Nolan blinked. "Huh?"
"Granfire. He says you're arrogant too. That you look down on others. That you act like you're better than everyone else and don't even try to hide it."
There was a ripple of unease in the group. They weren't accusing—they were simply relaying what they'd heard.
Nolan blinked again, then threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a cheerful laugh—it was half-sigh, half-groan, the sound of someone too tired to be angry.
"Of course he does," Nolan muttered. "Because I am better than him."
The students didn't know how to respond.
"Don't get me wrong," Nolan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe I am arrogant. Maybe I say what I think out loud instead of behind people's backs. But at least I don't pretend to be humble while stabbing everyone else in the gut."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Forget it. You'll see soon enough when he starts training you. You'll see the difference. The act won't last long."
He leaned forward again and cracked his knuckles.
