SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 628: The Creator

Matteo was clearly surprised to see Selara inside that chamber.

For a man who had spent decades polishing his reactions into something respectable, the mask failed him rather badly. His fingers tightened around the cane, his posture stiffened, and for one brief breath his face held the exact expression of someone who had opened a familiar door and found a blade waiting on the other side.

Selara noticed. The official who had escorted her intervened before Matteo could say anything else, stepping forward with the careful brightness of a man trying to smooth a cracked vase while everyone could hear it breaking.

"Lord Matteo, what a pleasant coincidence," he said. "Director Selara wished to learn more about this year's winning product. She said she wanted to evaluate it personally, given her history with the event, so we brought her here."

Matteo rubbed his brow with two fingers, slowly enough that it almost passed for thought instead of irritation.

"I understand." His attention returned to Selara, and the old courtesy crawled back over him, thinner than before. "And what do you think, Director Selara? Surprised?"

Selara's face did not betray the heat collecting beneath her skin. She turned slightly toward the containment circle, toward the small elven homunculus standing within it like a question nobody in this room deserved to ask.

"I am," she said. "I did not expect a homunculus to be this year's masterpiece. The form is also peculiar. An elven vessel is an interesting choice, at the very least."

Matteo's mouth tightened at the edge, but he answered in a measured tone. "The creator appears to be a dedicated man with a great appreciation for elves. Your bloodline is famous for holding mana well and responding to it with unusual harmony. Though I suppose I am stating the obvious to you, considering you are an elf yourself."

Selara smiled. It was the kind of smile people praised from a safe distance and regretted approaching.

The official seemed pleased that the conversation had turned technical. The guards relaxed by the width of a breath. Even the filtered air inside the chamber carried a faint chemical sweetness, as if the room itself wanted to pretend this was a civilized review rather than a grave wearing glass walls.

Matteo stepped closer to Selara.

Not too close for propriety. Close enough for old colleagues discussing delicate work. He angled his cane toward the containment circle, his body placed so that anyone watching would think he was pointing out some feature in the homunculus's design.

His voice dropped.

"What are you doing here, Selara? You should not be in this room."

Selara did not turn toward him. She raised one gloved hand slightly toward the homunculus, as if noting the line of its shoulder, the artificial stillness of its hands, the thin rhythm of mana beneath the skin.

"I had to see what Aurevane was planning," she murmured.

Matteo's face tightened at the accusation.

"What?"

The word came out too loud.

The official and both guards turned toward them.

Matteo moved first, using indignation like a coat he had worn often enough to button in the dark. He gave the others a controlled, almost apologetic motion of his hand.

"Forgive me. Director Selara has suggested a theory so majestic that it briefly offended my sense of proportion."

The official appeared uncertain, but the explanation was ridiculous enough to pass as academic temperament. Men and women of learning did stranger things in rooms like this and called it method.

Matteo leaned nearer again, voice lowered to a thread.

"Do not place me in the same pit as them. I had nothing to do with this."

Selara turned her hand, indicating the containment circle again while keeping her words soft. "Of course. I should trust the proud, condescending Matteo di Ravelle because he says so. How comforting."

Anger touched his face now. Matteo had always been arrogant. He enjoyed being right, adored being difficult, and could slice lesser minds apart with the lazy cruelty of a man who believed patience was charity. But he had rules. Ugly rules, perhaps. Personal rules. Lines he disliked admitting existed because admitting them meant admitting there were places even he would not go. "You know I would not do this," he said. "This is past experiment, past craft, past ambition. If Aurevane intends to present this in four days, the consequences will be severe."

"Why present it at all?"

"Because they want to understand it. Because they want to own the first public explanation before anyone else can frame it differently." Matteo's voice hardened. "The creator promised he would explain how it was made, what inspired it, and whether the process could be recorded for publication."

Selara's hand lowered by a fraction.

"That is not possible."

"That is precisely what I would like to prevent."

The homunculus remained motionless inside the circle.

The silver fluid pulsed through the tubes, carrying its patient rhythm beneath the floor. The small elven face held no trace of the discussion surrounding it, no offense at being categorized, praised, inspected, measured. That absence pressed against Selara more than any cry could have.

She forced her voice to remain level.

"You keep saying creator. Who is he?"

Matteo did not answer immediately.

That pause told her enough, but she waited for the words because words had weight. Words could be used later. Words could be thrown back into a man's face when he tried to pretend he had only meant something adjacent to the truth.

Finally, Matteo spoke.

"Your master, Selara."

The chamber did not change.

The wards continued breathing. The fluid kept moving. The guards kept their places. The official stood a few steps away, trying not to appear interested in a conversation he could not hear.

Selara felt the answer slide into a space already carved for it.

Matteo continued, quieter now. "He is the only answer to this creation. Only he would be capable of making something like this, and only he would be arrogant enough to call it progress. Though I suspect you reached that conclusion yourself after seeing… her."

Her.

For the first time, Matteo used the word.

Selara did not reward him for it.

She turned away from the containment circle and faced the official who had escorted her. Her voice returned to its public shape with frightening ease.

"I will be leaving with Matteo. We have things to discuss. Thank you for bringing me."

The official hesitated. His attention moved between her, Matteo, and the homunculus. "Of course, Director Selara. I trust your evaluation was useful."

"It was."

That was all she gave him.

Matteo followed as she moved toward the door, his cane tapping once against the floor before he matched her pace. The guards opened the chamber without comment, though one of them watched Matteo more carefully than before. Perhaps he had heard the edge beneath that single raised word. Perhaps not.

Selara did not care.

She crossed the threshold without touching the doorframe, without glancing back at the homunculus, without giving the room the satisfaction of seeing her crack.

Behind her, the official remained inside the chamber with the guards, the wards, the silver fluid, and the small elven vessel standing in the circle.

The door began to close.

Just before it sealed, his voice reached the corridor in a bitter mutter.

"Tch. Damned woman. She thinks far too highly of herself because people call her a genius."