Leo had always imagined that fame would be different. In his fantasies, it involved book signings, literary awards, and perhaps a modest but comfortable house with a library that didn't double as his bedroom.
He had never envisioned fame as a crowd of teenage magic students treating him like he had just invented fire while he stood in a courtyard with soap suds in his hair and a growing sense of existential dread.
"That was incredible!" gushed a girl with bright purple hair who had appeared at his elbow as if summoned by the sheer force of his discomfort.
"How did you know the golem's weakness? Are you some kind of construct specialist? Is that why you carry cleaning supplies? Is it a secret fighting technique?"
"I don't carry cleaning supplies," Leo said weakly, gesturing at the scattered janitorial equipment around him. "These were just... here. I threw a bucket. It was an accident."
"So modest!" declared a boy with an elaborate mustache that seemed far too sophisticated for someone who couldn't be older than seventeen. "Clearly, you're employing advanced psychological warfare by downplaying your obvious expertise. Brilliant!"
Leo opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, another student thrust a piece of parchment and a quill at him. "Could you sign this? I want to tell my parents I met the Janitor of Justice!"
"The what now?" Leo asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.
"That's what they're calling you," said the purple-haired girl, practically bouncing with excitement. "The Janitor of Justice! The hero who fights evil with the power of proper sanitation!"
Leo felt something die inside him. It might have been his dignity, or possibly his will to live. "I'm not a hero," he said desperately. "I'm really, really not a hero. I just threw a bucket. Anyone could have thrown a bucket. Bucket-throwing is not a heroic skill."
"Such humility!" exclaimed the mustached boy. "Truly, you embody the noble spirit of..."
"No," Leo interrupted, his voice rising to a pitch that Sir Reginald would have been proud of. "No noble spirit. No heroic embodiment. I am the least heroic person you will ever meet. I once got scared by my own shadow. I apologize to the furniture when I bump into it. I have never won a fight in my entire life, including the one I just accidentally won!"
The crowd exchanged knowing looks, the kind of looks that suggested they thought his protests were all part of some elaborate act of heroic modesty.
"He's even more amazing than I thought," whispered someone in the back of the crowd.
Leo felt his eye begin to twitch.
From his pocket, Sir Reginald's muffled voice provided unhelpful commentary.
"You're handling this with all the grace and dignity I've come to expect from someone of your enormous proportions and questionable social skills. Perhaps you should try being less honest about your cowardice. It seems to be having the opposite effect of what you intended."
"Not helping," Leo muttered through gritted teeth.
"What was that?" asked the purple-haired girl, leaning closer with the kind of intense interest usually reserved for particularly fascinating insects.
"Nothing. Just... talking to myself. Which is another reason why I'm not heroic. Heroes don't have conversations with themselves in public. That's more of a 'crazy person' thing."
"Ah, the internal dialogue of a tactical genius!" declared the mustached boy. "You're constantly analyzing the situation, aren't you? Planning your next move? Calculating the optimal bucket trajectory for maximum golem disruption?"
Leo stared at him. "Do you people hear yourselves when you talk?"
Before anyone could answer, a new voice cut through the crowd with the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Alright, everyone, give the man some space. I'm sure he has better things to do than listen to you lot babble about bucket trajectories."
The crowd parted reluctantly, revealing a tall, stern-looking girl with short black hair and the kind of posture that suggested military training. She wore the academy's standard uniform, but somehow made it look like battle armor. Her eyes were the color of steel, and they fixed on Leo with an intensity that made him want to hide behind the nearest piece of furniture.
"Captain Miranda Steele," she said, extending a hand that looked like it could crush walnuts. "Third-year student, head of academy security, and the person responsible for explaining to the administration why one of their training golems just tried to turn the courtyard into a student pancake."
Leo shook her hand gingerly, half-expecting his fingers to be crushed into powder. "Leo. Leo Vance. Professional bucket-thrower and accidental golem-defeater."
Captain Steele's mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "Modest, too. I like that. Most people who defeat magical constructs with cleaning supplies tend to be insufferable about it."
"Most people?" Leo asked, wondering if he had somehow stumbled into a world where janitor-based combat was more common than he had realized.
"Figure of speech," Captain Steele said dryly. "You're actually the first person I've met who's managed it. Which brings me to my question: how did you know about the control rune vulnerability?"
Leo's blood turned to ice water. This was exactly the kind of question he had been hoping to avoid. "Lucky guess?" he offered weakly.
Captain Steele's steel-gray eyes narrowed. "Lucky guess. Right. You just happened to guess that throwing soapy water at a specific point on a magical construct's back would shut it down. That's quite a guess."
"I'm very good at guessing," Leo said, aware that he was digging himself deeper into a hole with every word. "It's a talent. Some people can sing, some people can paint, I can make really good guesses about the structural weaknesses of magical constructs."
"Uh-huh." Captain Steele crossed her arms, and Leo got the distinct impression that she could see right through his increasingly desperate explanations. "And I suppose you also guessed that the golem would malfunction at exactly the right moment for you to be standing in the perfect position with a bucket of soapy water?"
"I'm also very good at being in the right place at the right time," Leo said, his voice getting higher with each word. "It's another talent. I have many talents. Most of them involve being accidentally helpful in ways that make me look more competent than I actually am."
Sir Reginald chose that moment to provide his own commentary from the depths of Leo's pocket. "Perhaps you should mention your talent for making situations worse by talking too much. That seems to be your most developed skill."
Leo coughed loudly to cover the tiny voice, but Captain Steele's eyes sharpened with interest.
"Did you just..." she began.
"Cough," Leo said quickly. "I coughed. It's allergy season. Very dusty, all this... stone and... magic and... things."
Captain Steele stared at him for a long moment, and Leo got the uncomfortable feeling that she was filing away every detail of their conversation for future reference. "Right," she said finally. "Well, whatever your methods, you saved lives today. The academy owes you a debt of gratitude."
"No debt necessary," Leo said hastily. "Really. I was just in the right place at the right time with the right bucket. Anyone would have done the same thing."
"Actually," said a new voice, "I think you'll find that most people would have run away screaming."