SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Trafalgar’s steps did not slow. He kept walking beside Cynthia, his attention resting on the castle-like hall ahead, their destination rising beyond the flow of guests and carriages. Only after a few breaths did he look at her and answer. ”Well enough, I suppose. It was not ideal. The ideal result would have been discovering that none of what I found existed in the first place. Since it does, that knowledge now gives me new things to deal with.”

Cynthia looked at him as they walked. The noise of Aurevane moved around them, bright and formal, full of people excited for the main event without knowing how much filth had been dragged out from under its polished floor. Her brows drew together slightly. ”Are you okay?”

Trafalgar paused in thought more than in movement. The question caught him off guard, so he arched one brow and pointed at himself with both hands. ”Why ask that? I am perfectly fine. Look at me. I do not have a single wound.”

Cynthia exhaled through her nose. ”Yes, Trafalgar, your body looks like an artist got carried away with a sculpture. That is not what I meant.” She held his gaze, her voice quieter now. ”I meant whether you are fine here.” Her fingers lifted near her temple. ”Mentally.”

Trafalgar looked at her. ’So that is what she meant. I appreciate that she is worried, but if someone like me were weak in the head, I would have collapsed long ago. This world has been very generous with reasons to break down, and somehow I keep receiving more.’

”Thank you for worrying about me, Cynthia,” Trafalgar said simply. ”I did not know you cared that much. But I am fine. You do not need to worry.”

Cynthia flushed. She had not meant for it to sound that exposed, although pretending she had not been worried would have been a lie so obvious even she would have hated it. She looked ahead for a moment, gathered herself, and answered him directly. ”I was worried about you, Trafalgar. More than you probably understand. Since you told me you were doing something dangerous, I could barely focus on the task Director Selara gave me. My head kept drifting back to it. And even if you tell me not to worry, I will. You are precious to me.”

The words struck him in a place he had not prepared. His face stayed mostly under control, but the tips of his ears warmed by the smallest degree, faint enough that most people would have missed it. Unfortunately for him, Cynthia was not most people. When someone liked another person, they noticed unreasonable things: a changed breath, a small shift in posture, color where there had been none a heartbeat earlier.

Meaning that Cynthia saw it.

She did not say anything. For once, she let the silence between them hold without turning it into teasing or a defense. She only walked beside him and waited for whatever answer he could give.

Trafalgar drew a slow breath. ”I see… Well, that makes sense.” He glanced toward the hall ahead, buying himself half a breath of space. ”I am fine, really. Everything went as well as it could, considering the situation. The bad part is what comes after this. For now, things are under control.”

Cynthia accepted that, even if she did not look entirely satisfied. She did not push further, and Trafalgar appreciated that more than he said. The two of them continued toward the Aurevane castle, joining the river of guests climbing the broad road toward the venue.

From the outside, the building truly looked like a castle. Pale towers, arched windows, high walls, banners hanging from silver poles. Inside, however, Aurevane had carved it into a grand hall for the Conclave: a vast stage at the front, tiered seating arranged in sweeping rows, tables placed with food and drink for important guests, and enough warded lights overhead to make the entire space gleam like money had learned how to breathe.

Trafalgar and Cynthia were guided to seats near the front.

Cynthia glanced around with clear surprise as they sat. ”How did you get seats this close? I heard these were reserved for important people in Aurevane.”

Trafalgar leaned toward her ear and lowered his voice. ”And who am I, Cynthia?”

She turned her head at once.

Because he had whispered, he was still close. Closer than either of them had planned. Cynthia’s eyes met his from almost no distance, and her reply came in the same low tone. ”I understand that you are Trafalgar du Morgain, but this is an event where you should not really have anything to do with the seating. Although… I can guess something happened.”

They remained like that for a brief stretch, close enough that the noise of the hall thinned around them. The tension between them did not need words, which made it worse. Trafalgar could see the color still lingering on her face, and Cynthia could probably see more on his than he wanted.

He pulled back first.

The presentations had already begun by then, and the hall’s attention shifted toward the stage.

The next presenter was a young man Trafalgar did not recognize. He looked nervous, passionate, and painfully new to rooms like this. His clothes were proper enough for the event, but there was ink near one sleeve and the particular brightness in his face of someone who believed his work could change his life if his tongue did not ruin it first.

Trafalgar watched him step onto the stage with a compact mana converter held in a presentation frame.

One of Caelum’s clones, positioned elsewhere in the hall, knew the young inventor far better. This was the same boy Caelum had corrected while wearing Orven von Halbrecht’s face. The boy had clearly followed the advice. His opening focused on failure, on what happened when a damaged ward rupture spread, and only after making the danger obvious did he explain how his converter interrupted the chain.

The result was better than Trafalgar expected from someone so young.

The physical Caelum, meanwhile, had finished handling the true Orven von Halbrecht. Or at least, that had been the plan. Halbrecht had been returned, placed where he should wake, and left with enough confusion to explain the gap in his memory. What Caelum had not expected was for the man to wake so quickly.

Nor had he expected him to come straight to the castle.

The presentation was midway through when one of the closed side doors opened with far more force than courtesy allowed.

Several heads turned at once.

Orven von Halbrecht entered the hall.

Not Caelum nor the borrowed face. The true Orven von Halbrecht.

He looked furious, disoriented, and offended down to the bones, with his coat slightly uneven and his expression carrying the promise of a formal complaint sharpened into a weapon. He searched the room as if hunting for the man who had stolen his morning, his name, and possibly his dignity.

Trafalgar looked at him and thought, ’Oh no. That does not look like Caelum.’

Especially because Halbrecht looked very, very angry.