Webnovel's Extra: Reincarnated With a Copy Ability-Chapter 26: Rumors Don’t Lie

Rumors didn’t spread at the Triangle.

They propagated.

By the next morning, Dreyden could feel it before he consciously registered it—subtle disruptions in rhythm, micro-pauses in foot traffic, the way conversations shifted angle instead of stopping outright. The academy didn’t react loudly anymore.

It adjusted.

Fear, once fresh and clumsy, had matured overnight.

It was no longer loud.

It was careful.

He walked through the main corridor toward his first class with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, stride unhurried. He wasn’t projecting confidence. He wasn’t suppressing presence.

He was simply existing.

That alone was enough.

Students parted instinctively. Not dramatically, not in panicked waves, but with an unconscious awareness that placed him just outside the normal flow. Their bodies registered him before their minds did—feet altering course, shoulders angling away, eyes darting then retreating.

This wasn’t the way they treated Lucas.

Lucas drew admiration. Anticipation. Curiosity.

Dreyden drew calculation.

"He copies skills."

"No, he adapts to them."

"I heard he doesn’t even activate his ability anymore."

"They say Triangle Oversight summoned him."

That last rumor followed him like a second shadow.

Dreyden didn’t react.

Rumors only had power when you tried to crush them. Public denial invited curiosity. Confrontation sharpened interest.

Let them circulate.

Let them mutate.

He entered the lecture hall and took his seat, ignoring the conspicuous bubble of empty chairs around him. No one filled them. No one pretended not to notice.

Lucas arrived a moment later, paused when he saw the gap, then sat beside him anyway.

"You’re popular," Lucas said quietly, eyes forward.

"Wrong kind," Dreyden replied.

Lucas glanced at him briefly. "They’re scared."

"Good."

That earned Dreyden a longer look than usual.

The lecture began, but attention fractured. Even the instructor glanced in Dreyden’s direction more than once. Not openly hostile. Not deferential either.

Assessing.

It was different from suspicion.

It was curation.

When class ended, no one approached him.

That was new.

Before, curiosity had always leaked through the cracks—half-formed alliances, challenges masked as conversation, people probing for weaknesses or advantages.

Now?

Distance.

Calculated distance.

In the training wing later that day, the change became undeniable.

A Rank 41 student hesitated outside the arena when he saw Dreyden sitting nearby. His steps slowed, then stopped entirely. After a few seconds of indecision, he turned around and left, pretending to check his interface.

Another aspirant made it halfway into a circle, noticed Dreyden’s reflection in the barrier glass, and withdrew without explanation.

A third glanced at him, swallowed visibly, then took the long way around the hall.

No one wanted to be seen fighting him anymore.

Not because they thought they would lose—

But because losing to him meant something now.

Dreyden observed without expression.

So this is the stage where reputation outweighs proof.

It was mildly inconvenient. Nothing more.

Fear wasn’t isolating him.

It was reorganizing the ecosystem around him.

That was exploitable.

He stood and headed for the locker area when a quiet voice cut through the ambient noise.

"Dreyden."

He turned.

A girl from Class A2 stood there, hands clenched tightly at her sides. He recognized her vaguely—mid-rank, efficient, never flashy. The kind of student who survived by consistency, not talent spikes.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She took a careful breath. "People are saying things."

"I know."

"They say you’re unstable."

He tilted his head slightly. Not mockery. Not threat. Just interest.

"Am I?"

She hesitated.

That hesitation spoke louder than any accusation.

"They say you don’t care who gets hurt," she continued, forcing the words out. "That you’ll use anyone if it helps you climb."

Dreyden stepped closer. He didn’t loom. Didn’t invade her space aggressively. He simply reduced the distance until his presence became undeniable.

"Do you believe that?" he asked.

Her throat bobbed. "I... don’t know."

He nodded once. "That’s honest."

Then he walked past her without another word.

That night, he didn’t train.

Instead, he sat alone and reviewed records—ranking changes, merit transfers, match histories. Not combat footage. Social movements.

Who stopped issuing challenges after losing rank.

Who suddenly aligned with whom.

Who distanced themselves from which factions after proximity to him.

Fear didn’t isolate Dreyden.

It realigned incentives.

That could be used.

The next morning, a challenge notification blinked on his interface.

RANKED MATCH REQUESTCHALLENGER: KAREL VOSS (Rank 28)

Dreyden raised an eyebrow.

So someone finally decided to test the rumors rather than echo them.

The arena wasn’t packed when they arrived, but it filled steadily. Not excitement. Not anticipation.

Verification.

People wanted to see whether the stories matched reality.

Karel Voss was methodical. Shield-type ability. Defensive build. Clean stance. Patient eyes. No unnecessary movements.

He bowed stiffly before the match.

Dreyden returned it.

The barrier rose.

The fight was quiet.

No fireworks. No dramatic exchanges.

Dreyden pressured angles, disrupted timing, forced micro-errors. He circled. Probed. Waited. Karel held his ground well—better than most—but patience cracked under sustained uncertainty.

One misstep.

One overextension.

One opening.

Dreyden took it.

The strike was clean. Precise. Final.

Karel hit the ground and stayed there.

When the barrier dropped, the silence weighed more than any roar of applause could have.

Dreyden reached down and helped him up.

"Good defense," he said.

Karel stared at him, unsettled—not by defeat, but by the absence of cruelty.

"Why didn’t you finish it harder?" he asked quietly.

Dreyden met his gaze. "Because I didn’t need to."

That answer propagated faster than any rumor before it.

By evening, the narrative had shifted again.

He wasn’t reckless.

He wasn’t unstable.

He wasn’t bloodthirsty.

He was worse.

He was controlled.

Back in his room, Dreyden stood by the window and watched the campus lights glow beneath the night sky. The Triangle pulsed with ambition, fear, and quiet recalibration.

Reputation had solidified.

He was no longer a mystery people wanted to solve.

He was a variable they wanted to avoid.

And that suited him just fine.

Far from the Triangle, in a place that didn’t appear on any official map, Maya Serenity closed a private report bearing her own name.

"So they noticed him already," she murmured.

She leaned back in her chair, expression unreadable.

"Good," she said softly.

"Then they won’t notice what comes next."