SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 550: Two Conversations

Mayla had just finished carrying the basket of freshly washed clothes into the sitting room when a knock echoed at her door.

She lightly wiped her hands on her skirt and moved through the room with a quiet grace that remained with her even after her service within House Morgain concluded. The moment the door swung open, surprise bloomed into a gentle warmth.

Aubrelle stood there, Pipin perched on her shoulder.

Her blindfold was absent today. The old scar still traced a pale, cruel line across her face, a mark where the past had left its imprint, yet it no longer seemed like something she felt compelled to conceal. Her red eyes remained a touch unfocused, gazing into the distance, while Pipin, with small, alert crimson eyes, took in the room before his companion even fully entered.

A soft smile instantly graced Mayla's lips.

"Hello, Aubrelle. I wasn't expecting you. You could have sent word beforehand. I would have prepared something."

Aubrelle's lips curved into a faint smile.

"May I come in?"

"Of course. Please, come in."

Mayla stepped aside, and Aubrelle entered with measured steps. Pipin swiveled his small head, surveying the space as if inspecting it on her behalf. The basket of clothes, neatly folded linens, and half-finished chores clearly indicated the apartment's current state.

Aubrelle tilted her head slightly.

"Did I arrive at an inconvenient time?"

Mayla shook her head.

"Not at all. I was just tidying up a few things around the house. You aren't disturbing anything. You are always welcome here."

This seemed to alleviate some of Aubrelle's apprehension. She moved further inside, locating the sofa with Pipin's subtle guidance, and settled down with an understated elegance that never faded, regardless of her surroundings.

"It's a relief to hear that," Aubrelle confessed. "I feared I might be intruding."

Mayla carried the basket to a corner and sat opposite her guest.

"Is there a particular reason for your visit?"

Aubrelle's fingers gently brushed Pipin's feathers before she replied.

"No special reason, not really. I simply thought we could spend some time together." Her tone softened, tinged with amusement. "We share the same man. I suppose that makes us a form of family, doesn't it?"

Mayla smiled at the sentiment.

"Yes. I suppose it does."

For a fleeting moment, the room was enveloped in a comfortable silence, devoid of any awkwardness. Outside, the city bustled along with its usual rhythm. Inside, the space was filled only with the quiet, domestic warmth of the apartment and the presence of two women who no longer found it necessary to maintain any pretense of distance between them.

Mayla spoke first.

"By the way, what has Trafalgar been up to lately? He sends me messages daily via that item he gave me, but he always sounds incredibly busy."

Aubrelle nodded in agreement.

"As you've said yourself. He's been constantly engaged, moving from one task to another without much respite." The subtle smile persisted on her lips. "Although, as is his custom, he keeps certain matters to himself. I imagine he'll share everything with us later, when he deems the moment appropriate."

Mayla exhaled softly through her nose, a sound akin to a suppressed chuckle.

"I'm not worried. It's Trafalgar, after all. Even when he conceals information, it's usually because he believes it will prevent someone from facing unnecessary trouble." A brief pause followed. "I heard that classes have concluded for now."

"Yes," Aubrelle confirmed. "I'll be advancing to my third year, and Trafalgar will commence his second." She leaned back slightly. "Perhaps he neglected to mention this to you as well: he finished as the top student of the entire first-year cohort."

Mayla blinked in surprise.

"He didn't allude to that in any of his messages."

Aubrelle's mouth curved into a more pronounced smile this time.

"That sounds precisely like him. He likely doesn't consider it significant enough to warrant much attention."

"Maybe so," Mayla conceded, "but it's still an extraordinary achievement."

Aubrelle lowered her head slightly.

"It is. I only managed to secure third place."

Mayla's expression softened.

"Third place is still remarkable!"

"Under ordinary circumstances, perhaps." Aubrelle's voice remained steady, yet held a clear note of sincerity. "But following everything that transpired, my focus was fragmented. My performance in the written examinations suffered as a result. That was enough to push me down."

Mayla refrained from offering hollow reassurances. Her understanding of Aubrelle ran too deep for such platitudes. Instead, she offered, "Even so, you are here. You have continued to persevere. That holds more value than any ranking."

Aubrelle fell silent upon hearing this.

The conversation then flowed naturally into less significant topics, the kind of details shared only when trust is established and the need to guard every word has dissolved. They discussed the Academy, their personal routines, the messages Trafalgar sent and those he omitted, the city, and their individual aspirations for when they could finally find time to truly rest and recuperate.

Eventually, Aubrelle's tone shifted.

"There's something I've pondered for some time."

Mayla neatly folded a shirt in her lap, her gaze lifting to meet Aubrelle's.

"What is it?"

Aubrelle gently rested her hand on Pipin's back.

"What do you suppose would transpire... if more individuals entered his life in the future?"

Mayla grasped the implication instantly.

The query didn't catch her by surprise. Trafalgar was far from an ordinary individual navigating a mundane existence. Things associated with him rarely remained inconsequential for long.

She offered Aubrelle a candid response.

"Trafalgar isn't the sort to be swayed by just any woman. I believe you already comprehend this." Her voice maintained its gentle cadence, yet the conviction within it was unwavering. "For anyone to stand beside him, they must hold significant importance to him. Not a fleeting whim or a transient fascination. Rather, someone deeply interwoven into the fabric of his life

to a degree he cannot disregard."

Aubrelle absorbed her words, refraining from interruption.

Mayla proceeded, her pace slowing.

"I suspect we both occupy such a position in his life, even if he doesn't always articulate it directly. He has likely already undertaken actions for our benefit that we are not fully aware of. And in the future, he will probably initiate deeds beyond our current comprehension."

Aubrelle's fingers stilled their movement over Pipin's soft feathers.

She recognized the truth in Mayla's assessment. Trafalgar had already reshaped the trajectories of both their lives in ways that would have seemed utterly improbable not long prior.

Mayla carefully placed the folded shirt into the laundry basket.

"This might stem from a degree of selfishness on my part," she admitted, "but I believe we ought to support him. And if,

at some juncture, another person emerges who attains that level of significance for him, then perhaps we should extend our support to her as well. Should she genuinely capture his heart,

resisting out of sheer pride would ultimately yield no positive outcome."

Aubrelle contemplated this in quiet reflection before gently shifting the conversational focus, as though the gravity of the preceding discussion had prompted a new line of thought.

"On a related note," she inquired, "do you not desire children?"

This question momentarily disarmed Mayla, eliciting an unexpected chuckle.

"Naturally, I do."

Aubrelle tilted her head slightly.

"Then, how many do you envision?"

Mayla's expression took on an air of exaggerated innocence.

"Would that not hinge upon Trafalgar's vitality when the moment arrives?"

Aubrelle's complexion bloomed with a blush so rapid it appeared almost agonizing.

Mayla couldn't suppress another laugh, this one softer, genuinely amused by Aubrelle's evident unpreparedness for such a response.

Pipin let out a soft chirp, amplifying Aubrelle's rosy hue.

Far removed from the city of Velkaris, within a formidable castle that, by all conventional expectations, should have exuded an aura of darkness and severity, Zafira du Zar'khael stood alongside her father beneath soaring, pale arches bathed in ethereal white light.

The edifice ought to have embodied the traditional image of demon nobility—cold, black stone, oppressive corridors, and an infernal presence lurking in every shadowed recess. Instead, the Zar'khael ancestral stronghold presented itself in striking white and silver hues, exuding elegance rather than grimness, adorned with expansive balconies, gleaming polished floors, and vast windows that seemed to dissolve the very horizon, a stark contrast that never ceased to amaze them upon their initial encounters.

Zafira stood near the arrival court, Malakar positioned before her, the imminent departure casting a palpable shadow.

"When you return next," Malakar stated, "I shall personally escort you to the mines. You must witness their current state. Ultimately, the accord with the Morgains proved most advantageous. At the current pace, we will recoup the initial outlay far sooner than anticipated."

Zafira's curiosity was immediately piqued. "Are they generating such substantial returns?"

"And surpass expectations," Malakar affirmed. "The site revealed itself to be an intricate labyrinth of uncharted tunnels. Each time they believe they have perfected its mapping, another passage surfaces, leading to further discoveries." A subtle undercurrent of satisfaction entered his tone. "Had it not been for that exceptionally gifted son of Valttair, we would likely never have unearthed it to this extent."

"You are referring to Trafalgar."

"Indeed, Trafalgar."

Malakar's expression transitioned to one of profound contemplation.

"I must confess, I harbored surprise that he survived that fall previously. At the time, he gave no indication of possessing any extraordinary qualities." He released a quiet exhalation. "Now, I fully comprehend why that scoundrel Valttair took such a keen interest in him. Harboring a talent of that magnitude within his own household..." He clicked his tongue dismissively. "Quite typical of him."

Upon the mention of Trafalgar, a subtle, almost imperceptible alteration flickered across Zafira's features.

It was fleeting. So swift that the average observer would have missed it entirely. Malakar, however, did not. His daughter was on the cusp of departure, soon to embark on a journey with Trafalgar to Mariven Port. A patriarch presiding over one of the Eight Great Houses could not maintain his position for long by overlooking such nuanced observations.

He observed her for a moment before resuming his discourse. "Maintain amicable relations with him, my daughter. That young man is poised to potentially become the future of House

Morgain. With such a gift, the day might arrive when he surpasses both Valttair and myself. His voice remained level. While we may reside among the Eight Great Houses and harbor rivalries that predate most kingdoms, only the foolish refuse to acknowledge what is laid plainly before them.

Zafira responded, offering no hint of softening.

I recall you stating he was not our concern when he fell, she replied.

Malakar met her gaze directly. He was not, and he never will be. His tone stayed unwavering. He is a Morgain. That fact remains unchanged. He paused. However, that day could have devolved into a far uglier situation than it did. I had no desire to witness matters escalate into the kind of war we just observed between the Thal'zar and the Sylvanel. A subtle coldness touched his features. Though, in terms of sheer military might, our house would likely rank above them.

A transport carriage, polished and silent, landed not far from where they stood, prepared to convey Zafira to the closest Gate.

Malakar cast his gaze towards it. It is time.

Zafira moved forward and enveloped him in an embrace. He returned the gesture without the slightest hesitation. Despite all the power he possessed, despite the significant burden of his title, there was no pretense in that brief instant. He was, quite simply, her father. When she withdrew, she spoke no unnecessary words. Nor did he.

She entered the transport, and in mere moments, it was airborne. Malakar remained rooted to his spot, watching until the vehicle disappeared beyond the estate's outer perimeter. Only after it had truly vanished did he turn away and resume his duties, once again one of the eight most influential individuals globally.