SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

- Caelum POV -

Caelum, or rather Orven von Halbrecht for the time being, was being guided through the lower side of the Glass Atrium by the technical assistant assigned to him that morning.

The young man looked nervous enough to spill his own bones if someone asked him to carry them properly. He walked with a folder clutched tight against his chest, his steps quick but uneven, while trying to explain the schedule, the lower rooms, the review order, and the project Caelum had supposedly agreed to help inspect the previous day.

Caelum listened as much as Halbrecht would have listened.

Which meant he allowed the young man to speak, judged half of it in silence, and made him suffer beneath the possibility of correction.

They had entered through the western staff passage. As the door closed behind them, Caelum caught a brief glimpse through the public section of the Lower Conservatory.

There, among the displays and reagent tables, stood Trafalgar.

His young master was with Cynthia, apparently moving through the public route without causing trouble yet. Sensible enough. Interesting too. Trafalgar had found a way to approach the same place from above ground, which meant either Cynthia had been useful, or his young master had once again taken a casual walk and somehow arrived near the correct door.

With Trafalgar, both options were equally plausible.

’It seems the young master found a path of his own.’

Caelum did not let Halbrecht’s face react.

The assistant, unaware of anything, hurried ahead. ”Master von Halbrecht, the lower preparation rooms are this way. Most of the presenters with delicate prototypes requested spaces below the Atrium because the mana density is easier to control here.”

”Then walk a little faster,” Caelum said in Halbrecht’s dry voice. ”I do not have the entire day to donate to hesitant explanations. If your report is as poorly prepared as your pace, we will need to correct both before anything useful happens.”

The assistant stiffened. ”Y-yes, Master von Halbrecht. We are almost there.”

The lower corridor opened wider after the first turn.

It was not a dungeon. That was the important part.

The place looked like exactly what Aurevane would claim it was: a controlled preparation level for inventors, alchemists, engineers, and exhibitors waiting for the grand day of the event in five days.

Several rooms stood open along the corridor.

Inside one, two alchemists leaned over a long glass tray, refining a blue liquid drop by drop while a ward held the vapor in a shimmering dome above them. In another, a mana engineer adjusted the rotating plates of a small defensive device, muttering numbers under his breath while an assistant wrote them down. Crystals floated in brass rings. Thin conduits pulsed under the floor. Workers carried sealed boxes between rooms, each one tagged, stamped, and inspected by staff who knew better than to ask questions beyond their rank.

Temperature wards hummed from the ceiling.

Pressure wards slept behind the walls.

Security wards watched every door.

The air smelled of hot metal, crushed herbs, polished glass, and mana-oil, with a faint acidic bite underneath that belonged to serious alchemy. Not forbidden work, not necessarily.

Caelum absorbed it all while wearing Halbrecht’s irritation like a second coat.

If someone came here without suspicion, they would see effort, money, nerves, and ambition.

Aurevane had built a perfect place to hide something by surrounding it with too many ordinary things worth protecting.

The assistant finally stopped before a room near the middle of the corridor. The door was open, and inside waited a young inventor with ink on his fingers, sleepless eyes, and the fragile excitement of someone who had spent months believing his work might change his life if it did not explode first.

”Here we are, Master von Halbrecht,” the assistant said, almost bowing with relief. ”This is the presentation room for the prototype I mentioned. He has five days to prepare before the main demonstration, and the committee wanted your assessment before the final calibration.”

The young inventor snapped upright. ”Master von Halbrecht! Thank you for coming. I know you’re very busy, and I truly appreciate the chance to receive your guidance.”

Caelum gave him the kind of look Halbrecht would have given a device that had been assembled with enthusiasm and questionable discipline.

”Begin,” he said. ”And explain the item, not your gratitude.”

The young inventor swallowed, nodded, and hurried to the central table.

His prototype rested on a velvet-lined frame: a compact mana converter shaped like a narrow cylinder, with three crystal fins arranged around the core. It was meant to absorb small bursts of unstable mana from damaged wards and convert them into a slower, usable flow. In theory, it could prevent minor ward failures from turning into cascading collapses.

In practice, the presentation was a disaster wearing polished shoes.

The boy knew the item. That much was clear. His hands moved with confidence when he touched the casing, and his eyes brightened whenever he explained the internal flow. But his speech tangled around itself. He overexplained simple parts, rushed past the interesting ones, and used phrases so stiff they sounded stolen from a committee pamphlet.

Caelum listened without interrupting until the young inventor finished.

The assistant watched anxiously from the door.

The young man waited for judgment as if Halbrecht’s next words might decide his funeral arrangements.

Caelum let the pause stretch just long enough to hurt.

”The device is better than your presentation,” he said.

The young inventor blinked. ”I… thank you?”

”That was not praise. That was mercy. Your opening explanation makes the item sound like a kitchen tool for frightened housekeepers. Your strongest point is stabilization under damaged ward pressure, and you buried it after three useless sentences about safety and civic application.”

The boy flushed red but did not argue.

Good. He had sense.

Caelum stepped closer to the prototype and tapped the edge of the frame once. ”Start with the failure. Tell them what happens when a minor ward rupture spreads. Then show them why your converter interrupts the chain. Do not say ’potentially useful in public infrastructure’ unless you want half the room asleep before the first crystal rotates.”

The young inventor leaned forward, absorbing every word as if someone had uncovered fire in front of him.

”Yes. Yes, that makes sense. If I open with the failure, the need becomes obvious before I explain the mechanism.”

”Exactly. And stop apologizing before technical statements. It makes you sound uncertain about your own work.”

”I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

”You were. Three times.”

The assistant scribbled something down despite not being the one presenting.

Caelum continued, adjusting nothing on the actual item beyond the angle of one crystal fin. ”Your prototype has merit. Your delivery does not. Fix the delivery and reduce the second-stage explanation by half. If they understand the danger, they will listen to the mechanism.”

The young inventor bowed, far too deeply. ”Thank you, Master von Halbrecht. Truly. I will revise it today.”

”Good. Try not to ruin it with enthusiasm.”

The boy straightened, and this time his face carried something more than nerves. Hope, unfortunately. Caelum had seen that expression on young researchers before. It made people work harder, sleep less, and take criticism as nutrition.

”I’ll do my best,” the inventor said. ”If I present it properly, I think… I think I might be able to get second place this year.”

Caelum turned Halbrecht’s ring once with his thumb.

”Second?” he asked. ”You aim high for someone who apologizes to his own sentences. Why not first? Do you believe you can stand above me, perhaps?”

The boy’s color drained at once. ”N-no, Master von Halbrecht. I didn’t mean to sound arrogant. It’s only that everyone seems to know who first place will go to already.”

Caelum did not move.

The assistant shifted near the door, suddenly uncomfortable.

Caelum let Halbrecht’s face stay carved in dry impatience, but his attention narrowed.

”Oh?” he said. ”And who has the honor of defeating everyone before the event has even begun?”

The young inventor hesitated, clearly unsure whether gossiping to Halbrecht was more dangerous than refusing to answer him.

”There’s a rumor,” he said carefully. ”An alchemist. No one official has said the name, but people in the lower rooms are talking. They say he created something incredible this year. Something Aurevane wants to keep hidden until the grand day.”

Caelum felt the shape of the answer before the boy finished speaking.

No reaction crossed Halbrecht’s face.

Of course it did not.

”Tell me more, boy,” Caelum said. ”I want to know who my competition is.”