SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 634: Old Friends

"You grew colder," Esmond said to Selara.

His voice carried that same old rasp, the kind that scraped lightly over every word, as if even speech had to pass through worn metal before leaving him. The face was different, the body was different, but the tone had survived the years intact. That alone was enough to make Selara's fingers tense beneath her sleeves.

"I suppose resentment does that," Esmond continued, almost fondly. "Though time can teach forgiveness, if one allows it."

Selara stared at him with open disbelief.

"Do you listen to yourself when you speak, Esmond?" she asked. "You did something no decent mind would have done, and from what I've seen today, you are repeating the same filth with better tools. How could you do that to her?"

Esmond's attention drifted toward the homunculus, as if Selara had complimented an old piece of work and he was indulging the praise.

"You mean my masterpiece?" he asked. "She is beautiful, isn't she? Unique as well. Her strength exceeds anything most people here could even measure. I could offer a demonstration, though I would rather avoid such crude extremes unless forced." His mouth curved with soft satisfaction. "I also took inspiration from you. It suits her, don't you think?"

Selara almost moved.

Her body wanted the old, simple answer. A spell through his throat. A fist in his mouth. A bullet between his brows, if Matteo kept anything practical in this sanctimonious house of his. The urge flashed hot enough to make her breath hitch, but she gripped it by the neck and forced it down before Esmond could enjoy it.

That was what he wanted.

He wanted the girl he remembered. The student who had argued until she forgot to guard her face. The one he could provoke, correct, praise, twist. If she entered his game, he would drag her through every old corridor of memory and call it conversation.

So Selara inhaled once, slow and deep, and let the breath bury her first answer.

When she spoke, her voice was controlled. "You did not answer me."

"I answered the part worth addressing," Esmond said. "You asked how I could do it. The real answer is simple: because I could, and because the result proves the value of the attempt."

Matteo's cane struck the floor once, not loud, but hard enough to cut across the room.

"I thought leaving you alive back then was the correct decision, Esmond," he said. "It appears I was wrong."

Esmond turned to him with mild amusement. "Ah, Matteo. There it is. I wondered how long your old righteousness would take to climb out. You always did enjoy standing near cages once other men carried the keys."

Matteo's jaw tightened.

'I followed the law, and the law left him enough room to continue.' The thought was bitter enough to taste. He had spent more than a century believing that the law had been harsh because it had to be. Dura lex, sed lex. The phrase had steadied him once. Now, with the homunculus standing beside Esmond like a small elven accusation, the words felt less like justice and more like a door he had failed to bolt. "You were judged because someone finally stopped pretending not to see the bodies," Matteo said. "Do not insult the room by calling that righteousness."

Esmond's smile thinned. "Thanks to that judgment, I learned several interesting things. Prison, exile, obscurity… all very educational when one refuses to rot inside them. I applied much of what I learned to my masterpiece." He reached out, not quite touching the homunculus, but letting his hand hover near its pale hair with possessive pride. "In fact, she is recent. I had the opportunity to learn from a situation of remarkable rarity, and I refused to waste it."

Selara caught that phrase. A situation of remarkable rarity. Her hatred went colder because of those words.

"But now I must ask you both," Esmond said. "You know I am alive. You lured me here. What do you want from me? I have been gone from the public for more than a century, and I have done nothing wrong." Selara's laugh came without humor. "You have done nothing wrong?"

"That is what I said."

"That should be decided by people who aren't you, don't you think? What you brought here is not something that should be made, Esmond. You can dress it in theory, call it a vessel, a masterpiece, a breakthrough, but that does not change what stands beside you."

"Why?" Esmond asked. "Because I gave her an elven form? Come now, Selara. You know better than that. Nothing about this is illegal in the way you want it to be. Artificial constructs are made across the continent. Homunculi appear in old records, failed attempts, private collections, sealed universities. Mine is simply better than theirs." Matteo's voice hardened. "Esmond, you know that is not true."

"Now you want to lecture me as well?" Esmond asked, turning back toward him. "How generous. Tell me, Matteo, what is your objective here? Are you here to mourn your law, or to polish it again in front of me?"

"My objective is to stop you again," Matteo said. "I will not allow you to present her to the world as if this is a trophy. That creation should never stand before the public."

"Should never?" Esmond's expression brightened with mock interest. "Aurevane already approved her. Their officials have seen enough to understand the value of the work. If the city itself accepts it, why should I obey the sour conscience of a man who mistook legal procedure for courage?"

Matteo's fingers flexed around the cane. "Aurevane saw profit and prestige. You gave them a miracle wrapped tightly enough that they did not have to smell the rot."

"Rot is a word used by men who cannot build what they condemn."

"And masterpiece is a word used by men who know crime sounds worse."

Selara stepped between the rhythm of their old hatred before it could swallow the room. "Did you want me to see her?"

Esmond's attention returned to her, pleased.

"Of course," he said. "Matteo would smell scandal. Aurevane would smell glory. But you, Selara, would recognize the hand. I wanted my best student to know I had not wasted the years."

The words slid under her ribs.

Best student.

He said it as if he had the right.

Selara's voice dropped. "You shaped her like that because of me."

"I used what I knew worked."

"You used what would hurt."

Esmond tilted his head, almost disappointed. "You always did become sentimental whenever the work drew close to life. Strange, considering how gifted you were at understanding life through formula." "I understood formula," Selara said. "You understood appetite and called it genius." Matteo caught it and smiled without warmth. "Careful, Esmond. She phrases things better than you now."

Esmond ignored him, though the insult found its mark. "You benefited from my lessons, Selara. You built your reputation with principles I carved into you. Do not pretend you grew above me simply because your conscience became fashionable."

"My conscience was never the fashionable thing in your laboratory," she said. "That was why you disliked it." The movement was small, but everyone in the room noticed except, perhaps, the creature itself. Matteo's hand moved a fraction over his cane. Selara's attention flicked toward the same wall, not in surprise, but in confirmation.

Esmond's smile returned.

"Matteo," he said softly, "you have become a terrible host."

Matteo's face hardened. "You have always deserved terrible hospitality."

"How many guests did you hide in your walls?"

The hidden door opened before Matteo could answer.

Trafalgar stepped into the room first, wearing his own face now, calm and unmistakable. Caelum followed half a pace behind him, no longer disguised as Halbrecht, his expression cold enough to make the meeting room feel smaller.

Matteo's confusion flashed across his face before recognition connected the pieces.

"Tom?" he said, turning toward Selara. "What is your assistant doing here?"

Trafalgar's attention went to Matteo.

"I am not Tom, Mister Matteo. I am Trafalgar du Morgain," he said. "Allow me to introduce myself again. Although I would advise you to improve your manners when meeting new people. The first time we met, I did not enjoy your attitude very much."

Matteo's mouth opened, closed, and for once produced nothing useful.

Esmond, on the other hand, looked delighted.

"I thought this was a reunion between old friends," he said, studying Trafalgar with renewed interest. "But it seems we have a new face after all. To what do I owe the pleasure of Trafalgar du Morgain, from the great House Morgain, gracing this little meeting with his presence?"

Trafalgar stopped beside Selara, his voice even.

"I have a few questions for you, Esmond."