A few initiates sneered at me and snuck glances at the heir, but for the most part, everyone stared at the front with nervous anticipation.
The tension was palpable.
The door slammed open, and everyone jumped.
A man in a long white toga entered the room. “Hello!” He smiled and waved.
Young—with a pleasant face, short brown hair, and kind brown eyes—the new teacher seemed friendly. A shiny black raven sat calmly on his shoulders.
His congenial expression seemed genuine.
What a creep.
“Hello, initiates,” he repeated gleefully. “Welcome to your first day of the crucible. Myname is Pine.”
He clapped with excitement, like we weren’t literal hostages being held in a cave against our will.
I want whatever fancy Spartan anti-depressants he’s on.
“I’ll be teaching your Thagorean classes during the circuit.” He chuckled. “More commonly known to some of you as advanced mathematics, or as I like to call it—fun.”
No one laughed.
He wrote his name on the chalkboard in big loopy writing.
“Like most of you,” Pine said, “I’m a Spartan mutt. However,unlikemost of you, I’m a mutt who was born in less-than-ideal circumstances.”
His gaze darted around the room, then lingered on me.
We’re not bonding over abandonment issues.
He quickly looked away.
“All right, everyone.” Pine clapped. “Turn to page one of your textbook. We’re going to go over the basics of the philosophy and ethics of mathematics. In my class these two principles will combine into glorious equations.”
Pages rustled as we cracked open the heavy tomes.
“Don’t worry,” Pine said cheerfully. “This is nota simple math class where normalboringmath has no object permanence. Every number and symbol we use will be tied to a real-life ethics problem.”
Interesting. Maybe this won’t suck?
From the frowns and groans of boys around me, I was in the minority.
Pine immediately launched into solving an equation.
Drip. Drip. Drip.Candle wax fell in a relaxing rhythm. Classical music drifted in from outside, and Pine’s teaching cadence was pleasant as I took copious notes.
This doesn’t seem too bad at all.
“Alessander Poseidon.” Pine stopped teaching and pointed at a short initiate who sat in the back of the room. “What did I just say the function of Platonism was?”
The raven on his shoulder tilted its head to the side, like it was also waiting for an answer.
Alessander’s face paled. “You said... it is the postulate of the—square root?”
Pine arched his brow, his smile falling. “Not even close.”
He turned and nodded to General Cleandro, who gleefully tapped a small black paging device.
