Reborn As Papa Silva

I blinked, struggling to process the scene before me. A moment ago, I had been slumped over my computer desk in my dimly lit room, surrounded by sticky notes and multiple monitors playing various videos, all in a desperate attempt to cram for my final exam. Exhausted, I must have dozed off, because now that familiar sight had been replaced... with whatever this was.

I felt a dull ache in my rear as I hurriedly stood from where I'd been sitting. Grimacing, I eyed the ornate wooden contraption I'd been perched on—a chair if you could even call it that. The padding was so thin, that it seemed insulting to the very concept of comfort. Sure, it was beautiful, something that could fetch a high price as an antique, but for someone as picky about seating as I am, it was a nightmare. My tailbone practically ached just looking at it. But then, something strange happened. I realized the pain wasn't real. My discomfort was only mental, some kind of phantom sensation. As delicate as my backside tends to be, I was surprised to find I could stand and move about just fine.

With that revelation, I turned my attention to the desk in front of me. Gone were my monitors, tablet, keyboard, speakers, mouse pad—my entire setup. Instead, a stack of parchment and a quill pen sat neatly in their place, the inkpad signed in some old-fashioned script. What century is this? I thought, scanning the room. It was enormous, easily large enough to fit my entire apartment inside, and there wasn't a single electrical outlet or trace of modern technology in sight. The only light streamed through the window and from several glowing shards embedded in the walls. Bookshelves lined the space, filled with volumes bound in leather, while paintings on the walls practically screamed wealth and privilege—exactly the sort of thing the elite would admire while throwing away a year of my salary on a single night at an art gallery. A medieval theme pervaded the room, with a gleaming suit of knight's armor standing in one corner and a brilliant silver sword, its cross-guard adorned with what looked like jade, mounted nearby.

My gaze fell upon several open books on the desk, each laid out in an oddly organized manner—something I was grateful for, given my OCD tendencies. But as I looked closer, my stomach dropped. The books were written in a script I'd never encountered, yet I could understand every word as if it were my native language. Annoyed, I scratched at my chest, feeling something weighing on my shoulders. That's when I realized I was wearing a decorated satchel. Inside, I found a book, its cover unfamiliar, and just as I reached for it, I froze.

My hand. It wasn't mine—or at least, not how I remembered it. My usual tan complexion, one that often-had people mistaking me for someone of mixed Latino heritage, was gone. My skin was pale, almost shockingly so, like I had been sunburned or diagnosed with some strange condition.

Turning my head, I noticed an ornate round mirror on the wall, something straight out of Sleeping Beauty. I backed away from the desk and stood in front of it, deciding it was time to settle this nagging feeling of curiosity. And that's when I saw him—my reflection. I was taller now, easily surpassing the six-foot mark, a milestone of which I had only ever dreamed. For a moment, I felt the ridiculous urge to shed a tear of joy. But that feeling was quickly overshadowed by confusion and unease. The face staring back at me wasn't mine—it was a stranger's.

Instead of my usual tan skin, I now had a fair, healthy complexion, a stark contrast to what I was used to. My shoulders were broader, and I carried myself with an upright, almost regal posture. My build was athletic—strong, but not overly bulky. As for my clothes, well, they looked like something straight out of a bad cosplay or a Dungeons & Dragons convention. I wore a loose-fitting shirt with a high collar, fastened at the top by a gold band but left open below to expose my collarbone. My pants were equally loose, tapering off into tight bands just below the knee, and I was wearing flimsy sandals. To top it all off, I sported a robe with a short fur mantle and longer, frilled panels that hung down to my elbows.

Despite my initial confusion, I felt a sense of familiarity creeping in as I recognized the outfit, even though it lacked its usual eagle insignia. Normally, I wouldn't have been so quick to make the connection, but other features made it clear who I had become. My eyes were narrow and blue, my eyebrows small and sharp. And my hair—almost silver-white—was unmistakable. It was long and straight at the back, but the top and sides were heavily styled, swept back into a spiky fringe. A braid hung between my eyes, ending at the tip of my nose, where a small House Silva pendant was attached.

Wait a minute… Did I just reincarnate as a middle-aged Nozel Silva? But I'm supposed to have purple eyes, not blue! No… no, no, no! Don't tell me I've become Solid! Anyone but him! Not that loser! Panic set in as I glanced down at the satchel that I now knew held my grimoire. Desperate to confirm my fears, I pulled it out. The familiar three clovers greeted me, but the moment I flipped it open and saw water magic inside, my heart sank. The blue color alone should have been enough to give it away, but I was clinging to some last shred of hope.

Solid Silva. Seriously? Why, God? Why?! I know I wasn't the most devout person, but even I didn't deserve this! If I had to be reincarnated as him, couldn't I at least have been reborn as a kid? Then maybe I could change things, become someone worth talking about. But no, here I was, stuck as a stern, middle-aged, washed-up grump with a permanent frown and all the charisma of a wet blanket.

Honestly, I'd rather be Sekke. Or Alecdora. Or Gordon. Klaus, even! Hell, I'd have taken being reincarnated as a woman. I didn't even need to stay human. Just anything but Solid Silva.

Fighting back a wave of exaggerated, fake tears, I focused on my floating grimoire. Thanks to our mental bond, I commanded it to flip open so I could assess the situation. If I was going to survive in a fantasy world, I needed to gauge my strength. Sure, I might be living in a timeline where the major threats like Lucifero and Lucius had already been dealt with, but that didn't mean I was out of danger. The number of people in Black Clover who could kill Solid—with little effort, no less—was easily in the triple digits. I could only hope that after reconciling with Noelle, he'd stopped being such an arrogant jerk and actually learned some new spells, growing in the process.

As I flipped through the spells in my grimoire, I frowned. Not because there were too few of them—quite the opposite, actually. There was a surprisingly large selection, including not just his signature sea serpent and eagle spells, but also a variety of creation, recovery, and barrier-type water spells. That didn't make sense. Even if Solid had grown stronger or undergone some character development, he was still an attack mage at heart. He shouldn't have this many support spells. After all, you can't change your nature that easily… right?

And then it happened. The grimoire flooded the room with a soft, bluish light that engulfed everything, including me. That's when they hit me—the memories. So many memories, overwhelming and foreign, yet now a part of me. I clutched my head as it pounded, the grimoire forcing the identity of this new life into my mind. It wasn't just memories, either. It was their nature, their existence, being imprinted into my personality, my blood, my body, and even my muscle memory through the spiritual bond we shared.

It felt like an eternity, as if I were bearing the weight of the world like Atlas, until it finally stopped. This time, I couldn't stop myself from collapsing. Here I was, a dignified royal of the Clover Kingdom, gasping for breath on my knees like an overworked dog. "Sebastian Silva?" I muttered with hysterical laughter, staring back at my reflection in the mirror.

No, I hadn't reincarnated as Solid or even Nozel. I had become someone far more insignificant. Someone who was so unremarkable that Yūki Tabata, the creator of Black Clover, didn't even bother to name him or reference him beyond a potential silhouette in one of Noelle's flashbacks. I had become Sebastian Silva—now named—the husband of Acier Silva, father of Nozel, Nebra, Solid, and Noelle, and patriarch of the Silva family.

It dawned on me then why Solid was the only sibling whose name started with an "S"—he was the only one who had taken after Sebastian. He had inherited both my—no, our—eye color and magic. I had broken Acier's usual naming convention and decided to name him after myself. A quick dive into my new memories confirmed it. Sebastian, or rather me, had felt some shallow sense of victory when our third child finally inherited something of mine. So, I made my presence known just long enough to name Solid, basking in a small triumph. Acier hadn't even been angry—she'd been relieved that I was finally engaging with our children, even if only briefly.

As the memories continued to trickle in, I let out a hollow chuckle. "Well, I guess those literature teachers and Shakespeare-wannabes were right. Don't judge a book by its cover." Sebastian, like Nozel, was far more complex than I had ever given him credit for. I had always written him off as another failure, like Nebra and Solid, based on how he treated Noelle during the royal selection ceremony. It wasn't until his reaction to Fuegoleon's injury that I'd grown suspicious. And once the reason for his behavior toward Noelle was revealed, I could at least understand him—though I didn't condone it. Sebastian, despite being unnamed, had his own story, his own motives. Was it particularly compelling? Not really. But it gave me some insight into who he was… who I was now.

Still, that didn't excuse him. Did that give Sebastian the right to be a no-show in his family's life? To not even be by his wife's side until she was a corpse? To leave Noelle to suffer a traumatic childhood, tortured by her siblings? Hell no! So, what now? The year was 1619—the year Acier died. Right now, she was on her deathbed, with no doctor able to save her. I was despised by her sister, Mereoleona, and my eldest son, Nozel. The other two were indifferent to my presence. And as for Noelle? I hadn't even made contact with her in the year since she was born.

Acier had given up on me years ago, shortly after Nozel was born. The only time we interacted was when she wanted another child. The look of hope she gave when I showed up after Solid's birth had been snuffed out when I left right after naming him. Remembering how I had taken some perverse satisfaction in making someone so much stronger than me feel despair made me want to vomit.

I didn't think it was possible, but I had somehow ended up in a worse situation than if I'd reincarnated as Solid Silva. As I processed these thoughts, an image flashed in my mind—a woman with youthful features and a slender build. She had silver hair with mauve hues, tied up in a firm ponytail, with a straight clump resting against her forehead. Her lavender eyes were framed by long lashes, and she bore a striking resemblance to the heroine of Black Clover, Noelle Silva.

Well, cough, cough—turns out my wife is a hottie, so I guess it's not all bad, right? Wiping the sweat from my brow, I dusted myself off and straightened my clothes. Standing tall once more, I decided not to waste the strange surge of confidence I was riding on, knowing it might fade later. Without hesitation, I darted for the door, eager to pay Acier a visit at her villa. After all, who knew if I'd ever get another chance? That is, assuming the little plan brewing in my head didn't fail.

Just as I was about to yank the door open, a knock interrupted me. I tensed up, but quickly relaxed as I sensed a weaker and familiar mana presence on the other side. Stepping back a little, I squared my shoulders, taking on a posture befitting a royal, with my hands crossed behind my back.

"Come in," I said emotionlessly, watching the door open as a figure entered. I masked any anxiety I had about saying something out of character. But then again, screw canon—if I misspoke, it wasn't the servant's place to point it out, nor would they dare. And even if they did… well, let's just say it wasn't unheard of for nobles or royals to make their servants disappear. Damn, I was already losing my societal morals. Shaking my head clear of such dark thoughts, I focused on the man before me.

A balding butler in a black suit and matching tie, with a handlebar mustache and chestnut eyes. He had the name Alfred Pennyworth. Yes, the same name you're thinking of—an obvious nod to copyright workarounds. He looked at me with a stoic expression, grimoire absent. Only House Silva members and family guards were permitted to carry their grimoires inside these castle walls.

"What is it, Pennyworth?" I asked, impatience creeping into my tone.

If he was offended by my rudeness, he hid it well. Closing his eyes, he responded softly, "Just like the others, Doctor Owen is equally helpless. He has made his final verdict. Lady Acier shall not live to see the end of the month." Even though his voice was calm, he couldn't entirely mask the sorrow. I was impressed—a mere servant genuinely cared for his master.

I paused. Instead of rushing to the villa, I turned and walked behind my desk, gazing out at the Silva estate through the window. The scenery was majestic—expansive cobbled stone paths, ornate gardens, and fountains. Maids, servants, knights, and branch family members carried themselves with dignity, even if they bore no Silva blood.

Through the reflection in the window, I saw Alfred's gaze burning into my back. He was almost begging me to go see Acier. Without turning, I spoke, "Alfred, you hate me, don't you?"

"P-pardon?" His eyes widened, and the stoic mask he wore slipped away. Whether it was from me addressing him by his first name or the question itself, the old butler was clearly shocked.

"Be honest. You detest me. You've served this family since Acier's grandfather's time, and to watch his beloved granddaughter—Clover Kingdom's prized jewel—end up with an uncaring bastard like me must make your blood boil, doesn't it?"

He started sweating, clenching and unclenching his hands in tension, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Before he could respond, I pressed on, my expression shifting into a dark, eerie smile.

"Don't you want to kill me?" I asked, my voice low and taunting. "The one who's wounded the steel princess more than any battlefield foe? The one who has caused her more pain than even this illness? The one who has tarnished her undefeated record? Don't you wish you had your grimoire, so you could end me right here and now?"

Alfred's body stopped shaking, his eyes turning red with fury. He only managed to say one word, but it carried all the weight of decades of pent-up anger. "Yes," he spat, and with that single word, it was as if he had released all his frustrations.

Perhaps expecting me to strike him down for his insolence, Alfred's shock turned to confusion as I finally turned to face him. Replacing my perverse grin was a genuine, soft smile as I gave him my own one-word response.

"Good."

"H-huh?" His face was a sputtering mess—hardly fitting for the head butler of a royal family. But I didn't hold it against him.

"If you had said no, I would've fired you on the spot," I continued calmly. "Even if Acier only has a few weeks left, if your loyalty to her was that shallow, you wouldn't be worth keeping."

"Lord Sebastian?" he asked quietly, clearly puzzled by where I was going with this and why I was testing him.

"We'll get to that in due time. But first, I need to know—are you ready to make a deal with the devil and put your faith in me? Because that's the only shot at saving her. I won't guarantee it'll work, though." I said, regaining my composed, indifferent, and regal demeanor.

The notion of me saving her was laughable, as the butler's expression made abundantly clear. His disbelief was written all over his face, but it quickly faded as he resumed his blank, emotionless mask. "Forget you—if it were a real devil, I'd do it all the same. Anything to save my lady," he responded coldly.

I nodded, pleased. Let's hope you stick to that, because we just might do exactly that, I thought to myself. "Before we proceed, I need to ask you a few questions."

"Yes?" he replied, now sounding impatient.

"How is Conrad doing?" I asked.

"The Wizard King?" Alfred looked puzzled at the sudden shift in the conversation.

"Yes, how is Leto? Still as chipper as ever, I hope? And getting along with Lovillia, I assume?" I elaborated, maintaining my indifferent tone while clasping my hands behind my back.

Alfred hesitated before replying, "Of course… I hear they're expecting."

A wave of relief washed over me. Good, she's still alive. Even with Sebastian's memories, I couldn't fully trust that he'd have kept up with the lives of an ostracized noble and his partner—especially not someone like Conrad, even if he became Wizard King. Note to self: deal with those royal bastards trying to assassinate her. I needed Conrad to remain in power, not get sealed away for losing control. Who knew what Lucius made Julius unknowingly do when he took over, given his access to intelligence networks? If I wanted to stay out of Lucius' sight, I needed to reduce his influence without drawing attention. A guy who plays with souls wouldn't be able to resist a reincarnation from another world.

"Next question—how's the Agrippa family doing?" I asked.

"The commoner family that deals with curses, the Agrippa family?" Alfred's voice betrayed his bewilderment, the idea of someone like Sebastian knowing about a commoner family seemingly unthinkable to him.

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. "Unless there's another Agrippa family I should be aware of?"

"N-no, sir," he stammered. "Though we don't typically pay attention to commoners, the Agrippa family has gained some recognition among both commoners and nobles. Their finances and wealth seem quite decent for their status."

Do you think I want to wipe them out and steal their money? My forehead veins bulged in frustration. I'm asking for my wife! I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to take a breath and calm down.

"And what of the Faust family?" I asked, watching Alfred's expression closely.

This time, he wasn't as shocked, given it involved a noble family. In fact, he spoke quite enthusiastically, "They're as closed off as always. But the younger son, Morgen, has made quite a name for himself as a magic knight. He's formed an unusual duo with that foreigner. As for the other child, Nacht, he's still quite the troublemaker."

Good, good—everything's still in place. I felt a brief sense of relief before Alfred interrupted my thoughts. "But…" he began, causing me to refocus on him. He glanced around nervously, checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "There are rumors that they're dabbling in…dark arts. One of our spies in the royal court overheard whispers about devils. But it's just a rumor—no evidence. The Faust family isn't foolish, and how could a family that raised someone like Morgen be involved in something so sinister?" Alfred chuckled, as if to convince himself that it was nonsense.

So the royals aren't as oblivious as I thought. I'd pegged Damnatio as the only non-Silva or Vermillion worth mentioning, but now I wasn't sure whether this was a good sign or just a forewarning of future headaches. Pushing the thought aside, I refocused on the task at hand.

"I need you to do three things for me," I began. "The first one is of the utmost priority. The other two can be handled later. You must do this personally, and no one can find out. Understand?"

Alfred's demeanor shifted as he sensed the gravity of my words. He gave me a solemn nod.

I raised one finger. "First, I want the heads of the Agrippa family and the Faust family, along with their wives, in Acier's villa by tomorrow at the latest. Use the Fausts' shadow magic to ensure they sneak in unnoticed. Lower the estate barrier for a moment, just in case. Understood?"

If Alfred was confused about what I intended with these families, he didn't show it. He nodded, absorbing every word.

"Whatever price they ask to satisfy them, offer it. If they refuse, make it clear that there won't be an Agrippa or Faust family any longer," I added, my voice steady as I lifted a second finger. "Second, keep an eye out for a purple-haired, blue-eyed witch with dream magic. She should be about 14 by now. Don't worry if you can't find her yet—she'll make her presence known eventually, especially with the upcoming grimoire selection ceremony."

Without acknowledging the tension that seemed to build in Alfred, I raised a third finger. "Lastly, keep tabs on any royal factions with crooked intentions toward Conrad and his family. If things escalate, send an anonymous tip to Damnatio Kira."

"M-master, y-you don't mean—" Alfred began, his voice trembling with apprehension, but I cut him off before he could voice his concerns.

"The latter two can wait," I said sharply. "Now, let's go." I walked past him without another word.

As I strode down the hallway, servants hurried to part ways, bowing and saluting as I passed. Alfred followed closely behind, no longer daring to question me. My thoughts churned as we made our way toward Acier's villa. Well, time to meet my family. The thought left an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I'm already dreading this.