SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 509: Final Trial [I]

The theoretical exams were over.

Outside Professor Rhaldrin’s classroom, three people were waiting for the last two to come out. Zafira leaned against the wall with her usual calm, untouched by the atmosphere around her. Xavier looked relaxed as well, hands in his pockets, while Cynthia looked like the Academy had spent the entire day personally trying to ruin her life.

She had gone pale enough for Xavier to notice.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You look pale. Did it go badly?"

Cynthia clicked her tongue. "No. Or yes. I don’t know."

That alone was enough to amuse him.

"What does that even mean?" Xavier asked, already smiling.

Cynthia folded her arms tighter. "There was a question about the ruins of the Primordials. Something from when we went there." Her mouth tightened. "I didn’t remember that part properly, so I wrote what I could and filled the rest."

Xavier laughed.

Cynthia turned toward him at once. "What are you laughing at?"

"You," Xavier said. "It’s rare hearing you admit you had to fill anything."

"I didn’t admit that."

"You just did."

"I said I wrote what I could."

"And filled the rest."

"That is not the same thing."

"It sounds close enough."

Cynthia looked one sentence away from trying to kill him in the corridor.

Zafira said nothing. The faint curve near her lips said more than enough.

Before Cynthia could answer again, the classroom door finally opened. A few students came out first, whispering about dates, old wars, and whether Professor Rhaldrin had designed the exam out of personal hatred. After them came the last two still inside.

Trafalgar and Bartholomew walked out together.

The difference between them was ridiculous.

Trafalgar looked completely fine, one hand in his pocket, expression easy, as if he had just stepped out of an ordinary lesson.

Bartholomew looked like he was about to vomit.

His face had gone pale in a completely different way from Cynthia’s, his shoulders tight, breathing off, as though he had already imagined ten possible disasters and believed every single one of them.

"What happens if I fail and they expel me from the Academy?" Bartholomew muttered. "What am I supposed to do with my life after that?"

Trafalgar heard him, stepped closer, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"If that happens, I’ll give you work," he said. "Don’t worry. You can clean my house, for example."

Cynthia had heard that perfectly.

She turned toward him at once. "Don’t listen to him, Barth. That isn’t going to happen."

Bartholomew, however, looked genuinely moved.

"Thank you, Trafalgar," he said with complete sincerity. "I appreciate it a lot. If that happens, I’ll count on you."

Cynthia stared at him in disbelief.

Trafalgar glanced at her and said, "See? This one actually appreciates the kind gestures of his friends."

Cynthia looked at him like she could not decide which of the two irritated her more. The pale color from before gave way to open anger.

Zafira pushed herself off the wall and asked the only useful question there.

"How did it go?"

"Fine," Trafalgar replied. "It was pretty easy. Mostly thanks to Bartholomew, so there’s no reason to be nervous over it. Tomorrow is the practical and we’re done."

Bartholomew looked only slightly less miserable after hearing that.

Xavier stretched his arms over his head. "Well, since we’re finally done with the theoretical part, do you all want to go eat something?"

Cynthia answered immediately. "Sorry, but I’m not going out before an important exam like tomorrow’s. My mother is not the director of the Academy. I don’t even have one..."

Xavier frowned. "Hey, I didn’t mean going to a pub or doing something stupid. I meant going out to calm down. Today was long. We can go to the cafeteria, have dinner together, and relax before tomorrow."

That took some of the edge out of Cynthia’s face.

"If you put it like that, I’d feel bad rejecting it," she said. "Barth and I will go."

Bartholomew blinked. "What? I’m going too?"

"Yes, you too," Cynthia said. "You look like you’ll faint if you don’t eat something soon."

Xavier turned toward Zafira next.

She gave a small shrug. "Fine. I’m going too."

After that, all four of them looked at Trafalgar.

He did not bother making it dramatic.

"Fine. I’m going."

That was enough.

They ended up spending the evening in the Academy cafeteria, not because anyone was in the mood to celebrate, but because none of them really wanted to go back to their room alone and sit with the practical exam waiting for them the next morning. Xavier did most of the talking. Cynthia tried to stay serious, though that became harder whenever he opened his mouth. Bartholomew ate like someone returning from war. Zafira listened more than she spoke. Trafalgar mostly stayed quiet, letting the others fill the air around him.

Simple worked better than anything else that night.

By the time they split up, the tension had eased just enough.

The next day came quickly.

All of the first-year students were already gathered in front of the Academy’s main building. There were hundreds of them. The place felt larger with that many bodies packed together, voices rising and falling beneath a ceiling carved with faint runes that glimmered overhead like constellations. The platform had already brought wave after wave of students to the base of the building, and now they were all moving in the same direction, pouring into the grand hall in a steady flow.

Inside, hundreds of seats were filled. Excitement mixed with nerves, sharp and restless, carried from row to row like a current nobody could stop. At the far end, a raised balcony overlooked the entire assembly.

Trafalgar stood with Zafira, Cynthia, Bartholomew, and Xavier among the crowd of first-years.

Bartholomew looked nervous again.

Cynthia had returned to that hard expression she wore when she wanted to hide the fact she was nervous too.

Xavier looked far more interested than worried.

Zafira seemed untouched by the atmosphere around her.

Trafalgar lifted his head slightly, taking in the room, the students, the scale of it. Hundreds of first-years, all gathered for the same thing. One final exam. One last step before becoming second-years.

A hush fell across the hall the moment four figures stepped onto the balcony.