Conan went to the bar, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. Mr Linden smirked wickedly, his gaze fixated on Callan who had failed miserably to execute even five pull-ups during the previous lesson.
"Please count," Conan suggested, his voice dripping with feigned politeness, "otherwise I may misrepresent the task."
"Don't be cocky!" retorted Mr Linden, his voice heavy with disdain. "If you do this task, I promise to put the top mark for the semester and you can be free of all the lessons of physical education, but if you can't do it, you can count on nothing!"
"That's not fair!" Steven protested.
"Klavson, you want to exercise too? In that case, push ups forty times!" Linden roared. "Don't do it – the worst mark!"
Steven sighed resignedly and made his way towards the mats.
"Softy, on the floor!" followed the barking order.
"I'm waiting for you to start counting," Conan laughed and started the song. As he sang, Conan pulled to the bar faster and faster and, having sang the last line, jumped to the ground. "I seem to have done a bit above the established norm, but I liked the rhythm of the song – it was sung by Kuhulin when he killed his friend Ferdy. My father taught me that. He admires the ancient heroes and has given his entire war congregation the names carried by the Finayan heroes!"
"This isn't a concert hall here!" Mr Linden groaned, irritated and stunned completely. "And stop boasting about your father's supposed mafia connections. I'm really glad you did it as it will spare me the displeasure of your shameless presence in my lessons..."
Meanwhile, Steven had managed a meagre twenty-eight push-ups, his face flushed and his strength waning. Mr Linden's spirits soared as he witnessed Steven's struggle, but Conan's expression turned grim .
"If I do this task for him, will you release him too?" the boy asked.
"The hell with this, yes, but you have to start from the beginning and if you can't do push ups forty times on your fists, you'll both get the lowest mark and your high mark previously earned will be nullified."
"Deal," Conan agreed. Steven collapsed to the floor. Conan settled down next to him and resumed singing. He made forty times without effort. The class and the teacher watched stunned as the crowbar Winterfell did push ups forty times without the slightest effort immediately afterwards of twenty-five times he had pulled to the bar, besides, he was still performing the song
"Let's go, Steven," Conan stood up. "We are the best."
Steven followed, murmuring something to himself and shaking his head in bewilderment. The bewildered classmates and the incredulous teacher watched after them.
The first recovered Mr Linden. "Well, you see what a person can achieve if he works on himself properly! And all this in one week! Unbelievable, but a fact!"
The next lesson was French. Conan, who answered everyone in the language in which he was addressed, was a huge success.
"You, Winterfell, have truly held a candle under the bushel basket of your talents," teacher, Ms Belora concluded, putting two excellent marks on translation and retelling to Conan.
A lesson of aesthetics and philosophy brought a new surprise. Teacher Mr Kern told to discuss the concept of eternity as expounded in any philosophical work of student's choice . When Conan was asked, he explained at length the thoughts of the druid priests in this question. Mr Kern looked at one of his more mediocre students in surprise, who was now outlining the basic principles of the construction and existence of the world.
"Excellent, Winterfell," Mr Kern said, breaking the deafening silence that had set in after Conan's performance. "What is the basis of your views?"
"Druid's."