Yes, and simultaneously no? I mean, he's been in classes, with children, of the same approximate age, being taught stuff by a teacher, but if you look at the offical records, he's never set foot in a school or received a degree.

He's never felt so out of place in his life.

Which makes no damn sense, by the way. I mean, these are the kinds of people for whom genetic perfection was guaranteed approximately six months before conception. Anybody whose parents didn't have the money to ensure such was the case couldn't afford to attend here. And since winning the genetic lottery wasn't enough, the students have had to improve on perfection. Green eyes? Go for it. Wings? Hell yeah. Typhoid yellow floor-length Sailor Moon animatronic hair? The sky, your parent's bank accounts, and the current trends are the limit.

Compared to the polychromatic zoo around him, Victor cannot help but feel... plain. Dammit, he can make wings on the fly, convert his body into a freakin' miniature jetplane if he wanted to, but there's a not-inconsiderable part of him feels envious of being able to just... decide to graft on new limbs as desired. And he's realizing, too late, that posing as a talent scout disguised as a student requires that the students think he's worth paying attention to.

And, also, some functional knowledge of how Aristeia is played, but that's a different problem.