SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Trafalgar stopped walking when he realized Cynthia was no longer beside him. She stood a few steps behind him, one hand near the strap of her bag, her expression carrying the strange strain of someone who had survived ancient secrets, Primordial bloodlines, Void-born material, and dinner with three women who had collectively decided to ruin his composure.

That last part, in Trafalgar’s opinion, had been the most unfair.

”What is it?” he asked.

Cynthia pressed her lips together before answering, as if the question itself embarrassed her. ”Well, it is not something grand or majestic after everything we just talked about, but… how do we tell Barth?”

Trafalgar stared at her.

For a breath, he said nothing, because his mind had already prepared itself for something worse. Another doubt about his bloodline. Another fear about Void Creatures. Another question about whether she had made a mistake by stepping into his life. Instead, Cynthia had stopped in the middle of the corridor after hearing world-bending truths because she was worried about telling her brother they were dating.

He walked back toward her, the corner of his mouth shifting faintly. ”How do we tell Barth, hm? That should not be difficult. We tell him we are together. I think he wanted this to happen anyway. You might not know it, but the last time Xavier brought up the topic, Barth looked painfully eager for it.”

Cynthia lifted her face to him, her attention caught by his dark-blue eyes under the corridor lights. ”That simple?”

”Are you sure that is all you wanted to ask?” Trafalgar said, watching her more carefully now. ”Because you look far more alarmed than someone trying to survive a conversation with your shy brother.”

Cynthia tried to answer quickly, failed, and lowered her head a little. The confidence she usually wore like armor had loosened tonight, not broken, but forced open enough for the girl beneath it to breathe. ”Is it that obvious? I suppose it is. Honestly, I have many doubts. I am an orphan. I do not have a notable background, no powerful family, no name that makes people step aside. Aubrelle comes from a successful house and has ridiculous talent. Mayla lived inside House Morgain and even as a normal person, she adapted to that world far better than most people would. I am afraid of what might happen, Trafalgar. Not because I want to leave, but because I do not know whether I can stand properly in a life like yours.”

Her words thinned near the end.

Cynthia stared at the floor instead of him, at his shoes, at the space between them, at anything easier than his face. Trafalgar watched her for a few heartbeats, and the irritation he usually kept ready for the world had nowhere useful to go. This was not an enemy to cut down, not a political knot to pull apart, not a disaster he could order someone else to contain.

So he stepped closer.

One of his hands rose to her cheek, slow enough for her to feel the movement before the contact came. Cynthia’s breath caught when his fingers touched her skin. His hand was large, warm, a little rough from swordwork and training, but the way he held her face had none of the force people imagined when they spoke of Morgains. He lifted her chin until she had no choice but to meet him.

Then he kissed her.

Cynthia stiffened at first, more startled than unwilling. The kiss was soft, but not uncertain from his side. Trafalgar knew how to guide the distance, how to keep the pressure light enough for her to follow, how to let the contact deepen without making it feel like a demand. Cynthia was far less experienced, and it showed in the hesitation of her mouth, in the small delay before she answered him, in the way her fingers gripped the fabric near his sleeve as if she needed something solid to keep herself from drifting.

Trafalgar noticed.

He did not mention it.

He only slowed for her.

When they parted, Cynthia’s face had turned warm, and the question that had been sitting between them had changed shape. It had not vanished, but it had become smaller in the presence of something simpler.

”There is nothing wrong with having doubts,” Trafalgar said, his thumb brushing once along her cheek before he let his hand fall. ”If you have questions, ask them. If something frightens you, tell me. I am here for that too, not only for dragging you into political disasters and making your life more complicated.”

Cynthia swallowed, eyes still on him. ”You say that as if complicating my life is only a side effect.”

”It might be one of my talents.”

”One of your worst ones.”

”Probably.” His mouth curved a little. ”Now come on. If we miss the train, I will have to listen to you worry for longer, and I am heroic enough already.”

That earned him a small, helpless laugh.

Trafalgar took her hand and began walking with her toward the station. Cynthia did not pull away. Her fingers curled around his after the first few steps, shy at first, then with more certainty. The northern district stretched around them in layers of quiet wealth, lanterns suspended above the streets, water channels catching pale reflections, elegant bridges arching over currents that carried Velkaris through the night.

There were students near the station despite the hour. A few from the academy recognized Trafalgar immediately. They always did. Some noticed Cynthia’s hand in his and slowed their conversation. One girl whispered to another. A young noble from some minor family pretended not to stare and failed with embarrassing dedication.

Trafalgar ignored all of them.

At this point, attention had become part of the weather. If people watched him alone, they would talk. If people watched him with Cynthia, they would talk more. If he hid his hand, they would invent a better story by morning. Since rumors were going to work either way, he saw no reason to help them with cowardice.

The train arrived with a muted hum along the mana rails, light gliding beneath its carriage plates as it slowed into the station. Trafalgar guided Cynthia toward the front car without hesitation. The guards stationed there recognized him at once and inclined their heads, not asking for papers, tokens, or permission. Being Trafalgar du Morgain made many parts of life intolerable, but occasionally the world remembered to be useful.

The interior was quiet and polished, far removed from the regular passenger cars filled with families, students, and exhausted workers. Wide seats faced the long windows, rune-forged panels warmed the walls, and soft mana lamps glowed overhead without flicker.

Cynthia sat beside him rather than across from him, and neither of them commented on it. The train moved a few minutes later, sliding out of Velkaris with barely a shudder while the city lights stretched across the glass like gold threads pulled through dark fabric.

The ride lasted twenty minutes.

Most of it passed with Cynthia leaning closer than she needed to, her hand still in his, her thoughts loud even when she did not speak. Trafalgar let her keep the quiet. He had thrown enough truth at her tonight. If she wanted silence now, he could give her that much.

When they reached the academy station, the campus greeted them with cold night air and empty paths. At this hour, the usual flood of students had vanished into dormitories, private rooms, hidden study halls, or whatever foolish places academy students used to pretend they were not exhausted. The towers rose under the moonlight, pale and solemn, their windows lit here and there like watchful embers.

They crossed the grounds together toward the dormitory building.

Inside, the reception hall was almost deserted. A single attendant behind the desk straightened when Trafalgar entered, recognized him, and immediately decided that asking questions would be a poor career decision. Trafalgar appreciated competent survival instincts.

They approached the circular mana platform.

Before he stepped onto it, Cynthia leaned closer and spoke near his ear, her voice lower than before. ”I want to spend a little more time with you. Can I go to your room?”

Trafalgar paused.

He turned his head slightly, close enough to catch the warmth in her face and the nervous courage beneath the question. There were several practical answers he could have given. Several warnings too. Instead, he found no reason to refuse.

”Yes,” he said. ”Come on.”

The circular platform hummed beneath their feet as they stepped onto it together. Runes lit under the polished stone, gold and blue mana threading outward in quiet rings as the mechanism recognized the level he belonged to. Slowly, the platform began to rise toward the floor reserved for the heirs of the Eight Great Families.

Cynthia stood beside him, hand still in his.