Achilles saw no point in his lessons. He'd already learned from Chiron, the famed centaur who taught so many famous Greeks in his rose quartz cave. His new lessons on history felt strange, looking to his own future as the past, and English was a miserable jest. He saw some point in the mathematics training, but by far the class he most bothered attending was gym.

Selfishly so, perhaps. He could best dozens of grown men, other boys had no chance at all, but he found he quite enjoyed basketball. It was an easy challenge, but the fact that it presented challenge at all more than made up for it. He was freshly showered now, not out of breath despite handily dodging no fewer than three angry teachers, and ready to enjoy a meal that was not from the Children's Home.

Achilles sat and fastidiously began to apply the yellow and red sauces to his six assembled hot dogs.