Percy lasted about a year.
Honestly, that was better than most schools he attended.
During that year I watched him grow, learn, struggle with numbers, argue with grammar rules, and slowly develop instincts that most children his age simply did not possess. His mind was chaotic, unfocused, but there was something sharp beneath the surface. When information clicked into place, he understood it immediately.
Unfortunately, fate rarely allows demigods peaceful childhoods.
The incident happened near the end of the school year.
I wasn't present when it started. I was in the staff office finishing paperwork when I felt something… unusual. A disturbance in the air. Divine energy mixed with the faint, unpleasant signature of a monster.
Typical.
Demigods attracted trouble like magnets.
Moments later there was shouting in the hallway. Students panicked, teachers yelling, the sound of rushing water echoing through the building.
When I stepped outside, water was spraying everywhere from several burst pipes. The hallway floor had turned into a shallow river and terrified children were scrambling to get away from it.
At the center of the chaos was Percy.
Soaking wet.
Looking extremely confused.
Interesting.
Somewhere in the panic I caught a faint glimpse of something that didn't belong in the mortal world—just for a second, through the shifting layers of the Mist.
A monster.
It vanished almost immediately, either destroyed or forced to retreat.
Percy looked like he had no idea what had happened.
Classic early demigod manifestation.
The Mist quickly corrected the memories of everyone involved. Teachers blamed faulty plumbing. Maintenance workers were called. Students whispered exaggerated rumors.
But the school administration didn't care about mystical explanations.
They only saw a pattern.
Percy Jackson.
Another incident.
Another problem.
Within a week the decision was made.
He was transferring.
When Percy came to collect his things, he stopped by my classroom one last time. His backpack hung over one shoulder and he looked frustrated in the way children do when the world keeps punishing them for things they don't understand.
"They say I broke the pipes," he muttered.
"Did you?" I asked.
"I don't think so."
That answer was honest.
He probably hadn't done it consciously.
"Sometimes strange things happen around certain people," I said calmly.
Percy gave me a suspicious look.
"You mean like bad luck?"
"Something like that."
He kicked the leg of a desk lightly.
"I liked your class."
"That is fortunate," I replied. "I enjoyed teaching you."
He nodded.
"Maybe I'll see you again someday."
"Perhaps."
Percy left the classroom.
The son of Poseidon disappeared from my daily life just like that.
For another week I continued teaching normally. The students were still attentive, the faculty still appreciative of my work, and the school continued functioning exactly as it always had.
But the experiment was over.
My most interesting subject had moved on.
So there was no reason for me to remain.
One evening after classes ended, I walked through the empty building one final time. The halls were quiet, lockers closed, sunlight fading through the windows.
Then I activated the Mist.
The effect spread like a gentle ripple across reality.
Memories adjusted.
Records changed.
Photographs blurred.
In the minds of the faculty, the students, and the administration, I slowly faded into vagueness. The teacher they had hired months ago became harder to remember. Names slipped away. Faces blurred.
Within minutes it was as though I had never existed there at all.
My employment records vanished.
My classroom was reassigned.
My presence erased.
I stepped outside the building as the last threads of the illusion settled into place.
Another quiet disappearance.
Another life shed like old skin.
Just like my body once had been.
Percy Jackson would continue his journey toward destiny, encountering monsters, gods, and prophecy.
And I would return to the shadows of my laboratory.
Watching.
Studying.
Waiting.
After all, the most interesting part of an experiment was seeing what happened next.