SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 613: A Useful Disguise

"Alright, Trafalgar," Selara stated, adjusting her dress with a single hand. Today, she had chosen attire befitting a director representing the Academy, a stark contrast to her usual look of an alchemist who had stumbled out of her lab. "Clearly, that document was merely for show. Someone might have noticed you holding a blank page, so I took the initiative."

Trafalgar's gaze shifted to the folded paper in her grasp. "You improvised an alchemical breakfast."

"It seemed innocuous."

"It sounded precisely like something you would concoct."

Her lips thinned. "Be cautious."

He let the remark hang in the air. Her clothing, her demeanor, the absence of her typical amusement – everything signaled that this was no jest.

"So," he began, crossing his arms casually, "what did you wish to discuss privately? I suspect this concerns your master."

Selara's fingers briefly clenched the paper before she concealed it. "Indeed. You will be assisting me with an inquiry."

"Assisting me?"

"More accurately, you will be posing as my subordinate."

Trafalgar blinked. "You do realize I am rather conspicuous, don't you?"

"No," she replied, far too quickly. "You are only easily identified when you present yourself as Trafalgar du Morgain, move like him, and allow that ostentatious aura of yours to announce your presence before you even speak. With spectacles, a few modifications, and more suitable attire, you will suffice as a young assistant for a short while."

"More suitable attire?"

"You are headed to a significant location today. That structure resembling a castle is not yet accessible to the general public, but the most influential individuals will convene there before the primary proceedings. Academics, financiers, committee members, esteemed alchemists, mana engineers, and a select few whose names Aurevane would prefer not to disclose."

"So that's the reason you assigned the other students their tasks."

"Partially. I cannot confine them here for nearly two weeks with nothing to do – they require a schedule, lest half of them succumb to panic and the other half become dangerously inquisitive. That would be worse." She gestured towards the dining area. "Proceed to inform Cynthia that you will be occupied today. Do so convincingly. The last thing I require is her shadowing us because your explanation was vague."

Trafalgar released a quiet sigh. "You know, most instructors simply direct their students on their whereabouts."

"Most instructors are not pursuing the possibility that their master has emerged from a century-old tomb, armed with renewed resources and significantly worse habits. Proceed."

It was a valid point.

Trafalgar found Cynthia near the dining area's entrance, engaged in conversation with another member of their cohort. Upon noticing him, she excused herself and stepped aside.

"You are not joining us for breakfast?"

"Not at present. My day will be occupied. Director Selara requires my assistance with a matter stemming from yesterday's events."

Cynthia regarded him with an intensity that felt slightly uncomfortable. She had always possessed a keener perception than most gave her credit for, and following the train incident, she had fewer reasons to conceal it.

"Related to yesterday," she echoed. "And your assignment was... correct me if I'm wrong? An alchemical breakfast?" A slight smirk touched the corner of her lips. "That does not sound like a trivial undertaking."

Trafalgar met her gaze with a blank expression. "You witnessed that?"

"I was standing directly beside you. I would have had to be oblivious not to notice your suppressed laughter."

"Selara's expression was enough to make me think she might end me."

"She very well might have. And you deserved it."

That comment nearly elicited a smile from him, but Cynthia's demeanor shifted before the levity could persist. Her voice dropped.

"What exactly is transpiring, Trafalgar?"

He could have offered a fabrication. A small one would have sufficed. Perhaps a report for the Academy, or an explanation that he was requested due to his role in the train attack. Such a narrative would have been plausible, and Cynthia would likely have accepted it superficially, even if she harbored doubts.

Instead, Trafalgar opted for a more direct account.

"I am searching for an individual. That is my genuine objective here."

Cynthia became momentarily still.

Not in a performative manner – she simply lost the thread of her prepared response. Her lips parted, then closed again, and for the first time, he saw her genuinely taken aback, unable to mask her surprise. He understood the reason. He had presented her with the antithesis of her expectations: the unvarnished truth, devoid of any comforting embellishments.

Pure, unadulterated truth.

"Who are you seeking?" she finally inquired.

"Selara's master."

The name remained lodged in his throat, yet the implications resonated, bridging the space between them. Cynthia understood that a director's missing mentor was far beyond the usual Academy concerns, and that Trafalgar wouldn't involve himself unless the matter possessed genuine danger.

He continued before she could probe further. "Cynthia, I'm disclosing this to you because a falsehood would be too transparent, and I have no desire to insult you with a flimsy alibi. However, I require your discretion. You grasp my meaning, don't you?"

She did.

Her stance subtly shifted, her inherent curiosity now subdued by a more pressing matter. "I will not intervene unless you explicitly ask me to."

"I appreciate that," he replied.

Cynthia offered a slight nod. The response gratified her more than she outwardly displayed—not from a desire to be excluded, but rather from the implicit trust he'd placed in her by revealing enough truth to allow her own voluntary restraint.

"Then I shall wait," she stated. "However, when you find the time, you're assisting me with my actual assignment. Mine involves tangible paperwork."

"An unfair advantage," Trafalgar quipped.

"Yours involved breakfast," she retorted.

"It was an advanced form of breakfast," he clarified.

She let out a soft huff and stepped back. "See you later, Trafalgar."

"Later," he echoed.

He watched her retreat toward the dining area before turning to locate Selara.

The director was already positioned near a side corridor, arms folded, her impatience evident in her fidgeting fingers.

"Well?" she inquired. "Is the path clear?"

"Sufficiently clear. She won't pursue."

"Excellent. I'd prefer not to resort to drugging another student before midday."

Trafalgar paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Another?"

She began walking, a subtle warning in her tone. "Avoid asking questions for which you aren't prepared to receive the answer."

They ascended a side staircase, leading to a private chamber allocated to the Academy. Approximately fifteen minutes later, Trafalgar found himself before a mirror, reflecting on the series of decisions that had led him to this peculiar situation.

The attire was darker than what typical assistants would wear, tailored closely enough to deflect undue attention from nobility without completely disappearing into anonymity. Selara had perched a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles upon his nose and adjusted his hair to slightly alter his familiar silhouette. A narrow, scholar-like coat completed the ensemble, accompanied by a case filled with fabricated notes and technical schematics he wasn't expected to comprehend.

He bore a diminished resemblance to Trafalgar du Morgain.

Regrettably, he now bore a stronger resemblance to a young nobleman who had perused merely three books and found them all wanting.

Selara's quick, decisive fingers adjusted his collar. "Cease critiquing the disguise."

"I wasn't," he claimed.

"Your entire countenance suggests otherwise."

"Perhaps it's the spectacles."

"The spectacles are performing admirably, given the circumstances."

They exited the accommodations via a discreet side passage and boarded a carriage bound for the castle-like edifice at the center of Aurevane's event district. In the daylight, the structure appeared even more opulent than it had from afar. Tall, pale walls enclosed arched windows, silver-adorned towers reached skyward, and broad staircases were flanked by guards in formal regalia. It wasn't a fortress, yet it bore enough resemblance to one to impress upon visitors that their presence was a concession.

Selara disembarked first, embodying the role of Academy director with every fiber of her being. Trafalgar followed a half-step behind, clutching the document case as a subordinate would, mindful of speaking only when addressed.

As they approached the magnificent entrance, Selara leaned in discreetly, her voice a low murmur. "Head up. You are aware of this, but you are a Morgain. Do not permit anyone inside to intimidate you. If technical inquiries arise, I will respond. Should they question your identity, you are my temporary assistant for the Aurevane review."

"Temporary assistant," Trafalgar echoed under his breath. "A truly glorious advancement."

"Behave yourself," she commanded.

The grand doors swung open.

A warm radiance emanated from the great hall beyond, carrying a symphony of voices, the scent of perfume, the subtle hum of mana, the polished sheen of stone, and the faint, sharp tang of expensive alchemy.

Selara took a single step forward.

Then she froze abruptly.

Her hand moved instinctively, hovering just close enough to Trafalgar's wrist to serve as a warning rather than a physical contact. Whatever she had anticipated encountering beyond those doors, it was clearly not the scene that now awaited her.