Sylvara's Rebirth A New Dawn for Abel novel Chapter 22

**The Third Signature by Mark Twain**
**Chapter 22: Not Trash After All**

The seniors surrounding me were practically in mental uproar.

“Trash is trash!”

This timid individual had the audacity to label him “Psycho Aslan.”

It was utterly absurd.

The atmosphere was thick with tension, and I could feel the weight of their expectations.

She even had the nerve to inquire about which department was the most effortless to navigate and required the least amount of energy.

If she manages to pass, then nothing in this world makes sense.

Aslan’s captivating gaze swept over the crowd, and with each student he met, a slight flinch betrayed their nerves.

Then, in a voice as sweet as honey, reminiscent of a stranger offering a tempting treat, he declared, “The Agriculture Department, without a doubt. It’s the most relaxed department at the academy. There’s no thesis required, and it’s a breeze to get through. Just keep the chief of the Agriculture Department pleased.”

Sylvara took a moment to ponder his suggestion.

She felt a spark of enthusiasm for agriculture. With just a few seeds, she could nurture any plant, even in the absence of soil. If she aimed to glide through her time at the academy, the Agriculture Department seemed like the perfect fit.

“Thanks, Aslan. I think I’ll go register for the Agriculture Department shortly.” Sylvara gestured toward the rainbow pepper plant he held. “Could I have this?”

There it was, a single bright red pepper perched on the plant. At first glance, it seemed utterly unremarkable.

“Go ahead, take it.” Aslan handed it over with an air of nonchalance. “What do you need it for, anyway?”

Sylvara gingerly took hold of the rainbow pepper plant. A few peppers tumbled off, yet the branches and roots remained intact. “To eat, obviously. What else would I do with it? This thing is mutated. It’s only one color now, and it’s not even pretty.”

The rainbow peppers were supposed to showcase a vibrant spectrum of seven colors to be truly appealing.

Now, it was reduced to a dull red. Not appealing in the slightest.

Aslan’s expression remained impassive, but a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes. No one had ever pointed out that the Fifth Military Academy’s mascot fruit was, in fact, a mutation.

He had always assumed it was meant to look this way.

Perhaps this girl wasn’t trash after all. Perhaps she was a sweetheart—a hidden gem that everyone else had overlooked.

“Sure, but one won’t be enough,” he replied. “There’s a plot of land on the east side of campus. You can harvest as many as you want from there.” Just like that, Aslan had granted her access to several acres of the academy’s mascot fruit.

Sylvara, blissfully unaware that the plot was an expansive field of rainbow peppers, exclaimed, “Really? Thanks, Aslan! I’ll make extra then.”

She truly was a sweetheart.

But to her surprise, everything unfolded smoothly. Whenever someone attempted to approach her, the striking figure of Aslan would intervene. A mere glance from him was sufficient to silence any objections.

The accusers would scurry away like chastened puppies, their bravado evaporating in an instant.

The path remained unobstructed, allowing her to move freely.

She also discovered that the handsome guy was named Aslan.

His name, like his appearance, was a delight to behold.

They soon arrived at the freshman registration area.

The officer in charge of registration spotted them and immediately shifted his demeanor upon seeing the new student accompanied by the chief of the Agriculture Department. He promptly adjusted his attitude, efficiently syncing Sylvara’s optical computer with his system. “Sylvara Mordrel, from Harvest Star 2, 19 years old…”

“Wait!” Sylvara interrupted the registration officer. “Who changed my name? My name is Sylvara Feywin, not Sylvara Mordrel.”

The registration officer paused, pulling her file for clarification. “You modified it yourself, but it’s still under review. If you’re dissatisfied with the change, you can withdraw the request.”

Leaning in to examine her file, Sylvara realized she had altered her name just five minutes earlier, right before registering her marriage to Agares. In essence, her aunt had taken the liberty to swap her surname and fabricate the identity of the eldest daughter of the Mordrel family.

“I’m withdrawing it,” Sylvara declared firmly, rejecting the Mordrel surname. She addressed the registration officer, “Just use my original name. I’m Sylvara Feywin, and I’m registering for the Agriculture Department.”

The registration officer nodded, “Alright, I’ll register you right away.”