"Percy, you should focus more."
I said it calmly, though my eyes were watching him carefully.
The classroom had emptied for the day. Desks sat in neat rows, the late afternoon sun slipping through the windows and stretching long shadows across the floor. Percy sat across from me with a notebook open in front of him, pencil spinning restlessly between his fingers.
Nine years old.
Future hero of Olympus.
Current terrible student.
"I am focusing," Percy muttered.
The pencil spun faster.
Then it slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the floor.
I didn't sigh. I had taught hundreds of students over the decades, and children like Percy were actually very common—bright minds trapped in bodies that hated sitting still.
His problem wasn't intelligence.
It was structure.
"You're thinking about three different things at once," I said.
Percy blinked at me.
"How did you—"
"Lucky guess," I replied smoothly.
He scratched the back of his head and shrugged.
"Math is stupid."
"Math is logic," I corrected. "Logic is power."
Percy looked unconvinced.
So I changed tactics.
"Let's talk about mythology instead."
That got his attention immediately.
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
"Tell me about Poseidon."
Percy shrugged.
"God of the ocean. Horses too, I think."
"Correct."
I wrote the name Poseidon on the board again.
"What kind of person would control the sea?"
Percy frowned in thought.
"Um… angry?"
"Sometimes."
I drew a small wave symbol next to the name.
"The ocean is powerful. Calm one moment. Violent the next. Someone connected to that power would probably be the same way."
Percy stared at the drawing.
Then he nodded slowly.
"That makes sense."
Of course it did.
The boy felt the truth in it.
His blood recognized it.
I continued the lesson.
We shifted between mythology, English grammar, and mathematics. Whenever Percy struggled with numbers, I reframed them like puzzles or battle strategies.
"Imagine you have three ships," I explained, sketching on paper. "Each ship carries twelve soldiers. How many soldiers do you have?"
Percy counted on his fingers.
"…Thirty-six."
"Correct."
"Okay that one's easy."
"Then let's try another."
Gradually, the frustration faded.
Percy still fidgeted, still tapped his pencil, still occasionally stared out the window—but he was learning.
More importantly, he was understanding.
Hours passed.
Eventually Percy leaned back in his chair.
"You explain stuff better than the other teachers."
"I've had practice," I replied.
Which was technically true.
Decades of it.
He squinted at me.
"You're kinda weird though."
I smiled faintly.
"I've been told that before."
Percy packed his notebook into his backpack, but before leaving he hesitated.
"Hey… can I ask something?"
"Of course."
He looked at the mythology book on the desk.
"Do you think the gods were real?"
Children often asked that question.
Most teachers laughed it off.
I did not.
Instead I leaned forward slightly.
"Stories survive for thousands of years for a reason," I said carefully.
Percy considered that.
"So… maybe?"
"Maybe."
He seemed satisfied with that answer.
"See you tomorrow, Mr. O."
He ran out of the classroom.
I watched the door close behind him.
The son of Poseidon had strong instincts. His mind resisted conventional teaching because it wasn't designed for quiet classrooms—it was designed for chaos, instinct, survival.
For battle.
I tapped the chalk against the desk thoughtfully.
Helping Percy learn wasn't just amusing anymore.
It was… interesting.
Because if the Great Prophecy was real, then this boy would eventually shape the fate of Olympus itself.
And I had front-row seats to watch him grow.
Perhaps even guide him.
Just a little.
After all, an immortal scientist studying the development of a future legendary hero…
Was far more entertaining than boredom.