Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or FMA:B

Edward felt tiny - not that he was - in comparison to the huge archway he stood under. For such an ordinary town, the school seemed to have been made for the extraordinary. There were white marble columns holding up intricate statues like the ones seen in Cretan history books. Shining windows let outsiders view into neatly arranged classrooms. The open doors to the main building were about 12 feet tall and made out of polished wood. Needless to say, his usual black shirt and red coat would have felt out of place had there been no uniforms, though he would still rather ignore the dress code than wear this ignominy.

He hadn't noticed just how expensive this place looked when he was with Hawkeye, instead too focused on finding the lovely (yeah right) Lady Blanchard.

Gripping his schoolbag tighter, he adjusted it on his shoulder before proudly making his way through the school doors. Students looked at him before quickly glancing away, seemingly ashamed of themselves being caught staring, which was strange because the people in Central and Resembool just didn't care. Definitely peculiar, he thought, trying to focus on finding his classroom instead. D14, D14, he repeated in his head.

There were multiple halls of classrooms, all of which were marked by the golden plaques to the left of their doors. The similarity in all these halls were that there was a distinct 'A' carved in before the numbers, not a 'D'. This must mean that my class is located in a separate hall, he thought to himself.

He absentmindedly wondered if the classrooms were sorted by age, since he saw a bunch of little kids running around - they couldn't be more than ten years old - and a few older looking teens who were over six feet. He didn't think that they'd be put in the same class as him since there were so many kids here.

He made a few more turns, brushing off the messily-covered-up stares of other students while he did so. Ed was a few floors up and probably lost before he made it to his destination. Just in time, in fact, because the bell rang with not a second to spare.

He had barely stepped into the classroom before the last notes of the bell cut off and he was met with the not-so-concealed stares of his classmates and the bored gaze of his teacher. "Sorry," he let out, trying to portray bashfulness at his behavior.

That was one of the main downsides of his mission - making himself a believable student. To do so, he would actually have to be a well mannered and attentive student, because that was the mindset of everybody else. According to Mustang, that bastard, if he acted too much like himself, he'd draw too much attention, and compromise his cover. Which Ed thought was rude, by the way. His normal self could be perfectly inconspicuous when he wanted to be, thank you very much.

Luckily, his teacher didn't make a big deal out of his absence, only telling him to "sit down, please," while muttering that 'the school should really provide new students with maps' under his breath.

Edward made his way to an open seat in the back of the room, sitting down as inconspicuously as he could, while the teacher began droning on about lessons. Ed thanked whatever was out there that the day would begin with mathematics, because he didn't think he could handle starting the day with grammar, a subject that he was loath to admit he might struggle in.

It's not that he was bad at the subject, but rather that he was only good at spotting errors, not preventing them. He first learned the bothersome practice from his mother, but her attention was more focused on providing for them than tutoring them. After her death, the subject was all but forgotten; the brothers were more preoccupied with mourning. It wasn't until Teacher took them under her wing that it became part of their lives again. However, she had taught it for its practical use, coding and decoding alchemic research. Needless to say, Ed would know when something was wrong, just wouldn't be able to fix it.

He was snapped out of his musings by the call of his teacher. "Watson," the man repeatedly called. It took an embarrassingly long time to realize that his teacher was addressing him by his alias.

Playing up the timid schoolboy act to the best of his ability, he asked, "Yes, Mr…" His eyes strayed over to the desk, cursing at his uncharacteristic display of forgetfulness for not only missing his name, but also his teacher's. Across the desk, papers were scattered, along with the occasional grading pen. The plaque in the center revealed his teacher's identity, Mr. Monet.

"... Mr. Monet," he finished.

Unescaped from his mind, however, was the odd souvenir located on top of the desk, an ornate music box. For a supposed decoration, it seemed a bit much, so Ed filed that tidbit of information away in his head, not exactly sure what it meant.

"Mr. Watson," Monet began strictly, "I asked you if you would so kindly look at problem number three on the board."

He looked up at the number in question. It was simple, and Ed had been completing work like that even before he took up alchemy. He didn't know if he should solve it correctly or incorrectly. Which would be best for the mission? Solve it too easily and it seems suspicious that you were able to complete it without paying attention. Solve it incorrectly and you could risk seeming behind the class, and therefore not fit for your role in it.

Mr. Monet must have mistaken his hesitation as confusion, because his eyes got a softer look, crinkling up at the edges as he opened his mouth in a small smile. "It's okay if you don't quite understand, Edward; I understand that we may be moving at a different pacing than Central. Just give it your best, okay?"

Ed nodded, frowning slightly as he didn't like to be underestimated. Deciding that solving the problem wouldn't be so bad., he got up from his seat, calmly walking up to the board. After all, they were just 'moving at a different pacing than Central'. Who's to say that Central wasn't the one ahead?

He picked up the chalk, first starting by isolating the 'n' and making the first equation equal to the second. The problem only took about a minute, but he could tell that his teacher was struggling not to give him pointers the whole time. After he finished, he put the chalk down and returned to his seat.

"Well." Monet looked surprised.

Jerk.

"It looks correct." He turned around, and in a scarily chipper voice, he said, "See what happens when we give it a chance? Despite solving the problem the wrong way, he still managed to wheedle out the correct answer!"

Ed felt his eyebrow twitch.

He did not solve it the wrong way.

He told his teacher as much.

Monet, grimaced, obviously trying to stay cordial despite being contested. "I'd love to say you didn't, but there are crucial steps missing to get to your answer. Guessing is hardly solving it correctly. Perhaps you'd like to explain how you got your answer to the class?"

The man's reaction almost wanted to make Ed stop pushing. Almost.

"I'd love to." Rolling his eyes, he made his way up to the chalkboard once again.

A chiding voice rang out in his head, sounding suspiciously like his younger brother. "Don't make a big deal out of this, Edward! Just ignore what he says and continue with what you were doing."

He did end up hesitating, but only for a moment. There was this part of him that couldn't back down from a challenge. If he deemed himself able to do something, then he would succeed in it. It was that way with the human transmutation, and it still was that way with the philosopher's stone. It wasn't so much about confidence and pride as it was about reassuring himself. Even something as small as this served to irate him. It'd nag and pull and pinch at the back of his head for the rest of his life if he let it go. He knew it. If he wasn't able to do something as easy as this, than what hope did he have of locating the legendary stone?

Clenching the chalk in his hand - flesh, thankfully, or else it would have been ground into powder by now - he started the problem again, this time careful to include every step he took, including those he completed inside his head.

"Like I said, I didn't solve it the wrong way, I just used a different method than what you must have been teaching your students. I don't understand why you do so many steps anyways. If I tried to do that for every problem I would get them wrong because my head is so far ahead of what I'm writing."

Instead of looking affronted like anyone else should at being proved wrong, the man clapped his hands with glee. "Oh, you are correct! It looks like I was wrong about you, Edward." Deciding to turn this moment into another lecture, he addressed the class. "Edward was absolutely correct. While I don't condone the attitude in which you spoke to me, I do know that as we advance in our mathematics, we will be given the opportunity to look at questions in different ways, and having multiple skills when it comes to a certain problem can be useful in finding one of the correct answers."

A student in the back raised her hand. "One of?" she questioned.

"Oh yes, later in this chapter we will discover that there are multiple solutions to a singular problem. I know it sounds confusing right now, but…" The man continued on with the lesson, and it took Ed a few seconds of confusedly standing there before he realized that he was dismissed back to his seat.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Ed made his way over to the door only to be stopped by Mr. Monet's voice.

"Edward, I would like to have a word with you."

He made eye contact with him, nodding his head briefly. Gripping the straps of his backpack tightly, he meandered back inside. A few of the students gave him sympathetic looks, one even having the gall to grip him on the shoulder as some form of comfort. He made a weird face at the feel of his hand on metal. Maybe the automail wasn't as noticeable as he thought…

His feet made his way over to the desk for him, leaving him standing awkwardly in the now empty room. "I know you just transferred here recently," his teacher began. This is it. I'm already in trouble. Nice job, dumbass. "And I know I may be asking a bit much, but I would like you to remain in here for a bit and fill out this worksheet for me."

"Why?" Ed asked suspiciously. He knew to be cautious alone; he wasn't likely to forget the scary talks he had with Hawkeye as of late.

"This may seem too soon, but I would like you to take my past year's final exam." At Ed's imploring look, he elaborated, "I recognized the formula that you used to solve problem three. It isn't mandated to be taught until you're in the upper classes… at least. Furthermore, your explanation was extremely thorough, and it seemed to me that you understand it to its fullest potential. I think, if your understanding of these equations is anything like the one you solved on the board, then you'll need to be placed in a class more suited to your level."

Ed swallowed, concerned at the suspicions it would bring if he was bumped up a class. He had opted out of taking chemistry for that very reason. Instead, he signed up for biology. Maybe it would have been smarter to not take a math. He needed to buy time to talk to Hawkeye and Havoc about it, to make sure that it wouldn't be harmful to the mission. "I'd love to, but I don't want to miss out on my next class. I was almost late to yours as it is. Besides, I'd feel kind of bad if I interfered with your next class."

"Nonsense," he said, seemingly blind to Ed's reluctance. "I have a free period, right now, so you don't have to worry about that. I can write a note to your teachers. They'll understand. Now, what do you say to that test?"
Okay, so he seemed to be really adamant about Ed taking that test. Either he was an overenthusiastic teacher, or he could be in on the disappearances occurring around town. It was still an unneeded risk to their operation. Stall for time. Stall for time. Stall for time.

"I really can't do this without talking to my guardians," he said. "I don't think they'd feel comfortable with me skipping another grade," he lied, hoping that Monet would take the bait.

He did.

"Oh, I see," he said, blinking away the shock. "Well, I can't see why taking a simple test would hurt, but I can respect the appreciation of your family. By the way, if you don't mind me inquiring, how many grades have you skipped?"

"J-just the one," he squeaked. A non-helpful voice spoke up in his head, you sound even more suspicious than Al when he was hiding that cat, ya know. Exhibit A on why Fullmetal should never be assigned to an undercover mission again, he sucks at lying. His role in this was something he still couldn't rap his head around, three weeks after the debriefing.

Luckily for him, his teacher seemed too distracted by writing on a piece of paper to notice, only letting out an absentminded hum. His attention was once again diverted to the music box, just like it had been at the beginning of class. Trying to use the newfound silence as an excuse, he asked, "So… that looks pretty expensive." He gestured to the box. "What's it doing in a place so hazardous as this?"

"Mmm?" Monet lifted his head up. "Oh that. It's a gift from a family friend of mine. I keep it here because it helps get me through the day, just remembering her."

"Oh," Ed said, having enough tact to realize that it was a rough subject. "Sorry, for bringing it up."

"Nah, it's fine. This piece of finery always brings a smile to my face. I get to keep some part of her with me." He finally finished his writing, handing it over to Ed. "It's for your teacher," he said. "So they know that you weren't just ditching."

"Uh, thank you," he said awkwardly, because he had no idea how to respond to anything the man had just said. He spared one last glance at Monet, noticing for the first time how young he was, and how likely it was that the music box could be a memory of a recent lover, or something of the sort. But telling himself that did nothing to ease the strange feeling of suspicion. While Ed had no doubt that the emotions behind it were real, that didn't mean that the story was complete. He wanted to know what was inside. It wasn't every day that you see a music box that large, after all. Unfortunately, he couldn't legally search it, not without further evidence.

"Oh, and Edward." The alchemist turned around. "Don't forget to ask your guardians about that test, okay?"

What was so important about that damned test anyways?

He made a hasty retreat out the door. Music boxes. Final exams. Insane teachers. All of this was written on his mental list of things to report to Hawkeye and Havoc.

This is just the first period. Mentally, he screamed.

Okay, Chapter 3 is up. What do you think? I wasn't too happy with it, but after the fourth rewrite I pretty much said screw it. Hope it wasn't too bad a read. That being said, I feel like I owe it to you the make the next chapter very well written. So hold me accountable to it, ok?