SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

”I like Cynthia.”

The words stayed on the table with more weight than Trafalgar had put into them.

He had said them plainly, without ceremony, without a speech prepared in noble language. That was probably why they struck harder. Cynthia froze beside her plate, her fingers still curled around the edge of her cup, while Mayla and Aubrelle received the statement with a calm that made Cynthia feel, rather unfairly, as if she were the only person in the room discovering the obvious.

Mayla was the first to answer.

”We can see that,” she said, not unkindly. Her gaze moved from Trafalgar to Cynthia, and the warmth in it softened the blow of embarrassment. ”I imagine that is why you brought her here in the first place. Though she already told us about her feelings herself, which I appreciate.”

Cynthia’s cheeks heated at once.

Aubrelle’s fingers rested near Pipin, the bird perched close enough for her to follow the table with him. Her smile was small, but there was something approving in the line of her mouth.

”Yes,” Aubrelle said. ”It is not an easy thing to do. When you try to step into someone’s life, you also have to consider the people already standing there. In this case, Mayla and me.” Her voice stayed gentle, though the words carried their own firm spine. ”You did consider us. I appreciate that as well.”

Cynthia looked at Aubrelle first, and somehow at Pipin’s crimson stare at the same time. It created an odd feeling, as if Aubrelle’s unfocused red gaze were reaching her through the bird instead. Cynthia swallowed, then turned toward Mayla.

”It was the least I could do,” she said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. ”Are you against it?”

Mayla did not answer immediately.

Instead, she glanced at Pipin.

The pale bird tilted its head toward her, and Aubrelle’s mouth curved a little, as if some conversation had passed through the room without sound. Mayla narrowed her eyes faintly, Pipin blinked once, and Aubrelle’s fingers brushed the table in a tiny rhythm that looked far too purposeful to be coincidence.

Trafalgar’s gaze moved between Mayla, Pipin, and Aubrelle with growing suspicion. The three of them had developed something while he was away. He could not name it yet, but it irritated him that it existed outside his control. Not in a dangerous way. In a deeply inconvenient one.

’Does this happen with the women close to me?’ he thought, watching Mayla and Aubrelle exchange another unreadable cue through a bird that suddenly looked unbearably smug. ’Can they speak mentally? Do they just understand each other somehow? Or am I watching the birth of a council formed specifically to make my life harder?’

Knowing his luck, probably the last one.

Mayla finally turned back to Cynthia.

”Against it?” she said, almost surprised by the question. ”Not at all. You can relax about that. I know Trafalgar well enough by now. He would not bring someone into his circle, or into his life, unless that person was special to him.” Her eyes slid toward him, amusement sharpening her tone. ”As you can see, this whole topic used to be difficult for the idiot.”

Trafalgar stared at her. ’Calling me an idiot because I’m slow is a low blow!’

”Mayla,” he said slowly, ”you are being very direct today. What happened?”

Mayla’s smile turned wicked in a way that did not suit the apron at all and somehow suited it perfectly.

”Nothing in particular,” she said. ”I just feel more playful today. Don’t you like it?”

She winked.

Trafalgar stopped, for anyone who did not know him to notice, but the movement of his hand near his cup paused with the precision of a man who had just seen a familiar weapon used in a completely new stance.

Trafalgar cleared his throat with a little more dignity than the situation deserved. ”So neither of you is against Cynthia being with me as well?”

”I am in favor,” Mayla said.

”I am in favor too,” Aubrelle added. Her tone carried less teasing now, though warmth remained beneath it. ”As Mayla said, you would not bring someone carelessly. Cynthia also respects us. She came to speak with us herself, and you clearly did not dare do anything without making this clear first.”

Cynthia straightened a little. ”We only held hands.”

Mayla laughed softly, covering her mouth with the back of her fingers. ”You two really are acting like teenagers.”

Trafalgar gave her a dry look. ”I have been restraining myself, you know.”

”I am sure you have,” Mayla said, with such sweet disbelief that Cynthia nearly choked on her drink.

Trafalgar looked betrayed by the entire table.

Mayla turned to Cynthia before he could defend himself any further. ”In any case, welcome to the family, Cynthia. You can be comfortable here with us. Truly.” Her expression softened, though the mischief did not vanish completely. ”And remember, if Trafalgar ever neglects you, you can come to us and complain directly. We will throw it in his face for you. He has not done that so far, but it is better to establish good habits early.”

Aubrelle nodded with solemn elegance, which made the sentence worse.

”Yes,” she said. ”He is a good husband, in fairness. He cooks well, he is strong, he comes from a powerful family, and he is good in bed.”

Trafalgar went completely quiet.

For once, no dry answer appeared. No sarcastic remark. No controlled recovery. His mind reached for something useful and returned with nothing but open air and a faint wish for the floor beneath him to crack apart and remove him from this room.

Cynthia turned rigid beside him.

Trafalgar slowly angled his head toward her and found her expression in a condition he could only describe as spiritually ambushed. Her eyes were open, her lips parted a fraction, and she looked as though she had been handed information she had absolutely not requested but would now be forced to live with forever.

Mayla leaned closer to Cynthia, delight dancing in her voice.

”You should prepare yourself,” she said. ”He looks calm, but that does not mean he is gentle with everything.”

”Mayla,” Trafalgar said.

”What?” she asked, innocent enough to be criminal. ”I am helping her.”

”You are trying to kill me.”

”Only a little.”

Aubrelle’s hand lifted to her lips, failing to hide her amusement. ”Do not worry, Cynthia. Mayla is exaggerating to watch him suffer.”

Mayla hummed. ”Am I?”

Trafalgar closed his eyes briefly.

The room had become a battlefield, but somehow every weapon had been replaced with domestic conversation and women who had far too much confidence in each other. He had survived monsters, nobles, assassins, councils, and beings that should have stayed myths. This, apparently, was where his composure chose to start fraying at the edges.

He opened his eyes again and exhaled.

”Well,” he said, voice measured with effort, ”I am glad all of you are enjoying yourselves while trying to make me nervous. You succeeded a little. I will give you that.”

Mayla’s grin widened.

Cynthia looked down, trying to hide the embarrassed curve tugging at her mouth. Aubrelle’s expression carried a victorious calm that told him she had no regrets whatsoever.

Trafalgar tapped one finger lightly against the table.

”But there are serious things I need to discuss now.”

The change arrived at once.

Mayla’s playful expression folded back into attention, the teasing leaving her face as if a door had closed. Aubrelle’s smile faded into something quieter, and Pipin, who had been preening with excessive self-importance, stopped moving on the table edge. Cynthia’s embarrassment drained away, replaced by the tension she had carried since the station.

Trafalgar looked at all three of them.

This part would not be pleasant. He knew that already. The warmth of the apartment, the food, the jokes, even the strange relief of having Cynthia accepted into this circle - all of it made the next words feel heavier. Not because he regretted saying them.

Because they deserved the truth.

And the truth, lately, had become an ugly thing with too many teeth.

Mayla noticed his expression first. Her hands drew together on the table, fingers tightening lightly around each other.

”What happened?” she asked.

Trafalgar did not answer immediately. He gathered the order of it in his head: Aurevane, Selara, Matteo, Esmond, the homunculus, Caelum, the things that could be said and the things that now had to be said whether he liked it or not.

Aubrelle’s face angled toward him. ”This is about Aurevane, isn’t it?”

”Yes,” Trafalgar said. ”I will tell you first what really happened there, and why I went in the first place.”