SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 499: Return to the Academy

By the moment dawn fully spread across Velkaris, Trafalgar had departed Mayla’s residence. Streets buzzed faintly with early life, the city’s roar yet to build. Shutters creaked open at scattered shops. Carriages clattered along main thoroughfares. Mana lamps flickered softly, dimmed by strengthening sunlight. Pockets stuffed with hands, he strode to the station, mind detaching swiftly from warfare.

Answers would be demanded by the academy, that was clear. Directors would summon him, along with fellow students whose clans got pulled into the fray. Velkaris Academy enforced strict policies on such matters. Once through its gates, pupils weren’t mere pawns for family schemes. Should war touch them, the institution handled it officially. Explanations would follow. Regulations. Likely a formal assembly.

That idea failed to trouble him.

Truthfully, following recent chaos, it resembled a form of tranquility.

’At least I’ll be able to rest for a while.’

His lips nearly twitched into a smile, though just a hint.

’Yet post-academy, duties await regardless. Still curious what Dravok brews that requires both Caelvyrn and Rhosyn. Doubt it’s trivial, but he could drop the mystery and speak directly.’

The train sat ready at the station upon his arrival. As usual, Trafalgar boarded the lead carriage and claimed a familiar seat without pause. The journey spanned twenty minutes.

Routine remained unchanged.

He had transformed.

Stepping off at the academy platform as the train departed onward, Trafalgar surveyed the vibrant campus ahead. Morning bustle filled paths and yards with countless students. Books clutched tight by some. Others on practice fields, weapons conjured, bodies loosening before lessons. Varied races, uniforms, paces—all blending into the academy’s signature din.

With basic plans to ascend to his quarters, drop belongings, and proceed through the day, Trafalgar aimed for the dorms. The route felt routine: identical trails, grounds, blend of chatter and steps in crisp air. Yet soon, an odd pull emerged.

Stares followed him.

Nothing novel there. Morgain lineage always pulled eyes. One of Eight Great Families, whispers tied to his name, typical intrigue for lineages dominating half a continent. He’d long adapted to such scrutiny.

This felt altered.

Heads turning now stemmed beyond his family name. War events reached them, plus his talent reveal. They grasped his role in events dwarfing campus chatter. Surrounding aura had shifted form.

Across the way, a first-year lad advanced, sword manifested. Spotting Trafalgar’s gaze, he faltered, banished the blade, and held back. That sight halted Trafalgar briefly. The youth obviously psyched himself to talk.

"You’re Trafalgar, right? Trafalgar du Morgain?"

Trafalgar nodded faintly. "Yes."

The student’s features brightened instantly. "I heard about what you did in the war. It was incredible. Charging into that many Void Creatures like that, hundreds or maybe thousands, I keep imagining it. Could I shake your hand?"

Rarely wordless, Trafalgar paused, the innocent ask hitting oddly, leaving him momentarily unsteady.

’Do I have admirers now?’

"...Sure," he said.

The lad gripped his hand eagerly with both palms, enthusiasm outsizing the gesture. "Thanks. You probably don’t know me, but we’re in Eryndor’s class together. I just never really talked to you before. It’s good to finally meet you properly. You’re also different from the rumors."

Trafalgar eyed him. "What rumors?"

The boy chuckled uneasily. "Don’t take it badly, but some people said you looked like a demon on the battlefield. Not demon bloodline demon. More like... something possessed. The kind you don’t want to see coming toward you."

Trafalgar withdrew his hand finally. "That sounds exaggerated."

"Maybe," the boy said, though doubt lingered in his tone. "Anyway, I’ll see you in Eryndor’s class later. Sorry for stopping you. I just wanted to meet you once."

Dashing away with first-year vigor rare that early, he left Trafalgar rooted.

Those initial paces afterward dragged heavier.

For onlookers of the interaction now drew a risky verdict.

He seemed accessible.

One brief chat flipped the atmosphere quicker than desired.

From afar observers witnessed plenty. Trafalgar paused. Responded. Even clasped hands rather than dismiss and stride past. Sufficient spark. Prior myths, assumed barriers, shattered visibly before all.

Next came a girl.

Approaching his route cautiously, unsure if interrupting, she queried, "Is it true?" "What people are saying about the war, I mean. That you really fought in the middle of all that?"

This time Trafalgar pressed on. "Some of it is true."

Matching stride briefly, her intrigue propelled her. "Then that means—"

"I’m busy," he stated, firm yet civil, enough to halt her advance.

As she retreated, another neared boldly. Taller youth, tome under arm, library type over fighter. Still, eagerness burned in his face.

"I just wanted to say it was incredible," he offered. "What you did."

Trafalgar nodded curtly. "Thank you."

Courteous closure intended.

The youth got it, retreating, yet core issue persisted. More edged nearer, hesitating but tempted. One stared raptly. Another murmured to a pal, eyeing him like a tale’s hero striding campus paths.

Trafalgar pushed forward.

He grasped it fast. No malice here. Pure goodwill amplified the drain. Freshly back, directors loomed, post-war talks awaited. No spare vitality for curious interrogations piecemeal.

Thus, spotting the next pair veering close, he preempted.

"Another time," he declared.

Tone brooked no debate.

They halted. Seizing the gap, Trafalgar quickened toward dorms. Only entering, with outer clamor muffled by stone, did tension lift somewhat.

Silence indoors proved priceless luxury.

Continuing to his room, he exhaled steadily.

’This is going to be long.’