Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 229

Chapter 227

James‘ POV

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I stand frozen, my scorecard still raised, my mouth still open from my last accusation.

Just then, Talia’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade. She speaks in a long string of flawless Norvish, each word precise, each syllable perfectly placed. The entire room falls

silent.

I watch Imema’s face. She has not even had time to wipe the mockery off her expression. It freezes there, half–formed and

ugly.

Talia’s eyes meet mine. “Mr. Scott, using academic credentials to belittle others is incredibly ill–mannered.”

Her voice is calm, almost gentle. “Having a judge like you, who openly looks down on housewives and mocks others‘ education, makes it hard not to question the fairness of this

panel.”

My jaw tightens.

“And as a language judge, your proficiency should be far15:16

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< Chapter 227

above average.” She tilts her head. “However, your pronunciation just now was less than accurate. The correct way to say it is…”

She pauses. Then she repeats my earlier remarks in Norvish, word for word. Her tone is light, her articulation crisp. Every syllable rolls off her tongue with textbook precision. There is no hesitation. No stumble, no uncertainty at all.

The entire room falls into stunned silence.

Just moments ago, everyone was laughing along with me. They treated Talia like a joke, like a pretender who had finally been exposed. But now, their expressions have frozen. The laughter is gone, and so is the smugness.

My face twitches involuntarily. I can’t deny how flustered I am, my face burning with embarrassment.

I have spent years studying multiple languages, addressed by everyone respectfully as Professor. I have published papers and given lectures. I have built a career on the

assumption that I am an expert.

I have no issues with academic research and translation

work. That is where my strengths lie. But when it comes to 2/8

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spoken language, I know my shortcomings. My pronunciation

has always been my weak point. I am aware of it, even if I do

not advertise it.

Still, my skills are enough to handle non–professionals. Enough to judge children. Who would have guessed I would be humiliated by a housewife who has not worked in five

years?

I desperately search for mistakes in her grammar or

pronunciation. I replay her words in my head, once, twice,

three times. I look for any flaw, any opening, anything that

might salvage my dignity.

I find nothing.

Her grammar is impeccable. Her pronunciation is flawless. Every stressed syllable lands exactly where it should. Every

vowel is pure.

Was not she supposed to have only a middle school education? Had she not spent the past few years as a

full–time housewife, isolated from the world, disconnected

from any kind of intellectual pursuit?

Then why is her grammar so precise? Why is her

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pronunciation so flawless?

With this level of proficiency, there is no way she is just a middle school graduate. The two things do not add up.

Aeson’s POV

I stare at the woman on stage. My mother. The same woman

I have avoided introducing to my teachers, the same woman

I have been embarrassed to claim in front of my friends.

My eyes are wide with disbelief.

Among the three languages I speak, Norvish is one of them. I understood every word exchanged between my mother and

James. Every single one.

When the judge accused her of cheating, I almost believed it. Like everyone else in this room, I never thought my mother could speak Norvish. It never crossed my mind. The idea was so foreign, so impossible, that I did not even consider it.

But now, not only does she speak it. She speaks it so well.

In fact, I think her Norvish sounds even more polished than my teacher’s. The way she shapes the sounds, the way she 4/8

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flows from one word to the next, the way she makes the language sing.

I look around the room. Imema and Nick are just as shaken as I am. Their faces are pale. Their mouths are tight.

Nick, unwilling to accept the reality before him, blurts out, “She must be cheating!” He gestures wildly. “Maybe someone is feeding her translations through an earpiece. That is it.

That has to be it.”

For once, Betty actually speaks up in Talia’s defense. She turns in her seat, her expression sharp. “Even if someone was feeding her translations, how could she repeat them so fluently if she did not understand a word of Norvish?” She crosses her arms. “Someone who does not know the language would not be able to pronounce every word so perfectly, even if they were being coached line by line.”

Imema turns to Aires, her voice hushed. “Alpha, Ms. Jackson

knows Norvish?”

Aires‘ POV

I don’t respond. I simply gaze at the woman standing on stage, my eyes fixed on her face.

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I didn’t know my wife could play the piano. That revelation came as a shock, a crack in the image I had constructed of her. And now, I realize I did not even know she could speak

Norvish.

What else have I missed? What other hidden depths does she

have that I never bothered to look for?

Nick leans over, grasping for another explanation. “Maybe she secretly learned it when Aeson’s Norvish tutor was teaching him?” He nods to himself, convinced. “She must have picked up bits and pieces over time.”

The Perseus family hired private tutors for Aeson from the moment he could speak. We invested heavily in his education, teaching him multiple languages at once. It is possible. It is plausible. It is the only logical explanation that fits within the framework of what I thought I knew about

Talia.

My voice is calm as I reply. “Maybe.”

But then Aeson speaks up. His voice is small but certain. “What if… Mom always knew Norvish?”

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Everyone turns to look at him.

Nick scoffs, waving off the idea. “Impossible.” He shakes his head. “She only has a middle school education. How could she possibly know Norvish?”

Aeson does not back down. “But I have been learning Norvish

with my teacher, and Mom has never come in.” He pauses, thinking. “Besides…”

He looks at Talia standing on the stage. Something shifts in his expression. Wonder, maybe. Or pride.

“She speaks even better than my Norvish teacher.”

Nick scoffs louder this time. “That is just your opinion.” He

waves a dismissive hand. “If Talia was that good at Norvish, why would your family need to hire a teacher? She could have just taught you herself.”

He leans back. “I bet she just got lucky. Learned a few phrases and could not wait to show off.”

Diana leans over, her curiosity piqued. Her voice is sharp.

“What exactly did Talia say?”

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Imema presses her lips together. I can see the reluctance in her posture, the way her shoulders tighten. But she translates

Talia’s words for Diana, her voice clipped and quiet.

I notice her hands tighten around her handbag with an

unpleasant, bitter taste.

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