SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 504: Meeting with the Directors [I]

By the moment Trafalgar bid farewell to his companions and ventured along the academy's passageways to the conference chamber, the afternoon light had gentled considerably. Though lessons had concluded, silence hadn't settled over the area. Murmurs floated along the corridors in scattered waves. Several pupils moved between sections, volumes cradled in their elbows. The final rays of sunlight poured via the lofty panes, streaking golden hues over the floors in extended ribbons. It ought to have seemed commonplace. To some extent, it was. Nevertheless, the directive from the quartet of overseers lent a subtle gravity to his stroll.

Halfway to his destination, Aubrelle appeared in front of him.

That sight by itself wouldn't have halted his progress.

Her expression was what froze him in place.

No blindfold.

His pace slackened without conscious effort. Within the academy confines, she had perpetually worn it, so routinely that its lack impacted more sharply than the mark beneath. She bore the change without any flair either.

No indication of tension toward the surrounding hallway. She advanced steadily with Pipin wheeling idly overhead, as though she'd long accepted this shift inwardly before revealing it to the world.

Pipin spotted him first.

The ghostly avian peeled off from Aubrelle on vibrant wings, executing an excited circuit around Trafalgar's crown, trilling as if unveiling the academy's grandest mystery.

Aubrelle's lips lifted subtly.

"You look good, darling."

The term settled smoothly, leaving him momentarily unmoored.

"Darling?" Trafalgar echoed, drawing nearer. "That’s new."

Aubrelle angled her features his way with her characteristic serene assurance. "Do you dislike it?"

He exhaled softly via his nostrils. "No. I actually like it a lot."

"Good," she replied. "You are my husband now. It would be stranger if I did not call you something fitting."

Her response flowed so naturally that contesting it seemed absurd. Trafalgar matched her stride, one palm tucked in his trouser, the other dangling freely.

"I kept my promise."

Aubrelle grasped the meaning immediately.

"About Mayla?"

He dipped his head. Pipin, buzzing amid them like a prying observer, trilled approvingly upon witnessing the gesture.

"Good," Aubrelle stated. "She was first."

Trafalgar eyed her, somewhat startled by her casual delivery.

Aubrelle pressed onward. "Now try not to get killed inside the academy."

He nearly chuckled. "You mean by Eryndor?"

She offered a brief incline. "Everyone in second year has been talking about it all afternoon. And if my year already knows, the rest of the academy won’t be far behind."

"So the whole place heard already."

"More or less, yes."

He'd anticipated as much, yet its blunt confirmation swelled the matter's scale. Aubrelle appeared unworried.

"It is not a bad rumor to have," she remarked.

Trafalgar's gaze shifted back to her visage. The exposed scar initially captured attention, yet it didn't lessen her allure. Rather, it infused her elegance with a rawer poise, tougher and truer.

"It’s the first time I’ve seen you without it here," he noted. "Did something happen?"

Aubrelle's digits grazed Pipin's plumage as the creature neared once more. "I think it was time," she shared. "I have someone beside me who already told me I am beautiful without it. I do not need any other boy to say it."

A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Fair point."

That evidently delighted her. Aubrelle clasped his hand casually, intertwining their fingers as if it were rightful, while they proceeded along the hall side by side.

"There are others coming to the meeting," she mentioned. "Not only students from great families. One of them is connected to the Thal’zar forces. A soldier, technically, though he is also a student."

That yanked his focus to the summons' purpose.

"Oh," Trafalgar uttered. "That doesn’t sound promising."

Aubrelle's grip held firm in his. "I imagine the directors want to clear the air before resentment starts rotting inside the academy."

He found no rebuttal. Conflict's echoes lingered, even from distant fronts.

When they arrived at the expansive chamber reserved for the four directors' joint sessions, the hallway's coziness had yielded to stern formality. Trafalgar let go of Aubrelle’s hand just to rap on the panel.

A voice rang out instantly from within, vivid and recognizable.

"Come in."

Trafalgar swung the door wide and stepped inside alongside Aubrelle.

The space was spacious without ostentation. A lengthy table dominated the middle, racks of documents flanked the walls, and fading daylight cast a grave tone over the area, suiting the directors more than ornaments ever could.

Kaelen positioned himself at the head. Lean and towering, silver locks bound behind, amethyst gaze unwavering, one palm upon his crystalline rod. He embodied precisely the figure of authority whose commands were followed unquestioned after decades. Trafalgar hadn't encountered him lately, nor Althea.

She occupied a chair off to the side, clad in ebony with argent accents, ghostly and refined, raven tresses cascading languidly. She stirred little, but chill radiated from her presence. Her aura sliced the air subtly, demanding no proclamation.

Eryndor loomed as well, massive frame unchanged, marks bared, bearing solid even seated. Reclining barely softened his warrior essence. Selara, however, embodied structured frenzy. Silver mane tousled, spectacles perched atop her brow, garments bulging with pouches, fingers dancing across documents. She grinned upon Aubrelle's arrival, and a softer version flicked toward Trafalgar.

Four pupils awaited within. Two lycans—one wolf-descended, the other bat-infused. The remaining pair were elves. The diverse lineup revealed the assembly's intent plainly. Tension gripped them all.

Aubrelle dropped Trafalgar’s hand only after crossing the threshold fully.

Kaelen's tone spanned the chamber.

"Good. You’re here. We’ll begin now."