SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 551: Every Action Has its Consequences

After enduring nearly two weeks within Zar'khael territory, Zafira finally returned. She passed through the gates with the practiced ease of someone who had traversed that path countless times, stretching her arms overhead as a soft "hmpf" escaped her lips.

Her journey wasn't quite concluded; a train ride to the academy still awaited, and the only prospect that truly beckoned was the comfort of her own bed.

Her father, Malakar, entered her thoughts as she walked toward the platform. He had received the news of her third-place finish for the entire year with commendation, an expectation befitting his daughter, which he made no effort to conceal.

With the detached curiosity of a merchant reviewing an inventory, he inquired about the two individuals ranked above her. His interest lay in identifying any promising talent, a potential asset that could be subtly drawn towards House Zar'khael.

Zafira responded plainly: Alfons secured second place, and Trafalgar held the top position.

Malakar's expression immediately turned grim. It wasn't a reaction of disappointment; his daughter was never the source of concern. The surnames were the issue. It was an inadequately known fact that the Vaclions and Morgains had been engaging in a silent rivalry for years, a subtle antagonism that, while never escalating to formal conflict, simmered beneath every cordial exchange. He remained silent, deeming further comment unnecessary.

The train's hiss announced its arrival, and Zafira descended amidst the warm mist rising from the academy platform. She navigated the campus towards the dormitory building, hood drawn and satchel slung over one shoulder, making a swift passage past the scattered students still present. Upon entering, she proceeded directly to the familiar circular platform. "Wait!"

She turned, raising an eyebrow. Encountering Trafalgar had been unexpected, and seeing him hasten towards her, his hair slightly tousled and his breathing betraying exertion despite his composed facade, was even more so.

"Trafalgar? Where are you coming from? You seem to have rushed here."

"Oh," he replied, adjusting his jacket collar. "I was out with Barth and Xavier. I hadn't anticipated your return just yet."

"I arrived a little while ago."

He offered a single nod, as if slotting a piece into place.

"Actually, that's why I sought you out. Mariven Port. You mentioned wanting to acquire items, and well, you've already met Augusto."

A faint smile touched Zafira's lips, amused by his indirect approach to the matter.

"Yes. I'm available now; we can depart whenever."

"Tomorrow, then," Trafalgar suggested with a slight shrug, the gesture of one who had already charted the course. "We'll find lodging at a hotel in Mariven. I'm acquainted with the lord there; he'll arrange suitable rates and a decent place for us to rest."

"You know him?"

"A lengthy tale," he stated briefly, without embellishment. "Certain individuals in Mariven decided terminating me was an appropriate course of action."

Zafira fell silent for several moments, her expression revealing the unspoken question. This was not the response she had mentally prepared for, especially delivered with such casualness, as if discussing trivialities.

"What occurred?"

As the platform began its ascent, Trafalgar responded. His tone was one he reserved for minor inconveniences, not life-altering events. He spoke of a mine, its resources coveted beyond reason, and a miscalculated venture by those who presumed a young man without a prominent name would be easy prey.

The outcome diverged sharply from their expectations, and now the very individual who had schemed to eliminate him trembled at his mere mention.

"Honestly, I'm unsure of what they anticipated," Zafira murmured, her annoyance stemming more from their foolishness than any sense of awe.

"Well," Trafalgar interjected, his voice carrying towards the metallic canopy of the ascending platform, "they were ignorant of my identity, so making such an error was understandable. However, every action carries repercussions. And they invariably arrive."

She observed him for a few moments. There was a gravity underlying his statement that conveyed neither threat nor arrogance. It felt akin to a natural law, the kind of certainty one applies when describing rainfall or the oxidation of iron. Trafalgar never needed to raise his voice to assert a point.

The platform reached its destination with a soft click, a sound she had grown accustomed to. The entire floor exuded an almost excessive tranquility. With a vast expanse of space exceeding that of some southern estates, only three individuals resided there, and that evening, the floor felt more desolate than usual. Rumors circulating through the lower corridors indicated that Alfons au Vaelion had departed days prior, summoned back to his own domain.

Trafalgar disembarked first, offering a brief, dismissive wave over his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting here for you in the morning. I don’t anticipate we’ll require significant time for our tasks, unless Augusto conjures something unforeseen, which, given his nature, is perpetually possible. See you tomorrow.” Zafira responded with a curt nod and proceeded towards her chambers. Upon entering, she let her satchel slip from her shoulder onto a nearby chair, then unclasped her cloak without haste, draping it over the backrest. Almost mechanically, she began selecting her attire for the following day, her hands operating autonomously while her thoughts wandered elsewhere.

The reality was far less complex than the explanation she had offered on the platform. The items, the shopping spree, the perfunctory “Yes, I still wish to go” had all served as a convenient pretext. While she did desire a few things from Mariven Port, they weren’t significant enough to warrant an entire excursion solely for their sake. Her true objective was to spend the day in his company. Nothing more intricate than that. A day away from the academy’s confines, free from the looming pressure of exams or the watchful eyes of potential rivals, a day where she could simply share the hours with Trafalgar and observe where the moments might lead them.

Trafalgar, conversely, was the one with genuine shopping needs. She was well aware of this fact. This made her expressed desire to accompany him easier to accept, as he would likely hear “I want to go too” and take it at face value, without delving deeper into her motives.

She released a soft exhalation, a blend of amusement and resignation, placed the folded garments beside her bag, and sat momentarily on the bed’s edge, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Tomorrow, then.

Across the hall, Trafalgar harbored no such contemplative diversions occupying the upper echelons of his mind. His intellect operated as it habitually did, navigating multiple intellectual pathways simultaneously, none left unexplored. He reviewed the necessary acquisitions in Mariven. Essential supplies. Consumables. A selection of auxiliary artifacts suitable for contingency scenarios that, when they materialize, offer no prior warning. He aimed to be prepared for that critical instant where preparedness alone distinguishes between emerging unscathed and being carried away. He opened a desk drawer and commenced counting the provisions set aside for such expeditions. Market volatility, driven by apprehension, manipulated prices in peculiar ways. Occasionally downward. Sometimes upward, merely to project an image of resilience.

“Looks like I’ll need to pack a substantial amount,” he mused, sliding the drawer shut once more.

He approached the window, leaning a shoulder against the frame. The academy lay dormant beyond the glass, its familiar breezes rustling, its scattered lanterns resembling distant constellations across the grounds. He contemplated the approaching day with a dispassionate assessment, like an individual evaluating the odds before a high-stakes wager.

Mariven Port awaited him.

And Augusto, with whom he was intimately familiar, was undoubtedly already anticipating the encounter.