SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 507: Buried Under Theory

The final exams were only a few days away, and Trafalgar had spent the last stretch of time doing something he would have preferred to avoid if the academy had given him the option.

Studying.

The practical parts did not bother him. Those would sort themselves out. The problem sat stacked in front of him in the form of thick books, copied notes, marked pages, and enough historical theory to make even a patient man consider violence.

Professor Rhaldrin was the worst of it.

Not because the material was difficult in itself, but because there was so much of it.

Trafalgar stared at the open books spread before him, one hand pressed lightly against his brow. Across the table, Bartholomew was already halfway through another page, glasses low on his nose, completely at ease in the middle of that paper fortress. Cynthia sat with them as well, not buried quite as deeply as her brother, though present enough to keep both of them company and, in her own way, make sure neither of them collapsed into the floor from exhaustion.

They had taken over a quiet corner of the academy’s great library, tucked far enough between towering shelves that hardly anyone passed near them. The place itself felt enormous even after several visits. Endless rows of books climbed high above them, old wood and ink filling the air with that dry, heavy smell only libraries ever seemed to have. Afternoon light filtered through distant windows in pale shafts, and the hush of the place wrapped around the shelves like a cloak.

Bartholomew had told him he found the spot by accident. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Trafalgar did not believe that for a second.

A person like Barth did not stumble into a hidden corner of the library by chance. He hunted for places like this the way other people hunted treasure. Somewhere quiet, somewhere removed, somewhere he could spend hours with books and no one at his shoulder. For a history addict like him, the academy library was not merely useful. It was sacred ground.

Trafalgar lifted his head from the text in front of him and studied Bartholomew for a moment while the other boy kept reading, completely absorbed. The section open on the table dealt with Primordials, one of the topics most likely to appear in the exam, especially after the academy’s trip to the ancient ruins within Myrrhvale territory. A great deal had happened there. More than most students would ever understand.

That was where he had obtained the second shard.

The tattoo on his arm had changed because of it.

His fingers tapped once against the page.

’I wonder if there are more shards besides those two.’

It was a good question. An unpleasant one too. He still did not understand what the damned things truly were meant to become.

’Now that I think about it, I could ask Dravok and Rhosyn. I never told them about this. They might know more than I do.’

Across from him, Bartholomew finally lifted his head and adjusted his glasses. He found Trafalgar staring straight at him, dark blue eyes fixed without a blink, and immediately stiffened.

"Tra-Trafalgar?"

The call pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?" Trafalgar answered.

Bartholomew hesitated. "Is something wrong? You were staring at me, and I was starting to get nervous."

Before Trafalgar could reply, Cynthia’s attention snapped up from her own notes.

"Hey," she said, voice low but pointed. "Don’t do anything strange to Barth."

Trafalgar let out a quiet breath through his nose. "I wasn’t doing anything. I got lost in my thoughts. Sorry if I made it seem otherwise."

Bartholomew relaxed a little, though curiosity had already replaced the initial alarm. With Trafalgar, he could loosen up more than he ever did with most people. That much had become obvious over the last year.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked. "You looked really focused."

"Primordials," Trafalgar replied, lowering his hand from his brow. "They’re one of the topics on Rhaldrin’s exam, right? I was thinking about how absurd their bloodline was. They pushed the Void Creatures into another dimension through sheer power, at the cost of their own people, and because of that the rest of the world got to survive and keep moving forward."

Bartholomew’s whole face brightened at once. There were times when his expression gave away his thoughts so easily that Trafalgar wondered how anyone ever lost an argument to him.

"Right?" Barth said, leaning in with sudden energy. "Their bloodline was incredible."

Cynthia closed the book in front of her with one finger marking the page. "Was it really that incredible?" she asked. "From what we’ve read, it sounds that way, but maybe half of it turned into legend over time."

Bartholomew shook his head immediately, firm in a way he rarely was about anything outside history.

"No. And besides, haven’t you heard the rumors? It sounds like one showed up in the last war."

That pulled Trafalgar upright inside.

’Shit.’

A common student knowing that much was not ideal.

’How did that get out? Did one of the families let it slip? Or did someone simply talk too much?’

Bartholomew turned toward him before Trafalgar could bury the thought.

"Is it true, Trafalgar?" he asked, voice lowered now but carrying open fascination. "You were one of the main people involved in that war. Do you know anything about it?"

The question came out innocent. The effect it had was not.

Bartholomew asked it without thinking, and only afterward did he realize Trafalgar’s expression had changed. The easy tiredness from earlier was gone. What replaced it was quieter, heavier, enough to make him draw back into himself at once.

Trafalgar saw it happen and let the edge soften before it bit any deeper.

"First," he said, voice low, "calm down. We’re in a library. Secret corner or not, they can still throw us out."

That was enough to bring a flush to Bartholomew’s face.

"And second," Trafalgar went on, "I really don’t know. Aren’t they only rumors?"

Bartholomew nodded quickly. "Yes. Right. They’re just rumors. They might not be true."

Trafalgar leaned back a little in his chair. "Exactly. You can’t trust rumors. You know what people used to say about me, don’t you?"

Bartholomew frowned. "I don’t remember much. Were they bad?"

Cynthia answered before he could.

"The bastard of one of the Eight Great Families," she said. "The useless Morgain."

Trafalgar turned his head toward her, mildly surprised. "So you heard those too."

She gave him a flat look over the edge of the table. "It would have been strange not to." Her tone eased by a degree. "But like you said, they were rumors. In your case, they were wrong."

Those words landed more gently than she probably intended.

Trafalgar appreciated them anyway, even if a part of him knew that, for the old Trafalgar, the rumors had not been entirely baseless.

He let that thought pass.

"Alright," he said, tapping one of the open pages with a finger. "Explain this part to me, Barth."

That was all Bartholomew needed.

He straightened at once, pulled the book closer, and began going through the passage with growing confidence while Cynthia listened from the side and occasionally added a short comment of her own. The exam was close. There was still more to cover. A great deal more.

For now, though, the war, the rumors, and the weight hanging behind both had been pushed back beneath paper, ink, and the steady voice of a friend who loved history far more than any sane person should.