident—he can't expose his true purpose in the open.]
[Why come to Buena? It's a scouting mission. Nothing more.]
[And you—without any hint or prompting—analyzed the pretext, read the signs, and fully understood Philip's intent. In just a few short lines of dialogue, you laid all the cards on the table. Honestly? He didn't expect you to see through him so completely.]
[As for the name "Allen"? Just a coincidence.]
[In a world without photographs, even if you returned to Roa, how could anyone match your current appearance with the sharp-tongued boy from James's memory?]
[You didn't wait for the "official" test Philip had planned. You skipped straight to demonstrating your value.]
[Efficient. Direct. Brutally effective.]
[You've already passed Philip's first trial—"Capability."]
In the eyes of a master schemer, your grasp of information reveals tactical acumen.
Your composure under pressure, adaptability.
The Greyrats' concern for you, your charisma and interpersonal leverage.
[In short—you are exactly the kind of person he imagines when he thinks of political talent.]
[And all of this—at age eleven.]
His own son.
[Reward: +5 Participation Points]
[Evaluation: An opportunity means nothing if you can't seize it. And you—are the one who can.]
...
Wind slipped past Paul's still-confused face, rustling a page open on the desk inside the master bedroom.
Paul, long time no see.
I heard last year's monster tide in Buena Village was handled with barely any trouble?
That does sound like you.
However—
I also heard the decisive factor was a passing adventurer. And that adventurer is currently serving as a tutor in your household?
To be frank, I'm interested in this kind of talent. I'd like to bring him under my wing.
I also heard your son has an extraordinary gift for magic. A Saint-rank magician at his age—remarkable.
Given that this adventurer is your son's instructor, I wouldn't dream of poaching him outright.
Instead, I'd like to extend an offer:
Bring your son with him to Roa. Both of them.
I gain a valuable talent. Your child gains access to better education. And I'm prepared to offer them each two gold coins a month in compensation.
In exchange, I'd like their help with a few very minor tasks. Don't worry—nothing involving danger or violence.
Please consider this carefully.
Sincerely,
(ink trails off)
Oh, right—
I've also heard this adventurer might be connected to that little favor I once asked you.
His name sounded very familiar.
He's called Allen, I believe.
There really are a lot of Allens in the world, aren't there?
—Philip
Allen, of course, never saw that letter.