SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 581: After the First Day

The initial day of academic activities concluded far more rapidly than Trafalgar had anticipated. It was remarkably tranquil, bordering on ordinary, which paradoxically made it feel more peculiar than it ought to have. The second academic year had commenced, yet no calamitous events transpired. There was no sudden assault, no cryptic pronouncement, no assassin lurking on a rooftop, nor any colossal sea beast attempting to drag him into the abyss. For a welcome change, the academy functioned precisely as an academy should.

Trafalgar observed the instructors he would be attending this year, noting that the majority were the same individuals from the preceding year. This was a favorable development. He already understood their teaching methodologies, discerned which ones were irksome, which were bearable, and which were genuinely worth his attention.

However, this year, the optional class he had during his first year was no longer available. It was apparently only offered during the initial year to allow students the freedom to explore subjects that piqued their interest. Once students advanced to their second year, that provision ceased. Although the academy maintained its neutrality, the outcomes from the first year invariably found their way into the wider world sooner or later. Families, corporations, minor noble houses, guilds, private organizations, and even civic authorities meticulously monitored the rankings, eager to recruit any promising talent worth acquiring.

This practice was logical. It facilitated the growth and strengthening of these factions. The esteemed Eight Great Families, however, typically eschewed such methods. They exercised considerable caution when bringing individuals from outside their established circles into their fold. The potential for a spy to infiltrate, a protégé to be a plant, or an individual loyal to a rival power posed too significant a risk and was generally deemed more trouble than it was worth. The great houses possessed their own internal systems, their unique bloodlines, and their distinct methods for cultivating power without excessively broadening their access.

Yet, prosperous families positioned below that exclusive tier, such as the Rosenthal lineage, could afford the luxury of recruitment. For them, gifted students from the academy represented a valuable investment. Consequently, many students transitioning from their first to their second year now utilized their spare time in varied ways, dictated by the trajectory they intended to pursue. Some apprenticed under professors, others trained with private tutors, a number accepted sponsorships from minor houses, and some focused on building their personal reputations prior to graduation. The academy's substantial prestige ensured that any individual who distinguished themselves within its walls would almost certainly secure a favorable position elsewhere.

Trafalgar was in the process of gathering his belongings within Professor Rhaldrin's lecture hall when the diminutive professor's voice echoed through the room. This year, Rhaldrin presented a slightly altered appearance, primarily in his attire. The rat-like humanoid still barely reached the height of a young child, possessing grey fur, piercing crimson eyes, and whiskers that twitched animatedly whenever his thoughts outpaced his speech. This time, foregoing his customary scholarly robes, he sported a dark brown academic coat adorned with bronze clasps and a slender green scarf meticulously tied around his neck.

"Bartholomew," Rhaldrin announced, his voice remarkably resonant despite his small stature, "remain a moment longer. I require your assistance with a task." Bartholomew immediately straightened.

"O-of course, professor."

Given Barth's profound passion for history, Professor Rhaldrin was likely close to being an idol in his eyes. Considering the vast repository of knowledge the professor possessed, this was entirely understandable. Bartholomew had assumed the role of his assistant for the year, and from Trafalgar's understanding, this was a position Barth had pursued on his own volition.

This was positive. He was finally charting his own course.

Trafalgar closed his notebook, his thoughts turning inward. 'Now that I reflect on it, he's been making considerable progress lately. I approve of that. He also adheres to a rather demanding schedule, because even while assisting Professor Rhaldrin, he is concurrently training diligently. And he contributes to the orphanage periodically.' That was a substantial undertaking for Barth.

Yet, paradoxically, he seemed more invigorated when burdened with numerous responsibilities than when facing a lack of demands.

Trafalgar exited the classroom, proceeding to wait in the corridor. Xavier had already departed, summoned by his mother for an unspecified reason. Given that Althea served as one of the academy's directors, it was plausible she required his presence, especially on the inaugural day of the academic year. Zafira and Cynthia had also left, each bound by their individual commitments.

Vivienne remained inside the classroom.

Trafalgar waited for her, as post-class arrangements dictated they travel to Velkaris to meet with Rhosyn, Dravok, and Caelvyrn.

A few minutes later, Vivienne emerged. Her long blue hair cascaded down her back, and her light-colored eyes met his with the same subtle hesitation that had been evident since morning. She appeared somewhat less apprehensive now, yet not entirely accustomed to her surroundings.

Trafalgar pushed himself away from the wall.

"Shall we depart?"

Vivienne offered a nod. "Yes, let us go."

They boarded the train from the academy, bound for Velkaris. The journey was uneventful, a quality Trafalgar valued more than he expressed. Vivienne remained largely silent throughout the ride, observing the cityscape expand beyond the window as the train traversed the mana rails toward Velkaris. Trafalgar refrained from initiating conversation. She had spent her first day within one of the world's most renowned academic institutions. Allowing her the space to assimilate the experience peacefully was likely the most considerate approach.

Upon their arrival in Velkaris, their journey continued southward. The transformation of the district was starkly apparent. Streets became more constricted, aged, and showed clear signs of less meticulous upkeep. Buildings bore more wear, their walls imbued with a greater sense of history, and fewer inhabitants possessed the wealth or inclination to mask this reality.

They ultimately arrived at the very location where Trafalgar had previously encountered Dravok.

The tavern presented as dispiriting as Trafalgar recalled.

Aged timber. Walls bearing stains. A sign that had likely been due for replacement a decade prior. Minimal noise emanated from within. It was the sort of establishment one would pass by unnoticed unless they were deliberately seeking it out.

Vivienne took the lead, descending the stairs.

Inside, the bar area was, as usual, nearly deserted. The dwarf tending the counter observed their entrance, recognized them, and prudently opted to offer nothing more than a curt nod.

Three individuals were already seated at a table, awaiting them.

Caelvyrn was positioned with one arm casually draped over his chair, his long, dark hair cascading around his shoulders, and his violet eyes gleaming with that inherent draconic confidence he rarely concealed. His horns swept from his brow with an elegance that made him appear less like a man lurking in a dilapidated bar and more like a monarch indulging in a private amusement amidst unimpressive furnishings.

Rhosyn was seated nearby, clad, as was her custom, in black attire. Black hair, black eyes, and an aura that seemed to absorb the dim illumination surrounding her. She possessed a beauty that was both remote and perilous, though Trafalgar noted an exhaustion about her that day, noticeable even to him.

Dravok occupied a seat opposite them.

His brown hair was streaked with grey. His eyes were a pale green. Old scars were visible across his face, neck, and arms where his rolled-up sleeves exposed them. He resembled a man whittled down by countless battles, with just enough remaining to continue his onward march.

Trafalgar approached and took a seat at the table.

"Good afternoon," he greeted. "Finally, after all this time. How have you been?" His gaze then shifted to Rhosyn. "And you, Rhosyn?"

Rhosyn slowly raised a hand, offering him a thumbs-up gesture.

Her weary appearance conveyed more than any lengthy explanation could have.

Trafalgar blinked once.

"That bad?"

Rhosyn maintained the raised thumb for another moment before lowering it, leaning back in her chair as if even that simple action had required considerable effort.

Caelvyrn appeared to be in better spirits. Dravok too. At least in comparison to her condition.

Dravok regarded Trafalgar, then glanced at Vivienne beside him, and finally placed his cup down.

"Good afternoon, Trafalgar," he replied. "Well, let us dispense with pleasantries and get straight to the matter at hand. This is important."