My first full class was mathematics. Truly, my Goddess had too much time on her hands.

  The professor standing at the front was a man. I blinked and then realized that not all academic subjects demanded mana access. The class was still filling up, and was filled with the noise of scraping chairs, books slamming onto desktops, and the chatter of students absolutely disinterested in the subject matter.

  A woman slumped into a seat next to me. “Well met,” she said. “Or as much as one can in math class.” She eyed me, “Are you new?”

  “Just arrived a few days ago,” I said.

  “Oh dear. Can you multiply numbers?”

  I looked at her, wondering if she was pulling my leg. “Yes,” I said carefully, “even divide, if needed.”

  “Oh, you’re fine then. You must be that new prodigy everyone’s talking about. Coral.” She reached out to grasp my forearm.

  “Circe. Who is ‘everyone’?”

  “Chani told us.”

  “Oh, Goddess.” I facepalmed. “It’s all exaggeration.”

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  “Did you really kill a hundred goblins?”

  I buried my head in my arms on the desk. “I’m gonna kill her,” I muttered.

  I became aware of shouting from the front of the class.

  “Girls! If you will not settle down, there will be consequences.” The noise continued. “STOP!”

  The class quieted.

  “Since you all seem to have excess energy to burn off, kindly add up the numbers from one to a hundred, and provide the sum.”

  There was a general groan.

  “You may work in teams, if you wish.”

  “How will that help?” asked a voice.

  “You there. The girl hiding her head.”

  I looked up.

  “There is no shame in ignorance,” he said, “do you not know how to add?”

  “Five thousand and fifty,” I said.

  “Pardon.”

  “That’s the sum you want.”

  There were mutters and scoffs from the class. He rubbed his chin.

  “Correct.”

  The class was silent.

  “Very well,” he said, “since—”

  “Circe.”

  “—Circe has helped us, let us start the lesson. Texts to page 27, if you please.” He walked to me. “Not you, Circe.” He placed a slate and chalk on my desk. “Show your work, please.”

  As the students worked on a multiplication problem, he picked up my slate and frowned.

  “I do not follow the…”

  “Notation?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Hm.” I had not considered this problem. “Well, this symbol multiplies these two numbers—”

  “—That is not a number. It’s a letter.”

  “A variable. It represents any number you wish.”

  He stood stock still and stared at the slate. His eyes widened.

  “What do you call this?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Algebra. Simple algebra.”

  “You mean,” he whispered, “it can be more complicated?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said.

  He licked his lips. “See me after class.” He bowed his head. “Please.”

  “Would after lunch be okay? Professor—”

  “Arnoq. Oh, yes, that would be fine.”