Chapter 35: Rising Rumors

By the next morning, the private lesson was no longer private.

Lazarus noticed it first in the way conversations paused when he passed certain groups in the courtyard. Not long enough to be obvious. Just a fraction of a second, the kind of break that happened when people were talking about someone and had to switch topics. A few students from Class C watched him longer than necessary near the dining hall. One of Zurbluris’s usual followers looked away too quickly when their eyes met.

Rumors moved fast in the Academy.

He had expected it. A first-year teaching another student in a secluded training square was not the sort of thing that stayed quiet, especially when the teacher was already known for publicly correcting an instructor and winning a duel through pure intimidation. Add Nyssa’s silent observation at the end, and the story practically wrote itself.

Lazarus collected his morning meal without comment and took a seat at the edge of the hall. He ate at a steady pace, listening to the fragments that reached him.

"—said he was drilling her on transitions—"

"—same one who used the Paper Tiger—"

"—Nyssa was watching them. Actually watching—"

"—Zurbluris is going to lose his mind—"

None of it was accurate in the details, but the overall shape was close enough. Lazarus teaching. Madeline improving. Nyssa taking an interest. The combination was more than enough to feed the Academy’s appetite for novelty.

He finished eating and left before the speculation could thicken further.

The first class of the day was a general theory session under one of the secondary instructors. Lazarus took notes he did not need and kept his attention divided between the lecture and the shifting attention of the room. More eyes found him than usual. Most looked away when he turned his head. A few did not.

Midway through the period, Madeline slipped into the seat beside him. She dropped her bag with a soft thud and leaned in slightly.

"They’re talking," she murmured.

"I noticed."

"Someone from Class A asked me if you were giving private instruction now. I told them the truth. You helped me with control work. That’s it."

"Good."

Madeline studied his face for a moment. "You’re not bothered?"

"Rumors are noise. They only matter if you let them change what you do."

She accepted that with a short nod and opened her own notes. The rest of the class passed without further incident.

Afterward, they walked together toward the next building. The path was busier than usual. Students from other classes slowed as they passed. A pair of second-years openly tracked them for several steps before looking away.

Madeline exhaled through her nose. "It’s like they think we’re doing something illegal."

"They’re bored," Lazarus said. "And I made myself noticeable. This is the result."

"Still annoying."

He did not disagree.

They parted ways at the next junction—Madeline heading toward a Martial-focused practical, Lazarus toward another session of Projection work. He arrived early and claimed a seat near the wall. The instructor this time was a straightforward Scholar-rank teacher with no interest in theatrics. The class proceeded cleanly.

It was only near the end that the pressure shifted.

Zurbluris entered the corridor outside just as the period finished. He was not alone. Two of his usual companions flanked him, and the look he fixed on Lazarus carried none of the earlier public mockery. It was colder. More focused.

Lazarus met the stare without expression and kept walking.

Zurbluris did not call out. He simply watched until Lazarus turned the corner, the weight of that attention lingering like a hand on the back of the neck.

The rumors had reached him, then.

And he was no longer content to treat Lazarus as a temporary embarrassment.

Lazarus spent the midday break in the library, not because he needed the material, but because it offered clean lines of sight and fewer interruptions. He reviewed a basic text on Resonant Presence interactions while tracking the flow of students through the main reading hall. No one approached him directly. A few looked. That was all.

Near the end of the break, a Class B student he barely knew—tall, nervous, Literary track—hesitated near his table before speaking.

"You’re Lazarus, right?"

Lazarus looked up.

The student shifted his weight. "People are saying you’re running private drills for anyone who asks. Is that true?"

"No."

"Oh." Relief and disappointment mixed in the boy’s expression. "Just... checking. Some of the others thought—"

"I helped one person with fundamentals," Lazarus said. "That is all."

The student nodded quickly, muttered something polite, and retreated. Within minutes the exchange would be added to the existing rumors, distorted further by the time it reached the next set of ears.

Lazarus closed the book and stood.

The afternoon practical with Neron came too soon.

He entered the classroom at the usual time and took his seat. Neron arrived last, pocket watch in hand, golden eyes half-lidded. The lecture was serviceable. The practical drills proceeded without special comment. Yet twice during the period, Lazarus caught Neron watching him with that same quiet, measuring attention from the day before.

No private conversation followed the class this time.

Neron simply dismissed them and turned back to the lectern, already occupied with the pocket watch. The lack of further engagement was almost more noticeable than another warning would have been.

Lazarus left with the others and headed toward the eastern paths.

He had not gone far when Madeline caught up to him again, slightly out of breath.

"They’re getting worse," she said without preamble. "Someone in my class asked if you were planning to start a faction. A faction, Laz. We’re first-years."

"Ignore it."

"I’m trying. But Zurbluris’s people are spreading something else. They’re saying you’re using restricted methods. That the Paper Tiger trick was some kind of forbidden application."

Lazarus stopped walking.

Madeline nearly ran into him.

"That is incorrect," he said.

"I know that. You know that. But it’s still spreading." She glanced around, then lowered her voice. "If the instructors start paying attention to the wrong version of the story—"

"They will look at the actual record," Lazarus said. "The duel was clean. The lesson was clean. Rumors do not change either of those things."

Madeline did not look fully convinced, but she nodded.

They walked the rest of the way in relative silence. Near the East Wing, she split off toward her own dormitory with a short wave. Lazarus continued on alone.

The corridor on his floor was quiet. Most students were still out. He opened his door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

Only then did he let the weight of the day settle.

Rumors were accelerating faster than he had accounted for. Teaching Madeline had been the correct choice—she would improve, and the improvement would be real—but the visibility cost was higher than expected. Zurbluris was no longer merely resentful. He was positioning the story. And Nyssa’s silent observation at the end of the lesson had given the whole thing an extra edge that the Academy’s rumor mill clearly enjoyed.

Lazarus set his materials down and stood by the window, looking out over the darkening grounds.

He would need to be more careful with the next sessions. Fewer open spaces. Shorter windows. Less chance of additional observers.

A soft knock on the door interrupted the thought.

Three light taps.

Lazarus turned.

He had not expected anyone.

He crossed the room and opened the door.

Nyssa stood in the corridor, grayish-white hair hanging loose around her face, pitch-black eyes fixed on him with the same cold clarity as the evening before.

She spoke for the first time.

"We need to talk."