Mushoku Tensei: Sword, Magic Hats, and Romance!

Allen swore that he was watching all this purely with the mindset of someone enjoying a wholesome family sitcom—from Lilia's wistful expression at the upstairs window, to the flirting and butt-grabbing antics of Paul and Zenith down in the courtyard.

While he was at it, he took the opportunity to memorize everyone's faces.

Lilia had that cool, aloof beauty—her features leaned toward East Asian, and the round spectacles added an air of calm restraint. She was dressed neatly in a traditional maid uniform.

Paul had the classic Notos-style playboy face: rugged features, a bit of stubble, and a tear mole that somehow added to his charm. Throw in that well-toned body, and yeah—no wonder the guy was a magnet for trouble.

Zenith had the dignified, gentle look of a noblewoman—blonde hair soft as silk, everything about her poised and elegant.

All in all, it lined up with Allen's expectations—especially that both the first wife and the mistress were sporting matching 36E sizes.

Paul, you sly dog…

As that thought crossed Allen's mind, his eyes landed on Rudeus—the protagonist of this world.

The boy's hair inherited Zenith's silky texture and Paul's chestnut color. His features were delicate, even slightly androgynous in this childlike phase. At the moment, he was half-listening to Paul's nonsense with a helpless smile.

Then, as if he suddenly sensed something, Rudeus stiffened—and slowly turned to look at Allen.

Allen immediately remembered the Favorability Quest.

And then—

He put on the warmest, kindest, most gentle and approachable smile he could manage. Something full of goodwill. Friendly.

In response, Rudeus looked like he'd seen a ghost—and promptly headbutted Paul in the stomach.

Paul staggered back, hitting the ground with a grunt, and turned to glare at Allen.

His expression? Not friendly.

Allen's smile froze.

Did… did I just accidentally increase the difficulty of the favorability quest?

Paul's irritation vanished quickly, though. As a knight dispatched by the Fittoa Territory to oversee Buena Village's safety and harvests, visitors dropping by was hardly unusual.

He brushed the dirt off himself and stood up.

During this whole exchange, Rudeus remained completely turned away from Allen—shuffling behind Paul like he was winding a toy soldier.

Still trying to recover, Allen squeezed out a brighter smile and tried to salvage things.

"Excuse me, you must be the village knight—Sir Paul, yes? And that's your son? He's adorable~"

The moment the words left his mouth, Rudeus's face changed. He clutched his pants and bolted for the house like the wind.

He was spooked.

Allen's mouth opened in disbelief as he watched the kid flee, then turned awkwardly back to Paul.

Paul looked mildly stunned. He didn't respond to the small talk or his son's reaction. Instead, his gaze slowly swept over Allen—from the hilt of the sword at his waist, to his worn, ragged swordsman's attire.

Eventually, his eyes settled on Allen's face—and stayed there.

Allen met his gaze.

Paul stood nearly 1.8 meters tall, forcing Allen to look up slightly.

After a long pause, Paul finally spoke.

"…Sorry about that. Rudeus isn't good with people. So, what brings you here?"

"Well, Sir Knight, I'm a wandering adventurer. I lost my money in a dungeon a while back and have been trying to earn a bit along the way. While traveling, I ran into a blue-haired demon magician who mentioned that you might be looking for a sword instructor for your child."

"Why lie?"

Paul instantly cut through Allen's story, looking down at him like a teacher about to scold a misbehaving student.

Allen didn't flinch. He simply narrowed his eyes and smiled.

"What makes you say that?"

"…Let's assume you did meet Roxy. She knows I'm Rudeus's sword instructor. She wouldn't tell anyone we're looking for another. That means you're here because you wanted to be, not because of her."

Allen lowered his eyes.

Just as expected—he's not easy to fool.

If he said outright, "I want to be Rudeus's tutor," it would sound like he had some ulterior motive. And if it was just about money, well—there were much better places to earn than some backwoods village. This excuse wouldn't hold.

All my exits are sealed… Coming clean might be the only way.

But then—

"…Becoming Rudeus's sword tutor… might actually work."

Allen blinked in surprise and looked up at Paul.

Paul was staring at the sword on Allen's waist.

"To be honest, I go by instinct. And I've failed to ignite any real passion for swordsmanship in Rudeus. Maybe someone new could shake things up."

Allen hadn't yet figured out why Paul was suddenly letting this go when he heard the man continue.

"I'm willing to offer a seven-day trial. If you can prove yourself in that time, I'll officially hire you as Rudeus's sword instructor. I'll pay you two silver coins per month—not a bad deal."

As he spoke, Paul leaned in slightly, studying Allen's face.

"But just calling yourself a swordsman doesn't mean you're qualified to teach my kid. You look pretty young. So—prove it. If you can get past me, you've earned your trial. How about it?"

Allen raised an eyebrow.

That escalated fast… Not quite logical, but—

"…Sounds fair."

The setting sun cast long shadows across the courtyard.

Zenith and Lilia stood tensely on the front steps. Rudeus peeked out from behind his mother.

Zenith clutched her hands together, watching anxiously. She turned her head slightly and whispered:

"What's going on? Why is your father suddenly dueling some child? Is he a swordsman? Do you know anything, Rudeus?"

Rudeus shook his head. He was deliberately avoiding eye contact with Allen, staring instead at Paul.

"No idea, Mother. When I came inside, they hadn't even started talking yet."

What the hell is happening? Did that weirdo threaten Paul? He dared to glare at me like that! C'mon, Dad—show him what it means to be the man of the house!

Paul drew the sword at his waist—a double-edged longsword with a trapezoidal crossguard carved into inverted triangles, almost religious in style. A black groove ran along the center of the blade.

He raised it above his head—a perfect upper stance.

Allen responded by drawing his sword.

Unlike Paul's longsword, his blade was slimmer, more refined. The hammered steel patterns flowed all the way to the tip, forming a graceful curve.

The single-edged blade swept through the air and rested beside his hip, pointed slightly off-angle—a classic middle stance for defense.

He looked at the sword in his hands, and heat rose in his chest.

Paul. Master of three styles. At his peak, nearly Saint-ranked. Though he's a bit rusty now after retiring, he's still a solid advanced-level swordsman. Stronger than my current system ranking.

Allen licked his lips and looked up at Paul, who seemed equally eager.

"Well then. Shall we begin?"

Paul smiled, eyes narrowed.

"It began the moment you drew your blade."

The next instant—

Sword light ignited like a flash of flame.

It was already at Allen's cheek.

The blade hummed.

And Paul's voice came again, low and smooth—

"…Now."