He asked anyway, just to be certain. “Well, Artemis, how are we?”
Artemis buttoned his navy woollen suit jacket. “We are fine, Butler. That is to say that I, Artemis Fowl the Second, am one hundred percent functional, which is about five times the functionality of an average person. Or to put it another way: one point five Mozarts. Or three-quarters of a da Vinci.”
“Only three-quarters? You’re being modest.”
“Correct,” said Artemis, smiling. “I am.”
Butler’s shoulders sagged a little with relief. Inflated ego, supreme self-confidence. Artemis was most definitely his old self.

The Last Guardian, Chapter 1