SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 3: Blue Screen, Red Wine

~5 minute read · 1,147 words
Previously on SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant...
Trafalgar secures a dangerous vial left at the scene of his predecessor's death, desperate to keep his true identity hidden from the household. Guided to his quarters by a maid, he navigates a hallways lined with portraits of his powerful and imposing family members, ultimately facing his own marginalization as a social outcast. Upon finding himself alone in his opulent but hollow room, a mysterious system notification triggers a sudden, faint pulse of power within him, leaving him on the brink of an awakening.

The steak remained steaming. It was tender, succulent, and perfectly seasoned—Trafalgar sliced through it with the unhurried precision of someone possessing both limitless time and zero obligations. The deep red wine circled languidly within his crystal glass.

Abruptly, a voice emerged.

[System Awakening...]

He blinked in confusion.

[Recognizing user...]

Trafalgar arched a brow but continued his meal. "What is that?" he muttered, his voice muffled by the food.

Another slice. Another swallow. The wine washed everything down smoothly.

[System Awakening complete.]

That statement caused him to freeze. "Ding?" he echoed. "Seriously? Are you actually making a ding sound?" Scanning the room, he added, "Are you telling me that I’ve been gifted a system?"

Silence followed, broken only by a subtle shimmer in the air before a translucent blue interface materialized before him.

[Say "Status" to access personal data.]

Trafalgar peered at the notification for a long moment.

Then, his face twisted into a sardonic grin.

"This is either the most elaborate prank in history... or I’ve officially landed inside a game world."

He reclined in his mahogany chair, cradling the wine glass as the screen pulsed rhythmically, waiting for his input.

"Status," Trafalgar stated, balancing hesitation with intrigue.

The interface flickered and expanded, presenting a neat, categorical layout.

[Host: Trafalgar du Morgain]

[Title: Cursed Heir]

[Age: 15]

[Race: Half-Human/???]

[Bloodline: ???]

[Core: Unawakened]

[Talent: SSS]

[Abilities: None]

[Items: None]

He squinted at the floating text and recited it aloud.

"Alright... Host: Trafalgar du Morgain. No surprises there."

[Title: Cursed Heir]

His expression darkened.

"That’s hardly comforting. Why cursed? Why heir? There is no extra information or tooltip?" He tapped the shimmering display with his fingertip, but nothing reacted. "Figures. I suppose I’m stuck with this."

[Age: 15]

"Fantastic. I’ve been sent back to my youth. How original."

He polished off the final morsel of steak and exhaled a long breath. Tasting the remnants of the meal, he set his fork aside and adjusted his seat, crossing his legs comfortably.

With the wine glass in his grasp, he began swirling the contents again.

[Race: Half-Human/ ???]

"Oh. That is actually quite interesting, but it leaves me wondering what exactly I am."

[Bloodline: ???]

Trafalgar squinted. "Obviously. More enigmas. Just my luck."

[Core: Unawakened]

"Fifteen with no Core. No Qi, no Cultivation, absolutely nothing. My predicament matches the character’s backstory perfectly. Weak, ignored, forgotten..."

Then, his focus shifted.

[Talent: SSS]

Trafalgar’s jaw slackened.

"What?! WHAT THE FUCK?!"

The exclamation reverberated off the chamber walls.

"SSS?! Is that even within the rules?! In the original game, the highest rank achieved was barely an S! How on earth do I possess SSS?"

He bounded from his chair, pacing in tight circles before forcing himself to stop.

"Calm down... breathe. You’re currently in the mansion of a family that views weakness as a sin. If they find out you aren’t as useless as they think... things will get messy."

Tap, tap, tap.

A calm voice emanated from beyond the door.

"Young Master? Is everything in order?"

Trafalgar stood rooted to the spot, glancing from the door to the glowing screen.

"It is all fine! Just... a bug! A massive, terrifying bug!" he shouted back.

A brief silence followed.

"Understood. Please notify me when you are ready for the dishes to be removed."

Trafalgar exhaled sharply. "Will do."

He waited for her retreating footsteps to vanish entirely before whispering, "No point in rushing. Let’s see what else this ridiculous system offers..."

Trafalgar gestured, and the display persisted, hovering like a mute witness.

[Abilities: None]

[Items: None]

He groaned. "Naturally. God-tier potential and absolutely no tools to utilize. How classic."

Leaning into the table, he rested his elbows on the wood. The wine glass was nearly empty now, and he toyed with it while staring intensely at the interface.

"This is identical to a game UI... very clean. Does everyone in this world possess one, or is this exclusive to my transmigration?"

He surveyed the room and muttered to the shadows.

"The development notes said nothing regarding this. Only breadcrumbs about certain characters. Damn it... I’m going to need more information. Anything at all."

His gaze wandered over the surroundings.

Wall-to-wall bookshelves were filled with elegant, untouched bindings. Most were merely decorative—heavy tomes with gilded spines, clearly selected for style over substance. Even so, it was worth a look.

"But first..." He eyed the silver bell near his plate. "Let’s test a theory."

He reached out and tapped the bell twice, gently.

Nothing occurred.

He scowled. "Huh?"

Moments later, the door creaked open. Mayla entered, as silent as a ghost, her eyes drifting downward to the empty plate.

"I shall take these, Young Master," she said with a formal bow.

Trafalgar blinked in surprise. He hadn’t detected a single footfall.

"Thanks," he said, the words slipping out instinctively.

Mayla paused. Her expression remained neutral, but her eyes widened for a fleeting second.

"...It is nothing, Young Master."

She collected the crockery with refined ease and exited without another syllable.

Trafalgar watched her leave, a faint frown creasing his brow.

"Is it actually that rare for me to express gratitude? I hold no memory of being cruel to her... perhaps the previous Trafalgar never spoke. Or perhaps he treated the help like trash, following the tired tropes of those web novels."

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.

"Whatever. New Trafalgar, new rules."

The room returned to silence after Mayla shut the door.

Trafalgar stood and stretched, setting his wine glass down with a soft click. The food had been heavenly, the setting regal, but the isolation was stifling.

He strolled to the bookshelves, brushing his fingers across the dust-free spines. Titles such as "Legacy of the Morgain Blades," "On Noble Etiquette," and "A Study of Mana Cores" crowded the shelves, their golden lettering glinting in the light.

"Boring, boring, boring... hold on."

He pulled out an older, dust-covered tome titled "Awakening the Core: A Scholar’s Guide." This seemed significantly more promising than the rest.

"Finally," he grunted, leafing through the pages. The content was dense, filled with intricate diagrams and archaic terminology. Regardless, it detailed core development stages, talent ranks, and an intriguing concept labeled "Soul Resonance."

He required time to study it properly. Time he wasn’t certain he possessed.

The blue screen hovered nearby, silent and persistent.

"I have to master this before anyone notices the change in me," he whispered.

He collapsed back into his seat and stared up at the ceiling, where enchanted crystals shimmered within the chandeliers, bathing the room in a gentle, ethereal glow.

"If the original Trafalgar lived like a hermit, no one is likely to disturb me for a little while. That grants me... what? Twenty-four hours? Maybe two days?"

A bitter, determined smirk touched his lips.

"Just enough time to flip the script."