SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 524: Plan for a Small Celebration

Overhead in the hall, the glowing projection continued displaying the top three names in a soft blue glow.

Zafira du Zar’khael.

Alfons au Vaelion.

Trafalgar du Morgain.

At first, nobody hurried to utter a word. Countless first-year students stayed rooted in place, with some fixated on the projection above, while others gazed straight at Trafalgar, as though the new ranking had reshaped his very silhouette right before their eyes. In a sense, it had. The top spot didn't transform the individual below it, yet it shifted the entire atmosphere of the room centering on him. Now glances poured in from all sides, bearing far heavier implications than earlier. Curiosity had lingered throughout the year. Rumors too. But what now dominated the hall was unshakeable conviction.

Trafalgar endured it all with barely any shift in his stance. His gaze stayed angled slightly skyward, like he was double-checking if his name had truly claimed the number one position.

’So I really ended up there.’

He had craved it, no doubt about that. Denying it to himself made zero sense. Yet the sensation upon achieving it turned out far more subdued than anticipated.

The rest of the hall around him gradually started to stir back to life.

Murmurs arose initially, hushed and scattered, rippling across the rows. Some students lingered on Alfons's dramatic exit. Others fixed their eyes on the top three anew, scrutinizing the lineup as if sheer willpower could reorder it. But it held firm.

Xavier shattered the quiet within their circle first.

He turned to Trafalgar, exhaled sharply through his nostrils, and remarked, "What exactly did you hunt to secure first place? Had to be massive."

Trafalgar dropped his gaze from the projection and replied plainly.

"A sand worm," he stated. "I ventured into the desert to track it down."

Xavier fell silent instantly.

His response hit quick and authentic. No over-the-top theatrics crossed his face, nor did he erupt into chatter like with Bartholomew before. Instead, he paused briefly, weighing the revelation carefully. He grasped well what a sand worm signified in such a trial. Not a mere pest. Not some showy beast. A genuine threat. The type that devoured any hint of recklessness.

His voice carried a new edge when he next spoke.

"Have you reached Prime Core?" he inquired.

Trafalgar shot him a quick look. "Not yet. But I’m close."

Xavier clamped his lips shut thereafter.

No words were needed to spell out the implications. Trafalgar's reply conveyed them fully. He had slain a beast ranked beyond his present Core level. No matter the spin, the outcome remained outrageous.

Cynthia grasped it right away as well. Zafira did too. Bartholomew seemed a touch bewildered initially, more from the overwhelming scene than any gap in understanding, yet he pieced it together soon enough.

Xavier regained his typical bravado first.

"Don’t think this means I’m intimidated," he declared. "I still want our sparring match."

A subtle twitch crossed Trafalgar's features—not a full grin, but nearly.

"Yeah, yeah, don’t worry," he shot back. "We’ve got plenty of time now. One of these days I’ll have to put you in your place."

The words came out casually, yet Xavier picked up the challenge and fired right back.

"Oh, I think you’re getting confused here," he retorted. "Do you not remember how the last sparring ended?"

Trafalgar eyed him for a split second.

"No," he answered. "I don’t remember. Doesn’t matter either way. I’ll put you in your place so properly you won’t ask me for another one."

Xavier burst into laughter at that.

"Good, good. Keep talking like that." He adjusted his position a bit, eyed the group, and tossed in, "By the way, I think we can celebrate a little, can’t we? We finished the exams. That deserves something."

A celebration.

The notion struck Trafalgar harder than foreseen.

’Celebration...’

For an instant, his thoughts drifted far away—not to distant lands here, but to a wholly different existence. Finals. Release. Hitting the town with buddies post grueling tests. Budget eats, boisterous banter, those silly chats that shone brightest once the stress shattered and air flowed free again.

The recollection flickered in and out soundlessly.

’That actually doesn’t sound bad.’

Yet a counter-thought chased it swiftly.

’If I go anywhere now, I’ll drag attention with me.’

Trafalgar let out a soft breath and noted, "There’s a small problem, Xavier."

Xavier arched a brow. "And that is?"

Trafalgar responded flatly, "I’m me."

Xavier blinked once. "I don’t get it."

Trafalgar fixed him with a stare that nearly drew a snicker from Cynthia before she reined it in.

"I’m Trafalgar du Morgain," he declared. "Right now, I’m the biggest buzz in everyone’s conversations. Showing up in public means I’ll be under constant watch. I’m just not up for handling that hassle."

Xavier hesitated for a second. It was a solid argument, and the shift in his face showed he fully grasped it.

"Hm," Xavier murmured. "But the spot I’m thinking of restricts entry to Academy students only. It’s outside Velkaris too, so no fear of sparking a spectacle. And honestly..." He cast a glance at the surrounding hall. "Everyone here already knows exactly who you are."

Trafalgar had no comeback for that.

He cast a quick look around the chamber. Xavier nailed it. Recognition was unavoidable within the Academy now, and perhaps for good. The former divide between him and the other first-years had been scorched away before everyone’s eyes.

"That’s true," he conceded.

Xavier saw that as sufficient leverage to push forward. He pivoted to face the group.

"Do you all want to go?"

Bartholomew’s face clouded with doubt at once—not because the idea repelled him, but due to his habitual wariness toward anything disrupting his schedule. Cynthia eyed him, caught his reluctance instantly, and made the call for them both without drawn-out discussion.

"We’ll go," she stated.

Bartholomew swiveled to her. "We will?"

"Yes," Cynthia answered. "You look like you need food, somewhere to sit, and a break from your own head. So yes, we will."

Bartholomew parted his lips, reconsidered wisely, and surrendered to the inevitable.

Zafira offered a light shrug. "I’ll go too."

Only Trafalgar was left.

Xavier turned back to him, wearing the look of a man confident in his impending triumph.

"That makes everyone except you," he noted. "And frankly, I think you’ve earned a break. You’re still a living person, Trafalgar. People need rest."

That remark nearly pulled a laugh from Trafalgar.

The guy proved irritatingly convincing whenever he set his mind to it.

He held his silence briefly, enough to leave Xavier hanging, enough for the others to observe him with differing degrees of patience. Finally, his reply emerged far simpler than the turmoil in his thoughts.

"Fine," Trafalgar replied.

Xavier flashed a grin immediately. "Good. Then we have a plan."

He slapped Bartholomew on the shoulder—nearly crumpling the hapless youth—and went on, "We’ve got a few hours to prepare. Meet me at the station in three hours."

The decision solidified in an instant.

And as the rankings projection continued its soft glow overhead in the hall, their inaugural move past the exams stealthily unfolded.